The First Day of a 365 Page Chapter

Woohoo! I survived 2015!

As a chapter, 2015 was never ending. It starts out alright, then everything goes wrong, but eventually ends up being better than the beginning. The plot twists radically, old characters are written out and off, new characters come in to play. But, throughout the whole thing there was no storage of  laughter. So, here’s to the best possible ending to a crazy year and the perfect beginning to the next one.



For anybody who actually reads/follows this blog (possibly nobody except my few harangued friends and family), I’m back to writing and posting. 🙂 Hurray for the end of finals!


And, yes, the title is a Star Wars reference.

Negative Two: Our Relationship in Arithmetic

Before you click away, please read this.

I left you. I’m perfectly aware that I’m the negative part of our former equation. I’m perfectly aware that I added the heartbreaking exponent of leaving you for someone else. But it was a long time coming. I couldn’t see living the life that you wanted and certainly not with your mother as a variable.

I’m sorry.

But, in the long division of things, you and I were never going to end up as a perfectly square interval. There would have always been remainders, unaccounted questions. Differentials were always added when we were together, while all of the rational was subtracted. Some people could see this as a good thing. That’s what love is, right?


Loving someone should not mean that you lose yourself in such a dark, black hole of depression that no amount of quantum physics can rescue you.  I should have been more honest about the trauma I went through. But I didn’t know how to tell you that my entire life seemed to have added up incorrectly. I knew I needed help when the slightest touch would make me tense and aggravated. But it wasn’t help you could give.

I did get proper help and I did get better. We got better. Something made sense again. Everything had been recalculated. And then a variable. Someone new. Someone I never expected to fall for but with whom everything made sense. Suddenly, everything was less complicated, clear. I left with no explanation, no side note. No asterisk to provide more information. Just gone.

Along the way I realized how unhappy I had been. I was still hurting from the complicated process of putting my life back together. It was all addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Looking back now I realize how heartless, how coolly I viewed our situation. Just like multiplying complex fractions, I crossed you out without thinking.

I’m sorry.

I know sorry doesn’t fix sleepless nights or that dull ache that sits in your chest. I know sorry doesn’t remedy angry, hurtful words that must still sting. I’m sorry doesn’t excuse immaturity– but it does acknowledge it.

I’m sorry.

I know it’s ironic that I just simplified our entire relationship in terms of math.

I’m sure you remember it was never was my favorite subject.

Life Right Now

We’re so broke we can barely afford to walk into town. Each step stresses the seams of our worn out soles. Lord knows we can’t afford new ones. It’s okay though. We can’t hear the stitches snap; we’re laughing. We’ll laugh at anything. When you’re young and broke and so busy you have to put “BREATH” on your to-do list, that’s all you can do.

Maybe that’s why some folks say our generation is a little too silly. But, how could they deny us our chuckles and chortles. Prospects aren’t looking too bright.

Unemployment, unrest, unrealistic debt.

Undesirable, undefined, underappreciated.

No, the future isn’t exactly rainbows and ice cream. Boy, have they been pushing that down our throats this semester. Statistics, studies, and sad stories about our damned generation…they’re certainly presenting all the data. It’ll be a tough run for the lot of us.

So let us laugh a little too loud. We’re trying our best. 

It’s Been a Week

You don’t think I notice that your steps fall out of pace with mine when she’s around.

Dropped hands, averted stares, and conversations quieted may not be outright signs that you still love her. But, do you?

When you get lonely at night and the sheets are a little cool and crisp, do you think of me? I am the one that keeps you up, wide awake and dreaming?

I try not to define myself by the way you love me, but it’s hard. I know a good feminist wouldn’t think any less of herself. But, I can’t help wonder what things she did to drive you wild. I can’t help wonder if I’m not enough.

Do you mean it when you say you love me? Or are those words like the quarters you slap down on the Dollar Store counter because you’re too cheap to pull out your bills. Cheap talk for a shadow of something real.

I guess I’ll get back to homework.


An Over Anxious Mind

I don’t have a problem with admitting I’m wrong.

I don’t have a problem with saying I’m sorry.

I’m not the type of person who struggles with owning up and admitting.

I struggle with the after bits.

If I feel I’ve done something wrong you can be sure I will spend at least one night letting it gnaw me away.

You’re no good. See what you’ve done? How could you do that? You would have never done that before? You know better! Look at the person you are now! No good, no good, no good….

I shouldn’t let things get to me the way I seem to let them. I know that. It can be incredibly difficult having an over anxious mind. I’m working on it. I can’t turn little pebbles into boulders or ripples into tsunamis.

Everything is going to be okay.


This Is Completely Random.

They are chains that quake with freedom. Class starts early every Monday and doesn’t let up until Friday at five.

We had to get out of there.

At ten at night we decided to take a road trip. We rode around until four in the morning with the music louder than it should have been with more people in your truck than there were seats.

We fanned the flames of the bonfire until they touched the treeline. Howling with the coyotes and laughing like the dogs, we stayed awake all night. We kept on keeping on strumming that guitar until the strings snap.

These nights don’t ever turn to new mornings. They stay etched in time.

Even though we have to spend the rest of the weekend picking rocks to pay for gas, we keep the spirit alive.