Without going into some mundane narration I will summarize this morning by saying it was one of those times when somebody was clearly looking out for me. I say this not because something went horribly wrong, but because what had the potential to be a bad start somehow came together exactly right. Perfect, actually, though I don't like to use that word. In moments like those all one can really do is be thankful.

Today's TDY Adventure comes in the form of my rental car. Somehow the lady behind the counter decided I wanted an SUV, which would put me in the minority as there were very few actual cars on the lot. My mammoth vehicle is a lovely shade of maroon. So far this is the only redeeming quality it has.

I drove up to the exit gate slightly overwhelmed, but happy to have my iPod successfully filling the speakers with music. Once the car ahead of me was finished I edged toward a window jutting out like the ones at a fast food drive-thru. The next thing I heard was the gentle smack of my side-view mirror as it charged into the exit hut.

The lady inside seemed to believe I was much more distraught over this incident than I actually was and assured me it happens all the time. I hadn't even considered the possibility of hitting the window as I'm used to approaching them from a much lower height.

Another fabulous feature of the car is that it's an automatic. This means that not only am I operating a vehicle far larger than I'm used to having under my control, but I'm also trying to make it do things that aren't mine to direct. It loves to roll, hates to stop, and I'm left hoping I don't kill anybody during my time clinging to the wheel of Chevy's Weapon of Death.

There are a number of SUV drivers out there who claim that once you own one you never want to go back. That may be true for some people, but all driving one seems to do is enforce the idea that I don't belong behind the wheel of something that large. I'll take my little car any day over this:

Captured At:2145

Wandering

Outfitted in my favorite pair of purple and (gasp!) pink pajamas, this evening finds me on the balcony of my hotel room dining on apple juice and graham crackers. Oh the glamour of being on the road! It's a nice night here, but I could certainly do without the constant whir of traffic on the nearby highway. I must keep this in mind for my next journey.

Discontent with the idea of sitting around in my hotel room after work for the day concluded I determined a simple, enjoyable use of my time would be to find a park somewhere to embrace the opportunity of being outside during a season I haven't seen in years. I revved up the Weapon of Death with a vague idea of where I was going, missed my chosen location entirely, and ended up driving around until I found a sign identifying a completely different recreation area. The park itself wasn't thrilling to look at, but as my eyes traced a path into the trees they grew with excitement. I had an entirely new forest to discover.

I am ashamed to say that until I arrived here I had completely forgotten that autumn has a scent all its own. This fragrance is very distinct. A combination of fallen leaves and broken twigs dried out after months of summer rain is the only possible solution I can offer to the mystery of what creates it. Any person who has ever jumped into a pile of freshly raked leaves will know exactly what I'm talking about.

The ground crackled under my weight with each step I took through this unknown territory. Somewhere inside of me an eight year old was begging to leave the trails and wander freely between the trees regardless of what obstacles might be presented. Our compromise was that at every fork we would take the one that looked as if fewer people had followed it. The first attempt at this led to the backyard of what I believe was an apartment complex. Perhaps this is a lesson for life - sometimes the road less traveled leads to a dead end. Of course a dead end is what you make of it. There's always the possibility of turning around, and that's exactly what I did.

What I found next was the sort of place that usually would have scared me to no end. A ring of logs sat in disarray around what looked to have once been a fire. The bottom pane on the screen door of the adjacent building had been blown out and every door and window was boarded up. The sound of dogs howling in the distance only added to the eerie feel. Each crunch of leaves as I walked threatened to wake whatever was inside, and at any minute I would turn around to find myself face to face with something truly terrible. If my imagination had its way I would die in that very spot and nobody would ever know what had happened.

However surprising it may seem, there was not an ounce of fear in my body as I circled the grounds and converted the place to a collection of harmless ones and zeros. When I was finished I returned to the forest unharmed.

On and off the sound of an ice cream truck rolling down otherwise quiet streets taunted me the entire time I was on the trail. The desire to locate this specter from my past overruled all common sense as its siren song pulled me from the trees. I emerged at another deserted park and proceeded to enter the adjoining neighbourhood with no idea what sort of people called it home. I gave up looking for the elusive vehicle on a street corner and somehow attracted the attention of a cat. She was black with patch of white on her front, green eyes, and no sound came out of her mouth on any of the occasions she opened it.

My confused interaction with this creature caught the attention of a man in an SUV that I assumed was driving home when he slowed down to talk to me. He wore glasses over his friendly eyes, held a cigar in one hand, and his white hair was pulled back in a pony tail. Did the cat belong to me? No. He said he was worried when he saw the animal so close to a busy road and drove away after leaving me "in charge". Not even twenty seconds later he was coming up the road in the other direction and stopped to talk to me once again. Did I have a pet? No, and I wasn't from there. He said he knew that and commented about how it was obvious I was concerned about the animal and that it wasn't mine. He remarked that I was a good person and drove away a final time.

As odd as the interaction was I walked away from that and the next - which took place with a little girl and her father - with even brighter eyes. It was nice to be friendly with people; to simply give them a smile and go on my way. I have to admit I was surprised to find so much happiness in such a simple act. I'll never see any of these people again, but the chance to encounter them briefly was more than worth the venture from my hotel room.

Back in the forest I determined the best move I could make was one in the direction of where I believed the car to be. A few steps after a veer left I realized I had made a wrong turn, but I could see large rocks ahead forming a bridge too tempting to turn from. I hopped happily to the other side for no reason other than that I could, then moved back and sat on one of the rocks with my feet dangling a fraction of an inch above the water. It was here that I turned the camera on myself and discovered that I make the same expressions at my own lens that have been caught by others. There was great comfort in the knowledge that who I am doesn't change when I'm alone; that I actually am real even if nobody knows what to do with that.

While the trigger to leave should have been how dim the light was becoming, it was the approach of a couple with a dog instead. I bounded back across my rock bridge, hopped among larger stones in the grass, and made my way down a trail that didn't look familiar at all. I knew I had approached the rocks straight on and I hadn't seen another direction for me to go. I continued in faith that I would soon see the dark grey that had made the trail there so distinct, but it never appeared.

This is where I became utterly confused. I kept walking knowing the path wasn't going back the way I had come, yet completely sure there hadn't been another one to take. Next thing I know I've rounded a corner to find the very first sign I had encountered when I entered the woods. One turn right and I was looking at the parking lot where the car sat waiting. It seemed impossible, as if somehow the world outside that forest had turned just the right way to ensure I came out where I needed to be.

Again the eight year old inside is fascinated. The imagination can find the most wonderful places when let free to float the wind as it pleases. Under circumstances such as these hers can't be anything but soaring.

Captured At:2108

Aside from some bizarre twist of fate that leaves me unable to connect to my website from the hotel room, this week is going very well. I have learned far more than I would have at the office and am looking forward to writing the report I'm supposed to go back with; what I have yet to determine is when it will actually get done.

Last night my coworker on the trip and I ventured out toward Alexandria to have dinner with someone on detail at HQ that he knows. This took us right by the Pentagon, which I don't believe I had seen before. When I first spotted the building I knew exactly what it was but, to be quite honest, it loses something from the ground. Sure it's massive and looks like a fortress, but that's about it. After a few wrong turns we circled back, found a parking space, and began walking.

The series of buildings lining the sidewalk housed an area of restaurants and stores on the lower floors, and the balconies and windows of apartments filled the spaces creating the skyline. A section of the plaza was fenced off for the construction underway on what we were told is the ice skating rink. Our small round table was placed next to that fence among the series of columns and large umbrellas that made up the outdoor dining area for the Lebanese restaurant we met at.

Sitting with people I barely know is always an awkward experience. I tried to listen with interest and ask questions here and there, but I still felt out of place. I didn't know any of the people whose names were tossed back and forth and had no idea what I could possibly contribute to a discussion of that nature. As they considered a bottle of wine it was clear watching the waiter that he couldn't determine whether I was old enough to drink, yet didn't especially want to ask. I was unquestionably much younger than the other two individuals at the table. From the outside one probably would have assumed I was dining with my parents instead of a stranger and an acquaintance.

The usual unease aside, there was a certain glow of wonder tugging inside of me while looking around. My eyes soaked in all they could as I recalled other urban adventures. The first time I went to New York City with a school group my comment was that I understood why they blow it up in the movies. Remembering that trip, as well as ones walking the streets in places like Boston, Chicago, and Seattle, I realized I was clearly too young at the time to appreciate the uniqueness that is city life. It's not something I would want to be immersed in every waking moment, but I really do enjoy being able to get out and experience it.

I have commented many times before on my desire to explore and travel. I have excluded remarks about the ghost that accompanies me on the occasions I do. As I observe my thoughts, feelings, and reactions while home and away, I can't help but feel like there's something I'm missing. It hovers inside my head much like those elusive words on the tip of a tongue that never become vocalized. Any moment there should be some click, some spark that finally connects it all.

There is nothing.

Not yet.

But there will be.

Captured At:1457

I know you must have loved me sometime
But now I'm just a toy...

After a week of wandering a virtually new place I tried to carry some of that excitement with me as I returned home. The eight year old who had come to play in the forest only days before rushed to the front of the train to be sure she could look out the large window and watch as it moved between terminals at the Orlando airport. She succeeded in acquiring her seat and took in the sunset-soaked palm trees with wide eyes and a bright smile. "It's home."

No sooner had those words formed than she vanished without a trace, leaving a melancholy shell that half-heartedly added, "It's sad, and it's lonely, but it's home". Faster than the blink of an eye everything had changed. The reality that I had returned to a land of heartache and memories I didn't want, where I would once again endure the solitary confinement of what felt like the smallest cubby in the universe, had set in.

I can't help feeling the injustice inherent in the paradox that is my life. For years people have told me how special I am and how important a role I play. They tell me how much I've helped them through difficult times or changed their lives. These are the few who have come anywhere close to knowing who I really am, and they honestly believe there's something incredibly precious and rare lighting me up from the inside. Based on these things they tell me how much I deserve, how happy they want me to be in life, how high they're waiting to see me fly, and how they're sure all of my dreams will come true.

When I laugh at these things, when I contradict them, they don't understand. The problem is that they don't look at reality. If they're right, if everything they say is true, shouldn't I get some choice in whether or not the majority of my life is being spent alone? Shouldn't I have friends who aren't fading into I-once-knews? Shouldn't I have that incredible relationship everyone tells me I deserve to be in? Shouldn't I be smiling and laughing as I exit the airport instead of hurriedly pushing through a crowd of people expectant for their loved ones with bitterness squeezing my heart? Shouldn't I have something?

I want to believe them. I honestly do. But I can't. How could I when I look at what my life has been and become? How can these words carry any weight when the very people who tell me how valuable I am and say they couldn't have asked for anything more abandon me, forget me, cast me out, and throw me away? Why does this happen time and again? I don't understand. What did I do to deserve it?

I found I was almost in tears watching the stretch of road the bus wheels left behind.

The rest of the week passed quickly and seemed to be looking up. What I brought in yesterday morning had the first guy that saw it saying he could go home right then and be happy the day was successful. Though there's still settling in to do, I've moved. It will take some getting used to I think, but it puts me closer to where I need to be now. I also found reason to believe I had actually learned something when I noticed my unease that a superior was explicitly establishing us as being on the same level. I'm not sure he realized this would produce the opposite of any potential desired effect. I need to be extremely cautious here; the last time something like that happened it ruined the lives of everybody involved.

I drove home unsure what the weekend held, but not worried about it in the least. Then, unexpectedly, the right button was pushed and I cried the rest of the way home. Again I didn't want to do anything because there wasn't a single thing that mattered. I thought I was doing better. This shouldn't still be happening.

I'm so tired of being manipulated, but the apprentice grabbing at the strings doesn't have a name or a face. I dance when he tugs my legs and tangle when he twists me to fall. With every careless thunk of parts the paint chips and the wood so carefully molded into my fragile body dents and cracks. Every time I'm put down and think the show may finally be over I'm passed off to another to dangle mid-air yet again. How long must this go on before the master takes the handle away and sends me to have the splinters sanded and the colors reapplied? Will I ever be cut free?

I ask that and realize that I don't even know what freedom means anymore. One more victory for the manipulator, the game continues.

Captured At:1546

Oh the joys of having an alarm go off that you completely forgot about. My stomach hurts this morning like it used to do when I'd drink. Either soda is the next thing to completely ban, or piano bars are. I'd much rather the former.

It was really nice to get out last night and be able to spend a few hours laughing, smiling, singing badly, and pretending there isn't a thing in the world trying to hold me down. This is one of those cases where I know exactly what's bothering me, so the challenge I face isn't surviving until the bad feelings go away. It's all about control in this round.

As we left I came to the sad realization that in the handful of times I've been to Pat O'Briens, that was the first one where I could actually remember walking out the door. It was like seeing the place for the first time. The owner of the current "bec is cool" away message laughed and thought that was great. Torn between surprise at the fact, embarassment, and total disappointment in myself, I disagreed.

One of the major categories my life regrets can be summarized into is "When, for whatever reason, I did things that I knew weren't me". Drinking is one of those. Entire motivation unknown, I became great at playing up a lifestyle that I actually didn't believe in. Until this very moment it never crossed my mind that the reason I was an apologetic drunk may have been because I knew I was doing something wrong. I knew I had crossed the line and lost control. That night in March I didn't attempt to apologize once. It's part of what made the event so disturbing, but I didn't even connect that dot until the next afternoon when I was driving home from picking up my car.

While I watched the crowd last night I was thankful for my sober state. I had never noticed just how sad and pained the expressions of completely intoxicated people are. I watched them fall down, knock things over, and engage in acts that just don't need to be done publicly. Contrary to popular belief, the "sinners" aren't more fun. They're just too gone to care what a sad condition they choose to put themselves in.

I won't say I have the whole "freedom" thing from yesterday figured out, but this is definitely part of it. It feels wonderful to not be doing that stuff anymore. If only I could teach people that real joy is better than any alternate substance. Maybe they'd toss the bottles away too...

Captured At: 836

There was a slight chill to the air when I walked out the door this morning that told me the end of the year is only going to get harder. I reminded myself not to look too far ahead and pressed on.

Making an overdue trip to my mailbox tonight my mind went back to what feels like forever ago. It was dark, late, and chilly. A struggle was going on between two members of the group walking through the dorm quad as one made an attempt to push the other into the frigid stream of "ass water" the sprinklers produced. We had just returned from the one enjoyable thing characterizing that time for me: a boat party.

I'm unable to recall if this was the same night I went upstairs to find warmer clothes before driving to wake up a sleeping new boyfriend with the intention of dragging him to the sunrise. Unfortunatley I failed to persuade him that the chill of the morning ocean was nicer than the warmth of his blankets.

It is amazing to me how clear that all becomes when I speak of it. I can see the apartment before he moved and vaguely sense whatever innate quality drifting through the air made it unmistakably his. I haven't thought of these things a long time.

I wish I could tell him this. I wish I could send off a message that says "Hey, remember when..." and laugh for a little while because even in the confusion there was something good. Words can't quite convey how sad it is for me to realize the deterioration that has taken place; to know how out of touch we are and that I've forgotten things that once made me happy. They're gone, he's gone... you will be too. This is how life - my life, your life, all life - works.

My only comment on him tonight is that I sincerely hope he's happy. I hope he has found somebody wonderful who sees the things in him I tried so hard to explain to others, as well as the countless qualities I'm sure I missed. I hope she makes him laugh exponentially more than I ever made him cry. I hope she gushes over his gifts, adores as she is adored, shares his vision of that picture perfect life, and wants nothing more than to love and treasure him all her days. I want him to have his dreams. He needs somebody good to take care of him.

Then again, don't we all?

Captured At:2314

Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya...

~*~*ONE*~*~
I was supposed to be going home. The parking lot my feet stepped onto was not the one that had suddenly become more crowded in the course of a year, but one the loss of sunlight had emptied out. I didn't know why I was there. These days I never seem to. I sat on the railing propped up against a post observing the angle of the roof against the sky. Was the moon full? It looked as if it were.

A couple stood silhouetted on a familiar staircase, their hopes to walk drenched by the lapping of a high tide on the shore. Often the place isn't nearly as important as the company, or the absence thereof. I didn't have to be alone, but I had chosen it. If I knew where my mind was then, I'm no longer privileged to the information. All I see is the edge of the roof, or moonlight outlining my form against the pavilion. I'm at a loss to explain the third person perspective I'm claiming, but it's there very clearly.

I don't remember leaving. I don't remember returning to the cluster of blue buildings I have come to wish I didn't like living in. Without the post I would remember nothing from the close of that night at all. Somehow, though, I still see that sharp line. Somehow, even though I don't understand it, I see me.

~*~*TWO*~*~
It was well past dark when I left the office. The only thing I could think of to do on the way home was go back to the water. Navigating SR-3 I was passed by a car with the license plate "IM 4EVER" that I was strangely tempted to stay close too. I wondered who was in the car and what the tag meant. I couldn't catch them, though I tried. It's oddly symbolic. I never did believe in forever, and clearly I'm unable to keep it when it's in front of me.

Stormy skies breed some of the most amazing sunsets one can see from the earth. On this evening a deluge of neon orange glows to the west, a mass of purple lightly lined with bright pink hovers in the east, and a cloud-streaked pastel rainbow connects them. Inside an active imagination the sky is being torn in two, ripped top to bottom to reveal pools of lava instead of the expected blackness. The light has changed outfitting all eyes with the only rose-colored glasses true to life. Everything is different.

She slips in late and takes a seat in the empty back row. Watching the stage she remembers the nights she waited for him when the show was done. She never would have admitted to it, but even then she knew what kept her coming back. It had now joined the ranks of other long lost treasures confined to boxes in the back of a clouded mind. She was sure he never knew.

Sometimes, when the wind turns the right direction and the stars find the proper alignment, she'll speak without coaxing. The words flow out wrapped in kind honesty, their tone hovering between joy and sadness. Though all is in the past, she speaks a narration as if the event is still taking place before her eyes.

Unshared memories finally find words. Unrequested admissions reveal a person unknown to all except the girl herself. Unspoken dreams form from all she hasn't the courage to hope for. To see her this way is to experience the real. The purity in her voice as she reveals her strongest fears and deepest sorrows tells the story of one struggling to be genuine within a dark, cold, manufactured world.

"Will she be okay?"
"I don't know. Is anyone ever okay?"
"Yes, some of us are every now and again."

Captured At: 109

I know what I want to write about tonight, but I can't.

I want to explain what it's like to feel the world go from August to December with the passing of one storm.

I want to spark the fragile awe of looking into a cool, clear, crisp night sky.

I want to share the silent pain of wondering when your life will have some semblance of normalcy again, and the fear that it won't ever be anything close.

I want to show the hope inside a girl who looked to the stars for something she never believed was possible and the heartbreak of those dreams slipping away.

I want to pass along the shiver rising from an October ocean driving observers west into a rainbow sky.

I want to talk about how amazing it is that I can give somebody I nearly never talk to anymore a 100% true answer about how I'm doing without a second thought; how I suddenly wished years and hundreds of miles didn't separate us.

I would love nothing more than to put the world as it currently is into beautiful, flowing, tangible words that appear to effortlessly capture everything within it. I want to move people to something so powerful in its simplicity they shake their heads in disbelief that they could have missed such a thing.

I want to share. To awaken. To inspire.

I want all of these things but, like many, they are beyond me. I am unable to reach out, carefully cup them in my hands, and draw them close. I don't generally want much, but perhaps I'm unreasonable in my endangered desires.

I want to give...something. All I have is me. It's so little, but it's offered freely. I won't even ask anything in return.

Do you see?

Do you understand?

It's so simple.

Too simple.

But this is what it is.

Captured At:2218

Has she really lost her mind...

There is a pair of uninhabited cubicles in my division hallway that a group of my coworkers sit at every day for lunch. Each half contains the standard L-shaped configuration of desks, but the divider is missing to allow space for two round tables to nestle as closely to each other as the curvature allows.

On this day every seat is taken by some one I either work for or have worked with in some respect. My supervisor leans against an assembled wall directly in front of me. I'm sitting on a desk dangling my legs over the edge as I generally do. They're talking, but for some reason every word just sounds like noise. I can't make sense of a single syllable.

Even when explicitly invited I feel awkward being there. I feel like I'm intruding somehow; like they only tolerate me because they're trying to be nice. As I looked down at my sneakers moving forward and back I realized how much I felt like a kid all out of place in a room full of grown ups.

The irony here is that one of my old bosses recently told me he never thought of me as a kid. At nearly a quarter of a century most of the world believes I'm an adult, yet somehow in all of this I still feel like a child. That might not be so bad at 24, but what about 40? Will I still be doing this? I see that number and all I can think is, "Crap. I'm almost 30." I don't like this.

My quacking at the ducks only supported the theory that some things never change. I'm not sure why the logical thing to do on such a cold night was take a walk, but I did it anyway. It was supposed to be a little time away to refocus before bed. I think I have come to greatly dislike the phrase "supposed to".

Halfway around the complex something went terribly wrong. The friendly dialogue I had been carrying on inside my head turned hostile and condemning, only to receive rebuttals for its accusations. It was like standing near two people who are fighting. You have no idea what's going to happen next, but you're completely aware of the conversation taking place. I would love to say I was hearing strange voices, but they both sounded like me.

The more they carried on the more frustrated I became. My anger over what was taking place broke through the original altercation to become part of it. Anyone walking by would have thought I was crazy with how wildly my arms were flying through the air with no one to receive the gestures.

And then, for no reason at all, I dropped to the ground right there in the parking lot. My knees had begged to hit the pavement and I left them there as I folded in, head bent, palms clasping the back of my neck. It's not the safest place to find yourself crying, but there I was just the same.

I think part of the reason I don't believe in fairy tales or happy endings is that I've written far too many of them in my lifetime. I easily have an entire book of daydreams and real scenes that could have ended with, "And she/they lived happily ever after". None of them ever happened. Nothing ever came close.

I've created many ways to end even this sad tale, but none are true to life. In the real story she walked home alone in the dark with air chilling the tears on her face. Nobody cared to notice.

One of the biggest problems with the imagination is that when you step out of it the real world can do nothing but disappoint you.

An entire year of my life gone, and for what? I don't like this game anymore.

Captured At:2139

While handing off a glass of water:

Liz: "Where's my lemon and straw?"
Dad: "In the restaurant where it belongs."

Yeah, it's good to be home...

Captured At: 106

Realizing it's nearly time to return to Florida is a bit of a bummer. The only other observation I have tonight is how surprising it is that I cannot come up with much more than that to say. A few times I found myself with an anxious feeling I didn't understand, but other than that the trip up here has been relaxing and enjoyable. I am very thankful to have such wonderful people in my family.

Dad carved pumpkins with me because nobody else would. Though I'm old enough to wield my own weapon for the surgery now, there was a time when he was the sole artisan forming faces into orange shells for three excited children who had their own ideas of what a jack o' lantern should look like. I can still see our old dining room table covered with newspapers as he worked...

I'll refrain from reliving the Halloween memories that spring to mind and instead leave a picture in the spirit of the holiday. True last year's masterpiece was cute, but every time I look over at the table and find this one sitting there I grin like the child I am. It's silly, yet at the same time entirely not. Again I'm awed by the power of the tiniest, simplest things.

Captured At: 142