Shell

27 04 2015

A kid fired shots in my old high school this morning.

I was doing my morning thing where I set my alarm way earlier than I need to, drowsily put on NPR and doze for another couple hours.

I wondered if what I heard was a dream.

But when I truly awoke, it was true. A kid fired shots in North Thurston High School. It was the place where I spent too many hours toiling away in the marching band and prepping for the next show by the drama department. I met my first two loves there, formed permanent friendships.

No one was hurt, so I didn’t have to rush down and talk to old teachers about dead kids.

Everyone from high school on Facebook was shocked, saddened. What I read indicated the kid tried to commit suicide by cop at 16. Who knows if that’s the whole truth – I didn’t have the heart to fully investigate the matter. Anyway, I was too busy with my nose in 200 pages of lawsuit documents, glancing at images of Nepalese earthquake tragedy porn and a burning Baltimore on CNN.

I’m not surprised by anything that happens anymore – even at my alma mater.

Thing is about my job, I can be shocked, saddened, sickened – but I’m never surprised anymore. I understand the capacity of how tragic and awful – even pathetically sad – humanity can be. Even at such an early age.

It hit home for me this time and I still can’t bring myself to feel something visceral and real. Just kind of a dulled outrage and helplessness.

Sometimes I wonder whether my work carves me up, leaving just a shell of a soul.

Sometimes I think I feel so deeply that I have to just turn that part of myself off in order to go on.

Maybe it’s a little of both.

All I know is that anything can happen to anyone.

So maybe I’ve given up thinking it can be better.





Sparks

2 04 2015

I had another dream about you the other night.

It was one of those in which you’re back – or maybe you were never really gone at all.

That’s right, in this one you had only gone away. In fact, it was all a joke or something. Or you just had to leave for awhile, but you had somehow played everyone. You even said you were at your own funeral. You watched it. You saw everyone gutted. And you let it go on and left us all for a few years.

I can’t believe we’re counting years now. Read the rest of this entry »





Not familiar

2 02 2015




I’m not the only one

8 06 2014

This song played on the radio yesterday.

After the week this city has had, it gave me chills. It seemed like an apt tune to play.

It gets hard to feel good about humanity, especially in my job. But a girl can dream.





Leave me where I am

8 06 2014

Oh, leave me where I am I am not losing
If I am choosing not to plan my life

-Jackson Browne, “Colors of the Sun”

It’s Jackson Browne season. He tends to stick with me every couple of summers. His tunes breathe sunshine and introspection.

I remember blasting his cassettes in my old car while cruising through central California. And again in my next car up and down Highway 3 in Kitsap County, that fraught summer when I let go of one man I loved and picked up a new love.

Different lines from different songs particularly ring true for me each year.

This year I just feel like I’m drifting along. I’m in a good place and I don’t want to shake the boat too much. Sometimes I feel this itch to change something up, but I don’t want to fuck anything up, either.

People ask me what’s next, what I want to do in five or 10 years, whether my boyfriend is “the one,” this and that. Read the rest of this entry »





Things

18 05 2014

I am a bad blogger boo.

I just feel that there’s nothing much to say these days. People ask me, “How’s life?” and I have very little to elaborate beyond, “Fine.”

That’s a good thing, I suppose.

No drama. No angst. No career dissatisfaction. No grief.

No big life developments, either. But that’s OK. I think the last year or two made up for the next few years yet.

I feel supremely boring, but things could be worse. They used to be a lot worse.

But, a rundown of the mundane: Read the rest of this entry »





Remnants of a former self

27 02 2014

Seems like I’m always cleaning my things out these days.

With all my moving in recent years, a lot of it is taking boxes and manila envelopes from one place to another, untouched among so many other relics.

Then I get on a cleaning binge. I will go through a set of drawers here, a box or two there. Sometimes look into those manila envelopes and go through everything, one by one, deciding what to keep and what’s expendable. Read the rest of this entry »








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