I walked the black ice streets today, and I took the long way just because. I sort of defied nature's danger, stomping atop the frozen glaze in my spike-heeled ankle boots. I was on a mission, looking ahead, a soundtrack meeting my mood somewhere in between my ears.

Then I got to the busy part of the street and the cars blew my hair and my coat as they zipped too quickly and slipped through red-lit intersections, tails swerving, tires spinning. Dangers, dangers were all around, but I kept my pace. I kept my focus.

There all of you were, lining the opposite side of the street, like meager ghosts of the past, unable to release your zombie-like grasp on my spirit. You ogled my life and my way of stepping on ice, and you beckoned me to remember what you had done, the hurt you caused, the ways I had to overcome. But I would not. I was on a mission, looking ahead, a soundtrack meeting my mood somewhere in between my ears.

Even still, the world is madness and chaos and it swirls around you. Life is not fair and people are unjust and every day you're in the thick of it.

So I can stomp right through with my spiked heels; and I can drown out noise with the music playing in my head; but my eyes cannot help but see. My heart cannot help but break. On days when I walk this emotional line, even a sliding car can make my stomach pound and my breath stop or bring tears to my eyes. Or maybe that's just the creeping memories of a once shattered heart and how your mocking laughter rang.

There are dangers, dangers all around, but I try to keep my pace. I try to keep my focus.

Door Opener

You know in a dream when all of the sudden--FLASH--you're somewhere, and you don't know how you got there or why the location changed or what the relevance of the new place is? Well, this was that.

I was standing in an endless hallway, and it was such a tease. There were about a thousand doors. Each door had mirrors all around it so that the thousand doors looked like a million doors. I had no idea how I was going to peek in all of the doors. I couldn't finish it in a lifetime.

But, nevertheless, I started opening all the doors; except I wasn't doing this. I was watching myself do this. I knew that it was me, but it was more the optimal me--longer, thicker hair; longer, thinner legs; and I could walk gracefully like a ballerina. I've always wanted to be a ballerina, but I trip over the air, so that is impossible.

I kept opening doors, but I was doing it so quickly, that what was inside some spaces, I barely noticed. I just kept looking ahead at all the doors I needed to open, fearing I'd never make it; or I kept looking behind at all the doors I'd already opened, regretting that I didn't pay closer attention to what was inside.

Then I just stopped. I put my hand over my eyes. I spun around and around and around, and was silly-dizzy in the head. I stuck my finger out and pointed and opened my eyes. I went into that door.

When I peeked inside, it was me! I was running around a communications room with story boards in hand and talking on an iPhone. I checked out the covers of an award-winning magazine hanging on the wall. I watched in awe of what I was accomplishing and how successful I was.

I tore myself away and looked in another door. There I was again, quietly painting a gorgeous room in a charming Victorian house, grasping my enormously pregnant stomach with a huge smile on my face. Photos of a happy, home-style life lined the walls.

In the next door, I was in another country. I don't know where, but it was different. I was in a sleek suit, walking into a building made of glass and steel. Something important obviously took place in those walls, and then I realized it was a type of agency with an impressive list of clients.

The next door revealed me and my pretty little sister, sitting in an artist's loft, going over some of her incredible photos and redesigning our web page. There were mannequins and coffee mugs and poster frames and all sorts of knick-knacks scattered all about our creative space.

Feeling all Plath-like, I sat down.

I stared down the hall at all the doors I hadn't even opened yet.

And I just wondered how on earth I would ever choose to go inside of one and stay.


It had been such a long day. A long day with an early start.

When she was a younger girl, if a day had an early start, it would make her nervous the night before. She had a secret fear of alarm clock malfunction or being more a heavy a sleeper that morning than any other day in her life. She always woke up on time, though, it followed a night with no rest, waking up every hour on the hour.

But the night before this day, she had set her alarm clock without a second thought, fallen into a peaceful sleep, and she awoke promptly. She took it as a sign of maturity that her body recognized the value of sleep enough to conquer her wandering mind.

And since it had been such a long day with an early start, when she got home that afternoon, she decided to take a nap.

When she was a younger girl, she never could take naps. There was too much going on in the world during the day with the light and the birds and the people and all of the discoveries happening that she was not a part of if she slept.

But on this day, she slipped a thin, over-sized shirt over her body and she curled up next to him. The perfect thing about curling up next to him was that her head fit like a puzzle piece into the space between his shoulder and chest. And when she scooted against his body, his curved in where hers curved out.

That afternoon, it started to rain harder than it had rained all summer. The thunder and lightening clapped so loud it shook the building and rattled the old windows. With each boom her body jumped, but his remained peaceful and still, like the safety of a harbor on the edge of a roaring ocean.

So in her safe place, she approached the edge of sleep. She dreamed about how when they awoke, she would put on a sundress and he his straw fedora, and they would hop on their bikes to pedal down the path beneath the streets, next to the creek. It would be cool after the rain, with some wet still hanging in the air; and the faster she pedaled the more her hair would whip around into her face and on her shoulders, and her dress would flap around her thighs and hips. He would think about how beautiful she was while they explored the world from underneath.

When the storm was over, her eyes shuttered open, her head rising and falling to the steady beat of his breathing. She thought about how now she could wake up to alarm clocks and sleep the night before and take naps in the middle of the day and have messy hair flying around but still be beautiful to someone.

It made her more a woman.

And she knew he was more of a man.

It was exciting that together they would spend the rest of their lives getting better at life and becoming more lady-like or gentlemanly and going on adventures.

And every night she could go to sleep without fear of not waking up on time. And if she didn't get enough sleep she could take a nap. And every time she did sleep she could put her head in the perfect-fitting place on his shoulder.