heart of a girl

It’s no secret that my favorite band is The Killers. Maybe it was because of who originally burned me Hot Fuss or, that each album since then has been perfectly timed to my life station or, that Brandon Flowers looks fucking amazing in feathers. Oh, and his last name is Flowers.  Their most recent album Battle Born was not at all what I expected, in truth. It’s far more ballad-y than I anticipated and deceptively complex. But as Flowers’ solo album Flamingo proved, his kind of songsmithing is the kind that you hear a few times and then it becomes a part of you, woven into the bits under your skin that you only show your best friend.

And speaking of, I’ve been markedly moody the past few days, maybe not on the outside but on the inside. I chalked it up to stressful days at work, darker nights earlier, seasonal nostalgia, feeling like the outsider and a (necessary) drop in activities (yeah, right). While all of these are true, I’ve had a major hankering for the people who need no explanation as to why I don’t use a napkin ever, why I belt whatever is on my iPod during my runs and why I operate on a standards grid that’s invisible to the rest of the world. I miss that space where I can just be myself without explanation.

I have been crafting that and carving it out daily while here in Milwaukee, but some days you don’t want to try, you just want to be. Which translates into ‘I don’t want to make dinner,” and “I don’t want to do the dishes” and “Won’t this laundry fold itself!?” There’s something implicit about zones of comfort that morph these tasks from duties into acts of service out of love. And until now, I didn’t think it would be possible to find this outside my core group of people who orbit the Big Shouldered metropolis of Chicago.

When you get right down to it, everyone wants this space of comfort. Every single person seeks it. They all seek to be vulnerable with one another to prove that they’re not just cogs in this socialized schema but instead, something that burns far brighter. In Milwaukee, it’s a horse of a different color. I have this net here and I’ve been reminding myself of it’s presence despite my desire to be dramatic something Calvin and Hobbes.

I’m lucky enough to have at least two people in this darling of dairyland that have really had my back since they walked into my life. I may not tell them obviously every single day, but I like to think I tell them how much I love them. Without them, changing my life in as many ways as I have in the last 10 months would have been unbearably difficult and I probably would have taken it out on the tater tots.

Oddly enough, some supporting castmembers have also joined this roster as of late, really surprising me with people’s willingness to tell all if asked the right way. I’m grateful for them too. I’m grateful for every single person that believes in me. And when I get cranky because I don’t feel like I’m getting what I need, I need to just fucking check myself because I have nothing to complain about. When that’s not enough, I know who I can turn to.

All it takes is starting the conversation. And if you’ve been reading along, you already know the heart of this girl as well as anybody — it’s verbose, colorful, profane, loud and grateful. What more can you ask for?

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