Logic WIN

*or*
You two must be sisters!

can•cer (kān'sər) n.
1.
a. Any of various malignant neoplasms characterized by the proliferation of anaplastic cells that tend to invade surrounding tissue and metastasize to new body sites.
b. The pathological condition characterized by such this growth.

Main Entry: growth
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: development, progress
Synonyms: advance, advancement, aggrandizement, augmentation, beefing up, boost, buildup, change, crop, cultivation, enlargement, evolution, evolvement, expansion, extension, fleshing out, flowering, gain, germination, heightening, hike, improvement, increase, maturation, maturing, multiplication, produce, production, proliferation, prosperity, rise, sprouting, stretching, success, surge, swell, thickening, unfolding, up, upping, vegetation, waxing, widening

Main Entry: change
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: something made different; alteration
Synonyms: about-face, addition, adjustment, advance, break, compression, contraction, conversion, correction, development, difference, distortion, diversification, diversity, innovation, metamorphosis, modification, modulation, mutation, novelty, permutation, reconstruction, refinement, remodeling, reversal, revision, revolution, shift, surrogate, switch, tempering, transformation, transition, transmutation, turn, turnover, variance, variation, variety, vicissitude

mu•ta•tion (myōō-tā'shən) n.
1. The act or process of altering or changing.
2. An alteration or change, as in nature, form, or quality.
3. A mutant.

So according to dictionary.com- with absolutely no stretch of the imagination (::cough::),
My dad was A MUTANT.


Dad's been on my mind. Again, a lot, always. I wonder if a father's love is the 100% absolute-sure-of love we spend our dating years trying to replicate? I don't know. I *do* know it's kind of comforting that he has to love you no matter what... ;)

EXT. AZIA PARKING LOT- NIGHT

A mostly empty parking lot. A lone streetlamp provides the only illumination.

STEPHANIE is standing tall and proud and beautiful in the weak, yellow light. KELL is sitting in shadow on the trunk of her car- her elbows resting on her knees.

Both girls are smoking and so deep in conversation they are oblivious to the sounds of the night- the couple having a spat on the corner, the sirens heading towards home, laughter spilling from the restaurant.

STEPHANIE

I'm gonna tell you this because I love you- and it's real talk so you should listen. I know you're in this self-improvement state and you're analyzing the past so the parts that didn't work out won't end up in your future- but you seriously need to stop with the internalization of every failed relationship. Yes, I know you kissed that kid and broke Chris's heart. And your hatred of those actions and pining for him led you to push Rich away at every step- I was there. I know this. But Kell... here's the part you're not going to like- they could have forgiven you. If they have loved you enough, they would have forgiven you.

Stephanie pauses and peers intently at Kell as if to gauge how she's taking this news. Kell glances up from lowered brows with a sardonic grin and simply shrugs.

STEPHANIE (CONT'D)

(almost to herself)

I've seen a man in love. He'll be there. He'll do anything. He'll work for it, he'll spend everything he has on it, give everything he's got, hell- he'll even *die* for it. Absolutely nothing will keep him from it. That's a man in love- that's a man for real.

KELL

(curiously, hesistantly)

Hey Steph... what would *we* do for love?

STEPHANIE

You don't know, I don't know- and that's why we're still single. And maybe why we've never had it.

END SCENE.

A handmaid's tale.

I had several cookies and a trough of coffee for breakfast and yet this hangover refuses to back the hell off. ::sigh:: I knew I shouldn’t have left the twizzlers at home...

Girls’ night.

My mother (and by extension- me, I suppose) is descended from Slavic peasant stock- women who were strong, proud, and who had their share of struggles. Their emotional defense against said struggles was a stoic recitation of adages demonstrating the futility of resisting life’s inevitable hardships. Mom, during her turn- could be found automatically uttering the folksy wisdom that had been faithfully drummed into the heads of many consecutive generations. The best advice my mother ever gave me came from this very lexicon. What made this advice different from the rest was the way my mom said it. She *believed* it- she really had thought about it and meant it. She said:

"Be kind, Kellian. Everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle than you..."

Last night found Steph and I back at her apartment, lamenting our lack of funds and playing with the new girl-cat, Cadence. And by ‘playing’, I mean I was letting her chew on my arm until it bled. As always, our conversation turned to love, life, and the pursuit of happiness. We companionably debate things for a bit- just a nice casual evening between two girlfriends. Being a fan of the DECLARATIVE STATEMENT (I like to just throw em out there. I feel unexplained, this makes me more mysterious and deep.)I make a DECLARATIVE STATEMENT. I say:

"I have no idea how to be in a relationship."

Well. I had no idea this DECLARATIVE STATEMENT would produce the results it did, but immediately after the DS, Stephanie was reduced to hysterics. Seriously, I could hardly understand her- she said (I think):

"AHAHAHA!
You *think*?!! Oh GOD Kell- Ms. I-cannot-tell-a-lie Kell. AHAHAHA! You jump up on your soapbox and scream at the top of your lungs- this is ME!! Here are all my secrets, baggage, and issues!!! If there’s anything you didn’t get the first time, just ask! AHAHAHA!! Here’s the problem if we were playing spades- you wouldn’t start off the game by telling me you had the aces of hearts and spades, the kings of diamonds and hearts... right? Hell no. You want to WIN! But in relationships, that’s exactly WHAT YOU DO!!! AHAHAHA. It’s no wonder everybody jumps ship- you gotta be the captain and you’re steering the ship and all these guys realize, holy shit- she’s gonna crash us into that iceberg!!! The captain has no fucking idea what she’s doing!!!! This bitch is CRAZY!!! AHAHAHA- JUMP SHIP!!!! Kell, I wonder if you didn't *deliberately* ruin every single relationship you've had in the past 2 years!!!
AHAHAHA!"

Well. I could defend myself. Or try to anyways. I could launch into a lengthy explanation of my past behaviors and rationalize and justify, etc. I could be defensive- throw some right back at her. Her laughter seems cruel and it’s starting to hurt me but there’s a slightly held-back hysteria to it I don’t like. So while I *could* do these things, I don’t. Instead I remember what my mother said. And I say:

"...Stephanie.
Stephanie, what’s wrong?"

And she stops laughing.
And her eyes fill up with tears.

Reality check.

*or*
Jon deserves a medal for putting up with my emo boy-bullshit on a daily basis.

3:30 on a Tuesday afternoon finds me sitting on a windowsill in the skyway between the Baker and the TCF tower. I’m tucked in, knees drawn up- watching the people confidently navigate the passageways they had forgotten days before. All of downtown Minneapolis has a slightly-out-of-date-yet-not-so-out-of-date-to-be-retro-coo feel to it and the TCF is no exception with its exposed brick interior, reminiscent of old high school auditoriums. But it’s still my favorite. And I suppose that’s why I’m here- drawing comfort, seeking shelter, etc. It was my plan after work to head on over to Caribou for something fattening and all around v. bad for me- maybe pick up some more books too. Work was a nightmare but that doesn’t explain my current dissatisfaction or why I feel so raw about the edges. Oh no, not that- it’s just... well.

Reality check.

Me being me again, I suppose. Instead of the moan I desire, I settle for a sigh but still manage to draw curious glances towards my window. Morosely staring at the neon SUSHI/OPEN24/ICE CREAM signs outside (I’ve never been able to decide if the place is selling those signs or if it’s a lactose-loving, Asian insomniac’s dream come true), I think thinky thoughts. I wish I could mutilate the facts into something much more pleasing to me but at the same time, don’t even really want to think about it anymore.

One last time... here’s the thing:

I guess I always entertained the idea that someday we’d be good enough friends to take a casual trip together somewhere or spend a comfortable evening on each others’ home front for some reason or another. Regardless of what happened in our relationship, I always had the utmost respect for him and valued the things he had to say. We used to talk everyday. We said we’d be friends and this time, with him- I meant it. For me that meant, ‘Hey. I think you’re special. It doesn’t matter that we couldn’t make it work. You go here ____ in my life- always.’

But... we’re not friends. We don’t talk anymore. This is an epic bummer to me for 2 main reasons.

Reason #1. The bad reason.
He saw me at my absolute worst. Depressed, apathetic, self-indulgent, cruel... Afraid to try anything new with no self-confidence- dwelling on the past and making no headway into producing a more vibrant future. I was mean to him. On several occasions. I always thought that now, once I was free of a lot of the baggage and my pressure to have ‘the most perfect fucking relationship ever’ I could somehow be myself and make this up to him. With a sense of acute embarrassment, I realize his opinion of me might now always be made up of these^^^ moments. It's no wonder he doesn't want to keep me in his life.

Reason #2. The romantic Kell reason.
I fall in love once every 10 years. I don’t like that this is the case. I firmly believe you should fall in love as often as you can. And I’ve loved people... but not that epic, oh-my-god-romantic love, y’know? Twice. Twice in my entire goddamn life. And one of them lives in another freakin’ country. It’s not like our paths have the chance to cross on a daily basis. And now that we’re not friends, as dramatic as this sounds- I’ll never see him again. I guess that makes him static- not real to me anymore. Just memories. Lovely ones, to be sure- but just memories.

I feel a little prickling behind my eyes and realize I’ve been musing for almost 10 minutes. I should go before I actually weep in public- god! It’s funny- even though we didn’t really spend a huge amount of time with each other, he saw me cry more than anyone else on the planet. I wonder if that means something? I’m terrified of turning into a ‘tragic’ creature... it’s definitely time to leave the skyways- I think people are beginning to wonder. I refuse to make a spectacle of myself.

As I’m packing up, heading out- I glance over to check the time on the TCF’s orange digital clock on the side of the building. It’s 3:39- plenty of time to pick up my things and get home in time to feed Norman. Maybe after that, I’ll be just fine. Turning to leave, I notice the reflection of the clock on the opposite skyway window.

::snicker::
Oh my god. It’s... HUGE. I look around and everyone is going about their business without one glance. Perhaps it’s my unique vantage but I feel an almost hysterical urge to guffaw at the blatant indifference people are displaying. While that sight is drawing no attention, my struggles to keep from laughing are beginning to get noticed. Ho wah! I really better go now as I suspect I am in the process of making a spectacle of myself!
::snicker::

The Moral:
I wish to god he could have met me *now*.
But I never would have gotten here without him.

...giggling at PEE signs.
Man, I’m such a child.

...And I suspect I’ll be just fine.

When it comes to relationships...

ep⋅i⋅logue
   /ˈɛpəˌlɔg, -ˌlɒg/ [ep-uh-lawg, -log]
–noun
1. a concluding part added to a literary work, as a novel.
2. a closing speech in a play, often delivered after the completion of the main action.
3. the person speaking this.
Origin:
1375–1425; late ME epiloge < L epilogus < Gk epílogos peroration of a speech, equiv. to epi- epi- + lógos word

...this part is never satisfying- nor, in my case, well-written.

Sky NINJAS 4eva yo.

I suppose it's a lot like being born.
You’re excited and terrified.
Your body naturally assumes the correct position as
You struggle to remember (learn) how to breathe and then
You just let go and let gravity do the rest.

ICK.

Oh. My freakin’. GOD.

Hold it together Kell... steady, easy now. Hold it...

Oh. My freakin’. GOD.

Sitting across from me are two elegant French guests inquiring about the Orpheum theatre. I have been told, in no uncertain terms, to do whatever these people ask of me. Earlier today I taunted my manager- ‘anything, huh? What if they want tickets to some show that’s been sold out FOR YEARS?!’ ‘For the amount of business they’ll bring us next year, you WILL get them whatever they want. Kell... repeat after me: There’s nothing like a well-timed blow job...’

Well. Thanks for thinking of me. Glad to know I bring unique skills to the Normandy.

So now, I have two elegant French guests sitting across from me inquiring about the Orpheum theatre. Two very important-that-we-impress guests sitting across from me, in the chair there- which chair, you ask? Oh. The one with the GIGANTIC cockroach climbing up it.

Oh. My freakin’. GOD.

Hold it together Kell... steady, easy now. Hold it...

Oh. My freakin’. GOD.

I think I may have made a strange small squeaky sound but I managed to maintain the semblance of attention to their conversation, my smile only becoming *slightly* sickly around the edges. Oh Christ- and it’s a big one too. For a moment I let myself get hysterical in my head- my giddy thought is that I’m almost proud of our own Normandy roaches, huge strapping boys that they are. UGH. They won’t *die* but at least they usually stay in the basement. Usually. They’ve become more adventurous as of late, wandering into the kitchen to terrorize the servers. This one here- this one is the bigdaddy, ringleading cockroach I can tell. Hell, he should have a cape with a big freakin’ S tied around his neck or perhaps a teeny tiny ‘C’ flag- claiming this hotel for cockroach kind.

I try and mentally will these people to leave. Come on… come on. Yeahyeahyeah- whatever!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! It’s getting closer!! Its waving antennae are just *inches* away from Mr.’s hand. Shut up, Shut up, shut up- I’ll get you whatever you want! I’ll do it! JUST LEAVE. I wonder if I shouldn’t offer them a blowjob right now- I believe that would be the perfect definition of ‘well-timed’.

...but I didn’t have to. They left. Crisis averted.
I wonder if I can put this sort of thing on my resume?
:P
Bye.

Things that break my heart

It’s 7am on a Sunday and it’s quite easy to believe I am the only person in the world. Surprisingly, this is not a lonely feeling. I’m grateful for this time of peaceful stillness- the time of recollections. Hovering just slightly out of view, the day-to-day stamps its feet- impatient to begin its cycle of appointments, errands, to-dos, stress, runRunRUN! These are the things, I suppose, that comprise (not define) a life. It can’t penetrate my musings however and I’ll have enough time.

Outside the air is warming, the final remnants of last week’s storms- the rain, wind, and mist is dissipating. I’m sitting outside sipping my coffee, exhaling plumes of smoke into the uncertain air. One minute the damp air warms me, the next- a crisp breeze snaps my hair across my face and I can almost taste the fall. I’m hanging onto that edge where the present becomes the past and it appears I’m being allowed the luxury of lingering.

. . . . . . . . . .

When I was a little girl, I lived on the outermost fringes of emotion. Quivering in the intensity of feelings, I often drove myself to tears over things others could let go. My parents became exasperated trying to explain what was wrong with me to concerned bystanders. We would be out somewhere and all of a sudden I’d be struggling to hold in the sobs. Each time, I was certain my little girl heart was broken forever.

I remember them all. To this day. Whether or not my remembrance is an actual representation or an interpretation… I guess I don’t know. What I do know is that when I think back of these things I still feel a physical sting in my heart that’s more real than it has any right to be.

I remember… The deaf man at UMD.

My sister was being honored for being a genius (again) and about 10 families were cloistered in a waiting room on campus, waiting to walk on stage with our graduates. A slow man in a jumpsuit (I presume he worked there in some capacity) came into the room and smiled when he took in all the little children held by their parents. He walked over to the vending machines and purchased an ice cream bar, then he brought it over to me and said something in a nasal, mumbling voice. I was frightened because I didn’t understand him. My mom said it was okay and I took his treat and he smiled and I remember thinking he didn’t seem so frightening anymore. He repeated the procedure with the next kid down the line- his parents weren’t paying attention. *Now* I understand they were scared when they saw this strange man offering something to their child but at the time I thought their actions especially cruel. Their inquiries of his behavior literally fell on deaf ears and his lack of response seemed an indicator of guilt. The father yelled at him and slapped the ice cream from his hands and shoved him until the deaf man- hands held up, slowly backed out of the room with his head down.

I remember… the woman at the dairy queen.

One especially hot day my mom and I drove to the Dairy Queen for some free air-conditioning and a dilly bar. Standing in line- being all fidgety and childlike, I passed some time blatantly staring at my fellow dairy enthusiasts. I saw an extremely large woman near the back of the restaurant. She was sitting alone with a tray heaped with food and every so often, she’d reach up to dab at her eyes. Oh-my-god. MOM! Momomomomomomom! Mom, mommom, MOM! That lady over there is CRYING! I was immediately shushed. I couldn’t believe it. I glanced around, wondering if anyone else was going to do something about this (because I’m sure they heard me). Not only did no one move to comfort her, the faces around me displayed… disgust! They’d glance the lady’s way then make a grimace then look away or whisper to their companions. I watched her as we stood in line, I continued to watch her as mom placed the order. She just looked so… *sad*. I don’t think I’ve ever (to this day) seen anyone else look that dejected. The worst part? That grimace displayed by the others? She had a little bit of that in her face as well. She felt disgusted with herself too.

And I remember… my sister Suzy’s birthday.

I don’t remember what year it was exactly. I know I was a surly teenager, bored with family gatherings. My whole family was out at Suzy’s house- she had one or two babies running around and the entire place was a madhouse. Suzy always seems just a little bit sad. I think I’ve always taken it for granted that she would give up the good seat for me, that’d I’d get the biggest slice of the pie, that she’d let me have the spotlight- again and again. She was opening her presents and since the whole family was used to dismissing Suz as part of the background (not cruelly- just because she refused to take up a lot of space), I was possibly the only person watching her as she picked up our uncle Dan’s gift. She tore the wrapping and her mouth dropped open and her eyes lit up. From my perspective, it was just a thin black box- whatever she saw made her gasp and her face light up in an incredible smile. Then she pressed a button on the present and it made a rude noise- the effects were immediate. The smile slid from her face- replaced by a look of utter disappointment and her whole happy demeanor deflated. A quick flash of resignation before she turned to smile at our uncle who laughed as he heard the noise. It might have been considered a beautiful smile if I hadn’t seen the one before it.

. . . . . . . . . .

Yesterday was my sister’s birthday. She and mom came down with the kids and we spent an enjoyable day together. When I think of my sister, I become sad. I wish life would be kinder to her sometimes. She is the sweetest, most deserving person I know. She asks for nothing, she expects nothing. Every birthday I think- I would give anything, pay any amount of money to know what she thought was in that package. Certain desires of mine have been stronger but no other single wish has ever endured for so long. I want to give Suzy the present she wanted.

My coffee is starting to get cold. I supposed time figures it’s stood still long enough for my reminiscence. My last thought before I go back in to start the day (errands, to-dos, stress, runRunRUN) is that I’ve always worried about the wrong things.

But maybe that’s what *defines* a life?