My first tatt, the finished product.

This is the best thing I've done all week.

rebranding February

I've always been great with dates.  I'm very detail-oriented so I rarely forget special occasions.  The not so special days also stick with me.  March 26 is the anniversary of my step-father's death.  It took 10 years for me to properly mourn his passing.  I always remembered that date and it brought on lots of sadness.  This Friday February 1st will mark the 3 year anniversary of the day I was officially diagnosed with MS.  I really don't want it to take another 10 years before February 1st is just another day.  I've decided to do things, partake in the world around me, and create memories.  Creation and possibility are amazing ideas.  They are endless, limitless.  I'm going to get my first tattoo on February 1st.  I've decided to get the word "create" in script on my left arm somewhere.  I need to see it every day.  This is all about me, for me. 

wondrous splendor...

I'm walking around in a perpetual state of deja vu.  It began at the start of the new year.  I had the most amazing week.  It seems like everything is going my favor.  Its all very surreal.  I spoke with a close friend about this as we walked on campus in the rain.
"Its because you're on the right path doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing."
I'm trying to let her words sink in but it is a lovely thought.  The idea that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm meant to do, and meeting people I'm meant to cross paths with.

A love affair...an excerpt from an email to a friend.

I went shopping for my textbooks today and I realized something I already knew. I have a deep love for books. My mom gave me a tablet for my birthday, which she started hinting not so subtly, that she wanted back once she realized I purchased myself a laptop around the same time. But I digress...I was excited to have something I could use as an e-reader. To date I've used it to web surf, study, play games and chat on occasion, but never to read a book. Today I went to the campus bookstore I browsed the textbooks I'd need, carefully choosing the best used copies with a few new books as well. I had priced out my books online and I was excited that two of the books that I would need were available as e-books. When faced with the decision between a card with a code on it and a beautiful book, with frayed pages, and veins in the binding from their previous owner...from their previous journey with someone that had their own love affair with words, just black text on white pages, pages that can take you so many places, that can help you enter other worlds, other dimensions, that can uplift you, pull at your heart strings or create new ideas that help you think, that can change your view on the world... Needless to say I couldn't do it...I bought all books. I rarely sell my books back because I often need anthologies for my classes and I find them useful to own. I love the smell of all books. I enjoy buying a new book, being the first to turn the pages. I feel accomplished when looking at the visible scars that book carries, it reminds me on the adventure we took together. I think this may be why I love being in libraries, bookstores, new and used.

Coffee Bean Tuesday Poetry Read

I love coffee bean. I stopped by tonight after leaving my mom's house. I noticed they were having their weekly poetry reading. Its starts with an hour long open mic...I really want to read something I've written there but I'm a tad intimidated by the crowd. As I wait for my coffee and fight the urge to sneak a peek at the open mic I see the most beautiful man I've ever seen in person. I understand the word beautiful isn't a word commonly used to describe a man but well, to me he was walking perfection. I have to admit I'm blinded by a few things. I don't think the type of man that catches my attention is ever seen as attractive by conventional standards. To me, apart from intellect, a bearded man is the sexiest thing. Once I see a beard I melt, my cheeks go flush, heart races, and I flee. I'm okay with the fact that I turned and ran. I hope I can see him again. He was averaged height, I'd guess about 5'7, medium to slim build, and he had light brown hair and a full, trimmed beard. He was dressed in khakis, I think, a collared shirt and a pullover sweater. Honestly, he looked as if he walked out of a Ralph Lauren Polo ad. Strangely enough, I kinda want to just sit and admire him from afar. I know that's sounds crazy but often the fantasy beats the reality. I know if I see him again I won't say hi, but at least it'll make me smile.

possibility

I went to my mom's house today. I've avoided seeing her recently because I can't handle her stresses being put on me...my mom hugged me...sincerely...my mom told me she was proud of me...I don't know how to process that.

She called me a fighter. I've always been a fighter, I'll always be a fighter, because I have no choice. I don't know how to take that because its not good, its not bad, its just my reality. I have to fight, I have to fight for everything, and that's just how it is...I don't have anyone to fight my battles for me, I don't have anyone to take care of me. I have me and that has to be enough.

February 1st will mark the three year anniversary of the date I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Fuck MS!

I was watching daytime television and caught a show with Shemar Moore. He was there with his mother. She also has MS.  He called his mom his super hero and multiple sclerosis her kryptonite. I like that. I've known that I'm a super hero for a while. I fight, endure and survive. MS is my kryptonite.

I'm starting to have faith in people again, faith that not everyone is going to let me down, faith that people are good at heart, faith that people will see me as more than my disease. I've only recently allowed myself the luxury of being seen as more than my disease.

The possibilities are endless. I'm taking baby steps to the top.

That's a beautiful concept, possibility. Allow it in your life and things light up.

Finding your Santa

As a kid I was a skeptic, like most.  One Christmas stands out in my memory.  I don't know how old I was, I don't remember what grade I was in, and I couldn't tell you much of what happened that year.  What I do remember is that this was the year I stopped believing in Santa.  Kids at school listed the reasons why Santa didn't exist.  The few that stand out were ones like, "The to, from sticker is written in your parents handwriting, " "If you open gifts on Christmas Eve your Santa gifts are still there, " and "The wrapping paper is exactly the same as all the other gifts."  I listed all these reasons to my mom and she answered with a simple, "Oh really mi'ja."  

That year we opened all of our gifts at midnight on Christmas Eve.  All our gifts had either a green or red wrapping paper.  My mom likes traditional Christmas colors.  We didn't have any gifts from Santa under the tree.  I was disappointed but my mom told me to check under the tree the next morning.  I went to sleep and woke up around 7 am.  I searched and searched under the tree and nothing.  I wanted to cry but instead I prance into my mom's room with an "I told you there's no Santa!  There aren't any gifts under the tree!"  My mom answered quietly, still half asleep, and said, "Did you check everywhere, are you sure?"  

I went to check under the tree one last time.  Next to the window, under the tree was one lonely present.   This gift was wrapped in Mickey and Minnie wrapping paper, the tag said To: Rosie From: Santa, and was written in my mother's handwriting.  I don't recall what it was, I don't remember anything I received that year for Christmas, I do remember that inner glow, restored faith, and glee... Santa remembered me.  And for that year I believed in Santa, I had my Santa.