“The worth of a human being lies in the ability to extend oneself, to go outside oneself, to exist in and for other people.”

I want to be a good woman.

I scanned an article about someone who did good early this morning. Later this afternoon it was everywhere - posted on the walls of friends, and picked up by the big news crews, so I read it again. Someone, somewhere (the point of origin is unknown) decided to pick up the tabs on KMART layaway accounts. They left enough for the recipient to finish the task (leaving nominal amounts of .04 cents to $50 or so dollars) so that KMART would be prompted to call the account holder and notify them of the deposit.

Someone had done this and perhaps told another. Or the recipient of this thoughtful gift told tale. Regardless of the how, the why inspired enough to follow suit as that KMARTs across the state were a flurry of holiday giving.

Some dropped a lot of cash, while others helped in ways that they could- paying off $250 balances, $75 balances. The weight balances when you consider the cost.

This article drove me to list making, not because I was trying to free up some extra cash to donate for the holidays, but because I exhaust money on needless things routinely that could go to better use. I read this and think, if only I had the money, I, too, would be so generous. But I want for nothing, fiscally. I live within my means, and they are warm and adorned. And I'm not advocating for complete frugality, but, but, but... I think I've lost sight of my senses.

It's convenient that this all comes to mind around the holidays; New Years which is basically a blanket mandate for reform. But reminders, whether in person or in print should be accepted and heeded.

I don't know what to do but Hiro suggests I do what I know. So perhaps I can start with writing and work my way from there.

They had a natural buoyancy unsuitable for anything outside the realm of elastic love.

When there is nothing left to burn
you have to set yourself on fire.

Do you believe in something beautiful, then get up and be it

Rachel told me today that she was going to give me a gift.

She said, "I am going to give you a great gift."

I was soon to type, "Please don't let it be a lesson," but I was too type for her svelte fingers. There on g-chat she delivered a message, intended to be taken as a lesson, with no need for modesty.

She told me that I'm to chose how I react. Meaning, I needn't react as much as I do.

I wanted to contest. Respond in CAPS, tell the tale in my own version, but, see, that was the crux of Rachel's concern. I have nervous tick emotions. I jump at the slightest touch and feel the faintest slice of sun. Some call us Hyper Sensitive Personalities, which they argue is both enabling and disabling. Good/Great work done in therapy has helped me own my sensitive shortfalls, learn to desensitize when it doesn't serve me but still the reaction. I feel like I do nothing but try to feel something.

But there's something to Rachel's creed: I can shut it off. I could easily not wind up when someone has a turn key in paw. I even feel equipped to follow this advice. It's just... there's something to raw emotion. I feel like I have a secret sense, and even more, I feel like I'm doing someone a service by making every effort to understand their understatements.

But Rachel could say, "not everyone wants to be read." Or "maybe you are thinking of yourself here."

But instead she says, "I love having you as a friend."

That warrants reaction. But of the hug someone in happiness variety. We should all be so lucky as to have a friend like that.

I couldn't small talk my way out of a doll house

I'm fiscally anxious in as much as I am fiscally irresponsible. With the wedding come costs on costs. The dress needs to be altered. The flower girl a basket, the hall another deposit. Everyone has some say in how I can best save money and while I appreciate and solicit their advice I wish I could just fall back on success to quiet the concern.

Hiro, my savvy supporter, insists that I keep writing. He thinks writing is our ticket to success. He asks that I draft the ticket, publish it and collect the earnings. It's cute. Trouble is, I think he really believes it.

I've never had such a hero. He stands by, patiently, persistently while I drum out clumsy phrases and turn nasty in my bouts of doubt. He just can't seem to give up on hope, and I am truly fortunate to have such an editor in my corner.

So for Hiro I write. And for myself. And for the dreams I thought deferred. But for he I write all I can, in the hopes of one day making us proud.

A snippet of what's to come:

Looking back, what a terrible way to introduce her. But I can’t help the association. The memory has secured itself and when I think of her, I often remember little moments of weakness. I don’t believe I do so out of spite, but perhaps to convince myself that she is a mortal. That she is subject to the endeavors of everyday living. Which she has. And still does, although we all refuse to believe it. She is just that good an actor. So we have to remember her at fault, if we are to remember her at all, with any semblance of love.

If you really love something then get up and be it

"There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one."

So spoke Kazuo Ishiguro. A writer I'm so taken by that I pick fights with senior citizens in book club and pen late night letters to him in the hopes of one day receiving a response.

Everyone needs a hero. I have my own in a selfless, supportive finance (see posts of old re: man I love most), but I also need someone to come out on top in the pages I read. I need someone to mimic and inspire. So I'll keep reading in the hopes of sooner writing, after which I'll toast to Ishiguro-san, and maybe someday, he to me.

I'm Too Young to be This Old

I'm embarrassed by my posts of old. They belong to no less than 6 different blogs I thought I'd attend to and all are disjointed in scope. I haven't shared these URL's and the blogs are better off dead, but, I can't seem to cut the chord. Sure I was dramatic in some late night confessionals. Truer yet that 40% of the text could be attributed to Bright Eyes frontman Conor Oberst. I mean, these are not the sentences I'd sooner inscribe anywhere. But, but, but they were words. Lots of words. Words that told tale of where and who I was, and I miss having such a blog trail to go by. Even more, I've been living without urgency to dictate my thoughts when once I thought that to be all I was capable of. It might be that I've grown and that silly, soppy blog bits are thankfully no-more. But I hope I haven't outgrown my love of writing. Honestly, I hope I've just been lazy. (And I have. Been lazy). Still, that's without excuse! As a consequence I'm willing myself to dust off ye old blogger login and go back to what I know. Because really, if I have outgrown this, I am too young to be this old.

Have Heart, Will Carry

A braggarts blog post:

I am incredibly in love. Enough to warrant the telling. He is kind and good and thoughtful and fun. He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me aspire to be a better woman. Because of him I have quit smoking and run 5 miles, all in the course of an a.m..

A sampling of why I am as happy as I am:

-He leaves slippers outside the bathroom door
-He asks me to coffee in French
-He rents zip cars if only to take me home
-He has an affinity for summer drives
-He had a planned jacket for our first date
-He rode his brakes the entire leg of our first bike ride
-He sees color in songs
-He never fully locks his door
-He talks to his mother regularly
-He agrees to spontaneous sword play
-He adopts my phrases
-He is a beautiful painter

He, he, he, he, he.
If I don't stop now I never will.

Things, in Boston, are lovely.

xoxoxo