Wii fit today. Apparently I'm doing just fine. It was nice to sweat a bit, to let things out.

Sweat is good.

It's Saturday in Brooklyn. I had a Betty Smith bit to post for today, but I'll save it for next Saturday. I forgot about Francie Nolan today.

Love you, Cassie girl.

friday, one week in brooklyn

It is Friday and I'm in Brooklyn.

At this point, I'm less adept at stepping back, viewing myself from an outsider's perspective. I don't have the self-knowledge to know if this is okay, if my heart is opened or closed.

Sometimes I think there is nothing there at all, that this is not my reality since I'm 3000 miles away from family and starting over. I've always been a nomad, a traveler with no place to call home. Sometimes it's as if there is nothing there at all, but then each morning I wake after fitful stories of murder and terror in sleep, and I realize it must be there, buried underneath the calm.

Chris awakened me again this morning, I was yelling out in my sleep. He said I yelled, "boring and uninspired", "get the hell out of my room", and "get out" amongst other things.

I wish the father would flee from my dreams. I suppose he is but a prisoner there, chained and gagged by the jailer, by me.

I tell myself in the bright hours that I've released him, that he's gone. That he cannot hurt me 3,000 miles away from here.

And then I dream of the father brandishing knives, wielding fear as his weapon of choice.

Why do I subconsciously choose to bring harm to myself? I want to be freed of all of this. I want to cease dreaming of murder and chaos. I want to be happy during the daylight, truly joyful. Right now it's like an earthbound purgatory, a between state. I am invisible.

Yesterday the father emailed photos of new black Cocker Spaniel puppies after I requested we cease all communications (he lasted a few days before he started up again). I had a facial cleansing mask on and wet grief turned to mud on my face. I miss Cassie so much. There exists no one and nothing that shall ever replace the place she keeps in my heart. To see that new life--it scooped out the pulp of my heart. I know Cassie isn't gone, but to be comforted by her presence, her smell, those warm brown eyes, to hold her in my arms once more.

The days pass and I am getting better but I need to get it together faster. I need to go out and explore, I need to finish my med school applications so they aren't hanging over my head anymore. I do want to be a doctor, but right now I'm only stopping myself if I choose not to work on them. The funny thing is, it's mostly busy work, not even hard work. And I have an interview of sorts on Tuesday. I was estactic as I've been in a bit yesterday when I found out. I think working and getting my mind to focus on something else will only help heal wounds time can only mend.

they quit, they stop like pumps

Depression

by Henry Carlile

He is pushing a black Ford

through an empty street -

a car like his father's

that beat the flat roads like wind

in summer and brought him here.

He never forgave his father.

That was the year he left home.

Then there was talk of weather

and everyone was packing.

Windmills were stopped

all over Kansas.

He is thinking of fathers,

the ways they never forgive you,

withholding love like lust.

But they quit, they stop like pumps.

There is no way to

set them working again.

He is thinking of mothers,

how she could not know how he

half followed girls down dark streets

of his heart, how that loneliness

is passed to sons,

to the fathers of sons.

He is pushing a black Ford.

Its problem is such a heart

you cannot give it enough care.

Like a father it will quit.

And there is no end to this.

"Depression" from Running Lights by Henry Carlile. Copyright © 1981 by Henry Carlile.

The father sent photos of black Cocker Spaniel puppies via email. We are not communicating, and we had a conversation where I explained the reasoning behind this.

I opened the attachment and all I could see was my little sweet Cassie.

God, I miss her so much. I know she is forever in my heart. But I cannot wait for the day when we are reunited in Heaven.

I lost part of my soul, my heart. I lost my little sister. She is lost but a piece of her is found.

She gave me so much joy and I will always hold onto this but without her I am lost, I am in darkness.

I've applied to so many jobs.

I'm hell-bent and determined to land one soon.

I am a great RN, and it will happen. I believe the universe will hear this and an opportunity will arise shortly.

:)

By the by, I am exhausted and still looking to apply to offerings online at 11:30 pm. It's hard work but it shall pay off!

at the heart of a bramble

The Heart Under Your Heart

Who gives his heart away too easily must have a heart
under his heart.
—James Richardson

The heart under your heart
is not the one you share
so readily so full of pleasantry
& tenderness

it is a single blackberry
at the heart of a bramble
or else some larger fruit
heavy the size of a fist

it is full of things
you have never shared with me
broken engagements bruises
& baking dishes

the scars on top of scars
of sixteen thousand pinpricks
the melody you want so much to carry
& always fear black fear

or so I imagine you have never shown me
& how could I expect you to
I also have a heart beneath my heart
perhaps you have seen or guessed

it is a beach at night
where the waves lap & the wind hisses
over a bank of thin
translucent orange & yellow jingle shells

on the far side of the harbor
the lighthouse beacon
shivers across the black water
& someone stands there waiting

Craig Arnold

The Paris Review
Summer 2009

Told the father I was in New York today.

Stressful day, update soon:)