Writing in a Row House
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Philadelphia Row is a term used, not only in Philadelphia neighborhoods, but elsewhere to refer to orderly rows of regularized housing.  
But there is nothing orderly or regular about any of the goings on in a Philadelphia Row.


READ SOME FICTION

Almost

12/31/2014

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Last blog entry of the year.  I feel this should be inspiring and phenomenal; something that really encourages me to move forward into the new year.  I also feel like I should reflect on the past year, having accomplished little of what I vowed silently to myself 365 days ago.  

But more than anything, I'm sitting here this morning/afternoon, with too little coffee, too much headache and an aroma in my nose that I just can't forget. 
I'm languid, in pain and everything stinks!

WE WRITE THIS STUFF 


BECAUSE WE HAVE TO GET IT OUT 


NOT ASSURE SOMEONE DRAWS   IT IN.
Yesterday, I read a blog from someone that has been an inspiration to me.   There were things in the posting that I wanted to cry out and let the author know, ME TOO!  And I realized that this communal vomit of words and emotions is introspective as we provide sentiments externally because we have to get it out.  We  know that others experience similar circumstances.  But we don't wait for confirmation that we feel.  We write this stuff because we have to get it out, not to assure someone draws it in.  
I don't have to sift through the words and highlight the sentences that are boldface as the words dance into the comprehension corners of my brain to point them out to the author.  I just need to be mindful of the original words as it leads me to further insight about my personal struggles. 

Yesterday I struggled with not having enough.  For days before I worried and blamed and internalized my inadequacies and then I gathered up the supplies I needed to move forward and I took some first steps.  I still sat lacking, but I felt accomplished by moving in the right direction. 

Yesterday I was afforded the opportunity to help someone.  Tired and cranky I put on my sneakers and intended to do my part.  I was met with opposition and I was angry and disappointed and disgusted by the behavior and the results of behavior that I was witnessing.  I was insulted and unwelcome and left the situation.  My personal history and struggle with mental illness allows me to understand the situation.  It also encouraged me to help.  And with mixed emotion I can say it was the reason I walked away without a resolution to the problem.  

And I sit here the next day in clarity.  I understand that I'm in the same situation as both the blogger who recognized the difference between living in chaos and the joy found currently in their life is recognizing and treating themselves differently.  I understand that I'm in the same situation as the immobile person who pushed me away living in fear of exposure for the inadequacies life has provided them.

I thought 2014 would be the year of success for me.   I turned 41 years old on 1-4-14 and thought for sure there was something very special about being so close to the answer to life, the universe and everything.  And now, so close to approaching 2015... Well, I just have no idea.  

I feel like I've struggled this year to move forward and have been beaten down harder than in previous years.  I'm still moving forward though and have some expectations for the new year. 



Honestly, there are days when I want to give up.  Today could easily be one of those days.  I don't think it is the day I give in to that feeling though.
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Fitting In?

12/18/2014

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Yesterday there was a madness in which I spun.  I'm not going to finish that sentence with the word again, because it was not like any of the madness I have ever experienced before.  Or maybe it was; but the ending result was the complete opposite of anything I had ever known.  
I had a meeting in the afternoon with two ladies and was given instructions on how to behave when I arrived at their place of employment.  It was a confidential meeting and discretion was key.  Walking up to the building, I hoped I was on time and not too early as the train arrived quickly and seemed to carry me with an ease that has become unusual for my errands and treks on Septa. 
I buzzed a doorbell and was mindful of the suggested wording to use, keeping the nature of the meeting private.  When the door responded with a growl, I knew I had passed the first test.  
Second test:  Waiting in the reception area was absurd.  Each person who arrived was asked their name and was announced to their appointment, including me.   And with each new arrival, a receptionist asked if a chair was necessary for waiting.  She walked to a closet and retrieved a chair for each new arrival.  The conversations from the reception area were tame and were limited to parking restrictions and current events as announced on a flat screen panel behind my head.  The conversations going on behind the thin piece of glass providing little privacy were crazy.  
"You can't use my phone - I'm on a conference call!"  
"I'll just be a second!  You can take a break from your conference call!" 
"Why do I have to make copies!" 
Stomping up and down the stairs behind a wall.
"She's with another client and will be with you when she is finished," I was told fifteen minutes in.  Fifteen minutes is plenty of time for crazy to spin around and I was feeling anxious that this would be another day where I get to the moment I sit with a coffee on my sofa and feel again like I didn't belong anywhere even though I float through the day seemingly with ease. 
Another ten minutes pass.  Three more visitors.  Three more chairs along the wall.  Complaints about papers and phone calls.  The doorbell buzzed and the magnetic lock growled when it opened to reveal additional visitors.  
And then the person I was there to meet came to retrieve me.  She popped in to the reception area from behind a wall concealing a stairwell.  I followed her back upstairs and realized, I was walking through a row house - in fact, I was walking through two!  There were twisty turning stairwells with hundreds of years of paint and varnish over the thick natural wood grain baseboards.  I saw on each of the landings, I was surrounded by little doors leading to little rooms.  I wanted to see the blueprints of the space in which I walked.  It didn't feel welcoming - it was a professional space - no longer someone's home.  But there was a level of comfort that pulled me through my steps as I followed this quirky woman into her office with steps leading into a private restroom and under a ceiling supporting an uneven peak roof.  This was someone's bedroom!  
I had my meeting with the quirky girl and another woman.  Much information was traded between the three of us and during an abrupt intermission, the two left me alone to look at the nuances of the architecture.  I noticed the old leaded glass around the perimeter of the window and tried to remember all the twists and turns I took to know what direction I was looking out to the brick wall of the row house that sat across the alley. 
The two women came in.  I reached down to the floor where my handbag sat waiting to be dismissed with derision and received two smiles and words of encouragement.  
Not only was the outcome positive, but words I rarely hear, "Esther, we both really like you."
As an aside; I still feel like I'm just me, but it's so rare that someone likes me - people find me interesting, they are fascinated by me, intrigued maybe, curious for sure - but like me?  Honestly, I haven't heard that a lot.  (And those who say variations of it usually receive some awkward response from me making them reconsider their words.) 
So they like me.  The one takes her leave so the other can walk me out.  Down the winding stairwells again.  I'm looking around to soak in the bits and pieces of the building again.   
"Oh, come here," she tells me to stop at another person for introduction.  This very impromptu meeting resulted in the words, "Esther Buck!  That's a perfect name!"  
Perfect?  I'll let my mom know! 
And then I left to finish my day.  I considered this interruption to my afternoon.  I considered the spin of madness as the introduction, the twisting journey, which was a struggle with a bum knee in the chill of winter, and then the quiet exchange of information behind a closed door.  Finally confirmation that there is a perfection surrounding me, even if it is something as simple as the label I've hid behind my whole life.  
Maybe sometimes the twists and turns of my personality hide behind the walls and are only a vehicle to get to something useful?  Maybe sometimes I just need someone to illustrate I've twisted and turned to arrive for someone to appreciate my value?  Maybe sometimes I just need the acknowledgement of little bits of perfection that punctuate all of my inadequacies?  
 

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    When Sevy realizes the pharmaceuticals keeping their bodies young are weened from those deemed to have exhausted their usefulness, he believes he must delve into the purpose of this synthesized society believing it is not much different than the life he lived on earth. 

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    Esther Elizabeth Buck 

    i'm halfway through my life with the stifled stories stirring.  i should have done it earlier, but i am on the
     write path finally.

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