I want to make people feel something

This life can be monotonous. It’s possible for people to go weeks without feeling something. So caught up in work and life that we forget what it is to be human. Then a book comes along. Or even a show or a movie. And suddenly we remember how it feels to allow a wave of emotion to overcome us. To humble us. To make us grateful. Sometimes it makes us angry, or sad. But to me, the entire purpose of being alive is to feel. The older we get the more difficult it is to open our hearts and souls to the world around us. The world can be difficult. It can be unkind. It can be impossible.

So along comes a book. One so well-written it was almost like it was written for you. You devour each page, not even noticing when you turn to the next. You’re in another world. Feeling emotions you didn’t know you still had. Your eyes slide right to left, right to left. Before you know it you’re crying, or laughing or just smiling. And the book is over. And it makes you think. It makes you remember times from the past. It puts you somewhere else in your mind different than where you were when you began. How amazing is it that 26 letters arranged in a specific order can have such a profound impact on your psyche.

Or there’s a show. One you get so involved with it’s like you’re in a relationship. It’s on your mind throughout the day. You feel emotionally connected with it. You feel like you know the characters. You wish luck on some, and harm to others. You’ve adopted a new family as your own. Suddenly you’re left reeling and a bit lost when it’s over. What will you do now? Back to reality.

TV, movies, books…These are all art forms meant to transport someone to a different place. A different mind state. If only for a while.

I want to create that one day. I want someone to read my writing and think “I’m a better person after reading this.” or “Wow. Just wow.”

I cried when The Bell Jar ended. I cried when The Lovely Bones ended. And I smiled at the end of We Are All Made of Stars.  I became so overwhelmed when the TV series Hannibal ended that all I could do was sit on the couch and stare at the TV for an hour, thinking. Deliberating. And then a few years later I watched it again and had the same reaction.

What would life be like without these art forms to deliver us from the evil of life? I can’t wait to writing something. One day. That will make someone feel something.

Mads Mikkelsen, I WILL meet you one day. Until then, ich liebe dich. Tschüss

Time flies by. Before you know it you’re unable to do all the things you wish you’d done. The age old story. The age old ending. How many people have died wishing they’d lived more? I work 5 days a week for 8 hours a day, looking forward to my weekend. My light at the end of the long tunnel. It’s not that I hate my job, it’s just that when I am working my time isn’t my time, it’s someone else’s. So I look forward to my weekend and then proceed to spend each weekend sitting alone in my apartment convincing myself it’s too hot or too cold or too windy or too rainy to go do anything. And then Monday night comes and the reality hits that I have to go back to giving my time to someone else for the following 5 days.

If I keep this up I will end up in the shoes of someone I’ve always felt so bad for. The unused life. The time wasted. I have no one. In reality, no one really has anyone. All you’ve got is yourself. In my case this is ridiculously true. If I was still in NM I’d have friends to do things with. Back home I did plenty with others. Here though, I have me. Myself. I. And I don’t know why I am so reluctant to go experience things on my own. I mean people take solo road trips alone all the time right? So I am making a vow to myself: I will start to branch out. I will start to take classes alone. I will experience things alone. I will build myself up and teach myself the most important thing: I can.


I remember the way he looked at me. The first time. Like I was new meat. I miss the way men used to look at me. I’m not sure why I miss being objectified but I guess it never really felt like it. To feel desired is to feel accepted. He was married. That matters to me now but not back then. Until I met his wife. She was pretty, and tall. I was short and fit and curvy. She had blonde hair and green eyes. I have brown hair and brown eyes. I’m just on the borderline of looking exotic, although 60 pounds later I just look like a porker with a double chin (I’m working on that, thanks Weight Watchers). He was so sexy, I can still remember it like it was a few hours ago. His skin glistened in the sun. It was this color… not quite tan. But you know the color white guys get when they get some sun but don’t quite tan? And he had a thin layer of sunscreen and sweat over his muscles. Looking at him was a shock each time because you only see men like him on television. And what was crazier is he wanted me too. I could tell by the way he looked at me and told me I looked good. The way he tried to touch me every time I passed by. But I didn’t… I couldn’t. I grew up then. In that moment. When I met a wife and realized that I didn’t want to be the woman that was despised. I didn’t want to be that person who makes another woman feel unworthy….betrayed and ugly. Outside he looked like rainbows and cotton candy and a warm summers day with the scent of flowers and ecstasy in the air. On the inside he was confused and broken and unable to realize that one day he’d break someone just as bad as life had broken him.



It leaves scars in it’s wake
It leaves death and destruction
Like a tidal wave it comes forth and then recedes
Shattered pieces of battered people
Sadness breeds loneliness
It nurtures dark thoughts
It breathes yet it isn’t alive


It’s temporary
This makes it hard to accept
Like a bad parent, it leaves one day
Without happiness a purgatory begins
Somewhere between sadness and…
Something else