A way with words.

I’m a writer. You know this.

I write for the newspaper, I write blogs, I write fiction (that I start and never finish) and I write poems. I wrote a song once.

I tweet a lot. Amazingly, a lot of my thoughts are only 140 characters or less!

My career is my hobby is my therapy. I write professionally and also not so professionally. The “unprofessional” writing ends up here. I like to think of it as my art. Or I’m just venting.

Maybe it’s because I’m a journalist, but I carry a pen and notebook with me wherever I go. (I also carry playing cards.) I’ll write down my thoughts, feelings, OH quotes from the everyday. I’ll write down my memories too. Because if don’t write it down, maybe it didn’t happen.

A lot of that ends up here too.

Next to my bed is a notebook just for possible song lyrics. Here is a sample:

Call me yours, I’ll call you mine. Trace your fingers down my spine.

Hated the freckles on my skin. You kissed them all, helped me to begin again.

Called you late last night. Needed to hear your voice but got only the recording. It’ll tide me over until the morning.

I share this because I’ll be writing a song with a co-worker of mine soon. (Why limit my self-expression to just one medium?) I’m excited! He plays the bass in the band History for Sale, and also occasionally writes and records his own songs.

He said writing songs is all about emotion. Check. I have a way with words; he has a way with chords. Check and check.

 

I want to see the world with you.

I want to see the world with you.

I want to go to New Zealand, Egypt, Thailand, Hong Kong, Japan, Greece, Italy, France, Spain, Germany, Ireland and to Africa for a safari.

South America is on the list too: Maybe Brazil, maybe Peru, maybe Chile and maybe Venezula.

My passport (yes, I finally got it!) is still stampless. There isn’t even a stamp from Canada, that weekend vacation that never happened.

If not now, when? Let’s go. Just you and me.

 

Frankenstein.

Will you love me when I have 10 scars?

Will you love me when I have 11 scars?

Will you love me when I have 12 scars?

Will you love me when I have an artificial knee?

 

Gideon.

I met my hero yesterday, when I didn’t even know who he was yet: Gideon Kramer.

 

Dearest Tyler.

I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello.

I wrote one blog about my first boyfriend (Stephen) and eight blogs about my second boyfriend aka ex-boyfriend (Alex) after our break ups, so it seems only natural that I write a blog about Tyler James Samson. (Alex has more because I fell for him. Writing is my therapy.)

Tyler was never officially my boyfriend — we weren’t going to be stupid and rush into a relationship before we were ready — but we dated for four months. Needless to say, I was asked if he was my boyfriend a lot, so I got used to telling the curious that he was my “pre-boyfriend.”

Pre-boyfriend? Yeah, it was stupid then and it’s stupid now. What he and I both didn’t want to admit was that Tyler was not interested in a relationship with me. I asked about his feelings for me three months in, and a month later he finally admitted that he didn’t want a relationship — any relationship — at all.

It hurt for him to tell me that. It hurt a lot. Even so, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. You know what they say…

Tyler didn’t share that philosophy. He told me from the start that he didn’t want to rush into something serious for fear of hurting me and for fear of getting hurt. His philosophy was that the best relationships start as friendships.

I want to marry my best friend just as much as he wants it, absolutely. We were careful not to rush into a relationship — but we sure as heck didn’t start off as “just friends.” There was intrigue. There was intimacy. There was infatuation.

And there was our problem. (Maybe there were more, I don’t know.)

When Alex and I broke up, it was like I was too sad to cry. With Tyler, it was different. I would cry at home while washing the dishes, whenever I could hide in the bathroom at work, in the car when a love song was playing on the radio.

I was sad and crying because, once again, I was robbed of that in-love-with-him feeling. I was not in love with Tyler, but I was definitely falling for him.

Tyler was the first man I dated where I actually said to myself: I could see myself marrying him. I told only my best friend, Vonna. (Now, the Internet.)

He satisfied all of my senses. No, seriously. Examples: He smells sooooo good. (I would tell him that, just like that.) It’s not his soap, not his shampoo, not his laundry detergent, not his cologne — I checked — it’s just him. And he feels sooooo good. (I would tell him that, just like that too.) Sometimes, it was like holding his body next to mine was the best feeling in the world. Or holding his hand.

He is intelligent, creative and ambitious. He likes music, art and games. He draws on the walls just because he can. He is open-minded. He prefers quality over quantity. He plays the guitar and Ultimate Frisbee. He is practically OCD about brushing his teeth. He looks oh-so-fine in a hoodie and jeans. He’s not afraid of affection. He texts like thiiiiiissssss and thaaaaat so you know how he’s exaggerating his words.

But then there’s this, from “10 signs your date isn’t The One“…

5. Your love interest isn’t ready: “We really hit it off,” she said. “He would call me from work daily, saying that he missed me and couldn’t wait to see me again. But the closer we got, the more he started to pull back. Finally, I threw in the towel, realizing that even though we were compatible in many ways, he was not emotionally ready for a relationship.”

Wow, that fits Tyler to a T.

 

The Favorites List

Because I like making lists:

1. Dottie Bruestle
2. Ken Bruestle
3. Gary Bruestle
4. Emily Taege
5. Lesa Christiancy
6. Amanda Schnakenberg
7. Vonna Castiglione (Jones)
8. Dan Geary
9. Bob Killingstad
10. Andrea Otanez
11. Reed Rankin
12. Alex Fry
13. Jessica Escott
14. Tyler Samson

My favorites are my family, friends and mentors who I love, admire and/or to whom I am thoroughly grateful. I’m only 24, so this list is far from finished. The 14 above are listed in the order I met them.

P.S. My mom, dad and sister are not on the list because they are obvious.

 

Our story.

If we ever married, we’d get to share a wonderful how-we-met story:

We were both in Sociology 101 at Everett Community College. I was trekking it up the hill — that godforsaken hill — from the Broadway Center to the main campus, when I saw you. The back of you.

Something in me told me I needed to meet you.

Day 1: You were nearly up the hill. Me? At the bottom of it. I knew if I sped up, I’d probably catch up to you and then desperately need to catch my breath. I imagined what would happen: “Hi (gasp, gasp), my name is (gasp, gasp) Sara.” I sped up anyway.

I didn’t catch up to you. The gap between us was definitely smaller, but I wasn’t able to catch up to you. However, I did at least catch your eye. You turned to look at me at least three times while I was booking it up the hill to you.

I was both ecstatic and embarrassed by this. Maybe you knew I was after you and not my next class, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you were wondering what all that gasping was.

But when you turned to look at me, it was confirmed: You are as beautiful from the front as you are from the back. God damn beautiful.

Day 2: It happened again. I don’t know how, but it happened again. You were at the top of the hill, I was at the bottom. Curses! Sara, you need to pack up after Sociology faster! Again, I sped up but to no avail. Again, you looked back at me.

I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again.

Day 3: I packed up after Sociology as fast as I could. I paced myself as we all herded out of the classroom and through the hallway so that you and I met at the door of the BRC. Instead of going for the hill, you hesitated at the door and said Hi.

You beat me to it.

OMG, he knows! He knows I was chasing after him! Lots of smiling.

We chatted our way up the hill. I remember it was about the weather, at least in the beginning. The weather! Of all topics! But you initiated the conversation, you were at my side. I was very happy. We were soon off weather and on to bigger and better topics.

At the top of the hill, we went our separate ways. Smiling to myself, I wondered if I’d catch you before you left Sociology the next day.

Day 4: We met at the door again.

And almost every day after that. We even sat next to each other in Sociology every day after that too.

 

Synesthesia and the color red.

Tonight, I asked someone with synesthesia (he sees numbers and letters in color) what color the number 3 is (my favorite number), and he said “red.”

I then asked him what colors the letters in my name are, and he said as follows:

s – faded green, a – distinctly red, r – dark brown, a – red (again), and that “it’s a red-ish word overall.”

What’s weird is, my favorite color is red.

 

Hello Saferide: More Modern Short Stories — 25 Days

25, 25 days. That’s too much, that’s too much!

25, 25 days. That’s too much, that’s too much!

25, until I get to see you
25, until I get to know if what we just started will have conquered backpacker girls with newly braided hair and Mano Chao records
It will soon be 24. Oh!
You’re so worth waiting for

24, 24 days. Still too much, much too much.
24, 24 days. Half an hour done just writing this song
24, oh I see mouths moving
24, and I nod at what might be the right time to nod
You and I hadn’t even met 24 days ago.
I must have been so low!
And I didn’t even know!

23, 22, 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 10 (because I slept for so long those days)
9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

I get a text from you, saying you’re off to Havanna airport as we speak.
I start brushing my teeth.
Ten minutes later: “Sorry I mixd up d days : )”
YOU STUPID FUCK
YOU STUPID FUCK
You stupid fuck, you need to come back

Oh.

I’m at Arlanda airport with a famous flower in my hand waiting for you.
I see the doors opening, I see the passengers pouring out fresh like gingerbread cookies and wearing what appears to be new, funky hats, I see from a distance it’s someone I know well you’re approaching, I can see it, I take a step forward

25 days without you.

 

Only carrots in the fridge.

Haiku for the “obscure” Tyler Samson:

unorthodox date:
Coco and Rosie, then crash
I sleep here, you there

to the Open Store!
only carrots in the fridge
flirt in the aisles

what silly buttons!
we swap our caricatures
for a Taste of fun