Somehow I just can't seem to write anything. I want to. I've tried to. I'm failing miserably.

Much to my dismay, the temperatures have turned as a sign that December has officially arrived. Tomorrow marks my first day off since Thanksgiving. The grand plan (as usual) is nothing, which hovers somewhere between being a wonderful thought and a terrifying one. I could certainly use the rest, but returning to quiet after the commotion has historically not gone well. It also doesn't help that I was already exhausted before being tossed overboard to begin treading water in this churning pool of uncertainty and denial. There really is no way to tell what a week will bring.

As with the past few days, my thoughts tonight seem to center on my work relationships. I am still surprised that I, being the youngest in the group, was in charge of our conference activities this week. It's one thing to feel that sort of appreciation and respect from the people you work with every day. It's quite another to realize individuals you have never met from other locations are regarding you the same.

For months now one of the conclusions I have continued returning to is that I need some good people in my life. Perhaps the most important thing to come out of this week was the realization that I am privileged to work with a number of them every day. I am further convinced that calling us a family wasn't just a catchy term; it was stating a reality.

Most surprising to me was how they noticed the clouds at times when I felt completely invisible. I didn't get to laugh at a remark about how I looked like someone had just killed my puppy because I was too amazed how accurately that described a feeling I hadn't quite put words to. Softer sides exposed themselves in vocal tones and a few reassuring vertical rubs along my back. A couple even gave me hours of their time to do no more than listen to whatever I might care to say.

None of them have a full picture. I speak about the general situation I have been struggling to rise from, but the triggers that make it more difficult between one day and the next stay entirely with me. I know it's obvious something is being withheld. I also feel I'm being misleading by not providing all of the information. At some point maybe that will change.

I can't begin to explain what it feels like to know these people are there should I need them. I may be at a different stage in life, I may not agree with their views on business, politics, religion, or other sensitive subjects, but at the end of the day I know they're human just like I am, and I would be right there for them if the situations were reversed.

Captured At: 020

My first thought upon exiting the apartment this morning was how incredibly nice of a day we have on this first December Sunday of 2005. It's ideal weather for any weekend; sunny, yet resting at a comfortable temperature with an occasional light breeze. The only complaint I could make was that I saw no way how I could use it.

Returning to church after a few weeks of absence was wonderful. Somewhere in my mind history says that's an odd sentence for me to write, but the fact that I can knowing it's entirely true only further persuades me to do so. I certainly don't have the answers I want yet, but the slow flipping of switches has cast enough light to show me I'm building the understanding I need in far more important areas first. It's going to be a long process, but today I am unwavering in my faith they will come. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord, right?

What actually compels me to write happened somewhere on Croton with "Joyride" being fed to Milo by the metallic blue iPod resting in my left hand. When I hear the song I often see Mr. Matthews as a greedy, sinister man perched much like the Grinch looking down upon Whoville as he shares his wicked, deceitful desires to take the people below for everything from their money to their souls. I was happily singing along admiring the sky and how beautiful Florida is as the song reached its climax.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!
Everything's playing out...

In each yell along with the word "yes" I was hit by a convoluted whirl of thought, feeling, and imagery. I flashed back to an unidentifiable moment in my college career where I was on the road feeling like I had the entire world at my disposal. I was alive and excited and pulling every ounce of enjoyment possible from life with a grin of triumph and hope stretched across my face. A split second later I was confused to realize I was years ahead on different roads lacking any outlet for the overwhelming high I had been launched to because I was alone and everything I knew was gone. I realized I felt more like myself than I had for a long time, which both encouraged and disturbed me. And somewhere, behind all of it, was an intense agony that pinched traces of tears from my eyes and pounded relentlessly at my core.

I had absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at the exact same time. I was falling down the darkest, deepest hole the Earth could contain while floating a million miles off of it. These two intense opposites collided somewhere inside my chest fighting so furiously I was sure my heart would explode. I rounded the final corner in my complex thinking how happy I would be when the year was over and it would all stop.

That thought made even less sense.

The blinds in my living room have found themselves open for the first time in several months, and the walls are soaking in every bit of the sunlight they've been starved for. As I lounge here on the futon I can tell I'm on the verge of kicking back into OCD mode with an almost destructive vengeance if I'll just give in. It does wonders cleaning up the mess I live in, but little for the mess I have become.

I can't wait until I sparkle.

Captured At:1429

"I just want you to know who I am..."

I awoke to find my laptop resting closed on the bed next to me. The night before I had placed it on the floor and rolled over with a tiger's fluffy body pulled into my chest as close as possible. Although I was puzzled, there wasn't time to ponder how the relocation happened. I was late. Not a little, like I generally am, but late enough to feel I needed to tell somebody.

The scent of the long unused white lotion being rubbed into post-shower arms drifted on the bathroom fog to permeate a head confused how the day had already gotten away from it. Those thoughts were soon erased by the powerful force of awoken memories. He had always preferred this over the lavender.

We had gotten together in September after months of uncertainty as to what the future would bring. A hectic year was almost finished and I had returned just in time to celebrate the beginning of the one to come. It was certain to be a time of change, but I was on too great of a high to concern myself much with how. The buzz of past success and the eyes of love made everything seem possible.

I drove in that morning remembering when the grounds were new, then spent the day feeling like I was in college again. The lecture failed to hold my interest, which left me wishing for a friend to ping from the laptop resting in front of me as I sat cross-legged on the floor. When I excused myself I was struck by how new the building was. I spent a few minutes looking through a window that stretched floor to ceiling before determining the hallway was abandoned enough to sit in for a little while. I rested with my back against the wall - knees bent, arms wrapped around them - and remembered the day during my final semester that I left Crypto to do something similar - take a few minutes to collect myself. I was right back in that time remembering everything I was thinking and feeling. My eyes watered watching the wind slide past the only tree in sight, my only thought being, "I can't do this".

Hours later, after eating dinner with a different face across the table, I called. When he failed to answer I detoured to my tree by the river. Once again I wanted to melt into my surroundings; to be a part of the calm and the beauty and the magic. My mind was at peace, but my heart felt like it was crying. I never knew it could do that on its own.

I could hear the music playing through his car when he called back. I told him I remembered having a live version of the song before it was recorded because the group had just begun playing it during the semester it brought to mind. I would listen to it as I played mindless computer games in a room that smelled slightly of mint feeling like I had the entire world right there in that space.

"One of those things I had that semester...those things that made me so happy...was you. I never would have admitted it, but I knew."

There's a slightly desperate tone to his voice as he asks me why we can't be happy again. It's innocent; almost scared.

"We can be. And we will. We weren't given life to spend it feeling like this."

The conversation lasts only a few minutes longer.

"I'm sorry for every time I made you feel like you were second," he says.

I pause slightly before offering the response that has immediately come to mind. I need to feel the weight of it; to remember what it is I'm committing myself to before offering what may be the most powerful two-word phrase there is.

"You're forgiven."

The last communication is a wish for sweet dreams and a reminder that he loves me. Usually I disregard the second, but tonight I tell him the same. Maybe I saw the right part of him. Maybe I found the right part of me.

I look at the phone in my hands after I close it and mentally trace around the blue frame.

"Yes, I do love him."

Captured At: 024

My instructor has just plunged back into the world of code. This time it's C++ instead of the scripts we had been looking at before. Minutes ago he determined I had a very solid grasp of the subject we were discussing; so much so that in trying to explain it to others I was touching on things he hadn't even covered. It has also been determined that I know all the Linux I would need to do what we're looking to at this point.

These last three days have reminded me of the reasons I both hated and miss being a student. I love to learn, to know, and to understand. I like to be the one who gets it -especially when others don't - and I love to share my knowledge and watch things click when they catch up. What I dislike is being forced into the depths of class hierarchies and having somebody stand at the front of a room reading lines of code to me. Show me how it works. Show me how to play with it. Give me a practical application so I can see why the rule or the algorithm is so important.

DC One

In many respects the road is better when company is present. A good companion provides another set of eyes to scan the surroundings, calling attention to what your own may have missed. They suggest destinations when your ideas have run out and keep you away from trouble when they see you wander too close. Be it home or abroad, physically or metaphorically, the bonds created on a venture into uncharted territory are unmatched.

Those of us destined to travel alone have a different experience. Our solitary condition allows us to move at a pace of our own design; one often too lax or too rapid to satisfy the preferences of another. The intimidation of numbers non-existent, we're presented with more opportunities to interact with others previously unknown to us. Only in those moments can the power inherent in the lightest of touches be fully realized. Most importantly, the lone explorer comes face to face with the one thing that cannot be run from: them self.

These two paragraphs served as the introduction to a collection I began composing under the heading, "Reflections on Washington: Thoughts and Stories From the Nation's Capital". It has yet to be finished. In spite of this, I have decided to take advantage of the fact that the stories have the ability to stand on their own and post them as I find myself in situations where my words have escaped me when I want to share. Tonight, after two months of waiting, I present the first composition.

Motivation for the solo drive out of Herndon resulted from the combination of a penchant for deserted places and the threat of weekend rain. With darkness quickly approaching and questions such as where to park, what happened if there was a problem, and how sure I was that I could get back never entering my mind, this plan was inchoate at best. As a result I drove circles around many blocks before a suitable resting place for the car was found and a very long walk began.

The monuments and key buildings in the city are spectacular after dark. Not only are they lit up, but with most tourists exhausted from the excursions of the day they're also empty. You walk from one to the next finding a handful of people at each, yet somehow don't encounter anybody as you move between them. Jefferson stands in the middle of his domed palace with a strong sense of purpose, the courage and resolve of the men who built this country packing every inch of space between walls, floor and ceiling. Lincoln watches as you ascend the steps to stand before him and gaze into eyes that even stone cannot take the life from. There are flags visible everywhere, both on nearby buildings and in the distance. The grand architecture carries the pride and promise of a nation setting out on its own, and if you pause just a moment in the middle of all this you can feel everything the United States of America is supposed to stand for.

Then you walk farther. Within three blocks of where the President and his family sleep soundly you find the benches occupied by others resting their heads. You question how they survive when the winter comes. You wonder what their story is. How did the Land of Opportunity fail them?

The roads nearest to the White House are blocked off to cars, and other passages are closed to pedestrians. Barriers of all varieties have been erected in front of the entrances to numerous buildings whose steps are closed after dark. There are police and security guards stationed everywhere. I don't understand how they can claim we're winning the War on Terror when every visible sign indicates that the heart of our country is living in fear.

Back at the west end of the Mall a ghostly procession of soldiers ascends a hill. Some look nervous and unsure as they stand frozen in the darkness. At the summit of their climb an inscription tries to remind everyone who passes by of a truth they are too quick to forget: freedom is not free. Proof lies around the corner in each letter of every name carved into the famed wall of remembrance. A small group of men stands next to it talking and scanning the list. One of them reaches out, places his left palm on the stone, and looks into it as if he's reconnecting with something. My eyes welled with tears as I watched him. I could pause and bow my head, but adding my own fingerprints to that wall would have been an act of sacrilege. I walked away torn between gratitude, empathy, and a strong sense of unworthiness. People risk their lives every day because they believe in something bigger than themselves. Who am I that anyone should die for me?

Captured At: 002

This morning I plopped into the chair at my desk without removing my knapsack or the headphones in my ears. With training and the conference behind me and my project in limbo until our developers are back under contract, I had no idea what would appear to keep me busy. Knowledge this time would be coming has made me slightly nervous for weeks. The last thing I need is to find myself in a position where the office has emptied out at the same time my last good friend in Melbourne leaves permanently and I have nothing to keep my mind occupied enough not to be troubled by it.

There was a time when I couldn't do anything without music. I'd fall asleep with it in the background at night and wake up to it every morning. One playlist or another was always cycling in my room when I was home, a CD was always cranked up in my car, and my Discman was spinning at every opportunity. Anyone who knew that girl would not have been surprised that I shifted computers in my cubicle while plugged into an iPod. Something in me simply couldn't take the silence today.

As I sat with a pair of monitors behind me and a trio of laptops spanning the larger desk I was looking at, a song came on that I remember listening to quite a bit back in the February/March timeframe. It caught me enough off guard that it hurt; I felt the strain of crying without a single tear running the length of my face. That was enough to prod me into action.

Life is a string of moments, each with equal possibility of impacting a person in a way they never would have guessed. Somehow the lesser ones make the important ones seem much more powerful, and that's why I've spent three paragraphs in dull commentary. It's an important backdrop for what really moved me to post because it speaks to my mental state as it happened.

Leaving the iPod behind, I walked into the office of the guy I'm working for hoping his teleconference was over. There's a cubicle wall between him and the door for noise suppression, so he can never tell who has just entered until they come around it. When I emerged he looked up from the papers in his hands and asked, "What can I do to make you happy?" I laughed and made a remark I can't remember implying how difficult an answer was, then sat down at an invitation to see what he'd been reading.

His explanation of the pages only received a fraction of my attention. Somewhere in my head I was wondering about the question. It seemed like such an odd phrasing, especially as a greeting. There was also something in the tone that didn't carry the usual outward personality of this man whose other side I often wonder about. His words came across as genuine, not snappy, bothered, or sarcastic. Naturally I told myself I was reading far too much into a simple inquiry, and focused again on the sheets in front of me.

There was a brief silence when he finished talking before he leaned his head back on the chair, turned to look at me and asked, "What can I do to make you a happier person?" In true Bec fashion I avoided the question and changed the subject by asking what I'm supposed to be doing. Part of me wishes I hadn't.

Many times on the drive home I flashed back to this. I could see his expression as he sat in front of me and hear the words as asked the second time. I wanted an answer; a real, genuine, painfully honest if necessary answer to go back with that would let him see me through everything I do not, have not, and almost cannot say.

This is where it gets difficult. Happiness is a tricky thing with little assurance of longevity. I wanted the answer to have an impact, but I also wanted it to be true. What sounded right that would actually make a real difference? I came to realize the person who actually needed an answer to the question wasn't him. Life was never going to improve if I kept looking to other people to make me happy. I had to find the answer for me.

I still don't have it, but watching the words that have appeared on this page has helped me come to an important conclusion about what I need - what I've always needed, really. Characters away from typing it out my mind flashes to an IM conversation at least half a year ago in which somebody told me the very thing I was about to write here. They were dead on, demonstrating once again how well they knew who I was without me having to say a thing. I really miss that.

Part of me pictures their window on the right monitor of my old cubicle and tells me I can't give away all the answers. The other tells me even meeting that need won't make me happy because there are too many additional things that would be missing.

As for what I tell him, even if I knew I don't think I get the chance. Much like the "Thank you" I never said when he was kind enough to give me a few of his hours one night, I wouldn't know how to approach it. Some of that is me. The rest is fear, and I know exactly why I'm scared. No one is safe.

Captured At:2058

Playing with lyrics is fun. Here are some of my family favorites from the holiday season...

"Up on the housetop reindeer falls...."
"One again as in olden days, happy golden days, up yours..."
"Let it go, let it go, let it go"
"And io io io, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah"
"From Atlantic to Pacific, gee the traffic is horrific."
"Christmas day will always be, just so long as you have me..."

DC Two

Smiles are curious things. One kind or acknowledging flexing of the facial muscles possesses enough energy to illuminate an entire world. There's magic in their exchange that is simply unexplainable.

It was raining as my coworker and I trudged toward the National Cathedral. Thankful for the green umbrella he had been kind enough to pick up for me, I held it over an already damp head as my eyes fell upon an older man walking toward us without one. He was bald and wore a long light brown coat over his clothes that seemed to engulf his entire body. When we got closer he held his arms straight out in front of him with the palms up as if to show the precipitation had stopped. The light in his eyes as he acted out this playful gesture shone clearly through his glasses evoking a slight laugh from my lips. His only words as we passed were, "I worked hard for that generous smile".

This encounter, which some would think is completely bizarre, was wonderful to me. A person I didn't know and will never pass again wanted to see me happy, even if only for a moment. Not only that, but he was clearly thrilled to have gotten a more genuine response than he expected. The exchange ignited a light inside of us brighter than any the clouds could block. I remembered the man on that Seattle street corner who thanked me for something similar, and I told my walking buddy that for some reason people seem to like seeing me smile. Ever since I was a kid I can remember being encouraged to twist my mouth into that joyful 'u'. It was often written off as some sort of obligation on the part of people I knew, so to find the same thing coming from strangers lately is incredible. I won't pretend to understand, but I will enjoy it.

At dinner that night I was moved to do something completely childish. Within seconds of my coworker asking what I was doing the answer was clear - the shuffling of my fork had regrouped the leftover food on the plate into a happy face. Somewhere between headshakes of embarrassment, disbelief, and amusement I saw his face soften into a sincere, heartfelt smile. We had laughed together for days, but in that instant I knew I hit something much deeper.

Somebody once told me I'm destined to touch people. If that's the sort of thing they had in mind, I truly hope they're right. Watching worn layers melt away to reveal the softer core of person is an amazing privilege. I hope I never take it for granted.

Captured At:2233

"I'll meet you anytime you want..."

The restaurant is surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. We're seated at a booth next to the window with unoccupied tables around us, and only the periodic appearance of a hostess or busboy indicates we're not completely alone. I claim to be watching the screen above the bar as I trace a line of upside-down glasses with my eyes, but what really has my attention is him. He sits across from me in the half light sipping a small glass of wine, quietly singing along with the Italian music drifting through the speakers. Over the course of an hour I've listened to the sorrows and fears that come with realizing one's time is nearly up. This place was always his favorite, and I want to soak in everything I can to remember what it was like to watch him in his element.

When the check comes we laugh together as we remember fighting over one on a night we were out shortly after we had first met. To his dismay, the total was on my half when the bill ripped as I yanked it out of his hands. As I allow him to pull out his card tonight he comments that we have come a long away. We go from there to welcome a family I haven't seen in a year and a half; one I'm nervous to find myself face to face with knowing what I do of how I broke his heart. They smile while making conversation as if I'd never been away and, much to my surprise, his father completely lights up when he discovers I'm there, gives me an enthusiastic embrace, and asks when I'm coming to see the new house.

Through the memories and the quirks and the quiet times I remember being happy with him and how it felt when we were together, both as friends and a couple. Even with our hours together having dwindled since the breakup I can't believe this is really it; I can't believe he won't be there anymore. Somewhere in the back of my head all I can think as the evening plays out is, "Don't go. Don't leave me. Please. Stay here."

I know he has to go, and I'm wishing him every good thing this world has to offer. It's time for the next phase of his life to begin. Things he has been dreaming of for years are about to come true, and he needs to meet that future with confidence and courage that it contains amazing, wonderful, unimaginable things he'll miss for the rest of his life if he doesn't go.

Every good wish doesn't make it easier. Knowing I'll be missed doesn't change how much I know I'm going to cry when it all sinks in, and this time the shoulders my tears have eroded won't be there if I want them.

For me, I'm scared. The last tether is about to snap, casting me into a void without limit. I have to keep believing it will all be okay, but I remain terrified. Though only a temporary solution, I combat this the only way I know how - I turn my focus to him.

How do I want him to remember these last days? How do I make him happy? What does he need? How can I make sure he leaves knowing he's loved? How can I take care of him for the very small amount of time we have left?

And he will be missed...

Captured At: 324

"And ours is a road, that is strewn with good-byes..."

It's amazing how easy it is to live a day as if it's any other and forget that by the end of it your entire world will have changed. I had dinner and talked with people I will most likely never see again because my link to them has gone, and I would bet they never gave it thought because I wasn't the one leaving. I acted like that wasn't the case, but I knew better.

Back at the house I tried to block out my feelings by focusing on the task at hand. Despite my best attempts, I kept thinking that once again I was packing up somebody I love to send them away. As I stood in the bathroom doorway watching his reflection in the mirror I could hear another voice saying, "You're taking me home, Princess." So much for Heinlein's remark about people doing what they want to every time; it feels like I constantly have to suck it up and do something incredibly difficult and/or painful that I would prefer not to because it's what somebody else needs or wants.

When the car was finally packed we sat in the emptied room force-feeding each other cheesecake as if nothing had changed. Then he got an idea. A simple, thoughtful, slightly destructive idea. The slow, careful appearance of our initials in the wall reminded me of carving into my closet before leaving New York. That's when it really started to hit.

This whole thing has been difficult because I can't take it as an isolated incident. There are too many things surrounding it; too many that get sucked in.

One more time I stood on a starry beach crying into somebody saying they'll miss me, they don't want to leave, they love me and nothing will ever change that. They say it will all be okay, but they won't say good-bye. They tell me I'm beautiful and that they want to see me happy; that they want to see me marry somebody who is everything I ever dreamed of - somebody who is everything for me that they couldn't be - and that they want to see my children. They tell me not to give up on us, that they'll be there, and that I won't be forgotten.

I know the words are genuine, but the pained part of me feels like I'm being fed lines that I should know better than to believe by now. What makes this time any different from the last, and how much longer can I tell myself something better really exists? It seems horribly unfair, yet when I say that I know I, myself, haven't been fair. I also know I've lost a year of my life doing God only knows what because for some stupid reason I feel I have to accept it as payback for putting people through things that nobody should have to deal with.

I opened my browser to discover that my last post was entered four days ago to the minute of when I have begun writing today. My eyes haven't so frequently seen this side of 5am since college, but once again circumstance dictates it. Arrivals and departures; these are the things life is made of.

Two weeks ago there were several things I wanted to write down, but I couldn't find the words and somehow the time has blown by me. In part, this may be my own doing. One can only say something so many times before they begin to believe it them self, and my answer as of late on the few occasions people have tried to talk to me is, "There's nothing to say".

This is both true and not. It's slightly complicated, and I feel like I'm lying to everybody. On the occasions I do talk no one gets the full story. I also never seem to give 100% of the few things I touch on, yet I walk away from every conversation feeling as if I've said far too much. I know my logical, rational mind of excuses can come up with any number of reasons why this is the course of action I'm taking, and that it is responsible for the answer I'm so often providing.

I know a number of things. In the future it's almost certain I'll know more, whether I want to or not. This gets me nowhere. When paired it's a powerful force, but knowledge alone is of little value.

To further complicate matters, stating why I'm not talking feels like giving too much information away. Ironically enough I'm making this remark on a web page anyone in the world could find. There's not much sense in that at all. Or maybe I'm just too naïve to fully comprehend that I'm not as isolated as I feel - both in real life and in this space. The balance of my perception is all off in more areas than I can list. This makes me nervous; a mind divided is a dangerous thing.

Captured At: 538

So this is Christmas...

I don't remember exactly what time the alarm went off, but it was dark and the house was quiet. Focused on creating as little disturbance as possible I gathered my bags and crept to the bathroom to shower and dress. I emerged to find nothing had changed; all were still asleep.

My bags returned to their resting place where they were traded for a purple jacket, a blue cell phone, and a camera. I welcomed the Christmas sun that morning standing alone on the frozen lawn slightly to the north of my grandparents' house and watched until I couldn't stand the chill of a New York December any longer. He hadn't even begun to poke his head over the mountains.

This December has been drastically different from the last one. There was no sense of joy as the holiday approached. There were no carols, no shopping trips, no hours on the ice, no decorations, and no desire to "play Christmas" at all. A half-hearted collection of presents I uncharacteristically didn't enjoy wrapping stacked up next to a coffee table littered with pieces of a puzzle providing my only glimpse of snow for the year. I dislike myself for it, but I really wanted my family to go north for the holiday so they could spend it with everyone else.

Again I set an alarm so I could go watch the sunrise - this time from the beach - but I lacked the enthusiasm to obey it. I awoke in time to make my way toward church with the hope something would strike a chord to cure me of the case of "humbug" I'd been diagnosed with. I don't believe my family should suffer just because I do. They're not blind. They see something is not as it should be whether I'll acknowledge it or not. Again I ask myself, "What's there to say?"

Most of the house was asleep when I arrived. My brother hadn't woken up to attend mass with the rest of them, my mother had gone back for a nap, and my sister wouldn't be making an appearance until late that night if at all. The day passed like any other.

Driving home I concluded that I had been spoiled by a childhood of the large family gatherings that traditionally fell in succession over the holidays. I grew up with the scenes they capture in movies with the snow and the decorations, the family members bundled up as they arrive to add items to the pile of presents spilling from beneath the tree, the music, the long tables covered with food, the laughing and singing and frustrations...

I know I've been blessed to have had that at any time in my life, but it was sad to realize those years are over and I wondered if Christmas would ever feel anything like that again. I tell myself that maybe things will be different when I'm older - that maybe if I end up with a family of my own I'll get to have some of that back - but I don't actually believe it.

Despite my reasons, despite everything I've experienced lately to the contrary, I have to keep hoping and trusting and believing that nothing is impossible. It's difficult and painful, but I've found nothing pulls me farther away from who I am than turning my back on that. It's a new day. Next week begins a new year. Melancholy or not, I need to remember that anything can happen.

Captured At:1232

Last year a friend of mine stated that New Year's Eve is a time when you're supposed to go out and celebrate with your friends, not stay home and be a loser. Naturally this boosted my morale as staying home was the only item on my agenda. As 2005 draws to a close I will once again not be out partying. It would appear I'm going out the same as I began: a loser.

Today I was told that this is one year I need to be over. There's quite a bit of truth to that statement, but I'm also fully aware that I don't get to forget just because it's time to hang a new calendar on the wall. While I wish the transition from 2005 would instantly grant me freedom I know it's a year that's undoubtedly going to be with me for the rest of my life. These last few days have found me very heavy and sad and I wish I could understand why.

There was an odd glow to my room as the alarm coaxed me awake on Friday morning. I stumbled over to peer out of the blinds and found the sky was painting soft shades of pink and orange above the buildings across the street. Normally this is the sort of thing that motivates me to wake up and enjoy the world, but all I could feel was this huge, painful hole inside of me. I fell back into bed and didn't wake up for another three hours.

I have to admit it was nice to realize I was being paid to lounge around on the couch with my laptop that day, but something still didn't feel right. Next thing I knew over nine hours were gone and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I needed to do something good for me.

For weeks I have been telling myself I was going to wander to the park one night while they still have the Christmas lights up. Sneaking in was easier in thought than practice; how hidden can you really be walking behind a wire frame adorned with blinking lights? Risking bruises or broken appendages I pulled myself on top of the dew-covered red twist at the playground to watch the lights and the unsuspecting cars driving under a clear, crisp sky. Though in the middle of the park, I was on the outside looking in. I felt invisible, but happy to be watching life from a distance. It was as if I could close my eyes and vanish with no one any wiser that I had ever been there. Something in that idea has always been strangely appealing to me, probably because I always knew I didn't really belong here.

I made a brief stop there again late this afternoon. I parked toward the back lake, and somehow the only three ducks in the park managed to find me on the one day I actually brought something with me. I fed them some of what I had before making a quick lap around the lake. It was cool and also didn't feel quite right. I kept looking around like I was expecting to see something or someone, but I knew there was nothing there.

When I returned to where I had begun the ducks sprinted toward me again. I encouraged them to follow me as I got the last of the bread from my car and walked to a picnic table by the water. They made desperate noises while they chased me as if they hadn't eaten anything in weeks.

I seemed to have a knack for bouncing bread off the beak of the one I was trying to feed, and as I observed this something inside me knotted up as if I were about to cry. I wish I knew what was so striking about this. As a few tears squeezed from the corner of my eyes there was only one thought in my mind: "Somebody has to love the ducks".

Walking away I felt bad I didn't have more to give, but I had taken care of them that afternoon the best I could. I was glad there were three so that none had to be wandering around alone. Even in this I couldn't be as happy as I once was. I was still sad, still pained and empty, still missing. I have been most of the year, and it appears that's exactly how I'll end it.

I have to believe it can only get better from here.

Captured At:2333