I am a work of art. Que linda! Hair that curls wildly in misty ocean air. Azure eyes the color of the sky in summer. Hips that cast slithering shadows in the moonlight. I am an impossible cause. Que unica! A restless spirit that longs to roam. A wish on a star falling from the moonless sky. In the magical place where hope and imagination collide.

I want to slip into my skin... stitch it up feel it pressed against my bones and stretched across my ligaments. Where I can explore and examine... what it knows what it holds within memories of me and the stories that it's told. It seems that I've forgotten the wishes and feelings that once stirred beneath my flesh and danced within my dreams. Can I find them again... if I walk around in my skin stretched across my shell of a skeleton and touch with my own feet and touch with my own hands what I cannot touch in the dark?

Now that I'm officially home and feeling the exhaustion of the last two weeks seep out of my veins and into the corners of my eyes, I'm thinking about my trip to Peru. Peru is a phenomenal place, and the people there are wonderful. It's hard to put the experience into just a few words, but I figured I would try with a top ten list. So here goes (in no particular order)... 10. The look on the receptionist's face when I told him I had been eating the menu el dia while in Peru (and not knowing what I ate for lunch one day). 9. Discovering that I can carry on a conversation in Spanish (with a few "no se como decir in espanol...un momento, por favor" requests thrown in) and being told that I speak Spanish like a Spaniard. 8. Writing on the balcony of my hotel room with a view of the Andes and the Urubama River as accompaniment. 7. Sitting on the steps of the Lima Cathedral and watching World Cup games with the Peruvians in the Plaza Mayor in Centro Lima. 6. Walking...

Dejé mi diccionario en mi carro en los estados unidos. Y ahora no recuerdo como decir "leave" en espanol. Yo se esta palabra. Te prometo. Yo se la. Pero no la recuerdo ahora cuando necisito la usar. ***translation*** I left my dictionary. in my car in the United States. And now I cannot remember how to say "leave" in Spanish. I know the word. I promise you. I know it. But I cannot remember it now when I need to use it.

Do you see the way the wrinkles crease the corners of my mouth? Did you catch the edges raise into an imperfect, crescent--flesh colored? Can you find the light that sparkles and twinkles as it dances in my eyes? I swallowed a secret. It's mine. I'd like to share it with you, but I can't. I swallowed a secret. It's mine.

I want to be free of mistrust that shackles the heart and judgments that bind the soul. I want to explore and embrace what this life has to give me and follow the path that unfolds. I want to bask in my bliss, in my wonder of life and the beauty that is who I am. I want to be true to the me in the core of my depths that no one seems to understand.

Summer vacation has officially begun, and I was thinking today about how dangerous this unrestricted time can be. It will be a busy summer this year, filled with at least one trip out of the country, a rollercoaster weekend, another artists' retreat, Spanish class, rockstar photos, lots of writing, and a new running regimen. Oh, and my University of Florida graduate class. I've recently fallen for my first love all over again. Poetry. I'm reading it, writing it, listening to it, and talking about it. In English and Spanish. Ah. With that in mind, my plan this summer is to chronicle my days through poetry. We'll see how this turns out.

"This is my dream, and I'll decide where it goes from here." This is one of my favorite lines from the movie, "Alice in Wonderland." I finally saw it this afternoon, and it resonated with me. Actually, much of what's happened to me in the last week has resonated with me like this. It's exciting...and a bit frustrating. It's no secret that I've been ensconced in the Spanish language lately. My Peru trip has necessitated this. For the last six months, I have watched many, many movies in Spanish, listened to a lot of Spanish music, and tried to communicate in the language whenever possible. I know that every other word out of my mouth has been related to Spanish. I get it. I was out on the lawn mower this afternoon listening to "Como Lo Tienes Tu" and thinking about some of the comments I've heard lately about my entertainment habits. Seriously, why does anyone care what I do in my spare time? However, in the middle of my internal rant...

Sunday night, after the sun set, I found myself in my front yard with Winnipeg. Something snapped under my feet, and I started running as fast as I could...wearing flip flops. And it felt so good to feel my legs push my body forward as my feet touched and lifted off the ground. My lungs filled with air. Good air that they have been craving. I felt like I was flying. Dogs are the perfect companion for such random moments, and she jumped right into the game. She's a faster runner than I am, and she can be a bit frightening to watch barreling forward because you think she won't stop. But she usually does. I'm still smiling at the thought of me and my dog running like maniacs in the front yard. As fast as we could. And laughing loudly. And not caring who might have seen it. Feet touch ground. Lift off. Pushes me forward. Flying. Lungs fill with air. Exhale. Pushes me forward. Satiated. Legs jump in the night. Dodges. Pushes me forward. Delight. Here there is no finish line. We ...

The Nature of Love. They were the truest words I ever spoke. I love you, now and for always not because we are one ...together, but because you're you and I am me. This was our moment. It was beautiful. It is beautiful. It will always be. (c) 2010 Waking Up * Lo siento. No entiendo. Las estrellas estan en el cielo, pero quiero ocultar mi cara de ellos . Las olas bailan en el mar, pero quiero correr antes ellos cogerme. Todo acerca de mi es vida. pero siento un poco de muerte. (c) 2010 *Here's the translation... I'm sorry. I don't understand. The stars are in the sky, but I want to hide my face from them. The waves dance in the sea, but I want to run before they catch me. All around me is life, but I feel a little death.

I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Life seems to have caught up with me, and my usual optimism has been completely veiled by morose expressions and quick displays of frustrations. I think all I seem to say to people right now is, "I'm sorry. Ignore me. I have to work through this." For four weeks, now, I've been sick with food poisoning, a cold, and some chest funk that WON'T GO AWAY. I can't run, and I so need to run. I can't sleep at night. Throw into that mix a breakup and a few unfortunate and quirky dates that have me wondering if there really are any decent men left. Let me enjoy the darkness and solitude of the bottom for a bit. I'm restless and irritable here, but I'm here nonetheless. Yesterday, while driving home along US27, I stopped on the side of the road to take some pictures. I've eyed this spot each time I've passed, and I finally stopped because I needed to do something a bit spontaneous. (And let's just say that ...

During lunch today, my friend and I were discussing the current economic and social issues facing Europe right now. It was a rather in-depth conversation for two Americans, but we're both very interested in different cultures. She even lived in Spain for a year in college and started her teaching career there. (She is also my biggest supporter for the idea of moving abroad for a few years.) I've listened to many of her stories and been completely enthralled by her adventures through Spain and Mexico. I'll be honest, I'm even a bit jealous. She lived the kind of life I wish I had lived (and deliberately gave up for what I thought would be marriage and a family). I certainly didn't choose a path in life that would have allowed for that ten years ago. This rumbled through my head as she told me today that she doesn't regret any of those adventures and that they make her more appreciative of her time now. "Naples has nothing more exciting to offer me than where...

I went to the beach yesterday with a friend. He is going home for a visit with his family and friends and, like everyone who spends time in Florida, wants to show off a golden tan. We headed out around 6:00 and enjoyed the Gulf breeze, setting sun, and European pop music. I'm not sure whether I think sunrise or sunset is more magical. They both certainly have their merits, but I am much more familiar with the nuances of the sunset. I know how the light shifts ever so subtly from bright, blinding white to gentle golden followed by soft rose and into darkness. My friend had never seen the sunset over the sea, and I was really excited about the chance to see it with him. Of course, I also had no idea what to expect because he's a guy, and I can count on one hand the number of men I know who actually consider the sunset a form of entertainment. This one is different, though. We sat on our beach towels side by side, mirror images of each other. Legs pulled to chest and wrapped with ...

If there's one striking characteristic about me, it's the fact that I can be...well...a bit obsessive about things I like. I tend to operate in two modes: all or nothing. My parents and siblings know this all too well. When Amy Grant's "Lead Me On" album came out in 1988, I forced them to listen to the song "Saved by Love" over and over despite the fact that doing so meant I had to rewind the cassette tape each time. I think it was more than a year before I listened to any of the other songs on the album. Some things never change. I still find myself getting stuck on a single song and playing it over and over. (The creators of the iPod had no idea what the repeat feature would one day mean for me!) I mentioned the Spanish group Lori Meyers in my last post, and I cannot over emphasize how much I love their music. From the moment I heard the first chord of one of their songs, I knew I had found my soul's music. All week I've listened to their song,...

I spent a few nights this week searching for flights to Europe. Pearl Jam is playing there this summer, and it seemed like a really great idea to fly over for a few days to be part of a music festival. I mean, that's right up there at the top of everyone's priority list, right? I'll actually be in Peru for the bulk of PJ's European tour, and the three dates that would work for me are in Bilboa (Spain), Venice (Italy), and Lison (Portugal). That trip isn't going to happen (even I won't pay the kind of money it will take), but in the process I discovered some new music groups: Lori Meyers and Amaral . Both are from Spain, and both are fantastic. (The Spaniard also introduced me to some great ear candy: Amy MacDonald .) Unfortunately, finding music that is popular in Europe isn't always easy here in the states. I did buy a Lori Meyers CD from an Amazon seller. iTunes doesn't carry anything. In the frustrating process, though, I did discover a gem of site:...

Nadia and I were chatting on the phone this afternoon, and I shared with her one of the great realizations I had this week. I will never be able to hear the way English sounds to a non-speaker. Never. Nunca. Jamás. Like usual, Nadia laughed at both the thought of the idea and the fact that I'm a little sad about this. She tried to give me examples from other languages and even offered to have her mom tell me what it's like. Yet, not even that will fix this problem. The point is that I will never be able to hear with my own ears the sounds of English as a foreign language. Sigh. So I wonder how I would react to it. Would I laugh? Would I cringe? Would I tune out the sounds of morphemes and phonemes? Would I fall in love with it just because it was different from what I already know? Thinking about this now makes my brain feel the same as it does when I try to imagine the size of the universe or the infinity of time. I know it's there. I want to understand it. I hate that it...

I'm supposed to be writing now. When I told a friend of mine about my three business ideas, he asked, "What about the writing?" I shared this with someone else who asked what's holding me back from writing. He proceeded to tell me that if writing is my gift, I have an obligation to share it with the world. I mentioned to another friend the fear that holds me back from writing, and his response was, "That's bullshit. Your abilities are not up for debate." Today was a rainy day, and it was perfect for sitting in my pajamas with some coffee or wine and exploring the world of my characters and what I want to say about life. It was interrupted by some rollerskating and quick outlet shopping, but I did manage to get back into the pjs. I'm supposed to be writing now. I tried. I started putting together a short story called "Spanish Tortilla", but the words argued that they should be an essay instead of a short story, and I just couldn't handle...

Ah, Peru! The countdown has started. There are 8 weeks left in the school year, and 11 days later, I will step on the ground in the southern hemisphere. My friends and family routinely remind me about how dangerous this trip is. I've heard more horror stories about Peru than I could have imagined. Apparently, everyone knows someone who has lived in Peru and has made it very clear to my friends and family that I am crazy for even considering a solo vacation there. It's like women who love to share with newly pregnant women their labor stories about how they almost died in the delivery room. Or the woman who, in 2006, adamantly insisted that the spider bite on my leg meant that I would surely lose my leg to flesh-eating bacteria. I suppose I should confess that my right is artificial because that's the only possible result of a spider bite, right? No es verdad. My major concern about traveling alone to Peru is language. I studied Spanish in college (and was even begged by my ...

Sigh. It's Friday night, and I'm freaking out just a bit. Do you remember when I mentioned the ridiculously itchy skin ? I'm afraid it might be an allergic reaction to hair dye. If you know me well, you know just how devastating this news might be. I like to color my hair. My friends often joke that no one knows for sure what my natural hair color is or if I really have gray hair or not. Yeah, I color it that often. This is bad. Before I launch into a completely neurotic frame of mind that will land me in my stylist's chair to strip the color out of my hair and buy a lifetime supply of PPD-free hair color, I will point out that I do tend to get side-tracked very easily by what ifs . What I'm feeling right now could just as easily be a sympathetic reaction to seeing my co-worker break out in hives today. It could also be chalked up to too much time on the Internet reading hair dye allergy stories and not enough time doing laundry tonight. Nonetheless, my mind is raci...

Have I ever mentioned the dream I had a few years ago in which one of my dearest friends and I sat on a couch snuggled under a hand-crocheted afghan eating ravioli out of cans and watching cartoons on t.v.? That particular dream scene has been etched into my memory for nearly three years now. I find myself thinking about it from time to time. To me, it represents the ultimate in comfort. The life-long friendship. The hand-made blanket. The comfort food. There's a peace there that warms me, even in my memory. I'm thinking about it this morning. Obviously. I spent yesterday afternoon with a friend of mine who is from Spain. At one point we ended up talking about Saved by the Bell and how we used to watch it after school and tried to mimic the hair and clothing styles from the show. Who would have thought that separated by the Atlantic Ocean, we each shared an experience that would years later create a bond? Shall we all salute Zach Morris now? I pulled out some photographs from h...