I just got done throwing a week long temper tantrum. And then I had a moment. I mean, an honest-to-God, step outside of yourself and view what you're actually doing flash bulb moment. Spectacular. After maniacally writing something via text to a new guy, along the lines of "I will crush your heart along with your hopes and dreams", I, er, reluctantly came to the verdict that I was being slightly irrational. Granted, it was the morning after that I rediscovered my actions. And...I had already updated my Facebook status the previous evening after said text about wallowing in the ashes of his charred soul or some such nonsense...but nonetheless. I did find myself choking on my words, and the straightforward comedy of the situation.
I don't know when I became so abrasive, but I'm ready to douse this spitfire attitude with a bucket of cold hard rationalization.
Like I just said, besides the fact that I realize I'm being completely unreasonable lately, I've come to several other conclusions regarding my heart. I may act powerful and boast about my abilities to make men bow to my will, but inside this tough as nails exterior, is a meek soul that's feeling a little more than just bruised. And I can't blame those injuries on other people alone. I have the feeling, Watson, that if we examined the specimen, we'd find that I would be the main culprit. I am a heart beater. So sue me.
I suppose it's not been in my best interest as of late to be handing out pieces of my heart like they're brownie samples at Costco. I fully believe in love, and it's incredible power, but only recently have I learned the danger of not only handing your heart out upon request, but more so, at your own will.
I've found that by handing out pieces to just any pretty face, I've lost my ability to discern. What has followed is a flood of reactions: some have held their piece gingerly, cradled it and coddled it like a newborn, only to find the responsibility too great and run off in the night, or hand my heart piece back in chagrin. Others have thrown it over their shoulder and never looked back. A few placed it in their wallet until they have needed to call upon it as a form of manipulation, squeezing it and grinding it until I feel my inner core on the brink of collapse.
Some, well…the crazy ones have…don't, put, that…in your. Mouth. Shit. They have completely swallowed it whole and spit it back in my face. I feel like I am left harboring the seedling of a heart that remains with carefully gloved hands.
I fear the most, that if it is not planted and allowed to take root in the right place it will become…less than a heart.
As much as I would like to have my heart incased in lead and dropped into the middle of the ocean, I understand that this is not feasible. I want to guard my heart as the most delicate treasure I own without hiding it under a bushel. In my steadfast stubbornness, I know that this is possible. It's going to take a lot of practice, tongue biting and cheap whiskey, but I believe in myself more so than I believe in anyone else and I am capable of greater heights.
I am not the object of my past regrets. I am so much more. Insert self-fulfilling mantra here.
Someday my prince will come. He may or may not have an impeccable taste in music, make a mean chicken alfredo, write songs about me and my glorious hair, and have a slew of tastefully placed tattoos. He may drive a motorcycle, he may ride a bike or arrive on a plane or bag apples for a living. He may be tall or short or just my height with blue or green or hazel eyes and a crooked smile.
Regardless, he will be the only key to my heart when it has healed and is truly ready for that sort of lovin'.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
venom
It's nearly impossible to look beyond words.
I hear you saying "Stupid. Ignorant. Uneducated". Are you labeling me or behind the phrases crouching quietly? Are thinking solely about yourself in actuality, and questioning if you're: "Scared. Frightened. Unsure"?
Wouldn't we all benefit from a little kindness?
I answer phones. I stand behind a camera. Okay? I'll admit it. I'm never really face to face with the other person I'm dealing with. It's like talking to someone from the other side of a wall, there's a certain amount of comfort that comes from it, but along with that comes a false sense of bravery. You can't actually hurt me, you can't actually touch me, what's the harm?
In essence, it seems we've all put up some sort of invisible wall to the people around us. Maybe we're hurting, maybe we're going through a divorce, maybe our child is dying, our car broke down, we are completely out of money. Maybe we're just lost. Maybe we're all of the above and also we're having a really bad hair day. Who's to say? But because of our secret self obsession with ourselves, we tend to completely disregard our fellow man.
I know I'm guilty of it.
I spit out words with the force of a bullet on bad days. I completely overlook how it may affect others. I get the same in return, and we keep firing off shots until we're at a Mexican Standoff. Not a one of us is willing to budge, and look beyond the hurtful phrases, or uncaring gestures and see the deeper side of the conversation.
It's hard to discect. It's hard to seperate. It's hard to believe that because you're having a bad day, you'd want to pull me down below your level, even, and then stomp all over my face until I'm rendered paralyzed from the neck down. Emotionally and physically.
It's hard for me to take a step back and realize that your verbal assault is likely stemming from the fact that you just lost your job, your pet, your grandmother, your will to live, etc, etc, etc. It's hard for me to have any sympathy for you because of the way you would treat a complete stranger. It's easy for you to do this because maybe you don't have to look me in the eye.
But I'll get over it. And tomorrow, when I'm having that day, where my life seems to be falling apart, and before I bite the head off of a stranger (and then laugh at their gaping, open neck wound)...maybe I'll stop. In the nick of damn time.
I hear you saying "Stupid. Ignorant. Uneducated". Are you labeling me or behind the phrases crouching quietly? Are thinking solely about yourself in actuality, and questioning if you're: "Scared. Frightened. Unsure"?
Wouldn't we all benefit from a little kindness?
I answer phones. I stand behind a camera. Okay? I'll admit it. I'm never really face to face with the other person I'm dealing with. It's like talking to someone from the other side of a wall, there's a certain amount of comfort that comes from it, but along with that comes a false sense of bravery. You can't actually hurt me, you can't actually touch me, what's the harm?
In essence, it seems we've all put up some sort of invisible wall to the people around us. Maybe we're hurting, maybe we're going through a divorce, maybe our child is dying, our car broke down, we are completely out of money. Maybe we're just lost. Maybe we're all of the above and also we're having a really bad hair day. Who's to say? But because of our secret self obsession with ourselves, we tend to completely disregard our fellow man.
I know I'm guilty of it.
I spit out words with the force of a bullet on bad days. I completely overlook how it may affect others. I get the same in return, and we keep firing off shots until we're at a Mexican Standoff. Not a one of us is willing to budge, and look beyond the hurtful phrases, or uncaring gestures and see the deeper side of the conversation.
It's hard to discect. It's hard to seperate. It's hard to believe that because you're having a bad day, you'd want to pull me down below your level, even, and then stomp all over my face until I'm rendered paralyzed from the neck down. Emotionally and physically.
It's hard for me to take a step back and realize that your verbal assault is likely stemming from the fact that you just lost your job, your pet, your grandmother, your will to live, etc, etc, etc. It's hard for me to have any sympathy for you because of the way you would treat a complete stranger. It's easy for you to do this because maybe you don't have to look me in the eye.
But I'll get over it. And tomorrow, when I'm having that day, where my life seems to be falling apart, and before I bite the head off of a stranger (and then laugh at their gaping, open neck wound)...maybe I'll stop. In the nick of damn time.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
the amazing race
Yeah, well, I'll never be Carrie Bradshaw (she's a popular TV icon, right?). Good. I wasn't sure.
I just have to write. I've mentioned before that I don't care if anyone ever reads this. Occasionally, I willfully subject my roommate to my ramblings, and she listens as intently as possible, sips her wine quickly, and nods her head at the appropriate times. She usually hugs me afterward.
I am not an author, professedly. I doubt that after Kafka wrote "Metamorphosis" that anyone patted him on the back and told him it would all get better. Shakespeare certainly didn't have a secret confidante that hung out with him on the couch and re-analyzed his work over Franzia and rice crackers. And Carrie Bradshaw, aka Sarah Jessica Parker, has a mountain of amazing hair, so she could pretty much proclaim anything to be true and/or fascinating and the entire world, fictional and not, would soak up every word as authentic.
I don't particularly care.
If you have ever read anything by me, you know I ramble. Internally, and literally. I have so many thoughts, and figures and words running through my brain at the speed of light. Writing gives me a chance to slow down and backspace, and once in a while, erase a thought completely. It's the best form of medicine for an inundated soul.
On that note. Here we go again.
I just want to make it very clear; and I do mean crystal, transparent and uncomplicated. I am baffled as to why it is not already apparent.
I dislike, very strongly, aka HATE, the fact that I'm second best in your life, and quite possibly am dropping to 3rd or 4th runner up in this race. I wear the right shoes, and stretch the proper muscles daily. I've even invested in a timer to keep my pace steady.
I seem to be consistently falling behind.
I've come to look at this all from an outsider's perspective. From their standpoint, I am the runner whose legs are propelling the fastest with absolutely no gain. They too, are perplexed. I have experimented with flapping my arms at the same time as my feet move, but I still gain no ground. Instead, my motions resemble some sort of violent tap dance. It's really more pitiful than it is entertaining.
And you're always two laps ahead.
I've never been much of an mental athlete, and certainly not a woman who likes to play games. I know that in life, there are so-called rules to follow, certain etiquette to abide by, but I honestly do not play along. Not for very long, anyway.
I don't get how I'm supposed to catch up, if you don't let me. I can never gain ground if you are constantly galloping in the lead. I don't want to win, I just want to run beside you.
Slow down.
Maybe you like having the upper hand, maybe you've never been the one in control, and maybe you're unwilling to sacrifice the speed you're flying at for the sake of an opportunity. Maybe you'll keep running and glancing behind you, merry about the chase; just to see me run out of breath and finally give up. And while you're looking back at me that's when you'll stop. Because all this time you were running directly into a brick wall without watching your step. Maybe I was just trying to save you.
It could be you're running because you're petrified. You don't know where you're going but your unrelenting task is just to get The Hell Out Of Dodge.
Who knows. No really, who does, because frankly I'm all out of creative ways to say: STOP. BREATHE. LISTEN. You're leaving me in your dust trail, buddy.
I'm tossing this issue to the wind, like ash from my cigarette.
I just have to write. I've mentioned before that I don't care if anyone ever reads this. Occasionally, I willfully subject my roommate to my ramblings, and she listens as intently as possible, sips her wine quickly, and nods her head at the appropriate times. She usually hugs me afterward.
I am not an author, professedly. I doubt that after Kafka wrote "Metamorphosis" that anyone patted him on the back and told him it would all get better. Shakespeare certainly didn't have a secret confidante that hung out with him on the couch and re-analyzed his work over Franzia and rice crackers. And Carrie Bradshaw, aka Sarah Jessica Parker, has a mountain of amazing hair, so she could pretty much proclaim anything to be true and/or fascinating and the entire world, fictional and not, would soak up every word as authentic.
I don't particularly care.
If you have ever read anything by me, you know I ramble. Internally, and literally. I have so many thoughts, and figures and words running through my brain at the speed of light. Writing gives me a chance to slow down and backspace, and once in a while, erase a thought completely. It's the best form of medicine for an inundated soul.
On that note. Here we go again.
I just want to make it very clear; and I do mean crystal, transparent and uncomplicated. I am baffled as to why it is not already apparent.
I dislike, very strongly, aka HATE, the fact that I'm second best in your life, and quite possibly am dropping to 3rd or 4th runner up in this race. I wear the right shoes, and stretch the proper muscles daily. I've even invested in a timer to keep my pace steady.
I seem to be consistently falling behind.
I've come to look at this all from an outsider's perspective. From their standpoint, I am the runner whose legs are propelling the fastest with absolutely no gain. They too, are perplexed. I have experimented with flapping my arms at the same time as my feet move, but I still gain no ground. Instead, my motions resemble some sort of violent tap dance. It's really more pitiful than it is entertaining.
And you're always two laps ahead.
I've never been much of an mental athlete, and certainly not a woman who likes to play games. I know that in life, there are so-called rules to follow, certain etiquette to abide by, but I honestly do not play along. Not for very long, anyway.
I don't get how I'm supposed to catch up, if you don't let me. I can never gain ground if you are constantly galloping in the lead. I don't want to win, I just want to run beside you.
Slow down.
Maybe you like having the upper hand, maybe you've never been the one in control, and maybe you're unwilling to sacrifice the speed you're flying at for the sake of an opportunity. Maybe you'll keep running and glancing behind you, merry about the chase; just to see me run out of breath and finally give up. And while you're looking back at me that's when you'll stop. Because all this time you were running directly into a brick wall without watching your step. Maybe I was just trying to save you.
It could be you're running because you're petrified. You don't know where you're going but your unrelenting task is just to get The Hell Out Of Dodge.
Who knows. No really, who does, because frankly I'm all out of creative ways to say: STOP. BREATHE. LISTEN. You're leaving me in your dust trail, buddy.
I'm tossing this issue to the wind, like ash from my cigarette.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
solidarity
What I wouldn't give to go back, ten, thirteen, fifteen years, maybe.
To wake up and sit cross-legged in a chair, centrally located in Grandma's kitchen, eating the special kind of cereal that only she would buy for me, cinnamon and sugar sprinkling down the front of my pajamas as I chatter. Now that I'm older, my heart falls a little when I am awakened with a cup of coffee, and asked to join the adults at their table instead. I long for the little girl in pigtails who was the apple of her Grandma's eye.
It seems that time goes by slower than the hours on a watched clock, until one day, life has catapulted itself into the future, and you seem to be recalling fond memories at a steady pace.
On this land, the swing is still held in place by a now-frayed rope, and you can still walk the paths to the lake, picking up colored rocks and putting them gingerly in your pocket. When you were little, being in this place was like being at the biggest, most extravagant playground that was specially handcrafted for you and your tiny hands and feet. Shoes were optional, there were always sticks of strawberry gum in the drawer, and you felt a sense of contentment that only you were privy to. There were no boundaries and no trepidation. At the days end, you were allowed in the lavishly decorated front room, minding that you took off your shoes, to curl up with a book and bask in the glow from the open windows catching moonlight.
Too me, not crying is that feeling you get when you swallow water.
In retrospect, these memories are not a sad thing, but more like an overpowering sense of gratitude that this is all still a part of your life, if even from a different point of view. Strangely, at 26, I am still a child in her eyes, but equally an adult. I often consider that the changes in me perhaps bring tears to my Grandma's eyes as she watches me walk the path alone.
It stings, it suffocates, but it passes in due time.
I will still throw caution to the wind, and run across the narrow bridge to the island on the lake, and laugh and stumble over the bowed planks. I will stand ankle deep in grass, causing stirred bugs to swarm around me in droves, and fish through the tall marsh for frogs, and count the fireflies at night. I will gently rearrange the refrigerator magnets, and then put them back in the same order they have always been...for the past 26 years. It amazes me that time has not altered much here, except for the people who live, pass through, and always return.
I will always be mesmerized by this place and the peace it has brought me.
To wake up and sit cross-legged in a chair, centrally located in Grandma's kitchen, eating the special kind of cereal that only she would buy for me, cinnamon and sugar sprinkling down the front of my pajamas as I chatter. Now that I'm older, my heart falls a little when I am awakened with a cup of coffee, and asked to join the adults at their table instead. I long for the little girl in pigtails who was the apple of her Grandma's eye.
It seems that time goes by slower than the hours on a watched clock, until one day, life has catapulted itself into the future, and you seem to be recalling fond memories at a steady pace.
On this land, the swing is still held in place by a now-frayed rope, and you can still walk the paths to the lake, picking up colored rocks and putting them gingerly in your pocket. When you were little, being in this place was like being at the biggest, most extravagant playground that was specially handcrafted for you and your tiny hands and feet. Shoes were optional, there were always sticks of strawberry gum in the drawer, and you felt a sense of contentment that only you were privy to. There were no boundaries and no trepidation. At the days end, you were allowed in the lavishly decorated front room, minding that you took off your shoes, to curl up with a book and bask in the glow from the open windows catching moonlight.
Too me, not crying is that feeling you get when you swallow water.
In retrospect, these memories are not a sad thing, but more like an overpowering sense of gratitude that this is all still a part of your life, if even from a different point of view. Strangely, at 26, I am still a child in her eyes, but equally an adult. I often consider that the changes in me perhaps bring tears to my Grandma's eyes as she watches me walk the path alone.
It stings, it suffocates, but it passes in due time.
I will still throw caution to the wind, and run across the narrow bridge to the island on the lake, and laugh and stumble over the bowed planks. I will stand ankle deep in grass, causing stirred bugs to swarm around me in droves, and fish through the tall marsh for frogs, and count the fireflies at night. I will gently rearrange the refrigerator magnets, and then put them back in the same order they have always been...for the past 26 years. It amazes me that time has not altered much here, except for the people who live, pass through, and always return.
I will always be mesmerized by this place and the peace it has brought me.
how to say goodbye
I know we always start out this way, but some things never change.
"So I'll cross my heart
And hope to die
Before I have a chance to lie
To you my dear
Oh I wish no harm
I know the end will turn out wrong
See I've been known to fall in love
But sometimes love just is not enough
My heart will stray
Before too long
So please listen when I sing this song
I sing this song"
-Cross My Heart by City and Colour
We are coming to a definite end.
I am so emotionally overwhelmed all the time, it always takes my breath away when I manage to discount some part of my life--especially some incredibly emotional part. Maybe I'll call it self defense, and you'll call it lack of a heart that beats on a normal basis, but either way, I don't think about you unless I have to.
Turns out, today, I was forced to. Think about you, that is.
Not so much forced as hung upside by one leg over a pit of venomous snakes and threatened to face up or be released to fall to my certain demise. But don't get to thinking you have the upper hand. I just hate snakes a whole lot more than I do your face...er, our issue. The problem. A catastrophe. Our marriage.
Where do you start this? Hey, it's been swell...thanks for the memories...you know, we're better off this way, and any other euphemism that may be conjured up. I'm not positive I could say anything, well, positive about the situation. We are better off, at least I know I am. But as far as the memories are concerned I say to hell with the majority of them.
I'll admit that I miss a constant presence in my life. How we never had toilet paper, how I could never cook bacon the right way, movie dates and pushing the couches together to snuggle. I miss the freedom of walking around in my underwear, football Sundays, music nights, trips to the coast and the few moments where we actually allowed ourselves to laugh together. For a brief flash of time, you and I, we were unstoppable, baby. But we hit a wall.
Quite frankly, you built a void that made it impossible to ever cross back over to you. I stood opposite the great divide for years, screaming my lungs out to get your attention. I knew that finally, when I was hanging perilously over the edge to get to you, it was time to give up. I did. I crawled back up from the danger, bruised and a little broken, but discovered the world I had left behind on the other side of the canyon. And boy, was it a long haul. I'm back, with a vengeance.
If nothing else, you taught me that being true to myself is one of the most valuable assets I have in life.
I don't regret anything, because I believe in my heart of hearts that no matter what path we had eventually decided to take, it would have inevitably ended up at the same point: a dead end.
I wish you the best, through gritted teeth, partially because I know it's the proper thing to do and partially because I've given up on hating you. I'm not a victim, and I played a part in the demise, but I can move on knowing that the final decision was mine and mine alone, and be extraordinarily grateful that I had the will and strength to say: enough.
I'll wonder still, once the papers are finally signed and there is no longer any need for contact. I'll wonder what you're doing, and maybe sometimes question your livelihood. But I won't miss you. I haven't for a very long time.
I miss the cat. Feed him everyday, and tell him you love him.
This is the start of goodbye. It's only right we do it this way, without words, or gestures.
I send this off into the great unknown void, with a small wave and a tiny smile.
"So I'll cross my heart
And hope to die
Before I have a chance to lie
To you my dear
Oh I wish no harm
I know the end will turn out wrong
See I've been known to fall in love
But sometimes love just is not enough
My heart will stray
Before too long
So please listen when I sing this song
I sing this song"
-Cross My Heart by City and Colour
We are coming to a definite end.
I am so emotionally overwhelmed all the time, it always takes my breath away when I manage to discount some part of my life--especially some incredibly emotional part. Maybe I'll call it self defense, and you'll call it lack of a heart that beats on a normal basis, but either way, I don't think about you unless I have to.
Turns out, today, I was forced to. Think about you, that is.
Not so much forced as hung upside by one leg over a pit of venomous snakes and threatened to face up or be released to fall to my certain demise. But don't get to thinking you have the upper hand. I just hate snakes a whole lot more than I do your face...er, our issue. The problem. A catastrophe. Our marriage.
Where do you start this? Hey, it's been swell...thanks for the memories...you know, we're better off this way, and any other euphemism that may be conjured up. I'm not positive I could say anything, well, positive about the situation. We are better off, at least I know I am. But as far as the memories are concerned I say to hell with the majority of them.
I'll admit that I miss a constant presence in my life. How we never had toilet paper, how I could never cook bacon the right way, movie dates and pushing the couches together to snuggle. I miss the freedom of walking around in my underwear, football Sundays, music nights, trips to the coast and the few moments where we actually allowed ourselves to laugh together. For a brief flash of time, you and I, we were unstoppable, baby. But we hit a wall.
Quite frankly, you built a void that made it impossible to ever cross back over to you. I stood opposite the great divide for years, screaming my lungs out to get your attention. I knew that finally, when I was hanging perilously over the edge to get to you, it was time to give up. I did. I crawled back up from the danger, bruised and a little broken, but discovered the world I had left behind on the other side of the canyon. And boy, was it a long haul. I'm back, with a vengeance.
If nothing else, you taught me that being true to myself is one of the most valuable assets I have in life.
I don't regret anything, because I believe in my heart of hearts that no matter what path we had eventually decided to take, it would have inevitably ended up at the same point: a dead end.
I wish you the best, through gritted teeth, partially because I know it's the proper thing to do and partially because I've given up on hating you. I'm not a victim, and I played a part in the demise, but I can move on knowing that the final decision was mine and mine alone, and be extraordinarily grateful that I had the will and strength to say: enough.
I'll wonder still, once the papers are finally signed and there is no longer any need for contact. I'll wonder what you're doing, and maybe sometimes question your livelihood. But I won't miss you. I haven't for a very long time.
I miss the cat. Feed him everyday, and tell him you love him.
This is the start of goodbye. It's only right we do it this way, without words, or gestures.
I send this off into the great unknown void, with a small wave and a tiny smile.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
The Unread Letter
I simply have to spit it out. In some form. Mind you there will be rambling involved, but please let me get through this the only way I know how. Now, listen up...
I don't think that I'm stupid. I have a pretty good head on my shoulders and a normal grasp on how humans interact. I've been evaluating this mess, and I'm fairly confident when I say I don't think I'm far off the mark on how I feel. Call it intuition, call it overanalyzation, either way, hear me out.
Yeah, firstly, fine, I'll admit--up until recently, I've been pretty jaded when it comes to relationships, if not completely bitter and blinded by my past experiences with men. But I've changed a lot in the past year, hell, year and a half, and I've come to some solid conclusions. The past 6 months have sprouted intense changes in my self as a whole person again.
I know you get this. You're coming out of a semi-crazy relationship as well, and even if it wasn't a marriage like mine, you have deep hesitation…you've expressed this to me, and I mean, I get it. I see it in your eyes sometimes. I also see how you look at me, and a wanting of some sort. I know this, because I look at you the same way, even when you're not looking. Excuse the poet in me, but putting it other words, "I seen you, looking at me, looking at you…and damn baby, you fine!" is not as eloquent.
I don't know what kind of relationship I'm looking for, if any. But I think I'd be ready if the right person came along. I am ready to at least attempt to care about someone again, even though the thought is terrifying. I want to like you, and I want you to let me like you. I want you to like me back, does this all make sense? Demands, demands, now I'm being a typical woman. But hold on...
I guess maybe I read you wrong. I know that initially we agreed that we were friends with benefits. And at the time, I was totally fine with that. I had been seeing several guys when we started hanging out in "that way" so I was really unsure of what I was doing--all I knew was I was being crazy and having fun. I never have experienced freedom like that. It's been a blast, I'll admit. I feel joyful and wanted and amazingly beautiful for once since I've been separated from Eric. We have hung out a little more, and you know, I dig you. We were friends first, for years now and I suppose you might say I always had a little "crush" on you, but I'm not that girl. I'll never lay down who I am as a person for a man. I don't need you to want me. I want you to.
I don't obsess, I won't cry, I won't beg or ask you why you don't like me if you simply don't. But I know you do. In fact, you're the first guy in a long time that I know has interest in me. I think you're quality. Sure, you're inevitably screwed up in some ways even more so than I am, but I get where you're coming from. I feel you, holmes.
You want independence and you're afraid someone will wreck that for you--you don't want to be controlled. Neither do I, not for an instant. Sweet baby Jay-sus, protect the man who tries to run my life; it will only end in broken limbs. Never again.
You make me laugh, always and without fail. You think that I'm hilarious, and I love when you call because sometimes, I swear it's just to hear my latest story. I don't get nervous around you, and I have no shyness or inhibitions.
There are the little things too: we like the same cars, the same music, we like the same movies. You like to be outdoors; you are the first guy I've dated who shares these things with me. I'm not saying we're a perfect match. I'm just saying I like your company. I want more of it. Life is short, I only invest in good company. I wouldn't say all this if I wasn't afraid of losing you in my world altogether, if even as just a friend.
I have stupid hair, I drink too much, I refuse to share the covers, I'll make a fool of myself in front of anyone, I'm a terrible dancer, I smoke a pack a day and laugh too loudly, I'm terrible at fishing and hiking and I couldn't set up a tent to save my life. My car is always dirty, I swear, I like to fight dirty with strangers, I wear flip flops until it absolutely is snowing like crazy, I like to make a scene…but I'm genuine.
I'm pretty. I'll bring you a beer in the middle of a video game, and hang out with your mom when she's lonely. I'd make you breakfast in bed, and steal your t-shirts to wear around the house so you can admire my legs. I'll make you feel like the man of the house, I'll like your friends and they'll obviously like me. I'll learn to shoot a gun, and I'll always have a hard time resisting you in every way. I'll give you your space, and respect you.
This is just who I am.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm awesome. You'd really be missing out, and I'm starting to feel that stupid girlish desperation that if I don't advertise myself to you, you'll miss out on me. I have a hard time going unnoticed. It's frustrating, and makes me want to rip my hair out, flail about wildly, and stand in front of your house on an overturned milk crate, listing my qualities off one by one.
If even I don't disclose all these little things to you, the blatant things that are in front of you are screaming at you to give me a chance. Take a risk. I shouldn't have to put up a billboard describing why you should like me. I shouldn't have to write a letter. I shouldn't have to convince you. You. Should. Already. Know.
Man up, peabody, shape up or ship out. I'm not going to wait for you realize how fantastic of a girl I am. Someone will, and I don't brag, I just know I'm worth it. And this girl, who's worth it, thinks you're worth it.
Check, check, microphone, this is your wake up call, cowboy. The train leaves soon…so are you in or out?
I don't think that I'm stupid. I have a pretty good head on my shoulders and a normal grasp on how humans interact. I've been evaluating this mess, and I'm fairly confident when I say I don't think I'm far off the mark on how I feel. Call it intuition, call it overanalyzation, either way, hear me out.
Yeah, firstly, fine, I'll admit--up until recently, I've been pretty jaded when it comes to relationships, if not completely bitter and blinded by my past experiences with men. But I've changed a lot in the past year, hell, year and a half, and I've come to some solid conclusions. The past 6 months have sprouted intense changes in my self as a whole person again.
I know you get this. You're coming out of a semi-crazy relationship as well, and even if it wasn't a marriage like mine, you have deep hesitation…you've expressed this to me, and I mean, I get it. I see it in your eyes sometimes. I also see how you look at me, and a wanting of some sort. I know this, because I look at you the same way, even when you're not looking. Excuse the poet in me, but putting it other words, "I seen you, looking at me, looking at you…and damn baby, you fine!" is not as eloquent.
I don't know what kind of relationship I'm looking for, if any. But I think I'd be ready if the right person came along. I am ready to at least attempt to care about someone again, even though the thought is terrifying. I want to like you, and I want you to let me like you. I want you to like me back, does this all make sense? Demands, demands, now I'm being a typical woman. But hold on...
I guess maybe I read you wrong. I know that initially we agreed that we were friends with benefits. And at the time, I was totally fine with that. I had been seeing several guys when we started hanging out in "that way" so I was really unsure of what I was doing--all I knew was I was being crazy and having fun. I never have experienced freedom like that. It's been a blast, I'll admit. I feel joyful and wanted and amazingly beautiful for once since I've been separated from Eric. We have hung out a little more, and you know, I dig you. We were friends first, for years now and I suppose you might say I always had a little "crush" on you, but I'm not that girl. I'll never lay down who I am as a person for a man. I don't need you to want me. I want you to.
I don't obsess, I won't cry, I won't beg or ask you why you don't like me if you simply don't. But I know you do. In fact, you're the first guy in a long time that I know has interest in me. I think you're quality. Sure, you're inevitably screwed up in some ways even more so than I am, but I get where you're coming from. I feel you, holmes.
You want independence and you're afraid someone will wreck that for you--you don't want to be controlled. Neither do I, not for an instant. Sweet baby Jay-sus, protect the man who tries to run my life; it will only end in broken limbs. Never again.
You make me laugh, always and without fail. You think that I'm hilarious, and I love when you call because sometimes, I swear it's just to hear my latest story. I don't get nervous around you, and I have no shyness or inhibitions.
There are the little things too: we like the same cars, the same music, we like the same movies. You like to be outdoors; you are the first guy I've dated who shares these things with me. I'm not saying we're a perfect match. I'm just saying I like your company. I want more of it. Life is short, I only invest in good company. I wouldn't say all this if I wasn't afraid of losing you in my world altogether, if even as just a friend.
I have stupid hair, I drink too much, I refuse to share the covers, I'll make a fool of myself in front of anyone, I'm a terrible dancer, I smoke a pack a day and laugh too loudly, I'm terrible at fishing and hiking and I couldn't set up a tent to save my life. My car is always dirty, I swear, I like to fight dirty with strangers, I wear flip flops until it absolutely is snowing like crazy, I like to make a scene…but I'm genuine.
I'm pretty. I'll bring you a beer in the middle of a video game, and hang out with your mom when she's lonely. I'd make you breakfast in bed, and steal your t-shirts to wear around the house so you can admire my legs. I'll make you feel like the man of the house, I'll like your friends and they'll obviously like me. I'll learn to shoot a gun, and I'll always have a hard time resisting you in every way. I'll give you your space, and respect you.
This is just who I am.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm awesome. You'd really be missing out, and I'm starting to feel that stupid girlish desperation that if I don't advertise myself to you, you'll miss out on me. I have a hard time going unnoticed. It's frustrating, and makes me want to rip my hair out, flail about wildly, and stand in front of your house on an overturned milk crate, listing my qualities off one by one.
If even I don't disclose all these little things to you, the blatant things that are in front of you are screaming at you to give me a chance. Take a risk. I shouldn't have to put up a billboard describing why you should like me. I shouldn't have to write a letter. I shouldn't have to convince you. You. Should. Already. Know.
Man up, peabody, shape up or ship out. I'm not going to wait for you realize how fantastic of a girl I am. Someone will, and I don't brag, I just know I'm worth it. And this girl, who's worth it, thinks you're worth it.
Check, check, microphone, this is your wake up call, cowboy. The train leaves soon…so are you in or out?
Monday, October 18, 2010
Like Fire
I almost started reading a book for you. Just so I could say that I read it.
Maybe I thought it'd make me seem more attractive to you?
This is after watching that stupid movie about the stupid book you said make you cry. I hated it. But I lied and said it touched my heart. So sue me.
I guess I'm no better than you. Except for my amazing taste in the arts. Note: Impress girls in the future with other films that make you appear less like an overly emotional woman.
I'm smarter than you. How to do you crawl under my skin and ruin my day? I don't want to read your books, or hear about your music. Also, if you shave your head again, I simply won't be able to look you in the eyes. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Don't tell me you'll stay in the morning.
P.S. I'm going to read that book just to prove you wrong.
And you know how much I love to read.
Maybe I thought it'd make me seem more attractive to you?
This is after watching that stupid movie about the stupid book you said make you cry. I hated it. But I lied and said it touched my heart. So sue me.
I guess I'm no better than you. Except for my amazing taste in the arts. Note: Impress girls in the future with other films that make you appear less like an overly emotional woman.
I'm smarter than you. How to do you crawl under my skin and ruin my day? I don't want to read your books, or hear about your music. Also, if you shave your head again, I simply won't be able to look you in the eyes. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Don't tell me you'll stay in the morning.
P.S. I'm going to read that book just to prove you wrong.
And you know how much I love to read.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I think I might know...
"Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes..."
I see this today on my computer screen...some sort of cosmic sign or irony jabbing me playfully in the side? Either way, I take it to heart on a fall day, while I'm Sunday driving and contemplating the right words to say.
I don't know where to start, and I'll admit that's new for me. I'm pretty famous for my rambling and my innate ability to go off on tangents endlessly. All I really know at this moment, is how glad I am you can't read this.
I haven't felt this way in a very long time. I know, everyone says this, and if you were reading, I would wager a bet that you'd be rolling your eyes. "Great opener", you'd certainly think, and cross your arms defensively over your chest. "And?", you'd prompt me, light up a cigarette, lean back on the bench and then tilt your head back gently. I'm wringing my hands at the mere thought.
You make me comfortable. We have been friends for a little while now, I say little, because in the great scope of all eternity, 3 years is little. I ramble some more, I talk about how funny I am, and try to make a joke. You laugh, but I can tell you're waiting for me to get to the goddamn point. So I do.
I think you're hilarious. When I'm around you, I know I can be myself completely. Yeah, I worry about how my hair looks, and if my eyelashes are curled up nice, but I don't concern myself with the small details, like, what I say coming out wrong. My opinions are expressed freely, and my jokes are never missed by you. We laugh, a lot. I like that. We have so much in common, and it keeps floating to the surface. You are a breath of fresh air in my life.
These things are not as important as what I am about to say. When I'm near you, I don't have to drink. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. I don't have to be loosened up to look you in the eyes. After all I've been through, it's nice to not have to rely on liquid courage. You think I'm being funny, but I'm not. Hey, buddy, we both know I can swill a beer quicker than any man boasts he can...I'm 26 and I enjoy my freedom. What I'm saying is that I don't have to. You may not understand this fully, but grasp onto to this if nothing else: You put me at ease.
Now it's my turn to light up a smoke, in this pretend conversation we're having. By now, you're looking at me differently. I know, I know, I said I was the girl who didn't care. The girl who wanted to sleep with you, the insensitive badass who swears like a sea captain and doesn't give a damn if her jeans have holes, and I made you believe it all too. In a way, I am that girl. My heart, however, harbors a secret tenderness and I hate to admit, a flimsy protective layer that's easily broken. I am a conundrum. Get used to it.
Take a chance on me. This is all I'm asking. Hell, it's scary, trust me. Right now I could vomit at the thought of another relationship gone sour. But if I don't take a chance, I'll never know.
I want adventure with you. Coast trips and late night walks, fishing adventures, scary movies, dinner dates and all of the above. I didn't think it was possible, but I believe I am ready. We could paint the town red...and laugh the whole way.
If you're not ready, I'll understand. Truthfully, I will. But I have learned to speak the truth, even if my voice shakes.
So I am waiting. I'm going to turn my back now, and walk inside. You can think for a minute. If I come back, and you're gone, I'll still wish you well and thank you sincerely for opening my eyes, and being a good friend who MADE me realize how valuable I am again.
Thanks.
(Secretly I'm hyperventilating and crossing my fingers, watching out for black cats that cross my path, and diligently reading my horoscope. But on the outside, I lift my eyes to the sunset, and breathe the crisp air. I don't care...I'm an excellent actress, if the world only realized, I'd be filthy rich.)
I see this today on my computer screen...some sort of cosmic sign or irony jabbing me playfully in the side? Either way, I take it to heart on a fall day, while I'm Sunday driving and contemplating the right words to say.
I don't know where to start, and I'll admit that's new for me. I'm pretty famous for my rambling and my innate ability to go off on tangents endlessly. All I really know at this moment, is how glad I am you can't read this.
I haven't felt this way in a very long time. I know, everyone says this, and if you were reading, I would wager a bet that you'd be rolling your eyes. "Great opener", you'd certainly think, and cross your arms defensively over your chest. "And?", you'd prompt me, light up a cigarette, lean back on the bench and then tilt your head back gently. I'm wringing my hands at the mere thought.
You make me comfortable. We have been friends for a little while now, I say little, because in the great scope of all eternity, 3 years is little. I ramble some more, I talk about how funny I am, and try to make a joke. You laugh, but I can tell you're waiting for me to get to the goddamn point. So I do.
I think you're hilarious. When I'm around you, I know I can be myself completely. Yeah, I worry about how my hair looks, and if my eyelashes are curled up nice, but I don't concern myself with the small details, like, what I say coming out wrong. My opinions are expressed freely, and my jokes are never missed by you. We laugh, a lot. I like that. We have so much in common, and it keeps floating to the surface. You are a breath of fresh air in my life.
These things are not as important as what I am about to say. When I'm near you, I don't have to drink. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. I don't have to be loosened up to look you in the eyes. After all I've been through, it's nice to not have to rely on liquid courage. You think I'm being funny, but I'm not. Hey, buddy, we both know I can swill a beer quicker than any man boasts he can...I'm 26 and I enjoy my freedom. What I'm saying is that I don't have to. You may not understand this fully, but grasp onto to this if nothing else: You put me at ease.
Now it's my turn to light up a smoke, in this pretend conversation we're having. By now, you're looking at me differently. I know, I know, I said I was the girl who didn't care. The girl who wanted to sleep with you, the insensitive badass who swears like a sea captain and doesn't give a damn if her jeans have holes, and I made you believe it all too. In a way, I am that girl. My heart, however, harbors a secret tenderness and I hate to admit, a flimsy protective layer that's easily broken. I am a conundrum. Get used to it.
Take a chance on me. This is all I'm asking. Hell, it's scary, trust me. Right now I could vomit at the thought of another relationship gone sour. But if I don't take a chance, I'll never know.
I want adventure with you. Coast trips and late night walks, fishing adventures, scary movies, dinner dates and all of the above. I didn't think it was possible, but I believe I am ready. We could paint the town red...and laugh the whole way.
If you're not ready, I'll understand. Truthfully, I will. But I have learned to speak the truth, even if my voice shakes.
So I am waiting. I'm going to turn my back now, and walk inside. You can think for a minute. If I come back, and you're gone, I'll still wish you well and thank you sincerely for opening my eyes, and being a good friend who MADE me realize how valuable I am again.
Thanks.
(Secretly I'm hyperventilating and crossing my fingers, watching out for black cats that cross my path, and diligently reading my horoscope. But on the outside, I lift my eyes to the sunset, and breathe the crisp air. I don't care...I'm an excellent actress, if the world only realized, I'd be filthy rich.)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
this sudden injury...
"The things we do just to stay alive..." -City and Colour 'Day Old Hate'
I cry sanctuary.
It's refreshing to have this blog, this wide open secret, that no one reads, that no one grades or marks or comments on. There is no one to hold me accountable for these words.
I did it. I fell in love (again, and didn't expect it to come so violently). And I am fighting it tooth and nail.
How safe it is to feel safe, and how dangerous it is to feel so wanted. How complex is it to feel both things at the same time?
I am in the rain, I am standing with my hands thrown up at the sky.
I cry sanctuary.
It's refreshing to have this blog, this wide open secret, that no one reads, that no one grades or marks or comments on. There is no one to hold me accountable for these words.
I did it. I fell in love (again, and didn't expect it to come so violently). And I am fighting it tooth and nail.
How safe it is to feel safe, and how dangerous it is to feel so wanted. How complex is it to feel both things at the same time?
I am in the rain, I am standing with my hands thrown up at the sky.
Monday, September 6, 2010
I'm a listing boat...
I think that life would like to convince us that we have a fighting chance.
I know that future is just that...not present, or past. It is eventual, but not inevitable, fickle and completely unpredictable. It is seconds, moments, hours, days and weeks ahead of us. Months and maybe a long stretch of good years if we're lucky. If we can hold steady.
I've attempted to attain the talents of a great manipulator recently, equipping myself with stealthy words and polished tactics. I feel that if i push out enough energy and make efforts to control every wild aspect of "it all" I will mold my existence into something perfect. I am tethered and bound tightly to so many of these operations, that the strings are starting to cut off circulation--I can literally feel things pulling away from me. When it all goes awry, I am certain I will part with a limb, if not all of them. Stubborn. Selfish.
I started writing this hours ago. What you're reading at exactly this part is the second half. I had a long talk with a good friend and it seems lately we are all feeling this way a little bit. Why are we all so discontent? Our faces are shadowed with sorrow...if you look close you can see it in the eyes. This pathetic attempt at control is waning. Grips are slipping, and legs are starting to kick in a frantic stopping motion. We are on our knees, hands clutched to our chests, wrists interlocking in grief.
I had been on such a high, so the impact to the ground was jarring. I have been careless and inconsiderate. I have not been the best friend I could be. In a sense, I have been a little out of touch with reality. I suppose it happens to everyone. We all fall down sometimes.
I know that future is just that...not present, or past. It is eventual, but not inevitable, fickle and completely unpredictable. It is seconds, moments, hours, days and weeks ahead of us. Months and maybe a long stretch of good years if we're lucky. If we can hold steady.
I've attempted to attain the talents of a great manipulator recently, equipping myself with stealthy words and polished tactics. I feel that if i push out enough energy and make efforts to control every wild aspect of "it all" I will mold my existence into something perfect. I am tethered and bound tightly to so many of these operations, that the strings are starting to cut off circulation--I can literally feel things pulling away from me. When it all goes awry, I am certain I will part with a limb, if not all of them. Stubborn. Selfish.
I started writing this hours ago. What you're reading at exactly this part is the second half. I had a long talk with a good friend and it seems lately we are all feeling this way a little bit. Why are we all so discontent? Our faces are shadowed with sorrow...if you look close you can see it in the eyes. This pathetic attempt at control is waning. Grips are slipping, and legs are starting to kick in a frantic stopping motion. We are on our knees, hands clutched to our chests, wrists interlocking in grief.
I had been on such a high, so the impact to the ground was jarring. I have been careless and inconsiderate. I have not been the best friend I could be. In a sense, I have been a little out of touch with reality. I suppose it happens to everyone. We all fall down sometimes.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Someone stop this song...
First and foremost, want to say that I've been meaning to start a blog for a very long time. Writing is soothing to me, like aloe on a sunburn. Even when things are completely out of hand in my life, I know that if I can snag a few quiet moments to jot down a few words, I somehow always feel cleansed. I figure that there is no reason why I shouldn't share publicly my thoughts and feelings; I do regardless of whether anyone is listening or not. So let's catch up, and I'll post a few things I've shared before, but find to be out of this world amazing. I kid, because as we all know, I'm hilarious and full of one-liners. But for those who don't yet know my heart, this blog will serve as a means to understanding me a little better...or fully coming to terms with how truly peculiar I am. Whichever way the wind blows...whatever floats your boat, a penny saved is a penny earned...any of those that you feel apply to me and my blog.
Swim until you can't see land
I have a constant monologue running through my mind. I know a lot of people will admit to having quiet, personal conversations with themselves, but I unabashedly proclaim that I think exactly the way I talk: nonstop and without a filter. I honestly believe that if I wrote everything out onto paper that I wanted to say, I would fill up mass quantities of journals, use countless napkins and run the Post-It company completely out of it's warehouse supplies.
Sometimes I worry that these thoughts and ideas may overflow from my head, spilling out of my ears and puddling on the floor. I suppose I'd just watch as mothers hastily scooped up their children to save them from the pool of words that would starting to form in aisle 14 of Wal-Mart. "That girl must have been a genius", they'll say, shaking their heads, "Why didn't she put it on paper? She surely must have felt all the sentences building up pressure...". End scene.
Often time, said thought processes lead to productive measures: lists of things to do, cleaning supplies I've run out of, a good recipe I remembered seeing on the Food Network, and grocery items that I need to purchase at the Rainbow discount food store. Daydreams interfere quite often, mingling amidst the aforementioned power-driving thoughts; places I'd like to travel, photos I want to take, what it would be like if I were a country singer, how I'd look with bangs again, how long I would have to hold my breath to pass out and would it get the attention of the cute guy who sits across from me...You know, the normal shit.
Intermixed with all of these flowing paragraphs, and one-sided questions that never get answered, in the most irrational part of my head are things that creep and hide ashamed in dark corners. How if I won the lottery I would eat lobster every day for a month, or at least until I got tired of it. Why there isn't chocolate flavored gum, and if dogs perhaps have opinions on human behavior and rituals. If the mirror above my bed is fastened securely, and what if there was a freak earthquake; would I be decapitated or simply knocked into a coma by it? I wonder a lot about God, and religion. I figure that if Jesus made me as he intended, he certainly has a sense of humor (I'd like to think that I'm one of the funniest people He's created).
I know how very sane I am. I analyze the hell out of every situation, and am the first to hold up a judging hand to any seemingly irrational decision or new theory. I know my head from my heart, and my right from my left, and not to cross the street when the light is red. I get it.
Maybe I know too many words, which is why they are constantly battling each other in my mind; colliding dangerously like teenagers in a mosh pit. I never get answers, I just go from one thing to the next; waffles for breakfast, to showering or not, to calling in sick to work, to loving again, to what movie to watch before bed, to bills to pay, to whether I'll ever jump out of a plane. Just like that.
In my mind, I don't stand on a soapbox, I sit in a corner and pick the petals off of a flower, quietly. I don't know a lot, but I know a little about everything, or enough about a little, or maybe just a little about enough things to fake it.
Call me the tangent master.
Sometimes I worry that these thoughts and ideas may overflow from my head, spilling out of my ears and puddling on the floor. I suppose I'd just watch as mothers hastily scooped up their children to save them from the pool of words that would starting to form in aisle 14 of Wal-Mart. "That girl must have been a genius", they'll say, shaking their heads, "Why didn't she put it on paper? She surely must have felt all the sentences building up pressure...". End scene.
Often time, said thought processes lead to productive measures: lists of things to do, cleaning supplies I've run out of, a good recipe I remembered seeing on the Food Network, and grocery items that I need to purchase at the Rainbow discount food store. Daydreams interfere quite often, mingling amidst the aforementioned power-driving thoughts; places I'd like to travel, photos I want to take, what it would be like if I were a country singer, how I'd look with bangs again, how long I would have to hold my breath to pass out and would it get the attention of the cute guy who sits across from me...You know, the normal shit.
Intermixed with all of these flowing paragraphs, and one-sided questions that never get answered, in the most irrational part of my head are things that creep and hide ashamed in dark corners. How if I won the lottery I would eat lobster every day for a month, or at least until I got tired of it. Why there isn't chocolate flavored gum, and if dogs perhaps have opinions on human behavior and rituals. If the mirror above my bed is fastened securely, and what if there was a freak earthquake; would I be decapitated or simply knocked into a coma by it? I wonder a lot about God, and religion. I figure that if Jesus made me as he intended, he certainly has a sense of humor (I'd like to think that I'm one of the funniest people He's created).
I know how very sane I am. I analyze the hell out of every situation, and am the first to hold up a judging hand to any seemingly irrational decision or new theory. I know my head from my heart, and my right from my left, and not to cross the street when the light is red. I get it.
Maybe I know too many words, which is why they are constantly battling each other in my mind; colliding dangerously like teenagers in a mosh pit. I never get answers, I just go from one thing to the next; waffles for breakfast, to showering or not, to calling in sick to work, to loving again, to what movie to watch before bed, to bills to pay, to whether I'll ever jump out of a plane. Just like that.
In my mind, I don't stand on a soapbox, I sit in a corner and pick the petals off of a flower, quietly. I don't know a lot, but I know a little about everything, or enough about a little, or maybe just a little about enough things to fake it.
Call me the tangent master.
Rant
i am a list maker.
I find that making lists, grocery lists, to-do lists,
Christmas lists, etc, etc, amen, calms my often-very-anxious heart down
to a somewhat steady beat instead of a quick two step dance. When things
are out of hand, I go for the pen and paper.
Honestly.
I'm not even obsessive-compulsive. Just...you know. Me.
You would think under certain
conditions that lists are, perhaps, inappropriate.
You may also be under the impression that list making is
NOT a suitable hobby.
I beg to differ.
I find the older ("older") I get, the more essential lists have
become to keeping my racing thoughts in check; almost as if writing
them on paper is the equivalent of locking up a very, very
unstable man in a small enclosed space. Containment is key.
Even in this very transitional/sad/strange (already listing
again) time, I find myself itemizing my emotions, according
to category, time, place and circumstance. I don't think I
could be any more bizarre, but as the open person that I am, I
truly don't care if it's weird.
Numbering, classifying, listing...
whatever. I always feel better if I can at least have in print
the reality of what I'm actually going to have to deal with. I like to take
a measured approach to everything
...
because, of course, after this initial list,
I can start listing what I need/have/want to do
in order to start resolving those aforementioned listed lists of
realities to deal with. ;)
I find that making lists, grocery lists, to-do lists,
Christmas lists, etc, etc, amen, calms my often-very-anxious heart down
to a somewhat steady beat instead of a quick two step dance. When things
are out of hand, I go for the pen and paper.
Honestly.
I'm not even obsessive-compulsive. Just...you know. Me.
You would think under certain
conditions that lists are, perhaps, inappropriate.
You may also be under the impression that list making is
NOT a suitable hobby.
I beg to differ.
I find the older ("older") I get, the more essential lists have
become to keeping my racing thoughts in check; almost as if writing
them on paper is the equivalent of locking up a very, very
unstable man in a small enclosed space. Containment is key.
Even in this very transitional/sad/strange (already listing
again) time, I find myself itemizing my emotions, according
to category, time, place and circumstance. I don't think I
could be any more bizarre, but as the open person that I am, I
truly don't care if it's weird.
Numbering, classifying, listing...
whatever. I always feel better if I can at least have in print
the reality of what I'm actually going to have to deal with. I like to take
a measured approach to everything
...
because, of course, after this initial list,
I can start listing what I need/have/want to do
in order to start resolving those aforementioned listed lists of
realities to deal with. ;)
The art of communication
It's been recently brought to my attention that I should start blogging. Apparently, I'm funny. And not just that, sometimes I'm outright hilarious. Antics ranging from famous one-liners, kitchen fires, foot-in-mouth epidsodes and fully-engaged kitchen bodyslides, I'm a one-woman comedy routine extrodinaire. The funny (yes, funny) thing is...I don't try. I'm a walking, talking cannonball careening towards the next catastrophe that will surely turn into a stand-up show based on actual, real life events.
I don't know know how to be intentionally humorous. Sitting here trying to sift through random thoughts to see what others might chuckle at is a real challenge. Most of the time, it's my mouth's extreme lack-of-filtration that gets the most laughs. I just can't stop. I'm here all day, folks.
So here's the plan. I'll try to remember to write down the shitshows as they surely will come streaming in. Inside jokes will become a Facebook phenomenon. Brother Doorknocker, I have answered the call.
Something tells me I'm going to change the world.
Catch me at Albertson's next. I'm out of cereal, and I'll be the jackass making inappropriate comments about the bagboys.
I don't know know how to be intentionally humorous. Sitting here trying to sift through random thoughts to see what others might chuckle at is a real challenge. Most of the time, it's my mouth's extreme lack-of-filtration that gets the most laughs. I just can't stop. I'm here all day, folks.
So here's the plan. I'll try to remember to write down the shitshows as they surely will come streaming in. Inside jokes will become a Facebook phenomenon. Brother Doorknocker, I have answered the call.
Something tells me I'm going to change the world.
Catch me at Albertson's next. I'm out of cereal, and I'll be the jackass making inappropriate comments about the bagboys.
Remember to breathe
This may turn out to be a long one...
Sometimes writing it down is cleansing. I am learning more and more about myself as the weeks go by, and I have found this past week, hell, month, to be an education in many aspects. I, as if I need to advertise this, wear my sacred little heart on my ever-tattered sleeve, so none of this confessional should be surprising.
For those that have been with me through this long journey, I first say a deep soul-wrenching 'thank you'. Lesson one, be thankful. I feel like I've been on the craziest rollercoaster ride, sometimes stuck hanging upside down and wondering when the wheels were going to start spinning again. I am on solid ground again, and regaining my footing. I've grown leaps and bounds, and while I will always have funny stories to tell, the tales that remain solid in my memory are those revolving around friends and family who have done nothing but support me unconditionally. I bow my head often throughout the day and consider the many blessings I have and the fullfilling joy I feel. Thank you.
Today, I sold my wedding ring. It's been a long time coming, and I should not have been surprised at my inital reaction of steadily flowing tears. It's been over a year since it's actually been around my finger, and after all, it's a piece of molded metal, a precious stone, a material object...I suppose it's the undying overanalyist inside me that considered it a symbol of love and honesty and true devotion. After carrying it aimlessly on my key chain, I decided it was long past due that we part ways. As I turned it over to the kindest man who bought it from me, I welled up--I can sincerely say I have never seen so much sympathy in a stranger's eyes as he placed it around his own pinky for safekeeping. I think that's what got me, because he read deep into the depths of my own heart, and judged nothing, simply patted my hand, and asked if I was sure. And fuck if I was hadn't been any more sure of anything in my life. I no longer feel anchored.
I don't write this as a sympathy cry, or an attention grabber, but a simple sharing of my heart and soul. I have no sadness over what transpired, because my life is abundantly joyful, as I've said many times. I hesitate to even type this as I am allowing new people into my life, but as we all know, Becca rambles, and eventually it would all spill out and overflow freely from pursed lips. Today was a good day despite a tear or two.
Days long, starting to be sunny, many a long talk, a good cry, a silly dance, a chalk drawing, a fashion show, good wine, hysterical laughter, high fives, amazing music, new passions, bangs and haircuts, bicycles and babies, intuitions, tulips, dandelions, inside jokes, a thousand cigarettes and never enough sleep...this is my world. This is my heart.
And to those newest to it, and you know who you are...I adore you. You light up my life.
My heart skips a beat...
Sometimes writing it down is cleansing. I am learning more and more about myself as the weeks go by, and I have found this past week, hell, month, to be an education in many aspects. I, as if I need to advertise this, wear my sacred little heart on my ever-tattered sleeve, so none of this confessional should be surprising.
For those that have been with me through this long journey, I first say a deep soul-wrenching 'thank you'. Lesson one, be thankful. I feel like I've been on the craziest rollercoaster ride, sometimes stuck hanging upside down and wondering when the wheels were going to start spinning again. I am on solid ground again, and regaining my footing. I've grown leaps and bounds, and while I will always have funny stories to tell, the tales that remain solid in my memory are those revolving around friends and family who have done nothing but support me unconditionally. I bow my head often throughout the day and consider the many blessings I have and the fullfilling joy I feel. Thank you.
Today, I sold my wedding ring. It's been a long time coming, and I should not have been surprised at my inital reaction of steadily flowing tears. It's been over a year since it's actually been around my finger, and after all, it's a piece of molded metal, a precious stone, a material object...I suppose it's the undying overanalyist inside me that considered it a symbol of love and honesty and true devotion. After carrying it aimlessly on my key chain, I decided it was long past due that we part ways. As I turned it over to the kindest man who bought it from me, I welled up--I can sincerely say I have never seen so much sympathy in a stranger's eyes as he placed it around his own pinky for safekeeping. I think that's what got me, because he read deep into the depths of my own heart, and judged nothing, simply patted my hand, and asked if I was sure. And fuck if I was hadn't been any more sure of anything in my life. I no longer feel anchored.
I don't write this as a sympathy cry, or an attention grabber, but a simple sharing of my heart and soul. I have no sadness over what transpired, because my life is abundantly joyful, as I've said many times. I hesitate to even type this as I am allowing new people into my life, but as we all know, Becca rambles, and eventually it would all spill out and overflow freely from pursed lips. Today was a good day despite a tear or two.
Days long, starting to be sunny, many a long talk, a good cry, a silly dance, a chalk drawing, a fashion show, good wine, hysterical laughter, high fives, amazing music, new passions, bangs and haircuts, bicycles and babies, intuitions, tulips, dandelions, inside jokes, a thousand cigarettes and never enough sleep...this is my world. This is my heart.
And to those newest to it, and you know who you are...I adore you. You light up my life.
My heart skips a beat...
And then you...
There is alot of good in this world. I wonder how long I've been walking around with my eyes closed and arms folded defensively. When you finally breathe it all in, it's an influx of emotions and sensations and incredible beauty. There is still bad, hurt exists and it is always painful, heartache remains prominent, and money will always be the devil's advocate. But somewhere folded in the inbetweens, there remains so much more.
I still force people to tell me I'm pretty when I'm drunk, I think I am very persuasive about it until I hear about it the morning after. I won't lie if I think you're ridiculously good looking, I'll tell you and make you agree with me. Quote you song lyrics that are jumbled but heartfelt, and talk in a terrible New York accent, splashed colorfully with obscenities. I will always fuss over my hair, always.
I will cry alot. I will throw a fit that would easily best a 2 year old. I will get defensive, and admit that while I am prolific, I sometimes prefer to remain naive. I will never be a good singer, and you will have to kindly remind me of this from time to time. I will forever long for adventure. I have to stop every 30 seconds to take a picture. No matter where we are. I fear one day my memory will fail me, and I want it all captured...every single moment.
I get so mad at injustice, I get violently upset at the idea religion, I hate politics. I don't know what good art is, I just know what I find to be aesthetically pleasing. I read Kafka but I also indulge in Stephen King.
I am just what I am. Sometimes I smoke alot, sometimes not at all. I am the guy's guy, but I have nice legs and a pretty mouth. I laugh wildly and loudly and about everything.
It is.
I still force people to tell me I'm pretty when I'm drunk, I think I am very persuasive about it until I hear about it the morning after. I won't lie if I think you're ridiculously good looking, I'll tell you and make you agree with me. Quote you song lyrics that are jumbled but heartfelt, and talk in a terrible New York accent, splashed colorfully with obscenities. I will always fuss over my hair, always.
I will cry alot. I will throw a fit that would easily best a 2 year old. I will get defensive, and admit that while I am prolific, I sometimes prefer to remain naive. I will never be a good singer, and you will have to kindly remind me of this from time to time. I will forever long for adventure. I have to stop every 30 seconds to take a picture. No matter where we are. I fear one day my memory will fail me, and I want it all captured...every single moment.
I get so mad at injustice, I get violently upset at the idea religion, I hate politics. I don't know what good art is, I just know what I find to be aesthetically pleasing. I read Kafka but I also indulge in Stephen King.
I am just what I am. Sometimes I smoke alot, sometimes not at all. I am the guy's guy, but I have nice legs and a pretty mouth. I laugh wildly and loudly and about everything.
It is.
I get all the laughs...
Since blogging has been very healing, I'm reposting an old one I dug up...someday these will get funny. I promise.
I've begun to notice the small things. Not small, as in, unimportant, but small, sometimes overlooked, perhaps tiny happenings that just come naturally after while. Things gathered in time passing and hours spent with good friends. I just realized today how comforting those small things are, and how I don't always need something big and brag-worthy to make me happy.
I know who likes veggies, and what kinds. Who doesn't, and the face they make when I mention cooking food with onions in it. The laughter that follows when I tell them that they're too picky. Their favorite color, what they eat in the morning, how they prefer to wear their hair. I know what makes them angry, what makes them cry, and have many times cried along with them. I make the same gestures sometimes, and find I've unknowingly changed myself in a way that mimics parts of them all. I guess that just happens when you're around someone so long.
I know about their pasts, and caught a glimpse it was like to grow up with their father or mother; what hardships have shaped them into the dynamic being they are today. I know fears, joys, heartaches and dirty little secrets, and they too know mine. I relish these small things, and appreciate just knowing I've been entrusted in getting to know them wholly as a person.
I don't have to do big things, to show these people off. I think it's apparent on it's own who cares for me and who I care for. I'm very greatful to even have one person like this, let alone many.
And to the future, it rests within my heart to keep learning new things, opening up, and occasionally, adding another inside joke to the collection. Cheers.
I've begun to notice the small things. Not small, as in, unimportant, but small, sometimes overlooked, perhaps tiny happenings that just come naturally after while. Things gathered in time passing and hours spent with good friends. I just realized today how comforting those small things are, and how I don't always need something big and brag-worthy to make me happy.
I know who likes veggies, and what kinds. Who doesn't, and the face they make when I mention cooking food with onions in it. The laughter that follows when I tell them that they're too picky. Their favorite color, what they eat in the morning, how they prefer to wear their hair. I know what makes them angry, what makes them cry, and have many times cried along with them. I make the same gestures sometimes, and find I've unknowingly changed myself in a way that mimics parts of them all. I guess that just happens when you're around someone so long.
I know about their pasts, and caught a glimpse it was like to grow up with their father or mother; what hardships have shaped them into the dynamic being they are today. I know fears, joys, heartaches and dirty little secrets, and they too know mine. I relish these small things, and appreciate just knowing I've been entrusted in getting to know them wholly as a person.
I don't have to do big things, to show these people off. I think it's apparent on it's own who cares for me and who I care for. I'm very greatful to even have one person like this, let alone many.
And to the future, it rests within my heart to keep learning new things, opening up, and occasionally, adding another inside joke to the collection. Cheers.
Metamorphosis
When do you suppose I'll truly grow up?
Learn to manage my money, successfully? Realize that I HAVE to go to work, pay the bills, do the laundry and actually fill the car up with gasoline? That not every stomachache indicates a day in bed with cartoons, and that not every nightmare is real. There are no monsters in the closet, and honestly, if there are, there is no one to battle them besides me, myself and I.
I swear I'm not an infant, but somedays, you'd fully believe I was fresh from the womb; kicking and screaming and flailing about. Ever red in the face, just looking for a hand to hold me. Searching for some solidarity in the sea of eyes that's watching me so terribly close.
When do I get to transform? I, too, want to be that beautiful butterfly of adulthood, maturity and responsibility. I find myself, instead, to be the one struggling catepillar, hanging upside haphazardly, with one formed wing flapping out of the cocoon...cursing wildly.
I laugh alot about it. The entire concept is nearly foreign to me...the word adult spoken in a strange language I cannot connect with. I guess I find security in my half-formed state, false as it may be. I can chalk it all up to a lingering youth, and the hard to admit fact that I still don't know everything.
Undoubtedly I'll make mistakes, destined to encounter the same problems once, twice or three times depending on my hardheadedness.
I want to grow and change and develop, but if I have to hang in the balances for awhile, I'll survive it. I surely don't want to miss a thing...
Learn to manage my money, successfully? Realize that I HAVE to go to work, pay the bills, do the laundry and actually fill the car up with gasoline? That not every stomachache indicates a day in bed with cartoons, and that not every nightmare is real. There are no monsters in the closet, and honestly, if there are, there is no one to battle them besides me, myself and I.
I swear I'm not an infant, but somedays, you'd fully believe I was fresh from the womb; kicking and screaming and flailing about. Ever red in the face, just looking for a hand to hold me. Searching for some solidarity in the sea of eyes that's watching me so terribly close.
When do I get to transform? I, too, want to be that beautiful butterfly of adulthood, maturity and responsibility. I find myself, instead, to be the one struggling catepillar, hanging upside haphazardly, with one formed wing flapping out of the cocoon...cursing wildly.
I laugh alot about it. The entire concept is nearly foreign to me...the word adult spoken in a strange language I cannot connect with. I guess I find security in my half-formed state, false as it may be. I can chalk it all up to a lingering youth, and the hard to admit fact that I still don't know everything.
Undoubtedly I'll make mistakes, destined to encounter the same problems once, twice or three times depending on my hardheadedness.
I want to grow and change and develop, but if I have to hang in the balances for awhile, I'll survive it. I surely don't want to miss a thing...
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