I love this--prompted by a typo.

The Kiss
By Stephen Dunn
 She pressed her lips to mind.
                                                                     — A typo
How many years I must have yearned
for someone's lips against mind.
Pheromones, newly born, were floating
between us. There was hardly any air.
She kissed me again, reaching that place
that sends messages to toes and fingertips,
then all the way to something like home.
Some music was playing on its own.
Nothing like a woman who knows
to kiss the right thing at the right time,
then kisses the things she's missed.
How had I ever settled for less?
I was thinking this is intelligence,
this is the wisest tongue
since the Oracle got into a Greek's ear,
speaking sense. It's the Good,
defining itself. I was out of my mind.
She was in. We married as soon as we could.

Dear John

I've lived in this upstairs apartment for years--so long that rumors don't even remember how I came to be here. I mostly just sat here in this corner, facing the front door hoping that someone would want me. They sat me here, they danced around and had friends over. They fought despite my presence. Eventually they all left, cycling in and out in twelve-month intervals. Signing new leases and leaving me here to watch them. They all came, they all ignored me and they all left.

And then you showed up. You in your fresh faced enthusiasm and a need for a place of your own. You weren't like the others. You didn't like me much in the begining, but I was used to that and I didn't even feel it. But one day you looked at me and you took me as your own.

Remember that first night? We listened to Jay-Z, an interesting musical choice for such an

occasion. You undressed me of all of my hardware. You bathed me and smoothed my edges. You made me soft and receptive. You touched me and I finally felt like someone could see me for what I could be. Someone loved me. Someone wasn't afraid of my size or my age or my uselessness. You changed me. You changed me from an ordinary china hutch into a statement piece. A bookshelf.

That's why it pains me to write this letter. You see, I've sat up here in this apartment for years, unseen by anyone even those who lived here and now it's time for me to go. You've changed me--do you understand? You've changed me into something better and bigger than this triplex. I need a renovated loft, can't you see?

God, I wish I could take you with me but this is something I have to do on my own. I'm sure you'll understand one day. I've stacked all of the books into neat little piles on your dining room table (I kept Waiting for Godot, I'm just about finished with that and then perhaps I'll mail it to you--we'll work something out) but by the time you read this letter, I'll be gone.

XOXO

Gary

(your beloved china hutch turned bookshelf)

You return home from work to find a Dear John letter on your kitchen table. Oddly enough, it's from one of your favorite pieces of furniture. What does the letter say? www.writersdigest.com

"You don't have a clue what it is like to be next to you. I'm here to tell you that it is good."

This is something new for me.

I haven't journaled in a very long time (journaling being a daily, free-writing sort of situation as opposed to the theme-centered blogging--which I also do not to with strict regularity) and I have never done it in the mornings. When journaling is a habit of mine, it's most often a night-time recollection of my thoughts and feelings about my day. It can be so good to lie in bed at night and write, "today was the perfect day." Which I have done more often than I would have ever expected.

But AM journaling is a whole other scenario. It seems like it takes on a much more intentional and hopeful idea about the day.

Good January Morning.

I woke up a little over an hour ago and snoozed my alarm twice. This wasn't really because I didn't want to get up, it was mostly an experiment. I have a new cell phone that I use as an alarm clock. My new phone has this fancy feature that allows me to snooze just by waving my hand back and forth over the face of it. Very fancy stuff, my friend. I've never really been one to care about gadgets and features but when they're basically handed to me for agreeing to do something that I wanted to do in the first place--I'll take the free, cool upgrade. Anyway, I snoozed it twice and then found it hard to get out of bed anyway, because waking up to Metric is hard to do. I wanted to lay in my bed and jam in my jammies.

I came out of my cove, pet my cat and fed him. And today, the first day since Tuesday, he ate and so far, the first time since Tuesday, he hasn't vomited. Maybe we're coming out of this illness. I can tell that while it's been mutually miserable, it's been mutually beneficial. He seems to need me and I seem to have more patience and love for him. He's just a little kitty. And since my sister has more or less moved out of the house, both of us are quite lonely. He spends 40 hours a week here by himself and when I get home we both appreciate a good snuggle or fight. They say that pet-owners will live longer than those who live all by themselves (I will take this to also mean non-plant owners). After this week with Hammond, thinking that I'd lost him that one time, I can say that I realize that I do need him and I like him a lot. We're both learning to live with one another.

He sat on his perch while my body took me through a series of stretches, bends and twists. He tilted his head, confused as I stood there, body limp, rolling my head from shoulder to shoulder. It was good. I rarely do anything specifically for the benefit of my body. I rarely even acknowledge my body except when it is in the way--which is often, or when it is broken--which is rare. If I were my body, I would have gone on strike a long time ago. All that walking it does. All that one foot in front of the other business and not one ounce of appreciation. Not one intentional stretch. Not one thank you. Just potato chips. But the potato chips are for the feelings. Ice cream and coffee--for the feelings. Chicken and dark leafy greens (which are also delicious), now that's how I say thank you to my legs for carrying me around. They do work so hard and they do get very little credit. I will take this time to publicly declare my affection and appreciation for my legs. My tummy and I have an abusive relationship. It works so hard for me and until now, I have only hated him in return. Though he never gives up. Tonight I will thank my tummy with whole grain pasta and tomatoes. Fiber and lycopene.

And now I will finish my morning while getting dressed and singing whatever song comes up on my iTunes. This will most likely include a dance.

Happy, hopeful morning.

A New Year's Determination

It is 8:30 am on January 1. The first day of the decade. The first day of the decade. The next time a new decade comes around, I will be a completely different woman. I'll be 36 and I'll still get a little bit excited/ nostalgic when Sunny Came Home comes on the radio, but that's probably all I really know for sure.

Who am I going to see every day, this time next decade? With whom will I feel comfortable sharing my coffee cup and social networking passwords? Who's not going to be around anymore? Where will I wake up? Everything's going to be brand new. I could be a mother. I could be married. I could have a real job. I could be writing for real. I could live on the North West Coast. I could be working at a library. I could continue writing only for my own personal pleasure. I could still be a single, wonderful aunt (though, at some point in the next ten years, I do see myself growing weary of waking up alone). I will never have more than one cat at a time. Call that a lifetime resolution if you will.

The last few weeks of 2009 were not the greatest of my life. It's too bad that it had to end with that flavor. It makes it feel like 2009 was a personal bust, but I'm sure that it wasn't. So this wasn't my year, that's fine. Sometimes the fact that I survived it is enough for me. Some magnificent things happened for a lot of people that I love a whole, whole bunch. Jamie and JD had (hands down) the most fantastic wedding that I have ever been to and then quickly began their exciting life on the other side of the planet. Jocelyn was born and she was perfect and healthy and is absolutely adorable (what a relief). Steven made it out of Olathe and into a seriously cool city. Gina started dating this guy who is head over heels in love with her. Both of my brothers got their spouses knocked up. This is exciting stuff and it really makes me happy to be in the background of the photographs.

But in all honesty, I would really like to make something great happen for me in 2010. Something big and noteworthy would be nice but I feel like even getting little things under control would really help to move things in that direction.

-Can you believe that I'm 26 years old and I don't have a savings account? I've never had one and it's super embarrassing. This year, I'm getting one and I'm going to add to it with some regularity. Resolution Number One: Get a savings account. I feel like this would bring some relief.

-The other day, a guy came into the deli and I fell in love with him pretty quickly. He was cute and my type and all of that, sure. But he was also courteous enough to come in after our lunch rush had subsided. We had a conversation about what sort of caffeine-free concoction I could create and what he would find palatable. Eventually these two came together and I made him a drink that he liked. He was so kind and seemed to be very excited to be meeting me and anyone else that he came across in the deli that day. He was apologetic about the trash that his visit brought about and when Marge and Norma came in, he lept up from his table and ran to get the door for them. That really was the kicker for me. Marge and Norma come in every day at 3:00 and they both have walkers which makes coming and going quite difficult. Norma gets a sugar cookie, they share it, and Marge gets coffee that she never pays for. Of course I treat them differently than I do other customers. Their combined age is probably 180 and they are frail little persons. Guy wasn't particularly charming--he was just kind and aware of and appreciative and I want to be that kind of a person. I want to see them coming from the other side of the door and I want to be there to greet them. And I want to inspire other people to be that way, too. Resolution Number Two: Become aware of my surroundings and the people I meet. I feel like this would bring some wonder.

-Where I work, a whole sandwich costs me about fifty cents more than a half a sandwich. Logic would state that the whole sandwich is a much better deal so that's what I always get. In recent weeks, however, I've grown aware of the fact that while it's a better deal, mathematically speaking, it's not what I need to make it through the rest of the day. Portion control should probably be limited to needs rather than good deals. A human body needs protein, fiber, and various vitamins to function in a productive manner. A human psyche needs ice cream and oatmeal raisin cookies to function in a productive manner. If the psyche is going to find some resolve, it's going to have to compromise with the body and they're going to have to work together. Resolution Number Three: Work on the relationship between body and mind by being mindful of what enters the body. I feel like this would bring some self-awareness.

-In the same vein of self-awareness, I think it's important to spend time alone with ourselves. Look at yourself by yourself with yourself and be made aware of the mind, spirit, body--the trinity of being a being. To quote my friend Jason (who has inadvertently helped to shape my world view along with contributions from other authors, artists and personal persons), " By waking up one hour earlier you can date yourself even before your day begins. For example, you could spend 20 minutes calming the mind in meditation, 20 minutes stretching or running or twisting or jumping, and 20 minutes reading or writing -- funneling your thoughts into soulful action." Resolution Number Four: To wake up an hour earlier (which I usually do, that hour is just usually spent lying in bed, dreading leaving it) and spend meditative time in relaxation and self awareness. Mind. Body. Soul. One. I feel like this will benefit everyone in my community.

They are small, but they are attainable. And with the exception of Resolution Number Two, they are measurable. This will make a difference in the long run--and there will be a very long run. Here's to 2020!

XOXO

Libby

She Has Chosen Gratitude: Jamie

If I have a tombstone, I want it to say that. More than that, I suppose, I want it to be the truth. "She has chosen gratitude." (But, let's be real here, I want to be cremated.)

I have a lot to complain about. I do it a lot and it doesn't help. It shrinks my world down and makes it small and puts me smack dab in the middle of it. That world is boring and dramatic and makes me eat all the peppermint Oreos.

In an effort to conjure perspective, I tried to arrest my hatred and replace it with gratitude which is the mother of all beautiful virtues. And the things that make me feel most thankful happen to be specific individuals that have taken up permanent residence in my life, like a huge piece of furniture. So, I need a place to dwell and that's why God created blogs.

Today, let me tell you about Jamie. I choose Jamie because I was thinking about where I was a year ago and how present she was with me and it made me miss/ feel supremely loved by her (also, Jamie is the only person that I know for sure reads my blog).

I don't remember when Jamie and I officially met. I just remember being very confused by her. I was a Sophomore. She was a--I'm still not really sure. I knew she was ahead of me and I knew that they had her stationed in the Freshman dorms. This did not make any sense and she petitioned hard to get moved to live with the older girls. Eventually this happened, but thankfully not before we became minor acquaintances. It took some time but eventually we each became one another's safe-haven. She used to spend the night in my room (I, shockingly, rarely ever had a roommate) when her roommate became too much to bear. I used to go to her when I needed to get away from everything. This was easy because, oddly enough, Jamie and I ran in very different circles. We didn't have a lot of overlapping friends and just walking to her dorm was a little like walking to a different planet. Jamie teaches me about finding comfort in other people.

Jamie and I have always been on the same page regarding Jesus. We both like

him. We both want to look like him. We, neither, have any clue how to do this. Together we have searched for churches and thrown ourselves in with hope. Together we have been disappointed. Separately we kept looking and once I found a church that I really loved, I saw her during greeting time. Of course. Me and Jamie--always on the same page. Jamie teaches me about never giving up.

We made dates every week to eat dinner and share music and talk about books and boys. She pretty much only talked about one boy. She was in love with the same boy for, what,

five years? He was the only boy she ever talked about, he was the only boy she ever needed. He, on the other hand, did not seem to return the sentiment. This fact, combined with the fact

that I had never seen any evidence of his existence, clearly indicated to me that he was undoubtedly imaginary. After years of hearing about this fellow, I finally met Mr. JD and he really was all she said he was. Only by now, he was completely into her and that doesn't seem to be waning any time soon. The last time I saw either of them was when they got married this June. I wrote very touching things in the guest book. Jamie teaches me about patience.

A year ago, Jamie and I had been living in a barren and exhausting landscape for about six months. She had a long bout with unemployment and had just found a job. Two jobs, to be accurate. I didn't know it yet but I was thiscloseto getting fired from my first real job. We were in South Dakota to help start a church and it didn't seem to be going anywhere either. I was out of options and had to leave her there and go back to Kansas City where I battled my own unemployment status with fists of fury. I hated leaving her there. I felt defeated. She felt defeated. We both seemed to find ourselves in corners but we wrote letters. We relied heavily on our unlimited text messaging plans. Now that she lives in beautiful, hopeful South Korea, I can't text her. It's been months and I still instinctively pull out my phone when I see the woman at Walmart who wears cowboy boots with her Capri pants. Jamie teaches me about endurance.

I have to save all my texts for the end of the day when I can sit down and email her. By then, though, I've forgotten most of the silly things that happened and instead of knowing the little bits of my life, Jamie gets a very broad overview and I get the same but I'm very happy for that much. Jamie teaches me about gratitude.

Well, that was nice. It doesn't make today suck any less but it does take some edge off. At this point I'm going to take a shower, drink half a beer (to take the rest of the edge off) and then read my book in bed until I fall asleep. And tomorrow will be a brand new day.

I hope.

I'm not a lot but you can have all of me,

Libby

I want to be my me.

I watched this movie tonight, 500 Days of Summer. I'm going to tell you kind of a lot about it. So, if you're thinking that you really want to see it and don't like having things spoiled for you then you should probably stop reading somewhere about now-ish. You can leave your window open, go rent the movie. Don't forget the goobers and the take out. I'll still be here when you get back. That's fine. It's probably best this way, anyway, that way you'll know what I'm talking about most of the time and you can get your brain set with your opinions and what not.

But for those of you who are going to keep reading, then I guess you'll have to deal with some spoilers. It's the story, as the trailer states, of Boy Meets Girl. But where the trailer leaves off and as the title would even imply, it's obviously not one with an ending where boy and girl walk off into the sunset hand in hand. It's 500 days of Summer. It's a girl named Summer and obviously these two know one another for, what, a year and a half? A rough rounding, that is.

Tom has been looking for the one until he found her, she hasn't been looking for anyone. Early we get the understanding that she doesn't believe in true love. In bed at an IKEA she tells him that she's not looking for anything serious. He says he's cool with that. Before they leave the living room section, she holds his hand and walks with her head on his shoulder. Not long after that they're in bed in a much less public venue.

Here's my favorite thing about the film: the chronology. It runs through the course of the relationship the same way that our brains do. It gives us a scene from day 1, when they met. Then it gives us a scene from, say, day 49 with that day in the park when he drew a city scape on her arm, then shoot back to day 27 with the glorious/ dangerous shower sex--and weren't those the favorite days?

Shoot to day 279 or something like that, when things start to go down hill and they get in a fight and she says, "Look, Tom, we're just friends." And he sets her straight with the fact that she's not the only one who gets to make that decision and that with all they've been up to, they're a couple, goddammit. And he leaves. She shows up at his apartment a few hours later with sexy, wet, walking-in-the-rain hair and an overdue apology. Go back to one of the early days when she first sneaked up on him in the copy room at work and suddenly we only remember the happy times again.

But officially and inevitably it ends and Tom is worthless. Walking to the corner store in a bathrobe buying whisky and Twinkies kind of worthless.

At this point, the audience chooses a villain. My movie watching companions all did, anyway. One would say that she was a heartless bitch who was just using him. Some say she led him on. Some say there were mixed signals. Another said that he was a bum, a schmuck and should get on with his days and over with his self-indulgent, broken hearted bullshit. Hearts break. Bad things happen. We live through them.

I couldn't pick a favorite. I couldn't pick a villain and I couldn't pick a hero. Sure, I sympathized with him because I've been there and no one wants to see a broken heart. But let's be honest, in the first few days she said "I don't want to be anyone's girlfriend. I don't like the idea of being anyone's anything." She spelled it out in the first place. My paraphrased version says, Don't get your hopes up. I can't promise I'll be here every morning when you wake up. She was fair from the beginning.

I don't want to be anyone's anything. I'm afraid to tell all of them that while I don't know which one's worse, I think I'm Zooey in this movie. I get her--she says most of what I want to say. It's not that easy though because I'm him too, sometimes. My heart has hurt so heavy at times that it took a day or two to get my shit together. There is one chapter in my life story that reads little more than "She drank vodka and cranberry out of the same Styrofoam cup for four consecutive days."

(It's never been worse than that one time, though. That was one four-day stint 5 years ago and I think we're all a little happy that we've all moved on.)

But there seems to be the underlying sentiment that it's all well and good that she doesn't want to be anyone's girlfriend but she forfeits all that extra stuff, too. And maybe in this case she should have. Maybe knowing how in love with her he was from the get go--Tom shouldn't have been the place to go for it. But does a girl who doesn't want a label have to be the girl who doesn't get whimsical dates to IKEA and doesn't get to hear wonderful things and doesn't have to surrender herself from time to time knowing that she owes him an apology? I don't know.

I don't want to be anyone's anything. I want to be my me. I know that I was created for more than solitude and it would be nice to be my me next to someone else who was his him--but that's muddling the ultimate point.

I am both of these people all at once and my brain has been in a dilemma since somewhere around the beginning of June. There's a part of me that just knows the kind of girl I am. But then there's the part of me that knows what I always thought I wanted to be. I'm trying to marry these people but there's a lot of pull and a lot of push and I think it's oil and water.

In the end, let's be honest, neither of them would have been able to get all of what they were looking for and remained together. Would you rather see a compromise? I wouldn't have. I prefer a broken heart to a compromised one. Don't get me wrong, though, I don't think that means that plans never change. But no one's got a right to hang on the hope that the other person leaves what they want on the side of the road.

This Afternoon's Minor Distraction

I'm standing there, absently wiping the green counter top and staring out the window, wondering about what it would be like if I really did get this job that I applied for. Because I want it--I want it real bad. I'm thinking about what it would be like to have a job where advancement was a possibility. I'm thinking about what it would be like to have one of those jobs that I wasn't kind of embarrassed of. And in the middle of the daydreaming, a man approaches me.

He came in on a mission. He didn't look at the menu, he deflected my offer for fudge. He looked straight at me and leaned his arms on the glass counter top. I pointed at the sign that said not to lean, he read it but didn't get up. I think maybe he didn't realize that's what he was doing. "I'm on a fishing trip--of sorts." I surveyed his scene. He sort of looked like he might be going fishing, it was only forty degrees outside though and I couldn't imagine that would be all that much fun. He wore a short sleeved plaid shirt with long underwear underneath, he had grey whiskers and hair that looked like it was nice when he left the house but by mid-afternoon, it was completely out of its initial place.

"Oh, alright," I said, looking at him with marginal suspicion. "Do you want a sandwich or something?"

"Fifteen years ago I was walking behind the stores along this block. There was this gorgeous pickup truck, it was painted bright yellow and there was the most beautiful music playing from it."

"Okay." I smiled, anxious to hear where he was going with this and pleased that he didn't need me to wash my hands and stuff them into plastic lunch-lady gloves.

He smiled back at me and squinted his eyes in resignation.

"But I suppose you don't know anything about fifteen years ago."

"No, sir. I'm sorry. I was... eleven, fifteen years ago."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed and surveyed the scene.

"But, you know, next door there's a florist. He's much older than me, his name is Bob and he wears Hawaiian shirts. He's been here for years and years. I'd say that if anyone knows anything about that, it'd be Bob."

"Bob, you say? Right next door?"

"To your left."

"Thank'y ma'am." He tipped his invisible hat. Kind of a Jimmy Stewart move, on his part.

About six minutes later, I saw him leave the florist and walk across the street, get in his own pickup truck and leave. This didn't surprise me. He had very little to go on.

And here it is, seven hours later and I can't get it out of my head. What the hell was that about?