Don't Worry Baby

I feel like I'm in crisis mode constantly. I'm always worrying about something. I have a lot of angst, and I know a lot of it is job related. My job is anxiety inducing by nature. It's a lot of stress.

What would make me happy I wonder? What if I could be anything? What would I choose to do with the rest of my life?

I need to think about that and sit with it. I don't want to lack direction. I want to know where I'm going. But I need a compass. 

In a month, I'll be giving a keynote to a group of Latina college students at CSUSB. It's an honor and a privilege. But what am I going to say? I need to think about how to frame my narrative in a way that illustrates that there's actually no need to worry. I've done okay. More than okay. I just need to remember that.

Maybe my life would be easier if I stopped growing and challenging myself. But that's something I cannot do. I have to be me. And I know I have to use these wings that I was given to reach high in the sky. I need to soar baby. No need to worry just fly. 

Dream the impossible

Change is on the horizon. I can feel it. Something big is coming and I am ready. 

I've had dreams for a long time. Big dreams. Some might say unrealistic dreams even. Dreams of the impossible. I've been chasing and tilting at windmills. My pen of a sword in the air. 

But somehow, I've always known that maybe, just maybe, my crazy dreams could come true. 

Maybe it was my mom teaching me to read at three that made me realize that I could do anything. My writing is something I've worked at and worked at for two decades almost. It hasn't been easy. At first, I didn't know if I could write. I put pen to paper and those first stories, they wobbled a bit. But eventually I found my voice and now it's like riding a bicycle. It feels natural. I put my feet to the pedals and I go. I just go for a ride. 

Performing was the same way. It took a while, but I learned to take my nervousness and turn it into excitement, turning my anxious energy into fuel. Now I just get up on stage and let go.

There's a lot of fear with wanting my dreams, the huge ones. What if it doesn't happen? Well what if? If so, then I still have a great life. I've found a beautiful garden of friends. I have my family. I'll always have that. 

But if I don't go where the universe leads me, despite my terror at being let down, I'll never know. And I know somehow, that this is meant to be. I feel it in my bones friends. The vibrations are real. 

So wish me luck.  

Awake

So I am awake. It's 2:30 am. The tapping on the keys of my phone brings me comfort. My phone's blue light is like a candle guiding me. Into my subconscious.

I am in a weird place. I feel unmoored. Lost. As if I'm drifting in the ocean barely holding on to a piece of driftwood. 

My husband was so sweet after Chewbacca passed, even though I know he was hurting too, telling me gently that I can't fall into a deep depression. I'm trying not to. Really I am. 

I went to work and I managed.  I thought I would be out for weeks when Chewbacca passed, but life and work moves on. I had way too many cases on to stay home. But it's not bad. I had a victory in court. My client and his mom were happy. 

After court, I didn't break down. I made small talk. My friend put flowers on my desk. I sat in my car at lunch and listened to the podcast I recorded of me interviewing my friend whose book just came out. I need to have the podcast edited. I have so much to do this weekend. But no energy. 

I am numb and don't feel much of anything to be honest

I go downstairs so Adrian can sleep. I've already woken him up with my tapping on keys and he's super sensitive to blue light. 

I miss my dog. I so miss my dog. I look at Chewbacca's empty bed and I breathe in deep. My tears come out slowly, one at a time. I'm keeping it together. I think. 

I think of Chewbacca's face right before he left me. He looked at me. Golden eyes. He even wagged his tail. And then he put his head on his paws and went to sleep. I whispered to him, "I'll miss you so." And I do.

Duckie

This one is just for you my blog friends and dedicated to my shih tzu Chewbacca. 

Duckie

You didn't quack

You barked

And you followed

I was "duck mommy"

Your golden eyes

watching my every move

But now the house echoes. 

Damn I miss you so 

And even though I know 

It wasn't fair to make you stay 

This loneliness abides, it abides

Without my Duckie 

504 am

I often title my blogs after what time it is when I start writing. Writing has become such an ingrained part of my life. It's like breathing for me or wait, maybe more like drinking water. I know I should do it more because when I do, I feel amazing.

Most people know that I started writing seriously when my dad died. I had to get the stories out. But I had actually started writing poetry when I was a corporate lawyer. I would stare out my law offices' high rise window, one looking out at the Houston skyline, filled with skyscrapers and twinkling lights, and write. I still have many of those pieces. They're not perfect but they capture something. 

Here's one and the theme is interesting, especially after now being a public defender for years and years.

Habeas This Corpus by JEM

I want to be free. 

Not sitting in a small room a mere 

drone at her keyboard typing briefs 

which are anything but brief. 

I wanted to make a difference, but

instead I have created myself my very own 

custom made cell included are pretty framed 

diplomas on the wall. What Hell! 

Think of before, bartending, slinging hash. 

There was some beauty in that. 

I went to school for years 

to sit in this office and dream 

Of freedom.

330 again and again

So I'm up. It's 330 am. Again. 

Chewbacca had been doing okay until the fires which have really exacerbated his breathing issues So the last few nights have been very difficult to say the least. 

Yesterday, I had court and a big motion due. Chewbacca had kept me up all night. I slept a couple of hours max and when I left for work, he was doing better and was dozing quietly. As I walked out the door, I looked at him and said, "Now you fall asleep?" He didn't answer except with a snore. 

I made it through the court and work day on a combination of caffeine and determination. I even finished my motion and put it together for filing (my paralegal will file it today) a little after 5 pm. It came out pretty good, on a complex issue, probably because I was just so focused on getting it finished. It was as if whatever gas was left in my tank kicked in and I got it done. 

But I came home from work, a bit after 6 pm due to traffic, and I was bone tired. I was so exhausted that I almost started crying with relief when I crawled into bed snuggling under my Laura Ashley comforter. Okay I did tear up a little. And yes, Chewbacca was whining but I didn't care. I just said, "I'm sorry buddy, but I gotta sleep." 

I slept until 3 am. Now I'm up again with Chewbacca but at least I feel human again. I can do this. It's hard, but he needs me. Right now, as I was writing this, Chewbacca perked his head up and gave me a nuzzle on my cheek. 

I know he can't talk but I can write and I'm sure he knows I'm here for him. Yes, he's just a dog, but damn I love this little caramel colored shih tzu. We will get through the night and the sun will rise. As it always does. He just started snoring so I'm going back to bed on my futon downstairs so I'm here if he needs me. Night. Thanks for listening. 

The muse

Today, I have an event with a Latina writer named Julia Amante. We are talking about writing stories with a cultural Latina perspective. And reading aloud. It's being moderated by a writer/journalist named Minerva Canto who is also president of the Inlandia Institute. 

Lately, I'm moving toward less "reading" and more performance. I will try only to use my notes when I need to. It is stressful to try this out, but I think it's more me. I've always revised my stories when reading them aloud. And I like to challenge myself. 

And tonight I plan on trying to "perform" my story about my sad attempt at making flour tortillas. Last night, I practiced. I stumbled a bit because I've never read the story aloud. It was first performed on a radio show read by a voice actress. So it's not easy. I cut out 5 minutes to get it within time. 

You never know where a story will end up. Some of my stories end up in newspapers or literary journals or anthologies or perhaps, in a future book. Some end up here. But all of my stories start with an idea. A memory. An inkling where I think to myself, I should write about that. That's the beauty of memoir. It's taking your true life and turning it into art.

For some, making tortillas very badly can just be an event they'd rather forget. But for me, it's literary inspiration. It says something about who I am. And who I want to be. So I will continue to write on.