ive been staying with my parents longer than i intended bc theyll be going on a well-deserved vacation soon and i volunteered to dog-sit for them. so ive also been reminded of just how small a town i come from.
an employee of my moms went to the doctor yesterday. her doctor's daughter is a girl i went to high school with. knowing that this woman works with my mom, but not knowing that they're friends, this doctor told her that "that alex reisner, you know she was a drug addict in high school. she even went to rehab AND she bought her drugs from an old man..." eyebrows raised, implications made.
now, im open about the problems i have. i know that im an addict, and that isnt something that can be cured, and i encourage other addicts or friends of addicts to have open, honest conversations with me about what i went through and continue to face. i write about my experiences here hoping to make it clear that as addicts, we are not freaks, we are all different, and none of us deserves to be treated like shit because of our disease.
education is the key. i guarantee that everyone has a close friend or family member struggling with this, and there are as many ways to get through it as there are people trying.
telling these stories when you dont know them, in the dark, in whispers and behind closed doors, is helpful to no one. and on that note, how dare you, dr.
i know that i come from a small town, and my openness and honesty is not just painful to me, but to my parents, because they have to live here and hear this fucking gossip. that hurts me. i wish i could save them from that. i wish that i could save them from the consequences of my choices, but they are my family. they have decided to stand by me and bear that small-town gossip with me, and i owe them a greater debt than i think anyone could repay. but i love them, and they love me, and so we stand together against your malice and your ignorance, dr.
so, to everyone who has made choices they do not regret, but who must defend them constantly against this kind of malicious gossip and willful stupidity, know you are not alone. those of you in tiny, bullshit towns populated by people who think they know you, and think they can judge you: they dont and they cant. stand up, stand proudly, do not avert your eyes or change your history to make it more palatable to anyone.
its the best way to piss off the people who tell lies about you.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
dionysus
i learned which marlboros you smoke
and which whiskey you drink.
i learned where your silverware goes
and that you dont let it collect in the sink.
im sure youve trained a new girl by now
to wake you up with her mouth,
and the way you want your studio cleaned,
and what time you want her out.
i thought you were sexy
for your casual misogyny.
i learned your favorite whiskey.
i liked that you didn't thank me.
and which whiskey you drink.
i learned where your silverware goes
and that you dont let it collect in the sink.
im sure youve trained a new girl by now
to wake you up with her mouth,
and the way you want your studio cleaned,
and what time you want her out.
i thought you were sexy
for your casual misogyny.
i learned your favorite whiskey.
i liked that you didn't thank me.
DFW
im reading infinite jest, which i thought was just a book, but is actually a serious intellectual exercise. i never really respected DFW bc i read consider the lobster and considered it funny and cute, so i figured no way could the guy who wrote that write something this heavy. i am, of course, an ass.
please excuse the reduced blogging as i trudge through this.
DJC says itll get better after about 300 pages, and since i trust him in all things, im pushing through, but right now its murky at best.
please excuse the reduced blogging as i trudge through this.
DJC says itll get better after about 300 pages, and since i trust him in all things, im pushing through, but right now its murky at best.
Monday, June 27, 2011
short fiction, five
A gogo dances all night and she’s tired but pushing up through the tired is excitement about what comes next. Webster Hall just closed so she’s waiting in the room next to the stage in the basement with the burlesque girls and the other gogos and the photogs and the other usual after-hours people and they’re drinking the bottle the owner brought back to them and posing for photos and laughing and screaming. She stays a little detached from it, tries to act too tired to join them when they will eventually all go to Vesalka for breakfast. She has other plans. She won’t be going to breakfast. She’s the one a little too involved in whoever she’s texting, whose foot is tapping, who keeps checking to see where the DJ is with the money, who’s getting impatient. Eventually he sweeps into the room with Morissey playing in his head, wearing his boots and his pompadour, all grand gestures and dance moves and jokes, and she’s on her feet instantly. She signs the paper he puts in front of her and takes the envelope with the name her best friend made up for a photographer at Fashion Week two years ago written on it. She kisses everyone and makes excuses for leaving. “I have a paper due Monday. You know I haven’t been getting enough sleep. I just can’t be spending this money on breakfast right now.” She’s running up the stairs in her six inch black patent leather pumps, she’s outside hailing a cab, she’s saying something witty to the bouncer who complimented her outfit because her trench coat’s blown open and under it she’s still in the black bra and panties, thigh high fishnets, and hot pink suspenders she worked in.
“The Bowery and Delancey” and the cab pulls away. An old friend’s music video plays on the screen in the backseat and her phone is vibrating with texts from people she didn’t say goodbye to back at Webster. She shakes her head just slightly and silences both and watches 3rd turn into the Bowery. As she crosses Houston a smile forms in the pit of her stomach and pushes up her throat and by the time she’s sliding a credit card under the screen it’s splayed across her face.
She calls him as she walks the half block back up Delancey to Elisabeth and he meets her at the door of his building with a partially filled trash bag in his hand. He tosses it to the curb and doesn’t look at her and she flicks her cigarette butt and walks into the building behind him. They don’t acknowledge each other as they climb the three flights of stairs to his apartment. She follows him into his bedroom and sits on the edge of his bed and her feet dangle about a foot off the floor. He sits in front of his computer and pulls various tools to him from around the desk.
“I just love how it smells in here. I’ll never get over it.”
He looks over his shoulder at her and smiles and the smile spreads from her spine around each rib and warms her insides.
“One or two, Monkey?”
“Oh, two. There was a whole group of Jersey guys downstairs tonight and they were awful.”
She hangs her coat and purse on the post at the foot of his bed and watches the tv hung on the wall above his head.
“Ugh. I don’t know why they let those guys in.”
He’s emptying two little wax paper packets into the lid of a Pellegrino bottle.
“Right?? They get so grabby when they’re wasted and they’re always wasted.”
She lies back on his bed and plays with her phone.
“Ready, little monkey?”
He pushes himself up, grabbing the hypodermic from where it had been cooling on the windowsill. She jumps off the bed and follows him through the living room. In the harsh bathroom light she holds her arms out for his inspection. He taps the right one and hands her the strip of rubber.
“You dance like this? You should at least put some makeup on these or something.”
She’s wrapping and tightening the rubber around her bicep with her left hand.
“I know. It’s dark in there so it’s not incredibly noticeable. I am thinking about getting some long gloves though.”
She watches him sink the needle into her purple vein and pulls off the rubber when he tells her to. She makes it a few steps out of the bathroom before she sinks down into a couch and all the air pushes out of her. He laughs and keeps walking into his room.
She’s in his bed the next day, staring at the bookshelf at the foot of his bed, and he’s lying next to her, staring across her nearly-naked body at the tv on the wall. She’s talking, slowly, each of her words separated by long spaces which make them sound like distinct sounds dripping into his mind, about how they’ll be friends even after the drugs, when they have real lives. She’s forgotten that this became his real life when he was her age, that ten years have passed like this for him, that she’s the only new part. He rubs his head against her shoulder.
That night her phone wakes her around 2. Everyone is out! At TriGrand! At Don Hills! At the new Saturday night at Savalas! Where is she?!? She closes her phone and laughs softly at the answer to that question. He’s at his computer again, his headphones around his shoulders playing one song while the computer speakers play another. He hears that she’s awake and asks if she’s hungry. He passes back to her a foil take-out box from MacBar. She sits up and has a few bites of carbonara mac and cheese.
“I think I’ll take three in the next one.”
“No way. You just slept three hours on two.”
“Yeah but I want to feel it hitting before it knocks me out. I want it to hit me harder.”
“two and a half.”
“ok…”
He loads the needle and doesn’t lead her into the bathroom when it’s ready. She gives him her arm and when he pushes into her vein he tells her that most junkies are just trying to stay a little high all the time, but that she scares him because she’s that rare kind that’s really chasing something. He pulls the needle out and releases the rubber for her and turns back to his computer.
She smiles at what he said, and thinks that she should tell him, and she falls back into the bed, and keeps falling through the white down comforter, through the padded mattress, and the warmth and the softness get warmer and softer and the light is sliding over her skin and she’s still smiling at his warning. Smiling and sinking.
“The Bowery and Delancey” and the cab pulls away. An old friend’s music video plays on the screen in the backseat and her phone is vibrating with texts from people she didn’t say goodbye to back at Webster. She shakes her head just slightly and silences both and watches 3rd turn into the Bowery. As she crosses Houston a smile forms in the pit of her stomach and pushes up her throat and by the time she’s sliding a credit card under the screen it’s splayed across her face.
She calls him as she walks the half block back up Delancey to Elisabeth and he meets her at the door of his building with a partially filled trash bag in his hand. He tosses it to the curb and doesn’t look at her and she flicks her cigarette butt and walks into the building behind him. They don’t acknowledge each other as they climb the three flights of stairs to his apartment. She follows him into his bedroom and sits on the edge of his bed and her feet dangle about a foot off the floor. He sits in front of his computer and pulls various tools to him from around the desk.
“I just love how it smells in here. I’ll never get over it.”
He looks over his shoulder at her and smiles and the smile spreads from her spine around each rib and warms her insides.
“One or two, Monkey?”
“Oh, two. There was a whole group of Jersey guys downstairs tonight and they were awful.”
She hangs her coat and purse on the post at the foot of his bed and watches the tv hung on the wall above his head.
“Ugh. I don’t know why they let those guys in.”
He’s emptying two little wax paper packets into the lid of a Pellegrino bottle.
“Right?? They get so grabby when they’re wasted and they’re always wasted.”
She lies back on his bed and plays with her phone.
“Ready, little monkey?”
He pushes himself up, grabbing the hypodermic from where it had been cooling on the windowsill. She jumps off the bed and follows him through the living room. In the harsh bathroom light she holds her arms out for his inspection. He taps the right one and hands her the strip of rubber.
“You dance like this? You should at least put some makeup on these or something.”
She’s wrapping and tightening the rubber around her bicep with her left hand.
“I know. It’s dark in there so it’s not incredibly noticeable. I am thinking about getting some long gloves though.”
She watches him sink the needle into her purple vein and pulls off the rubber when he tells her to. She makes it a few steps out of the bathroom before she sinks down into a couch and all the air pushes out of her. He laughs and keeps walking into his room.
She’s in his bed the next day, staring at the bookshelf at the foot of his bed, and he’s lying next to her, staring across her nearly-naked body at the tv on the wall. She’s talking, slowly, each of her words separated by long spaces which make them sound like distinct sounds dripping into his mind, about how they’ll be friends even after the drugs, when they have real lives. She’s forgotten that this became his real life when he was her age, that ten years have passed like this for him, that she’s the only new part. He rubs his head against her shoulder.
That night her phone wakes her around 2. Everyone is out! At TriGrand! At Don Hills! At the new Saturday night at Savalas! Where is she?!? She closes her phone and laughs softly at the answer to that question. He’s at his computer again, his headphones around his shoulders playing one song while the computer speakers play another. He hears that she’s awake and asks if she’s hungry. He passes back to her a foil take-out box from MacBar. She sits up and has a few bites of carbonara mac and cheese.
“I think I’ll take three in the next one.”
“No way. You just slept three hours on two.”
“Yeah but I want to feel it hitting before it knocks me out. I want it to hit me harder.”
“two and a half.”
“ok…”
He loads the needle and doesn’t lead her into the bathroom when it’s ready. She gives him her arm and when he pushes into her vein he tells her that most junkies are just trying to stay a little high all the time, but that she scares him because she’s that rare kind that’s really chasing something. He pulls the needle out and releases the rubber for her and turns back to his computer.
She smiles at what he said, and thinks that she should tell him, and she falls back into the bed, and keeps falling through the white down comforter, through the padded mattress, and the warmth and the softness get warmer and softer and the light is sliding over her skin and she’s still smiling at his warning. Smiling and sinking.
the daily ben heyman
http://paper.li/heyheyman/1307939484#!stories
cool!
im feeling rather encouraged. this was just a draft, i plan to do a lot more work on it, but the response has been flattering enough that im thinking about posting another piece im working on. check back later...
cool!
im feeling rather encouraged. this was just a draft, i plan to do a lot more work on it, but the response has been flattering enough that im thinking about posting another piece im working on. check back later...
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
short fiction, four
“So, can I tell you something? You don’t have to say anything and I’d rather you just forget it after I tell you.”
“ok…”
“remember that night you were at Happy Endings with () and the Glasvegas guys? And I showed up with that giant douchey-looking guy? I met him earlier that night at some restaurant opening in Soho. He was trying so hard, you know? He kept bringing me drinks and telling these awful jokes. I guess it was cute, sweet, whatever. So after four or five drinks he suddenly has all this coke and we’re doing rails in the bathroom of this restaurant. The party died down around midnight and I was faced, so I said we should go to Happy Endings. In the car I gave him some bullshit about how I had to go back to campus soon because I had an early class or something – it was basically a ‘we’re not going to fuck’ speech, and he was all ‘oh of course, totally, here have some more coke.’
I remember that moment when I walked in and saw you and my heart just fell out and it hit me what a fucking disaster I was. I vaguely remember sitting next to you, trying to convince you I wasn’t fucked off my face. I don’t remember leaving but I remember getting in his car so he could drive me uptown. He handed me a fresh bag of coke and a key and offered me five hundred dollars to go home with him. So I figured, fuck it. Why not?
So he let me into his apartment in Dumbo and I turned to face him when I heard him lock the deadbolt and I swear to god, (), nobody’s ever looked at me the way he was looking at me. He grabbed me by both arms and slammed me against the door and for a second I thought ‘well, he’s the one paying half a grand, I guess he gets to decide how rough the sex is gonna be.’ But he just kept slamming me against the door, over and over. I was so scared. When he saw that I was crying he held me against the door with one hand on my chest and with the other he punched me in the stomach, hard. The second time he did it I puked and he dropped me. I was sobbing and I curled up in a ball on the floor and he walked toward me and I thought, you know, ‘this is it. I’m gonna die. This guy is going to kick my head in.’ But when he was about three feet away from me he doubled over for a few minutes and moaned a little, like he was cumming in his pants. When he was done he stood up, threw the cash on the floor next to me, walked into another room, and slammed the door.
This is the part that gets me. I didn’t call the cops, I didn’t call () to come tear this guy’s fucking arms off, I didn’t even call you for a ride. I called () – ()'s friend? I don’t remember if you’ve met him – and I took a cab to his place off the Bowery and made him boot me. I shot all that guys fuckin’ money into my arm.”
They both lay on their backs and stared at the hotel ceiling.
“Why did you tell me that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never told anyone and I couldn’t carry it around any more. I guess I thought you should know that I might always be the kind of girl that you can beat the shit out of for five hundred dollars.”
He rolled over to face her and she smiled at him and her smile was heartbreaking.
“ok…”
“remember that night you were at Happy Endings with () and the Glasvegas guys? And I showed up with that giant douchey-looking guy? I met him earlier that night at some restaurant opening in Soho. He was trying so hard, you know? He kept bringing me drinks and telling these awful jokes. I guess it was cute, sweet, whatever. So after four or five drinks he suddenly has all this coke and we’re doing rails in the bathroom of this restaurant. The party died down around midnight and I was faced, so I said we should go to Happy Endings. In the car I gave him some bullshit about how I had to go back to campus soon because I had an early class or something – it was basically a ‘we’re not going to fuck’ speech, and he was all ‘oh of course, totally, here have some more coke.’
I remember that moment when I walked in and saw you and my heart just fell out and it hit me what a fucking disaster I was. I vaguely remember sitting next to you, trying to convince you I wasn’t fucked off my face. I don’t remember leaving but I remember getting in his car so he could drive me uptown. He handed me a fresh bag of coke and a key and offered me five hundred dollars to go home with him. So I figured, fuck it. Why not?
So he let me into his apartment in Dumbo and I turned to face him when I heard him lock the deadbolt and I swear to god, (), nobody’s ever looked at me the way he was looking at me. He grabbed me by both arms and slammed me against the door and for a second I thought ‘well, he’s the one paying half a grand, I guess he gets to decide how rough the sex is gonna be.’ But he just kept slamming me against the door, over and over. I was so scared. When he saw that I was crying he held me against the door with one hand on my chest and with the other he punched me in the stomach, hard. The second time he did it I puked and he dropped me. I was sobbing and I curled up in a ball on the floor and he walked toward me and I thought, you know, ‘this is it. I’m gonna die. This guy is going to kick my head in.’ But when he was about three feet away from me he doubled over for a few minutes and moaned a little, like he was cumming in his pants. When he was done he stood up, threw the cash on the floor next to me, walked into another room, and slammed the door.
This is the part that gets me. I didn’t call the cops, I didn’t call () to come tear this guy’s fucking arms off, I didn’t even call you for a ride. I called () – ()'s friend? I don’t remember if you’ve met him – and I took a cab to his place off the Bowery and made him boot me. I shot all that guys fuckin’ money into my arm.”
They both lay on their backs and stared at the hotel ceiling.
“Why did you tell me that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never told anyone and I couldn’t carry it around any more. I guess I thought you should know that I might always be the kind of girl that you can beat the shit out of for five hundred dollars.”
He rolled over to face her and she smiled at him and her smile was heartbreaking.
caught in a stasis
so, family.
families are great. really. ive got a bunch of em, and i like em all. theyre all superduper.
i wanna go play by myself now though.
also, i have this bad habit of getting drunk and yelling at people i never dated. they find that frustrating, but not nearly as frustrating as i find it.
you know whatd be good? if i stopped writing this bullshit blog and started writing stories.
for now though, im feeling very stuck.
families are great. really. ive got a bunch of em, and i like em all. theyre all superduper.
i wanna go play by myself now though.
also, i have this bad habit of getting drunk and yelling at people i never dated. they find that frustrating, but not nearly as frustrating as i find it.
you know whatd be good? if i stopped writing this bullshit blog and started writing stories.
for now though, im feeling very stuck.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
the little prince
"If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, 'Somewhere, my flower is there . . .' But if the sheep eats the flower, in one moment all his stars will be darkened . . . And you think that is not important!"
swim meet
so many family members. i think all the women in these pics are AMs sisters, and almost all of the kids are my cousins. theres a great pic of finn, my second-youngest brother, holding a towel like he's superman, some cute one of my brothers being brothers, the baby playing with AM and eating a popsicle... standard summer stuff.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
in columbus
cake and kickball
fathers day brunch, above, my mama and her dad, below
near the restaurant where we went for fathers day brunch was a fountain that allowed the boys to rent remote-controlled sailboats
yesterday was timmys 8th birthday. he's the second oldest of my four brothers and i cannot say enough good things about him. everybody talks about their kids or their siblings like theyre the greatest, but this kid, i swear, hes got the purest soul. he is genuinely selfless - at eight! at his deepest core he has nothing but true empathy.
you know on flights when they say to secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others? he would never do that. he wouldnt even think of it. he wouldnt even notice that there was a mask in front of him until he was absolutely sure everyone else on the plane could breathe.
its remarkable because almost everybody has to learn that - especially kids. you have to learn that there are other people outside yourself, and they have feelings, and you have to respect those feelings. this kid though - that thought process is as natural to him as selfishness is most people. he doesnt need to learn manners because he instinctively cares about the people around him.
anyway, im crazy about him, and im really glad i got to be with him for his birthday.
my parents went back up to their house after tims party yesterday but i stayed here in columbus to get some more time in with the bio-fam.
i had a great conversation with bio-papa - finally. Bmom absolutely loves and respects him, a lot like the way i feel about my dad, so i was glad to finally have the opportunity to have a one-on-one conversation with him. he's as smart and thoughtful and deliberate and compassionate as she's been telling me he is for the last four years.
its a strange situation, being here among this family. i grew up in a small family - i was an only child. my mom has two brothers but one has lived in germany my whole life. so as a kid, my family on my moms side was my grandparents, an uncle and his wife and their two kids. my dad is the youngest of three, but his older sisters' children were all in their twenties when i was growing up, so i didnt grow up playing with cousins on that side either. this is all to say im not used to having lots of relatives around. it was really just me and my parents.
my bio-mom, though, is one of seven kids, and almost all of them have several kids - its a lot. i havent even gotten all the names down, let alone which kid belongs to which aunt or uncle, but every single one of them loves me. every one. theyre so happy im here, and they want to talk to me and hear my stories and tell me theirs - it feels like theyve been waiting for me. in a way, i guess they have. its all a bit overwhelming, going from such a small family to being part of this enormous tangle of relatives. but they want me here. i can tell, they really want me to be in their family - and they have since i was in utero.
i shouldnt be surprised - when i turned 18 i was allowed to open a box that Bmom and Bnana packed and sent with me to my parents and it was filled with family photos, heirlooms, letters, a journal by both of them; they clearly wanted me to know i came from a Family. the box told me that, and thats when i decided to find Bmama.
also, all these people look like me. and we all have the same feet.
ive never given much credence to the power of blood relation. i grew up outside of that. but seeing all these little faces that look like snapshots of my face ten, fifteen years ago is beyond surreal. theres a lot to be said about the circumstances that led me to have the families i have and how those circumstances have impacted me. i cant seem to find the words right now. i need to think more.
last night bio mom and her sister margaret and i stayed up really talking about everything that happened 22 years ago, and everything thats happened since, and i dont know what to say beyond acknowledging that my life is impossibly good. if you believe in luck, youd have to say that im the luckiest girl in the entire world. if you believe in god, youd have to say that hes blessed me beyond belief. if you believe in fate youd have to say that such an incredible, improbable maelstrom of love and support must be the foundation from which ill leap into greatness. if you dont believe in anything, then you probably dont believe that i could have not one, but two, families that are textbook examples of unconditional love, but youd still have to recognize that if this is a coincidence, its a remarkably unlikely one.
i mean, if i were to write a movie about adoption and use the truth of my situation for the story, no one would produce it. its an improbable possibility, and aristotle famously warned storytellers that the probable impossibility makes for a much better tale.
fathers day brunch, above, my mama and her dad, below
near the restaurant where we went for fathers day brunch was a fountain that allowed the boys to rent remote-controlled sailboats
biomoms parents and almost all of her siblings live in columbus, so she brought her little clan out here for a couple weeks (could YOU get a 9 year old, a 7 year old, a five year old, and a two year old from LAX to columbus?? and not even on a direct flight! the womans some kind of superhero-magician) and i came down from my parents' in northern ohio to spend some time w them.
yesterday was timmys 8th birthday. he's the second oldest of my four brothers and i cannot say enough good things about him. everybody talks about their kids or their siblings like theyre the greatest, but this kid, i swear, hes got the purest soul. he is genuinely selfless - at eight! at his deepest core he has nothing but true empathy.
you know on flights when they say to secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others? he would never do that. he wouldnt even think of it. he wouldnt even notice that there was a mask in front of him until he was absolutely sure everyone else on the plane could breathe.
its remarkable because almost everybody has to learn that - especially kids. you have to learn that there are other people outside yourself, and they have feelings, and you have to respect those feelings. this kid though - that thought process is as natural to him as selfishness is most people. he doesnt need to learn manners because he instinctively cares about the people around him.
anyway, im crazy about him, and im really glad i got to be with him for his birthday.
my parents went back up to their house after tims party yesterday but i stayed here in columbus to get some more time in with the bio-fam.
i had a great conversation with bio-papa - finally. Bmom absolutely loves and respects him, a lot like the way i feel about my dad, so i was glad to finally have the opportunity to have a one-on-one conversation with him. he's as smart and thoughtful and deliberate and compassionate as she's been telling me he is for the last four years.
its a strange situation, being here among this family. i grew up in a small family - i was an only child. my mom has two brothers but one has lived in germany my whole life. so as a kid, my family on my moms side was my grandparents, an uncle and his wife and their two kids. my dad is the youngest of three, but his older sisters' children were all in their twenties when i was growing up, so i didnt grow up playing with cousins on that side either. this is all to say im not used to having lots of relatives around. it was really just me and my parents.
my bio-mom, though, is one of seven kids, and almost all of them have several kids - its a lot. i havent even gotten all the names down, let alone which kid belongs to which aunt or uncle, but every single one of them loves me. every one. theyre so happy im here, and they want to talk to me and hear my stories and tell me theirs - it feels like theyve been waiting for me. in a way, i guess they have. its all a bit overwhelming, going from such a small family to being part of this enormous tangle of relatives. but they want me here. i can tell, they really want me to be in their family - and they have since i was in utero.
i shouldnt be surprised - when i turned 18 i was allowed to open a box that Bmom and Bnana packed and sent with me to my parents and it was filled with family photos, heirlooms, letters, a journal by both of them; they clearly wanted me to know i came from a Family. the box told me that, and thats when i decided to find Bmama.
also, all these people look like me. and we all have the same feet.
ive never given much credence to the power of blood relation. i grew up outside of that. but seeing all these little faces that look like snapshots of my face ten, fifteen years ago is beyond surreal. theres a lot to be said about the circumstances that led me to have the families i have and how those circumstances have impacted me. i cant seem to find the words right now. i need to think more.
last night bio mom and her sister margaret and i stayed up really talking about everything that happened 22 years ago, and everything thats happened since, and i dont know what to say beyond acknowledging that my life is impossibly good. if you believe in luck, youd have to say that im the luckiest girl in the entire world. if you believe in god, youd have to say that hes blessed me beyond belief. if you believe in fate youd have to say that such an incredible, improbable maelstrom of love and support must be the foundation from which ill leap into greatness. if you dont believe in anything, then you probably dont believe that i could have not one, but two, families that are textbook examples of unconditional love, but youd still have to recognize that if this is a coincidence, its a remarkably unlikely one.
i mean, if i were to write a movie about adoption and use the truth of my situation for the story, no one would produce it. its an improbable possibility, and aristotle famously warned storytellers that the probable impossibility makes for a much better tale.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Timmy's 8th birthday
My parents and I came down to join the celebration.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
The road.
He gave up searching for his belle,
and was saved by the girls on the road.
They whisper to him "you really won't mind hell,
And, we promise, you'll never be alone."
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
and was saved by the girls on the road.
They whisper to him "you really won't mind hell,
And, we promise, you'll never be alone."
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Friday, June 17, 2011
little alex
from a surprisingly thorough series called "Paper Cuts" by Olly Moss
http://ollymosspapercuts.blogspot.com/
i didnt spot our holy mother, but i think she'd make an interesting addition to the collection.
poppies
id run out of weed and dont know where to buy any in ohio, but i figured the valium would make up for it.
it didnt. i even had a vigorous conversation w djcrizz at about 5am and THAT didnt knock me out. it ususally does, when all else fails.
anyway, i didnt fall asleep til 8ish, and the following sketches are what i have to show for myself.
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