Too Full Because I’m Definitely Not Empty or Writing Web Store Launching Soon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t you just hate it when people start sentences and don’t finish them?

  • Go back on their word?
  • How close is make-believe to lies?
  • Leave the toilet seat up so I can fall my tail in?
  • Trip wires… have we asked questions that we thought we knew the answers to?
  • Have your answers changed?
  • Lately, perhaps?
  • But as long as they were creative?
  • Are you breathing into a wrinkled brown bag about it right now?
  • Were you swamped in papers, falling asleep across the laptop, or delegating deadlines to your writers?
  • How was it really?
  • All about perspective or perseverance?
  • Respect or reciprocity?
  • Love or adoration?
  • Have you tried cooking with avocado oil—it’s so frikkin yummy>?
  • Hook line or sunk and I don’t fail anything. What have you done?
  • Was it everything or nothing and did you give it up screaming or jumping, a run-on sentence or bluffing, an agent or self-publishing? What are my choices again? Why do I wake up with these words in my head in my head in my head all the day long?
  • P.s the book is done. Watch out world here I, uhm?

P.s. Shhsssshhhhhhh My writing web store is opening soon!!!

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You Called To Ask Me When I Was Coming Home, And When I Reminded You That I Wasn’t Coming Home, You Sounded So Disappointed That I Decided To Come Home

My boss called me into her office the day before yesterday to tell me that my contract would not be extended and that I would be let go.

“Like, fired?” I said.

Amazing how I now have a degree in writing and simple words I am unable to understand.

The boss whose dry silence, wry smiles, and wit I’ve admired and loved since the second I interviewed.  The boss whose simple style, and whose kindness, patience, and intelligence are unmatched. The boss who stared through me coldly and said sorry pinching her eyebrows together as if the word had no meaning. The boss who said it had nothing to do with my performance, but rather due to budget cuts in her department. I’ve been in her seat, I know how this goes.

Your friends and family behave like there’s been a funeral when you say you’ve lost your job:

“OoOoo I’m so sorry.”

“This too shall pass.”

“You have been through so much, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

And someone did die a little. And I won’t be. Fine. And although I have a separate writing and fashion description company that I run on nights and weekends complete with interns and quote requests—I still love my day job. Loved. I had a blissful few weeks. I’ve graduated. I gave a wonderful senior lecture, and had a fantastic final reading. My Manuscript Thesis is 201 pages. I am also very apparently unemployed.

So I am available for hire: I have an updated resume and a full suit. I have over ten years experience, and a Master’s degree in writing. I even have a closet helper, although she looks about as sad about this as I am.

Lalanii R. Grant, M.F.A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title Quote by: David Levithan

Our Willingness To Wait Reveals The Value We Place On The Object We’re Waiting For

“Actually, I’m unable to wait can I speak to your manager?”

I’m such a broad sometimes.

This is the reason my credit card company has miraculously ‘forgotten’ to send my new credit card out and I was without petty cash for two weeks. Lovely. I’m busy, I don’t have 87 breaks I can take from my life to care for trivial things. Woe do I miss the times I could collect stickers, work on my acrylic painting, clip coupons, send thank you cards, not flake on lunches. You know, listen to he voices in my head. The voices—they say interesting things. You get where this is going.

I attribute waiting with being passed on, passed by, not chosen, missing the boat, something slightly short of hopeless. So since childhood I haven’t liked waiting. Patience is for the birdies who don’t have anything better to do than wait in line, wait to be replaced, wait on someone else to cook up a recipe for something else Lalanii should spaz out about.

And then, I met someone who surprises me regularly. Surprises force you to have patience.

I took up high intensity interval training. Patience begets results.

I gave up sweets, carbs, and took up stock in something I haven’t in a while:

Myself.

I’ve been trusting myself and my judgments for a good six months now. Those voices, remember (there’s quite a few in there)—I’ve quieted. I’ve started to believe in my track record. Slowing down.

I still broke a glass bowl with my lunch in it today—but it wasn’t because I was rushing. It was because I was distracted. I was looking at how beautiful it was this morning. A cerulean sky kissing a lavender cloud and two off-white birds fighting over a piece of bread until the babier bird of the two decided to give up. The mean bird walked away seemingly pissed and dismissed of the situation. Baby birdie then pecked the bread, leaving a lot of it on the floor possibly for mean bird. Mean bird swooped down and they then finished the last piece together. If I’m not shocked–or shocked—did the birdies just share?? Did I forget I was holding anything and crash goes my pyrex bowl? Score.

All worth it. Still serene. There are a few things that have tested my ‘wait limit’ but  I was able to have numerous things go wrong this week and still complete the finishing  whoo hoos on my final manuscript,  fill out paperwork, order thesis bindery, cater to a sick editor/friend, and have patience enough to accept that a few things might not go my way this week.

But they may go my way in another week.

My threshold for waiting it out… extended.

I have a certain zingy feeling  now that I have more patience. Having so has made me stronger, happier, and given me more faith, first in myself and then those around me. Before I get too ‘churchy’ I must say—when I do happen to lose my patience now, it returns quicker than it used to. I also found something I like to believe is true:

“Our willingness to wait reveals the value we place on the object we’re waiting for”

—Charles Stanley

The birdies have all gone and the magical moment passes and I’m back to waiting. Writing. Reading. Editing.

And waiting is ok, and if something passes me because I’ve been busy–waiting… there’s a good chance it’s not anything I’m meant to have. I’m valuing the person I am now. I like her better because of her patience. And in case you haven’t heard it’s a virtue.

Excuse me while I go get my masters degree real quick.

Pictures from FLOWmarket. You genius people you.

Choose What To Keep

So, my real feelings are:

  • Disappointment and fear.
My face says:
  • 🙂

“If you want something to last forever, you treat it differently. You shield it and protect it. You never abuse it. You don’t expose it to the elements. You don’t make it common or ordinary. If it ever becomes tarnished, you lovingly polish it until it gleams like new. It becomes special because you have made it so, and it grows more beautiful and precious as time goes by.”
― F. Burton Howard

When you believe in something in such a big way that words aren’t enough, can you just feel it?

Can it go without saying?

How do you condition yourself to do that?

Isn’t communication the key, hasn’t it always been?

Sometimes you have to choose what to keep and what to leave.

Picture via Sportsandpastime thank you!

Mad Passionate Love, I Say, Mad Mad Mad

Trust myself in the process. Through the process. Have faith in another person’s choices. Because if it weren’t possible; if people couldn’t change for the better (or potentially even the worse) all the psychiatrists on this wide universe would be out of business. Side of the road. Luggage in hand. And let me tell you, I’ve known and conversed with quite a many, and none of them have empty pockets.

Because it is maddening. Going against your best judgments to go beyond what you know you’ve been conditioned to be thus far. Because it has to fully unteach you what every other bad experience has taught you. It has to be the feeling with your heart that says ‘go slow’—but the feeling in your mind that says ‘you still have to go.’

Because it has to be the big hugs for the small reasons.

The consistencies. Never wanting to leave.

It’s got to be wide and mad.

I don’t know how to feel it anymore, do you?

 I don’t know I’ve really felt it before.

This Is The Problem I Want To Have

We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

—Galway Kinnell

What is this? Who am I now? If I like her better does that mean who I was wasn’t real at all? What if I made myself up? Does this make me a fiction writer?  What if I look for the worst to ‘save face,’ but what if it’s steady? Am I going to ruin it now? What if I fall apart? What if it never comes together? What if it comes together as I fall apart?  Does it matter? When it stays the same doesn’t it still change? What if I want nothing to change? How many dishes can I break a year and still stay sane? Anybody know a good body shop, my car needs work? I need a new car. I want books that need a ladder to get to in my house. I wanna share my wishlist. I think he might listen. I really mind the turbulence, I’m ready for the landing. I’m really going to try my damnedest. This is the problem I want to have.

 

What Happy Is

Walking up, she knows my coffee “Aren’t you happy it’s Friday?”

Writing late, when edits are finally ready, his voice mails.

When I know I can.

Like-minded individuals.

The Weeknd; the singer and the ending of a busy week. If you haven’t heard this guy, go jump.

A clean living room, never mind the rest of the house.  Sweet Sleep. Chirping. My puppy’s nose.

Someone genuinely asking how are you?

 “Stop looking for the floor to cave—everything’s ok” ~My best friend

Shucks…

Try as I might, I can’t get any relaxation. This is the spa I’ve been dreaming of. MmmMMmm.

Business is good. School is ending. Life is happily full of ruckus. But what am I dreaming of? Relaxation. Kay Redfield Jamison said in“An Unquiet Mind,”  “We all move uneasily within our own restraints.” Maybe I cried when David died of a heart attack (her love), but only because the foreshadowing was done in such a subtle way. It’s the subtle things that drive me.

Another favorite of lines was when Jamison quoted an anthology about love:

Thank you for a lovely weekend.

They tell me it rained.

Awww, I want that. I need that.

P.s. On the verge of some really big subtle things. Really big. Spoken like the true oxymoronic extremist I am.

“Where Is This Love? I Can’t See It, I Can’t Touch It. I Can’t Feel It. I Can Hear It. I Can Hear Some Words, But I Can’t Do Anything With Your Easy Words.”

One of my favorite movies of all time: “Closer,” Alice says this.

She asks about why come she can’t see the love? Touch it, feel it. Then she repeats that she can hear it—but that hearing it is easy. Those words are easy.

Tell me some hard words, if any words.

Make me speechless. Heart swerving, then plunging.  The hurdle, twitch.

I want to do the splits on it. Somersault into a soaring enormous and ask him what took him so long?

I want to see it, feel it, touch it. I don’t want to hear it or hear about it anymore.
I want it sinking in my pores, I want to breathe it, be it.

I don’t want it to be easy, I want it to be uphill so I know what sleeping in is like.
I want it to hit me like an implosion. Locking my legs around it. Like plumdrops.

I want it to be so awfully good it goes stale if not immediate. Mean and fighting like rocket ship tears.

Hurry.

I don’t want  fear. I want to speak it into resistance, make it persistent and lengthy.

I want it to stay like a pose, pastel roses on my pillow. I want to be warm.
To write it into me until my joints are sore. sworn. sure.

Until the hugs take longer seconds, until stares are in sync with a later perpetuum.
Until I bloom and he shivers. When I wanderlust, he’s with me.

Until I can do nothing but call off my streetlights, blink, kiss.

I Fell In Love The Way You Fall Asleep: Slowly, and Then All At Once

I was about seven when my Mom got me a hamster. I named her Chrissy. Light brown, sorta fat, cute as a little talking chipmunk. Mind you—this is coming from a person that’s terrified of rats, roaches, spiders, and everything creepy. At first, she used to snip at me. Nip my fingertips wildly. Then I got some hamster treats in psychedelic colors and all was well in the world. I know little animals aren’t smart generally, but this one likely had a high IQ level. Seriously. Chrissy was brilliant and organized. Chrissy had bucky white teeth like she brushed them with Colgate. She didn’t muck up her cage like other hamsters I’d seen, and she even twirled her tiny hands around her face to clean herself! [Later I realized all hamsters do this] When she got her hamster snacks, she separated them by kind. Sunflowers, random nuggets, etc.  This thing was cute—ity bity and she’d curl up into a ball in the palm of my hand and fall asleep regularly. Like she gained trust in me. Sometimes she fell asleep on her back while I was petting her. I held her all the time. I put her in this clear little medicine ball with a small doorway, and let her run around my room while I studied. I’m sure we had many other good times, but that’s what I can remember.

It was a slow-growing affection. Then, I fell in love with the little thing.

Then one day I loved her so much I gave her a raisin as a treat. (Hey, it looked just like the trail mix she was already eating.) I saw her stomach boil sideways unnaturally, then I saw her keel over. She still moved around a bit but I ran to get Mom. All I remember next was I started crying, then I took a short nap. When I got up Chrissy was running amuck in her cage and when I went to pick her up to apologize for possibly making her sick—she bit my finger—hard! I was bleeding.

When I went to hold her she squiggled out of my hands so determined. When I put her in her exercise ball she wouldn’t move around and explore. She just sat there.

All of the things that made this hamster adorable to me were gone. She wasn’t cuddly. She wasn’t the same little cute face I could play with. I kept trying to make her behave right again, but she just wouldn’t. Then one day I looked at her teeth. They were yellow and big! Immediately I stomped in to my Mom exclaiming

“Where is Chrissy?! This is not my hamster!!!”

Mom explained to me that it was Chrissy and that all was ok, not to worry.

I didn’t like the New Chrissy, but it didn’t matter because not too soon after New Chrissy escaped and was not ever found.

A couple of years ago I was having wine with my Mother (as an adult) and I asked her what had happened to Chrissy. She looked at me big-eyed and bursty and said

“Gyyyyrl, that hamster had died and I ain’t know what to tell you!”

We laughed about it, but after, I realized how hard it is to tell the truth when you know what you will say will hurt someone you don’t want to hurt. Mom had shot out to the store and grabbed a look-alike of Chrissy and plopped her in Chrissy’s cage to avoid explaining death to me. If a person is prepared, it still hurts, it just hurts a lot less, making it worth it to communicate beforehand. What might have been better? Killing my fairytale. Getting me to accept the reality, the possibility early on of what is to come.  Teaching me that the hamster wasn’t going to last forever anyway, and, perhaps teaching me that she needn’t have raisins. Communication is the key, the lock and the Dropbox.

Photo by JoyHey

Yes, perhaps some casual and comfortable conversation easing me into the reality that hamsters won’t live forever. I was young, but the blatant lie and confusion? It sets me up to fall down.

Slow and concentrated.

This is the way we should talk to the people we care about. This is the way we should communicate with each other. Slowly, and then all at once. This is the way we prepare someone for what is to come. Slowly, and then all at once. This is the way we teach them how to grow with us. Slowly, and then all at once. This is how we avoid confusion and disappointment, “we man up.” We become responsible for ourselves, our actions, and the presentations and perceptions we’re exposing. Slowly, and then all at once. This is the way we learn how to trust, slowly, then all at once. This is the way we discuss things like adults. Slowly, and then all at once.

This is the way I want to fall in love.  Slowly, and then all at once.

The more lessons I’ve learned the hard way, the more lessons I’ve kept. How do I like my information? —Sugar-coated and straightforwardly oxymoronic. Yes. The truth doesn’t set you free, but it helps you sleep—and that’s kindove the same thing.

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