First Night in the Jungle

I am not sure I am going to make it here. Sure, in the light of day, everything is beautiful, breathtaking, and generally heaven-like, night-time though? That's a whole different game of survival of the fucking fittest!

Since I haven't totally adjusted to the time change, 8pm felt really late. I tried staying awake as long as possible. Admittedly, I was trying to be brave, but as the night hours grew deeper, my courage ran thin. Also, dear reader, keep in mind that the sun is set and it is dark by 8pm. Around 9pm, flashlight in hand, I made the journey toward my tent, passing along the way, the "caution wild pigs" sign, which did nothing for my nerves.

I cozy down, and even turned all the lights off, just to see how dark it was. That lasted all of 2 seconds. It was darker than the darkest anything ever. Lights back on. Ok, little wind-up lantern will eventually go out, all is good. Starting to close my eyes, and my freakin spidey sense, ever so gently whispered, "look over there". By the way, I could really use less of a spidey sense. I noticed a shadow inside my tent, "what the hell could that be?" my sleepy mind thought. So I grabbed my flashlight, turned it on and lo and behold, the BIGGEST FUCKING BEETLE OF ALL TIME a near 2 inches from my face. Needless to say, there was much swearing, and frantic planning on how this creature was going to meet its maker. I grabbed a book, the soft cover one (idiot self). Now the monster had crawled onto the side of the bookshelf, a place where it knew I wasn't going to be able to get it. Shit. "bug spray!" I said out loud, as if to proclaim to the bug you better get the FUCK OUTTA here! And with lightening speed, I grabbed my can of (illegal here at hedonisia), my deet filled spray. And just as you likely thought, the monster was now gone. Fuck. This. Shit.

Now what? It was me, and the BFBOAT, alone, in my zipped up tent. There was nothing I could do. Of course, it took about an hour to come to this realization. So, go back to bed? That would be what I tried to do, "tried" being the operative word.

Coqui frogs. They are loudest mutha fuckas I have ever heard. It baffles me that something so small could be so deafening! I suppose there is a metaphor to be made here, but that is another blog, today I will be focusing on my hatred of them. Think about a nature show, on FULL FUCKING BLAST, times TEN! The peircing sound stabbed my ears, for hours! I tried listening to music, on full blast, but it was not loud enough to drown out these fuckers. Keep in mind, I am normally a nature loving person, you know, live and let live, but I want these frogs dead. Dead!

Now the pig issue. I started hearing snorting and rustling, which assured me that they were smelling me out in order to eat me. And since I have not actually seen them, I have no real sense of their size. But at this point, I am sure they are the size of cars. I was told to make noise to scare them off, so I rattled my tent. And I heard them scatter off, but now they know I am here. Shit. This happened 4 times. Four. Fucking. Times.

And while the beetle was hunting me, frogs were stabbing me in the ears, pigs were snorting me out... I am under an avocado tree. I heard the loudest CRASH on the little make-shift roof. For a moment I thought the sky was falling. My eyes burst open, and a flash of light, for what I assume, was the fear hormones rushing through my body. These falling avocados happened 3 times.

Of course, there was also an epic rainstorm. The loudest rain I have ever heard, and I am from Portland. The rain also scared me. I mean, at this point, I felt like Mother Nature was being a real bitch, and I was fucking scared of her.

All in all, I am not sure how I am going to do another night. I am going to try earplugs, buy a knife to kill pigs, and maybe pray a little harder for Mother Nature to have mercy on this very tired soul.

Innocence Lost

As a 31 year old woman, I think one would expect that I would be all grown up. In some ways, I suppose I am. I have a woman's body, I have my first few wrinkles, discovered botox, gray hair, and I can't go out partying like I used to. However, in many ways, probably the ways that matter more, I feel like I am a child, coming of age.

I was asked a question about choosing a mate, and upon thinking about it, when I got married, I certainly wasn't thinking about "choosing a mate", I was simply doing what I thought I was supposed to do when you're in love: Get Married.  I thought I was old enough (20 years young) to make that decision, and I certainly can tell you, that no one would have been able to talk me out of it. I am an entirely different person that I was when I was 20. Just saying the number "twenty" and "getting married",  together in the same sentence, out-loud, sounds preposterous. If someone I knew was getting married at 20, I would think they were crazy! Did people think I was crazy, and simply kept it to themselves? I don't really care one way or the other if they did, but it is an interesting question.

I was thinking about when I moved to Irvine, CA for a fateful week.  Trying to transfer colleges, and ultimately getting duped by the, oh-so-christian-concordia, college system. I had to return to Portland. I was thinking about how much Andy and I were in love then. He was so happy to see me when I returned. I remember like it was yesterday, seeing him at my parents house - there is even a picture of us on that day, smiles as big and bright as the sun. We were young, innocent, lovers.

I saw a boy, roller skating down the street, with a red rose in his hand. He was skating, swiftly down the road, on what I will assume to be, his lovers home.  If only love could stay as simple as that rose. But like the rose, with time, love withers and dies. Petals fall to the ground to become swept up in the dust that becomes our lives.

Not What I Want, Is It What I Need?

Today, I signed divorce papers. In a few short weeks, a judge will sign the same papers, dissolving my marriage. This makes every cell in my body hurt.  This pain is far and above any physical pain I have ever experienced. It has become an ailment that my body cannot seem to heal from... It is a scar that I will where on the deepest part of my heart, forever. 

To anyone out there who has ever passed judgement on the divorced, please, think twice about ever doing it again.  I never thought I would get divorced. I never thought I would sit and cry in a lawyers office, while signing away the love of my life. 

This is certainly not what I want. However, I find myself wondering if it is what I need. The wise people in my life tell me it is. I have yet to believe them. Only time will tell, and I truly no longer have a choice.  I wanted to sign the papers first. I couldn't bear seeing his name signed. However, I know that he will have to deal with seeing mine, and that brings deep sorrow.

One thing I am grateful for, is that Andy and I were both very kind, peaceful, and compassionate towards each other during this process. Which, naturally, makes me wonder, "why, then?". But it is, what it is.

I am divorced. It sucks.

Happy Mother's Day

I am considering this my Better Homes and Garden's blog for Mother's. My Mom is always critisizing herself for not cleaning enough, well this piece is my attempt to change her perspective. Let's take a tour of my Mother's home. The Living Room Upon entry one will find a wood burning stove. The primary and only source of heat for the home. If it is early morning, she has likely gotten out of bed and lit a fire so that the rest of us can wake to a warm house. A little further in, the couch is full of pillows, blankets, and other things to keep one cozy. The blankets have cartoon characters, or they are worn with years of love, the faded colors showing the years of cozy snuggling that has been done. The Restroom A girls dream! Every product imaginable - lotions, perfumes, magical potions! The towels are yummy smelling from a fresh wash and soft for dryer sheets, and if it is spring and summer, you may be lucky enough to dry off with a towel that has dried in the sunshine, a truly heavenly treat- who knew that sunshine and wind had a fragrance?! The Kitchen A place where all appetites may be satisfied. Treats, juices, milk, breads, proteins... The smell of dinner cooking, and the conversations surround what would be a suitable dessert. She complains that there are no dishes without the ABC's or silly children's art on them, but I see a never lost childhood, dishes that no one cries fits over getting broken or lost, a comfortable place where you can relax. Seeing dishes that I used as a child takes me back to simpler times, and I need that more than ever right now. My Bedroom I recently moved into my Mother's home, for reasons that are certainly due their own blog, but I will attempt to stay on topic. My parents moved their room upstairs so that I could have a private space. The walls are decorated with puzzles that my nephew has put together. She was worried I wouldn't like it, but she would be very wrong. They are representative of time, creativity, focus, skill, laughing, smiling. All these things that remind me of my own childhood. So, what is my point, dear reader? I think I wanted to create a quick snapshot of my mom's castle, for she truly is a queen. She worries so much about "not doing it right", and I wanted to attempt to ease her fears, and assure her that she is loved. And we all adore the mismatched dishes and towels. They represent out lives - swooped together in a cosmic miracle of life, all the mishap adventures, all the beautiful colors and memories of time spent together. Besides, I don't wanna be yelled at for breaking a dish :) I love you, Mom.

A Life-Long Sentence

It hurts so much. I never knew how deep and dark pain could be. The most terrifying, is the fact that I don't think I have reached the bottom of this pit of anguish. It is a dark place, in my gut that thrashes, and gnaws at my spirit... It is clawing and chewing at my will to simply exist.

I hear music, and it is like the notes wake my tears from a drowsy slumber. They never really went to sleep. They are always on the surface of my being.  They rise and roll off my cheeks, into my ears, my mouth, my body... Like I am being slowly drowned...

There is no light. Only darkness. I don't want to feel like this forever, and I am so scared that that will be my fate. I don't see any other way. I just hurt all the time. I am becoming very good at faking a smile, a laugh... Faking my way through this waking life... That is no life... that is a sentence.

Saying Good-Bye Hurts

But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.  ~Edward Young

Saying good-bye is hard. Do you really know what it means? It comes from “God be with you” from the 14^th century. I am not referring to the sweet, “until we meet again”, kind of good-bye. This is the kind of good-bye that is the death of something you love.

Meeting with my soon-to-be “ex-husband” this past week has stirred the pain of my wound. And in exploring this wound, discovered that it isn’t saying good-bye to him that is the hardest part, it was the drive home, when I was daydreaming about all the lost dreams.

So many dreams are dying with this divorce. We had always talked about going to Europe together. I had always dreamed about having children with this man. I had envisioned what they would look like, what it would be like to have them in his arms.  The home that we created together is being surgically dissected, one cardboard box at a time. These are the things that I mourn, along with the man that I vowed to spend the rest of my life with… It was to be his old eyes I was to look into…

But none of those things will come to pass, and the agony of that reality is killing me. I can’t seem to stop thinking about all those things that will never be. I am stuck in this perpetual state of wanting to change something that cannot be changed. You can’t cheat death.

I suppose, I am simply supposed to sit in it. Allow myself to mourn, whatever that means?! How will I know I am done with it? Will it always torment me?

I am not ready to say good-bye but I am getting closer to being ready to let God be with him.

I Went to Church Today

Today I went to church.  I think the last time I stepped foot inside a church was about 7 months ago… just as I was starting to seek answers for my broken marriage.  Alas, I was met by people who seemed more concerned about my weight and appearance (a topic for another entry, I’m sure) than they did about my need for spiritual healing.  Needless to say, I felt as though I had hit a roadblock.  This church was my home church, where my husband and I had become members. But, like many things we shared together, this was going to have to be another thing to let go of.

I went to a new church today and I listened to Dr. Marcus Borg deliver the sermon. His birthday is today, and he turned 70. His message was that the Christian faith is simply one of many that brings people closer to God, and that for him, Christianity is home. It was that phrase, “Christianity is home”, that echoed in my heart. And, being the season of Lent, he spoke about the mortal man, and how we rarely remember to see our death, not as scary, but as wisdom. Wisdom to know that each moment is a gift. He finally ended with the message that Jesus trumps the Bible, and sometimes the Bible is wrong, and in that instance, Jesus trumps the bible verse that is sometimes used to divide us.

The main point of this entry is my realization that my Christianity is home to me.  It is always where I end up when I feel broken, betrayed, & hurt. I find myself lamenting to God through the tears that run down my face. It is there, that I find the most comfort, even if, sometimes, I don’t think anyone is out there, and I am just a crazy woman talking to myself.

Maybe just embracing myself as the crazy woman would make this journey a lot easier. Sigh. Dearest Reader, I leave you with the Lenten question of, what happens when this waking life is finished? For I am scared to fucking death, so to speak.