In a conversation with Sam Shepard…

(Yes that one, is there any other?)  I was lamenting on the fact that Austin might not, in fact, be my home.  He laughed at me in that way only a wise man can and said “April, men (women?) live to be 105 and never find their home.”  I’m not sure if that was meant to be comforting or unsettling.  Depends which day you ask.

I had one of those weeks where you a) meet one of your heroes and b) have the worst most vulnerable times at your “job.”  One of those “what the hell am I doing” weeks.  Things don’t happen for me in waves, they have happen in hurricanes within the same few days.  It makes waking up entirely unpredictable.  Almost anything can happen.  At least you know that “this too shall pass” is a rather quick rip off the old bandaid.  If I was on a ship, I’d be going down in the most spectacular way (by fire obviously) and then an angel would appear, blow out the flames and tuck us in safely on a deserted beach. Only to be met by carnivores natives waiting by the fire.  One of which I’d immediately fall in love.  Okay okay, I’m being dramatic but still… I’m clearly not on a ship.

And for some reason, I am reminded of this song by the Muppets:

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side
Rainbows are visions
But only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide

So we’ve been told
And some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong, wait and see
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

Who said that every wish
Would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star
Somebody thought of that
And someone believed it
And look what it’s done so far

What’s so amazing
That keeps us stargazing
And what do we think we might see
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

All of us under its spell, we know that it’s probably magic

Have you been half asleep?
And have you heard voices?
I’ve heard them calling my name;
Is this the sweet sound
That called the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same

I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it
It’s something that I’m supposed to be
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

I guess all we’re searching for is that connection that grounds us to our purpose.  I’ve fought long and hard about “purpose” because truthfully purpose gives far too much weight to what exactly it is we’re doing or meant to be doing here.  Purpose is evolution yet it gives the indication of a very specific road and set of events we should be following which ineviatbly leads us away from what’s in front of us right now.  And that is life.  The rainbow connection, to me, is that magical illusive cousin of purpose.  That connection though is the desire for something bigger, something greater than what we have now.  But all we have is what is now.  We feel it, we hear it, we strive for it and we hope, at the end of the day, to find it.  But if we don’t, we’re still in the same company as the lovers and the dreamers.  And that is the best company to be in, that is the company of those I love.

What Sam Shepard was telling me (You guys, I’m totally going to speak for Mr. Shepard right now omgimdying) is that life happens and you’re only job is to keep searching and discovering and documenting it all.  But most importantly, being OKAY with how it all turns out because even at 105, you still might not know.  But at the end of the day, does it really matter?  “The voice might be one and the same.”

 

 

The rabbit hole of OMGIMGONNADIEALONE!!

So… you know how when you get a virus or a lump and you start searching online for any and all medical advice and somehow fall down the WedMD rabbit hole and suddenly realize that you have stage 4 brain cancer and have 2 weeks left to live?  Well!!  The same thing happens when you start researching “dating” in your mid 30’s.  These are a few of the headlines I found:

1. After 35, you don’t get to be picky.
2. Why I’m okay being single.
3. Do men really want to date women in their 40’s?
4. The dating pool at 30:  (insert photo of mostly empty pool with green sludge floating in the bottom).
5. 9 mistakes you make in your 30’s
6. Larger dating pool means less thoughtful mate choices
7. Dating in  your 30’s: The Ticking Clock

The struggle is real.  I’ve been dating for less than 2 months.  Specifically I’ve gone on exactly 6 dates which was enough for me to realize that it’s excruciating!!   I would gladly throw in the towel but I paid $150 to fall in love and therefore feel this extraordinary sense of obligation to “see it through” because it worked for so and so.

Every one couples up in their 20’s, I did, and is mostly still happily married in their 30’s (SPOILER ALERT: I never got married, I got single).  Essentially I have to wait until my 40’s to start meeting age appropriate divorcees who are recently single again.  “Oh you’ll die when you see how dating has evolved from 2o years ago” says me in 10 years while explaining the now forgotten Tinder app.  The 30’s dating pool is Moses wandering through the desert for 40 days and 40 nights chasing one mirage after another.  When you get up close you realize he’s 25.  Or unavailable.  Or married.  Or crazy.  Which has me wondering, what the hell do people think about me and why I’m single??

LOL!!  Just kidding.  I don’t care. I’m sure most people either think, 1) gah dating most be horrible, how sad to be all alone, or 2) SHIT, I’d give anything to be single again and do whatever I want and sleep in for once and eat in quiet.  This is the greener grass theory.

Truthfully, I try NOT to drive my friends crazy with this, this, this…I don’t know, lack of attachment mostly because they’re all either planning their nurseries or their weddings and if they aren’t planning that, they’re changing diapers and going to bed pretending to have a headache.  Or they’re out doing the same things I’m doing: online dating or waking up after a night of too many whiskies and not enough food.

Why do we do it?   Why do we drive ourselves crazy trying to fit into any box, be it the single box or the married box?  Each, depending on the day and the person, have their ups and downs.  But we put this countless pressure on ourselves to be taken (not in the Liam Neeson sense…or maybe in the Liam Neeson sense??) or loved and at the end of the day there are many people waking up next to someone still feeling lonely.  Attachment doesn’t always mean love.

I decided to online date because, in truth, I want to have babies.  All the babies!!  And of course I want to find my lobster. But dating, I have discovered, does not make me happy.  It does not fill any “void” or sense of loneliness or sense of togetherness or accomplishment.  I do not feel power or strength from being a single person who dates.  SO… I guess with that said, I’m going to do me.  You do you, girl!!

Dear friends,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.  You, the family I’ve chosen.  Like most of my friends, we found each other because we were the outsiders, the misfits.  We were the artistic ones, the free-spirited ones, the gay ones, the adventurous ones, the crazed ones.  We eventually made our way to each other in camaraderie; a likeness of souls and a familiarity of heart.  We aligned on human value, artistic achievement, and cultural ideals while moving in open-mindedness with an open heart.

But we didn’t stop at similarities.  Like any individual you allow into your life there must be conditions of expansiveness and growth.  We locate those who will motivate us in our endeavors and dreams, those who will challenge us and tear down our walls, fight with us, stay with us and share with us.  Even if it means walking away and falling apart, the friends we allow in our lives are far more instrumental to our development as human beings that we ever give them credit for.  The person I became during my 12 years of solitude (in NYC) and the challenges we went through, the things we experienced, overcame and witnessed standing alongside 15 other black sheep ultimately made us the people we are today.  Thank you.  Often times I don’t know where exactly I belong in this world, or with whom do I belong.  But I take a look around at the lovers and dreamers who make up my world and it suddenly comes into focus:  you are the individuals who connect me to earth upon which I stand.

This is a love letter to you: the ones standing, the ones who’ve fallen away, and the ones on the periphery.  I am endlessly grateful to have found you.  Thank you for being a friend.

Match.con

Ah a new year, a new opportunity to practice vulnerability, a time to put yourself out into the dregs of online dating and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  Here’s a quick run down of what 90% of match profiles will tell you about humans in Austin:

1. They love to run.
2. They love their dogs.
3. They are very healthy.
4. They love live music.  And tacos.  And running.  And biking.  And travel.  And snowboarding.
5. They are ALL outgoing and up for an adventure.
6. They are all funny and romantic and enjoy long walks in nature.
7. They all mostly love their careers, work hard, feel successful, I digress.

Here’s my rebuttal to your boring perfection:

1. I hate to run.  Like HATE to run.  Unless its for my life.  Or chocolate.
2. I’m only so so healthy.  I eat good.  I’ll order a salad.  And a side of fries.
3. I am totally up for an adventure, especially one outside of downtown Austin.  Rebel.
4. I don’t have a career.  I have passions I work hard at daily and a school schedule in which I prepare for but I currently work at a bar.  That is not my career. That is the vehicle which affords me the opportunity to pursue the things I love.  So please don’t ask me what my real job is.  I had a “real job” for 12 years and decided it wasn’t for me.  I’m flexible.
5. My dream job on the other hand, pool shark.  Or poker shark.  Fuck it, SHARK!
6. I legitimately am spontaneous but not at the risk of my job or learning or art or Game of Thrones.
7. I am also somewhat of a perfectionist who probably has unhealthy expectations of people.
8. I enjoy being alone ALOT and often think that if had I unlimited wine, jazz and a scribe, I could be alone forever.
9. Fact:  if I ever learn your first and last name, I will google you.
10. My room isn’t always clean.  I’m so carefree and spontaneous there are clothes on my chair, so wild I left a glass of water on my night stand for an entire day.

Because all those are truths too.

The worst part about chopping off my finger…

Is that when my friend comes to take me to the hospital, I’ll still be wearing my pajamas.  And not just any pajamas, my mumu.  It’s 2:45pm.

GOODBYE GONNA GO JUMP OFF A BRIDGE NOW!

How the hell do people stay motivated?  First, I’m suffering from the post vacation blues but don’t feel sorry for me, I was getting strung out and exhausted in Paris with two ladies I love.  HOWEVER, it’s that time of year when we all want to hibernate, eat, Christmas shop and binge watch on shows like Sons of Anarchy.  And go to party after party after party… Fun fact, I got home from my first of several Christmas parties last night at 5:30am.  Who the hell do I think I am?

I recently had a long conversation about motivation with a friend of mine, it’s ebbs and flows and the reasons for the aforementioned ebbs and flows.  I’m, ironically, my best when I’m my worst.  It’s only when I’m sinking faster than the Titanic that I actually get my ass outta bed, meditate, practice yoga, juice, read, pray.  Le sigh.

Tina introduced me to the concept of “dynamic tension” in relation to motivation.  Essentially dynamic tension is created when you are truthful and clear about where you are in life verses where you want to be.  If you’re at your worst or furthest from your goal, the tension between the two places makes you work that much harder or feel that much worse therefore motivating you to get your ass movin’.  Once you’re feeling a little better or even a smaller step closer to your goals, the tension eases up and so do our motivations or actions.    It makes the most sense ever.

Ok great, now we know why we’re still laying in bed BUT HOW, PRAY TELL, DO WE GET OUT?!  The article goes on to mention baby steps which to me is somewhat vague and only reminds me What About Bob.  But truthfully, Bob had it right.  He knew to get anywhere, in his case literally, each action or baby step was simply one step towards his goal even if they were so ridiculous.  So here is something I am going to do as not Bob: 1) write down where I am AND write down where I want to be, specifically, in all aspects of my life, 2) remind myself everyday that I’m not there yet (my old acting teacher told me that you’re never there there),  3)  liter my home with post-its of inspirational quotes, 4) keep working on my vision “board” in the career corner of my feng shui bedroom.  My “board” is a rope with photos of inspiring people, ideas on career, ticket stubs, art, etc each paper clipped on.  I like to be able to change things out and it looks better than a stupid poster board.

I don’t know you guys, it’s all trial and error!  I’m sure I’ll blog about how incredible I’ve been at doing all these wonderful things in a month and then two months later post another article in my mumu at 3pm!  But ya know, life.

Crazy is as crazy dates!

We all have that friend who constantly dates the crazies!! My wonderful friend (who I won’t name) could’t get away from them.  Each time he met a new lady we all knew she was going to be crazy.  And most of them never let us down.  Why?  Well… hate to say this but crazy is as crazy dates.  My friend is one of the biggest hearted men I’ve met.  He’s sensitive, artistic, creative, musical, funny and also a little bit insane.  But show me an artist who isn’t and you’ll show me a liar.  Artists of all kinds are forced to reckon with themselves daily; unearth their demons, face their fears, put themselves out there in a way most folks shudder to think of.  Artists are constantly putting our hearts into the universe to be judge and thrown back in our faces.  Becoming that raw in art, in life or in love will leave you in a particularly touchy place.  If you’re ever been inclined towards anything on the negative or depressive end of nature, art will make you crazy.  This is exactly why most artist need a great therapist; to stay afloat when everything is trying to drown you, when looking in the mirror is a horrifying endeavor.  When we find similarities in others we recognize in ourselves, we understand that, it’s comforting, it makes you feel less crazy.

I recently started questioning my “choices” in crazy because for some reason, like most of the “men” in my life, I couldn’t escape the crazy.  Finding another crazy, or someone more inclined to crazy than myself, is always SUPER FUN!  And I mean that very genuinely.  Of course crazy comes in an array of colors but crazy in and of itself is still a duck.  My particular crazy at this particular time came in the shape of a Mexican stand off between where I wanted to go and the paralysis I faced in simply getting out of bed, his was a super healthy id and a super delusional ego.  Or scratch that, verse it.  I digress…

So…it came at almost no shock to recently discover that I’m for sure 100% crazy.  Not in the I’m-gonna-drive-by-your-house-crying variety or even of the Facebook stalking variety and most certainly not in the I’ll-jump-from-this-roof-if-you-don’t-love-me crazy.  But crazy in my definition of love.  Love to me is easy (of course I know it isn’t all easy but for the sake of falling into love, it should be pretty damn easy).  It just is.  It’s uncomplicated.  It’s either yes or no.  Sure it hurts and it’s scary and it’s often times incredibly confusing but when there exists the possibility of love, then love it is.  But we complicate the shit out of everything else so why not a basic emotion as well.

Love has taken on an entirely new identity.  Love isn’t just holding hands and sharing an ice cream sundae anymore.  Love is THE REST OF YOUR LIFE AND OMG AM I READY FOR THIS AND IF NOT THEN I NEED TO DECIDE RIGHT NOW ON OUR FIRST DATE OR ELSE ILL MAKE AN EPICALLY BAD DECISION THAT’LL RUIN MY LIFE AND ANY OTHER POSSIBILITY OF LOVE AND IF THIS ISNT THE RIGHT ONE BUT I CHOOSE THIS NOW MAYBE ILL BE MISSING OUT ON THE RIGHT ONE LATER.  Guys, I mean actual men here, dating or loving or sex doesn’t mean that we want to tie you down and marry you and have kids and share a mortgage together!  Trust me, us ladies have SO MUCH MORE at stake that you could ever begin to wrap your complicated heads around.  We’re just taking you for a test drive, amiright girls?  When we decide, if we do, that marriage is something we’d like to partake in with you, you’ll know it.  For sure.  We’ll drag you kicking and screaming to Tiffany.  So can we all calm down for a minute and realize that dating or love or sex is just dating or love or sex right now.  That’s the black (or white) part of it.  It’s either YES we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing today or NO we aren’t doing any of that at all.

Too often I consider the weight of my text messages.  I’m certain that so many guys assume things or take sweet messages out of context and imagine they mean the heavy l-going-to-take-your-soul-then-your-401K.  From the very beginning I’m tiptoeing around being who I am out of fear that my sweet side, my flirty side, my smart assery will scare you little flowers away.

Love just is.  And if that simplicity makes me crazy, then….

****On publication of this post (which I wrote a couple months ago) I’ve weeded out most of the crazy from my  life and am feeling much less crazy myself.  FUNNY ISN’T, IT?!

 

So there’s this guy…

…who fought with me non-stop, who challenged me, and argued with me (often times just to get a rise).  He knew my buttons and he pushed them regularly not because he disagreed, he just wanted to play devil’s advocate.  He would argue with himself and I truly think he did often.  Many times his then girlfriend would wonder how it was I managed to stay his friend for so many years.  He was exhausting!!  Yet you knew that each time he challenged you or fought with you, you grew ever so slightly and learned that arming yourself not in his defense but in defense of the world and what was only made you a stronger more capable person.

But then he’d smile that charming Cheshire cat grin and his laughter would begin.  He’d tell you a joke or that he loved you and somehow, each time, everything would be okay.  Until it wasn’t again.  But it mostly never mattered because regardless how many buttons he pushed or how tiring his rants would become, his glitter was far more exhilarating.

He was a brilliant musician who could write songs that spoke to places in your soul that would fire automatically without warning.  He’d write a lyric or a chord and suddenly you were right in the middle of the music your heart beating to it’s rhythm.  He would wax poetic about the life he saw or the experiences he encountered and you felt not for him but because of him.  Each time he pulled out a camera, still or motion, something slightly brilliant would be captured and edited into pictures possibly coherent yet deeply meaningful.

And his voice!!  He could hit the low notes that you felt deep in your blood and the high falsetto that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on ends.  His voice was the voice of someone who felt more in the end of his middle finger than most allow in their deepest of hearts.  And it added to the already driving words and notes to create an orchestra of love and hurt and hatred and nothing at the same time.  He knew that regardless of how subterranean his music was the world itself was fleeting and we were all merely passersby often on a trip to nowhere.  And everywhere at the same time.

He introduced me to new music, new lands, new ideals.  He taught me about heartbreak, wandering/wondering, artistic maintenance, literature and bits of Farsi I’ve long forgotten.  He was and is, somewhere, a sage.  Although he’d argue with me for saying “somewhere” and simply have me admit that he is no where.  This is exactly the circle of madness you’d find yourself in with him.  Until he just picks up his guitar and starts strumming away.

He also was in a constant state of evolution, always another .0 version of himself it was often hard to gauge which creature you were encountering.  His music changed, his words changed, his art changed, his friends changed, his drugs changed, his lyrics changed and his place changed.  But the love he felt, and perhaps the constant restlessness, was unflappable and it came out in extraordinary, spell-bounding ways.  This evolution only empowered his artistic being to higher highs.  And sometimes lower lows.

I’ve honestly never been more broken-hearted by anyone than I felt with him.  And why or how he left me emotionally long before he left me physically is something I’ve stopped trying to work out because those answers I’ll never unravel.  However, much like Ali himself and his Cheshire cat grin, I received my “I love you” days before some fucking asshole climbed down his fire escape and shot him in the head.  I hate to be so blunt but I feel sugar-coating the circumstances of what exactly happened is something Ali himself never shied away from.  He faced reality like a bulldozer.  So after a two-year “challenge” of isolation, and incidentally 15 days before his murder, I received a letter with a beautiful apology and the words, “please know that I’ve always thought the world of you and have much love for you.”  His peaceful words and peaceful heart made those two years of wandering somehow all… okay.

And on that note, the season of death (and heartbreak) has ended for me and mine.  We can all go back to dating assholes, decorating for Christmas and what exactly Taylor Swift is up to in New York City.

And this is the death part.

Thomas Mann said “A man’s dying is more his survivor’s affair than his own.” And it’s true.  The dead pass.  They go where ever it is we go and those of us left behind…well, we keep coming back to them; their voice, their laughter, their smell, the shape of their eyes.  Try as we might, the dead never really leave us.

It’s been 8 years since my greatest friend Wendy left this world.  Her exit was a 12 year encore of dancing and bowing and dancing again.  We watched her life like a great film; the personal moments, the private moments, the great love, the great heartbreak, the collapse, the struggle, the passion and of course her final curtain call.  When you know at 13 years old that your life could and probably would be cut short you tend to live life with the kind of wild abandon we all should.  But don’t.  And those of us who don’t, stare in wonder at these bright enigmatic souls longingly.  She had that effect on just about everyone who met her.

Wendy and I became friends at 19 over the mutual love of a boy but that boy brought us together and for that I will always be grateful.  We moved in together immediately, acted together, went to radiation together, shaved our heads together, visited NYC for the first time together, lost together, fought together, broke up, made up and laughed and laughed and laughed all within the first two years of becoming friends.  Three years later, I found myself moved into her living room in Williamsburg Brooklyn in September of 2002 with two suitcases and 5 boxes.  Oh the insane choices we make at 22.

By now Wendy had “successfully” completed her second operation to remove a astrocytoma tumor from her spinal cord, navigated radiation and chemotherapy repeatedly and also graduated college with a bachelors of fine arts and began working as an actress and model.  I quote successfully because she struggled with paralysis on her right side on and off for the next 6 years.  But she knew how to take care of herself with the right foods, skin care, massages, reiki, magnet therapy, the outdoors and love.  She always saved pieces of her for her even at the expense of others, she never let anyone take everything she had.  That was such a fascinating lesson I learned from her that I attempt to implement into my life daily.  She made time for everything and let herself have as much fun as she wanted.  She truly was a demon at time management.  That I wish I learned better.  She was also crude and smelly and hilarious and goofy and so talented and so ridiculous.  She could drink and smoke just about anyone under the table.  She laughed hard and loud and loved hard and loud.  She could dance and act and decorate an apartment.  She dressed up but mostly dressed down and cared equally.  She could listen and respond and navigate the feelings.  She loved her family, her friends, her Tom and her mean ass cats.  And she always had good music playing and good food somewhere nearby.  She was a host at life.

And I miss her.  A lot.  There were many times this year I would have given anything to talk to her again and hug her thin little neck.  But all I can do is imagine what she’d say or how she’d feel.  Oh her forearm!  Her birdlike forearm; the shape, the texture and the lightness is what I will forever think of when I think of her.  It was that forearm I held so often the last year as we walked around the city and maneuvered around people so frantic to get somewhere else.  It was that forearm she held when the feeling was fleeting and she couldn’t grasp things how she intended.  It was that forearm that forever remained the same when everything else bloated and eventually came to.

Her mother called me on October 30th, 2006 around 5:45am.  I’d already spent almost every night for the past two months in one of several hospitals rooms and halls.  She was dying and it wasn’t something any of us pretended wasn’t happening.  In fact, during the last month of her life she made peace with her spiritual and physical journey and wanted our permission to move on.  I knew what her mother was going to say before I answered the phone and within two hours I was in the Bronx laying in a hospital bed next to my best friend who was not even there.   Her body all puffy and warm was beating and breathing but Wendy, she’d gone home.  I’d watched her trying to leave for two months.  I watched her body break down and felt her spirit floating around the hospital and in my life.  She shifted and expanded and shriveled.  She was gone.

She’s been gone for 8 years.  And there’s probably not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and smile.  Or cry.  But mostly, I smile and hope that she’s doing the same thing looking down on me.  But she’s probably dancing in heaven with all them other fools!

 

So… what are you doing with your life???

I’m asked that a lot.  Like a lot a lot.  From friends, from co-workers, from friends’ co-workers, from siblings, like everyone.  I get it.  I’m a 35-year-old waitress.  And I have a spiel to go with it.  I’m an actress, improviser, writer, blogger, beauty consultant, volunteer and I’m going back to school in January.  I must justify.  JUSTIFY it almost weekly.

In fact, in all honesty, in heaps of shame, I would not date myself.  If I saw me on Tinder, I’d swipe left because who at my age (my ripe old age) is a waitress (I’m working on this)?  On paper, I’m the Dallas Cowboys.  The worst bet in history.  But paper, from what I’ve discovered first hand, it’s the best illusion created.  I dated paper.  In fact, if you asked me two years ago what I was doing with my life… actually you wouldn’t ask me.  You’d know given my amazing job, my location, my relationship status, my creative endeavors you’d know that I was doing just fine.  But tonight, at 2am, I’m drinking a whiskey and writing about the night that lead up to now.  And I don’t have to get up until 3pm.  Truth is, I’ll wake up in 6 hours and work all day long.  But I’m drinking whiskey and listing to Ed Sheeran.  Life.  Fuck it.

But life… life is tricky.  We’ve all seen The Family Man starring Nic Cage.  “A fast-lane investment broker, offered the opportunity to see how the other half lives, wakes up to find that his sports car and girlfriend have become a mini-van and wife.”  THE HORROR!!!  Gah, what would happen if we didn’t have all the comforts of … money, security?  I don’t know… this?  You’d do what I’m doing now.  You’d start over from the beginning and try again.  Often the best bets are made when we don’t pass Go.  When we don’t get to to collect $200.  We must try again because sometimes Baltic Avenue is the BEST place to park a hotel.

What I’m planting, what I’m aspiring to do, I don’t know if or what will pan out.  Sure I could have gotten a job, a normal job and sat behind a desk to have the illusion of security or establishment.  I could date that guy and pretended to make sense to you but truth is, Id’ go crazy trying to fit into your idea.   I’ve planted thousand of seeds and see them sprouting at different rates and some not at all.  But I’d rather risk and fail than to have not risked at all. So basically I’m betting it all on black.  Or the Dallas Cowboys.  Because even if it doesn’t pay off, OR GOD WILLING IT DOES, i’ll either be a master genius or I’ll be right where I am right now, trying to figure it all out.

I’m absolutely humbled to be where I am in life but am endlessly grateful to be here at all.  I am blessed with any opportunity I’m given.  It’s not the best life, but it’s my life and I will make it fantastic because if you’ve met me you know fantastic is all I do!!  Drops mic, walks out.

 

Dear plants of the world,

Why do you hate me?  I rescued you from Home Depot and brought you to my beautiful art-filled charming apartment!!  I got you a new pot, bathed you in sunlight (or moderate sunlight depending) fed you, named you, loved you.  And just like all the other plants in my life, you want none of it.  Barbara Streisand (my lovely purple and green ivy) hated my apartment.  She couldn’t stand the desk top or the floor to the lovely corner in my living.  SO… I threw her outside.  I neglected her.  I refused to water her, never spoke to her, hardly even remember she was out there.  I played hard to get!  But guess who’s suddenly making a comeback from my patio?  Ya, BABS!!!  She’s thriving basking in the sunlight and rain making a mockery of my green thumb.  Truthfully plants, this feels like dating.  OVER IT!!

Sincerely,

April