Keeping Her Alive

Thursday’s Thought

Well! I’ve received word that my chapbook is ready for publication. Writing Knights Press is going to start printing it in the next few weeks. Woo!

This chapbook, learn to find, was difficult to write. It took almost a decade for the poems to come out of me, mainly because writing about my mother, the loss of her first as a teen and then finally as an adult and her struggles with addiction have been events in my life that I have largely tried to ignore. I thought for many years that if I stopped thinking about those things, they wouldn’t have an emotional impact on my life. Turns out, that’s a bunch of bullshit. Avoiding (markedly or otherwise) emotional trauma does absolutely nothing to develop one’s self or advance one’s truth. It just buries it deeper and deeper and ends up manifesting in other ways.

I wrote the majority of the work over winter last year while I was holed up in the lab. I drank too much wine and ate too little food. I’d waft through Dental World as unattached as possible, eager to return to my pages. I felt manic most of the time, and the cold and snow of winter in Ohio was exactly what I needed to stay committed to finishing the work. My driving force every single day was to perfect my commas, choose the right words, find a way to wade through the pain and write her story.

I’m still not sure if I’ve done that, or if I’ve honored her spirit. I’m sure Efed and Ghost have different versions of their truths on how things went down, and that’s okay. They’ve both read the chapbook and have given their blessing for me to send it out into the poetry world. I can only hope that wherever she is, my mother might be proud that I’ve found a way to translate the pain into something palpable, something discernable, words on pages. I hope that I’ve turned the blood she shed into something worthwhile, a product for which she might be proud.

Once the chapbook emerges from the depths of the publishing house, the real fun will start – book signings, readings, making my way around the venues in the region to promote my work. I’m eager for that part of this process. My mother is dead. She’s been dead for almost three years. But that doesn’t mean that her story has to die. I intent to make sure it doesn’t. 

It's Almost Time

Ephemeral – lasting for a very short time

If I say that graduate school was ephemeral, I wouldn’t be wrong. It seemed like an infinite stretch of time when I started my program two years ago, and yet here it is, the last few days of my final residency. What in the what what? Where did time flutter off to, and how can I get off this crazy train? Ehh, okay, I don’t think I really want to stop time; I’ve earned this after all. 

But sheesh. 

Two years – gone just like that. I’ve been considering what I’ve managed to accomplish as a graduate student – two manuscripts of full length novel work, a few chapbooks, this blog, and a handful of readings isn’t that bad, considering everything else I’ve had going on over these 24 months. Of course, I want it to be more, and I will always work for more. As I prep for graduation on Saturday, I am allowing myself a few rare moments of self-appreciation. Sure, this journey has been ephemeral, but it’s been impacting, and has developed me as an author, a novelist, a poet … and most notably, as a human. 

Choosing Sides

Tuesday Truth

Lifts are progressing these days. I was working shoulders on Saturday and found that the 15kg bar with 2.5lb plates on either side wasn’t as much of a struggle as it used to be. Solid work, given the fact that I’ve been dedicating most of my free time to this quest.

That said, I’m beginning to wonder my intent with this process. I started lifting as a requisite to force myself to eat. I couldn’t train if I didn’t eat, and so it all worked. Somewhere along the way, I got it in my head that I needed to compete in an NPC show. I’m not even sure when that idea came into my mind – probably sometime last autumn after Voyin left for Jappa and I remained here, trying to make sense of what it was I was doing with my life. It seemed to fit.

So I fucked around a while on my own at a box cutter gym, thinking I was making progress. It was only after finding Beat that I realized most of the work I’d been doing was building a base of strength, but had nothing to do with aesthetics … Realizing and being aware that all NPC shows are based solely on looks, I’ve had to readjust my vision and my hustle.

I like lifting because I like being strong. I like knowing I can press whatever what over my head, or from a bench, balance a bar across my back and squat down deep. Pull up a weight from the ground and keep good form.

Training my body for a show means that I still train these muscle groups – but I train them for looks and not function. It’s like having a baller ass Benz that looks amazing but can’t drive well on the highway. What’s the point? Now, I’m not exactly sure.

I guess I need to figure out if I want form or function, if my goals are to be strong and beastly or to look pretty and muscled. There’s such a difference, and while I know that most folks don’t see the difference between the two, it’s a really big deal for me. The truth is, I sort of want both. I always want both of whatever it is I’m doing. But realistically, I’m not going to achieve both without compromising one for the other.

It’s just like everything else in life. Selecting one path will undoubtedly close off another. Like most things, and like Ghost was so quick to point out on Saturday, my issue is more with choosing and less with staying committed once I’ve made the choice. Sheesh, who knew lifting weights would be this complex? 

but this, green

Modi's Monday

but this, green

        after The Bridge at Maincy, Paul Cezanne

bridge like an echo on a

mount when kids were true
life was young, stones
kept secrets for time and
movement came in ranges

mountains made complete
picture stops, rushing to
beat the creek or pound the
beat into green spring

ushering in new year, though
now November, soaked Chucks
still bright with future of
possible, still far off
brook bubbles underneath
ice, acid training in winter
teems suggestions of Promise.

Turnin' Pages

Sunday Summary

Another week in the books. There are so few weeks left in this year! I don’t know what I’m going to do without the pressing promise to myself to write a daily blog once the calendar flips from 2015 to 2016. I’ve found this exercise to be incredibly therapeutic and entirely worthwhile. It’s forced me to keep my writing at the forefront of my mind, every single day. Now I’m beginning to consider what I should be doing with this project for 2016. Just like with all other creative projects, I’m almost considering all of these three hundred and some-odd entries as one big draft. I’m rolling around some ideas for content for ’16, and I’ll likely keep at this, if only because it keeps me in line.

This week marks the start of my last week at residency; I’ll be graduating my Master’s on Saturday. Holy shit, right?! I’m planning to take an auxiliary term in May, so it won’t be the last time I’m walking around Fourth Street, but it’s the last time I’m an official student. I don’t want to let this go! It’s been such a journey, not just as an exploration of my craft and commitment to such, but it’s also been the first time in my adult life that I’ve had the chance to be surrounded by so many like-minded writerly folk.

Welcome the present moment as if you had invited it. It is all we ever have so we might as well work with it rather than struggling against it. We might as well make it our friend and teacher rather than our enemy. – Pema Chodron

Love is True

Sweet Saturday

Ghost and Michee got their wedding photos back earlier this week! Wow oh wow. Their photographer, Tonya Cook, did such an amazing job. She managed to capture their special day in such perfect simplicity, truth, and love. I think I’ve looked through this wedding album four times already from start to finish. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother happier. He’s fortunate to have such a caring and loving as his life partner.

I popped over to their house earlier this week to say hello. The boys are growing so quickly. Every time I see Beef, he has learned new words. On Tuesday, he pointed to his shirt and said, “Batman” and then proceeded to point to the pantry and request a snack. The kid can mow some chips and guac! I love all of my nephews equally. They all manage to surprise and fascinate me – each has his own personality, likes and traits, and I’ve gone from seeing them as blobs of bones to being real humans. I know that sounds rough, but it’s the truth! That said, there’s something about Beef that just pulls at me. Maybe it’s because I know he’s the last kid, or maybe his quiet stoicism reminds me of Ghost. I can’t put my finger on it. But every time I see him, I can easily see why parents rave about having children. Don’t worry – that’s not going to happen any time soon (or ever!) for me, but I get it.

I think because we expect children to be malleable, because we expect them to constantly change, we give them more reign to express themselves. If one day they love purple and the next can’t stand the color, we accept it. A child’s prerogative, or some such. Maybe the sweet lesson is that we should extend the same sort of flexibility to grown folk too. We become so rigid, too set in our ways. Sure, our limitations help to frame our personalities, but they can also get in the way too. It’s so easy to become inflexible. I do it all the time. Hell, I think I spent the latter part of my twenties examining myself in terms of what I won’t do. And that really didn’t get me anywhere … except holding a long list of shit I don’t like, shit I won’t do and shit that doesn’t make me happy.

Maybe it’s all the Oprah themed conversations Efed and I have been having lately, or maybe it’s that I’m finally turning a corner, but I see this modality of living as completely ridiculous! There’s no sense in it at all. I’d much prefer to be flexible. One day I might like purple and the next I might now. I think I’m okay with that.

Weighing In

Fitness Friday

I’ve been trying to post more videos to my social media feeds that showcase some of the feats of my physical prowess. It’s as much because I’m proud of what I’m able to do as because it serves as benchmark for me, a way to measure where I am and where I once was.

I’ve been taking weekly progress photos since March, and it’s startling to see the transformation that I’ve managed to make over these nine months.

When I pull images for these blog posts, without fail, I come across some of my progress photos. Since residency starts this week, I’ve been looking back at images from May and my last residency. Ooof. It’s ridiculous to see the transformation that I’ve managed over the last six months. This first image is me in May at residency, and the second is me last Friday. The difference is palpable, for sure. I even look happier in the November picture. Truth is, I am. I love crushing weights, pulling and pushing more than I ever thought I could. I don't love that clothes fit for shit, and that I feel heavier.But look at these quads!

I’m definitely a few pounds heavier, but my booty is round like a bubble and my lats are starting to pop something serious. Because of my eating disorder, it can be incredibly challenging to see photos of a leaner version of me and not start feeling shitty about myself. It might be subtle to others, but I can see the way I’m carrying the weight I’ve gained over the last six months. Ten pounds on my frame is a lot! I know that the majority of it is muscle, and because of the added weight, I can lift heavier. But damn if it doesn’t fuck with my mind. Thing is, I can’t have it both ways. I can’t strive for PR’s (like my deads last week at 215) or crush sprint work (like I did on Monday) and be as lean as I used to be. I see the way my quads are popping now, the way they were non existant in May and I want to keep this momentum going. But it’s a tough perspective to maintain when everything in my brain screams for me to restrict and cut my calories … I suppose this sort of perspective is one that most folks who lift and eat clean deal with, so I know I’m not alone. But it’s a bit tough! I’m reminding myself today that my lift numbers won’t go up until my calories go up and this is called bulking season for a reason.

I’m such a goal oriented person – I like seeing the end result, or at least knowing my aim. Since I’ve decided to take an auxiliary term at Spalding, I’ll be back next May for one more round of fantastic residency love. It is my aim to have my lifts all up to elite numbers by next May, and have found a balance . in my weight … or at least, what I perceive to be my ‘weight.’