an awesome email, with a precursor of a completely random memory that I ran with (go figure)

I received this email in my facebook account earlier today, from my fantastic friend, Moosh. A bit of background for those just hopping into my life in the recent past:

Right out of college with my bachelor's in equine administration, I went to work for the US Dressage Federation as a Programs Coordinator. When I was hired, we were based in Lincoln, Nebraska. After 1 year (exactly), I was piled into Big H (my trusty olde Honda Civic hatchback, incredibly full of random stickers spouting my viewpoints. Because if anyone knows anything about Life, it was me at.......22 or 23. Duh. And I so obviously know SO much more at 30. Seriously.) and I was picking up a good-looking young hitchhiker off of Highway 2 headed out of Lincoln. His name was something that is normally spelled with a "C", but his was spelled with a "K". Kody. That's it. Kody, who was a few years younger than me (I think he was 21 - I would've been 22 for another 6 weeks, so.....almost 23). He was hitchhiking from California to Bonnaroo in Tennessee. I happened to be moving to Kentucky at that very moment. He threw his stuff in the claustrophobic back of Big H, met Tyra, Trinity and Maya, as well as me :) and we spent the next 3-4 days chillin' out. We went to my ex-fiance-#1's for a stop through, and we spent the night at my aunt's house in St. Louis. Kody cooked us some killer scrambled eggs in the morning. We drove to Lexington, KY and had water fights in the pool at the extended stay hotel my company put me up in, ate buns and peanut butter from the local grocery store, drank all too much with people we just met, and then hugged and said good-bye. For the record, nothing sexual happened. It was almost innocent. In that aspect, it was completely innocent. :)

Whoa tangent. Slow down little lady.

Wow. So the point was, before my wandering fool brain took off into a memory I hadn't thought of in probably 5 years --- the point WAS, dearest internet --- I worked with Moosh since about 2-3 months after I started at USDF, which was a good 8 years ago, and shared tons of time, stories, and life with her over the next 2 years or so.

You should hear some of the stories we have from when all of the LC was together over those years. Ye gods.

I got this email from Moosh earlier today and yes - I did get permission to share it with the world (all 3 of you).

Q-
Love the lefse! I really didn't know what to expect, so I didn't look it up online or anything, I wanted to be surprised. I followed your serving suggestion, and I was so hungry when it came that I ate almost a whole pack myself.

So here is the conversation with the boys and me, after Scott brought in the package:

Aaron: who is it from, mommy? Me: it's a treat from Sarah! Matthew: Sarah Palin?
Me: no, Sarah Quick, you know her. Matthew: oh, your new friend? Me: she's not really my new friend, I have known her for quite a while. Matthew: is she a judge? Me: no, she was just coming to the show to see us. Aaron, upon seeing the lefse: I thought it was going to be candy corn! WAAAAAAAAA. Matthew, upon seeing it: it's ok Aaron, I like quesadillas.

Yes, they think they are so funny :-).

Anyway, thanks so much. A very cool treat!

Love,
Moosh



Aaron and Matthew are Mooshey's twin boys, who just turned 5. They have a younger brother, Luke, who is 2. She and her husband Scott have their hands full, but they are absolutely delightful kids, all of them. I *heart* them. Even if they did think I might be Sarah Palin.

Love to you all!

~Q~

Reasons to be Grateful - Now

I used to sit and write in one of my journals for hours on end. Sometimes I was all hopped up on Sudafed (legal speed) and so my fingers could rush across the page even faster than usual and I was able to keep that pen clutched in between my thumb and first 2 fingers long past the point of cramping - where the pen left an indentation on the pads of my fingers. Yeah, so my jaw was clenched and I'm pretty sure my heart was racing - what's your point? This wasn't always the case by any stretch of the imagination. I wrote while sober quite frequently as well, just so you know...

The point here is that one of the things I used to write about were things that I wanted to be grateful for -- things that I had not achieved, primarily. I picked up this trick from watching "The Secret" more times than I can keep track of (not that I even attempted to keep track of this count). The entries always started with "I am so happy and grateful now that..." and I would list at least one full page full of my wishes for my life, as though I was already at that point. I'm not at home right now, so I don't have immediate access to those journals, but I imagine that to look back at those lists would be quite the eye opening experience.

Tonight, however, I don't want to live encased in dreams for the future. Yes, I am a dreamer and I will likely always remain a dreamer. I'm with you in spirit on this one, John, my second favorite Beatle. But lately - I'm living the most beautiful dream, one I couldn't even imagine this past summer. So here -- these are the things that I am so happy and grateful for in my life tonight:

* serendipity
* my amazing family, who have really shown their true colors to me since I left Jason -- they'd do ANYTHING to help me because they LOVE me, and I no longer harbor any feelings of doubt about my worth in our family system
* my incredible friends --- when I turned 30 this past July, I refused a birthday party because I was certain that nobody would make it, and that even if some people DID come to it, it would be awkward as ass because I'd be trying to make everyone happy and it would have been quite impossible -- as I was personally miserable. Now? It's amazing. Not only did I learn that my friends who have loved me this entire time still do, but I'm less concerned with possibly being rejected and more interested in exploring the world around me, including getting to know all sorts of wonderful, creative, beautiful souls --- so I'm making friends with individuals that I feel honored to know at all.
* my babies -- Tyra, Trinity & Maya -- and now my newest addition to my little Q family (which is getting more expansive all the time) -- Lyric, the most beautiful horse I've ever laid eyes on, who was flat out GIVEN to me on the night I met him because the connection between us was so intense
* the community that I live in -- I moved all over this damn country in search of myself and happiness, trying to find that feeling that I actually belong somewhere - somewhere that inspires me. Turns out? It's where I grew up. I love you, Mankato. :)
* Music - oh the music.......it's running through my spine once again and shooting out of my fingertips and the soles of my feet. It churns in my gut and spills out of my mouth, my ears, and my eyes. I've been introduced to an entirely new world of local musicians who continue to blow my mind away each time I hear them and I'm finally to the point that I feel comfortable enough in being Me that I'm willing to put my soft belly out there and open up as well. A few of my new friends and I are starting a band, by the way. It's a girl band. We just tonight came up with the name (kudos - brilliant Esther) -- we're going to be called "That's What She Said". Once the holidays are over in a few weeks, we're going to get this going. How exciting!
* Root beer and Wild Rice Pot Pie at the Coffee Hag, because holy crap -- if you haven't tried these sumptuous treats (especially this pot pie thingy) -- you just haven't lived a full existence.
* Esther -- you get a special 'shout out' (holla!!!!) because you just showed up and now I'm going to sign off and enjoy my fantastic evening with you!

love,

~Q~

Really? One month? Where have I been?

Wow - really? One month?

Ok, so I actually had a reason for not writing for an entire month. I still haven't finished the necessary paperwork to file for my divorce and I'm afraid he's reading my blog and I don't want him to have access to my world anymore. Needless to say -- one month more of living as myself and I'm once again feeling light-years ahead of where I was only a month ago. 4 months ago, I had an entirely different outlook, mental state and life. My entire life has literally changed.

Does that scare you or excite you? That your entire existence could be entirely rewritten in less than 4 months? Ok - so not 100% entirely, I suppose. You have the same parents and siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, & grandparents (should you be lucky enough to still have one or more living). You still have the same past, although 4 entire months have now gone by that did not directly include him. Funny how you're single and happy. Finally happy. It's not that I don't have difficult days, dear internet friends -- today was one of them and I was questioned by more than one person as to what was bothering me today. Was I sad?

I suppose I was a bit, yes. Interestingly enough - this is no longer cause for a meltdown, no longer an excuse to slam my entire body against the panic button and wait for someone to soothe me, to save me. I was perfectly content today to keep myself company for the most part, and to take my own happiness into my own hands (no, that's NOT what she said this time, actually). No matter how difficult following this thread through life turns out to be - I can really only worry about right now - and right now, I'm feeling happy and content. I'm running with it.

Still - I was sad earlier today, it's true. I talked to my best friend this morning, caught her up on my life over the past few days (since our last conversation), caught up with her life, and asked her opinion on my life at this point in time, basically. Since we live half-way around the world from one another and are not always able to communicate whenever we feel so inclined, we've learned to get to the important discussions almost immediately, so we can get to everything we want to talk about most fervently. She thinks I'm self-sabotaging again, and I tend to agree with her.

Why do I do this? Where on Earth did I ingrain this deep-seated belief that I am unworthy of unconditional love from those that I admire and respect most? I suppose it's been worse - I used to be unable to accept the love and companionship from platonic friends even -- and now it's just the concept of a soul mate that eludes me.

Meh. I'm sleepy now and I still have probably 70 more pieces of lefse to make tomorrow.

Night!

~Q~

4 years later & I still Love

I'm having a bit of a dilemma right now, and I feel the need to write, even if I don't end up even publishing this post. In fact, if my knuckles on my right hand weren't bruised from smashing them with my fire swings last night, making it painful to physically hold a pen and write, I would probably simply go to one of my many, many journals to find my best friend in the world. Well, the best friend I have constant access to, anyway (being myself and all).

What is it about vocal harmonies - any harmony really - that rips my heart half out of my chest and stretches my being out to infinity? Seriously - because it would definitely be a LOT easier to focus and write, maybe even work on the memoir that I've been neglecting lately, if I could just hit the "stop" button. Just when I think I can do that though......*sigh*.............it inevitably changes key or another song I must listen to is on next. Or maybe not even that much - maybe I just have to hit the "back" key just one more time, I swear. Uh huh. That's what you said an hour ago, Q.....

So what's the big dilemma, lady? Oh - it really doesn't go any deeper than that tonight for me, I don't think. Writing now vs. music now. Although, now that I'm thinking and typing.............. I continue to wait patiently for the fear to set in, to rob the present happiness I'm wallowing in, as it always has in the past. I used to be extremely uncomfortable whenever I would even catch a glimpse of life not sucking-ass for me. Lately though - I don't know what happened to me, and I want to figure it out, if only so I could tell other people in the hopes that it could be repeated for someone else. I am just so............content. It's weird, but in that very great way. The fear just isn't there.

I was rummaging through old writings from several years ago, and I came across this description of one night in my old apartment in South Minneapolis, in 2005. This was almost exactly four years ago for me now - November 18, 2005, to be exact. Wow - four years to the day. I didn't even plan that. Huh. I wasn't attempting to write in any sort of form at all - I was just in agony - I remember this night. My arms were on fire that night and I didn't call anyone - maybe because there was nobody I felt comfortable calling, maybe because it was super late at night, or maybe because I was being stubborn - that I don't remember anymore. I was sitting in my brown chair in the corner of my apartment with one of my notebooks, just........god that was a shitty time in my life. Anyways - please don't snicker at me, even under your breath or to yourself, because - well. Just please don't. Here's what I wrote exactly four years ago tonight:

So deliberate it can't be called an accident
So painful it couldn't be deliberate
but it was.
153 red lines marking a semi-decent night
that ended
Right
where the day began.
Alone.


I hear the hiss of the steam radiator
and the persistent tic of a kitchen clock otherwise known as a leaky faucet
into week-old dirty bowls and plates.
I see sixteen inches of paperwork to be filed,
an empty bottle of Premium beer,
and the bloody razor blades from last night's escapade.
I feel the warmth of sterile cotton sleeves,
taped on either end to hide
the violent map of repressed emotion sliced up both arms.
I smell a year's worth of animal life
that the occasional cleaning can't mask
and faint lingerings of opium incense and smoked resin.
I taste organic cheese ravioli,
my last Diet Mt. Dew,
and unbrushed teeth.
I am with pets in a human's world
inexplicably sad and existentially tired.


Hm. Maybe that doesn't make you want to cry when you read it, but that was a pretty accurate description of way too many nights for me at that point in my life. I don't ache to cry anymore when I read something like this, but I do want to somehow get to her, the girl who wrote these things that night, and assure her that it IS going to eventually be worth all the pain. Eventually, my love, you will no longer question your existence, curse your parents for bringing you into this eff'd up world, swear that having children is pure evil knowing how reality is, and you will smile - for real. Unfortunately, she still has to wade through several more years of hell and it's only going to get uglier before the nightmare ends. But it is worth it - I promise.

This is exactly why I want to write and talk with others and do everything in my sphere of influence to help. I owe it to her. I promised a long time ago that I wouldn't off myself if it would just stop hurting SO bad - just sometime, please. I didn't even demand immediacy or, shit - I didn't even specify "soon". Just - it can't be like this forever. Please take it away someday. Even when I compiled a document outlining my desired funeral plans, down to what I wanted to wear, what food I wanted to be there, and who got my beloved pets and music (Emily got the CDs - I think the pets went to my parents) and what music (including the all important lyrics) I wanted played during the service - even at that point, which was admittedly pretty low - that can't all be for no reason. I can't believe that - I need to believe that good, beauty and love can grow from where I've been and what I've survived, and what others have survived as well.

I do believe it. I'm living proof that healing is possible and that life is what you make of it. I've been asked by several people "what happened to you? what made you change so drastically? How did you get the strength to leave?" I think that trying to define this in one answer is a ridiculous undertaking, but not being one to shy away from the ridiculous - I'm going to go with this: I gave up control. I stopped believing that I could man-handle my life into fitting into how I thought I needed it to go. Giving up seems to insinuate something sad, negative or depressing, but I've found it to be just the opposite. I stopped lying to myself - I stopped pretending that reality was something that it wasn't - and I stopped pretending I knew how the rest of my life would unfold. I still don't know, and I don't really even want to know. I have a few vague ideas of what I'd like to work towards, but I prefer the future to more or less take care of itself, to keep myself surrounded in possibilities for the time being. I'm not saying that I won't make any decisions anytime soon. Hell - I decided to start selling lefse just 3 days ago, and now an entirely new avenue is opening up in front of me that I have never even considered, and I'm running with it.

Anyway - if any of you are in that shit place right now - oh honey child.....I've been somewhere in that neighborhood before, and I promise, I promise, I promise - this too shall pass and it WILL be worth all that you're going through right now. Oh - and you CAN write an entire post with great music playing at the same time. ;) I just did.

Much love,

~Q~

I *heart* Mankato

Dearest Mankato,

Why was I so adamant that I never move back to my hometown? In my heart of hearts, I've always known I'm a Minnesotan - in all the states I've lived in, I never did change my residency, my driver's license or my license plates for my car. Every year I filed taxes in another state - Missouri, Vermont, Nebraska or Kentucky - I filed as a "non-resident".

Still, after fiance #2 dumped me and foiled my plans to move to Savannah, Georgia, to live happily ever after with a man I barely knew, I was dead-set against moving home. It took a road-trip to Florida with Ro, Tyra and my old car, Big H to change my course. I actually ran into a guy I went to high school with at an Against Me! show in Gainesville (or actually - in front of the venue - it was sold out and none of us got in) and ended up talking for hours with RoRo and Jake before I figured it out. I didn't even know Jake in high school. He's a few years younger than me, but we had mutual friends and both went to the same punk shows for several years. Actually, when I first thought I recognized him on the sidewalk, I disregarded it because the only people I thought I knew in Florida were old horse people from my job. When he passed by me again, however, I had to say something. Turns out, he WAS indeed from Minnesota, he DID indeed go to my high school, and I DID know who he was. The three of us went to coffee and he invited us to crash at his and his girlfriend's place for the night. We did that, and the next morning, after waking up to coffee brewing and breakfast cooking, the three of us sat around for several more hours and just talked, talked, talked, talked. (His girlfriend had to go to work early that morning.)

I will never forget what he said to me towards the end of that morning conversation. He said, "you know Sarah? I know I really don't know you all that well, but the more we keep talking, the more it seems like you really just want to go home. So.........why don't you go home?"

Huh. Good question Jake. Up until he said that to me, it hadn't even occurred to me that this was a possibility. Yes, I have a fantastic family. Of course I would have somewhere to go in my hometown. Yeah, my dad did have fairly serious heart issues in the recent past. Of course I missed out on a lot of family gatherings - watching Adam play in his various bands, going to watch the Twins, watching great movies with Emily, and even though I emailed with Mom quite frequently, it's not quite the same as sitting in the same room as her and talking shit to each other, or watching as she goes breathless from the "wind-up laugh" that Emily is so good at provoking in her.

I couldn't acknowledge it to myself back then, but of course I was afraid to come home because of what I had waiting for me here, emotionally. Ye ol' geographic fix does NOT work, by the way. Years of drugs doesn't help either. Trying to gloss over an infected wound and JUST BE HAPPY, DAMMIT is also pointless. At this point, I wasn't even really riding anymore - I was so bitter about choosing the horses over my life in Mankato (and the ex-boyfriend) and then being completely let down by the world as I had imagined it - I didn't even WANT to ride anymore. That's very unlike me, the girl who read every single horse book in my middle school library - twice - and didn't buy a car in high school, but did work two jobs to buy a horse and take riding lessons.

I did come home though. I took the insanely obvious hint from the Universe (I went to Florida to check out a free apartment I was offered in a barn; it didn't feel right and that very night I run into Mankato, MN - in Florida, for crying out loud.) I moved back in with my parents for 8 months and attempted to pry the scar tissue off over my deepest wound so I could clean the infection out and let it heal properly. I left Mankato in 1997. I moved back in 2004. Seven years of running, basically. Eight months later, I decided that I wanted to teach English instead of working with horses (still bitter), so I enrolled in grad school at Augsburg up in Minneapolis to get my Master's in Education and my teaching license for secondary school. Almost half-way through the year, I remembered how much I really didn't LIKE high school, and....well........it ceased to be interesting to me, so I stopped going. I was working full-time for the American Heart Association at this time as well, and I was also getting acclimated to living in a new city. I was freakin' miserable.

By May 2005, I had started cutting myself to deal with the emotional pain that just would NOT leave me alone. That's an entire book's worth of stories in and of itself, so I won't get too into it at this point. Suffice it to say, I once again found the drugs and I was really, really unhappy. Really unhappy. By the Fall of that same year, I started going in and out of the psych ward at Abbott NW. Station 48 became my second home, somewhere I felt safe and comfortable, when I wasn't safe or comfortable anywhere in the world. By January of 2006, AHA let me go because I couldn't stay out of the hospital and they felt I needed to take the time to truly heal. I was put on short-term disability through the company and a whole new chapter of my life started.

Anyway - I'm not at all in the mood to talk about that chapter right now, so let's just jump to August 20, 2009, when I moved out of where I was living with my husband, and once again came home. This time around, I'm not looking at Mankato through my high school eyes. I no longer see ghosts on every corner, in every park, or driving down familiar streets. I see a town that has exactly what I'm looking for. There's a great vibe in this little city, and I'm excited to be discovering all the nooks and crannies that fit me NOW, not me at 17. No, I do not intend to live with my parents forever. I'm pretty sure we'll all be excited when I'm sturdy enough on my own two feet again to get my own space in my hometown. I absolutely adore seeing my mom and dad every day, and I do realize how very blessed I am to be in this situation right now, but dude. I'm 30. And I live with my parents.

A great friend of mine, Mooshey, sent me a link to a job she thought I would be interested in last week sometime. I WAS super interested in it, and extremely qualified for it as well. It was for a barn manager job at a therapeutic riding stable. It's not PRECISELY what I plan on doing, as this facility dealt almost exclusively with physical disabilities and I'm looking to have a facility focused primarily with equine facilitated mental health services, but still......a wonderful experience, no doubt. I was very, very excited when she sent it to me (do I not have the best friends? They think to do things like send me job postings they know I'd love....) but something in my gut stopped me from calling them immediately to find out more information. And then it stopped me from making that phone call the next day as well. Finally, on day 3, while sitting in the waiting room of the clinic while my mom had an appointment, I figured it out.

I keep a small, felt-covered journal in my purse at all times, so wherever I am, I can write when the mood strikes. There often ends up being like 4 books in there as well, a few CDs, and sometimes even my laptop. It's ridiculous, really. :) Anyway - as I'm writing in this little journal of mine, I realize that I have no desire to leave this bend of the MN river. The job I was interested in is southeast of Kansas City. Nothing against Missouri, but I've already lived there, and it just doesn't DO it for me like Minnesota does.

As far as MN goes, I tried being a "City person", but I'm just not. I hate having to be in the car for at least an hour to get to the countryside. I really, really like visiting Minneapolis (and even St. Paul is finally warming up to me) and I'm glad I lived there for awhile but...........I just don't belong up there. I tried, I really did. I tried to be "hip" and live near all the wonderful coffee shops and music and interesting people to watch. I'm just not. There are fantastic coffee shops in Mankato (where I almost ALWAYS run into at least one person I know and like, if not more) and just tonight I was at an open mic at this place called Professor's, where yet again, I ran into someone I vaguely know from mutual friends, and I was seriously just blown away by the talent I witnessed. Two hours of beautiful souls sharing their art with us - it was so fantastic. So fantastic.

So, dearest Mankato - I'll stick around indefinitely and see what the Universe brings to me, or perhaps what the Universe brings me to. There's such good juju in this town - certain neighborhoods and streets being even more appealing to me than others. I dig it. I certainly do. :)

Love,

~Q~

I'm going with....Moth......

One of my very best friends in the world took this photo just this past weekend. Her name is Heather Handyside and even though I already know she's a great photographer, I'm always pleasantly surprised when I see her latest images. I'm told this is a moth, because she had to wait forEVER for it to open up it's wings for a good photo. I briefly looked for what it's name is, but I was quickly overwhelmed and obviously in over my head, so let's just say it's a Moth. With a capital M.

We'll (hopefully) return to Moth down the page. I don't think these posts out ahead of time. I just start typing and go with it. This photo struck me when I first saw it (and when I look at it again) and I actually said "holy shit" out loud when I got to it in the online photo album. So - let's see where we go, shall we?

You know you're on the right track when things in your life are flowing so smoothly, it's hard to keep all your loved ones updated on the latest and greatest. :) That's my way of apologizing for not writing a post for over a week, by the way.

Since I was blown away by the Monsters of Folk show in Minneapolis, life just continues on getting better and better. The very next day, I met with the woman who is leading this - I don't even know what it's called - this class about self-growth, basically. We took the STRONG inventory several weeks ago, and she had each of us come in to go over the results one-to-one. The STRONG inventory, if you are unaware of this (as I was) asks you a bunch of questions to see what you're interested in and then it matches you up with possible career paths that you would probably enjoy. It's based on comparing your answers with the answers of others who are happy in each of these fields. The woman who I met with, the group facilitator, I also happened to graduate from high school with. We weren't friends over there at West. We ran in entirely different circles and if you had told me that we'd end up having SO much in common, I wouldn't have believed it. Not for a second.

Since I've actually figured out what I want to do with my career, we compared the results of this assessment with what I'm looking at (which is Equine Facilitated Mental Health) and lo and behold - it fits. :)

We spent the next hour or so just talking about everything else that is important in life. Although I'm enjoying the 10 week class she facilitates, I'm really looking forward to the end of it so she and I can actually be friends. Right now, that's an obvious conflict of interest, so we just don't go there. Anyway - this woman (who I will not name at this point) - she told me about this place in town here that I had never heard of before. It's called the Hope Interfaith Center and already - I'm madly in love with the place. I don't even know how to explain how cool this place is, or how at home I felt being there. If I wasn't fairly used to surreal experiences, it might've even freaked me out a bit, going to my first service this morning. Not even taking into account the vibe in the room that was so warm and inviting, friendly and - well - logical, to me - the service itself somehow managed to address the issues I've always had with the Christian church that I've always known (and I mean all Christian churches here - not the specific church I grew up in, which I still quite adore) - but without me giving any input, here was the type of service that addressed these unspoken issues. Apparently I'm not the only one who has taken similar issues before.

For example: Communion. It has always irked me in just the slightest way that we needed an ordained intermediary to "be forgiven" by God. Not only do I have issues with the concept of "sin", but I also have problems with the idea of not being to talk it through with God without someone with a degree coaching me along, telling me what God says. Isn't it supposed to be a personal relationship? Ok - well, anyway. I realize that I'm probably offending at least half of my friends and family, if not because they're Christians, then because they're atheists or at least agnostic. I can't honestly apologize for that and mean it, however, because this is my authentic journey. It doesn't have to be something you agree with for it be valid to me. And these are all real, honest thoughts and emotions. If you've known me for any amount of time, you already know that I have no filter on my words, so none of this should really be that shocking to you.

Anyway - communion at the Hope Interfaith Center was totally different. We ALL blessed, or consecrated, the bread. There was no talk of it becoming the body of Jesus, but there was room for that interpretation, should that be your belief. Once the prayer was said, we passed the baskets of bread along each row, each taking a piece and then passing it on to our neighbor. I liked that. A lot. It was like partaking in a family feast and feeling grateful for all that Earth gives to us. Awesome. There was no wine and it wasn't needed.

So that's just one example of the differences I noticed. Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I talked about how no language could possibly encapsulate the feeling you get inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them? That's what this was like. It was like walking into a crowd of maybe 50-60 people (I didn't count - the chapel place was full though) and immediately feeling... at home. I had to leave directly after the service was over, because my mom's choir was singing at our own church today, along with a visiting choir, so I wanted to see that. I'm glad I did - they did a fantastic job. :) Still - my gut was not wanting to leave when I did, and I had to silence my instincts and remind myself that I could go back again, and that it wasn't cool of me to be selfish. My family is very important to me and I wanted to be there to support both Mom and Dad. Dad was playing in the band. He also did a fantastic job. Great job parents, great job. :)

So what does this all have to do with Moth up there? Good question. Maybe it has to do with trying to classify what Moth really is. I saw it and instantly thought it was a butterfly. Heather informed me otherwise, and when I went online to find The Truth about Moth, I faced so many choices - all with similarities and obvious differences, but none quite fitting my Moth here. Perhaps it doesn't matter how you classify the Spirit or God or what have you in the Universe. It's still beautiful and it can still cause your heart to swell with Love in an instant. That's good stuff. I'm excited for the future and yet I'm entirely content right here, sitting on the couch with my little laptop, good music streaming, my cats hanging out with me, and that darn caffeine keeping me up too late, yet again. :) It doesn't get much better than this.

much love,

~Q~

An attempt at putting the Monsters of Folk show tonight into words

I went to see Monsters of Folk tonight at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis. Even though I've been in love with Conor Oberst's music and lyrics for probably at least 6 years now, and this is arguably the best project he's been in (in my opinion, anyway) - I still hesitated at the hefty price tag for a show. The $48 ticket, plus all those damn fees added up to a whopping $72.95 for one show. The only other type of show I've spent that kind of money on is Cirque du Soleil, and they have a helluva lot bigger overhead and people involved than Monsters of Folk, I guarantee it.

Still, I missed Conor with the Mystic Valley Band the last two times he was in town (cigarettes and Monster energy drinks obviously took precedence over my favorite artist - and I've never smoked tobacco or drank a Monster energy drink in my life - boooo). This was my big treat to myself this month, and I couldn't be happier with my choice.

Because my putzy self got going later than I had originally intended, completely forgetting how crappy Hwy 62 is at approximately 6 p.m., Adam, Marit and I did not end up having a lovely Thai dinner at a real sit-down restaurant. They wanted to go to.......I think it's called "Taste of Thailand"? It's Adam's favorite Thai restaurant, but it's in St. Paul - too far away (good goin' Q). No worries. I picked Adam up at the Midtown Commons (where he works, and stayed after for happy hour tonight), we got in touch with Marit, and we headed to Uptown. The restaurant that took the place of Sawatdee on Hennepin (Roat Osha) was super packed and it was getting late, so I voted for Chipotle. I know, I know - but I freakin' love Chipotle and there aren't any in Kato, so I was still very happy. Mmmmmmm......burrito......

We ate & went in separate directions. Adam had band practice tonight and I kept on Hennepin, paid the annoying $10 to park, and walked through the rain to the Orpheum.

I was afraid that I would be a bit late, but my timing couldn't have been more perfect. The lines to get in were already more or less through, and I had just enough time to get one overpriced beer and find my seat.

The Orpheum was the perfect venue for this show, and as soon as I sat down and took one sip of my Summit, the lights went down and they came on. I was up in the balcony, on the right-hand side when looking at the stage. Top row in the bottom section, so I didn't have far to go for my seat.

They opened with "Say Please", which I'm assuming is their radio song, since that's what they played on Conan. I suppose if I ever listened to the radio, I would know this, but alas - I generally don't. I've never really been "in the know" and that doesn't appear to be changing anytime in the near future. :)

All 5 guys (Conor Oberst, Mike Mogis, Yim Yames, M. Ward, and the drummer - Will Johnson, who isn't on the album, but is touring with them) were quite dapper in their suits and ties, but I would've honestly been just as thrilled had I been blind. Granted, I would have missed Conor's super shiny shoes and M.'s green three-piece suit (I do love a vest on a man...oh and suspenders....which I didn't actually see tonight. I still feel the need to share this love of suspenders with the world), but DAMN - the music was just incredible. I don't think there's a bad seat at the Orpheum, and the only time my view was blocked was when people in front of me came and went for more overpriced drinks, or to presumably break the seal. I, for one, was not about to leave my seat until it was over. Really people? Is a drink that important? Maybe if you didn't drink so much, you wouldn't need to go to the bathroom so much. Just a thought.

There was no intermission at this lovely Monsters of Folk show. They took small breaks one or two at a time, and played solo or in pairs when they weren't all onstage together, throughout the entire show. They also traded instruments at almost every single song. Even Will, the drummer, came out and played guitar with Yim Yames for a song. He's got one helluva voice, too. I'm 99% sure they played every single song on the Monsters of Folk album that was released in September, and they also played a bunch of songs from Bright Eyes, M. Ward, and My Morning Jacket. Conor and Mike played a Bright Eyes song from "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" called "We Are Nowhere, and It's Now". On the album he sings it with Loretta Lynn and it's gorgeous. He sang it alone tonight, with Mike playing guitar as well, and dedicated it to the owner of the 400 Bar, because Conor wrote it in the parking lot after playing there years ago. I thought that was a fun fact. :)

I didn't count, but I bet there were probably 10-15 guitars floating about up there, in addition to bass, an electric keyboard/synthesizer, a piano, drum kit with various things like timpani mallets and chimes, steel drums and bongos, triangles, shaker eggs & tambourines. Oh - and of course the steel guitar that Mike Mogis can rock like no other.

The show wasn't sold out, but it was certainly full. Depending on the song, the audience was either grinning and clapping along, nodding heads, hollerin' & whistling, or completely silent and hanging on every note. I could feel the energy moving in my hands by the second song in, and over the course of the next 3 hours, it moved to my face & legs, my heart swelled and my chest got tight and then I'd start laughing, because Yim would dance like Elvis with his legs and Conor would crawl up and hop off an amp. He did that little foot kick thing too, which also was cause for a grin. The lights were perfectly synchronized with the music, changing and adding an additional layer of emotion to each song. The center of my chest was actually sore by the end of the 5 song encore, the only time during the show when we all stood up. Thanks to the stadium seating, even my five foot self could still see.

When the show was finally over, I didn't wait around at all. I perused the merchandise, but it was all too expensive for my broke ass, so I wandered back out into the rain, smiling to myself and excited to write, write, write, write!

You know, in a world where we are constantly bombarded with how ugly and full of hatred humanity can be (especially on the news), nights like these make me grateful to be alive and part of the world. It reminded me of how beautiful art can touch the soul and connect a theater full of strangers, singing along to the same songs, part of something sincerely magical, if only for a few hours.

much love,

~Q~

NOT OK

I knew I should've written earlier in the day. A mere 45 minutes ago, I was content and happy. Not even an hour later, and I'm already to the point of needing to stop every 5 seconds, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and tell myself "it's ok, it's ok, it's ok". At least I'm not crouched in a fetal position, rocking back and forth I guess. There is that.

Because it's not ok. It's SO NOT OK.

The man I have an Order for Protection filed against, my legal husband, the man I actually thought I missed a few nights ago, the man who is so damn mentally ill, he doesn't KNOW he's sick anymore, the man who I found out actually TERRIFIES me without the protection of those thick, Kasota-stone walls I have built around my vulnerable soul - I just found out that as of tomorrow morning, he's free to wander about on the streets, continue to get high whenever he feels like it, and perhaps hurt somebody. Whether that's himself, someone else he knows, some stranger, or ME - I cannot believe this is happening.

All "authorities" say their "hands are tied" and although nobody is denying that he's unstable and needs serious help or else serious consequences will occur, there's nothing they can do to help. So once again, for the umpteenth time, he's tossed back out into the world, with nowhere to live, nowhere to go, no money, no meds, and only a directive to make a few calls and get in touch with "the system" upon being dropped off in the Twin Cities. How anyone could even pretend to believe that he will follow through on ANYthing he's promised to do, when it comes to his own health at least, is completely asinine to me.

So he falls through the cracks, and I pray that he can't get his fingers around my neck and rip me through with him. Just when I'm really starting to love my life...

Sorry folks. I'll try to be in a better mood tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever I write again.

~Q~

The overwhelming power of music

Here are the lyrics to the song I've been listening to for the past...3 hours now? It'll be longer by the time I actually post this.

Drugs or Me
by Jimmy Eat World

Stay with me
You're the one that I need
You make the hardest things
Seem easy
Keep my heart
Somewhere drugs don't go
Where the sunshine slows
Always keep me close

If only you could see
The stranger next to me
You promise, you promise, that you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs

Don't let go
We'll dig a great big hole
Down an endless hole
We'll both go
You're so blind
You can't save me this time
Hope comes from inside
And I feel so low tonight

If only you could see
The stranger next to me
You promise, you promise, that you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs

I wish that you could see
This face in front of me
You're sorry, you swear it, you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs

(Take me)
I need your hands
(So far)
To pull me up
Take the wheel
(Take me)
Out from me
(So far)
Out from me

If only you could see
(I need your hands)
The stranger next to me
(To pull me up)
You promise, you promise, that you're done
(Take the wheel out from me)
But I can't tell you from the drugs
(Take the wheel out from me)

I wish that you could see
(I need your hands)
This face in front of me
(To pull me up)
You're sorry, you swear it, you're done
(Take the wheel out from me)
But I can't tell you from the drugs

Keep my heart
Somewhere drugs don't go
Where the sunshine slows
Always keep me close


Click here for a link to the song on YouTube


The band Styrofoam also made a remix of this song, and I've been going back and forth between the versions. Roughly 2 hours into my obsessive listening, while mindlessly gathering my daffodils on FarmVille, I started crying. Hard.

Jason was probably the first person to point out to me how delayed my reactions are, as a general rule. You were right, JJ. I was so relieved to be safe and away from the hell we were living in for so long, it took me over 2 months to miss you.

Fuck.

Yes, I swore. That will happen occasionally, although not nearly as much as in years past. Deal with it.

I've been hearing from so many people that I'm doing so great, they can't believe how great I'm doing, etc. People who aren't in the middle of something equally as painful as divorce and have nothing to compare to this shitstorm, seem happily surprised that I'm moving forward and getting my life back on track. I've regained my spark and passion for life, and they're all so excited. Those who ARE going through something similar, seem surprised, yes, but almost shocked, or maybe even a bit resentful that I can take something this huge in stride so easily.

Have no fear, people - I'm just a bit slow. I'm not sure if I've always been this way or if it's a defense mechanism I've learned after being burned as many times as there are stars in the Universe. This is what scares me about myself. How can I trick myself so thoroughly, that I'm not even aware that I have these stupid walls up and they're keeping me from feeling the pain all at once? Even though I am aware that I've built walls in the past, once again, I'm totally blindsided by the fact that they're still there. It has to be a self-defense tactic, right? If it all rushed in at once, I may just flip that switch permanently and never return to any semblance of sanity. Or I might just kill myself and be done with it.

No worries - I'm not at all suicidal right now. Not even thinking along those lines. I DO have these walls built, specially designed to only let the agony within the world in in manageable chunks.

I guess the reason that this song got to me so deeply is because "I can't tell you from the drugs". When I met Jason, he wasn't on drugs. Neither was I. By the end, I couldn't see his soul any more. I don't remember the last time the real Jason came out with me. He could probably say the same thing about me. Those lines between the drugs and my genuine self were awfully blurred. I don't remember the date I last used anything other than alcohol, which I don't actually have an issue with. I have zero problems stopping the drinks once they start, and I'm perfectly comfortable not drinking around those who are. The drugs though? I don't stand a chance against them. This theory has been thoroughly tested by me, and I finally figured it out. Better late than never I guess. I should've perhaps known right away, because the reason I loved drugs so much is because they were stronger than my mind, and my mind is exhausting. It NEVER SHUTS UP. Anyway, I've been clean for probably about 3 months now. It's a good start, and I have zero worries that I'll go back into that life. I don't want to even tempt it anymore, because I never ever come out unscathed. So - never offer me drugs. Especially not pot, because it was my all-time favorite, and it's the only thing I really miss. Should you offer me my drug of choice, we shall cease to be friends immediately, because that's just cruel. Fair warning.

Within probably the first week of dating, Jason & I dumped all our "red flags" out on the table, ready for the other to bolt. Neither of us did. And we both have some pretty big red flags. I guess I fell in love with J because he's the first human being that I ever showed all the ugly layers of myself to, and when I'd let him in on another secret that I found to be completely unacceptable, he only seemed to hold me tighter, like he only loved me more because I'm not perfect. He accepted me. I never thought that was possible.

Maybe it isn't.

Maybe it wasn't real love after all. God, that hurts.

How different would my life be right now if I had never tried drugs? If I hadn't tried to self-medicate for so many years? If someone would've figured out what was chemically wrong with my brain years earlier? If Jason & I had kept that initial promise to each other that we wouldn't go there together? I would be different, no doubt. I don't know if that would be a good or a bad thing. Really, it doesn't matter - that's part of my past and there's no point in worrying about it now.

I know I'm not the only person who feels completely and utterly unloveable, which is sad. It is actually better for me now than it ever has been in the past, though. At least now I get moments, minutes even, where I'm at peace and I know that isn't true, because I do love myself. I'm counting on this process to get easier over time and with practice because my first 30 years almost killed me - many, many, many times over. What really makes my heart ache right now is knowing that each person has to figure out their own truths, and no matter how much I suffer, no matter how well I'm able to tell others what I've learned (if I can even DO that well), they still have to figure it out firsthand, or it won't be their knowledge.

That's partly why I left Jason. My best girl, Ro, was absolutely right when she told me that probably the most loving thing I ever did for him was to let him hit rock bottom and wake up. Learn whatever life is trying to teach him, instead of keeping him comfortably miserable, hovering near the bottom but never actually slamming into it. I wasn't able to save anyone else, even the man that I loved. God dammit I tried. I tried so hard. I tried so hard, I almost lost myself completely.

Fuck. And I have no wise words or clever conclusions tonight. It just hurts right now. But, in the immortal words of John J. Nelson, my Gran'pa, "This too shall pass". I'm banking on it.

Love,

~Q~

Some ponderings on the indefinable

So I've been pondering things again. I think that perhaps this is simply part of being human - we ponder. We're looking for answers to questions that are still undefined in language, and I believe a lot of us get impatient when the answers aren't lit up for us on our own personal electronic billboard.

"Hey you -- do _______________ and you will be eternally happy."


Well - there is that giant yellow billboard on both Hwy 22 and Hwy 169 (and maybe elsewhere) that I get such a kick out of reading to whoever I'm in the car with. If you've been down either of these highways, you'll know what I mean. There, in HUGE BOLD BLOCK LETTERS is one word:

JESUS.

I'm pretty sure the period is there as well. I love to scream this one out each and every time we drive by - in my best Southern accent, no less. It generally gets everyone to laugh - once they're sure nothing bad is happening at the moment. Most people tend to think I've seen something scary on the road when I shout. Interpret as you will.

Anyway - back to my ponderings. :) I've decided that the questions we're seeking answers for are never going to be defined in any language. Language, while utterly beautiful when crafted by skilled minds, is simply unable to encompass the depth of life. How could it? There are no perfect words to describe the feeling inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them. I have yet to read anything close to the feeling of peace that comes, for me at least, from deeply inhaling the breath of the trees. For that matter, language doesn't do gut-wrenching panic or fear any justice either. I used to be so frustrated with my inability to express myself, to get that damn demon inside of me OUT, I got quite literal with it and tried to cut him out. With a razor blade. Imagine the terror when, in the dead hot center of a psychotic break, I hallucinated that the demon in my stomach (where I saw him), did not seep out of the cuts I had made for his escape. I only angered him and watched as his scary little fetus-demon body thrashed around inside of me. I was completely sober. How can language encapsulate THAT experience?

How did my mother, who lived in Mankato (I was living in south Minneapolis at this time), instinctively know to call me at that exact moment? I think I was supposed to be at work. She had no reason to guess what I was in the midst of, or what the previous 24 hours had been like for me. It wasn't language that she heard, telling her that her middle child needed help. I didn't call her or send her an email. I firmly believe that she felt my terror, and instinctively she knew that I needed her immediately.

Call it God, call it Buddha, call it Allah, or Jesus or whatever you want to. Heck, call it Frank if that makes sense to you. Whatever this great energy is that runs throughout the Universe - whatever word you choose couldn't possibly contain THAT which makes us alive.

The answers to these unspoken questions, then, will also not come to us through logical, rational, clear-cut words. It's a feeling we'll have. It's an innate knowledge that the path we're on is exactly the right path. Richard Bach, whose book "The Bridge Across Forever" I poured through last night, says "there are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go." (It's the first paragraph of chapter 11, should you care to find it..)

I don't regret anything in my past. I don't resent my scars, physical or internal, and I'm not angry at anyone who has "done me wrong". I will never become a "man-hater" or a bitter person just because I've been forced to survive trauma. We all have, to some degree or another. It's part of the human experience. Anger and hatred, moral superiority, or negative self-talk or whatever hurts the soul - these things will never bring true love, peace and contentment. If I had the chance to go back and make different choices, I wouldn't. I am exactly where I need to be right at this moment, or I would not be here, learning life's lessons and nurturing my soul. And I'm quite happy to be here at this point in time.

much love,

~Q~

You're right Michael Stipe - Everybody DOES hurt, sometimes...

I moved out of mine and my husband's house on Thursday, August 20, 2009. Two days later, various members of my family and I returned to the house for my things and my two cats, Trinity and Maya. I was still so angry with Jason that I was able to go through with all the packing and leaving, but it did hurt to see the pain in his eyes and to see him cry, knowing that he still believed I had the power to heal those wounds.

Since I've been back in Mom and Dad's house, I've been getting stronger and stronger. After several days, I was able to put my contacts back in, as the days of sobbing slowed considerably. After about a week, I took my wedding ring off. I started reconnecting with good friends of mine, friends I had been keeping out of my life either at Jason's request, or because I was afraid that they would find out the reality of my current situation.

The reality of my life was nothing near the romantic scene I had scripted for everyone. Some people knew of the drug abuse, both Jason's and my own, but we consistently lied to the world about the actual frequency of our use. Even when I did not use with my husband, I more often than not knew he was going to get high, and covered his tracks for him. A few people questioned the abusive nature of our relationship - the emotional, mental and physical abuse that had been escalating over our three years together - but we both did our best to paint a smile on our love. I feared the end of our relationship probably as much as he feared 2012, the end of an era. Having survived all too many failed romances, including two engagements that never made it to the altar, I was terrified that the end of this marriage would most certainly launch me into "spinster" mode for the rest of my living days. I believed him when he told me that "nobody would ever love me" and that I "didn't have the strength to leave him".

I don't believe either of those things anymore.

When I was in high school, I fell madly in love with a boy who, for the first time in my life, fell madly in love with me in return. I was 14 and he was 16. We dated for about 5 1/2 years or so, the last year and a half being an excruciating experience for both of us. Well, I'm pretty sure it was for him - you'd have to ask him. It certainly was for me. It was when I moved away from Mankato to go to college in Missouri that our relationship started falling apart. He once quoted the band Fifteen at me, saying "you seem to need a man, to retain an identity". Of course it pissed me off, but over 10 years later, that still sticks with me. Was he right? Am I the only woman in the world that has this problem? I doubt that I'm alone here. Why do we, as women, feel incomplete when we're single? Why this lifelong quest for finding THE ONE? For that matter, is this strictly a female issue?

Without diluting the strong emotions I've felt for the loves in my past, I do have to wonder: do I even know what real love is? I've heard that you cannot truly love someone else until you love yourself, and this has been a serious roadblock for me, until very recently. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it, and I even tried convincing other people that I did, actually, love myself. There was no fooling Q, however, even if I did manage to fool a few others. The scars on my arms, the x's over my heart, the lines on my stomach - these remain as visible proof that I did not, in actuality, love myself. As disturbing as the volume of old cuts on my body may be to some, they don't even come close to the emotional wounds I've dealt with. Those inner wounds are so much trickier.

As I've been back in Mankato, I've learned that I am far from unique in my pain. This is a fact that I grasped years ago intellectually, but was only able to truly "get" within the past few months. When I tell people of my broken wrist, when I show people my scars from cutting, when I open up about the hurtful words that were pelted at me, and the equally horrible things I've said and done in retaliation - people understand all too well what I'm going through. I have met more women who have been in abusive relationships than I knew existed. I have related to more cutters and other people with Borderline Personality Disorder - outside of a hospital setting - than I thought possible. I've been more in tune to those in grief, to those going through the death of their own relationship, and to the mass quantities of suffering in this world. And for perhaps the first time in my life, I feel humble in my suffering, and grateful for the love and support I do have in my life. You cannot measure pain - one person's suffering is no better or worse than their neighbor's.

So far - and it's only been a few months now - I've learned several key lessons.
1 - Everything in this world is on a continuum. Nothing is black or white.
2 - Humanity is ultimately good. Negativity seems to come from suffering, from an attempt to avoid the inevitable pain that comes with being alive. People will generally help you if you let them.
3 - There is a reason for everything in this universe. You are exactly where you need to be at all times.
4 - I do love myself. I am worthy of love and I do not need anyone else to complete me. I have always been complete - I just didn't realize it.

So, with that said, I hope you decide to come back once in awhile to see how this journey unfolds. Feedback is always appreciated as well, although it certainly isn't required. :)

much love,

~Q~