Carrie On? More Like Carrie Off.

I have hardly written at all in the past two years. When I write, I have to be honest, and honestly, I don't want to have to face the things I'm feeling.  I don't want to write about being sad; I've cried too many tears already.  I don't want to write about be angry; I try to rise above that anger.  I don't want to write about being happy; Happiness feels like a betrayal of someone long gone.  But honestly? Honestly I'm feeling all of those things anyway, so what will writing about them hurt?

Backyard Fairy Tales

Once upon a time there was a little girl who wanted to live in New York City.  She spent her childhood winding pearls around her neck and sneaking her mother's clothes from the closet.  There was a tube of bright red lipstick hidden beneath her socks, and at night she dreamed of high heels clacking against shiny marble floors.  She tried to hide her country accent, polishing away any word that couldn't be found in the Oxford English Dictionary, and spent hours tugging at her naturally curling hair in an attempt to make it hang long as straight like the hair of the glossy girls in magazines.  She wanted the world she saw in books and on television:  glimmering skyscrapers, roaring traffic, foreign foods, never-ending bottles of deep red wine, and, most of all, to be always surrounded by a crowd.

A Morning Out of the Office

I spend the last few hours of darkness dreaming of a different world.  When the sun rises, I dress with care.  I twirl my curls round and round an iron, careful that each one is as tightly wound as the next.  I repair a tiny chip in my nail polish. I count the lights as I switch them off.  I dab a little extra perfume on my wrists.

There are not enough tasks in the quiet hours to make me forget what I'm doing today.  Later, there are not enough busy hours to make me forget what I've said goodbye to.

Story Time on the Teller Line

I've been working in a bank for a little over a year now.  My first position was in the "loan vault;" a dimly lit, dusty room filled to the brim with multicolored folders containing the financial history of our customers.  It was my job to organize and track these files, as well as to help launch an online filing system.  I grew to know our customers from their tax returns and title lien statements.  I spent hours alphabetizing and shredding and stacking and shipping and typing and color coding.

I'm No Good with an Alias

I am no good with an alias.  I am not one to hide.  It made writing here feel unauthentic. The false name chafed at my strict "honesty policy."  So basically, I'm back.

Me.

The me who loves nothing better than a good book, a jar of nutella and a snuggle from my Brinkle. The one who has a habit of traveling without plans, and rearranging her furniture at the drop of a  hat. The one who regards her blog (and readers) as her best friend and confidant.