Present Passion

   A few hours ago my therapist told me there's a difference between being lonely and alone, but right now, I can't tell the difference. I feel like I'm both, though I've been wrong before. I had to leave the nest we once shared because the silence and emptiness was too unbearable. There's an excerpt from Plato's The Symposium that goes, "According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” Mine was a beautiful boxer, painted brown with a white strip from her chin to her belly, who went by the name Mia. Now, I don't condone animals having human names, but in all her perfection and glory, I allowed it.

   I've come to the conclusion that I have never loved a person as much as I loved that dog. She had the most unique personality― vibrant and lively and lovely. She was introduced to my life at a very dark time. She was my silver lining. Let's see: I had just dropped out of nursing school, I choked out my best friend since fifth grade, I broke up with my boyfriend, and I got so drunk at a party, I tried to fight every guy and girl I encountered, walked into barbwire, and cursed myself with deep gashes on all four limbs. It wouldn't make it to the highlight reel of my life. But there she was. And now I've lost her.

   I told my mom, "There are things that bug you, but the minute they're gone, you almost miss it... I've been so stressed out about Mia pissing on my carpet and having to shampoo it weekly, but I would give anything in the world to have her here with me if that's what it would take."

   For some reason, it would be different if I were in my room and she were in the living room, which happened sometimes. I've went to call her a few times but stopped myself. Was it the pure reassurance of her presence? Her absence is so permanent. I called my mom crying and exclaimed to her that I wish my baby wasn't buried in her yard. For the four years we had been together, I use to loathe when people called Mia my daughter. She's my fuckin' roommate, I would say. Now the only noun I refer to her as is My Baby™. What can you do?

   I walked into my friend's house and told him, "Here's some banana bread. There's no amount of cooking or cleaning I can do to keep my mind preoccupied." I tried to explain to someone once that if you've never taken acid, you can't know what it's like; there's no way to explain it. The same thing applies to love. To have unconditional love (it's like that with dogs... not-so-much with humans), to have constant company, and to be immediately forgiven, there isn't much that can hold a candle to that. I was listening to The Beatles' "Something" and I broke the fuck down. They told me:

Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me

I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how

Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me

Don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how

You're asking me will my love grow
I don't know, I don't know
You stick around now it may show
I don't know, I don't know

Something in the way she knows
And all I have to do is think of her
Something in the things she shows me

Don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how

   And I was like, "Daaaamn." That was naht what I should've been listening to. It's such a comforting and surreal feeling when you hear someone else describe the exact way vibrations shake your heart and truth rattles your bones. My therapist told me I need to address my emotions and experience this grief. Being sad is insanely unsettling and I'm not with the shit at all. Someone once tried to explain to me how frustrating it is when you're mourning yet you see other people smiling and laughing and behaving as if everything is fine in the world. I finally understand. As it stands, I am not okay with the world continuing on and behaving as if one of the most god-given gifts to Earth hasn't lost its life force. Is she here with me in spirit? Perhaps. I want her to be with me here in the physical.

And that's just too much to ask.

Antiquated Amor

       Just the other night I had my feet kicked up at the nurses' station scrolling through Facebook when I heard a yell from a room at the end of my assigned hallway. It was two in the morning, and I didn't want the disturbance to wake anyone else up so I headed toward the source of the noise. A small man lying in his bed wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and brief (re: respectful word us nurse aide's use for "diaper") had his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.

"Corporal!" he repeated.

"What can I do for you?" I laughed. He dropped his hands and looked in my direction.

"Will you look in that top drawer for something sharp? I should have a spam opener in there." This man is not what we call "with it" and therefore had no business obtaining anything serrated. He continued, "I need to cut this metal off my leg." He pointed to a white cloth wrapped around his left leg that kept his bandages intact. My eyes did that sorrowful sympathetic thing as I walked over to his dresser and pulled out the top drawer.

"There are Belvita crackers and socks in here."

"Keep digging around," he insisted. I lifted all four contents out of the drawer to exemplify my honesty. "Well then check the second drawer." I pushed the top drawer in and opened the second one.

"There are only t-shirts in here."

"I just need to get this metal off me. It's hurting my skin." I heard another resident's call light so I came up with a distraction for the mean time.

"I'm going to see if we have something in the kitchen, okay?" I lied.

"Oh... that would be wonderful. You're a good woman." My heart only broke a little. I left his room to help my other resident. She needed to go to the bathroom. So I pulled back her covers, squatted down to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, and helped her transfer to her wheelchair. When we got into the bathroom, I asked her to put her hands on the rail next to the toilet in order to help with her equilibration. I pulled her nightgown up and brief down. She groaned as she eased herself onto the toilet and I heard her bones creak like an old house being rustled by the wind. A few minutes later, she was holding the rail again as I cleaned her bum with a wet wipe. I lifted her underwear around her waist and dropped her nightgown down to her thighs. I got her back into bed and placed the call light on top of her quilt, reminding her to ring if she needed me. I removed my gloves and the trash from her bathroom and put it in my bin. From a distance I heard,

"Corporal!" I walked down to the small man's room. When I got to his doorway, he was lying on his back with both his legs dangling over the side of his bed, trying to get up. 

"You put your legs back in that bed, private," I demanded. I laughed at myself. His thin legs slid back into his bunk.

"Will you look in that top drawer for something sharp? I should have a spam opener in there," he said. "I need to cut this metal off my leg." He pointed to a white cloth wrapped around his left leg that kept his bandages intact. I walked over to his dresser and pulled out the top drawer.

"There are Belvita crackers and socks in here."

"Keep digging around," he insisted. I lifted all four contents out of the drawer out. "Well then check the second drawer." I pushed the top drawer in and opened the second one.

"There are only t-shirts in here."

"I just need to get this metal off me. It's hurting my skin." I walked over to his bed and looked at his leg. Large purple bruises covered his saggy epidermis like patches on a worn quilt. Thin tears tried their best to heal but left shallow grooves instead. "I'm sergeant of the first cavalry and they're throwing everything at me." I wondered how oriented he was so I asked him if he knew what country he was in. He responded confidently, "America... where everything is fair." My eyebrows furrowed in disagreement, but I didn't say anything. I held his fragile hand and asked him if he would like a cup of tea; his poison.

"I will have some when you go to make yourself some," he said innocently. I smiled as I had no intention of making myself any libation. 

"I can do that," I replied loud enough for him to hear me. He squeezed my hand and announced, "I read you. I think you are going to do things wonderful." Taken aback, I withdrew my hand. Could this be true? I asked myself. Is this man senile or an oracle? I giggled at the thought and retreated to get his tea. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic, navy blue mug and went to the coffee maker, pulling down the red lever and watching steaming hot water fill the orifice to the brim. I started toward the small plastic drawer that housed the tea bags. Seeing a label reading chamomile, I snagged it along with one packet of sugar and headed back towards the hall. I put the bag in the water watching it bob to the top. Before I returned, I went into the nurse's workroom. I took a blue blinder with my friend's name on it off the shelf and opened it. He was born in 1926 in Iran, though he was a United States citizen. He was army intelligence as well as a computer scientist. There's this blurry line between reality and a distorted disconnect within a dementia patient's brain. It's wise to take what they say with a bag of salt. It might be true. It might not be.

"Here's your tea," I said, setting it down on the nightstand. Even though elderly people lose their sensitivity to temperature, I didn't want him to burn his mouth. It needed to cool off for a few minutes.

"Let me see your hand," he began. I slipped my hand into his. "You're a creator, you're an observer, and you're rich. I just need to know what your decision is." I cackled.

"Decision for what?"

"If we are going to be together," he explained. I busted out laughing.

"Darling, you're 91. I'm 23."

"So?" he retorted. I laughed some more. "In the eyes of god, nothing is more sacred than the union of two people." I hesitated before I revealed, "Awe, doll... I'm Atheist."

"I don't want to change your opinions, " he assured. "Just be what you want to be." My heart melted and dripped on the floor in a puddle. That was the smoothest shit I'd ever heard.

"Vous êtes la vie," he purred. I smiled and told him I don't speak French.

"Do you speak any other languages?" I inquired.

"Oh yes. I speak Spanish, Hindu, Indian, Australian..."

"Australians speak English."

"It's a different English," he insisted. I bent over in laughter. "We would be pure, wonderful, and decent. You have independence." I was smitten. I was half-tempted to accept his offer. I could only imagine all the things he could teach me; all the beauty and horror and pain and elation and life his experiences encapsulated. The physical can incite curiosity, but it's knowledge that reels us in to love.

"What year were you born?" I asked. 

"Nineteen-twenty... five? Six?"

"Do you know what year it is?"

"Eighteen-eighty..." he started. I laughed and pointed out the impossibility of that if he were born in the 1920's.

"These things are complicated." I smiled in agreement. I glanced down at his brief to see two blue stripes down the crotch area.

            "I need to change your underwear," I observed. "You got urine on your shirt, too, doll. Let me get you a new one." I walked over to his dresser as he blurted, "Will you look in that top drawer for something sharp? I should have a spam opener in there. I need to cut this metal off my leg."

➚

   Life's so funny, because there have been certain ages that I reach where I'm like: Okay, I'm finally confident that this is who I am meant to be. I am complete. Where will this naivete lead me? I'm always growing, learning, unlearning, faltering, and rejuvenating; every year, month, day, and minute. I've finally come to accept this, and so I ingest every word I hear and seek all the knowledge I can cram into this inquisitive soul.

"And four years later, you're dancing around your kitchen with a pint of milk in your hand.

The windows are open wide, the neighbors are still awake, and they are watching you.

They are watching you falling in love with being alive."

volition

      I was scrolling through my Tumblr last night and came across a tarot spread that reveals how to get off a bad path or to stay on the path you want. The first card tells what keeps you on your current track and the second tells what will set you on another track. It intrigued me, so I did a reading on myself.

• When the Chess Queen arrives to challenge you, it simply means that you're living too much in your head: planning, scheming, and strategizing what your future will look like and how and when it will unfold. Remember the saying, "Man plans and god laughs"? You cannot know the power and beauty that is meant for you until you let go and ask for Divine guidance. The laws of cause and effect apply here. Don't dictate what you want, as your wants may not be in your highest good. Ask instead for the miracles set aside for you and you alone.

   What does Spirit want for you? Perhaps it's time to let go and turn your life over to the care of a Higher Power. You can never lose when Spirit plays the game of life on your behalf.

• When the Swan Queen appears to challenge you, it's time to stop doubting your inner voice. Don't let your analytical mind prevent you from seeing the miracles that Spirit places in front of you.

   Another message the Swan Queen shows you in the mirror of your life is your fear of change. Why fear what's inevitable? Everything in life changes and transforms from one moment to the next. Holding on to the past only distorts and mangles the natural order of things.

   If you can, in spite of your fear, be gentle with yourself and allow for change. Only beauty will come of it. Most important, a shift in perspective is what's called for now.

ir·rel·e·vant

   After President Drumpf posted that asinine tweet about NFL players kneeling, the internet went off.

   

   Just when I think I can't hate this dude any more, he ups his game. My good friend from high school made a Facebook post about why he supports the Black Lives Matter movement, and there was a distinct comment I saw that had me buggin'. It read:

"The only problem is that 'Black lives matter' has turned into another hate group. They are responsible for so much violence and anger. And if people actually were behind the original ideas of black lives matter, then why is black on black violence so much higher than white on black violence? If the black community as a whole doesn't believe black lives matter, then what is the point of the group? Which brings me back to the start, it is a hate group against white people and the police. It's a scapegoat for any and everyone to be hateful and violent to anyone that gets in their way."

   I sent it to Bestie and asked her to weigh in, and per usual, her response didn't let me down.

"So Black on Black crime is like fear propaganda. The term came about in the 80s when the civil rights era was winding down... It was used obviously as yet another reason to turn the tides of racism. 'Well why does it matter if Officer Jim kills Denzel if Jamal & Quincy kill each other just as much?'

1.) Jamal will be put in prison for his crime. Jamal will be put in prison for crossing the street.

2.) Crime is statistically segregated... Why? Because's Black folk live around Black folk, and white folk around white folk.

And then we can also ask: WHY are Black people killing each other at such high rates? The number one reason violence takes place in the Black community is money. Why are Black people so poor? People who mention Black on Black crime are closet racists and my position on that won't stray."

welp

   When I was 20, my aunt told me about this voodo shit she heard on Oprah where you write a list of traits you desire in a significant other. Once completed, you hang it up in a window facing outward so the Universe can see it and help transpire this person. I liked the concept a lot. I've only done it two or three times. This last time I thought the Universe led me to someone special, but when I came across this list two months after the break-up, I realized I really slept on myself. Only two traits resembled him and one of those words was "nice". I think my cooking skillet is nice. I let myself slip up and settle. I severely misjudged this last boyfriend. With all the lessons I've learned in the past year, I feel confident that I know who and what I want in a man.

   I download Tinder every few months to try to meet someone. Things usually get weird and I delete it only to boomerang right back to it in a few weeks. I take Tinder half serious. The other half I'm screen-shotting absurd photos and hilarious bios to my friends. I went on a binge for about an hour yesterday, and I cannot believe some of the shit guys put out there in attempt to find their Tinderella.

•  The first one to pop up on my iPhone 6S screen was this light-skin Black man with braids named Travis. Travis is 26 and 3 miles away from me. His bio read: "Just and enlightenment hood Nigga that's tryna open his 3rd eye..... Gym addict, weed smoking Rasta mon with a golden aura.. I have two pitbulls and I'm a chef so if you like food and puppies I'm your dread head lol"

   Alright. Let's disect this. He's lying down in his picture with a half-smile and a huge chest tattoo reading Family Over Everything. I sent a screen-shot to my friend and she promptly replied, "Issa no for me. Fuck boy written all in his bio. He'd let you mold him for sure but it would be a battle. You would be wrong every time. Then he would leave you. And teach everything you taught him to another girl." I told her: That typo in the first setence got me buggin'. Swiped left.

• David, 29, University of Colorado, 4 miles away.

"Future architect. 

Gun owner (nerf)

Perfect day is when you transition directly from coffee to alcohol

I have a kid so I should probably have my life together by now

Snowboarding ▢ cooking ▢ golf ▢ movies

If you don't think faceswapping with non humans isn't art, you can gtfo

Buy ME a drink, cuz I'm a feminist not cuz I'm broke

I could be a pro athlete if I was like way better

I need a girlfriend so I can watch The Bachelor guilt free"

   He wasn't too cute, but that description is hilarious. It made me grin as I swiped left.

• Jake, 27: the photo shown is a beautiful mountain backdrop surrounded by green pine trees. Jake is standing in a creek... naked, with his blue jeans scrunched around his ankles, revealing his white skin and even whiter bum. Lookin' like he got on white chonies and shit. (Swiped left)

• Ping-an, 25, Colorado State University, 2 miles away. This dude is visibly oriental, right? And the first line of his bio says, "My name is Andy." I sent it to Bestie with a gif of a suspicious Oprah asking, "So what is the truth?" To the left, to the left.

• Devon, 26, Colorado State University-Pueblo, 54 miles away.

"If you swipe right on me I expect a form of response if I try to talk to you... I know I'm a good man and if you gonna ignore me... You just a stuck up lil girl that don't deserve this good man right here... Plain and simple I am sick and tired of being used, hurt, and played. I know my worth I deserve a good woman not a stuck up lil girl... Wasting MY time if you swipe right on me and don't talk nor have interest in me... If you do swipe right... I am the nicest person you'll ever meet."

   I sent this bio and the picture of this 6'2'', yoked Black man wearing a gray muscle shirt, orange basketball shorts, and black Under Armour shoes posing at the gym. I told her, "Devon is taking 26 years of relationship frustrations out on his Tinder audience ☠." Left.

• I can't even make this one up. I won't include his details, but this dude looks like the guy who shot up the school in Degrassi: The Next Generation. La izquierda.

• Ryan, 26, 4 miles away. Soft brown eyes and dark skin under a black Chicago Bulls hat was the first thing I noticed on this one. Okay... I thought. Now we're cookin' in Crisco. His bio includes an emoji at the end of every line, which is kind of high school to me, but it is what it isn't.

"Ohio bred *acorn emoji*

420 friendly *orange leaf emoji*

Driven *city photograph emoji*

Writer *pencil on paper emoji*

Art *palette emoji*

Future Barber *barber's pole emoji*

Rapper *old school microphone emoji*

Work *smiley with money eyes emoji*

I'm 6'4" (before you ask) *flexing emoji with dark skin*

I don't have kids *man with arms crossed*

And no criminal record but I might steal your heart *laughing with tears emoji* ...wait that isn't really funny online? Or is it? *hand on chin emoji*

Dry converstationalists are NOT welcomed. Unmatch yo ass quicker than you searching for socks in a rush *laughing with tears emoji* *unimpressed emoji*

New to Fort Collins

I'm goofy as fuck 90% of the time. So don't be boring *laughing with tears emoji* 

Want somebody, don't need nobody. *100 emoji*

Anthem: DNA by Kendrick Lamar

   My friend said, "The rapper part turns me off but other than that he sounds nice."

   "Just read it as poet," I texted back. It's such a strange era to be dating, because of all the access we have to everyone's information as well as the obscure ways we meet. I think I'd rather grab a pencil & my sketchbook and consult with the Universe instead.

note

s e l f

   Back when I lived on MySpace (circa 2006-2010), I took selfies weekly. It was so absurd. I would have a little photo shoot with myself: I would choose four outfits, run outside, snap some pics in my yard, run inside to change, and repeat. I blew off plenty of English assignments, but I always made time for this ritual. I edited them with this snazzy internet site Picnik (which has been renamed Ribbet, thank me later).

   Even though the only social media platform I have is Instagram, I've been over my obsessive selfie era for a few years now. I'm more interested in posting content... quotes, history lessons, self-confidence rants, and political jibber-jabber. My body isn't as important to me anymore as much as the knowledge that it possesses. That's what I'd rather be known for: intellect > vanity. 

"Existence is pain." —Mr. Meeseeks

best

   Does this count for a Photo of the Day? I say it does. It's one thing to get a compliment from a random acquaintance. It's on a whole other plane to get a compliment from your best friend who taught you to be the admirable person they're boosting. ♫ Sit down... be humble ♫
   Since I'm a total millenial, all I replied with was a four-second video of Danny McBride in Hot Rod whimpering, "I don't even cry, and look at me. You're about to make tears come out my face!" I have this totally obnoxious habit where I'll hound my friends with my interests until they participate. The top media I push on the cronies are podcasts and documentaries, but only because they're great. I wouldn't recommend something if it didn't provide quality information. It only took Brian three months to finally watch the Emmy Award-winning documentary 13th, which is about the United States prison system being legalized slavery under the 13th Amendment in the Constitution. When he finally did watch it, he sent me a text reading: all juniors will be subjected to "Thirteenth".
   He's a social studies teacher for grades seven through twelve in this Hills Have Eyes ass Colorado town. He was my social studies teacher 7th through 11th grade, and my favorite friend since I was 15 years old. We text weekly and discuss current events. Sometimes when I argue with people, I need a historical expert for testimony, and I ask him to fill me in on certain topics. I once asked him who the top 5 worst U.S. presidents are, in his opinion. He replied immediately with, "Trump is first on our list, the cock-eater. His unprofessionalism knows no bounds. He is the most unpresidential motherfucker I've ever heard of. James Buchanan is second because of the Dred Scott decision and his support for the Civil War. After that, it's a toss-up. Pierce, Phillmore, Hayes."
   "W. Bush doesn't make it, huh? Jet fuel can't melt steal beams," I typed.
   "His bitch ass can be fourth for his foreign policy decisions. Fucking Iraq and Afghan wars." It's that type of reassurance that fills my empty heart with warmth as well as the notion that there are people who still rely on knowledge and facts and data to form their opinions. It's kind of arbitrary for me to talk about how much we agree since, like I mentioned, he taught me the majority of what I know about politics and world affairs. However, it has been great for my confidence growing up with someone who validates my thoughts, ideas, and opinions, pushing me to be better and do better.
♫ And they don't have no award for that ♫

autumn

toska (n.)  /ˈtō-skə/

Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels, it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level, it grades into ennui, boredom."

— Vladimir Nabokov

the rise

“When a cat falls out of a tree, it lets go of itself. The cat becomes completely relaxed, and lands lightly on the ground. But if a cat were about to fall out of a tree and suddenly make up its mind that it didn’t want to fall, it would become tense and rigid, and would be just a bag of broken bones upon landing. In the same way, it is the philosophy of the Tao that we are all falling off a tree, at every moment of our lives. As a matter of fact, the moment we were born we were kicked off a precipice and we are falling, and there is nothing that can stop it. So instead of living in a state of chronic tension, and clinging to all sorts of things that are actually falling with us, because the whole world is impermanent, be like a cat.” 

— Alan Watts

future 2 bright

   I received a call yesterday evening, but I didn't recognize the number and consequently let it go to voicemail. When I listened to it, I heard the administrative assistant at my job letting me know I won a candy-guessing raffle. There were 62 pieces and I guessed 64. Apparently they weren't playing by the Price Is Right rules, so I qualified as the winner. I never win shit. A gift card to Starbucks and a jar full of mini Reese's might seem lame to the average person, but I was ecstatic! How groovy am I? 

   The Universe really had my back with this one as I met with my life coach for the first time today... at Starbucks. Since I'm in this transition phase with my new job, I am broke as a joke. That ten-dollar gift card made it seem like I slightly had my shit together and could afford a six-dollar pumpkin spice latte. We had to sit outside because she had her dog Cooper with her. It was a breezy day here in Colorado, but also a nice one. She's young; I doubt she's hit 30 yet. She has sandy blonde hair that brushes the top of her shoulders. Her company web site revealed she has a masters degree in social work. I don't necessarily have trust issues, but I feel more comfortable around people the more I know about them. I told her, "I wasn't going to admit this to you, but I will... I creeped on your Facebook to find out more about you. Congratulations on your engagement." She busted out laughing. I continued, "I saw an anti-Trump post and I knew all would be well between us."

   Those two hours dissolved into the sands of time as I explained this hot mess that is Janessa's Life™. I asked her if she could help me find an affordable therapist as well as a career counselor who can guide my goals onto a clearer path than the one I have currently devised. She was so sweet and eager to seek out the resources I need. After we said our good-byes, I found myself almost skipping home. I felt very relieved that I not only confided in someone about my current struggles, but that we are going to come up with a comprehensive plan to work towards a solution. I'm excited to see what kind of magic she and I can make together. I am so incredibly thankful the Universe drops amazing people like her in my life.