pick up your crazy heart and try again

here we are again. the striking of a million matches couldn't light a fire under me big enough to get me out of this chair. i'm too tired to be this young. too lonely to be this beautiful. but i've got an aching in my belly for something bigger. and god is telling me bigger is coming for a visit. no return ticket. and i think i'm ready now.

no such thing as a clean getaway

tonight there is only sleepless wrestling and half a pack of cigarettes. and i know i'm gonna figure this out. and i'm gonna let jesus back into the fissures carved into my heart by my own fingernails. but right now i have to let the words on the screen swirl and blur with each involuntary tear drop and try to convince myself that it's ok to hurt this bad even if you don't feel a damn thing. i can't. actually. really. believe that you said that.

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ix said to me today 'good things happen slow, but great things. great things, caity, sometimes they happen fast.' and i want to believe that maybe that's possible. that maybe tripping over your lies and falling into his arms underneath the stars wasn't the worst thing. all i know is that he woke me up to the things a man should be. and he reminds me of someone i dreamed up once. and it's too soon. and it's complicated. and it's scaring me half mute. but my fingers still work. and my heart still wants to love. and i'm praying that i'm not too broken.

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no sugar coating this one, boys. i got canned today. i knew it was coming. i've been working for the better part of a decade and i've never come close to getting the boot. not so much as a threat. company policy. hhmmppff. my boss was sad about it. and told me she knew i had big things to do. and she's right. and i think maybe i needed this. and i know it's part of this life long lesson i'm learning about self-worth. and how i'm enough whether i'm stuck to my bedsheets feeling sorry for myself or working myself like a pack mule. so we're buying a van. me and three women who came into my life at just the right time. and we're gonna hit the road. coast to coast with as many stops as we feel like in between. no time limits save the end of summer. one guitar. one ukulele. one harmonica. one accordion. and four girls just trying to take a breath before they dive into whatever is next. i'm imagining it all in my head. starting to live the life i always said i would. laughter. tears. sunsets. wine. and sunburns. music. so much music. and running. and strangers. sleeping bags full of sand. late nights and gas station coffee. singing for pennies and smiling the whole time. i do need this. we all do. and the timing couldn't be more perfect. and i'm gonna write. and dance. and paint. and worship with what's left of my life.

amen.

my tombstone should read...

being a fool for love ain't the worst thing a girl can be.

and if you know me...in parenthesis underneath it will most likely read 'and even though she's not really here, just her hollow bones and rotting flesh, said girl apologizes for her bad grammar.




hahahahahahaha.

everyone tells me i think too much.

#@!%^

damndamndamnit! shit.

what else am i supposed to say? i could probably string together a list of curse words a mile long that would make you wince and make my mother sigh a long sigh. cause i have to hate him after this. or at least forget. no self-respecting woman could...but i'm not a self-respecting woman. i couldn't possibly be if in this one. huge. important area of my life i have not only settled for less, but for neglect.

and i'm afraid because, even still. sitting here, the blood in my veins boiling hot enough to make my cheeks flush, there is a voice in my head that tells me i'm assuming too much. and it's his voice i think, because i know that's what he'll say if he's ever man enough to call. and i'll buckle just a little. and i won't close the door tightly. and he'll sneak back in. and i'll keep caring. and giving. and wasting my time.

band aid brand

i just crinkled my nose and said 'ouch,' for the fifteenth time since waking up this morning. that's how i intend to deal with this. i don't want to cry. i'm not sure i even need to talk about it. whenever my heart hurts and misses what it shouldn't i'll just say 'ouch' out loud. i'll tell people i stubbed my toe. or cut my finger. and nobody will question it, because everybody knows i could hurt myself in a straight jacket. and nobody, including him, will know that what i really mean when i say 'ouch' out loud is that my heart is tearing and being sewn up all at the same time. and that in those moments when the circus of rips and needles is too much, i have to speak for fear that i'll stop breathing.