Au Revoir, and where's the match?

As it goes, life has been spinning faster than the speed of light. 2015 was filled with an array of changes, trips, writings, heartbreaks, and--well--just the speed of life. 

I didn't send Holiday cards this year. If I had, paper ones would have looked like this digital one I posted via Instagram.

Right column:

1. Vienna and Salzburg

2. Chezolslsvakia and Lublin, Poland (there's a hidden joke in the pic)

3. Boston and Salem

4. Garrison, NY and Manhattan

5.The Pope and Fall on campus and Pamakkule 

Left column:

1. 2014's Swansong, Daffs in Spring, and Spring Pink

2. Poppies in Ankara, Ulus, Louisville, KY

3. Running Route in VA, trains, western Colorado

4. Half Marathon again, Connecticut sunset

5. Five mile trail in a half, NYC at dusk

On the painted surface it was a beautiful year. 

I was gone a lot this past year, as in I was physically home less than six months...not consecutively.  I plan to be gone more this year. 

2015: Connecticut, Germany, Austria, Poland, Turkey, Kentucky, Colorado, Massachusetts, Long Island, Rhode Island, Turkey again, Virginia, North Carolina, and I think I forgot one…

A few things that stick out more than others:

 I made a two piece and wore it. Wore it globally. Swam in Cleopatra's pool, lathered in her minerals, forgot about my tats on my back. The Russian travelers were FASCINATED. 

OH, and can someone tell my sixteen year old self--when she was diagnosed with Lupus--that you'll never get over Lupus rashes or bloat but you will start to say FUCK IT?!

Right about here, as I hiked the hell fire steep incline to Athena's temple--when 95 percent of my group eschewed the hike and gawked as the plump American did it--I had a moderate out of body experience as the two other non Russians on my tour were next to me. The girl from Poland, with less English than my Polish, was friendly; her boyfriend, from Paris, was shy and moderately sociable. He spoke no English...and anyone who has ever known me more than a hot second knows where this one is going. Someone go tell my fifteen year old self, in Maysville, Kentucky, that her you're going to use that French one day.  And that day...will be standing on ruins in Turkey, in a pair of canvas buddies you bought in The Netherlands, wearing a necklace your Italian friend gave you, and your ear cuff airily bought in Poland will gleam in the light. Your passport, safely locked away, is burgeoning with stamps. 

Don't tell that fifteen year old that while you run half marathons that hill killed you, made you question your cheapness of not renting the Turkish Segway Scooters, and that when those stupid cute canvas shoes made your toes ache from overuse you walked barefoot along a brick path for a near two miles. Let her forget her own reason and do that on her own. 

I will always be a feminist. I write, I actively voice, and the US Congress broke my heart this year. 

The divorce defeated me this year. I didn't win the breakup, didn't really care too. Though, the asshats who decided to send me messages of how happy the ex husband is now ... Yea, there's a spot in fucking hell for you. To the assholes who addressed Christmas cards to me and the ex: I could ask what the fuck is wrong with you, but instead...I delete you. 

I certainly didn't realize I'd loose 20 year friendships when they were no where to be found. Though, I did learn something new. Don't ask me to be there for you. So few have really been there for me the odds of my standing beside you, alongside you, or even behind you are pretty slim. 

My filter is thinner. My resolve is where it has always been. The rules: there are none. 

Moments of wonder reassured and reaffirmed me of my next path. The plans I have... The dreams. 

Antalya, Turkey. 

Bras, shirts, jeans. I made several pairs of jeans this year. You spend that much time tailoring fabric to up curve your ass so it doesn't look big(ger), flat, or so plump it could stand in as the Goodyear blimp you take on new levels of comfort. Of course, when you do that with Lupus and endure a handful of flares, Lupus bloat, and such you remind readers, friends, and followers that you have the normal closet, the Lupus closet, the bloated from my period closet, and the dreaded Lupus AND the period closet. That one... There's little physical pain beyond the hellfire burn, ache, and scream of your joints and body during a flare while Aunt Flo is in town. If I'm in leggings in public you know there's a 99 percent chance there's a Lupus ache going on. Leggings, a hoodie, and Uggs: white girl is on a hell bound Lupus train. Treat her kindly. 

I made a China silk lined Burda bomber...it wasn't for me.  I've been promising my bestie a jacket/coat for awhile now, one that she could tote across the globe. And transform herself on our momentary jaunts globally. Her reaction was true shock...I'm glad. I added the lining, altered the welt pockets, and paid a few extra bucks for that silk and zippers. Not many people I'd make a coat for..or a Burda pattern. I like their looks. I do not like their construction. 

Another Sol hoodie...octopi ribbon from Denver, and if you must know I've got this one with my public ivy sweats on now. I am a woman of many things. Yes, yes, I am. 

On IG I posted my best nine of this year: Tanfer and me in Warsaw, about five minutes before I said something obnoxious to a waitress who tried the up charge the tourist game...yea, I know enough Polish to get in trouble. Jeans and favorite shirts...Adam had his Broadway debut and it was one of those nights you don't forget, my two piece, my Mom and me, Tanfer in a cardi I never blogged but made her, and me modeling a sports bra that I also wore in my last half marathon. Never, ever thought I'd say I run half marathons in my own makes. 

Most of this year just left me emotionally drained. Just devoid of it all. 

I'm told the fields of flowers will return. Right now, as I ended this year by leaving my mother at a nursing home rehab facility I have a new sense of hollow that I'm lacking adequate words to describe. Yes, the writer lacking words. How touché. 

My wit never dies. This is a new motto this year. Now, if I could find running proof mascara and a tee shirt with this on it. 

On that note, this year can take a metaphorical match and burn. I think it was a Taylor Swift song that said something about burning. Burn baby burn. 

NYC is home for awhile longer. Though, I think in May and June--when I go public with some writings and trajectories--reactions should be in my favor. It's writings and the plans I've always had. So no, no weddings, babies, or such for me. 

2016: South Carolina, Virginia, North Carolina, Connecticut, New York, Romania, Bulgaria, Nicaragua, Kentucky, and Rhode Island are the ones that are confirmed. Odds are those will grow...I do work hard for the money and grants to make things happen. Oh, and I turn 40 this year...and I'm running 26.2, in May, for the free glass of Kentucky Ale at the end. 

On that note, may 2016 be adventure filled, with less insomnia, no more financial hemorrhaging as my income falls, not need a scramble, and may it all fall into place. 

And, if you're wondering: I'm listening to Frank Turner NOT Taylor Swift right now.