At work I was no more than a puppet dangling on rubber strings. I was a parrot child, and it was embarrassing; when asked how long it would be, my boss would whisper behind my back "ten, fifteen minutes" and I had to answer "ten, fifteen minutes." even though I knew it would be thirty five at the least. If I said anything different the miniature Iranian would holler "I didn't hire you for thinking." And when I was right, after he had left, leaving me with angry an hungry customers how could I explain it was really me who lied to them, mislead them, made them late for their movie, but my boss? I was a tiny little number in a long line of numbers in a building that served dinner food and restaurant quality price, and thought they were four star. Kelly Corporate would come in and change the radio station back to Bluegrass and yell at someone for wearing white socks, as if these things would really positively effect the turn over in a restaurant where sales of $800 are deemed impressive.

So I quit. I'd rather be unemployed then feel ashamed to tell someone where I work.

I bought a red Volvo. You can expect pictures very soon, of her and her brother the Honda Salamander. It runs like a dream and I can almost ignore the ungodly amount of gass it burns. I feel safe in that car. I feel like myself. I only wish it had an air conditioner.

Inspite of all my rage, I'm still like a rat in a cage.
-A.H.

I have moved all my xanga posts over to their new home now.

Now that I've told my past stories, we can start with the present ones. Welcome to my new home.

-A.H.

The summer is here; driving home with windows down, labored breathing and hair stuck behind your ears nudges me further out of town, past the foot hills and the mountain walls and to benevolent waves of the relentless sea. Walking is like swimming here; the air hangs thick draped over my arms hiding the sirens and the crying babies and stars.

The nights bring a new kind of joy. The air smells of the honeysuckle and lilacs that stretch just outside my bedroom window, their seductive vines winding and writhing and wrapping without shame with the moon and the stars as winking witnesses. All is without shame on nights like this. We all stand before the sky and God with our arms outstretched and the wind like lovers fingers play in our hair and on our necks.

Tonight I felt small when I was with him. Like a tiny bird or a child lying next to something far more powerful then itself. His are the shoulders that shelter me at night and his are the eyes that see for miles around us, just so that my eyes can look at the flowers growing between the rocks on the highway.

Goodnight.
-A.H.

The windows of the buss rattled in my ear with each dime left in the street. Across the aisle a little girl with a silver tooth sang her abc's while a black man handed out flyers for his new store. I'm not going to go to the grand opening. Sweatshirts with dollar signs aren't my style. In the front of the bus a religious debate wars on and every new passenger is subject to pinpoint questions they probably had succesfully avoided until today; you could see the wheels of their minds loosing traction in their eyes. I'm not sure I mind these adventures. Theres something oddly relaxing about watching your city go by, the people so small from a few feet higher, and your total lack of responsibility for everything that goes on. Its all taken care of. Just watch for your stop.

We bought a new car. The Mercedes has to go. I'm not as sad about it anymore; I just keep my eyes away from the sidewalk, where the baby benz is parked just on the other side of my summer lawn, its baby blue paint still shinning in the sun. It needs a new home, a family with children, perhaps, and a big yard.

The new car is a 1980 Honda Civic Wagon, green with blue front seats and original carmel back seat bench. It smells like my baby sitters car did, back when I was seven rolling in the back of her postal truck. It smells like gass and oil and sounds like tin cans blowing down the street. I love it.

-A.H.

When the weather turns softer so do I. In my white skirts and loose hair I start to feel like a little girl again. Today I'm seven, playing in the mud pretending to be an Indian Princess, last night I was small, dodging june bugs. Perhaps this could be Marcos and his adventurous spirit reminding me of a time when mine was alive on its own, or maybe I, inspite of my love for p-coats and fireplaces ablaze and frost on the windshield in the morning, I do open up in the spring like a flower. Summer will make me shrivel, but for now I'm alive.

I don't want to talk about apartments, budgets, money, school. Don't warn me about not having kids till I'm thirty. Don't tell me to stay in school. No more PG&E, no more job fairs. Just for now, just for today. Lets leave it at the door and rest.

I think I can see now what it is You're doing. But I wont ask for it, and I wont hope for it. Rather I ask only that You continue to work Your will; whichever apartment, whether the car works or we take the bus. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Bring about in our lives whatever You want, because we know that is the only place we'll be blessed.

Amen.

Happy Anniversary, Happy Birthday Anna.

It was like staring into the sea, trying to find the coral beneath the waves and the miles of water below. I crouched and ran my hand over the subfloor in the bathroom, stifling sobs as the panic grew up and began to slowly cover me. I'd dropped my contact. I've dropped my contact a million times before, but this time it wasn't here, as if the hand of God had snatched it in midair and taken it back to eternity with him. I later found it, stuck to the cabinet and I'm afraid too shriveled to do much good, so its by the grace of God there was one tucked away in a package, saved for a rainy day. I know I should feel silly for getting so emotional, but I ask you; what would you do if you dropped the only thing that made your world visible, and you had no other means to get a new set?

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Last night at midnight was the first time Marcos and I had ever prayed together. We held our folded hands together, foreheads touching and eyes closed, and standing on my porch under the stars we asked for Divine intervention and then we asked for peace in the meantime. We asked for a swift rescue and for strength to wait.

Happy Anniversary.
-A.H.

I stayed behind when he left for work because his mother captured me. I watered her plants today, the ones that sit on the window sill behind the blinds. Even with their half green half crusty leaves she's proud of them, feels they compliment her abilities. She kept saying "I've been growing those since they were this big,". I think the surgery's going to kick start her forward.

"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past; See, I am doing a new thing."

You asked me if I had any memories of our past together, any inkling of all the things you used to be for me. There is no kind way to tell you that the past makes no difference to me now. I cannot live in wisps of memories tied to strings and hung on wires down the halls of our dilapidated home. You were right when you charged me with living only in the present and the future while I stared with blank eyes, baffled that you didn't see the beauty of such a thing.

-A.H.

I've learned to greet exhaustion like my shadow, bound to me, sewed to the hems of my skirts, I'll never be rid of it. I've learned to laugh with poverty like a roommate I learned to like, turns out she wasn't so grating after all. My day's are full with new where's to go and new lists to cross out. I'm gone from my house from five thirty am to midnight. I don't even notice anymore.

I climb into my bed like a foreigner who doesn't recognize the shadows of the city. The comforting glow of the computer only exemplifies the loneliness that lies next to me, whispering of a boy who sleeps an intersection away. The sounds of this night are as screeching brakes at a missed stop sign, I am the girl spun out on the shoulder.

Adventures in supermarkets.

Goodnight.

-A.H.

The newest addition;

-A.H.

I hear the exclamation point.

We drove on highways cutting through countryside, where wires hang from telephone poles like a noose, coiled firmly to dare you. The air gets cleaner while we drive down the palm line road and I tell him I love the name Blythe and we both agree that under the olive trees would be a great spot for a wedding reception.

We took silhouette shots against the sunlight as it set behind the pine trees. We laughed everytime we forgot to manually cock the new camera. We laughed everytime we said cock the camera. It was a wonderful post valentine celebration.

At the moment all I feel is exhaustion. It holds my arms heavy to the desk like paperweights and hangs my eye lids like canvas. Exhaustion has become my friend. It makes me sleep-except for tonight-it makes me rest. It gives me something to look forward to every day; sleep. Rest. Goodnight.

And I'd never felt power like that. In the middle of the movie, like a flash of lightening in the hot summer sky, like headlights in your country cottage window, like a wind that rips at the buttons in your coat it pinned me down and made my hairs stand on end. I can no more describe this moment to you, strangers, than I could to myself. It can only be wrapped up in sounds, exclamation points and firecrackers. This is oneness. Our souls are interlocked. This is a glimpse.
This is worth waiting for.

Goodnight. Sweet goodnight.
-A.H.

There are things I wish I could tell you all, confessions of gestures, glances and sighs, soap and candy hearts, all leading to that secret place where then there is only silence.
-A.H.

I wish I had a laptop or an ink ribbon for my type writer so I could hide neath the covers of my still covered in plastic matress, why unwrap it when its not rested? I wish I could find foods that I in all my health struggles could stomach. I wish I could sit on the couch next to my brother all day, even if all we watched were his math videos and all we did was draw skulls with sharpies. I know these words sound repetitive and mundane to you but they feel feverish to me. I wish I smoked. I wish I was moved out already, waking up next to my boy safely tucked away in his arms and sweetly rested and healthy. I wish I was moved out already, spared from this limbo of waiting and paychecks and saving. I'm going to steal her soaps and two of her mugs because this morning she nearly sent me packing, I could feel the words hesitating just behind her teeth and I clutched my coffee cup.

-A.H.

We don't have spelt tortillas in the fridge anymore. Portions for only two. I don't eat dinner here anymore. I only sleep here anymore. I don't live here anymore.

I miss my mother. I wish we could find eachother again, stay calm again long enough to find that laughing space used to dwell in. I can't even find it on a map now.

I miss my family. Those I haven't lost I'll loose soon. They were never mine, this is true. I was the thief in their kitchen, stealing moments of cheeks rosy with wine and rich stories, stealing moments of tradition, asking to see the Russian Babushka dolls again to count the babies and put them back, taking their gifts as if the trinkets and old hot pads were the very physicalization of love and I always knew this day would come. String the thief up! She must pay for her crimes. The law is only fair.

But what I don't miss is that feeling of want. That gnawing ache from the pit of my stomach that drove me to steal, made me crawl on bitter knees begging for those nights out, lapping up every minute with them before they die happy and healthy and old. I sat at those kitchen tables as a foreigner, observing with eyes that betrayed me. It was always as if the spoke a nother language, and I just sat there smiling and laughed when everyone else laughed. I was too afraid to raise my camera to remember the way the shadows fell across my grandfathers face while he sat at the head of the table. I don't miss that fear. But I do miss the face.

I don't miss the staleness or the stagnant waters that poisoned my moat. I don't miss the moat. I filled the moat with sand bags and ran across on dry ground to solid ground. I'm safe here. I'm more here. I'm home here.

This is the physicalization of love; to laugh when your naked, to cry and not worry about make-up.

-A.H.