29

I want to be one of those people who can talk to the sky and think that someone is listening. As much as I'll agree with those of you who do, and believe that you believe, I don't know that I do. Even if I did, I don't know that it would help.

Because for all the talking and looking for signs the facts remain:
There won't be any new pictures.
My hair was a stupid color the last time he saw me, though he said nothing, standard.
I feel like I didn't do enough in time.
I hope he was proud.
I hope we were friends.

The clouds parted for a minute and I want to blame it on something I can't see and don't feel, but instead I'll attribute it to the wind speeds and keep pulling myself back to Earth; steel myself against everyone's shaky voice, and hide my own under blankets of smoke.

Why not?

     I haven't blogged in a while. I haven't been creative in  a while. I haven't been able to wreck the internet with my virtual tears about non-consequential shit.
     I think this means things are ok.
     This isn't going to be a story. Or have a lesson. It's just going to be words. And maybe they'll make sense.
     Nashville does not, as I've made it seem, suck. It is beautiful. It is freeing. It is slowly being unravelled and, like the left-over Halloween Tootsie Pops that are surely rotting my teeth away, the best part is in the center. Finally, it feels like I'm in the center of something; surrounded by the most amazing people. I've spent a lot of time treating God like a coach who's constantly sitting me on the bench, but maybe I had to prove myself. Honestly, I think I was trying too hard to play for the wrong team.
     I thought the last year was supposed to be about starting over. Unfortunately, sometimes starting over means making out with your best friend, getting uninvited to a wedding, and then somehow in the mess unearthing these amazing people you couldn't see clearly through the haze. And at the risk of sounding totally cheesy, all of those people...are my angels. That was cheesy. I'd erase it, but then I'd have to re-read it and vomit.
     I don't necessarily know if those old friends are lost. I can't say I'm trying to salvage anything. I am content. I can say that for every mistake, and mistrusting step I made I learned something. Mostly that I'm a sucker for a sweet word. It's because I watch too many movies. I think now though, my eyes are clear, not clouded with the MTV quality drama that exists within the confines of whatever kind of family I'm the black sheep of.
    I think more than anything I am trying to resign to the fact that everything that I used to think was a big deal isn't. And every single drunken girls night, or pajama conversation is a big deal. That is happiness. That is family. That is love. And that is what makes everything ok. That is why I'm here.
     So bottom line, and an update for anyone that still checks this thing: I am living with two of the most amazing people in the world. And I will find a home, but for now I am safe. Oliver is happy and healthy and not a fat dog anymore. I feel fulfilled by everyone I hang out with. I miss my family every day. I answer their phone calls. I am happy most days. And when I'm not it usually only lasts one cigarette. I am over the things I needed to be over. I am ok.

I am ok.

"You're a Strong Racehorse"

Being that I am now a part time truck driver I have a lot of time to contemplate the state of my life whilst navigating the "open roads" of Stepford-esque housing tracts. Since my life is apparently in a chronic state of chaos that flows more than it ebbs this contemplation is not only a habit of mine, but necessary for survival, and the well being of others, because let's face it, I know it's not easy to be around me all of the time.

Without delving into the details I've talked to death already, my heart has been broken, or at least shaken violently. I'm currently penciling this in as the most painful occurrence, seeing as I can't bring myself to hate the person responsible, or even dislike them a little bit. There are so many excuses, and honest to God reasons, and fears, and insecurities, and patience being ignored running through our small community as of late...and though I have been trying to wade through the mess making sense of it all, because I feel it is my duty.
I can't.
And over the loud clunking of the engine this morning I've realized...I can't.
Stop Kailee. Just stop.

It isn't a secret to me, or you, or anyone maybe, that I try to hold too much in my little hands because I trust myself and no one else. When someone lets go of my hand, yanks it away, I will inevitably break down, fall to my knees in the dramatic fashion I hope captures every pained emotion on my face. I want those expressions etched into your brain. I want you to know all the things I feel, but here's where I'm wrong....
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I keep loving everyone to death. It doesn't matter that my ears, my heart have served as a confessional for more or less everyone I know. It doesn't matter that I could be the brightest light in everyone's life (maybe not brightest, like a consistently warm light, but not too bright, come on I'm still talking about me here...) because my solitude is so fucking dark. I don't know exactly where I lost my way. I know who, and who, and who, and who made me feel like I only mattered or didn't matter in reference to someone else, but I didn't realize how much I believed it.

So you were right. You- my friends, or family, or exboyfriend, or ex-people who weren't ever really my boyfriends. You're right. I need to fix things. I'm not perfect and trust me I'll never let myelf live it down. I will rebuild.

But... I will always be too much.

Too much love.
Too much understanding.
Too much willingness.
Too much strength.
Too much patience.
Too much to say.
Too much to feel.
Too much romance.
Too much imagination.
Always too much love, though, always.

And one day that will be enough.

Title. Tidal.

Wake up.
Snooze.
Wake up.
Snooze.
Brush your teeth, keep brushing.
Go to work. Make small talk with your boss. Don't make a sound. Stay quiet. Watch him play solitaire. Make a mental list about how your old boss was so much more fun than this guy. Long for conversation. Miss home.
Remember how you don't miss home, how it doesn't feel like home, how nowhere feels like home...yet.
Leave.
See a movie you've already seen. Quote all the lines. Wish it was real. Wish the last time you saw this you weren't so disctracted by that one guy. What was his phone number again? You probably shouldn't call. You won't call.
Shower instead, for the third or fourth time today.
Let the water burn.
Lay your hands heavily against your chest while the water runs down, burning your pink skin.
Let your finger tips wander.
Try to feel your heart, remind yourself that it's still there, beating furiously.
Smear the eyeliner across your face.
Try to extinguish the fire.
Keep burning.
Wrap yourself if the shower curtain and take a nap.
Wake up shivering.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Quit your bad habits.
Stop thinking so much.
Stop quoting old lovers. Stop day dreaming about the lost ones.
Breathe.
This is normal, this is too normal.