"I can feel a Phoenix inside of me..."

I may not need therapy, after all.  A lot of things have changed in the last month.  Finally, the changes I write about are for the better.  I'm in a new apartment, have two kittens, traveled to Louisiana, and my sojourn may be over.

I'm at the Starbucks on Central Ave.  The one with the couches that I posted about on FaceBook the first day I spent in Arizona.  I'm here to get myself out of the house and at least be in a social setting. Today is for relaxing as I apply for jobs online, tomorrow for finding One Voice and seeing if I can volunteer, and yesterday was for saying goodbye.

The goodbye was significant (and larger than I had imagined).  I didn't just say goodbye to the love of my life.  I said goodbye to a way of life that wasn't mine.  Zachary allowed me to believe that I could have a "normal" life.  Even though I wasn't really happy there, the dream was nice.  I let it go, now.  I don't truly want a normal life.  As I told my neighbor, Jeanine, sometimes I look at my sister and I'm a little jealous of the boyfriend, the possibility of marriage, etc.  However, I've seen and done more than most people could ever imagine.  Now that I'm actively healing, I'll see and do even more.  I wouldn't trade that for all of the white picket fences in the world.

I am young (relatively), attractive, and intelligent. The world is my oyster, as they say, but I'm going to make it give me caviar.  Then, I'm going to share that with all the people who can't make it happen for themselves.

Just watch.

Living Legend

I've done it again.  I've gone through a huge period in life without taking in how much I affect the people around me.  Today, I got reminded, though, and I think that was the untold purpose of my coming here.  I was deeply awakened by the simple fact that everyone at this hotel knows precisely who I am, even though most of them have never met me.

Realistically, I should be a virtual stranger here except to the few coworkers I had who are still here.  However, I'm told stories of me still circulate.  The hotel still uses many procedures I implemented or helped implement.  It's impressive to me because it never occurred to me that it would be this way.  I truly thought it would be a quick in and out visit with very little fanfare.  That idea was quashed when I found out that the breakfast lady would be expecting me.

I really never intend for this to happen.  I live my life as true to myself as I can; I don't live to make an impression on others.  That said, I'm deeply DEEPLY honored by it.  Not many people get to see the legacy they leave behind when they depart from any place.  I've seen it twice now.

I'm utterly flabbergasted.

Moving on...

Sorry about the prolonged break, but the last week or so has been a little weird.

First, the kittens managed to open my fridge in the middle of the night and spoil all my food at the same time that I was breaking up with Paypal.  To make ends meet, I got a loan on my laptop from a pawn shop.  The loan kept me in food through the weekend, which was good.  It even got a pack of smokes (which didn't last the weekend, but was waaay better than nothing).

The intake with Shanti went well.  The girl who did my intake was great.  She listened, let me cry, gave me tissue...then never called me back.  It wasn't until a full 24 hrs. later, when I emailed the director again, that I heard anything from them.  Then, the director quoted a missed call as the reason communication had fallen apart.  That missed call was returned, however, which is how I got the meeting for my intake.

I sat in bed for an entire day.  I was in despair over how I would make it through...and wasn't at all certain I would.  Then, I had visions of people who have passed on.  Then, I remembered I still had resources.  Then, I created a "Post Secret" to send to PostSecrets.com.

It read, "I am the most amazing person most of my friends now~And it's too much PRESSURE!"  (p.s. I don't really believe in secrets; they're too much like lies).  Then, I called my friend Matthew and explained to him what the post card meant.  "Sarah Michelle Gellar said it best in Cruel Intentions," I told him, "'I'm the Marsha-fucking-Brady of the Upper East Side and sometimes I want to kill myself."  Her character did the things she did to ease the pressure, and that's what I needed.  For me, the easing of that pressure meant being allowed to cry.

Not being allowed by myself, but allowed by everyone else.  Precious few of my friends have let me just vent or sob or anything.  Everyone is constantly expecting me to get over it.  I'm expected to act like me, and not really be phased by the things I feel.  I can't this time.  That doesn't mean I'll be broken forever, but I need a few minutes to fall apart freely over the year of strife I've endured.

I can get through it without the therapy.  I realize that now.  I can't count on strangers to ease the pain, I need to ease it myself.  So, tomorrow, I go to see a grave.  I go to say goodbye, to get angry, to forgive, and to love.  I'm going to do the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

I also realized that the friends I have here are the worst "friends" I've ever had.  I don't care much and I'm already replacing them, but it's a little disappointing.  I doubt I talk to any of them again after I get back.

It'd be nice if the people tomorrow actually followed through....

Tomorrow's the intake with the Shanti people.  I almost don't want to bother....seems like it would be easier to ditch out and assume they aren't going to help me just the way Care Directions managed to make me think they were worthwhile.  For the sake of fairness, though, I'm going.  They should get the same chance to make my life more difficult that everyone else got, right?

However, I may just be grumpy because I haven't been eating right.  The cats did, in fact, manage to spoil all of the food in the fridge.  In order to have anything I could actually eat, I over-drafted my bank account.  I guess I've been hungry and in debt before, but I don't like it.

Final news for the day?  My blog is going to have an official logo, soon!  The day after I joked about my "system upgrade" (which allows for getting refunds on fees that were your own fault from your bank), I made a little sign for the kit10 operating system.  For the record, we are now operating on kit10 v 3.0, which is how my blog got it's web address...and, yes, I know I'm a dork.

Hmmm...

Last night a friend of mine told me he was proud of me (or something like that).  Why?  Because when I was at the nice mental hospital I had told the people that I was NOT opposed to taking drugs to stabilize my brain.  I guess, in general, I have been pretty hard-core against them.  However, more than anything, I have now and always been about being the best me I can.

Right now, that may mean  pharmaceuticals.

Am I supposed to be ashamed of that?  My friend's reaction makes me think so.  I'm not always the best at knowing what my  reactions are supposed to be.  Not long ago, when some boy had moved in some clothes to my apartment, I had to ask my so-called friends if I was supposed to be weirded out or not.  I was supposed to be, and was.  The point is, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react and I'm not sure now.

I know that I don't instinctively feel ashamed to admit that I need help, however it comes.  I've helped more people than I know, and never once thought that they might be ashamed that they needed help.  Maybe, this goes back to why I'm disillusioned with the world.  Aren't we here to help each other?  To love each other?  To all grow as people as hard as it may be?

On that note, I have an intake with R. at the Phoenix Shanti Group Thursday at 8 a.m.  I'm hoping that the early hour means it will be cool enough to at least walk there, even if it's too hot to walk back.  I don't get to walk much anymore...

I like surprises!

The weirdest thing happened today.  I got up, a little tired still cuz I didn't sleep the night before due to some random insomnia issues I've been having, and got my stuff together and went to the library.  The Phoenix Public Library is the shiznit, for all of those who don't know.  I was returning Black Swan because I finally gave up on watching it.  In the parking lot, I realized something.  I'm in a good mood.

Nothing in particular happened to make me overly happy.  And, happy might be exaggerating it, but I was definitely not being at all miserable, and haven't been all day.  Now, I have cried and what-not, but it has been a decent day. For no reason.

Also, everyone should check out postsecrets.com.  It's lovely.  Poignant, even.  And, important.  GO. NOW.

Closing Time....

So…it is 4:13 AM according to the clock on the  Scratching Post (which is what I named my computer when asked), and I can’t sleep.  A million things have been going through my head.  It started with a dream.  There were golden feathers touching my skin.  Gold like the Sun, not like the metal.  Then, Chris.  And, Grandma Bev.

Grandma Bev’s death is the only other one I’ve had this kind of reaction to.  Chris helped me through it.  Now there isn’t anyone here who I can bury my face in and sob.  Even writing it, it sounds pathetic.  It was pathetic how much I cried after I got off the phone with my sister.  She had sent me  email hoping it reached me because I was in the time of great non-communication  with my family.  Chris didn’t make me feel pathetic, though, and I wasn’t ashamed of my tears.  For the record, I’m not ashamed of them now, either.

So, they were there.  These two people who both subtly influenced the man you all know today.  Each of them in their way made me ok with me, the world around me, and how I fit into it.  Why, though?  I know that our loved ones watch us from beyond.  Not in the way you believe something because your brain can’t cope with the reality that someone is gone.  I know.   Some very very spiritually in-tune people once delivered a message from Bev that could only have come from her.  Something only a woman who had known me all my life would say.  I don’t need reminded.

In fact, I need them to keep some distance.  I need to deal with the loss in some healthy way; sadly, they only reminded me of it.  I’m DAMNED sick of losing things, but I need to let them go.  Since I woke from the 20 minute nap to this dream, I’ve replayed a lot in my head.  My apartment in Olympia, Katrina, friends I’ve never got to say enough words to, the one night I spent rolling around my floor with Mikey, and the furniture I left behind I moved into this place were all in there somewhere.  All things I’ve lost, or given up because I “had to.”

At risk of sounding trite, it isn’t fair.  To anyone who has to go through it, really.  I’m sick of losing things, saying goodbye, and feeling empty. 

To be fair (and so I don’t sound like an ungrateful git), I do cherish all of the things I do have.  Depending on your outlook on life, I am blessed, charmed, etc., etc.  Things work themselves out mostly, and I’m very happy in my current apartment (before and after pics to be posted on Google+ and Facebook) and I’m utterly elated that I found it before I gave up my kitten.  It really is everything I always kind of imagined (sans a bedroom).

Anywho, I’m hoping that the last of this coffee-flavored vodka did the trick and I can drift off into slumber before I begin the hunt for a new phone tomorrow.

As Promised...

So, here it is, as promised just a short while ago on Facebook.  I have caved and become one of the millions blogging.  I don't do this lightly or with a sense of urgency.  Writing is something I need to do.


The last year has been hard.  An AIDS diagnosis, quitting the only 9-5 I've ever loved, a sojourn back to Seattle which left my life in a shambles, and the worst winter I can remember are all things that have led me here, to Phoenix.  I thought (briefly) that this would be the move that allowed me to turn the tide, so to speak.  I anticipated this place with the same fervor I anticipated my move to New Orleans nearly a decade ago.  Truthfully, Phoenix hasn't disappointed.  Desert life is weird, unconventional (and unpredictable), and a bit exciting.


My excitement has been overshadowed, though.  Shortly after my plane touched down in Phoenix and I settled into my bed at the Hilton Garden Inn, someone whom I loved more than I can ever express took his own life.  For the most part, I've been able to cope; but I'm just coping.  It's still not real to me, and I don't understand how it's possible that he isn't going to be in Louisiana when I go to see his grave.  Last month was the point when I knew I had to start grieving or dealing or whatever...


So, here it is.  My blog: "Life from the Balcony."  Why did I choose that name?  Well, because I'm the only one in my apartment complex with a balcony right outside my door, and it allows me a unique viewpoint because the people below me often don't realize I'm there.  This secret observance is also the perfect metaphor for my life.  People often let me glimpse things that most don't get to see.  I don't know if that is because they forget I'm there or they feel safe in that I won't judge them.  I don't really care, either.  My point of view and this blog will always be unique  for it, and I'm grateful for that (at least).