To Die or not To Die

There is an article in the NYTimes today about a man in Italy fighting for his right to die. Sixty year old Piergiorgio Welby has battled muscular dystrophy for 40 years and has been kept alive by a respirator for 9. He is begging the Italian government to let him die.

“Life is the woman who loves you, the wind through your hair, the sun on your face, an evening stroll with a friend. Life is also a woman who leaves you, a rainy day, a friend who deceives you. I am neither melancholic nor manic-depressive. I find the idea of dying horrible. But what is left to me is no longer a life… It is an unbearable torture”.

This very topic sparked the first fight Clint and I have had. We were on the way to have dinner with his parents and we got started talking about Terri Shiavo. I remember getting so angry with him because he sincerely felt like the doctors should not have let her die.

So here’s why this is a big deal to me: my aunt Brenda was diagnosed with chronic progressive Multiple Schlerosis when she was 18. If you don’t know what MS is, it’s a disease of the central nervous system that breaks down the myelin sheaths in your body that carry neurons (essentially orders) from your brain to the rest of you body. As MS progresses, the patient loses the ability to perform certain functions because the impulses from the brain are no longer making it to their destinations. Slowly over time, MS patients lose the ability to write, to walk, to speak correctly, to see, and even to hold their bowels. I watched this happen to my aunt. I watched her die.

We got a call December 5, 2004 that Brenda had gone into the hospital. Her catheter bag was filled with blood and she was yellow with jaundice. For the first two days the doctors were baffled, they tried to give her antibiotics through a PICC line and collapsed a major vein. She never once complained. She just sat and stared. Then they found the problem: leukemia. The doctors pushed very hard for treatment and said that at the max it would give her 6 months. We all knew she would never make it. She had begun to cough and flecks of blood dotted her dry lips. She went into a coma that night and no longer responded to our touch. Her breathing became labored gasps. They asked us if we’d like for her to be put on a respirator, but we refused. The doctor ordered a morphine drip, the first pain medicine she had received since being admitted, and together, as a family we watched her breathe her last breath.

I realize that this is an ongoing debate between sanctity of life versus quality of life. Yes, I believe that life is sacred, but I also believe that keeping her alive would have been profoundly wrong. To artificially keep someone bound to a body that is already dead is like theft, its robbing the soul. And what kills me about this man’s case is that he’s fighting the church! The church has reduced his desire to die naturally as doctor-assisted euthanasia. What happened to “To live is Christ and die is gain”? Aren’t we as Christians supposed to long for death because only in death can we be free? Do we really believe that, and if we do, why is doctor-assisted euthanasia wrong for those kept alive only by artificial means? I just don’t think it is.

OC, War of the Roses, and Political Bullshit

*So I’m a little ashamed to admit this but………I think I’m addicted to the OC. I had a three day weekend this weekend and I’ve watched half of the first season so far. If you don’t know how much OC that is- believe me, it’s a lot. And I freakin love it. And I kind of hate myself for it.

*Clint and I are officially moving in to our new digs on January 8th with some help from some movers. We’re VERY excited about living next door to Cal & Heather, some kickass people that, if you don’t know, you should because their awesome, and living on the first floor (no more stairs! Woo-hoo!). I will admit though that we’re probably the most excited about having a bed that’s bigger than a damn cracker-jack box and enough closet space to hide all those dead bodies. I mean, uh………

*I have been without iPod for a couple of weeks now since Clint screwed up replacing my battery and have been listening to the radio. Joshua Westerhold brought it to my attention that 100.5 had turned into “the Vulcan” and is no longer the home of Beaner & Ken. This is very disappointing. Beaner & Ken, aside from being hilarious, were the only thing keeping me away from the trainwreck that is War of the Roses on 95.7 JAMZ in the morning. I confess, it’s addictive like daytime soaps and I listen to it every damn morning.

*I am really frustrated with this whole “public representative” thing. It’s such bullshit.. Politics has become a “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” policy. The whole concept has been flipped to where the people are there to serve the purposes of those who represent them. Instead of being able to go into a Congressman’s office and voice concerns, one must kiss ass or wave around some free lunches and golf games so as to be heard. I just feel so disenchanted with how things like party-line voting and zoning have the power to suck the wind out of the sails of free speech and equality. Instead of “we the people” it is “we who cower when making a suggestion contrary to the majority party”. Why is the question “Republican or Democrat” instead of “Right or Wrong” or maybe “Beneficial or Destructive”?

Will we every break out of the ‘red or blue’ rut and seek what’s best for the people instead of trying to walk some damn line?

“Experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed”

The Declaration of Independence

Because I'm still in love with you, on this Harvest Moon

Well it’s officially been a year since Clint and I got married. We had a wonderful first anniversary, very chill. I took the day of work and we slept in, had breakfast at the Original Pancake House (I had the French toast, as always, which is fabulous), and spent the rest of the day Christmas shopping for our families. We had dinner at J. Alexanders that night and enjoyed free dessert on the house- gotta love that. Since the first anniversary is represented by paper (we got a ways till we get to silver or gold), Clint gave me an incredible book of photography all done of Paris natives-not touristy bullshit like most other books have, a Paris calendar, and a ‘Building Web Pages for Dummies’ book. Ha. I had actually convinced him that I hadn’t gotten him anything so we went on home and as I was in the kitchen pouring the champagne, I heard him say “You wiener” as he pulled down the covers to find the U2 by U2 book I had hidden there earlier. I don’t know why surprising people makes me so happy, but it totally does.

It’s been a long year, and yet it’s gone by really fast. We’ve moved, I’ve switched jobs, we got a dog, Clint got his eyebrow pierced and I chopped 11 inches off my hair. Not to mention that we’ve both gone through some serious soul searching. I have never felt so incredibly loved and angry at the same time in my entire life. To say it’s been hard would be a colossal understatement. Nothing could have prepared me for seeing the absolute monster that I can be or for realizing that underneath my cynicism there really was an idealist that expected far too much out of everything. But far more than my dismay has been my joy at seeing how much redemption there can be in marriage. Both of us have seen our deepest fears unveiled, our weaknesses, our curses we carry in our blood and souls. It has been such a relief to see those painful, shameful things met with such grace and to know that there’s room for error in this crazy thing called marriage. Thank God.

So here’s to another year, another can of worms, another serving of grace, and a fucking queen sized bed. Cheers.

More isn't always better, sometimes it's just more

In one of my favorite movies of all time Sabrina, Harrison Ford plays a character named Linus, a workaholic, stoic man with a less than dry sense of humor. Linus takes Sabrina by jet out to his family’s cottage in Nantucket. On the way, Sabrina is marveling at the plane.

“Do you ever look out the windows?” Sabrina asks.
“I don’t have time to look out the window. I’m working,” Linus replies and looks down at his work.
“What about all the time we saved by taking the helicopter?”
Linus shrugs and smiles, “I guess I’m just saving it up”
“No you’re not,” Sabrina replies.

I think about all of the ways things have been streamlined and made more efficient in the past century. I remember reading in my history books about how things like vacuum cleaners and dishwashers changed American culture, and that for the first time people had free time. I think about how nowadays we have faster, more efficient everything: faster cars, faster internet, faster food. And what do we do with all that extra time?? Where the hell does it go? I really have no idea how more + faster somehow = less, but it does. I find the older I get, the more anal I am about my time. I think that’s why I get so pissed when I get stuck in traffic. I’m thinking to myself “You assholes are stealing my life away because you can’t drive a damn car correctly.” It’s kind of the same thing with my work. Sometimes I think I work because I like to work. Sometimes I think it’s because I like what I do. Then sometimes I sit back for a minute and realize that I work 8 hours a day so I can come home and hang out with my husband from 6:30 when he gets home until 9 when I get tired because I’ve gotten up so early to go to work. That’s 8 hours a day I spend at work so I can enjoy 2.5 hours doing what I really want to do. Where did all the time go?

If you like 1984, or just dislike George Bush

Check this out.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!!

Didn't fire-fighters used to put out fires?

I started re-reading Fahrenheit 451 last night. I read almost 60 pages in a little over half an hour. It was very intense to read and I felt very sad afterwards. The whole beginning is the blossoming of a ‘friendship’ between a firefighter (Montag) and his new neighbor Clarisse who is “17 and crazy”. Clarisse challenges everything Montag has ever known. At the end of their first encounter, she asks him “Are you happy?” and then runs off to her house. Montag laughs it off, but as he walks into his hosue he realizes “No, I’m not happy,” A moment later he catches a glimpse of an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor and his wife, pale and unconscious on their bed. He calls 911 and they send out two workers to pump her stomach and filter the drugs out of her blood. Montag thinks to himself as he is watching:

Did it drink of the darkness? Did it suck out all the poisons accumulated with the years? …The entire operation was not unlike the digging of a trench in one’s yard.

And then afterwards:

The bloodstream in this woman was new…someone else’s blood there. If only someone else’s flesh and brain and memory. If only they could have taken her mind along to the dry cleaner’s and emptied the pockets and steamed and cleansed it and reblocked it and brought it back in the morning. If only…

The pain in their marriage is so heavy from the very beginning. You can tell that he really hates the way that their marriage is and really wants to change it, but Mildred (his wife) is very shallow and seems incapable of engaging about anything painful. The next morning he tries to talk to her about the incident.

“You took all the pills in your bottle last night.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” she said, surprised.
“The bottle was empty.”
“I wouldn’t’ do a thing like that. Why would I do a thing like that?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said.
She was quite obviously waiting for him to go. “I didn’t do that,” she said. “Never in a billion years.”

I know I've said this before, but I am so prone to shutting down when things get tough. Just the other day I was on the phone with Clint and he brought up a touchy subject from back when we started dating- totally not a big deal anymore, water under the bridge – and I got pissed and shut the conversation down. I hung up the phone and sat there for the next ten minutes trying to figure out what in the hell was my problem. And then it hit me: I didn’t want to be reminded of a time that I was in the wrong. I didn’t want to think about how amazingly ugly I had been. I had totally erased the painful memory from my mind and having it brought up made me go into a sort-of denial. It was like: if we don’t talk about this, then it never really happened…

I was talking to some friends last night about a girlfriend of mine that couldn’t be in my wedding because she checked herself into an eating disorder clinic. When I asked her why she abused herself so, her answer was all at once clear and surprising. She said that she had been in a terrible car accident years ago in which her little brother died, her sister was paralyzed for life, and her mother suffered a shattered jaw and she was miraculously untouched. She said she had so much guilt and no way to get it out that she started starving herself, or purging, or exercising impulsively to feel like she had any kind of control. A month after she had been in the clinic and had managed to combat her eating disorder, she confessed that she had taken up cutting herself because she felt so out of control. She had never gone through the painful process of dealing with her past, instead she denied that she needed help carrying her burden and took to hurting herself to get out the emotions instead.

What I want to know is: how is it that we can be a culture that can endure pain for all manner of cosmetic/esthetic/purging purposes (did you read that they re-approved silicone breast implants this past week?) and yet when it comes to emotional pain, we avoid it by any means? I was reading in the NY Times today about a man who started taking Wellbutrin (mild anti-depressant or SSRI) years ago to quit smoking and continues to take it to this day because “it makes him feel good”. The man has never actually suffered from depression. How is it that we can get botox, piercings, tattoos, plastic surgery all damn day long, we will starve ourselves to death , we will take drugs but when it comes to willingly entering into emotional circumstances that could benefit ourselves or our relationships with others- we opt out. We have grown up in a culture that tells us to bury our feelings deep inside, to take a pill, and that denial is survival. But what so many of us find out sooner or later is that there is no burying, and everything comes out in time. It’s up to us how we deal with it when it comes to the surface- whether we’ll push it back down for a few more years until it becomes insurmountable or deal with it now while we still have our health, our wits, our sanity.

I read this on the Psychology Today website and was really struck by what it said.

"Viewing marriage as a process that unfolds in stages … gives couples cause for hope even in the midst of misery, relieves some of the anxiety that they are not happy now, and gives them an agenda for working out their problems. In addition, it affords couples a realistic perspective of duration—that relationships don't happen overnight but take time. And it helps people abandon the idea of instant gratification. It clues them that you need to go through life making changes."

We're just ordinary people

We don't know which way to go

Cause we're ordinary people

Maybe we should take it slow

Ordinary People- John Legend

Anybody have a copy of Jayber Crow they want to let me borrow?

So I’ve picked up smoking since Clint’s gone out of town. This is terribly hypocritical of me because I’m always harping on Clint about smoking too much (he has heart disease in 3 out of 4 grandparents). My friend Amy tells me that it’s my way of dealing with…tension. She's probably right. Anyway, I find that the only times I want to smoke are when a) Clint’s out of town or b) I’m drinking. And you know what: I like menthols. There. I said it. I.like.menthol.cigarettes. I have no idea why but I do and I get made fun of by like every other smoker I know.

I went to orientation yesterday at UAB. I made two new friends while I was in line and we did everything together the rest of the day. Funny, I don’t think of myself as making friends easily, but I’ve made a lot of them lately. *Shrug* Anyway, it was pretty boring all in all, kind of a dreary, rainy day, but I registered for my class and lab (woo-hoo!). Sooo glad to have that done with. Now I just have to wait until January 4th to roll around to get this party started.

In other news, Clint and I are moving (again) to the Virginian Court across the hall from Cal & Heather. It’s going to be so kickass I can’t wait…except we’ll probably be moving the week before Christmas and that kind of stresses me out but it’ll be aight. I think we’re going to hire movers this go around because every time Clint moves our stuff we acquire a whole new set of dings in the furniture. We might also be getting another dog of Clint’s choice. That may or may not come to fruition but there have been talks of getting another one. We’ll see.

Alright that’s it for now. Got a long night of doing hair ahead of me. Peace out. Effers.

"Maybe he's lonely", "No, YOU'RE lonely"

So we have crack heads in our basement. They’re renting out the apartment on the first floor and they think they’re being so sly and clandestine but everyone knows what they’re up to. I mean, they’re all strung out as hell, the lights are ALWAYS on, there’s always a group of people coming in and out every 15 minutes to an hour all day and night, and every morning the same guy comes by at 7:30 to pick up a package. Well, there’s this one crack head that LOVES to sit in her car and honk her horn to get whoever it is she’s picking up to come out and it DRIVES ME CRAZY. I’ve tried a couple times to run outside to give her a piece of my mind but I never get down the stairs in time. Well the other night I was hanging out on the balcony with my neighbor Erin and I finally saw the jerk, stopped right in front of the apartment. She rolled down her window and honked once. Nothing. Honked again. Nothing. Honked a Third time, and I finally lost it and screamed “SHUT THE F*** UP!” Much to my surprise, she leaned out the window and said “Oh, sorry.” Erin and I looked at each other and started cracking up.

Clint’s out of town and I hate it. I dread every time he goes on the road. The first few days are usually ok, but after that it just gets taxing. I’ve been really lucky this time around though because all of our friends are calling me to hang out and it’s keeping me so busy that I don’t have time to sit around and think about how much I miss him. Except at night, that’s the worst, but this week Kelly and Andrew are going to come stay with me and I’m SO excited. I think my sister-in-law might come stay too. And Bonnie. Can’t forget about Bonnie = ).

Friday night I actually went out to a bar without Clint. Definitely haven’t done that in a while. My neighbor Erin and her boyfriend were going to a b-day party at Iron Horse for two of her co-workers and invited me to come along. At one point we were all standing up in front of the stage (and let me clarify that I was NOT dancing), and I looked over and saw the lead singer of Loose Stone (the cover band Clint plays in). We both kind of stopped and he goes “Hey, you’re cheating on Loose Stone!” and I looked at him and said, “Well so are you!” and we both kind of shrugged and laughed. It was actually pretty fun. The band was pretty decent, although the guitar player was a little over dramatic for me. After watching Clint play all the other guitar players I see just look silly to me.

Saturday night I made plans to do another photo shoot with my friend Amanda who is extremely pregnant. I have done one other shoot with her about a month ago (you can see two of the photos on my flickr) and the pictures turned out great. After a couple days she decided she wanted to do some more photos but this time with her husband Daniel. We made plans for them to come over at 6:30 and at 6 I was kicking myself for not going to Wolf Camera earlier to get another battery charger to replace the one I left at the CG retreat ‘cause my camera was out of juice. So I called BTM and asked if I could borrow his. Well, turns out that as long as I use a shitty camera I take great pictures. Brian’s camera is a SUPER nice Nikon with all the bells and whistles that I totally do not know how to work. I spent ten minutes just trying to get the lighting right and it still didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. I think I got maybe 3 good shots out of almost 100. Ugh. Oh well.

Last night I went and saw Superman at the IMAX last night with the Woods and the Westerholds. Such a cool place. While the credits are rolling at the beginning and you’re ‘soaring through the galaxy’, you kind of feel like whatever you ate might just come soaring out of your stomach- it’s that real. Butterflies and all. Came home, got in bed, drank a beer, talked to Clint, and finished reading 1984. Good book. Scary. I really hated the end, but will spare you details in case you haven’t read it. And if you haven’t- go get it and remedy that immediately. It will definitely make you feel differently about freedom, war, and ignorance. In a good way, I hope.

I realize that this was a completely boring and vapid post but it’s a boring day at work and I’m not feeling inspired to write any poetry just yet today so this is all I got. Take it or motha f***ing leave it, f***ers.

Younger Still

Why do you hate
More yet, despise
That he could love
Or empathize
With one so crass
One so far
From what you want
And what you are
Or is it you?
Your cause for ire
That in your heart
There is desire
To learn to rest
Learn to breathe
Remove the barbs
To be free
To fall and stand
Back up again
To know the need
For gentle hands
I do no know
But wish I did
For peace I’d bring
And hate be rid
But always has
And will be
One like you
And one like me.

I am constantly amazed at how Christians want to make Christianity about everything but Jesus

And how fucking incredible my husband is for having patience for all of those people. I definitely have none.

"And I'm more than just a little curious how you're planning to go about making your amends to the dead... with your halo slipping down to choke you now." The Noose-A Perfect Circle

I think sometimes I make myself listen to certain music because it’s the only thing that can draw emotion out of me- or open me up to let it in

I have realized more and more lately how much pain there is in the world. Part of it I’ve always known, and part of it I started thinking about this past weekend at the Community Group Leaders retreat. The question was asked: what draws people to Red Mountain? Forgive my assumption, but I feel like most people come to Red Mtn because they carry so much pain that most churches won’t acknowledge whether it’s church baggage, family baggage-whatever, there’s more than enough to go around. The point is: Red Mountain Church is a church that is very aware of the pain in everyones’ lives and the struggles we face every day as long as we’re on this earth because of the fall. Yes there are people that go to Red Mtn that seem to “have it together”, yes there are people who think very differently about grace and feel differently about moral issues than say, me, but I really think the allure is the same and is predominant: People need to admit to themselves and others that every day in this world is hard, and that all of our joys here will forever be mixed with grief. It just so happens that some days are harder than others.

It seems lately that the pain of those around me has been very deep and of the despairing sort. The kind of pain you hang your head when you talk about. Or hear about. The kind of pain whose only solace is empathy, community, honesty, and sometimes just some good art.

My grandfather passed away almost 4 years ago. I loved him dearly. He had a voice like sandpaper and a face to match. He used to sing old country songs and hymns, and I swear he sounded just like Johnny Cash. When he died I didn’t cry. I was entirely too numb. It wasn’t until almost 2 years later that I shed my first tear for him. My parents had ordered a box set of Johnny Cash Hymns. I listened to all of them and wept. Well, when I got American IV: The Man Comes Around, I totally lost it. He does a bunch of covers of really great songs, but the two that kill me are the Beatles ‘In My Life’ and Nine Inch Nails 'Hurt'.

I sat in my car on my lunch break yesterday and listened to this record and wrote in my journal. It was really therapeutic and kind of helped me face some of the things I knew I’d be talking about in counseling last night. Yes, I go to counseling. On a regular basis.

Anyway,somehow listening to certain music helps me open myself more readily to painful situations that are going on in my life so that I can move around inside them and find some kind of clarity. Do any of you feel this way? It even helps me when I’m mad at Clint to listen to some of the mix cd’s he made for me when we were dating and remember that yes, I do love him for a reason, and yes he’s the same man I fell in love with. I’ve even made his ring tone ‘Beautiful Boy’ by John Lennon so that when we’ve had a spat and the LAST thing I want to do is answer that damn phone, it somehow calms me down to hear that song and remember that I picked it because it’s true- even though it may not feel like it at the moment.

I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. I guess what I’m trying to say is, sometimes art (being music, books, poetry) helps us deal with pain better than so many other things out there. There’s something disarming it, in feeling like maybe someone out there feels the way that you do. I guess that’s why I write on this blog. I want to feel like I’m not alone, and that maybe someone out there is experiencing the same things I am. So I guess in some respect I'm saying that good art leads us toward a shared experience, or in other words community. And a community like Red Mtn, well, that's a community that loves good art, is exeedingly honest about pain, and loves some good wine. Man, no wonder I love my church...

There are places I'll remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I've loved them all

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life I love you more

In my life I love you more

Indifference

Scattered feet upon the ground
Awakened silence, fear the sound
Torments softly for some time
Forgiveness weeps in tangled vines
Faulty sorrow, weakened strength
I feel the anger deep beneath
Nothing here but skin and bones
My shadows haunt- a torpid soul
The thought to reconcile with you
Would be to die and death pursue
That which passed a time before
When we were younger so less sore
These trials do try and pull apart
And take the feeling, take the heart
But right has faded into dark
And here I’m left in sopor, stark.

The Day of Death is Better than the Day of Birth, for Death is the Destiny of Every Man. The Living Should Take this to Heart.

Death is hard, but my family has the most fantastic way of dealing with it.

Really. Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of things my family doesn’t do right, but few people in the world have the bedside manner of the women in my family- my grandmother being the fore-runner. She had 14 siblings growing up and all but one is dead. Every time one of them fell ill, she was right there, sleeping at the hospital, taking them home, laying them to rest. Always strong, always a calm, peaceful sorrow about her. The older I have gotten the more I have realized that this is a rare gift- being able to sit in pain and in death with someone. It’s really beautiful and I hope to carry it on.

I went to go see my grandmother yesterday at her nursing home in Marion, Alabama. On the way down, I got the status report: not good. It seems that over the past three weeks she has declined rapidly into a state of merely waiting. Sometimes my family can over exaggerate, but I knew as soon as I walked into her room that they had exaggerated nothing. One of the nurses who has spent a lot of time with her lately came in and sat with us during our visit. She said the decline had been rapid since last Friday. She had been seeing things that weren’t there. At one point that morning, my grandmother had been so convinced that there were chickens under her bed, she had crumbled her biscuit into bits and thrown it on the floor for them. The nurse said that sometimes at night that she would talk to my grandfather, Lester, who passed away almost 4 years ago. They had been married over 50 years. My grandmother, whom the last time I saw her was as tenacious and regal as the day is long, had been reduced to a saddening state. I walked over to her, took her hand-covered in the same emollient cream she’s used for years and said hello. Immediately she began talking to me in slurred, half whisper. I couldn’t decipher most of what she was saying. I was about to start crying, when my aunt Terri leaned over her bed, and in the most obnoxious voice began saying “Huh? What? I can’t hear you Mom, you’re going to have to speak up!” Well then I started laughing. I looked at my grandmother’s face and she had pursed her lips like she always did when she was irritated. It turns out that if you get my grandmother good and mad, that a little bit of that Wolfe family fire returns along with a slightly improved whisper. We sat her up, combed her hair, put some lipstick on her (she’s never been anywhere without lipstick in her whole life), and listened as she mumbled softly about her dreams of late. Most of them were nightmares of different sorts, and at the end of every one, my mom would look at her and say, “Mom, you know that’s not real? All of those dreams aren’t real.” Every time my grandmother would lose her sense of reality, my mom or her sister would ever so calmly bring her back. We quizzed her. “Mom, what’s my birthday?” my aunt asked. When she answered incorrectly, my aunt just asked again and again, dropping small clues until she got it right. By the end of our visit, she seemed to have brightened at least a little.

Everyone in my family has done the same thing when the end came: they all said their apologies, told everyone they loved them, and they all had visions of people coming to get them. They knew they were dying and were at peace with that knowledge. We asked my grandmother before we left when she thought she would die and she replied, without trepidation, “the middle of next week”.

There was something about this visit that will stick with me forever. While my aunt was combing my grandmother’s hair, my grandmother looked at her and said, “Madge called”. Madge was one of her many sisters who passed away years ago. “Madge is dead, Mom”, replied my aunt. “I know, but she called. She said I had to get ready for the party. Do I have to go to the party?”

The more people I know and love that die, the more I start to wonder if there’s some kind of crossover at the end of your life. It makes me wonder if she really can see her sister and my grandfather, and they’re helping her through this process of letting go. I realize that this sounds crazy, and that to everyone else it’s obvious that she’s suffering from some sort of delusional psychosis, but I’m just not as sure as I once was that the death process is black and white (in theological terms). Maybe nobody ever really dies alone. I would like that.

But until it's my time and I know for sure what really happens in the end, all I know is: I'd like to be there as she has been there for the people I love.

The Human Body Will Always Amaze Me

Originally uploaded by saltnlight333.

"I praise you Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made" Psalm 130:14

What would you say to the wives?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about what it means to be a woman, what it looks like, why I think the way I do, and whether or not it’s a good thing I think that way.

A couple of nights ago I was watching some A Perfect Circle videos. Many of them feature a group called the Bikini Bandits. Basically it’s a group of incredibly hot woman wearing leather boots and bikinis and slinging guns driving around in a black ’68 Dodge Charger, wreaking havoc. The video for ‘The Outsider’ stood out the most to me. It shows this incredibly beautiful woman getting out of jail. Before she leaves she unzips her standard orange duds to reveal what might as well be a black leather bathing suit with boots to match. She gets in the charger and drives off. The next scene shows the girls with baseball bats, doing obscene things with lawn ornaments. Very strange, erotic video set to really intense lyrics.

I think I’m really drawn to that image, that: I’m all things sexy and desirable, but I’m tough and can completely emotionally disengage kind of image. In fact, I’ve spent my whole life trying to purvey that image. I can distinctly remember, especially for the period of time that I was in Cosmetology school, conditioning myself to not get emotionally involved with men. At whatever point I felt like feelings were getting involved, I totally cut it off. And I really felt like I was the better person for it. What I’m wondering is: how did I ever start to believe that this is empowering, and how did I break free? Did I ever really break free?

Her form divine,
kiss as wine
Despise her and she'll never leave
Love her true, and right pursue
Surely you she will bereave
So don't hold tight, don't delight
For morning sun will leave you algid
You'll be hated, left unsated
Prostrate, cold, dreams disbanded

I was watching an episode of Sex in the City last night entitled “Where there’s smoke…”. In this particular episode the four main characters were having a discussion over breakfast on why they were all so attracted to fire-fighters. Carrie, Samantha, and Miranda all threw out answers ranging from “well there’s a weight limit” to “it’s the bravery thing” and suddenly Charlotte chimes in with a sentence that silenced them all:

It’s that deep down women really just want to be rescued

The sentence that every independent woman hates to hear because we want to believe that we're our own white knight, that we don't really need anybody but ourselves. I know now that below my fierce independence, and even at my most phlegmatic, that the desire to be rescued has always been there. Its as if it were written into my DNA. And yet I have spent most of my life lying to myself and creating this delusion that I can be the image, be the beauty that does not need a hero, be the untouchable woman. And then I realized, "I want to be touched..."

I was listening to some Patty Griffin today and the song Be Careful came on. I almost pulled the car over.

Be careful how you bend me
Be careful where you send me
Careful how you end me
Be careful with me

I think I’m learning the farther into this marriage I get, that if I’m to ever really love Clint, that I will have to lose this idea that emotionally disengaged women are attractive and that the only way to survive pain is to completely shut down. I have to trust him, and believe that he really does love me. I know this sounds absurd, we’ve almost been married a whole year, and yet there are parts of me he’s only begun to touch. I am a hard shell to crack. I’ve been praying lately. I would say that I never pray- save a handful of times over the past couple weeks. I mostly pray that I won’t be so afraid. I want to not be afraid to admit to myself and Clint that I need for him to be careful with me, that I need his kindness so much, that sometimes I need to be rescued if only from myself. I want to not be afraid to love well-to give myself. I cannot live in between anymore- the calloused and the intimate. It only tears us apart. I have to learn to think differently about relationships, that its not about games or winning or protecting myself, it’s about giving in, about humility, about being vulnerable and having at least a little faith that things will get better. I want to believe, for both of us.

Vulnerable, but it’s all right. Opening to heal...A Perfect Circle-Brena

UAB HERE I COME!

I totally just got accepted to UAB!!!!!!!!!!

i'ma gunna git me sum edgumakation.

Gone to Montgomery: The city that never ages, in a bad way

I'm about to head down to montgomery for a medicaid meeting. Joy. I wish Clint was going with me.

Have you ever noticed that going to Montgomery is like being in a a time-warp? It's like nothing has changed since the 70's: burnt orange carpet, wood panelling...ugly buildings. Feels stale. Ugh.

Thank God for sunshine and mileage reimbursement. And ipods. They will all make my day much better.

Hem is amazing

Me, Clint, and our new friend Erin went to see Hem at Workplay Saturday night. I first heard Hem play a couple of months back when we went to see Over the Rhine in ATL with the Murphy’s. Over the Rhine has written some music that has been really important to me and Clint (Drunkard’s Prayer pretty much captures the essence of our relationship to a T), but I ended up enjoying Hem way more!

So Saturday night, this guy named David Mead opened up. Clint’s probably going to be frustrated with me for saying this because I didn’t even listen to half of the set, but: Terrible. Terrible songs, terrible singing, terrible. The guy totally lost me within the first 20 seconds by saying the phrase “sweet piece of ass”. I was really surprised that Hem allowed this man on stage.

Ahh but Hem, they were divine as usual. I didn’t realize that that lead singer Sally Ellyson was pregnant, but pregnant she was! She did the cute pregnant thing and would rest her hands on her stomach as she was singing. A couple of times this asshole from the front would shout a song request like we were at some honkey-tonk (I think it was South Central Rain) and she was like “um, security?”. One of the things that I have grown to love about this band in a short time is how much they remind me of Red Mountain Music when they play: all very talented musicians that have a good repartee, laid back stage presence, but still manage to hit a noticeably bad note or two. There was one part where Steve Curtis (guitar/harmony vocals) hit one bad note, then proceeded to hit two more bad notes in a row. The piano player Dan Messe also fudged a little, but somehow it was endearing and made me appreciate their talent all that much more. I think my one complaint would be that I wish Sally had talked more about the music. She didn’t really talk until the end. I think the intimate atmosphere at Workplay lends itself to storytelling, you know?

Alas, we had great seats, in a great venue, and it was a great show. Really couldn’t ask for more.

Highlights for me:

Rabbit Songs:
Lazy Eye
When I was Drinking

Eveningland:
Hollow
Half-acre
Fire-Thief
Pacific Street

Funnel Cloud:
Not California
Reservoir

If you need some insurance, he's your man

For those of you who know Rob Wood, here’s an update:

He underwent surgery yesterday to have part of his colon removed. The surgery was successful and he is currently doing well and is in the intensive care unit at Brookwood Hospital. He won’t be able to have visitors until Sunday most likely, so if you know and love Rob (how could you not?), pay him a visit. Clint and I will be going up there so if anyone wants to join us, email me saltnlight333@aim.com

If there were a way to completely avoid pain, would you do it?

What have we become? Are we so accustomed to the ugliness of sin that we do not shudder when we meet it eye to eye? Have we accepted it as merely an un-likeable or even painful personality trait? Is it possible to do anything that is unselfish or unmotivated by a desire to preserve self? Is there a point in every relationship where kindness dies, only to be replaced by coldness?

Where can I run that you will not catch me by the heel? Where can I hide that you won’t see me? If I made my bed in hell, even there you would be with me. I wish I could believe it.


Hide and Seek

I will always think diffently than most of the Christians I know. Whether that's good or bad? I dont' know

I went to the park the other day with Allie like I do most days. I was having a phone conversation when I arrived so I sat on the ground a ways away from the picnic table where the others were sitting. There is a girl that frequents the park with her puppy, and every time the group sees her, they groan and disperse to try and avoid her. You see, she’s young and insecure and tries to overcompensate by talking. This girl, I’ll call her Stephanie, came and sat by me on the ground. Immediately she started talking about this and that. I looked at her and something came over me. I asked “can I ask you something without offending you?” She looked nervous and nodded her head. “you’re pregnant aren’t you?” Her mouth pursed, “is it obvious?” she asked. “No”, I replied. Then she started telling me how she was going to have an abortion but her roommate stole the $400 she needed to have it done in the first trimester, but now she was going to have to drive to Georgia to have it done since she’s in her second trimester and no one will do it in Alabama that far along. I told her that I had always believed in a woman’s right to choose, much to the dismay of my friends. And the weirdest thing happened: right after I said it, I had the most intense desire to be pregnant- to have a baby growing inside me. I swear for second I could feel what it was like. For anyone who knows me, you know that this is quite a departure from my usual sentiments about pregnancy. I shook my head as if to shake the thought and continued our conversation until it was time to go.

A couple years ago, I was spending time with a girlfriend of mine who’d become very intimate with her boyfriend of a few months. She was very excited about the relationship; the two had even talked of marriage. The girl, a virgin, began delving into some of the physical aspects of their relationship as we were walking around shopping. Although she claimed to have never had intercourse with this young man, I could see where the relationship was going. I looked at her in the face and said “I’ll be right back”. I returned a moment later and we got into the check out line. The lady began to ring up my merchandise and the girl caught site of a pack of condoms- what I had gone to retrieve. I took them out of my plastic bag and put them in her purse. “Do not take those out and don’t let him see them, but if anything happens, make him put one on”. She looked at me, slightly frustrated, slightly relieved, and smiled.


I’m pretty aware that I’m an offensive person. I have a lot of ‘unsavory’ qualities. I probably pretty rarely "do the right thing"- whatever that means. But every once in a while I feel like some of my more offensive qualities actually affect someone in a good way. Maybe a way that doesn’t look quite right, but it's honest and real and it feels right. It feels right to look at someone like the girl from the park and just listen, and not be thinking about all of the scripture verses I should be sharing with her, or how I should be trying to change her mind about having an abortion. It felt good to not try and fix her, but to give her space and trust that God really does know what he's doing.

And to the other girl, some would say that I did the wrong thing, that I was promoting pre-marital sex, or even enabling it. I felt like maybe my actions enabled her to be more responsible with her sexuality, and that if they did end up having sex that she wouldn't end up pregnant or worse... but who really knows what’s right?

The thing is I could be totally wrong about all of this, and I guess I'm ok with that. But all I know for now is: every once in a while it feels ok to be in this dirty skin of mine.

I'm not an addict baby, that's a lie

If you haven't already seen this show, rent it, watch it, dig it.

Mighty Oak

The devil's set my intuition
Blackened root that grew up from my core
Spreading silver wings til I am splintered
Rows of bullet holes, tokens from my lovers
Severed limbs remind me that consumption leads to loss
Forever bound to what's below
From dust and seed and circumstance
I push aside the rock for air
that will one day cut me off at unknown heights
I writhe in sullen display of my faulty fortitude
What will be my end
Bear me your blade I'll show you my ember
Burning in concentric flame
till you reach my rotten core
and the blue light reveals my demons
I hiss and smile as my body turns to dust
Chemical change is a natural must
And when all but dust and ash is gone
Still the dark persists.

I sat front effing row at the Sufjan Stevens Concert

So about two months ago I ordered tickets to see Sufjan Stevens for Clint for his B-day.

Kelly calls me last week and says “Liz, I have a dilemma. I have two front row tickets to see Sufjan Stevens and nobody to go with me.” And I said, “Kelly, because I love you, I’m going to give up my ZZZ/basement row ticket with my husband and make good use of that front row ticket. It's a tough call, but I think I can do it.” Actually they weren’t that bad of seats, but I wasn’t about to pass up a front row opportunity so I told her we should get Brian to go as well and he could take my seat.

So Wednesday, I hopped in a blue Ford Windstar (yes folks that is a van) and drove to the ATL with 5 of the coolest people I know (Clint, Brian, Kelly, Josh, & Abby). I love going places with fun people, because then even the ride is part of the fun. I think we even turned the music off right outside of Birmingham because we were talking so much we weren’t paying it any attention. Gotta love trips like that.

So we get to the Fox Theater and are standing in line and Kelly looks at me with a stricken face, “Liz, did I hand you the tickets?” I thought I was going to throw up. So we ran back to the car, looked every where and finally found them in the bottom of her Wendy’s bag, underneath the trash. WHEW!

We finally get in, purchase our $6.50 shot glass of wine and made our way to our seats. The further and further we got to the front, the more stupid we got. We kept looking at each other and saying “Holy fucking cow”. I don’t think I’ve said “holy cow” since like the mid 90’s, but there it was, flying right out of my mouth. We got down to the pit, handed our tickets to the escort, and then. She. Walked. Us. To. The. Freakin. Middle. Of. The. Front. Row. We officially had the best seats in the entire house.

The show was incredible. I was surprised at how many instrumentalists he actually had, and how many times they rotated instruments. Even his drummer ended up playing the piano during the encore. I thought it might be a little more stripped down, but no. They all walked out in their wings, scrubs, weird military tops, and my favorite part: barefoot.


Highlights for me: The Wasp (which has a longer name but I always forget it), John Wayne Gacy, Casimir Pulaski Day, Chicago, Abraham, and of course Jacksonville. Transfiguration was also good. Sufjan seemed calm and collected, despite the fact that his sound system crapped out in the middle of a song and had to wait a couple minutes before starting again. He kind of does the Steve Malone thing with his hair between songs where he rakes his hands back and forth through it and by the end he had a pseudo-mohawk. You can tell he takes a lot of pride in and is meticulous about his music. He made a lot of eye contact with all of the band members, and everything flowed really well. At one point, Kelly nudged me and I noticed a violinist singing into his violin like it was a microphone. Weird.

I’m probably forgetting a lot of stuff, but that’s it for now. I’ll leave you with this.

What a beautiful man. Even my husband says so. If you want to see more pictures, click on 'My Pictures' on the left.

Songs I Can't Stop Listening to Lately

Jacksonville, Chicago- Sufjan Stevens


Eraser, Analyze, Black Swan, Atoms for Peace- Thom Yorke


Lucky, Half-Acre- Hem


Hollow, 3 Libras- A Perfect Circle


Hurt, In My Life- Johnny Cash


Blue Sky Blues, When Stars Go Blue- Ryan Adams

Lady Macbeth Syndrome

remove the spot! the lady cries aloud in her disdain
with bloody hands
we scrub and
rid ourselves the
unmet virtue that leaves
our soul bereft
but soap and water can’t
atone for us like lady macbeth

the marriage of physical and mental purity seems
inconsequential
but if we could only see
that Shakespeare has
effected us beyond
what we would think
our guilty hands and minds
receive forgiveness in the sink


sometimes ‘good decisions’ are made worse by our intentions
I find it quite
cathartic to
soak with hyacinth
to chose the right
for my conscience
if I’d my choice of gift
I would choose the antiseptic

A .99 cent Margarita, a $6 beer, & The Counting Crows

Brian and Brooke picked me up at the apartment around 6 last night and we made it through the madness that is 65S to meet up with Clint for some pre-concert dinner. Apparently it was .99 cent margarita night at Applebee's so I said "Eh, what the hell" and ordered one. Yeah, don't ever order a .99 cent margarita from Applebee's. It tasted like straight sour mix. So I flag down our server and I ask him for a shot of tequila and he says "Um, yeah, I'll see what I can do...". Not "sure" or "coming right up". It was like "um, well, there's a chance that getting you a shot of tequila won't be possible, but I'll try real hard". I don't get it. Then, Clint is right in the middle of explaining to us how annoying this one server had been while he was trying to read his book before we got there, and right as he's talking a server comes over and won't shut up about how they DID in fact have Bass Ale even though the server said that they didn't and blah blah blah. She walked away and we just looked at Clint and laughed. Anyway, we finish up and we head over to the Verizon Wireless Music Center. Inside I purchased my first $6 can of beer. That's right folks. Damn supply and demand...

So, the Goo Good Dolls were better than I thought they would be. Correction: the lead singer and the drummer were better than I thought they would be. He had one guitar player that I couldn't believe was up on the stage. I looked at Clint and was like "Um, they don't even deserve you". Highlights: Slide, Name, Iris, and Broadway. Good tunes, especially Name, but I was dissappointed that he didn't hit the high notes on Iris. Oh well.

Ahh, the Crows. They were fantastic, and that is an understatement. Adam Duritz did not miss a single note (and he obviously has not been missing any meals). His guitar players were fabulous except the one in the middle. He got on my nerves with some overly frilly crap. I was surprised at how many songs I didn't know, but was so content to sit and watch Clint bask in every one.

Highlights for me: Monkey, Perfect Blue Buildings, Long December, and Mr. Jones (which they did slowly like on Storytellers-as an encore).

Pick a Car, Any Car

The lease on my 2003 Silver Honda Civic Sedan runs up the beginning of February 2007, which gives me 5 full months to decide which car I would like to replace it with. Right now I'm leaning toward a Honda Accord. I have an affinity for Honda, but I'm open to something else.

So tell me, what kind of car do you have and would you recommend it?

3 Things

First:

My dog is scared of EVERYTHING!!!

This is ironic, because the sole purpose of getting a dog was to "protect me" while Clint's out late recording or on the road.

She's still my sweet little girl though.

Second:

Clint and I purchased a leather couch this past week. Kind of a spontaneous deal. Very unlike me. I'll 'circle' a pair of moderately priced shoes for sometimes up to a year before I buy them. It was totally worth it though because this couch is friggin' fantastic. And Allie won't get hair all over it. Yay!

Third:

I'm going to see Counting Crows next week! The first song I ever heard by the Counting Crows was on a cassette tape my Mom gave me in Middle School. I remember falling in love with the way Adam Duritz said my name in "Goodnight, Elisabeth". What a sad song, but I played it over and over again. Should be an incredible show.

Patriotic Songs at Church= Always a bad idea

Saturday morning, some girlfriends and I are packing up and heading down to Gulf Shores, Alabama for some much needed R & R and will be staying in the fabulous Island House hotel. Friday night I'm meeting Danielle at our half-way point in Tuscaloosa and we're going to hopefully stock up on all kinds of goodies and then enjoy a chilled out night with Clint at our apartment. I'm hoping to get out of B-ham early so as to maximize beach time......

That is unless Ernesto foils all of my plans. Damn Hurrican season. I was listening to the radio this morning and I realized that today is the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, or what is otherwise described as "one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history". Over 1,800 people were killed as 80 percent of the city was submerged. At the time, Clint and I were doing the music for a church way out in Chelsea. I remember a man at the church who approached Clint one Sunday soon after Katrina and suggested that we sing some patriotic songs. I distinctly remember the incredulous look on Clint's face, but he totally went with it. "Well sir, why do you think we should do that?" And the man, serious as a damn heart attack, looked at him and said "Well, I mean, that's what we're fight for down there in New Orleans is America, isn't it?" Not fighting poverty, or homelessness, or devastation, and despair. No folks, we're fighting for AMERICA in every catastrophe. I remember being so proud of Clint as he looked that man in the face and said ever so tactfully, "Well sir, I'm only given 4 or 5 songs a week to sing, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather sing about Jesus." Another reason my husband is probably better than yours.

As I was reading the article above, I came upon this quote and I really liked it:

''I'm going to pray to the good Lord that he put his arms around the levees. I'm praying that he hug the levees tight so they don't break again, that he keep us safe,'' said 58-year-old Doretha Kitchens, whose home in the Lower Ninth Ward was submerged under a 10-foot wave.

I love to hear people talk about God in such familiar, physical terms. How comforting and terrifying, to think of being hugged by God-his ability to be so gentle and yet the thought of his physically holding together levees that hold back tons and tons of water. I love it. And to hear someone that has been through such a disaster still be able to say "the good Lord". . I think it's really beautiful. I hope that one day I can believe like that too.

So all that to say: I really hope that there's not a hurricane this weekend, nor any other weekend for a long time.

I also hope that i don't see any of these:

Is anyone else in the world still totally traumatized by watching JAWS when they're were entirely too young? Cause I definitely am.

Needles are the bain of my existence

I hate needles. I hate it when people palpate my veins. I hate having blood drawn. But even more, I hate being stuck multiple times without any success then being rescheduled to come back for more unsuccessful sticking on another day the following week.

This has been a very bad day.

What does it mean to create safety/space?

I’m probably the last person that should be writing about this. I used to think I was good at it. My whole life I’ve always had people tell me really personal things, things they wouldn’t tell other people, and why? Well, I used to tell myself that I’m a good listener, or maybe that it was because I didn’t judge them. Who knows what it really was?

So why is it so different in my marriage?

I think a lot of it has to do with a comment I made on Bonita’s blog. I think it’s easy to create freedom and safety when the issues being discussed don’t have anything to do with you. But in marriage, everything has to do with you (or at least that’s how it feels). Everything is personal. Every time you open the space up to discussion, you’re holding on to past conversations, past hurts and they’ve already got you on edge. You're in essence "letting your own shit cloud the space". How do you not do that? Forgiveness is not something that comes easily for me. You hurt me and it’s over. Period. But, it doesn’t really work that way in marriage. It’s an intimate and painful relationship meant to last forever, so how do you keep the hurt pile from accumulating so much that there’s no more room to breathe? The thing is, I really don’t know.

What I DO know is, creating a safe place for me looks like this: speaking calmly, only bringing up one issue at a time (because I have many), not rehashing or saying the same thing multiple times just worded differently, accepting an apology and not continuing to dig for more apologies, and for God’s sake TOUCHING ME (ie. Sitting close, holding hands, etc.). Touching me during a potentially explosive conversation communicates this: we’re fighting, but I still love you and it’s OK. Giving me time to think about what I want to say is important too. When I get upset, all rational thought leaves me and all I can think about is running away or slapping the hell out of somebody. Terrible, I know. True? Yes.

Like most things in life, I think safety looks like different things to different people. For Clint, if I open up an argument admitting that the fight is at least 50% my fault, it goes a lot better. That’s probably why our fights are so ugly, because 99% of the time, that doesn’t happen. I’m a prideful piece of shit, I know.

But what does it look like for other people? Over the past couple of months I’ve had some really intense conversations with friends, some over issues dealing with our relationship and some having nothing to do with it. The common theme seems to be that people just want to be heard, and understood. They don’t want advice, or answers, they just want someone who will feel the weight of their pain and not dismiss it. Brian Murphy recently posted a prime example of someone who did not create safety or space in the conversation, but shut it down with arrogance, selfishness, and judgement.

So Stephanie, I guess all that’s to say: creating space to me looks like truly listening, hearing, feeling, not judging, humility, forgiveness, and affection.

Not sure how that translates into counseling, but that’s all I got.

I never would have opened up

but you seemed so real to me
after all the bullshit I've heard
it's refreshing not to see
I don't have to pretend
she doesn't expect it from me

Sarah McLachlan-Good Enough (Fumbling Towards Ecstasy)

The thing about my husband is, he's probably way better than yours

First and foremost he's a great man. He's honest, intelligent, un-pretentious, well-read, open-minded, progressive, hard-working, talented, creative, approachable, and intense. He appreciates beauty, quality, and good art. He loves books, as you can see from our already overflowing library. He loves all manner of diet sodas, imported beer, cool t-shirts, blue jeans, non-overhead lighting, and John Lennon. He also loves the rock and roll.

Bands hire him to play because he kicks ass on the guitar in the most tasteful way possible. Sometimes he has too much to drink and he takes off his pants, pulls his boxers up and dances for people. Other times he raps and it's incredible. When his hair gets in his face, he's got no shame for pulling it back with a barrette. He is familiar with pain, and is not afraid to sit in it. He's taught me a lot in a very short period of time.

It's a boy!

One of my best friends in the world, Amanda, found out that she is having a boy this week. Amanda and I have been friends since 8th grade. We've had some hard times, but she has been an incredible person in my life, and played a really important role in my becoming a believer. She is a great woman, and I couldn't be more excited that she and her husband of almost 3 years will have their first child come January. I guess this makes me an aunt of sorts. Hooray.

Clint and I had a gathering at our place Saturday night and it turned out to be quite the happening deal. We started out eating dinner at the Lindo, then after everyone had had a couple margaritas we decided it would be an excellent idea to watch Napolean Dynamite. It was me, Clint, Brian, Andrea, and Benj to start out with. Then Kelly and the Westerholds showed up. We had a fantastic time sitting on our porch, talking about life. And sex. Because what conversation is complete without talking about that? Plus it was all girls outside and we just can't help ourselves.
Then we came inside and all piled on top of Brian Murphy. Not really sure why we did this, but it seemed appropriate at the time. **Brian then proceded to take his pants off twice and dance for us, similar to what my husband did at community group last week. It was great. Thankfully he didn't threaten to relieve himself off of our balcony though. . .unlike someone else I know...**

Today my new friend Andrea and I drove out to my in-law's lakehouse. I hate even saying "in-laws" because it has such a negative connotation and these people are some of the best people I've ever known. I was telling Andrea about it on the way down there, and I stopped to think "Man, I'm really lucky to have married into such a cool family." Michelle, Clint's mom is such a role model to me. She has been through SO much and is remarkably not bitter, which is foreign to me. It's something the women in my family have all struggled with.

Tonight, I met up with my brother to go see Snakes on a Plane. Yes, I did pay money to go see this film and I'm telling you, it was fantastic. Snakes were seriously all over this plane, people dying from their venomous bites left and right, and finally when Samuel L. Jackson decides he' s had enough he screams "I'm tired of all these mothaf***in' snakes on this mothaf***in' plane!" and he takes his gun and blows out the windows mid-flight. Everybody in the theater starting clapping and cheering. Spectacular. A cinematic snack if you will.

And now, I'm about to snuggle up with my dog and my husband until I am too sleepy, and then I will go to bed. That's a great weekend if you ask me.

How's that for a slap on the wrist?

In a 44-page memorandum and order, U.S. District Judge Anna Diggs Taylor struck down the NSA program, which she said violates the rights to free speech and privacy.…[and] the separation of powers doctrine, the Administrative Procedures Act, the First and Fourth amendments to the United States Constitution, the FISA and Title III." Her ruling went on to say that "the president of the United States ... has undisputedly violated the Fourth in failing to procure judicial orders." Read the whole article.

I've been really pissed off at the world for a while

And I haven’t really known why. So I sat down recently, started thinking about it, and I think that if I had to put my finger on it, I’d say the core issue is congruence, or well, a lack there-of. Congruence is a psychological term used to define a state of being where all of the facets of your personality intersect: the real self, the perceived self, and the ideal self. Congruence is that state in which all of these facets are balanced by each other.

And I’m struggling with this in two ways: one, trying to understand and know my real self apart from what I perceive or idealize myself to be, while at the same time, evaluating everyone else’s perception of me (well, really just Clint’s because he lives with me and sees the monster on a day to day basis). I’ve had people project personality traits on me my whole life that I don’t necessarily agree with, some good, some bad. Some of them I’ve even projected on myself. I have all these conceptions about myself that I’ve carried around for a lifetime, and now I’m looking my husband in the face and he’s telling me things that are totally different. I’m having to sort through the perceived to find what’s real and it’s turned out to be much more difficult than I expected.

William B. Swann said, our self views represent the lens in which we view the world. That’s why is so important to have a clear self view, because it affects all things. It’s our way of making sense of the world, and everything in it. Apparently I need some windex.

“What am I and where am I? Strange myself and paths appear. Scarce can lift a thought on high or drop one hear-feeling tear. Yet I feel I’m not at home, but know not which way to move. Lest I farther yet should roam from my blessed love.”

Maybe this is why I hate church

In response to Matt's question on Brian's blog. If you can understand this, you will understand a lot about why I hate church.


A wanton soul found dead in despondence
whose licentious acts did deny her solace
stood stolid in despair's repose
was chagrined at introspections probe
fell blushing at the bulwark church
in desperation's awful lurch
aware the fearful, fetid stench
that left her lone, an alien entrenched
and though she bawled, and beat her breast
was haughty dubbed in her distress
and silent did her tears descend
in pregant pools display her sin
and there in destitution lay
a prodigal pauper come to pay
a debt no man could 'ere conceive
that only death could 'ere relieve.

Have you ever “broken up” with a friend?

I heard this song on the radio on the way to work this morning, and it got me thinking.

“Wish you would step back from that ledge my friend. Cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in. And you if do not want to see me again, I would understand.”

I had a super close girlfriend 4 years ago. We met at my old church doing a disciple now together. We bonded immediately over confessions of our seedy pasts. We remained close for about 2 years until some things happened and we couldn’t move past them. Well, I couldn’t move past them, and we just stopped talking. Cold.

This all happened the month before I met Clint. Well, a few days ago I got on IM for the first time in a couple of years and she messaged me. We chatted for a bit, and I gave her my myspace page address. The next day she wrote me a really beautiful poem about our friendship, and what talking to me had made her realize about it. I was totally speechless.

It made me wonder: can you, in a friend-relationship, move beyond a perfidious past? Or is it like a marriage, where when the ties are broken, there’s really no chance to mend? Are there some friendships that are really just meant to last for a little while?

Mer de Noms

I cannot stop listening to this record. I seriously think I've listened to it almost 10 times through in the past 5 days. It's definitely the kind of music that my friend Danielle says "stresses her out", but I can't get enough. I'm probably going to listen to it on my lunch break and on the way home.

And I can’t quite put my finger on what it is I specifically am drawn to, but I freakin’ love it...how angry, intelligent, weird, beautiful, and complicated it is. I love that The Hollow is the first song. The guitar and the drums on this song makes me want to do hard manual labor and relish every drop of sweat. Especially the guitar.

Rose has a really delicate melody about being stuck in a destructive relationship and being scared to get out, set to a hard, mechanical sounding techno background. I love when it gets to the end and Maynard is screaming “I am, I will”.

Judith. I was listening to this on the way home yesterday thinking about what an interesting time we live in where we have songs that say “F*** your God, your Lord, your Christ”. It made me start thinking about what it must have been like to live before Jesus and to constantly be walking that tight rope of the law. It made me think of the liberty we have today, and how deep down I wonder if it’s possible to offend God. Most of the time I think not, but I’m not completely positive. “It's not like you killed someone. It's not like you drove a spiteful spear into his side. Talk to Jesus Christ as if he knows the reasons why. He did it all for you...”. He just keeps repeating that last line and it’s incredible.

3 Libras is a stand out track for me. I love the rise and fall. I couldn’t even tell you what it’s about except for a guess that he’s trying to love someone with a lot of baggage, and all his efforts fall like water on a rock. I love hearing Maynard sing about feeling “disappointed and passed over” At the end of the song he sings over and over “you don’t see me. You don’t see me at all” and it gives me chills.

Sleeping Beauty- Clint pointed this one out to me. It’s about that desire in men to “rescue” women. There are some really great lines on this track like “Drunk on ego. Truly thought I could make it right if I, kissed you one more time…but you're far too poisoned for me. Such a fool to think that I could wake you from your slumber, that I could actually heal you.”

Thinking of You- I won’t say what this song is really about because talking about before just got me on people’s crap list. I will say, that it's one of the hottest songs I've heard in my entire life.

Brena- Beautiful song about vulnerability. Surprisingly mellow. Love the lines “show me lonely and show me openings to lead me closer to you, my dear Breña. Vulnerable but it’s all right. Opening to heal...”

Over- I just love the piano part in this song.

Clint and I need a vacation

Got any ideas? I'm trying to plan something for the two of us for this fall without breaking the bank.

I can't wait until January, when we'll be at the place below, up in the Smokey Mountains with a bunch of friends, lots of vino, cigars, a chessboard, and no alarm clocks.
















Not to mention our own private jacuzzi and a king size bed! Not that I don't love sleeping in Clint's armpit every night mind you, but a vacation from our double bed will be oh so nice.

Weekend Summation-Warning: This will be boring for the most part

Friday night Clint and I met up with Josh and Abby for dinner at WINGS, then met up with Rob and Amy to go see the premier of Talladega Nights. I really enjoyed it, although Clint said it could have been better. Favorite line “She’s like a tractor beam of hotness.”

Saturday I did laundry in our 80 degree apartment…well, it was actually 80 degrees because I was doing laundry. I digress. A girl I met at the dog park came over and I trimmed up her hair while we played a Sex in the City trivia game that Clint picked up for me a couple weeks ago. I know, I know. I’m obsessed.

I attempted to take advantage of the tax-free holiday by going to the Galleria that afternoon. Big mistake. I swear every high-schooler within 3 states was there. I immediately left. Immediately. Ha.

That night Clint played at a new venue The Mellow Martini out in Greystone. Eh. Kind-of uppity if you know what I mean. Lots of frat boy looking types, which is why I was glad that BTM came out and sat with me so I didn’t have to wave off drunk losers all night. Ugh, guys really don’t care about wedding rings do they? I swear. There was a guy a couple of weeks ago at Firenze that just couldn’t get his head around “Hey, see that hot guy up there playing guitar? Yeah, we’re married. Buzz off.”

So it came time to go home, and I got my first ride on a motorcycle! Pretty thrilling really, even though I don’t think we went more than 45 mph the whole time because I am a total chicken. At one point I was afraid my contacts were going to fly right off of my eyeballs. Brian was a good sport about it though, and since I wasn’t terrorized the first time I’ll be more apt to try it again.

Yesterday I did two more haircuts (I’ve been doing a lot of hair lately), then met up with my brother for some dinner. I love my brother. I don’t think there are words to describe how much I love my brother. I’d probably be more devastated if something happened to him than most anyone on the planet. He’s leaving next week to go to grad school at Alabama and I’m going to miss him a lot because I probably won’t see him until football season is over. Alabama football is religion in my family.

After church we went to Abby and Josh’s to hang out. We brought out the vino, turned on some hip-hop music, and before we knew it, we were having a party. Clint actually had enough to drink that he rapped through 3 songs. Brian and Josh were so moved by Clint’s rap that they starting dancing and Josh got up on his countertop to an interpretive dance for us all.

Gotta love camera phones. And yes, that is Brian’s hand on Josh’s crotch.

Sometimes I am a brick wall of mistrust

The glass it hits the floor and you're walking away

But I wanna be the one who walks you home

Who walks you home anyway

Stare into her eyes and then try to explain it

Try to explain it

But that shit just fucks you up

And I can never get close enough

I can never get close

I can never get close enough
To you

Stormy: Cross-eyed or no?

Last month, Clint went on the road for a couple days with IG. Not liking to be at home when he’s not there, I went to visit a girlfriend of mine in Starkville, MS- Danielle, who just had a baby recently. We had a blast. We took Allie and her Boston terrier Petey to the park, went for sushi, did a total make-over on Danielle for her birthday...just plain had a great time.

Friday night when I got in we went to the liquor store and got the ingredients for some Cosmopolitans and we spent the night sitting around drinking and watching Sex in the City. Well, that night I slept like a baby what with all the alcohol in my system. The next night- totally different story. See, Danielle has these two kittens Ginger and Stormy that like to tap dance on your head while you’re sleeping. Stormy, the smaller of the two, is what Danielle likes to call ‘touched’ which is a nice way to say he has brain damage. This is Stormy:

The whole weekend I kept saying that Stormy was cross-eyed, but Danielle and Gabe just didn't see it. What do you think?

Have you ever noticed how quickly fear turns into hate?

About a year ago, I left my office to run to Michael’s craft store. I took the interstate to get where I was going and as I was making my exit I got caught at the light at the bottom of the off ramp. After I had been sitting there for a minute I noticed the man in front of me staring at me in his rear-view mirror with a sneer on his face. I tried to ignore him. When the light changed green, the man switched lanes, slowed down, and dropped in behind my car. He followed me for some ways, but I managed to lose him as I darted through traffic into the parking lot and ran into the store. Well, I thought I’d lost him. As I was walking up one of the aisles, I caught sight of the door just the man was walking in wearing a red shirt and sun glasses. I hid behind a rack at first while he walked past, then inched my way up to the cashier.
“There’s a man following me” I said to the cashier.
“Is he wearing a red shirt?” she asked looking past me.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“Yes, how did you know that?” I asked nervously.
“Because whoever he is he’s staring at you right now”.
As she said this, she reached for the phone to call the police, but the man must have taken the hint because he bolted for the door. I turned to look at him as he ran out the door and he shot me one last eerie look. I wanted to cry. I felt like a prisoner there. I stayed in the store for a little while longer, to be sure he had left, and requested that the cashier stand and watch me as I walked to my car. I remember putting my keys in the ignition and being surprised and how angry I was, how much hate I felt, and how quickly my fear had turned into it.

I have realized lately that I have a lot of fear. Fear of being controlled, fear of failing, of being wrong, of trusting…fear of the unknown. It makes me so sad that I have so much fear, especially in my marriage. My fear has made our marriage so much harder. And my reaction to it is always the same: I get angry. I think so much of the violence in the world happens because we are so afraid of things we don’t understand. Things like homosexuality, poverty, different cultures and religions. Our minds are so small and closed off and so are our hearts. Sometimes I think that I hate the bible because I don’t understand it, or that I hate church because it just doesn’t make any sense to me. Sometimes it gets kind of scary because I think about the part of the bible where it says the gospel is foolishness to those who are perishing. Well, it sounds like foolishness to me most days as of late. And there is no easy fix. This fear…it’s like a life-long disease with no cure. I find myself longing for the day when- as Clint likes to quote, “all sad things will be made untrue”. What a great day that will be.