you met me at a very strange time in my life.

i left work early today. my manager sent me home for what i will refer to as "unsportsman-like conduct." breaking down in the locker room is not fair play in the workforce. and having it happen twice in the span of one week is definitely hitting below the belt. i couldn't help it. i tried to hold it in. steel myself. but those of you who know me can attest, i am an open book. my emotions do the backstroke just under the surface. the vulnerable underbelly exposed. i have felt torn open for the better part of the month. or at least since valentine's day. my bleeding heart. a weight resting upon my chest. a struggle to catch my breath. i thought my anxiety rested in my poor salesmanship or the ever changing venue of telluride, but after examining the situation a little closer, today, i have come to some new conclusions.

valentine's day is not an issue for me in the romantic, superficial, hallmark sense of the word. new year's eve has always been my holiday weakness. valentine's day is just another random tuesday or, in this case, saturday, for me. and this year "saturday" was actually quite spectacular. i spent the day skiing, running errands, and cleaning. and in the evening i attended a photography opening at a gallery in mountain village and then rode the gondola over the mountain into telluride to make dinner with two friends. steak and mashed potatoes. asparagus and steamed artichoke. carrot cake for dessert. delicious. over expensive glasses of wine we regaled each other with stories from our past. our friends. our families. both girls shared stories of their mentally ill siblings. bipolar and schizophrenic. i gasped. astonished. my friend continued to detail my deepest fears. expressed them as her own. the late nights she sat awake, waiting to get sick. waiting for the disease to overtake her life too. it is hereditary, after all. i listened as she described her experience. the similarities held me stiff in my chair. unable to move. afraid to ask too many questions. how is it possible to be amongst such company. exciting and equally upsetting. my heart lurched for my throat. i swallowed it down with another sip of red wine.

over the next few days my thoughts returned to my friend's description. starring at walls, convinced she saw bricks move. voices. you get so worried you might be crazy, that you begin to drive yourself over the edge. i thought i had backed away a good many feet in the last few years, but i repeatedly find myself teetering on sanity's hire wire act. sometimes i can put on a good show. convince everyone i have it all together. other times i am a hot mess and i find solitude in long runs and books and movies. but solitude has been scarce in my time in telluride. i am constantly surrounded by people. living. working. sleeping. it's put a back order on my processing. how i manage through my daily life. the inevitable build up. the slip. the screeching halt. and i find myself in this saddened state. only just now tracing the path to where i'm standing.

my mood has shifted dramatically. at first, i blamed it on my period. an excuse for my irrational swings and shifts. needy. clingy. craving. wanting. but the moods persisted. my attempts to write were futile. no privacy. no down time. one excuse after another. i fed the sadness with books and films. relating to their characters. having difficulty leaving their lives behind at the close. my empathy is a weakness, at times. i feel too much. to intense. too soon. it can be a bit overwhelming. but the reading inspired the writing. and the films drew things out of me. i find it difficult to be creative when i am happy. when my heart is content. and it has been for the past six weeks. and i am still happy. i love it here. i have never felt so myself. and at the same time that is an inconvenience. the things that come pouring out of me when i let my guard down may prove to be crippling. i want so desperately to write this book. to organize the pages in my head. sebold's memoir only encouraged my pen. but i don't know if i am strong enough to follow through. to relive the past and maintain my present. i don't function well when i dive into the thick of it. i panic and flail. toss and turn. and cry. and i get sent home early from work.

i take things personally. i try to have thick skin. to let it roll off my back. but ultimately i find fault in myself. i failed to measure up. i have spent an exorbitant amount of my life apologizing for things that were not my fault. could not have been my fault. and when i stand on the mountain all day long in the cold and snow, soliciting happy vacationers for photographs, only to be refused or laughed at, there is only so much my little heart can bare before i turn inside out. i get rattled. and it's all down hill from there. the past week has been exceptionally hard. the mountain has been empty. perfect for a personal day of skiing, but lousy for my dwindling bank account. i have managed to stay on the safe side of panic when it comes to money. everything has fallen into place one way or another. i am being patient and responsible, but the fear creeps in every now and then. the looming unknowns. how will i make my ends meet in the off season? where will i live? how weird will it be here when my best friend moves away in a matter of weeks? i don't know the answers to any of those questions. and i can't do much more than be patient and persistent. have hope. and have fun. ride it out. let it flow. but these lessons are hard and i find myself in a an already weakened state. i am going to bat on the mountain without my equipment. i let a series of "no's" get to me. it must be something i did. if only i had [done] [said]...it killed me that i spent the better part of the day making conversation on lift five only to walk away empty handed. defeated. deflated. and to find my roommate was very successful as my replacement in under an hour. he is a good salesman. he can talk to anyone. i admire that. but in those moments between the shop and the locker room i couldn't muster up enough admiration to cancel out the feeling of not being good enough. will that ever go away? will i ever be free?

i got a voicemail from my sister last night. she called me at eleven o' clock. that is one o'clock eastern standard time. she thought i was asleep. but i was at karaoke. her monotone voice droned on for a solid eight minutes. amazed my phone carrier would allow time for such ramblings. her voice was flat. tired. almost intoxicated. pausing between puffs on her cigarette.
"you are great. i am a psychopath. " she apologized for being so difficult. i love her. even when she is hard to love. but i have found it so difficult to be involved in her illness and maintain my own sanity. i escape into my own life. selfish and afraid. and in some ways it is easy to do. two time zones away from her. but in the moments when i have eluded her endless phone calls, the ceaseless questioning, the ridicule, the matchmaking, i am engulfed by the guilt of my escape. survivors remorse. how do you grieve the loss of someone who still "exists"? who physically remains present but has in other ways forever departed your life? i feel guilty for wanting the things that i do. the things my sister will never have an opportunity for. i feel guilty for moving so far away, for needing the chance to find myself. for wanting to escape her disease. wanting to carve out a little place for myself. and at the end of the day, for feeling like a failure in all my attempts.

alone in the locker room, i knelt over my backpack, stuffing long johns and gloves into the unzipped pouches. my eyelashes held thick tears. i couldn't stop them. things have been building up. i need a good release. the ground is too snow covered for a run. so i write. and i try to get some grip on my reality. i escaped out the back door. too embarrassed to show my face in front of my co-workers. headed to the market for chocolate chips. immerse myself in baking. my therapy.

in the kitchen i crack eggs and measure spices. it is the tediousness of baking that calms me. the little things, folks. it's the little things. music plays in the back ground. ryan adams. copeland. lori mckenna. snow falls heavy outside. i stand in awe of the blanket it has already spread. beautiful. magical. i feel guilty for being here.
no.
i feel grateful.

Well I wish you all of happiness
And I know someday you'll find success
But find yourself and nothing less
And know that you are loved.
-lori mckenna

congratulations that God makes you look up.

my eyes were raw. tears pouring uncontrollably down my cheeks. i admittedly used my sleeve as a handkerchief. wiping snot on my jeans. i went to see Rachel Getting Married. i was not at all prepared for what played out before me. i cry at weddings. but i really cried at this wedding film. the family dynamics twisted my heart into a knot that sat perched in my throat for the duration. intense. moving. brilliantly dysfunctional. my favorite movie of this year. anne hathaway's character is gloriously broken. the truest film i have seen in years.

warning:bring tissues.

And I struggle with God so much, because I can't forgive myself. And I don't really want to right now. I can live with it, but I can't forgive myself. And sometimes I don't want to believe in a God that could forgive me. But I do want to be sober. I'm alive and I'm present and there's nothing controlling me. If I hurt someone, I hurt someone. I can apologize, and they can forgive me... or not. But I can change. And I just wanted to share that and say congratulations that God makes you look up, I'm so happy for you, but if he doesn't, come here. That's all. Thank you.

and I am a writer, writer of fictions. i am the heart that you call home. and i've written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones.

i am in the middle of a good book. lucky, by alice sebold. a memoir. a story of rape. of being handled. and hating. and surviving. and making it out the other side. it's hard. and painful and i get lost in its darkness, but it reminds me how important it is to have a voice. that my story matters. that each of our stories matter. they are different and the same and hurtful and glorious. and i pray for the courage to get mine down. to sort it all out. to ride through those tough memories. to keep my head afloat. not get lost in the past. those memories are a burden. a heaviness i have carried for so long. but "maybe this weight is a gift." something to carry me into the future. to gain back some piece of the me that i have lost. "No one can pull anyone back from anywhere. you save yourself or you remain unsaved."

i want to stand a top this all some day. to look down. to see the path. exhale. satisfied .

t.g.i.f.

i love fridays. and not because it is the end of the "week." my schedule doesn't work like that anymore. i cease to live for five o' clocks and fridays. everyday is new and exciting. mondays just as good as saturdays. but i happen to really enjoy fridays because my roommate, dennis and i both have off and we get to spend the day skiing for fun (instead of for work). i know life is rough. he is a much better skier than i am, which is great for me because i get to go places i might not have ventured on my own, and i am progressing nicely in skill and form. it has also become a friday ritual to end the day at cornerhouse for six dollar (veggie) burgers and fries. yummy. good fun. good food. good atmosphere. i love fridays. and i am continuously amazed at the friendships i have made here. total strangers turned bff. good times.

oh the sun is surely sinking down, but the moon is slowly rising.

this is home. it still feels a bit surreal. but amazing.

everything i need to know in life i learned from tyler florence.

i had a little dinner party last saturday night. a friend of mine brought wine. port and marsala. i think he is a beer man. but last night it inspired me to make one of my favorites: chicken marsala. it was a culinary first for me, but i think it turned out pretty tasty. dennis had seconds so it couldn't have been too bad! mmmmmmmmm...garlic mashed potatoes. i could live off the stuff.

if the sky above you should turn dark and full of clouds, and that old north wind should begin to blow.

in honor of my crazy living arrangements we decided to take some "family" portraits on the mountain. on our last available day to all ski together before we lose a roomie to the california sunshine, dennis, greg, and i hammed it up on the slopes and i conquered my very first hike to and grabbed some sweet shots with the boys under my namesake's extreme terrain. awesome day. and this was all before lunchtime.

i got a really good heart, i just can't catch a break.

i'm not your fucking consolation prize.