Byecycle Blues

My palms were white-knuckled oceans of sweat. The back of my legs were a population of gashes and scrapes. And my fanny was, and still is, sorer than a freshly raped anus. But in spite of my battle scars i'm finding it hard not to smile. You would too if you had just learned how to ride a bike...except you wouldn't because you do know how. Everyone does. But until yesterday i was still a two-wheeled virgin veering off into gutters and parked cars.

The moment I got on the bike i figured it would be the same though. I would hoist my awkward mass onto the unsuspecting seat, wobble for four seconds, curse, and then quit. But Anaoshak wouldn't let me quit. The only thing he would let me do is peddle. "Just peddle, you can't fall if you just keep peddling," haha...if only someone had forced me to just keep peddling when I was growing up. (The transition from trike to bike is a liminal journey, one that affects how a child views setbacks. Recovering from my biking wounds has taken much longer than the average human.)

There are few things still left in the world that make me giddy with child glee, and bike riding is one of them. I wanted to take a faded Polaroid with my helmet on, smiling an innocently wide-eyed grin...like a tiny hand print in clay. I've been saying goodbye alot these days...it feels comforting to say goodbye to something i'm glad is gone. Thanks anaoshak, the fanny was for you.

Happy Anniversary

Disclaimer: This was for me and to remind myself of who i am. I have this weird habit of writing for a certain person, a specific audience to entertain with my cleverness. I'm writing for me. This post is confusing, pretentious, and will be judged...Enjoy.

I am happy at times. I smile, queue laughter. Words are spoken to me and I respond with words in kind.

I am shallow. I judge things that others have no control over. I punish myself, judging things I have no control over.

I am passive. I repeat words that do not belong to me, constantly. Words bring me close to others. Shared words.

I am alone. I listen, say little. Words only escape through song. The words are about me, my life, my problems, my happiness. I am selfish. I make them about me; warp them to satisfy a need for attention. I hear "we" and it hurts. I am not we.

Humans lack the ability to truly understand one another. This is proof. But that's ok...I'm here to help sort it out.

I am not what I am, an assortment of maladroit emotions, but rather, what I have. Precious things like moodswings, magnificent shifts in perspective. Memories. Dogs, and the selfless act of caring for a living thing that is dependent on your love. My sense of humor, a series of flimsy sutures suppressing childhood hemorrhages. The strength to rise. I have sarcasm to take the edge off, like two advil's. Unconditional love from my creators, mom and dad. humility. Potential to change. And then there's you...do i even have to mention you guys. I may hate what i am, but by god, i love what i have...

This was for me and to remind myself of who i am. I have this weird habit of writing for a certain person, to entertain them with my cleverness. I'm writing for me.

This year it was better.