i come and go,
i ebb and crash;
sometimes persistent,
sporadically ambivalent,
mostly unexpected.
drowning is often—
but just to see you once or twice over and over,
i come and go,
i ebb and crash again;
unsure and unclear
of where i am
in a vast ocean connected
to a skyline that would
take me forever
to explore.
to find that horizon is
a cycle that will always continue,
a process i’m free to do so,
but could never stop—
for the tides won’t ever allow.
i may never stay
buy i’ll surely drift
gently to the shore
back to you,
or with you.
before getting lost again;
but always finding my way
back to you,
or with you.

i dont want to come down,
i want to stay here,
high in the clouds
and dreaming with the stars...

i dont want to come down,
where the grass is greener
and the birds sing songs
while the sun shines upon me...

that's not happiness to me.

i dont want to come down,
I'm safer up here,
I'm high, up in the sky
with the pretty little kites...

that's happiness to me.

i dont want to come down
where my mind is sober
and my body alive...

i don't want to come down...
i want to stay high,
high above the world...

i want to stay high...
i dont want to fall down...

i want to be high,
i don't want sobriety,
i don't want to be living...

but if I can't be up high,
and if I have to come down...

is it possible to find happiness six feet under ground?

Who am I?
Oh, why, I haven't a clue!

Do I have an identity,
do I have a personality,
or a soul like you do?

Am I defined by Him?
Or am I defined by Me?
Do you decide who I may be?
Oh, my, who am I?

And why can't I
identify that
which makes me me...
My talents
or my failures,
my past or my present...
Do either or neither
determine me?

But, oh, I cry,
is it too late now
to find out how
to become me again?

But oh, who am I
to say I can't begin
to make my name.
When now may be the time
when now could be my time
to make me shine,
and make my self
whole,
new,
and me…

Hopefully...

15 years later, and we came back
the same creaking door announced our arrival
wood paneling and deer antlers seemed to remember us
the same way we started to remember them
six bunk beds and wooden shelves
where I used to put my radio and listen at night
the same key chains hanging from the light strings
we sat at the same wooden table
and put together that circular puzzle that has never left my mind
we went to the river and ran in bare feet
with the same fear of snakes as we did way back then
we sat 17 around the table and ate supper
and did the dishes with boiling water
we played Dutch blitz and card games
and always took someone else with us to the outhouse
we pumped that same water out of the same red pump
and the water had black flecks like it always used to
we all lined up and jumped off the rock in the same order as always
"my name is Bethany and I'm 22"
we hopped in the truck bed and went deer spotting at night
and remembered why we were scared of bears
and I remembered how much I miss being around my sisters
I slept on the top bunk with my sister
and she didn't stick her legs under my back like she always did
we climbed up to the fire tower
and rubbed leaves on our yellow jacket stings
I wish there was a natural remedy for nostalgia
when we left, they ran to the road to say goodbye
like they always did before
and my heart felt like some of it didn't leave with me
it took 15 years, but I came back

Do you think we’re the sort of girls to sit around on a Sunday night?
EAH (loud buzzer sound) you’d be wrong!!

What’s the opposite of seasonal depression - seasonal euphoria?
I’m self-diagnosing here, but I think I’ve got it.
I have all the symptoms:

Excessive happiness: a level of joy statistically improbable.
Compulsive smiling: grinning under the most mundane circumstances.
Irrational optimism: the feeling everything will turn out all right.
Compulsive socializing: relentlessly engaging in parties and outings.
Impulsive behavior: capricious decisions that lead to.. stuff.
Difficulty focusing: trouble concentrating on ‘serious subjects.’
Increased appetites: A craving for.. everything fun.

I have to call it. The symptoms are limpid, my diagnosis is:
Summer, seasonal euphoria, and it feels pretty good.
.
.
Songs for this:
Rooftop by Kelly Jones
The Game of Love by Katrina & the Waves
DeadBeat Club by The B-52s

Our hot girl summer rolls on - like lava downhill or male models doing - anything.
We’re in Athens, Georgia, yes, it’s hotter elsewhere - but you can die in the sun - is this really a competition?

Fashionistas and trendsetters are adorning themselves in fluorescent lime green this summer. Making it the must-have statement color for the cool kid's club. The whole aesthetic was inspired by Charli XCX’s lime-green album cover for ‘Brat.’

Now, before you roll your eyes at the state of America, where silly people are bilked by influencers - isn't that what happened in the 60s with ‘flower-power?’ Wasn’t that ‘counterculture’ flagging, where everything from school buses to bikinis were flower adorned, driven by bands like the Beatles and umm.. [fill in the blank]?

So, we tripped (sounded psychedelic) to the mall of Georgia, to shop for unnecessary, lime-green things. Nail polish (which I think eats), beach bags, coverups, Crocs, friendship bracelets (cause we’re 13-year-olds), Cinnabon's - which aren’t technically green but are delicious and the Apple store - because it makes us happy.

I’ve read, or heard it said that “malls are dying.” Not this one, on a weekday mid-morning it was packed. The line for the eighteen-movie-plex looked like Spring Festival (Chinese New Years) at the Beijing airport.

Sadly, it’s time to admit that as 20-year-olds we’ve aged out of the “Clare’s” esthetic. A 12-year-old in line to get her ears pierced, looked at me, while I was looking at friendship bracelets, like I was her grandmother and I felt it - it was real.
.
.
Two songs to go with this:
This Girl's In Love (Live At HMH) by Trijntje Oosterhuis
Riviera Life by Caro Emerald

breeze sings from the east
a tickle against my skin.
the grass here hasn’t been cut for a while
cool to the touch as i braid it between my fingers.
the heat of summer hangs thick in the air but it feels a little lighter
when a stranger’s laugh pokes through.
some sit together , ripping a piece off their pizza crust to hand across the picnic blanket.
some, like me, find a tree standing tall like their own solitude
and take solace in its shade.
i wonder what they carry in their straw baskets and canvas totes.
the change leftover from a morning coffee run?
a half empty bottle of sunscreen?
old movie ticket stubs, a tattered picture of a lover?
in mine, a book with dog eared pages and a broken spine, and the sticky bittersweetness of being alone.
an eager-eyed little boy runs too fast down the hill , picks up speed -
tumbles and scrapes his knee.
his sister scoops him up, wipes salty tears and sticks her tongue out, a smile arises.
in seconds he’s running down the hill again.