Archive for the ‘Present’ Category

Best Day/Scared Shitless

March 3, 2007

Ash and I did my favorite thing (or favourite thing) today. Walked the long way around and down the hill from our house in Hataitai to Wellington City. We used to do it almost every Saturday before Tom came to live with us and we were afraid to leave the house. It’s gorgeous here today; not too windy, flat sea, no clouds and I’m quite happy to either swim or pull my longsleeves down.

In town we dropped jewellery off at the gallery that was going to be ours. Browsed and drooled over housewares, had brunch, tried on swimsuits and spent a couple hours at the library browsing and drooling over couches in design magazines. He really is my favourite man. Took the bus back up the hill and now we’re going for a swim.

The girl that used to live here got Girls Scout Cookies in the mail. I threw out her forwarding address, but Ash still won’t let me eat them. Outside of the library, there were girl’s selling Girl Guide cookies. Ash bought me some. They’re not the same, no Do Si Dos.

Just over a week till we leave for Texas and I’m already having trouble sleeping. It’s not just the fear of mortgage payments starting on the last day of work, but I’m scared shitless of going home. I’m scared it won’t be comfortable and home-like and equally scared it will. I’ve just, just gotten to a point where the heart is not breaking, where tears aren’t rimming, where my life doesn’t seem an impossible exercise in compromise.
I’m scared. Shitless.

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One Year

October 12, 2006

Sometime this week, I’m not exactly sure of the date, is the one year anniversary that I quit smoking. I remember the very last cigarette, knowing that it was my last forever and knowing that I couldn’t wait to tell my Mom. I also knew that the first question after telling her I quit would be, “how long ago?” and it was. I knew that when I said, “a week ago,” she would be disappointed yet cautiously optimistic. I also knew what she didn’t; in exactly one year, I would write this message and we could all celebrate that I REALLY did quit smoking. Boo-yah.

Five years ago, I wrote the very last entry in my very first diary. It’s not on the last page, but it will be the last thing ever written in that book. I was smack dab in the middle of my “quarter life crisis” as it is wretchedly refered to and desperate for the hand of God or a career counselor to annoint me with “the answer.”

Like everyone my age who grew up with hippy parents and Oprah telling us that, “anything is possible if you put your mind to it.” and “follow your passion,” I was sick with the pressure to limit my passion down to one neatly defined goal and then “put my mind to it” so that I could be the best at my chosen passion (which is also somehow implied in the message). Actor, writer, cartographer, midwife, advertiser, vagabond, momma my mind marched on and on and on and on. Completely overwhelmed I quit school, my job and my boyfriend.

None of it was a plan, none of it was “putting my mind to it.” For a year and a half I simply was doing and it felt right. I made a lot of good art and good friends. I took control of floundering relationships, I laughed all the time, I confounded my loved ones with my decisions. I lived without regard for other people’s expectations and was really, really, really free. I worked a job with people I LOVED even though the work itself left something to be desired. It was a raucous, joyous, simple and easy time that could have gone on forever.

The very last line of the very last entry of my very first diary is, “maybe I should travel.” I lied to my hair dresser that the reason I had so many split ends was because I had just finished a trip around the world and was too afraid to get my hair cut overseas. Somehow planted a life seed without even knowing it.

Five years later, I live on the other side of the world and my mind chants, “actor, writer, cartographer, midwife, advertiser, vagobond, momma and on and on and on.” And I get overwhelmed. And I write in my journal. And I KNOW that Oprah and my hippy parents are right. I just wonder what seeds I’m planting right now. But most of all I’m really happy that I FUCKING QUIT SMOING!!!!!!!!! because what more proof do I need that anything is possible?

I hope you all can take this as an excuse to stop worrying about “the plan” and realize that you are probably doing more planning than you know.

Love, Laurel

PS A special shout out to all my homies that quit smoking this year too (I can’t wait till you get to write this message): Dad, Emily, Evan, Jason, Hilah, Mark, Kim and Sigmund. A special FUCK YEAH to all of you!

Crazy Town

October 4, 2006

It’s the most planned for and orchestrated collision with a brick wall since the first koolaid (is that how you spell it? when you have hippy parents All KoolAide is Jonestown Kool-aid) commercial. Two months of three square meals, seven weekly case worker visits, 48 tabs of Risperadone (but, really who knows how many he really swallowed), 17 billion off-peak minutes and now we wait for the crash.

Will he refuse to take the pills tonight, or will it be tomorrow? Will he go willingly on the 9:00am bus to the day camp version of the psychiatric hospital tomorrow? When exactly will we have to force him out into the shitstorm on his own? The wind is blowing at 100kph and the rain is sideways. His goodbye kit includes a five dollar calling card and a list of youth hostels. The 17 billion off-peak minutes have determined that this is the only way. Best case scenario is that he acts so scarily crazy that a member of the public calls the cops. That way he can be committed against his will. Yaaaay!

As someone from a long line of acid trippers, I’m really glad that it’s hard to commit someone against their will. However…oh, fuck it. I don’t have the energy. I’ll keep you posted. Stay tuned for entries detailing how Ash charmed so completely that I’m willing to put up with crazy town!

Pin Dropping In Space

June 15, 2006

Happy first blogday to me! The first page is always the hardest. That’s my stock start first journal entry, relieves the pressure. Tomorrow the back of the page will be all bumpy and textured and easy and good.

Love, Laurel