June brings summer storms...

...and with it, a perhaps stormy attitude. As the thunder rattles the building, streaks of electric blue light flash outside against the muggy grey of afternoon sky. Rain hits the windows, normally a sound of comfort for me, but today I feel more trapped. I went to the farmers market this morning for an hour. Pickings were slim, and I felt the storm coming in. Time to go. Zach came over for an hour or so, and we sat catching up on the past 5 years since we'd seen each other last. I was struck by how much has happened. How much has changed. The many different lives I've led in such a small span of time. He as well. The storm continued after he left, and I spent the rest of the day truly at a loss for what do with myself. I yearned to go outside, to take my bike out, work and stretch muscles, pedal and pound out my stress, and sweat out all the annoying thoughts that flood my brain. Flood. I think of the steady downpour outside and begin to picture it coming through the windows, filling up our living room, surrounding and engulfing me as I sit in my arm chair. I try to collect some sense of peace, quite, stillness from the water that has now entirely filled our apartment, try revel in the tranquility of drowning. I can't. My mind is elsewhere and everywhere, and though I feel like I can't breathe, it's not a peace but a panic. I don't do well when I'm bored. It only aggravates and frustrates me. Rick and Jolene come over at night. We make a huge batch of curry and fill ourselves to satisfaction. Our conversation is good and goes on well into the night. But, eventually, they must go, and I am left again to deafening silence and solitary sleeplessness. I would take a sleeping pill, but on call starts in a few hours. I am realizing that I picked up too many extra shifts, and it is taking a toll on me physically and mentally. I want the sun to come back. I want to feel the air drift over my face as I cut through it on the trails. I want to feel my skin burn and turn to brown in summer rays. And I want to stay out and avoid coming home to an empty apartment.

I feel like maybe I'm being needy and whiny right now. But maybe it's just the weather.

Uptown Kinda Night...

The hum of the night, the hum of the cars,
As whirring and blurring and traffic lights change,
The pace of my feet keeping time, and forward, always forward,
Carry me through the lucid, night air.
Join us in Uptown, join the dance,
The whirring and stirring, the writhing, contorting mass
Of flesh and of fog, and cheap alcohol special,
Drenched in sweat and whiskey soaked enthusiasm.
Outside for air are the words, the words of half-grown children,
Mix with the words of the ancient crowd, and the old men sing
Sad songs of girls or of boys they have loved in their youth.
Love past. Long past. Life passed.
The one-eyed wince of cigarette pulls,
Who needs to live forever when we can live it up tonight?
We throw our hands towards the starry sky,
We lords of the night, and romantics clinging to hour-long love affairs.
Hangovers.
Hospital beds. Receipts of the night's revelry
Are for those who will live tomorrow morning to pay the bill,
But they are not for us to worry tonight.
We fill our lungs a little deeper, open chests a little wider,
The more our ribs to push.
Pupils dilate against nightlight backdrop and the twinkle of the teardrop strings
Prevail now over daylight.
Join us in Uptown.
You're in Uptown, baby. Uptown, downtown,
You're a jazz town, a snap town,
The rasp of the vowel when you say the word,
Jazz.
Jazz and the snap of a snare plays on behind sweat sticky brick walls
And thunder drum rolls. Uptown.
She's the gentle Jezebel we take to our beds for the night and
Throw our stones at come sunrise. We dance and whisper in her ear,
"Hate me in the morning, only tell me you love me tonight."
It's a town I could love if this weren't already lust.
America, the beautiful bastard, is a gluttonous youth,
A horse straining against our parental starting gates,
But, oh, doesn't she know how to party?
You'll know her when you see her. You'll feel it in your feet.
Look to the ground and see it on the dance floor,
And you'll know, you're in Uptown, baby.
You live in Uptown now, baby.

Love Did Come...

I must keep this brief. The difficulty of posting from a smartphone in a basement with sporadic internet cannot be overstated. I had meant to go to the library. Or Gigi's. Somewhere I could take the computer, sit down and get some stuff done, write a proper blog. I had meant to go biking. These things, though, did not happen today. Work kept calling me in. I am finally home, tired. Hot. Haven't had enough water. It's in the 80's here, and humid. I lie on the bed, cooling off and eating frozen peaches from Rick's work. My day wasn't entirely wasted. Aside from overtime pay from work, I made it over to national camera exchange for an appraisal, and I went back to your old place for the remainder of your magnet words and a couple other things. There was a lot of words. It actually took a while to get them off, some because alcohol must have been spilled on them, adhering them solidly to the mini fridge. I threw them away, but at least got the whole thing cleared off and most of the words put into a bag and brought home. I left three words for the guys to find. Just so they wouldn't freak out that, suddenly, several things were now gone from the apartment. "Love did come" I wrote out. Hopefully, they'll remember my last name and understand, I think Nico will.

When you get the chance, tell me about what you're doing, what you're seeing. People, food, places you've visited. I want to know what it's like.

I miss you like crazy. Love you forever.

B

On the trail...

Gigi's is closing in about half an hour. Can I pop out another blog? Can I write as much as I need to say in that amount of time? I think I can. Most of the thoughts I've had today raced through my mind as though I were composing the words to write. Did I ever tell you that? Did you know that when I'm speaking, or listening, I see words in my brain as they enter my ears? You say my name, and I see it there before me, spelled out, like on the page of a book. I developed the technique very early on, perhaps to help with my mild dyslexia...and it helped. Unless I don't know how to spell a word that I'm hearing, then I'm just momentarily confused. Now, the technique is habit, and I do it unconsciously. So, as I rode my bike today, guiding it down the various trails of the greenway, my thoughts formed in my mind in a way as though I were already seated before a computer, writing it out. The actual act of writing has always been easy and fast because the words are already there, sentences and phrases already formed, and my typing feels like merely taking dictation from my brain, my brain the author, the words already strung together.

I guess you can't see videos, so I should focus on writing and pictures. Good to know. We talked a lot today. Well, a lot in comparison to how little contact we've had in the last week. It was what I needed. The motivation to get up, get out. You asked me to post tonight for you. I probably would not have gone out, but I knew I would have to if I wanted the internet access.

You either fell asleep or you lost internet access. Whichever it was, the conversation stopped. I took that as a good cue to get off my ass and get going. Life doesn't happen to those who sit in dark basement apartments in boxers and sweaters. Life happens on the trail. Whatever form that trail may take, you get on it. You get up, you start moving, you stretch your limbs forward, even as they ache and beg to stop, you push forward, ever forward, and run towards that which is alive. I can't stay in the apartment alone for too long. It makes me lazy and despondent. I feel it suck my energy the more I sit in there. I need the feel of the air hitting my face, the burn of muscles that have sat idle for too long. My legs are now starting to adapt, though it's taken more pain than I had expected. After the injury, they lost most of the strength that they used to have. A year of inactivity and "taking it easy on myself" may have helped the injuries, but the muscles are now complaining as they are being forced to wake from their overly long vacation.

A burned out lighter. An empty bag of fun-sized snicker bars. A stray tabby cat that looks at me and I look back and it seems to say, "what the fuck you looking at? haven't you ever seen a cat on the greenway before?" I know I've hit midtown. The smells. Grease and spices from various restaurants mix in my nostrils, and garbage cans sit longingly looking at garbage that was so close to being put in the right place. It's a small stretch. It's a dirty stretch. But it holds a certain charm, a bit of nostalgia for me. Was it two years? Three? I don't remember. I was a visitor to this city. California kissed and a rookie of the Midwest. Used to cars and traffic and smog and overcrowded freeways. I had sat under an overpass here, watched the bikers and joggers on the greenway, ate my lunch and wondered, "what is this magical thing, this trail, this freeway free of cars, this road dedicated entirely to the bikers?" I remember swearing then that I would come back, that when I moved here, I would bike this trail. And now, here I am. Thighs burning, tan forming, lungs and heart pumping, my legs keeping time with the squeak, squeak, squeak of the gears beneath me. Which overpass was it? There's a few it could be. I'm not sure now. But they all mean the same. They mean a goal reached. A promise to myself that I have kept. And that's important.

I pedal on. A rest stop. A cafe along the way that's just for the bikers. They sell smoothies and energy drinks, and soups, and sandwiches, and they fix bikes, and they sell any and all parts you may want. The leather sofas look inviting for tired limbs, and customers walk around in spandex shorts as they browse the clothing selection or pick out a new muscle rub. I order a smoothie called the "Vegan Suicide." I could use the chia. It's a pretty amazing drink, I must say. The bikes are overpriced, but you pay for what you get. There's an interesting feel to the place, half cafe, half repair shop, and a pinch of retail. Customers don't linger there long. They are there for a brief stop only, the trail calls us back. We must keep moving.

Refuelled, we pedal on. The more I ride, the more days I spend out there, the more I feel a part of a new and exhilarating community. We communicate through silent or brief acknowledgement, a head nod here, a call of "left!" there. When I started, I wore jean shorts, black chucks. Normal clothes. Now, I find I get more of that quiet affirming, more nods, as I ride. Black spandex shorts, backwards baseball caps. That is my uniform now. There's an unspoken dress code that seems to get you more respect. You can see who's serious about their sport. You can tell by the legs who's been out there longest. You can see it in the legs, this hierarchy, this road respect. Like bucks with biggest antlers, we measure each other, size each other up by our calves. My chicken legs are getting stronger, my muscles slowly more defined. I count more nods each day.

the blog wherein Beckett hangs with real people...

Rick looking...angelic?

I guess we weren't supposed to bring Buddy. Oh well.

Hillbilly tomatoes

Jolene's coffee dance

swedish pancakes for breakfast, a day of farmer's market, potting, fish on the grill, hookah, and lots and lots of silliness.

How do you know your farmer's tan is authentic?

When you get it at a farmer's market!

I'll put up pictures tomorrow.

K, I'm done. I'm going to bed.

I love you.

B

the episode wherein Beckett mumbles (but that's not new)...

The blog wherein Beckett falls off a bike...

May 23 night

I think I am dehydrated. Biking two hours in the sun today got pretty rough at the end there.

I pulled my bike over to the side of the trail where I had seen a water fountain. Holding my bottle up to the spigot, I licked my thickly swollen and sticky lips. Ohhh, water. Get in me. I held down the button. Nothing. I tried again. Not a drop emerged. I almost cried. No greater tragedy! Ohhhhh, the humanity!! It was at least another half hour until I hit Lake Calhoun where I had seen a fountain. I must push. The sun was hot on my neck and arms, and a layer of sweat made my t-shirt cling to my back. I looked longingly at the Mississippi River that lunged and rushed and swirled in its delightful wetness. Undrinkable…but I was definitely considering it. I must push. I must move forward. Ever forward. I pedaled away from the river, it’s gushing and tempting flow growing fainter with each push of the pedal.

I’m hungry. My stomach growled loudly. I should have eaten more today. As I continued down the trail, I felt my legs growing heavy and my head growing light. Whatever weight my brain had carried was now shifting into my thighs like lead blocks, and my head was left to float in dazed haziness.  It may have been too hot, and I may have been unprepared water-wise, and I probably went too far. But I wanted to see how far the trail went. I wanted to keep going and not think about how I would, eventually, have to turn around and bike that distance back home. We make our choices. And we must survive them. I could feel the drops of sweat drip down my back and calves. Headache was setting in.

Needless to say, I made it to the fountain. The lake never looked so inviting. Water from a public fountain never tasted so good. Sitting on my bike, water dribbling down my chin and onto my chest, I tried to push off again. Whoops. Head still way too light. I promptly fell over. Okaaaaay. Yeah. Not cool. I mustered as much grace as I could to climb back on. Did anybody see that? I think I caught it quick enough, right?

It’s a beautiful ride, honey. Takes us right down to the Mill City Farmers Market, and crosses the bridge to Aster Café. I want to take you there some weekend morning. We’ll just have to remember to take water ;)

The episode wherein Beckett writes notes backwards so that they show up correctly for the camera...

The episode wherein Beckett discovers a free piece of decorative furniture...

Well, there's the pillar, honey. Where shall we put it?

Also, I made a spectacular curry after this, and had leftovers for the next day. I browned some ground beef in a little olive oil/balsamic basil mix, threw in some sweet potatoes, zucchini, green onions, white chopped onions, shredded carrots, rosemary, cinnamon, smoked paprika, salt/pepper, coconut milk, cumin, yellow curry. Holy wow. 

We kiss like we invented it...

Watching my reflection in the glass, I vaguely acknowledge the passing terrain on the other side, but mostly study my own figure as it flies sideways across the now sunny Minnesota landscape. They seem a different person, somewhat lonely and stunned. For a time, I observe myself this way, as if apart from the being before me, and I pity it. Not for their tragic stillness, not because they are sad, not even because they are alone. They actually are none of these things. More, I pity them because there is something so obviously missing from their whole, something that when removed, leaves them only a part of a greater being. That greater being, the best version of themself that they had come to know, was tasted, touched, felt, lived, loved…and now gone.

Ohhhh no no no. We’re not doing that. We’re not going to get all dramatic, Beckett. We are not going to fly off into some monologue about how the world just isn’t the same, life just isn’t as fun, I’m so alone and just want to sleep these 3 weeks until she comes home. No. Because, honestly, I feel fine. I miss her. But I’m fine. I just can’t shake this feeling of….lacking. Is that it? Close as I can get, I suppose. There is something lacking, and that is all. It’s knowing how great something can be, and then settling for something that’s “less than.” Our apartment is lovely. It’s homey, comfortable, vintage, full of life and memories, and sunshine pouring through the windows to illuminate our trinkets and thrift store finds in golden rays. Dust and incense smoke cut through the rays in gentle wafts, and a bust of Brahms looks over the scene in a steady and knowing expression of neutral contemplation. The roses I gave her at her graduation ceremony now sit in a few wine bottles on the window’s edge, and several petals have fallen to the side. Fur lays invitingly draped over pieces of antique furniture, beckoning, “come sit, stay awhile.” It’s beautiful. More so than I could have ever imagined possible when I first moved in. She left her marks in my home. She warmed it with her energy and presence. It’s still lovely. It’s still our home, the one we made together. It’s just lacking an element that once there, then removed, leaves the home like the rose in the wine bottle. Still beautiful and fragrant. Still the rose. Just missing a few petals that had once filled it out to it’s complete bloom.

After I arrive home from the airport, I stand for a moment in our living room. For some reason, I don’t quite know what to do. Do I sit? Maybe I’ll go to the kitchen. The bathroom? I think I need to pee. Maybe I’ll do that. I do. Ok. Now what? I’m stunned. Wow. What do I…do? Of course, the answer is: anything. Anything and everything that I would normally do otherwise. Instead, I wander the apartment, letting my fingers fall on items that are either her’s or remind me of a memory of her. I need a shower. Yes, I already had stepped in and briefly rinsed off when I woke up, but I feel like another one. I let the hot water relax my muscles and give me an excuse to put off doing anything. I scrub. Hard. As if eradicating an itch or scratching out a stain, I force the soap into my pores. It’s been a while since I paid much attention to myself. That’s a new freckle on my right knuckle. Like a little pen mark. How long has that been there? I should clip my nails.

Amazing how focusing all your attention on another person makes you not notice certain things about yourself, and how when you are left alone, you are forced to really take a long, hard look. I brush my teeth again. Hard. Thoroughly. I take some tweezers to a few stray hairs. Grabbing the remaining glass of wine from last night’s party, I hold it up in a salute to the sunbeams in my window. Last glass. Resolve. I will really take care of myself these 3 weeks. I will sleep enough, exercise daily, eat clean, cut out alcohol, and make myself useful by completing the various projects that I’ve either started and forgot or didn’t start at all.  Productivity and self -care will be themes of this Separation. I slip into her favorite brown sweater and some of my boxers. I text her family as she asked, and charge both our phones. I’m suddenly struck by the realization that if I call or text her, I will not be able to reach her. 

I look down to my own phone and find she messaged me online. She was online 9 minutes ago. I missed her.  Face-palm. I could have talked to her one last time before her flight took off? Arrrrrgh. Oh well. 

I text with a friend briefly, making arrangements to hang out a few days from now. No point in isolation, I must be sociable. The temptation to lie down on the bed is overwhelming, but I know I must resist. Sleep will come later, in its time in the routine. I must stick to a routine. No unscheduled naps.  Now, I must write. I must plan and create a schedule for myself to adhere to religiously. Now I must use my time intentionally. I must stop looking up every time my phone whistles and feel that heart-skipping thingy and expect it to be a text from her. That last one may be hard. Over three months of seeing each other every day, and now the Separation begins. I’ll be fine. Really. And I will get a lot done.

But, to be honest, I think I want that nap first.

I wake up cold. Freezing really. Instinctively, I grab my phone to check and see if I have any texts from her. I always wake up confused anyway, but the lack of her presence both physically and via technology leaves me befuddled. Her phone is here, her keys are here, her smell is here, then where is…my mind refocuses. Oh. Right.

I don’t want this blog to be a daily exposition about how much I miss my partner. Really, I don’t. So I’m getting it out now. I’m allowing myself a wallowing day. A day where I can stay in bed, not get dressed, eat pickles and coconut macaroons for dinner, and accomplish nothing whilst drifting in and out of sleep. I will write. Oddly enough, those days where I am most lazy and unproductive are the days when writing comes easiest. My fingers fly over the keyboard, and my mind takes on a certain flow and clarity that otherwise is lost to the jumble of activity and action. Maybe that’s it. My inactive body evokes an overactive mind. Surely, there must be a balance that I can find between the two, but for now, I embrace my word-saturated brain, my un-perfumed and sweet-smelly odor, my shock of unkempt hair that stands up in one spot, and my body that lays dormant and vegetative on a futon mattress.  I embrace it. I embrace that tomorrow will commence my rigorous routine. I embrace that instead of “riding it out” or “getting through” these 3 weeks, I will make good use of my time and strive towards positive changes and growth. After all, that’s what she’s doing over in Spain. Challenging herself. Growing. Pushing herself to become, day by day, mile by mile, a more intentional and developed version of the already exquisite person she is. And that is what I need to do on my end. Whether in Spain or in Minnesota, we both need to have the same goal. To constantly move forward.

As wallowing day comes to a close, I finally feel as though I have broken through my fog. I feel like getting dressed now. I will go to Gigi’s. I will walk out into the last bits of today’s sunlight. I will embrace. Count my steps to keep pushing for one more. One more. One more. I will move forward. I will move. I will move. Forward. Forward. Forward. 

Initial blog...

A post from Beckett



Well, it's a start.

We're getting this blog up and running before Suzi leaves, and as we sit in the corner of one of our favorite local cafes, we do our work. I on the blog, she on her homework. Ah finals. I remember those. I graduated 4 years ago, and I never thought I'd have to worry about things like homework, class schedules, presentations, finals, or essays. Yet, I don't mind. It's like getting to step back in time, revisit those old sentiments and the feel of excitement for the impending summer. The world takes on a new shade, the season change bringing with it a sense of hope and wonder and endless possibility. I remember when I graduated, that infinity, that runner's track with no apparent finish line. We get launched into the realities of adulthood that college had let us skim over and ignore for a few years. It's as much a beginning as it is an end, and that can be terrifying and wonderful all at once.

With a gaze in her direction, I wonder how she's feeling about it as she works. We've talked about it plenty, of course, but the look on her face makes me wonder what's on her mind now. She catches my gaze, but I don't look away. Instead, we grin at each other. There is a communication between us that does not require words. Maybe that's what makes this work so well. We are open and transparent with each other. We know each other. It's been just a few months since we decided that we had found "the one" in each other. Trying to define our relationship... well, that's pretty pointless. I can't define it with words myself. All I can say is, sometimes you just... know. You know? We've been told we are "twin flames" by an observer. Yes, that's pretty much it. Wikipedia that shit. It sums it up well enough. I can't think of a time I've been happier, more fully whole, more myself.

Perhaps that's what this is. Honesty. With ourselves, with each other. Maybe that's the point of this blog. Complete honesty. We want to share that with the world, and share with the world just how crazy this all is. Reality check. Is this my life? Wow. This only happens in movies, right? For two people to match each other so well, work together so well, have the same dreams and desires and interests and values... how does it happen? Well, why question it? Why not just be happy with what we've been blessed with now? All I know is that loving her is the best part of me, and as we launch into the post-college life, we have big dreams and big adventures coming. First of those is, of course, the Separation. At least, that's what I'm calling it.

The Separation is the Europe trip that Suzi is taking at the end of May. After several months of being around each other every day... yeah. Not being able to see her is going to be... odd. Lonely? Hard. But hey! We have this blog! Yes, blogging seems pretty good. We won't be able to call much, and I won't know where she's at to be able to write letters to her (she'll be pretty constantly on the move), but the world we live in affords pretty easy access to internet. Suzi can blog about what's she's doing in Europe, and I can blog about what I'm getting up to here in the States. And you, dear readers, can follow along in the adventures.

If you wish to know what we are up to... this is it.

So, during the Separation, there will be posts form Europe, the Camino, there will be paella, there will be foodie pics from Spain, there will be countless stories from abroad. On my end, there will be home projects as I prepare a place for us to live in, there will be gluten-free/paleo recipes to try out, there will be camping trips, organic farming, foodie pics (let's face it, Suzi and I are both hopeless foodies).

Here we can share our honesty with each other, and we can share it with the world (or at least those who care about us).