Thoughtless thoughts

Struggle breeds creativity and loving yourself is not always consistent

You have to learn how to struggle on your own and not bring everybody else into your problems which ultimately create more

you’ve got to hit rock bottom before you can get to the top

it takes perspective, it’s not something that can be taught. you need to hit the lowest of lows to understand and see things in a way you never would’ve been able to otherwise.

I draw the outline of clouds on the window with my finger

Give a human an object and they’ll turn it into a metaphor

Time to run

Just as we get settled in, it hits me. Creeping up the past few months, put at bay by conflict and distraction. Once settled and relatively content she needs to move on and I am victim and slave to the urge.

Spanish Soap and Soap Operas

Today, I am sitting in a laundromat. I see a different view of life, babies sleeping in washing baskets and children playing carelessly while mother washes clothes. It’s humbling. Spanish soap operas are playing in the background while my laundry turns, who knew it took 20 quarters to pay for a wash cycle. Trying not to pay any mind to the drunk man sneaking in a bottle of who knows what in front of me. I forgot to bring soap with me so I bought some here – from the man eating homemade guacamole. I feel confident enough in my laundry experience that I don’t think I need to translate the Spanish directions on the bottle. Little pink cowgirl boots run across the floor in front of me on the little niña that’s wearing them. Gas station coffee really isn’t that bad either.

Life update: Although I had lived in my previous state much longer than I have been here, I feel like I have experienced far more in the past two months. My stubbornness has been tested and I’ve found strength in times when I was sure I would crack. Through it all, I still feel happier than I was before I took that jump. It’s time to take a break and continue finding myself. I cling to people and distraction to help me cope, harboring the fear of being alone with my own thoughts. But it’s okay, and it will be.

I’ll leave you with the smell of laundry detergent and Spanish drama.


(A poem by my mother. My muse, my inspiration, the reason I write)

This bobber

floating out to sea
with a fishing line dangling
catching wayward
fish along the way but then
them to
like-minded schools that swirl
in groups
beneath this
Without bait
this weighted line can’t
reach to where
they swim unaware,
Not when whitecaps and storms
toss it all up and away
but never to shore.
How can there be
a pole or a fisher(of)man
to guide
this forgotten line
when no one has even realized
that it’s broken?