I'm not a good blogger anymore. It pains me. I have an idea though! Are you ready? I think I've had somewhat unrealistic expectations for this blog. I've expected it to be poetic and moving and deep. But whatever. I'm throwing caution to the wind. I like writing about life lessons I've been learning, it's kind of my shtick. But ... I hand write those in my (no offense) real journal. It flows better. It feels realer. So what do I do with you, new pretty little blog of mine? Well for one, I'm a perv. I will let you know that now. I'm sitting with Lori at Shades of Brown and she's talking to her mother about her day and Lori says "He just wanted to unload on someone." Does that make you think of cum?

Anyway, it's been a good long while since I've sat at Shades, and an even longer time since I've sat at Shades with Lori. This is where we came to have late-night yummies on the first night we hung out. It was rainy, much like tonight, but warmer. I was wearing a long skirt, layered with fabric so thin it draped like tissues. That's not a very pretty description, but hey, it's what it reminds me of. Lori's bosoms were spilling out of her shirt. It was glorious. We sat and conversed and giggled like little girls until the shop closed down and we had to make the rainy walk to our cars, where we sat and conversed and giggled like little rain-drenched girls. It's become our forte ever since. Sitting in a car while the rain falls around us, listening to music that moves us, spilling our guts to someone who really listens. As our friendship unfolded we unfolded our hearts to each other more and more, savoring every chance we had to play and pose and be ourselves.

And so here we are, almost two years later, back where we started. Happier than we started. We're both in love. With boys. Our mother's are proud. We sit and drink our coffees and slurp them through Tim Tams and discuss all the emotional storms we've weathered, and how wonderful and patient our boyfriends have been. Recently I had the epiphany that I have a deep-seated jealousy towards Ariel from The Little Mermaid, and have wished I was red haired and pale since my formative years. My boyfriend Andrew's response to this: "I love you, beautiful, even when you're jealous of cartoon characters." True love? I think so. But when I meet the end of my long journey home from Arkansas, torn from the goodbyes, I come to Lori. I sleep beside her so I can wake up to someone I love's breathing. Sometimes we even spoon.

Lori and I met each other during the beginning of a crash course in life. It's been stressful and painful and scary most of the time. But one thing I've learned about life is how incredibly bittersweet everything (and I mean everything) can be. It pains me to think that this time at Shades is amongst the last I'll be spending with Lori before she leaves the nest and flies off to live in a van with three gross musicians. But deep down, she's a pretty gross musician herself, and it really is swell. It'll be good for her to be among her own kind. But I sure will miss those titties =)

Flowers and Weeds

I have a super serious post in the works for you, Mr. Blogger Sir. But I really want to pour every ounce of rambling powers I have into it so I think it'll have to be set aside for a later time. You know, as much as I enjoyed writing my last post, I don't know that it really told you enough about me and since we are new friends, I feel I should introduce myself as improperly as possible.

The name's Abigail Anne Zambrana. There's plenty to tell. I don't mean to say I'm amazingly interesting or anything, but I really know how to ramble about a subject.

I'm twenty. My life's been kind of odd. I'll be talking a lot about my childhood and adolescence over the course of this blog because just like with most people, my issues are deep rooted in those years. I've never been to school. My mother stopped homeschooling me when I was 10 because she had to switch from being a housewife to a single mom with two jobs. I threatened to run away if she tried putting me in public school. So I was left alone a lot and pretty much raised myself. There is no note of self pity in that. It's just how it happened. I refer to the yin and yang of all stages in life as Flowers and Weeds. Sometime there are more weeds than flowers, sometimes you didn't know flowers could grow there until years later. But there are always flowers and weeds both.

Sometime soon I'll tell you about my spirituality. It's probably the most complicated and important part of me. Every day is part of the journey. I find every beautiful thing in my life is braided into it. I learn something every day.

Being thankful is one of the lessons I've almost learned. I try to do it every day. The days I go without being thankful are always the longest, darkest days. I over think things pretty much at all times. It keeps me from enjoying my days, unfortunately. Being thankful helps me to focus on the love I have for the people and places I'm around.

I've been blessed with the most beautiful and unique companions. Each and every one of them was worth waiting for. They fit me like condoms, and are often about as pale. They're the ones that make me laugh until I can't breathe, dance until I can't stand, sing until I can't speak, think until I cannot stay silent. When I am around them, I find myself in bloom. I find myself surrounded, in love, and loved by muses. Had I not gone so many years alone and cold, I don't think I would ever find their presences so enchanting. Flowers and weeds, like I said.

I was born to frolick in meadows, no shoes, no panties, big long flowing skirt. Pure delight. As far as I'm concerned heaven is just a big beautiful meadow with the softest, greenest grass, with the fluffiest most cuddly bunnies and the most colorful and craziest wild flowers ever to exist, surrounded by the thickest, oldest, wisest, most peaceful trees ever to live.

Also, I was born to write. Whether or not those writings are born to be published is a completely different subject. But when I go too long without writing, I get pent up inside. It's almost like a perpetual state of PMS. My thoughts stick together in my head and swell and I can't tell emotion from emotion. When I write, when I string random letters together to make something whole, I feel indescribably relieved, almost post-coital. Most importantly, I feel well when I write. I feel I'm doing what I should be doing. I feel my bare feet on the grass. I feel a breeze against my skin. I feel magic.

So here I am. Writing to stay alive.

Nice to officially meet you.

all is full of love.

Abbi.

I'm a tree hugger, baby, so why don't you kill me?

All day long I've been thinking about starting a new blog. Maybe not all day, but a hefty portion of it. I got to thinking about all the different random and occasionally pretentious things I'll be rambling about. There is so much to tell. Oh the sweet, sweet joy of blogging. I've missed it so. I tend to get bored with my blogs as time goes on. I wind up just leaving them to starve, much like my stuffed animals and newborn children. Once the infatuation wears out, what is there to do really? Blog somewhere else is the answer. So here I am. I was just kidding about the stuffed animals, by the way.

A leaf just got wisped across the cement walkway outside! I didn't even know leaves still existed anymore. I thought they'd all shriveled and frozen and disintegrated in the outside cold, much like my newborn children. Woah! There's daylight too?! Jesus Christ, my instinct to hibernate is dwindling! The wintertime doesn't suit me well. I usually get glum and lazy, and wind up drawing pictures of trees that don't look like Calista Flockhart. All the trees around me are leafless and tired looking, and I miss when they were full and alive.

I have a strange attachment to trees. My best guess is that it started when I was born. A friend of the family gave me a peach tree as a Welcome to the Big Womb present. It was planted right off the porch in our backyard. I loved it. I grew with it, and every year around my birthday it gave me peaches to eat. I don't remember if they were delicious or juicy or pretty. But I remember being made happy by them. I remember knowing that it was a shamefully small tree, but liking that it suited me just right. I remember standing next to it barefoot with my short little mama, picking the peaches and saying "Thank you" to my tree. It was my friend. I think I might have named it.

So I like my trees living, and happy, and swaying about, thank you very much. On my 20th birthday when I got off work, I went to Woodward Park. It was a gray day, and smooth, warm rain was pouring from the sky. I changed into my normal attire - t-shirt, flowy skirt, and flip flops - in the car and grabbed my umbrella and took a stroll. I was the only person in the entire park. I walked between the trees and over hills and splashed through puddles and twirled around and sang and prayed that I would grow to find peace and understanding in my life, and that god would open my heart to whatever makes me love him/her more.

And that is what I intend to share in this blog, because there are a lot of things that have happened since then that I am ashamed to say I have not taken note of. Experiences and epiphanies galore! Of course, I will be updating any time I have a burp that reminds me of a particular song. But I think this will be a good outlet for me to share this point in my life with whoever will read this, which very well could be no one at all. But my words will be "out there" and that's good enough for me.

Until next time, my dears.
all is full of love.

-Abs