"There are trees in the desert since you moved out."

So, there's this guy right? *uhum-me*

And he has all these layers, the onion analogy it's tired, but I'll run with it.

Yeah so these layers, kinda like my paintings actually, each a bit transparent, and no matter how deep the layers get you can still see an impression of what lies beneath.

So, me, the onion of me? Those abstract expressionist self-portraits of my emotions? I'm not sure what is at my core.

Is it strong and self-confidant at the heart of it all, with overlaying layers of self-doubt, fear, anxiety--is that what is at the center of me? That strong person, there at the center, and I just need to gaze down through the layers deep enough to find that strength? Am I the onion, that stores well, and ultimately finds the strength, the wherewithal, to sprout new, verdant-green growth, from that deep underlaying core?

I think I am.

But that fear-- that fear is there and it makes you doubt yourself every step of the way. I don't think it is the core of me, I don't think I'm that onion that looks so good from the outside, but when you slice into it you find a rotting, putrid, gelatinous, stinking goo, but I fear that IS me. Do you understand? I know I'm NOT that onion, but I'm afraid that I am.

It's not a pretty thing to imagine.

On the other hand maybe the core of my onion is more akin to a yin and yang. Two spiraling cores, always striving to reach harmony, and me their care giver, their box, their tabernacle, goes and jostles them around a bit. Ok, admittedly a lot. That nice harmonious spiral they try so hard to keep in stasis, gets thrown all out of gyroscopic balance, and only with much effort does the core of the vigorous sprouting green onion dive back into the pool of me. *Had to use that Corazon.*

Yeah, so really, things are better. I'm continuing to cool my ass down.

It's just well, this boy, he came at a perilous time. A time when I'm busy thrusting my roots down into this deep silty-clay of a soil here in Houston, and making myself thrive. Casting off that reluctance, and well, just DOING it. It's like rediscovering myself and this city anew. And well, this WONDERFUL boy comes along, and that's the area that brings out the most doubt and fear in my life-- boys, and well my energy is all wonky now. It's been ~~a long~~ ancient history long time since I haven't had to convince myself that I liked a boy and it just happened. Simple and unsuspecting, and totally blind-sided by the like for this boy, but wow it is nice. I don't know, maybe it's a spell, a veil of mist over my eyes that will be lifted, but I so hope it's not, and I don't think it is. I think he's a genuine article.

Mind you, I'm still thrusting down those roots, and my art is certainly blooming. (I guess emotional strife is the classic artistic motivator, obviously.) I'm even working outside my normal color pallet, a long ago request from Corazon. Pinks, and periwinkles and greens, lovely greens, just for the love, and possibly the lament of friendship (Lament sweety, only cause we are so very far away from each other, near in our hearts, but oh so far away. And also, I don't think this piece is only about our friendship, I think it is about the girls moving away too, moving to leave me in this great big city, but I will not be alone dammit. I won't, I won't let it happen. And Monica, she's still here. My lovely, wonderful Monica, and together we are still tomate Y limon, and oh what a delicious combination that is. Yuhayna and Maribel, they will still be near, and we can rendezvous to transform ourselves into Pico del Gallo, but that is another entry.)

Yeah, so I'm doing better. And writing about this fear, and analogizing it, that's healthy and helpful. Helpful as in not stewing so much. And last night I slept, and didn't fear before I did. And this morning I awoke, to dreams of being a cast member on MASH and me and Pierce were giving our best verbal spars to Frank while all sitting in the mess tent. Hmm I don't remember the spars, but the scenario just came back to me.. Hmmm. . . maybe I'll remember them so I can write about them.

Love to you!