NEWSFLASH: Toilet Paper in bulk, the leading cause of divorce.

If I haven’t written in a month or so, forgive me.  There are bigger mind-numbing issues at hand like say my pending divorce; the untangling of my life from another.  Between school, work, house selling, divorce dissonance, and the splitting of hairs, I’ve not had much sanity to sit with myself and pound feelings out onto a screen–not that sanity has ever been a writing device.  Alas, here I am attempting to tap into the irreverent confessional known as this blog.  I’ll spare you the shit show.

There’s really a lot to learn from  marrying someone and then divorcing them, and even more to learn about the person they loved and married and subsequently grew to despise during divorce.  Take for example the status progression of orange juice:


‘No pulp’ for me, please.

Oh, you like ‘lots of pulp’?

No problem, let’s get married and we’ll buy ‘some pulp.’


Open fridge, stare at ‘lots of pulp’ orange juice.

Shut fridge, go to brunch with friends for fresh squeezed.

There’s also a Costco effect that happens within any single person struck with the realization that they must walk away from someone they no longer love.  In Eat Pray Love, she had this moment of epiphany in her bathroom–crying, kneeling, begging God for answers.  In Personal Velocity, Greta is at the kitchen table and its her husband’s cheap shoes.  For me, it was standing in the wholesale warehouse of Costco looking at a mountainous shelf of toilet paper in bulk.  The concrete below my feet felt of ice because it was December, and floor insulation is rendered an unnecessary overhead cost since it doesn’t generated any sort of significant revenue per-square-foot for a place that uses such a discount strategy as Costco.  There is a distinct moment of panic–kind of like a hot flash–that occurs when a simple and underwhelming task of buying toilet paper suddenly overwhelms you and becomes not so simple, and thus defines your life.   In a snap, you’re back but not the same person that wandered down aisle six in search for the 600-count roll of industrial strength toilet paper.  No, you left that person–whoever she was–in the frozen food section sampling the mini pigs-in-a-blanket.  This person, standing in front of a ridiculous barrier of paper products just wants a single roll of toilet paper from a Bodega in Manhattan.  This person has no reason to buy in bulk, and truth be told, never thought of herself as a buyer of bulk, a drinker of ‘lots of pulp,’ a homeowner in dirty Jersey, or a pigs-in-a-blanket eater.

This person is going to leave her marriage.

Happy 28th Birthday my beautiful brother…

Today you would have been 28.  I’m awake and beginning my first class toward my MBA.  I’d call you after breakfast and wish you a good day had life worked out differently.  Instead, Jeffrey, this day and all it’s about it reserved for those (like myself) whose life you immensely touched.  I’m so very grateful to have had the eighteen years of this life with you and I feel you in the simplest of breezes, the massaging of the summer sun to my skin, the breath between every thought, the comfort of the night sky, and the love within myself.  If love could have kept you here…you would have lived are so very loved by many people whose lives you’ve changed in even subtle ways and that is what life is about.  So despite your short eighteen years, bubba, you have lived a full life.

Today is reserved for you.  Happy Birthday (you’re in everything every day for me, but today maybe others will be inspired to love hard).

Dear Jeffrey, 10 days until you’re 28….

I remember you,

Though I age my lines get deeper and defined,

While yours go unchanged and more soft-focused with time,

All the heaviness fades to lightness as I grow into being,

A fantasy life, I imagine, who you could be,

I remember you,

Surfing through people with attention and ease,

Looking for neglectful and clumsy me,

Your spirit was so free,

Mine locked down by judgmental, grudge-filled, heady thinking,

I remember you,

Exuding happiness into everything,

Most of which I inevitably drained,

A smile in the world you left behind,

Beamed life into my soul,

What you already knew,

I’m still finding out,

I remember you,

You taught me what life was about.

-Your sister (Friday, the 13th of August in 2010)

From The Archives: This Weight Is A Gift

Bruises on my hands from being held so tight I must have thought I was losing myself.  Marching around so confident but I’m just a scared little girl looking to be saved just like the others I know that parade around wearing their insecurity on their sleeve.  Waking up alone and naked to stare at my ceiling for an hour before my day begins and I reflect on my rapid ups and downs wondering who will peek through my window of duality.   My phone call log looks more like a manic punch line rather than hospitable hellos. Another morning of fearing that my tongue misbehaved and hoping my words collapse without a ripple.  Worrying starts to hurt.

Disappointment weaves my soul and leaves only a few crucial moments to prevent the darkness of my storm cloud but my masochist wind breaks open my veins releasing my solace in disease.  It’s my cycle and I peddle faster down hill because eventually the momentum will fade and I don’t even know how to coast but I envy those that can enjoy the breeze.

My chest hurts, my liver hurts, my lungs hurt, my heart must hurt and when expressing doesn’t carry much weight and treading lightly becomes too difficult I suppose we all lose our charm.  Maybe we’re all held back by something.  Life gets tiring, love gets harder, innocence gets taken or lost along the way, purpose gets misplaced, people come and go, and sometimes my words tend to get stuck between my lips, but I know what I know; no one stole my soul.

From The Archives: Resonance

**I wrote this poem about how my (now) wife awoke my soul**

Lines could not have blurred more clearly,

But I knew there was no reading between them,

It was what we knew it was,

The world predicts it cleverly,

Putting two spaces into one quite beautifully blatant,

Awaking faucets of the soul,

Freeze-frame moments that could never be ignored,

Eyes like tunnels,

Depth that transcends time,

Karma reaped,

Tingles of desire,

You unleash the fire in my spirit,

So I live life with an open heart.

My Mirrored Soul

I knew everything about my changing body as a child.  Curiously, I watched change take form within me with every deepening of my eyes, plumpness of my lips, and the spirit beaming through my eyes.  There wasn’t a freckle I didn’t know about; no stone left unturned.  The one thing the mirror couldn’t answer for me was, who is Alisa?

As I grew from a child into a teenager, facial expressions were mirrored back to me in my bathroom.  Posing, I knew how to pout my lips just enough to where it didn’t look too contrived and I knew how to put on my eyeliner to make my hazel green eyes pop.  I watched myself like a character, but I was only an actress.

Once I graduated from a teenager into a young woman, I didn’t have a big mirror and I couldn’t afford to stand around looking into the measly makeup mirror I acquired along the way.  It wasn’t until life batted me around a bit and I returned home to the mirror of my childhood that I stood trying to answer the question—who am I?  I could no longer see the poses I had once thought so highly of, and my eyes looked sad and without wonder like they did when I was a child.

I started looking into other mirrors: writing, photography, and making collages.  People marveled at my words.  They gazed with appreciation at my photograph.  Some people smiled at the collages and kept them near and dear.  I didn’t see myself in any of it because it came so easily to me that I felt guilty for even taking credit.  Something so simple and people could see who I was, but I couldn’t.

I boozed, I schmoozed, and I moved up the ladder.  There were accolades and there were loved ones that left the world.  My heart had loved foolishly and was broken intelligently. People hurt me and I hurt people, but there were those people that stuck by me through all this as I had with them.  I had made poor decisions until I didn’t make them anymore.  My mind had been back and forth between the dark side of the moon and the brightest sky in the universe.  I’d needed help at times, and I’d helped sometimes.  I’d had a lot of money and lost it all.   Life happened all around, hard knocks, and I avoided that mirror.

Tonight, I looked in my mirror and I moved right through the expressions and welcomed my imperfections.  Life had written my face and it changes day-to-day, my old soul just smiles to say ‘age happens’ and I’ll wax those brows tomorrow.

Soul Thinker

When I was younger I used to think the Great Thinkers of Greece had the best life setup. As my ego overcompensated for the latent insecurity, I fully resolved that truly ‘making it’ in life was to have light bulbs illuminating you to the world. After the resentment of the non-famous trickled into realization, I wallowed in self-pity and I was pretty sure life sucked.

Once I got over the fact that fame wouldn’t come and knock on my door, I gazed long enough into the abyss to understand Nietzsche. I might have believed all of his philosophy but unlike him, my search for something great was inescapable.   It wasn’t until my brother left my life that I let go of all the above, picked myself up, and looked through new eyes.  The colors came back to life and I realized that sometimes you’re not meant to think so much, rather let your mind sit shotgun to your soul.


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