Fat Lil’ memory Notebook

Lots of time on buses and what not running errands and dealing with Dr’s shit and, forgetting my Kindle in my friends car meant some quality time with the ole Fat Lil’ Notebook today. I bought it a few months ago for on the fly notes and what not as it’s essentially only a little bit bigger than two Post-Its (5 1/2 x 3 1/2).  You see, I have a little bit of a Post-It fixation as previous co-workers can attest to… but that’s for another entry.

On occasion I will flip back towards previous entries. Today was one of them as I realized my book was beginning to get a bit thin.  There’s only about 20 or so pages empty left in it and so, another is likely needed in the pretty super near future.

This notebook says so much it’s a bit crazy. There’s notes on an abundance of things from the everyday directions list to meetings to.. little snippets and memories of things from when I first found out I might be pregnant.  Reading the entries brings about thoughts that, although fragmented, show just how much brevity can still weave a story.  Reading this I’m able to watch the excitement and happiness I felt initially to…my latest entry which is, suffice to say, not.

I’m curious how much one could assess about my mind and it’s inner workings from seeing these little notes and blurbs. About the other notebooks that have been lost in moves. Who knows what happened to those old pages? Perhaps they never saw anyone else’s eyes before they were tossed into a trash. Perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps it’s for the best either way.

These pages are evidence of a life lived. They are a reminder of why I ALWAYS will have a notebook and a pen on me… and why that hasn’t changed for as long as I can [not always] remember.

These pages are why I know that I know that what I am before anything, first and foremost, is, and ever shall be: a writer.  Till death do I part.  And that ain’t bad even when it is bad.

Remembering Arnie

Navyman Arnold Munchalfen


Arnold Munchalfen died September 13th, 2010.  It was a sad time for my mother’s side of the family and we all gathered together at my uncle’s home next door to my mother’s to celebrate and honor his life.

My grandfather had nine children, was the grandfather to twenty one, and, at the time of his death, had twelve great grandchildren.  (My oldest son would be his first.)  He left a huge heritage to follow in his eighty one years of life.  A heritage which still is growing strong and thriving now three years after his death.

Grandpa Munchalfen was a very quiet and reserved man.  He didn’t seem to talk much at all.  I remember hearing a few stories here and there, but for the most part, he was pretty quiet, at least from my perception of him.

My grandfather loved to work on watches and spend as much time with his wife, who spent their last years cross country in Florida, as possible.  Their marriage would last over six decades before he passed.  It would leave my grandmother very bitter and broken, as some pieces could be expected.

In my childhood I was given an army shirt with his last name.  The day he died, I wore it proudly.  For the longest time, I thought that was his.  It wasn’t.  My grandfather served in the Navy.

Now, I always knew that grandpa had served in the military, but again, he really didn’t talk about it too much either.  He was glad that he did it but glad it was long over.  He told all of us grand kids that getting a tattoo was the stupidest thing he ever did.  (Of course that was one of the things we found coolest about our grandfather.)

I might not be the best person in the family to write this memorial.  I was not very close to him.  I know that many of my family remembers more of him than I do.  It was something that was brought to my attention quite often growing up.

A couple of weeks before he died I did something to start the path to change it.  I have sent my other grandparents postcards frequently on my travels around Los Angeles and other places.  This time after attending a classical concert in the park, I started to draft a postcard to Grandpa Munch.  I had unfortunately forgotten about it, as it would get buried in stacks of papers on my desk.  When I returned from his funeral however, I found it.

Today, on Memorial Day, I want to thank Grandpa Munch for his time serving his country.  No matter how much I remember of the man aside from that and his nearly always smiling face, today grandpa is your day.  Thank you so much for what you did for this country and my mother’s family.  Know that you are not forgotten.


Behind the wheel again

Yesterday was another edition of Techzulu‘s Tech Crawl.  This time, people hit the streets of tech startup playground Sillicon Beach.

I didn’t know exactly what to expect.  In full disclosure, I haven’t been going to as many events over the past year.  It didn’t feel as shiny.  I didn’t see the need to go to five nights a week… like I used to once upon a time when I first arrived in Los Angeles.

A friend of mine offered to drive.  He didn’t know anyone in the startup scene and was also looking for a new gig.  His experience is different than mine (in IT and networking), however, and so this was even more so a whole new crowd for him to explore.

It was really amazing seeing some of the older faces from my tenure and love with this industry.  It was also amazing to meet new faces (or new-to-me faces) behind the ever growing sector that is Sillicon Beach.

I goofed around and thought that when someone puts the words tech and crawl together, there would likely be booze.  As with any networking event, some was to be expected.  Holy hell that was a lot more than I remembered… or maybe it partially because I was extremely sober and recovering from dating an alcoholic.

As the night progressed there was more and more booze at each stop on the crawl.  Some of the crawlers exploited this and went to town.  Others were extremely moderated.  That was not the case, however for my friend.

To get this completely out there as well-  I’m not one to judge with how anyone attends an event.  In other circumstances, I’d have loved to indulge in a couple of beers or what not as well.  We’re all adults here after all.. even though there were some underage kids looking for internships there as well.  Hey, not everyone was there to drink and I give those kids a lot of credit for being brave and attending to look for work like that… it’s great.

At one point I confiscated my friends keys.  I wanted him to be safe.  It wasn’t a big deal if I had to drive us back.  Except that, well, he drives a Prius, and it had been over a year and a half since I’ve been behind the wheel of a car.

It was, suffice to say, mildly humorous.

Some of you may have had the pleasure to drive a Prius or a Mini.  Both have some weird ignition systems.  Late at the end of the night with my friend in no way able to help me, it was a rather comical sight.  In hindsight, I wish I had filmed that.  I was extremely nervous.  I fumbled around with the keys looking in the dark for how to turn it on, how to shift it to reverse, etc.

I felt like I was sixteen again.

I did, however manage to get a little snippet of video on the drive.  Note, I apologize in advance for the format.  I was more focused on driving and less about the phone, which, I’m sure that the other drivers on the road could probably appreciate.

I haven’t had the best luck with cars to say the least.  My last car, in particular, had a couple of “lovely” incidents due to its age.  So did the truck before that.  And, well, so did my freeway legal motor scooter which I had the pleasure of popping a tire not once, but twice, and in both parts of those videos you will see that I had heels on.  Needless to say, I have come to have a little bit of a fear attached to driving any vehicle really.

I should know better.  Fuck that Fear crap anyway.

Driving is not something I hadn’t done obviously.  This was a moment that I had been anticipating returning to for a long time.  It was, like so many other things.: nerve racking frightening, exciting, exhilarating, and empowering.  I was hoping it was going to be behind the wheel of a new Ford Fiesta as part of the Fiesta Movement.  Maybe that still will happen.  Maybe not.  But if it does, it was good to get some practice.  Not just at driving, but about facing my fears over silly things.

It’s good to be finally getting back behind the wheel navigating potential again… one way at a time.  

Food for thought: On birthdays and the detached connected generation

So this week I turned the page on yet another chapter of my life.  I officially entered my 30s.  Last year was the BIG “dirty thirty” turnover and this was the step in.

As I had been not single for a majority of this year, I haven’t seen as many of my friends as I’d have liked to.  Add to it last year’s awesome birthday trip to Seattle was not in the works as I’m currently a Muse for Hire as well as teensy bit pregnant.  (Read: not even showing just yet)

As things have been a bit all over the map and tumbling down as well as riding up (I will go into them in other posts but you can start by reading this one here and this one here to get an idea of where to start) I started to have a few rain cloud thoughts about this year’s birthday.  A couple of shitty phone calls later from my past and, well, I wasn’t exactly feeling the most bubbly about everything.

Granted: there were TONS of birthday messages on my Facebook wall and a few of you even reached out to me on Twitter.  And that was fantastic and completely appreciated.

Despite the TONS of friends and wishes, There were only a few people who even asked what I was up to… less than I could count on one hand… and one of them lived cross country.

I felt crappy about it.  Silly as it were, and knowing that I had dropped off the radar a bit with my relationship, I still was bummed.   Moreso, I felt bad about being bummed- worried that it was potentially just another case of pregnancy hormones trying to get the best of me on my otherwise productive day.

It wasn’t until I ended up telling my current roommate about my plans for the evening that things really came into view.  As it turned out, he had talked to another friend of mine who also knew what was going on and they were trying to arrange a small little outing for me.

I felt like a total asshole.

“People probably assumed you already had plans because, like me, you’re always so busy.”

I bucked up a bit and helped pull the reins.  I reached out to a few close friends and asked them to dinner.  As it turned out, there will be more dinners in the works in the next coming days.  Friends were happy to go and hang out with me and have dinner and what not to celebrate.  They, like my friend commented, just assumed that I had other plans.

At dinner I mentioned the whole thing to friends as well.  It was a unanimous thing said amongst everyone.  As active as we are in our daily lives, how often, unless you have a set group of friends that you do things with CONSTANTLY how often do you take the time to ask someone what they are doing for their birthday?  Really take a moment and step back and think about it.  You might be incredibly surprised.

In a day and age where we are so digitally connected, we too often forget just how much it means to someone (who yes might totally be busy a lot of times) to even get asked the question of what they’re doing.  It may seem petty in a the scheme of things, it could mean the world to… even the people you think might think are social rockstars.

Special days are special because of the people we share them with.

While it’s true that social media is a great tool to stay connected with friends it doesn’t replace the power of going one step further and showing you are also real life person outside of a page.


I loved you at your Darkest

Half of me. Half of you.


And last night was a very very dark night.

I’m frankly ashamed of how it went.  It was not something to be proud of.  It was something that I hope that my coming child will never do to someone no matter how poorly they act to them.

I had had a very difficult few days.  Mother’s Day had come and gone… but not without leaving its own marks and scars.  I’d get into it, but I’d rather not get into it right now.  Perhaps I will when I’m ready.

Let’s just say that the events that occurred this year cut that much deeper as one of them relates to my unborn child and my current relationship (or rather near complete lack thereof) with the father… a man who I had no intentions on meeting and falling in love with in the first place

But life, of course, often has other plans.

Bear and I have gone through some very difficult and dark points throughout our relationship.  We have been off again, on again, so often it’d make your head spin.

Oh how my head seemed to feel like I were spinning we were so in love.

Once upon our time.

We were supposed to have been broken up (again) when I found out that I was pregnant.  However, after the news, we “tried again” (albeit briefly) and… it still ended up failing miserably.

In hindsight, I know what went wrong.  We were trying to conquer the same problem but we weren’t actually doing anything differently.  It was, the very definition of insanity.

One night, several months ago, he came to me in a mess of emotion.  I asked what it was.

“Darkness.” he cried to me.

And for a bit we held each other tight throughout it.

I hoped it would be over.

I know you did too.

It continued to get darker as the months went by.

We fought and fought.  We thought we were fighting the darkness but we were mistaken.

The darkness enveloped us.

It blinded us.

It was so difficult on our own and united we were too scared to stand.

I know I loved you at your darkest.

Unfortunately, in the process of trying to save us both from all of that, things only got worse.  He slipped further and further into the shadows.

They consumed us both.

Especially last night.

Our love had hit its expiration date even if the child inside me hadn’t.  The killing blow had been on Mother’s Day when Bear texted and later called me.

“Happy Mother’s Day”

He did not seem to understand how this “kind gesture” could be taken poorly.

So yesterday I made some phone calls and worked on things.  I consumed myself in other things.  The things that transpired throughout the day continued to beat me down.

So this is what it feels like to be alive huh?

The day had been a repeat of heartbreaking events.  Little did I know that it would be nothing compared to how it was last night… to the wee hours of the morning.

There was more crying.  More and more darkness.

I’m embarrassed.

How did it get this bad?

In the morning I would text him an apology.  I got up and sat in the quiet.  And then there was beauty. First the music.  Then a call from a recruiter again.  I was smiling.  My world had changed and I was still so sad but… why the hell was I smiling?

A friend messaged me asking how I was feeling.  She had just recovered from strep and yet, she was curious how I was.  If I’d slept much.  It was like… she knew.

Today was spent at the fashion district in downtown Los Angeles.  Curious… the little girl in the big city that loved and had her heart broken downtown was… going home to surround herself with… color.

Today was a reminder that no matter how dark it feels there is also color. (*See pictures from it by clicking the link*)

A part of me will always love you.  No matter how much pain and hardship we have gone through together, and apart, nothing is ever going to change that.

Someone once told me a phrase that I, in turn, flipped it around. “Where the light is brightest, the shadows are the deepest.”

Maybe part of the reason it got so bad is that we are so alike.

My friend Karissa summed things up wonderfully yesterday in private.

“No one’s a monster.  We’re all traumatized in some way… some more than… others… just looking for a way to heal.  That’s ultimately the purpose of all relationships– to serve as a mirror so that we may understand what is unbalanced within ourselves.”

Maybe we are both in that darkness… but in the light at the same time.

No wonder it scared the crap out of both of us.

The Sound Blogs: There is still music

After a very difficult night gone and seeped into the morning I felt emotionally obliterated.

But then in the quiet, when I woke up this morning I heard this in the distance… I had to follow and find out where it was coming from.  In the wash of an otherwise normal Tuesday morning on the West Side this was an uncommon but beautiful occurrence.

Even in the chaos.. there is beauty.


If I hadn’t left that night

Sometimes (read: often) I think about that last fateful night when…

And I wonder… what would have happened had I not left that night.

But I needed to leave.

You needed to feel my absence a bit.

I needed to feel yours.

When I left that night, I was just as upset about it as you are now.

I didn’t want to leave.

I didn’t want to fight.

I just wanted things to stop.

I’m not sure you would have done anything to change those things

If I hadn’t left that night.

I wanted you to be better.

I thought that by me leaving, you might appreciate me more.

That I might appreciate me more.

In several ways I have found one of those things to be true.

As breakable as I feel like I can be

I’m not.

There are amazing souls that appreciate me.

I used to be one of them.

I should have been more of them than I had been.

I don’t know if I could have remembered that as strongly

If I hadn’t left that night.

In the midnight hour I still dream of you

Of the person I believed in you

Of the love that I hoped would return to me

Of the happiness that I thought might appear again

But likely couldn’t…

if I hadn’t left that night.

And the texts keep coming

The answers are painful

So very very painful

And knowing might be half the battle but it still hurts wondering

Would it have been different?

Would we have been different?

Would I have been different?

If I hadn’t left that night.

It wasn’t always like this

Let’s rewind to almost a year ago.

I had been working two jobs- a freelance client opportunity and a full time “mundane” office job in downtown Los Angeles.  After years of trying to make it (between freelance and temporary contract jobs amongst other life matters) I found myself not only capable of doing it, but doing a fantastic job at that.

So much so that I had saved and had no worry or care when my then boss at the time tempted not give me time off to spend my 30th with my best friend in Seattle.

I had conquered a mountain of debt, spent several thousand dollars in investments into personal matters and was thriving.  I had worked hard and it was finally paying off.  This was a milestone moment and I was going to take it.  Thankfully it was approved and off I was on my first real vacation trip on my own in ages.

Something curious about the time?  I was also single.

Sure I had gone out on a few dates here and there but it wasn’t anything major.  Hell, it was one of those experiences that had it’s magical moments but we both knew we weren’t ready or able to give the other the fairy tale happily ever after tale at the end.

When I left for Seattle for that trip last May I didn’t have a real care in the world.

I was whole.

I was complete.

I had no one but I felt like I was everyone.

I was awesome.

It was all going to be alright because I made it alright.

I was enough.

And it was absolutely amazing.

Seattletripmayme1When I think about how far I’ve come from that, and how far I was before I got there in the first place, it’s kind of difficult to wallow in sadness for too long.  Yes, I’ve had probably a million moments of sadness.  I know that there likely will be more where that came from.  But there will also be that many moments of joy.

I learned that magic isn’t just something that exists in this world, but it’s created.  It’s an internal choice.  It’s an external mission.  It’s often great shared (and sharing I would find is also its own process at times, especially in the dark hours) but… it’s also great when it’s not.

In Seattle I spent my time primarily with Jo.  We had a blast talking about the past.  About the moment when I couch surfed at her place when I had a bump in the road.  About how we missed being roommates.  About the silly stupid stuff that best friends talk about and miss when they are miles apart physically.

However that trip taught me so much about what companionship was and balance that…

The day I arrived we were to meet up with a few of her friends who were also in town.  The night was amazing.  I hadn’t previously met these women but they treated me like they had known me for years.  It was heartwarming.  A reminder that strangers are just people waiting to be friends.

And then there was that last day.  With that trip, as with the next that followed, the last day would be my day.  It was to be treated completely at my whim.  The day was whatever I wanted.

The last day was always the best day.

On my rush to the airport that day I ended up on the train where an old man started talking to me.  We talked about being strangers.  We talked about the town.  We talked about destinations and the future.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked me.

“No.” I said with a laugh.

“Why not?”

“I don’t need one.” I said with a smile.

For all those times when things are hard, this post is to remember that day.  It might feel like ages away but it really isn’t.  A person is capable of going farther than they would imagine.  No matter what the hardships… no matter how bad it seems like it could possibly be (and it was pretty bad), it can always get worse.  Or…. it can get better.  You just have to suck it up and believe.

Remember what it was like to believe.

It Won’t Be Like This Forever: My Abortion Story

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…
our time ago…
We were having a bad patch.
It seems like we have been cycling through bad patches ever since we got together.
I don’t know how we got there.
How we kept getting there.
How we never seemed to leave there.
Months ago during that bad patch I sent him a link to a song about my sadness.
Ben Folds- Brick.
“That’s a song about an abortion, not us.” he said.
“It’s how I feel.”
Oh what little did I know all those months ago.
Months later…
I sat in a cold waiting room, alone.
I was filling out forms.
Statements of “understanding.”
“The world is sleeping I am numb.”
And the text messages poured in.
It was terrible.
We had been so terrible to each other.
I don’t know how it got there.
How it never seemed to leave there.
“She broke down. I broke down. Because I was tired of life.”
Inside of me there is a seed of love created in happiness.
Of something once undeniably there.
Of something that…
I don’t know how it got away from there.
I don’t know how it never seemed to leave there.
The picketers whom I had to walk past to get into the office chanted louder.
The door to the office was open.
Perhaps it was to try and remind the women waiting that there still was light.
That there still was hope.
That there still was… something.
I could see the picketers from my seat in the waiting room.
Their voices continued to rise.
Echoing through the empty corners of that cold white waiting room.
And the text messages poured in.
It was terrible.
I felt terrible.
“Now that I have found someone I’m feeling more alone than I ever have before.”
I don’t know how we got there.
How we kept getting there.
How we never seemed to leave there.
“She broke down. I broke down. Because I was tired of life.”
But unlike that song, you weren’t there.
When they called my name, you were states away.
And these were my steps.
Little steps.
First steps.
Potentially last steps.
There was a part of me sentenced to die…
Whom it seemed you wanted to die.
The love I had felt…

That we had felt…

This would be a constant reminder and it was to be completely extinguished.
I wiped the tears from my eyes.
I took a deep breath breath.
I closed my eyes and pretended I was Dorothy.
I chanted to myself.
“It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever.”
And these were my steps.
Little steps.
First steps.
Potentially last steps.
There was a part of me sentenced to die…
Whom it seemed you wanted to die.
The next room I would be alone with a nurse.
Like the first, it would also be cold.
Stark cold nothingness.
It was the theme permeating throughout the building.
A sign of nothingness to be and to continue to be.
“Now she’s feeling more alone than she ever has before.”
The series of questioning would start.
Medical history.
“Does the father know you are here?”
“Yes. He wants me to go through with this.”
“Do you?”
“I’m honestly not sure.  I feel terrible right now.  I want more information to try and make my decision.”
“Remember that this is your decision.  Don’t let anyone else force you to make one that you will regret.  It doesn’t matter if he agrees or not.  All that matters is you.”
“Now she’s feeling more alone than she ever has before.”
I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…
our time ago…
He might not remember it but he said it.
“I want to have children with you someday.  I think you’re going to be a great mom.”
But he said it.
He said it multiple times.

Months ago…

once upon a time ago…
our time ago…
“She broke down. I broke down. Because I was tired of life.”
I don’t know how we got there.
How we kept getting there.
How we never seemed to leave there.
She continued to tell me about the procedure.
I would be asleep.
It would be relatively painless as I would be under anesthesia.
“The world is sleeping I am numb.”
“I want to find out how far along I am.  I need to know that much before I even begin to commit to anything.”
She understood.
It was time to take more steps again.
Little steps.
First steps.
Potentially last steps.
I came into a room filled with women waiting for their procedures.
Some of them were in hospital gowns.
Some of them were waiting their turn.
There were rollers with iv bags.
There were women waiting for ivs as well.
It was cold.
It felt like the coldest room so far.
Stark cold nothingness.
It was the theme permeating throughout the building.
A sign of nothingness to be and to continue to be.
None of the women so much as looked at each other let alone spoke.
Each woman either sat and stared blankly or covered their faces in their hands.
It was a room full of ghosts.
A room full of sadness.
A room full of undeniable pain.
I wiped the tears from my eyes.
I took a deep breath breath.
I closed my eyes and pretended I was Dorothy.
I chanted to myself.
“It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever.”
There was a part of me sentenced to die…
Whom it seemed you wanted to die.
The love I had felt…

That we had felt…

This would be a constant reminder and it was to be completely extinguished.
A nurse came in to check up on us all.
“How are all of you today?  Are you alright?  Well considering the circumstances?”
For a moment I felt calmer.
And the tears dried a little, although not completely.
I waited my turn.
Some of the women finally began to talk.
It was like they had been awoken.
Even if just for a moment.
That nurse was a ray of light.
She was hope.
She was a sign that there were still people who cared.
A light in that blank canvas of nothing.
Because that’s what a small ray of sunshine can do.
Because maybe that’s why that door was open in the waiting room.
There is still light.
There is still hope.
There is still… something.
“They call her name at 7:30.”
Another nurse.
Another room.
Cold still.
Nothingness still.
“It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever. It won’t be like this forever.”
Another nurse came in.
“So you’re here to get an ultrasound to find out how far along you are?”
“Yes. I am not sure if I want to proceed beyond that.  I know that knowing that much will help me with my decision and my options.”
I was told to disrobe from the waist down.
She would return and we would find out my answer.
I looked up at a monitor.
It was waiting for someone.
It was waiting for me.
It was waiting for…
The nurse returned.
We started looking.
Measurements were taken.
Pictures were taken.
The nothingness that I felt disappeared.
I began to cry again.
Inside of me there is a seed of love created in happiness.
Of something once undeniably there.
Of something that…
I don’t know how it got away from there.
I don’t know how it never seemed to leave there.
But there it was… cozy and comfy in black and white on that screen.
A sign of life.
A sign of hope.
A reminder of…
Months ago…
once upon a time ago…
our time ago…
And while my heart fights the reality of that potentially never being anything more than a memory again
You’re still there.
I’m still here.
I’m not ready to say goodbye to either one of us.
And these were my steps.
Little steps.
First steps.
Potentially last steps.
There was a part of me sentenced to die…
Whom it seemed you wanted to die.
Maybe it did that day.
But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the way either of us thought it would.
That little piece of black and white was hope.
It was a sign.
A light in that blank canvas of nothing.
Because that’s what a small ray of sunshine can do.
Because maybe that’s why that door was open in the waiting room.
There is still light.
There is still hope.
There is still… something.
And while I admit I’m completely scared and not sure about the details of what’s about to happen I know that it’s going to be ok.
Because that’s what a small ray of sunshine can do.
There is still light.
There is still hope.
There is still… someone.
And I can’t wait to meet you when you get here.

External power outage day: Reasons to keep trying

This morning I woke up early to the sound of the rain.

I was inspired.

I was hopeful.

I was ready to take on the day full force… but only after I wrote here first.

I wrote a bit.

I read a bit.

For awhile, it was on Twitter… quoting lines from one of the comics I got this weekend while out and about on Free Comic Book day.


And then, nearly almost exactly after I finished my earlier post today… well something else happened.


The power went out.

I was so busy with my own distractions that I didn’t even notice.

How many other things do we miss because we are too busy with distractions?

I shrugged it off.  I took the dog out.  I’d read for a bit and write for a bit… the old fashioned way and kill some time contemplating and reflecting about life.

This weekend there had been a discussion about how the world “just needs a day to shut the fuck up.”  That sometimes (read: often) people just talk too damn much.  I thought about that a lot today… in the silence.

I really do talk too damn much sometimes.

I walked the dog.  I’m currently dog sitting for a friend of a friend.  One constant through my recent travels through the city has been the presence of dogs in most places where I’ve laid my head… and felt comfortable.

Perhaps this isn’t a coincidence.  I mean… there are too many damn cat fanatics out there.  Strange strange creatures that they are… on the interwebz.

On my walk I would find out an expiration date: the power would be out until 8:30pm tonight.  There were “too many other emergencies” that the LADWP simply couldn’t keep up.  I looked online on my phone.  I saw the mass amounts of orange dots on the grid.  I should have taken a screenshot.  It was pretty brutal.


The aftermath of the Revenge of the 6th Power Outage in Los Angeles

Well Los Angeles, I guess this is your chance to shut the fuck up for a few minutes.  What are you going to do with your life?

I started to read.  I laughed as I thought about the power being dead on my Kindle.  About how despite the convenience of technology, how much I was still thankful for books.

For piles of analog transmissions and thumbed pages.

Of that new book smell.

Of that old book smell.

Of the joy of turning a page in anticipation of the next.

It’s these simple things that make me smile.  But the day wasn’t over just yet.

“I have a secret anger and rage for every beautiful flower.”

And I did too.  In secret.  In not so secret.

But the rains poured on.

Dogs all over the neighborhood were furious- barking constantly as if maybe that would restore the power.

Neighbors complained that they were stuck.  Technology had failed them.  They couldn’t get out of their parking garages.  After all, those were electric too.  Oh the convenience of technology.

Machines in the apartment blipped and beeped incessantly begging for power.

Begging for purpose.

Cars outside honked.  Impatience surrounded the neighborhood.  Everyone seemed to want to escape.

Everyone refused to shut the fuck up.

Everyone, it seemed, for once, except me.

I conserved what little power I had left on my phone.  I turned to books.  I turned to words.  I was going to sit there and face my demons in that silence.  In that quiet… oh in that quiet…

I’ve found myself missing pieces of my past quite a bit lately.  Yes yes I know, move forward, not backwards.  But something about this last time was different.  Something about this last one changed my life.


Before it rained, it was like something in me knew.  I sent out a message to the world.  To you, the person I really hoped would be reading.

“It’s in the quiet that I miss you most.”

So there it was… the gift of quiet.  I sat there.. in the “dark” and thought about life.  I thought about pain.  I thought about love.  I thought about success.  I thought about failure.  I thought about…

“The manic equivalent of looking in a mirror and unplugging an appliance.”

And in the silence I just.. broke down.. but not how I thought I would.

In the simplest of terms and bits and “sound bytes”… these are not all the reasons but they are the ones I will share with the rest of the world right now.

I am tired of the pain.

I am tired of the anger.

I miss the passion.

I miss the love.

I miss the vibrancy and light that exuded from us both whenever we looked at each other.

I miss your silly Barney Rubble laugh.

It was quiet.  I grabbed a pen.  The words flowed like water.  It was a downpour of inspiration.  Rain seems to have that effect on me.

And then it happened.

Someone, somewhere not too far away started playing a piano.  Beauty came from the silence.  In a world where fingers and thoughts might have been too busy to notice otherwise there was… magic.

I smiled, still quiet, in the company of notes.  Because even if I was alone I didn’t feel alone.  It made me remember the simplicity of it all.  About how far we’ve all come from it.  About how far I’d come from it.

And myself.

“It’s in the quiet… when I miss you… when I miss me… that I find all the answers.  Of all the simple beauty.  Of why I keep trying.”

Thank you LA DWP for this forced moment of silence.  It was exactly what I needed today.