Distance

Singing to old music on a long drive is a sure sign of healing and happiness.

Babies Cry

She could be so in love right now, but then remembered how incredibly sad she was for the world.

This sucks

Oh, fuck. Family is family but if the family member is an alien then I have no real familial obligations -- right?

Sick Sister-Stranger

I wonder if other people go through this. The feeling of acceptance of a dark matter that is inescapable. Maybe it has to do with a sibling, like me. Maybe it has to do with a cousin, a parent, a friend. To call it dark is unfair. There must be balance in the universe, even in our small human ones in which we call our lives. Dark and light. Calm and calamity. That's what I suppose this is.

 I'll cut to the chase -- my sister's court date is this Thursday. It was supposed to be last week, well, actually the week before that. (May 10th was my dad's birthday, then the next week, May 17th, was my parents anniversary -- isn't that something?) Anyway, due to some uncontrollable circumstances, the court date has been moved to this Thursday. No special personal holiday or cause for celebration this week. Just a normal May 24th. My parents will not be traveling 3.5 hours again for this one. They gave their testimonies the previous Thursday.

Her court date is for the judge to decide whether or not she should be committed to a state hospital for up to 6 months. She has been in Tallahassee's emergency mental center for 2 months...the most a patient is supposed to stay is up to two weeks -- tops. It isn't a great place. What mental hospital is? I walked in and thought I would see nurses administrating shock treatment.

"She's sick," my mother says.

Who are we to really know? Maybe Rachel really is from another planet. Maybe she really can speak to angels. It could be possible that she really is on a mission from God. Maybe she really doesn't need medication. She claims that she doesn't. Medication is poison, she says. Maybe she can heal herself. Or maybe she really is bi-polar, schizophrenic, or has some borderline personality disorder. Needs to be in a controlled environment and watched all hours. The only theory left is that she is possessed by some horrible demon that remains dormant, only waiting until things become too good to be true. My sister has the heart that Jesus himself would be proud of, but my sister is under constant attack from herself. She's a warrior, and I respect her for that, but she is has mistaken the enemy. She stands alone.

She's too much for this world. The world isn't big enough for her. If only I knew the solution. I don't. I have no other choice at this point but to agree with the rest of them. My sister is sick. My sister needs medication. My sister needs help. My sister will always be in the bottom of the spiral and will drag my family down with her if we let her.

I am choosing to be present at this next hearing. Rachel will be present for the first time (she was not in attendance last week for unforeseeable reasons). It will be my duty to testify against her if she is to make a case to not go to the state hospital. I would be doing a disservice to my parents if I didn't. Though, blatantly rejecting the service of my older sister will be one of the most difficult situations I have yet to face. My mother had it easy. She didn't have to look her daughter in the face that day. I have the high chance of doing so, and it rips at every square inch of my heart every time I imagine it. To be her last vague link of support, and then to destroy that link in front of 15  or more strangers.

She may scream at me, she may launch over the witness stand and attack me, she may weep in her seat and make a big scene. Or she may present herself quite tall and calm. I don't know which is worse.

Looking at the big picture, I ask myself, "what's the big deal?" Oh, right. Advocating to send a loved one away to a less than pleasant place (a dreadful place, I imagine) -- all against her will. She will be fighting and screaming the whole way through. It is supposed to be in her best interest. But again, who am I to know what is? Who are we? Best interest? Just another way of trying to make our lives more bearable. Put her in a "safe" place just so we can have our lives back. It's in her best interest.

It all seems so dark. But through all the chaos and stress, I do believe this situation has brought my remaining family closer than we would be if Rachel wasn't in her current state. We aren't the best communicators, nor the most affectionate, or that openly supportive. However, this thing with my sister has given us something to rally together for. Maybe that's her so-called mission: bringing a relatively normal, but distant family together. Balancing act.

I know everyone and every family has a similar situation or experience. Mine has been going on for 27 years, how about yours?

No, No, This is Relevant

I'm not much of a human being. I sit and talk, sit and talk, sit and walk and walk and walk with no where to go. Except to Target to get some running shorts and sunglasses. That way, I can at least fit in here in Tallahassee. Now that summer is in full swing, yoga pants have been tossed aside. Now it's running shorts (could be a location thing). Maybe they got the memo about yoga pants and camel toes. Tired of competing for the best original vagina shadow. The best ass squeezing-spandex bulging out to the side with every step. All a man had to do was imagine the black skin-tight material as, well, skin-colored -- depending on the skin color that he liked best at the time. Doing the world a favor by keeping comfortable, are you? Sexy without being "sexy." Are you the reason why birth control isn't free? Walking behind you gives me a headache, like your wide ass is just slapping me in the head everytime you take a step. Right step -- smack. Left foot -- smack. Smothered by ass-crack like some amateur porno.

Have we gotten so bored with cleavage and mid-drift that we have resorted to the last sacred private area of our bodies? Shorts these days are another story. They are either already cut out to be your father's worst nightmare, or they can be easily adjusted to become so. I can walk into a trendy 21 forever store and buy "appropriate" length shorts (hard to find, however). I can still do that with skirts, as well. However, upon washing and drying, they shrink back down to the size of their $14.99 cousins back from the store. This is a fabric quality issue, but nonetheless, can't a young, semi-modest girl catch a break? I shouldn't have to go into Old Navy and betray my fashion sense by buying Bermuda shorts because I'm forced to shave my bikini line just to be trendy. I don't have time for that shit. I'll shave my crotch when I'm good and ready for the world to see it, not when I'm running to Publix for hot-dog buns in the middle of the summer in Florida. By the end of the summer, I'm back to donating to Plato's Closet all my ass-cleavage bottoms. They take them and give me 5 bucks because some other girl will buy them, and will inevitably look super hot wearing them. YOU"RE WELCOME, girl who competes with other girls for best vagina shadow. This is Florida, not Chile (camel toes are apparently big there).

I digress. Again, ladies, have we gotten so bored with our bodies that we have resorted to the one area that (in my eyes) should remain the last delightful surprise even if it is for that one night stand? I'd like to think that maybe these clothing decisions were a last resort. That maybe she felt silly in her cut-off Abercrombies, was having a bad day, or felt un-pretty and went for the pant that would allow her to slip more easily into the crowd without being noticed.But surely that isn't the reason, and even if it was, the method backfires every time. Surely I'm not the only one that notices the gigantic letters sparkling right over her ass (PINK, COLLEGE, BRAND OF BEER). Surely I'm not the only one to instantaneously fixate on the curves of her thighs leading up to the cavern of space between her legs. The smoothness of the skin against the fabric; the motion of the confident and controlled walk of a woman. The way her back naturally arcs into a soft round hill of muscle that gently rolls back to the point at which the gaze first began: the VAGINA. The small inner dips and crevices of her vagina; her box, her pink vortex, her wilted flower, her pacman, black hole, vice clamp, lady parts, cookie, muffin, apple pie, her poor sweaty suffocating vagina  (I say sweaty because we are in Florida -- everyone sweats, and everyone sweats everywhere). Doesn't sound so sexy any more does it? My bad.

Anyway, I guess that's why my sisters from other misters decided to switch to running shorts. More airy, less intrusive, and overall less hygenic problems. I'm following suit because at least running shorts are more believable than yoga pants. Running shorts allow us to seem like we have an agenda to run, or like we are too lazy to squeeze into our junior sized hot pants we like to call shorts. Yoga pants are a half-ass attempt to look fit, be comfortable, and sexy. However, it still maintains the perception of a sexually desperate single girl vying for attention of sexually estranged boys -- and victory as the hottest vagina on campus. That's admirable.

The yoga pant may be dwindling for now, but they will be back come fall, and I'm sure we all will be waiting for the sexy spandex porn that the seemingly practical pant will provide.I hope I helped to induce excitement in you for this spectacular event in vagina flaunting.

Raw Food

After beginning to eat on a raw foods diet, the next step is to see a UFO then maybe speak telepathically with animals.

When We Stopped Being Human

When we stopped being human, leaving became a painful familiarity. Loving became a shivering, sleepy existence. At least we called it love -- as hollow as it was. Though, when it fell upon us, it poured. We absorbed it into every porous muscle in our frame. Like rain and earth.

draft

Like Sunburn

Out there in the sun.
Sometimes I see you when I look up towards the sun. Hurts my eyes and makes them ache.
And the sun burns my skin to red.

The whole body stinging and itching as it heals.

Just like a broken heart. The whole body stinging and itching as it heals.

Normality by Habit

When does visiting your sister in a mental  hospital become normal?