Graffiti You by Kelli

I am NOT the girl that will spend $200 on Sharpies. I didn’t even know that this could be done. Yet, someone did it for me. I am not at liberty to say whom, but I can say that this person has taken a vested interest in my mental well-being. For me, art is therapy. For me, “art” is, other than singing and whatnot, drawing and coloring in scraps of denim. It turns out I’ve got all this extra anger stored up toward He Who Shall Not Be Named and at other individuals in my life and I’m not an angry person. I don’t really know how to deal with anger. During a previous heartbreak, I took to painting my bedroom walls. I mentioned this to this Kind Individual and it was his idea that I should have catharsis through graffiti-ing jeans. I’ve become rather good at it. I’ve become good enough that people are willing to pay me money to graffiti a pair of jeans for them.
So I’ve done what any good capitalist would do. I created a Facebook page for myself. I’m calling it Graffiti You by Kelli.

I made up a logo and everything. Look how awesome that is.
Anyway, this kind individual also got me at least a bolt of denim fabric to do with how I choose. What I’ve decided to do in the days to come is take pieces of this fabric, graffiti them to my heart’s desire, and post the pictures and stories that go along with them on This Blog for my awesome followers to read and admire! If you so desire to own something I’ve created, let me know and I’ll point you to my Facebook page where we can communicate! This, here, is the entirety of what this Kind Individual bought me in the way of Art Supplies. I am still in shock but thoroughly enjoying my trip to Art Geek Heaven.

My Twenty-Fifth Year

I’ve decided to make a list. I do that sometimes, make lists. This list is going to be my
25th Year Bucket List. I turned 25 about three weeks ago, so I think I’m still okay on time as far as making a list goes. Although, already in my 25th year I’ve done something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, so I’m not sure if that should be included in my list. I think I will. Mostly cause I like to feel like I’ve accomplished something. So here goes nothing.

Kelli’s 25th Year Bucket List

1. Audition for a singing part in a small show.
2. Audition for singing part in Assassins by Stephen Sondheim.
3. Go to 4 major cities in a 12 hour period.
4. Go skydiving. Again. Special emphasis on not barfing after the other guy pulls the chute.
5. Start a band.
6. Drive on the interstate without completely spazzing. (Seriously. This is a Thing with me.)
7. Fire a gun other than my dad’s .22.
8. Compete in and finish the Tough Mudder.
9. Sing every day.
10. Finish my CDA.

It’s always 10, isn’t it? I guess 10 is a good number. Nine things to go. I really think I can get this done. I would have added things like, ‘make new friends’ but I’ve done that since I turned 25, and I’d like to challenge myself, just this once.

While I’m Bored…

I’m in Jacksonville, visiting my sister, who works all day so I’m stuck in her apartment with her dogs. The only thing I can do is…you guessed it. Play with Photoshop. While watching Supernatural on Netflix. I used to “play with Photoshop” professionally, where I’d design custom products for people who called needing them. I’d make wristbands, lanyards, trading pins, stuff like that. I got really good at Photoshop. Then I got fired. I won’t get into that. My Photoshop skillz stayed with me though; they’re kind of like riding a bike. So I made this over the past two days, in between painting my fingernails weird colors and wishing there was a real Dean Winchester.

I call it the People I Love Collage. You’ll see my mom, dad, sister (far right) and my bestie Alyssa, as well as Sally, Arlene, and Kayla, who remain my closest loving sisters in Christ. Plus a lot of random crap. Its fun.

This Time Around

I think the fall outs of big mistakes in our lives are like storms. Storms clear away the bracken of an area, get all the crap out, and while they seriously suck (sometimes beyond the telling of it) while they’re happening, when they’re over, everything has a certain special kind of clarity that can’t be afforded any other way. Things are cleaner, the air is clearer and the sky always seems bluer. Its similar to the way things happen in life. Bad situations, choices, relationships, etc, are always the hardest to get out of. Finally, that ripping and tearing begins and it hurts worse than anything; the storm.
But the point after its finally over and you’re on your way to dealing and you can see past how much it hurts – that’s the point where things start to make sense and you see that there might be a light, there might be hope.
You might get to start over.
That’s what I did. I started over.

::::: I have to interrupt this serious post about my life to interject to tell a story about a conversation I’m having with two of my friends on Facebook messenger. ::::::::::

I told them that sometime today I was going to go swimming, Niki interjects that her pool is green and has bullfrogs in it, so this spurned a discussion about other pests: snakes, spiders, and mice. I offered that I’d chopped off the head of a water moccasin when I was 15, with a shovel. Niki said she accidentally killed a mouse when she was five and buried it in her outdoor oven. Ryan say he killed a mouse last night. He didn’t want to, but he had to. This made me curious, as to how one kills a mouse, because how do you do that without spurting their innards all over the walls like Japanese horror blood splatter? Ryan informed me that he kicked the mouse and it landed in road, where it was run over by a car and popped like a Capri-Sun. For whatever reason, this caused me to laugh uproariously and decide to share it with you. I hope you’re equally amused and grossed out, as this was my objective.

:::::::::::Back to normally scheduled programming ::::::::::

My life is happier now, I think, than when I was with He Who Shall Not Be Named. I think I was constantly worried about whether he was happy (turns out he really wasn’t) and I didn’t realize how shut in and closed off I became, even to people who loved me.
Since It ended, I auditioned for a part in a musical, got the part in the musical, sang in the musical, wore a ton of red lipstick, made new friends (see above: Niki, Ryan) went barhopping for the very first time, and now I’m in Jacksonville staying with my sister for a week (something I wouldn’t have done if I were still with HWSNBN mostly cause I had household responsibilities, etc.)
This is just a small portion of what’s been going on with me since It ended. I must say, I’m happier, and I know that crappy storms don’t last forever.
I have a second chance, and I mean to get it right this time around. Me singing in the show, Coffeehouse Cabaret. 🙂

Friends

I met her when I was 8. I didn’t like her. She had glasses and her brown hair was a little frizzy and she seemed like a know-it-all. I’m pretty sure she didn’t like me either, but what 8 year old kid really likes another 8 year old kid? Fast-forward to middle school, the years of hell. Somehow, we started talking, and what ho! but we became friends. Best friends. We slowly cultivated a friendship that has spanned years and around-the-world distances, that values honesty and laughter and corndogs. Alyssa is her name and she just got back a few weeks ago from a trip that took her to over 11 different countries. She was gone for 11 months and during that time we didn’t speak at all. She was in Africa, Asia, Europe, and more. When she came back, she called me and it was like she’d never left. Our lives are still several universes different but we always find a way to make things fit. We both share a love of Jesus Christ, who truly bonds us together as sisters. We’ve always just been able to make each other fit, no matter what world we’ve separately been in .
Today we did something quite random. After meeting for a $2.89 lunch at Taco Bell (cause we’re both skint broke) we started wandering around a nearby Hobby Lobby, discussing the differences in Americans and those in other less affluent countries. (Apparently its all about needless excess, but we’ll talk about that at a later date)
When I leave Alyssa’s company, I feel good, whole, and happy. Just walking around a store making fun of things with her does that for me. We took pictures of the Christmas stuff (I KNOW ITS JULY) they had displayed already and of other things. ALYSSA

Yours Truly

She just makes me smile.

Graffiti

I have very few memories of preschool. I remember wanting to play in the housekeeping area and there not being enough room. I remember playing at the table toys area because there was no room in the housekeeping area. And I remember going to the art area, seeing blank sheets of paper and thinking, “Gee, I wish I could fill those up with something.” Even then, I felt the impulse to create. Until this time in my life, that creating had been through words and music, but I’ve found a different artistic medium: jeans.
It started as a way for me to remember my 3-5 year old students. During the last week of school, I’d wear a pair of on-their-way out jeans and have the kids grab a Sharpie and write their own name or draw a picture, or scribble.
This past school year I forgot to do this, and I honestly don’t know what possessed me to start scribbling on a pair of jeans with a Sharpie. It was a way of therapy, I think, to forget about or deal with very recent feelings of loss having to do with He Who Must Not Be Named, and it worked. It was great. When I’d filled them up completely with random pictures, words, whatever, I wore them out and two of my friends gave me their jeans to graffiti. They even paid me. People tell me that I should advertise a bit, that more people would pay much more for a pair of personalized jeans. I don’t know about that; I just have fun doing it. Below is a pair of jeans that I’ve had for years and stopped wearing for whatever reason. I guess the pre-cut holes made me feel too juvenile. In any case, A  few weeks ago I started Sharpie-ing them and below is the finished result. My lovely roommate Sally is indispensable when giving me ideas and inspiration. This time she suggested the front be everything bad in the world: guns, war, death, destruction, poison, weapons, and that the back be everything sunny and happy and fluffy and wonderful. This is what came out of that suggestion.

So much fun!!!!!

Remembering

Writing yesterday’s blog must have brought up more repressed memories than I’d ever intentioned. Not that anyone often intends to bring up repressed memories. They’re repressed for a reason. Last night, for the first time in years, I dreamed of Josh. I can count the number of times I’ve dreamed of him since he died on one hand. In one dream, I found him at the Wal-Mart in our hometown, and I was shocked to see him because Dream Me thought he was dead. Dream Josh held Dream Me in the McDonald’s checkout line at Wal-Mart, stroking my hair and telling me it was all right, like he used to when he was alive. That’s the only dream of him that really had any substance, as in a setting and a timeframe. Last night’s dream was different. He didn’t speak, but I remember the way his voice sounded. It was as if there was a camera panning him, especially his face, and as if he was speaking in voiceover. When I woke up I could remember so many little details I thought I’d forgotten. It’s interesting because in my dream he was clean-shaven and the day he died he had quite the caveman beard going on.
When I woke up I could see his lips, his little half-smile. I could see the way he could never find a shirt that fit just right. His lovely gray-blue eyes always smiled along with him, I remembered his steady breathing, how he’d hold me tight against his chest, never giving an indication that he wanted to let me go. I remembered his large, capable, guitar-playing hands.

I feel like there’s a lesson here, something to be gleaned. He loved me unreservedly. He respected me, was unfailingly kind. My last boyfriend, sadly, did not always treat me this way. What I think I can take from this experience is to not settle for anything less than how Josh treated me. Not comparing guys to Josh, because there will never be another Josh, but his levels of integrity, respect, and kindness should never be wavered from.

Today is a good day.

The Breakup

I’ve got this stigma against feeling pain, any kind of pain. It takes me forever to get rid of a hangnail. I sprained my ankle twice last year and I was a royal pain for everyone around me, as I’m also one of those annoying people who refuses to go to the doctor. I don’t deal well with pain, which is probably the biggest reason that I’m 25 and still haven’t gotten my first tattoo yet. Not just physical pain, either.
When I was 18, I lost my high school boyfriend in a car accident. We’d been together for years and I was pretty sure my future with him was set. He played guitar, sang, and was unfailingly kind to everyone he met. Plus he was ridiculously tall, cute, and well-muscled. He was perfect for me.
Fate had other ideas. While its been six years, I think I still carry the memories of the days that followed around with me. Quite honestly, the days after Josh’s death are a painful blur to me. All I found is that I’ve never been able to actively CHOOSE any kind of pain that felt similar to that experience, although I don’t know that anything has or will quite live up to the way that that affected me. Its unfathomable to me that I’ll ever feel that way again and I’ve spent what seems like a long time ensuring that that won’t ever happen to me again.
Three years after Josh died, I met someone else. I fell hard. I thought he did too. Three years after that, after living together for nearly a year, this man decided he didn’t love me enough to see a long-term future with me. I felt the ripping and tearing again. I pleaded with him to reconsider; this news had come completely out of the blue. And when I say it came out of the blue, I don’t mean that I’m a dolt and ignored signs that had been building for months. I mean that one day things were fine with us; I was happy, I thought he was happy and then the next day he stops touching me and talking to me. Thinking he was having issue at work, I gave him a few days to clear things up before I confronted him about why he was acting so weird. Five days later, he came out with it. He didn’t see a future. It wasn’t anything I did. He loved me, but not enough. To say that I fell apart is a gross understatement. I talked him (quite stupidly, in hindsight) into a trial separation period. I’d move out, but we’d still see each other and see where things went from there. It was the only way I kept from retreating to a dark corner and eating my hair. Looking back at this, I see how weak and dependent on him I was for my happiness, which probably played a part in why he didn’t want to be with me anymore.
In any case, actively choosing pain, even if it was to avoid greater pain later, wasn’t an option in my addled brain. I’m pretty sure he only agreed to it to get me to stop crying.
Needless to say, this arrangement didn’t last very long. He started the getting-distant deal again, which just served to anger me this time. I confronted him about it much quicker this last time and it took me asking him what was wrong for him to come out and say that we were just prolonging the inevitable and that he didn’t want to see me anymore. Some of my regulation moxie returned when I told him that I didn’t want to beg him to stay with me and that he he needed to be a man and grow some balls once in a while and tell people how he actually feels instead of having the truth pried out of him at the last possible second.
I didn’t see him again until Saturday morning, about 6 weeks later, for a final stuff-exchange. For whatever reason he felt the need to chit-chat while he gave me my Boondock Saints poster and when I finally wrangled out of questions concerning the show I’m currently singing in, I went into the house, closed the door, grabbed my lovely roommate Sally and promptly burst into tears.
I’d really love it if that was the last time I ever cried over him.

After Josh died, I spent a summer in my bedroom, listening to music and not crying. My parents walked on eggshells around me and my sister made herself scarce.
After that summer, I needed to do something, so I did what every directionless 18 year old did: enrolled in college.
What I found in college healed me more than anything: theatre. The people, the silly, crazy shows, the laughter. It was a balm to how broken I constantly felt. I got a job as a lighting tech, I made wonderful friends and I forgot about how sad I was. Eventually I wasn’t sad everyday anymore, and my life moved on.

After this more recent heartbreak, I decided to try the same method of healing. I auditioned for a little show called Coffeehouse Cabaret at a small theatre in my town. I sang ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’ from Grease for my audition piece, and I got a part!
Being around new people, doing new things, learning new songs; these things feel like new paragraphs in the next chapter of my life, the chapter that isn’t governed by someone who actually doesn’t love me, but just tolerates my presence for whatever reason.
Its nice to be around people who actually like me. Although now I’m afraid I’ll have a complex when I finally get into another relationship, the complex of, ‘You say you’re fine. You say you love me. How do I know you’re telling me the truth.’
I guess I’ll deal with that one next week in therapy.
In any case, I’ve met some AWESOME, TALENTED PEOPLE during the run of this show. They make me laugh so much the corners of my mouth hurt. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
Sadness comes and goes in waves. I know enough that this isn’t going to go away overnight. All I can do is deal with it when it comes and keep moving forward.
It won’t last forever.

My First Real Blog

I’m amazed sometimes at just how quickly life can change.A split second. Something’s over. Something begins. Someone’s born. Someone dies. You can’t predict it, you can’t control it. Just let me give you a tip: don’t blink.

I’ve gone through a similar change in recent days. It came out of nowhere and I’ve spent the last two months trying to find a foothold that’s familiar. I think this blog is going to be a way of healthily chronicling my life from this point on, a point past He Who Must Not Be Named, and what my life is and where its going.

So there it is. More later.