The following was based on a true story and was one conscious stream of thought.
10:10 a.m. November 3, 1980. Swaddled in green. A little lady in ruffles and curls. A blooming jock grass stained in pigtails. “Mommy will you play Barbies with me?” “Jess let’s play catch.” Lanky. Matchbox cars wind through the dirt. A unicorn silk-screened shirt. Sneakers laced; capture the flag beneath a full moon. T-ball, soccer--biddy basketball and a bum pinkie for life--jazz, gymnastics. Awkward. Piano, clarinet. How do you know unless you try? Short stories. Yes. Drawing. Yes. Goofing off. Always. Feathered bangs, scrunchies and Keds. Braces and backpacks. Shy. Windy road ahead. Bump. Set. Spike. I made my own paper with a homemade screen sieve. Perm, Express jeans and the opposite sex. “Only girlie girls use hairspray.” A leather mitt, cleats and practice. Game. Practice. Game. Is it summer yet? Musty and damp, a dome tent shelter. I hooked a fish in the eye. Success is had—the perfect stick is found. S’mores. Years of lessons to ensure I won’t drown. “But the water is freezing!” This is getting old. Doggy paddle, crawl either way I’ll stay afloat. I saw a kid at school with facial hair. “Stay away from dirtballs.” Does this road have a shortcut? Please. “Where were you in middle school?” A straight new smile. MVP. On the diamond in Canada. On the court at Penn State. My first beer by a bonfire. Boyfriend. Makeup. Perfume. 6 months. First broken heart. School, camps, travel teams--my life becomes a constant schedule of events. SPAC ticket stubs. Highlights. Homecoming court. Varsity jacket. Bitchy girls. Mean People Suck. Best friends. A wasted “I love you” or two. Empire State Games. Those three words finally stuck. Who do I want to be? Where do I want to go? Shuffle off to Buffalo! Shared space and bathroom caddies. A BFF made. Preseason, postseason, 6 a.m. practices. Home. Away. Home. Bus rolls in at 1 a.m. Coffee. The meaning of an all-nighter discovered. Study dates. Burnt toast. My first attempt at meatloaf. Keg beer. Movie dates. Pearl Jam and Mike’s hard lemonade. House parties and 21-year-old Canadians. Vegetarian? In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. A never ending cycle. Lose the map. No give it back. Where did this map come from anyway? Whoever made it, I hate them now. Maybe I’ll thank them later. Cap and gown. Love blossoms from paper and ink. The “real world” is found. My new roomies: Lara from Brazil, Leticia from Spain. And two from France make five. I always wanted an accent. The new becomes old. The old becomes new. Load it up; pack it in, head on out. Take a new look at an old place. Pull the perfect shot. Make a mean froth. Did you know a soy steamer and caramel syrup tastes like pancake batter? AMVETS. Nose piercing. A career in advertising? What about the road of education? Admissions Counselor. I like Maine. I like New England. I like the East Coast. I don’t like Texas. Grad school and a new title: Assistant Director. Publications and the Web. Something up my alley. Ahhh Denver, mountains. What no water? “Will you make me the happiest man ever and be my wife?” SOLD. San Francisco. Hello Redwoods. Sacramento. Oh how I love CA. Brown and slate blue. Green hydrangeas. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. Until death do us part. I do. Napa Valley. Lake Tahoe. Share a bottle of red, share an entire lifetime. Onto Personal Fulfillment Rd. Copywriter. A snapshot here. A good book there. Girl’s trip! I dig the West Coast. Writing. Listening. Running. Crafting. Laughing. Crying. Smiling. Eat, work sleep and repeat. Am I lost? Lost: Unable to find one's way. Nope. Not lost. I’m just making my way…to here.