Breather

I really like flaws,

crooked tooth,

too-loud laugh,

spongy hair,

I like the fact that you need to be flawed in order to see perfection.

I like smiles and teeth and laughter and hair,

and I like the way that too many eyes sparkle.

With broken bones

and butterflies and

bellybuttons and belly buttons and bellies and buttons all over the place,

how can you stand still for so long?

Home made cookies and

fresh cold milk,

college experiences, love and heartbreak,

flaws bind together and break hearts and stop hearts and and smash teeth and create life.

Hope makes fear seem further away and

keeps desperation close beside it.

Broken bones and butterflies and bellybuttons and belly buttons,

all over the place.

What We Had.

The Perfect Storm.

Is there really such a thing?
How would such a phenomenon be judged, I wonder? Is there a panel of dieties, both earthbound and heaven kissed, or a jury of frightened little children and their hassled parents?
Would it be gaged by the intensity of the flash of lightening or the rumble of the mighty thunder, or by the size and density rain drops fallen? Does it need to involve sand or snow, with extra point for both?
These are the things we'd idly consider, the things we'd wonder about while huddles in our bed and hidden under the covers. Sometimes you laughed about my 'silly' fear of storms, kissing my nose and calling me a scardey cat when I was quite sure that no one called each other that anymore. I just thought it was what made you special - that and the million other ways, of course. Like the way that the left side of your mouth curled up just a little more than the right side, giving you a perpetually smug grin; the way your eyes darkened with mischief whenever your brother came to town; the dimple in your cheek that came out only when you'd done something foolish and realized it without wanting to admit it; the way the your hand felt as you slid it around my waist, pulling me into a warm embrace from behind always when I least expected it; the way the shadows of the raindrops danced along your bare skin, the street lamp illuminating them and making them nearly nearly mesh with the shadows of my thin white curtains.
Is there such a thing as a perfect storm? I had asked, laying on my side and looking down at you, tracing the patterns on your skin lightly with the tip of my finger, your hands behind your head and your eyes closed blissfully.
Maybe all storms are actually perfect, you replied sleepily, just a moment before a single peal of thunder seemingly ripped through the sky, making me jump and turn my head into the pillows.
You laughed at me, but I didn't feel mocked. You kissed my neck, my shoulder, down to my wrist, coaxing me out of the pillows a moment later, laying me on my back. You whispered to me then, soothing the worry from my forehead, softly laughing about how startled I looked.

I smiled sheepishly, but you just kissed my cheek.
You know, I think it's funny, you whispered, taking my hand and opening it to kiss my palm. I made a noise, studying your face intently, memorizing the way you looked just then, like a song I only knew half the lyrics to.
What's funny, you continued, is the reality that you and I are completely opposite sometimes. I love thunder storms and you're afraid of them.
You kissed the tip of my little finger and bit it, making me laugh as I tried to pull my hand away, but you held on tight.

At that moment, alarm bells should have been ringing in my head. I should have really listened to what you were saying, not just your words and how they sounded, but to the meaning behind them.

You kissed my other fingers, my shoulder again, then propped yourself up on one arm and leaned over me, smiling playfully.

I felt so much love for you at that very moment that I thought my heart was literally going to need to expand to fit it all.

You kissed me deeply, brushing your lips along my neck and jaw.

That night stands out in memory because it was the night you taught me it was ok to be afraid, but not to let it stop you from doing what you really want to do. The thunder would come, but I'd hardly notice it. You kept my mind off trivial things like that.

Our affair soon ended, as I knew it would but hoped it wouldn't. Things were much too good to last.

As soon as the first sign of trouble arose, you were just gone.

No sad goodbyes or bitter memories to taint what we had.
All that remains are shattered fragments of of a mosaic that was us.

The perfect storm:

coming on suddenly at full force with no warning signs and no anticipation. Pulling out all the stops, being loud, bold, frightening and fascinating, all at the same time, and ending on a bolt of lightening so shocking that it quiets the earth, stilling the angry seas and the skies, making the wind catch it's breath.

We had the perfect storm.

Elias (School)

"Professor?" She called out in her most honeyed tone. I'm sure it's very popular with the jocks, but I wasn't so easily amused.
"Yes Miss Nicks?" I looked over at her, noting the subtle tilt of her head and her legs positioned slightly apart. Amateur.
"Professor, it's Angela! How many times do I have to tell you?" she asked, giggling and twisting a lock of artificially colored hair around her manicured finger.
"As many times as you wish to needlessly repeat yourself, as I know what your name is and I still don't want to address you by it. What can I help you with?" I sighed, tapping my cane impatiently on the floor.
She looked slightly taken aback. "I... I only wanted to know who wrote "Through the looking glass."
I turned my back to her and made my way down to the front of the lecture hall.
"Class," I said into the microphone, and 200 heads simultaneously snapped up to look at me. "Who can tell me who wrote "Through the looking glass?" I beat an impatient little beat on the podium. My 2nd year literature students all looked around nervously; wondering if this was a trick question I'm sure. Slowly, 199 students raised their hand. Everyone but Angela, whose cheeks were flaming. "You, Mr. Tucker." I pointed to a blonde boy near the back.
He looked uncertain for a moment then spoke up. "Lewis Carroll?" He asked loudly, and a murmur or consent rippled through the room.
"Very good. But why the hesitation? Lewis Carroll is very well known in all of the realms and circles of literature. Alice in Wonderland and it's sequel, Through the Looking Glass, are some of modern literature's most studied pieces. What made you question yourself?" I scanned the audience, unease making them shift in their seats.
"Sir, you've asked seemingly obvious questions before but have caught us in it some way. This seemed much too easy to be just a question." He smiled, and everyone around him laughed appreciatively.
"Well thought out, Mr. Tucker. 5 points to your team." I nodded approvingly.
"Points, Professor?" He looked so confused, the poor boy.
"Rather, if we had a point system, or teams for that matter, you would have been awarded 5 points." I sighed theatrically, knowingly fueling their suspicion of my eccentricity. Nevertheless, laughter rippled through the conference hall.
"Right, thanks Professor." He laughed and shook his head, then went back to his work. Slowly I made my way back to Alicia Nicks. "Does that answer your question?" I asked quietly, noting her posture had changed and she was now leaning away from me. "Yes, Professor Grey," she mumbled, looking down at her desk.
"Good." I said, tapping my cane on the floor for finality. "Class," I yelled, making my way back to the podium. My leg started throbbing, and I knew what was coming. Just because I knew didn't make it any easier. "This week's assignment is a 1,500 word essay on the life and works on Lewis Carroll, including DOB and DOD, and any other fun tidbits you can unearth; I'll be grading based on pertaining themes. Due on Friday, double spaced, black and white, no excuses. Class dismissed, see you on Wednesday!" I pressed the buzzer on the wall, and the room became a flurry of activity.
A dull chorus of "Thanks, Professor," rang out as my Monday students filed out of the room, most of them older than me.
The thought made me chuckle.
I looked at the seating and saw only one person remaining: Alicia. I groaned inwardly, the 19-year-old in me screaming for me to run from the crazy chick, but then the teacher in me took over. "Miss Nicks, can I help you with something?" I asked, taking a seat behind my desk and discreetly massaged my leg, hoping to diffuse the pain bomb ticking in my body.
She grabbed her bag and approached me, her black hair as straight as a pin. I noted that her skirt was too short to be academically acceptable, although I could appreciate her long legs.
"Yes, Professor, you can." She said angrily, and I cringed on the inside. "Elias, I don't know what your deal is," she stated, and I knew the conversation was going to go downhill from that point. "Over the past month I have been trying to get your attention, and you always seem to ignore me, and you pay attention to that Tucker kid instead. You’re passing me over, and that never happens to me. So I'm telling you right this minute that I am very interested in you. I also think you should know that I view you as a challenge, so nothing you could say will make me want to have you any less." She said all of this with a smug, self satisfied air about her.
My expression was effortlessly vacant. I quirked an eyebrow, not out of interest but out of pity for the poor mentally infirm girl. "Miss Nicks, I believe your affections are misguided. I apologize if I have, in any way, encourage your attention, but I must assure you that I have no intention of pursuing any kind of relationship with you save that of a professor towards his student. I will have you know that I do not employ favoritism, nor do I endorse it. So, I ask that you get a move on with the rest of your day and forget about this silly infatuation. Good day, Miss." I nodded politely and busied myself with my papers.
She looked shocked, as though someone had physically slapped her. She struggled a moment with what to say or do next, and finally stood up and leaned over my desk. "Elias Gray, you're going to find out that life can be made pretty hard for you if you don't play by my rules." she hissed, trying to intimidate me by her proximity to my nose. Not even close to working.
I leaned in towards her, our faces only millimeters apart. "Try me." I deadpanned, pulling away and sitting back in my chair.
"Miss Nicks, this is not high school. Need I remind you of how very precarious your scholarship is? You need a certain amount of credits to keep your scholarship, never mind to graduate. My class counts for 33% of your semester's total, and you have me for both semesters this year. With you against me, that's 66% of your year's grade against you. So please, do yourself a favor and stop making idle threats that we both know are unrealistic. As I said before, good day." I slammed a drawer closed, and as a literature student she surely was able to see the symbolism in that simple action.
Yet she still stood there.
The fuse shortened and i knew the pain would be coming at any moment. I dreaded it's coming. Either she needed to leave or I was going to have to- there was no way I was going to let her see me in that state. "Madam, I'm afraid I must get back to work. Please feel free to remain in the auditorium and study, but I do start my next lecture in 35 minutes." I sounded cordial, but she seemed to hear the impatience in my tone. Her glare would have intimidated a lesser man, which is what she must have thought she was dealing with.
"Right. Thank you, Professor," she hissed and walked out of the room.
As the door clicked I had just enough time to turn out the light before the pain overwhelmed me.

Elias (Background - Mother)

"Elias darling, come here please!" Mother called out in that sing-song voice I so very much hated.
"Coming mother." I said to myself, knowing very well that she couldn't hear me and knowing just as well that it didn't matter if she did. She knew I would come. I always did.
I hesitantly pushed open her door and saw her lounging luxuriously on her plush bed.
"My love, come here," she purred, and I could immediately smell the sour stench of alcohol.
I strode up to the foot of her bed and saw that the sheets were messed up. She's been having nightmares again. "Elly, do mummy a favor and bring me my jewelery box." She slurred her words, and I knew tat she'd overdosed on her anti-depressants.
"No, Mother, I think you should just lay down and go to sleep. You've had a rough night." I took a step backwards and almost tripped on some discarded clothes. I bent down to pick it up, then saw that the whole floor was littered with garbage, clothes, shoes, and whatever else she decided to toss aside. I sighed deeply and straightened up.
"Elias, sweetheart, please bring me my box. It's so special to me." She was whining now. She crawled along the bed to where I was standing and reached up to try and touch my face, something that I used to love. Now it just made me feel sick.
I looked at her, pity and fear bubbling up inside me, and I saw that underneath her silk robe she had no clothes on. I quickly looked over at the door, wanting nothing more than to escape.
"Elias!" She barked, and prodded me in the stomach. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" she said harshly.
I looked at her lined face and my throat constricted. "Why do you want you music box, Mother?" I choked on my words, knowing exactly why.
"Because it has my wedding ring in it," she said dreamily, and I knew I needed to change the subject because she was coming close to a meltdown.
"Ok, mother, I'll get you your jewelery box. I'll return in just a moment." I backed away quickly and went for the box.
I opened it and went right to the secret compartment. I had seen her wedding ring on the bedside table, so I knew what she really wanted. The velveteen lining peeled away from the bottom of the little box, revealing multiple bottles of pills such as Vicodin and various antidepressants.
I felt a stab of sadness as I removed everything, and not for the first time I wondered where they came from.
I slid the bottles into my jacket pocket, then took of my jacket and hung it on the door, ready for my quick escape.
"Elly!" My mother called, and I reattached the lining and rearranged everything abck to the way it was.
"Coming." I whispered.

So, I've been thinking,

and I've decided that it's time I wrote out my lessons that I've given!
They're usually pretty good, if I do say so myself.
When I actually try to put an effort into things, they don't usually fail, which is nice, you know?

so as they come along I'm going to be posting them here, for future reference.

Peace :)

A Broken Record

Honestly, this is just getting ridiculous.
How much more homesick can I get? I didn't think it could get much worse, but every time I look at pictures from back home it gets just a little worse.
I feel like such a loser. And yet why can't I stop it?

Life recently has become a little bit of a chore.
I've been sick on and off since before Christmas, and it doesn't seem like it wants to go away.
Work, as always, is rough but not unbearable. I'm FINALLY down to only 8 properties, and I used to have 20. Does that seem excessive to you? Because it didn't to me. I thought I could take on more, and only since I've started backing off have I realized that I was pretty much killing myself over something that really wasn't going to get me anywhere in the long run.
Luckily, though, I have left all of my clients on good terms and now have some very valuable contact in my future life.

Which, by the way, hasn't begun yet.
I'm still waiting for the call or email telling me that I've got the part.
I've been assured that it's coming soon, that because we're in Mexico everything's later than they thought, but it's still nerve wracking.
But I was really, really thinking about it, and decided that I really wouldn't be super devastated if I didn't get it.
Like, it would suck because it's such a great experience, but I wouldn't be crushed.
I guess that I don't feel that I've been keeping my life on hold for this thing, so if I get it it'll just be a perk.

I've been keeping very busy with my daily life, but luckily, for the moment, it's tolerable. That little feeling in my chest every time I see home is starting to get tedious, but I feel like if I stop feeling that then I'll have lost something.
Iiiii don't know. I feel so contradictory.

And I wonder why I write this.
I know no one will read this. But maybe to remember this time?
Then why am I writing the negative? Why not focus on the good stuff in my life?
I guess I'm just silly that way.

I have to go to bed.
Tomorrow I have to focus on getting some accommodations set up for a team that I'm helping out in March.

Good Night, future.
Good Night, Moon.
And good night Mrs. Robinson, wherever you are :)
Kenzie

Happy New Year?

The shock is finally wearing off.
2009 is officially gone, and 2010 is here.
At first, I was all chill and like whatever, but now I have finally come to terms with everything: 2010 is a year of lasts.
Life as I know it is changing, and fast.
People that I've known for my whole life down here are leaving, and I'm going too. And as much as that excites me, it fills me with a tangible fear.
The fear and the certainty that life is never, ever, from this point on, going to be the same doesn't exactly sit well with me.
Everything that was 'normal' is being ripped apart right before my eyes, and the pieces have yet to start floating down.
It's kind of crazy, really.
This profound sense of loss is nothing new, and the assurance that I am neither the first nor the last to feel this takes some of the sting away.
But not all of it. Not even enough to keep the memories from starting to flood in, and the nostalgia to put her first foot in the door.
Just enough to make it seem ok, if only on the surface.

This New Years Eve was lamesauce.
Sickness taints joy, and tainted joy is only the echo of a laugh... or something along those lines.
I really wasn't able to enjoy it because of the impending doom of a business meeting with a grumpy client (which turned out quite well) at an ungodly hour.
But, whatever.

Lately I have been feeling extremely discontent.
Every time I see pictures of things back home, homesickness overcomes me.
Is this irrational? I think so.
But it still happens nonetheless.
I don't know exactly what I left behind, but all I know is that it's not here.
I feel terrible burdening my lovelies with this, because they're all going through their own drama, and mine is of no real consequence. But some days it's all I can do not to break down. Some days, I wonder where on earth my head is at, and I usually find it where I know it has no business being.
And yet that's life.
And I'm moving on.

Tonight was awesome.
I was hostessing a charity ball for the local orphanage, Casa Hogar, and had to pretend that I remembered a ton of people who, in reality, didn't stick out to me at all.
But I met this incredible woman, Ruth, and she was such an inspiration to me.
She's someone that I would love to be, and someone that some people think I am, but is someone I know that I'm much too selfish to be.
But I'll work on it.
And she's totally a door to Colorado for me. We'll have to see what God has planned for me this coming year. It's going to be interesting.

But the thing that I'm most interested in is my pending foray into the 'acting industry'.
On Thursday the 7th, Sarah Bachelder (a casting agent here in the Bay) called me at 7:15 pm and said 'Kenzie, you need to get your butt into a taxi and into Vallarta right now. Casting begins at 8.'
So I freaked out and got ready to go really quick, and hopped in a taxi, just as she said.
When I first got to the hotel Krystal where the auditions were being held, I was freaking out and nervous, and the concierge came up to me and was like 'Hey there, how can I help you?' and I quickly explained that I was there for the casting event, and he said that he didn't know what was going on.
After panicking for about 2 minutes, I walked into the lobby only yo find that there were cameras there and everything.
Thank you, useless Hotel man.
So I went and wandered aimlessly for a few seconds, and someone came up to me and was like 'Hey, are you here for the casting call?' and when I said yes, he was like 'Good, because you were going to be whether you knew it or not.'
lololol
I found that a little creepy.
So we sat down for a few minutes and chatted, and he told me his name is Renè, and he is the director of the show. After a few minutes of small talk, he asked me if I had any acting experience, and I told him about working on Dinoshark (by Roger Coraman) over the Spring, and he got really excited, and as it turns out, pretty much all of the crew got their start with Corman. So, you know, Kudos to me.
Then I went into the theater room with him, and he said that they were going to take some pictures of me.
Now, let me interject here to explain that I was wearing heels. I'm tall as it is, but with the 4 inch heels, I'm quite giant. And unfortunately, the camera men were.... short.
They were all commenting on how tall I was, and then one of the camera men said that he felt like one of Snow White's dwarfs.
And me, being me, got nervous and said 'oh, does this make you feel uncomfortable? I can take off my heels if it makes you feel better...'
I mean, they reached about just under my shoulders... so it was completely natural that I could have been making them feel emasculated.
Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, everyone got really quiet for a second then burst out laughing. Aaaaaand I almost died.
I said that I was sure that whatever they lacked in height they made up for in photography skills
A dear friend once asked me
¿nunca has considerado solo sonreir y no decir nada? (haven't you ever thought about just smiling and not saying anything?)
When I get nervous I say stupid stuff. I can't help it.
But I seemed to have made a good impression on (and possibly scarred) them. I had thought it went well, because they said that they wanted to find a part for me which will be in the whole season. They said that they'd call me when they got back to Vallarta in a week.
The next day Sarah called me and told me that they wanted me for sure.
I just don't know what's going to happen yet.
And that pretty much sums it all up!!
It was awesome.

So I guess this year is going to be interesting.
New year, new hurt, new love? I think it still applies.

So good night, my lovies, and I'll be sure to keep updating.
This could possibly be my only outlet. I'm trying to stop bugging people with my fickle concerns.

Happy New Year?
Maybe.