I have big thoughts. Lots of them. I've decided to make them little. Here are my little letters.

Dear Snow,

You give me hope. In winter months consumed by death and barren hearts and landscapes, you make every thing new and beautiful. Every morning when I roll over and peek out my curtains, you remind me to take a deep breath and appreciate that each new day is a blank canvas.


Dear Susan Fox Rogers,

Thank you for your book Solo: On Her Own Adventure. I stumbled upon it when I wandered on my own into a used book store in Jackson Hole, Wyoming when I was fifteen. It made me believe I could be a strong independent woman and move across the country to begin a new life on my own. And that I was not alone in this desire.


Dear Anthropologie,

I adore everything in your store. I wish you weren't so expensive.


Dear Unhealthy Moscow Relationships,

I'm doing everything I can to not hate you all for making this such a toxic place for me. I think I could have been really happy here. Eff you.


Dear Cheese,

I love you so much. You and you alone keep me from being a vegan. Well, you and my leather tap shoes and logging boots.


Dear 2010,

I sure as hell hope you are better than 2009.


Dear 2009,

I can't believe I survived you. I'm glad you're over. It's not me, it's you.


Dear Mr. Right,

I know you are out there. Honestly, I ache to fall in love with you. But please don't find me until I find myself. I know I need to figure out who I am and what I want before I'm ready to meet you. Please don't rush me.


Dear Cell Phone,

You're the most amazing piece of technology I've ever owned. I've thrown you, dropped you, put you in glasses of beer, answered you in the shower, and washed you. And for two years you've never failed me. Please don't be offended when I turn you off. Sometimes I just need a break. It's not you, it's me.


Dear Bebo Norman,

I will ALWAYS love your music. Your words have accompanied me through some really wonderful things and really awful things. After all these years and my expanded musical preferences, you still hold a special place in my heart.


Dear Culdesac Gun Club,

Your wood stove, Sunday pitch-ins, and post-shoot beer huddle around the fire are something I will always look forward to.


Dear Knee,

Thank you for all of your years providing me with strong support for dancing and running and jumping and skipping and all of the things I've needed or wanted to do. I know you're still hurting, but I would really appreciate it if you would just get better. I don't know how much more patient I can be.


Dear Miley,

I love you so much. I can't imagine having survived the last 9 months without your tail wagging at me when I walk through the door and your cuddling when all I could do was stay horizontal. My heart breaks just at the though of leaving you.




Love,
Mindy

Do you know what it feels like to have the heart to do something and not be physically capable of doing it?

More than anything, I just want to dance. I want to take a really great modern class. I want to teach tap. I want to country dance at a bar. I want to choreograph. I want. I want. I want. I want.
I need.

April 3rd at 9:30 a.m. That was the last time I danced.

Dance makes me feel beautiful, engaged, powerful, and free. I feel whole.

I haven't found a replacement and I don't think I ever will. No healthier distraction or cathartic release. Even if I do reach a more stable place and can work on being really happy and present, I don't think it will happen without dance.

What if I'm never the same?

A secret

I have a talent that few people know about.
I can't put it on a resume.
I don't often share it with friends.
I suppose I intentionally developed it, but it took someone else to tune in on it.

I am not a spectacular woman. I don't turn heads when I enter a room, I know this. I'm not a particularly eloquent speaker, nor am I wildly athletic. I'm not fabulously skilled in anything, really. I'm quite mediocre in everything I do, but I am quite okay with this. I have, however, developed the ability to make men enthralled with me.
A bold statement, maybe, but I can walk into any bar, or wedding, or social gathering and within the evening have any available, straight man trying to leave with me. I'm not saying that this is what I'm always looking for, but I have yet to be unsuccessful when I try. I know enough about all of the typical "man" subjects to carry on a very convincing conversation, yet I know when to ask questions that make me sound like a woman in need of a lesson or two. I can go on about college football, logging, cars, hunting, fishing, beer, guns, etc., much more than most females I know. I can talk about virtually anything a man wants to talk about...and I can do it in a fabulous dress and heels. I know how to bite my lower lip once or twice, smile just right, and let my hair fall over both shoulders.
I'm not a particularly confident person. I've never looked in a mirror and loved what I saw staring back, now more than ever. But I can manipulate my way around it. Again, it's not a great talent to have. So, what? I can manipulate men into believing I'm a spectcular woman. But that's just it... I can manipulate men into believing I'm a spectacular woman. For that amount of time, I can see that they think I'm special. Hell, I've turned the one evening of manipulation into a three-month relationship. TWICE. (Obviously...they were healthy "relationships"). I just love the feeling of being looked at like I'm...well...spectacular.
I want it to last forever.
But I want it to last forever for real.

A Change of Heart...

A lot changes in a year.
A lot changes in two years.
A lot changes in four years....


I believe I'm going to start writing again.
I'm still not able to train or dance or hike or most of the things I need to do.
I've mostly come to peace with this, for now, but feel writing may be a good idea until I can once again dance. At least.
And I have things to say. I think.

Happy thought for the day?
My Vandals are 6-1...officially Bowl Game eligible. We're ranked 37th in the country. I'm beyond okay with this :c)

I am not happy.

There, I said it.

I have no idea who I am or who I want to be.
Honestly, this semester was awful. Really, really awful.
And I went through it virtually alone.

My female friends are mostly dancers. This semester, there was so much drama with them that the police were involved. Yes, the POLICE. I actually think that moves the conflict out of drama and into ridiculous. I was caught in the middle of all of it, and walked away with acquaintances that had previously been good friends. Instead of picking a side I tried to stay neutral and ended up losing friends.

My closest guy friend is in the Philippines. Do you have any idea how big the fucking Pacific Ocean is?

Justin...I don't even know how to put the relationship in to words, relating to the past or the present.

I was good friends with Jake before I started dating his little brother. He was on the team for a long time before I even considered it, but I spent time around him and with him for a few years before his brother even entered my radar. Jake taught me how to throw an axe . He was the first person to take the time to encourage me to join the team, and taught me my first event. His voice still rings in my head every time I throw that axe. He taught me how to shoot my first pistol and .22 too. He's patient, kind, compassionate, and hysterical.
And he's confined to a wheelchair or bed for the rest of his life. THE REST OF HIS LIFE.
I care about Jake a great deal, but I deeply care about and have a real connection to his brother. I want to do everything I can to support him right now, but am having a lot of trouble finding the strength on a daily basis. And I'm not even there right now. I worry about what will happen when I make it to Seattle...

I'm independent and mostly self-sufficient. I always have been and I'm certain I always will be. But I crave the comfort of having someone there. I've always had to fight for attention in every aspect of my daily life, and I believe this made me as self-sufficient as I am. At some point I've been needy at home, in relationships both romantic and platonic, and in my hobbies and ambitions. More often than not, this was to no avail. So I've figured it all out on my own.
I've discovered what I was and wasn't capable of, and I thought I'd reached a level of independence allowing me to do anything on my own. Theoretically, this should be true. In actually, it's incredibly far from the truth.

I needed a lot of things this semester, but mostly I just needed someone. Someone to understand. I needed someone to be patient enough with me to know when I was ready to talk. I needed someone to pull me out of my bed when it was so bad that I didn't eat, shower, or leave for days. I needed a phone call. I just needed someone there. I was tired of being independent enough to take care of my self. But I was alone.

I have no idea who I am, and no idea who I want to be.
And now I'm whining, apparently.

So, faithful readers...all 5 or 6 of you that I know exist, I am done for awhile. Whining or purging to a blog once a month does no good.
Maybe I'll revive in the future, maybe not.

I bid you Adieu

I got a call from Lisa as I was walking into the theater for my show Saturday night.

Our friend Jake got in an accident at work. He immediately went into surgery for his spine and spinal cord, and he lived through the night. He's paralyzed at the very least.

He'll never walk again. He's a forester--his LIFE was in the woods.

I'm leaving for Portland to go see him.
I'm ANGRY.
I'm terrified.
I'm worried.
And my heart is broken.

God Bless the U.S.A.

I have more to say than the next five minutes will let me.
I've had a bad few weeks. Really bad last week. But moments happen, and last night I had a few
I've never been what I consider to be an extremely patriotic person. I'm glad I live in the country I do, I guess. And I believe that America really does have some of the most beautiful places in the world. But last night I went to the rodeo.
As I stood there, one of the few people of thousands not rocking a Stetson, I really looked at what was around me. The sun was setting behind the range as the national anthem was being sung by one of the most pure alto voices I've ever heard. There was a really young boy in front of us dressed as a rodeo clown, complete with lasso, and he put his hat across his heart. The flag was carried around the area by an astoundingly beautiful palomino, and every one of the cowboys had on a pink shirt for "Tough Enough" night, where every person who is tough enough to wear pink has a dollar donated to the Breast Cancer Foundation on their behalf.
THIS is America.
It may be hyper-conservative, unrealistic America, but right now I don't care. It was perfect.
My heart smiles at moments like those, and I usually cry.
I always cry when the March of the Armed Forces is played and men and women stand when their song is played.
I always cry when the national anthem is sung well.

I'm not always okay with Idaho. Matter of fact, recently I've really not been okay with Idaho.
But the last few nights I can't imagine any other place I'd rather be.