Ellipsis, etc.

2010-12-05T17:39:00.000-08:00

Post-War Clarity & The Terms and Conditions of Playing Pretend.

It was a Friday night. The weather reports promised snow.

It was a snow-less, Friday night and I found myself kneeling in the aisles of various self-help sections. I handled almost every book that pertained to the problems at hand, and some that were blatantly off the subject. “How to Get Your Life Back!”, “I Love Me!” , “You Can Do it!: Eight Steps to Finding AND Loving Yourself!” All of the titles seemed to be screaming with their obligatory explanation marks and insistent, assuring positive declarations of self-worth and of a life worth living.

At 22 years old, it’s hard to look back and not learn something along the way.
At 22 years old, it’s easy to forget who I was, who I am and who I want to be.

To honor the changing of the seasons, hot to cold, light to dark, I am actively rediscovering the things that I once deemed important. This is the first of those things. As an uninsured, low income individual who considers herself to have a “screw loose” or to be, at times, a bit “off her rocker” writing has and will continue to act as a completely selfish, self-serving form of therapy for me. Even more than the words themselves, or the meanings behind them, it is the mere process of draining my perpetual inner floods that fulfills my interminable thirst for catharsis. I’ve neglected to put forth the effort in repairing the damage of aforementioned floods, nor have I mustered the energy to rebuild the poorly constructed system of levees that have forced these floods upon me.

At any rate, this will be a very slow, very mundane reinvention (of sorts.) I don’t plan on cutting off all of my hair and I don’t plan on selling my life here for one in India or what have you. To put it simply, my goal is to free myself from unnecessary and harmful thoughts, feelings and actions that have knowingly taken control of what should be the most exciting juncture in my life. Now, this is not to say that any of this reinvention bullshit is going to be easy. It feels impossible and might very well be. And I guarantee you that I’m going to kick and scream the entire way through. This abundance of defiance could easily be compared to how a child must feel when their mother yanks them from the playground with the piss poor, ambiguous explanation of “It’s time to go.”

The last time I wrote anything that wasn’t work related (yes, I am a published writer now. Hold your applause until the end, please.) snow covered the ground and I had killer, rockstar bangs (RIP, lovelies.)
Since then, my world has made an unfortunate habit of dipping in and out of its usual orbit, occasionally leaving me without gravity.

It only seems fitting to start where I left off, or somewhere close to it.

A heaping portion of my summers favorite moments were spent floating down river, hazy eyed and laughing. Smelling of campfire is an underrated pleasure, as is letting damp skin dry in the summer sun. Dirt beneath our feet, mid-day hangovers, unzipping the morning; we celebrated the season to its fullest and embraced our unbarred youth.

Other moments were more spontaneous. Laying on the beach at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon is a perfect example of our freelance, freedom. We attend matinee movies and eat brunch, too. We did as we pleased; putting all control in the hands of time.

A moment of weakness. A singular indiscretion. It took time but we started over and haven’t looked back; recovery is still in progress.

One year.

I remember our first kiss, awkward and unplanned. I remember the moment I realized that I loved him. I remember each surprise, each fight. I remember crying into his chest and when he promised to change my life.

One year. We traveled through the night only to find ourselves sleep deprived on the most beautiful beach cascading with the most breathtaking sunrise either of us had ever seen all while being viciously attacked by a plague of biting black flies. We slept in the rain, hiked through the forest, drank copious glasses of wine, indulged in plant-provided happiness, hunger and laughter all while weaving through the endless sea of tourists on our tandem bicycle. We marveled at waterfalls, cement statuettes, sweeping valleys and vineyards, old stories and new growth. But above all else, we celebrated all the hard work that brought us to this point; biting black flies, waterfalls and all.

It’s a difficult transition to make. The once lively and exciting relationship that I shared with the camera is becoming more and more distant. I’m getting older and things have become comfortable. The hurt that comes with receiving a rejection letter and the consuming disgust that comes from not feeling desirable is, for me, heartbreaking. Compare, contrast, destruct; a daily cycle that can only be described as debilitating. The battle forges on. 120, 124.5, 118, 121.5. For someone who has strategically avoided a mathematical life, numbers hold the reigns and call the shots; unwillingly, unstoppable. Food makes me cry, hunger makes me smile and the scale makes me want to disappear. For anyone that knows me or thinks that they might have a slight grasp on who I am, I’m not exactly someone who has their shit together. My ducks are not in a row.

Surprisingly enough, I'm not completely delusional. Despite wanting to be everyone and everything and desperately wanting to change myself every morning upon waking, I realize that I cannot be anything than what I am. I realize that I will never be the most beautiful. I will never be the sexiest or the prettiest. I will never be perfect. I will never be entirely imperfect, either. I know that, I do. And I know that wishing I was different, or better or whatever, will not change anything…ever. So, what’s the problem? What is my problem? I can’t even hear that he thinks Katy Perry is hot, or that model so and so is pretty, blah, blah (you get the picture. ) Usually this is the point where I would try to write some pseudo-eloquent, elusive description of how I feel, using poetry and prose to paint me as a character worth sympathizing. I’ll cut the shit. I am a jealous person. So jealous, in fact, that my mind, body and speech shut down and I am reduced to a vegetative state using only “yes”, “no” and “I don’t care” as my main vessels of communication. I don’t need people telling me that “it’s okay.” and I certainly don’t need people telling me that I’m beautiful. All I want is to have someone convince me that I am not crazy. I need to really, truly believe it before I can get better.

Finding out that you don’t have cancer feels, for the lack of better words, pretty fucking amazing. An exam lead to an ultrasound which lead to a biopsy which then lead to a surgery. We spent a month on edge, nurturing the possibility that something could be wrong with me. Thanks to an out pour of well wishes, I managed to survive one of the most difficult ordeals of my life. I firmly believe that if it weren’t for him, I would have lost my mind somewhere along the way.

I heard a radio show once where the topic was about those living their “Plan A” versus those living their Plan B, C or D. “There's the thing you plan to do, and then there's the thing you end up doing. Most of us start off our lives with some Plan A which we abandon...switching to a Plan B, which becomes our life. “ explained Ira. Never did I think I would be living my Plan A with someone equally committed to living his Plan A, resulting in two people unwilling to compromise to the constraints of mediocrity and unhappiness. This isn’t to say we sometimes bite the proverbial bullet and do things we aren’t 100% excited to do, nor does that mean we are 100% happy 100% of the time. But how lucky we are to be able to at least say we are living our Plan A. I won’t go back. Ever.

Written by Jerilyn Cook. Model: Jerilyn Jordan. Styled by Jerilyn Cook. Over the past 9 months, I have seen all of these bylines in print. Pictures and words; redefining myself with every page. It wasn’t easy, and each avenue of my passion continues to present it’s own list of seemingly impossible demands. I won’t go back. Ever.

The well-worn wood floors squeak and moan with each step, and the bedroom windows are shrouded with ivy. There’s a fireplace, a garden window and a just enough space to hide all the things I want to keep hidden. All but one wall is painted a soft shade of Grey and sometimes our front door opens without an invitation to do so. Motherless children, unrelated; Two cat’s curled in laps, claws and paws making the most delicate sound upon the previously described, worn wood floors; they continually drape us in a supreme sense of joy. The warmth provided by this house and the life inside of it, is not comparable to anything I have ever felt before (despite the actual furnace failing to produce our desired amount of heat.) This was the real start of all things real.

So, this is where I am now.

Snow has finally come, although has decided not to stay.

Comforted by revved engine purrs and the still of my new home, I realize that this is all I’ve ever wanted; Filled with the excitement that can only come from not knowing what’s going to happen next, we have a place to call our own complete with tidy stacks of books upon the shelve, music flowing room to room, the smell of homemade food floating about and the undeniable and constant sensation of finally feeling at home. All of my mistakes, struggles and hardships have somehow, someway miraculously provided me with love, happiness and a life that holds great promise.

I can’t be expected to recall, retell and rewrite the past ten months. I can only be reminded to look ahead.
This is all for the greater goal of living free from the restraints of self-loathing, jealousy and anxiety. I’ve always been this way. So to say that I want my life back doesn’t fully make sense. Instead, I am pleading with myself to do the impossible;

I will befriend mirrors and other equally daunting reflective surfaces. I will realize that he has chosen me above all else. I will run to, not from. I will not be my mother or my father. I will fail with humility and grace. I will care about the things worth caring about and will dismiss all else. I will learn to adopt healthy selfishness and become more appropriately selfless. I will only say sorry when I am really, truly sorry. I will open up the closed corridors, gates and thresholds of my heart, etc. I will fall together, not apart.

…and then New Order: Age of Consent began to play.

Here I am.

The world in full motion blur as I stand still.

2010-02-11T09:41:00.001-08:00

I'm the hero of the story
Don't need to be saved
I'm the hero of the story
Don't need to be saved
I'm the hero of the story
Don't need to be saved

Expiration dates and escape routes.
Breathing into metaphorical brown paper bags.
Digging holes and falling in.
My good enough is never quite good enough for me.
Not being alone fills me with more panic than loneliness.

The first real snow where love played a part.
Glittering blankets and embankments of white.
This isn’t the first of winter, but it’s the one I’ll remember.
When it falls in heaping amounts as it did, clarity
and I become temporary bedfellows.
The temporary presence of clarity and the like
always precedes an onslaught of confusion and doubt.
That's where I am now.
This is where I've started
to dig myself out.

I waited on the porch and let him in.
“So, this is it?” he said in a sideways manner.
He traced the maps with his fingers and shot disconcerting glances at
the cluttered coffee table,the kitchen sink stock piled with dirty dishes
and the empty liquor bottles lining the counter.
With knowing nothing of my life, I could see him painting careless
images of how I must be living and how neglected I must be.
We drove to where chickens walk the streets,
sipping water from puddles, darting under stationary tires.
The restaurant was still.
We did our best to keep our mouths full as to avoid the small talk
We hoped to never encounter.
Wild World by Cat Stevens
A song that has always successfully provoked
feelings of nostalgia and lament from within me, came onto the overhead stereo.
The sound of our forks scraping the bottom of our plates, the ice rattling in our glasses;

“Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world
and I'll always remember you like a child, girl”

I looked to the window for comfort. I knew that if we were to make eye contact,
the things I was beginning to fear would internalize with a single, damp glaze.
“Beautiful song.” he said.
I agreed, quietly.

Handing me a wrinkled wad of money, walked me to the door and
with a biting tongue and coldness that burned,
he inadvertently showed me his feelings.
I cannot change his mind. I will not change my life.
But I can convince him that
I am safe,
I am happy
and
I am loved.
If he has even the slightest bit of faith and trust in me
then he will see that who I am is who I have built.

I'm not sure what the true definition of what a friend is,
but I most certainly know it has nothing
to do with ruining something great.
It's one thing to confront the situation.
It's the right thing.
It's another to confront the situation
in whispered tones and sneaky secrets.
I appreciate the willingness to help me realize what it is I deserve
but I can't justify the dishonest, malicious nature
of what is happening behind my back.
I never asked for help. I never asked to be saved.

I am not skilled in the art of feeling secure in myself.
However, I am fluent in the language of being inadequate.
Only recently have I come to see what a jealous,
easily overawed, sensitive person I am.
These unfortunate qualities that have made
themselves exponentially more apparent
over the past few months are tearing me apart,
threatening to dismantle the progress I've made.
His livelihood triggers nerves I never knew I had.
Looking for girls; girls that are easy to fix.
I don't fit into that category, or so I imagine.
There are things I can try to help control
the bitterness and the jealousy.
But these efforts barely numb the fact that I will
never love myself the way he does.
And although he assures me of this
overwhelming affluence
of love every moment of every day,
the world will always win.
The compliments make it worse, sometimes.
The countless guarantees make it hurt, sometimes.
Above all, I feel guilty for not believing him.
Loving me is most certainly an exasperating juncture...
or so I imagine.

Every morning, when my eyes peel themselves
awake and I am draped in his warmth,
I can’t believe how lucky I am to be in love.
It’s unfair of me to compare what I have to those around me.
If this were to end, I don’t know where I would begin.
I try and imagine other relationships I know and
how they could never satisfy me
after having been in a love like this.
Every morning, I’m scared to see where I am
when my eyes peel themselves awake
because there’s no reason as to why my wish
should constantly come true.

It's frightening how love can change.
She was in love with someone
and now she's in love, but alone.
How to you pick yourself up?
How do you find the will to
try it all over again?
Her tale of heartbreak and strife
inspired me to do whatever it takes,
to make our love work.
I'm not strong enough to start over.
I just want to be in love forever.

It’s the discouragement that comes from the success of others that
I use to justify why it is I don’t have a chance.
This attitude and personality flaw is completely destructive.
I am positive that it is this very attitude that will ruin the chances I do have.

I’m doing what I set out to do and
what I’ve said I would do since I held pen to paper.
But because I am writing and turning a
few mislaid words into sentences, into paragraphs,
I’m beginning to see how much further I have to go.
My imagery is repetitive.
My adjectives are elementary.
My sentences are too long.
I make everything sound epically important and special,
even though the mundane truth is just as much.
I'm searching between the lines to find
whether or not this is what I was want.

If only I could write myself as a beautiful hyperbole.

I'm coming back. Slowly, I'm coming back.
I promise.

photo by:
www.christianog.com

2010-01-25T19:00:00.000-08:00

"Don't lose your faith in me

And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don't put your trust in walls
'Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now"

I will never be a woman.
I will never stand upright.
I will never see straight.

There’s a point in every vacation where you realize that you sort of wish you were back to your normal life where you have responsibility and schedules. The kind of vacation where clocks are unnecessary, calendars are irrelevant and naps are primary devices for passing the time. Since my life has become a vacation, I’m beginning to feel as though the world and I have become distant acquaintances. I hope to be reunited soon; eased gently and welcomed with fervor.

Six months. Six months is one half of twelve months which is one year. I have waited approximately seven years (2,555 days, 61,320 hours) to be the person I have evolved into over the past six months. The person I have become can only be attributed to the love I have found and the supplier of the aforesaid love. It’s apparent that this relationship has taken a different road at a different speed than most relationships I’ve been privy to witness. Six months and we can already see the future; we already consider ourselves partners in all that we do. We care for and about each other as if we were one in the same. Looking back, it seems as though this is all I’ve ever known; as if this is where all of my fortunes and misfortunes alike have lead me to. I’ve been planted here, with him. My roots, for the first time feel solid and nurtured. I’ve forgotten what it is to be alone and have only retained the joy that comes with waking up in love.

I wish that it didn’t come to mind as often as it does. And even if that wish could not be granted I would demand to not have these thoughts fill me with panic; doubting myself and what we’ve built. But I just can’t escape it. I’ve been told that first love is the sweetest. This I’ve learned to be true. To be someone’s second, third or fourth love…well, it doesn’t feel as poetic or as electric. It’s insecurity, yes. But more than that it is a constant, aching notion that you (I) will never be good enough. You (I) dwell on the beautiful qualities that you’re (I‘m) convinced managed to hold the others before you (me) in your lovers orbit and you (I) feel as though you (I) will never make them as happy as the formers. When smiles creep upon their faces without traces, you (I) assume that it’s because of a past life and a love that was shared there. Or when that one song finds it’s way and you know that the sadness or happiness is not caused by you (me) but instead, one who loved them (him) first. It is selfish, I know, to want to erase the world leaving only the two of us. It is selfish to want his past, present and future. I wish I was strong enough to be here now. Trying with all of my power, I am learning to let what we have take us to wherever we are meant to be. I can wish on stars, pennies and dead dandelions all I want. All I can really do is love and graciously accept the love I’ve been given.

It fell through the cracks.
It was fiction.
I am just a pretty girl who had her picture taken once.
Period, no ellipsis.

A byline. A tiny byline in smeared black newspaper print.
I couldn’t ask for more but I will work for it.

I can’t imagine a violin sounding anything but sad.

Dancing to songs that can only be appreciated when intoxicated, I had assumed that the climax of my night was the twenty minute search for a missing member of our three person party; darting through smoke and pulsating lights. Or perhaps it was that drunken confidence that convinced me that I was the only girl on the dance floor and everyone was there to stand in awe of my beauty and revolutionary dance moves (i.e.; simultaneously tossing my hair around, swaying my hips, catching myself from falling all while sipping my vodka cranberry.)As life was winding down, becoming one of those nights you look back on a week later and think, “I should have more nights like that.” Laughing, foggy eyed and minded, I was dropped off to a congregation of inebriated familiars gathered on the porch. From the moment I returned home, the night took a sharp turn. Shot for shot, missing undergarments, secret meetings in the shower, sneaking cigarettes, teasing our others…seemingly normal for a party of drunken friends. We ventured outside (me being the only one to go sans shoes.) to show the world (our neighbors) the flesh colored gifts attached to our chest. Our uproarious, mischievous behavior was that of thirteen year old girls; Yes it was shameful, but our careless actions embodied the free spirit of when we were children. With complete disregard for our usually sound judgment, we squealed with delight.

With one clumsy misstep backwards, a bottle shattered from under my foot. I saw blood. More blood than I knew I was capable of spilling from my body. My mind was much too clouded to fully understand that it was I who broke the bottle and the blood belonged to me. I don’t remember much, except for a hysterical car ride where, in between dramatic sobs, I verbally rejected the idea of going to a hospital. “I don’t have insurance, please take me home.” They drove anyway. A wheelchair, automatic doors, several nurses. Yes, I was a clearly intoxicated girl on a Saturday night who was frantically rushed to the emergency with a ‘cut” foot. This is a hard situation for nurses who see real trauma and real tragedy on a daily basis to take seriously. They brushed it off until they unwrapped the makeshift bandage (a roll of medical gauze and a men’s tank top.) blood poured from me, catching them off guard. According to my elephant, I was overly calm, underplaying the severity of my condition as I was rushed to where a doctor with a thick Indian accent would eventually prick my foot with more shots than I could count and would haphazardly sew the gaping laceration; my little, glass filled accident. When offered an I.V of pain medication that would prepare me for the shots and the needlework, I refused, restating my “I don’t have insurance” speech because I assumed that it would cost more if they would have given it to me. Another lapse of darkness. I held his arm and cried. It was the worst pain I had felt, or remember feeling. I cried for my father, who was nowhere to be found. “Mam, please calm down these are just shots.” the doctor kept saying. It took what seemed to be hours until I was able to lie still without being prodded with needles and thread. I slept. My love stayed by my side, holding my hand, stroking my hair. In one of my moments of alertness, I heard a doctor in the curtained room to my right discuss the patients miscarriage, the cause for her emergency visit. It felt nightmarish to hear those words in real life. One of, what I imagine to be, the greatest tragedies one can experience. Elephant, who was also listening, assured me that she wasn‘t far along. Kissing my hand, he assured me that it was okay. After another period of sleep, his parents came and I felt an immediate flood of love and warmth, the very kinds that only family can ensure.

At some point, the hospital said I could leave. It was somewhere around seven am. I hobbled into a wheel chair, nausea overcame me. It was then that my head tipped back, my skin turned a shade of green, my vitals dropped and I urinated all over myself. They pulled me from the chair, stripped me of my soiled clothes, hooked me up to wires and monitors. When I came to, I was overcome with bright lights. When I came to, they had shut the curtains, surrounding me with discontent. I couldn’t translated the whirs and beeps of the surrounding machines, but I hoped with all my might that my last moments alive would not be set to the soundtrack of such artificial, ugly noises. And I certainly hoped that I would not spend my last moments without hearing the familiar jingle jangle of my fathers keys, or without a kiss on the forehead from my Elephant. “This is the bed people die in.” the attending nurse said to me. So there was a moment where I thought I was both dying and with child. It wasn’t until typing this that I realize how very suiting that situation would be for a made for t.v movie. But I was neither dying (although I felt otherwise) or with child (for which I had no evidence to believe this to be true in the first place.)

He thought I was going to die and I was more in love than ever. After hours of being pumped with hydrating fluids and hours of waiting, I was able to leave. My father never came, despite having talked to him. When I did get to hear his voice, he judged me. Instead of being comforted by his fatherly concern or his eagerness to see me, I was in shock that the one person I was conditioned to believe would always be there for me, not only failed to be by my side but showed complete disinterest in my well being.

It felt great to be home. The one home that, for the past six months, has never faltered in his love for me. It feels great to know that I am taken care of.

I can’t promise to deny myself of cynicism.
But I can promise to give all that I can
And love the best I know how.
Because I know in my heart that good does exist.
And as long as I believe that to be true, I think I’ll be okay.

The candy colored flowers are falling,
defenselessly over the vase
I've been them.
But then I found the sun.

photo by : www.christianog.com

2009-12-31T15:02:00.000-08:00

"And I never thought this life was possible
You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for"

"Life was different in my cage." said Little Yellow Bird.
"Life is still different." said Elephant.
"Yes, Elephant. But my heart feels as though it might burst"
said Little Yellow Bird.
"That's love, I think." said Elephant.
"What is love?" asked Little Yellow Bird.
"I'm not sure, exactly, Little Yellow Bird." Elephant said.
"But I think it might be everything."

In a few short hours this year will be a distant and pleasant memory.
In a few short hours, everything will be the same.

Looking back to the winding path that led me here,
I can finally say goodbye.
If I squint my eyes hard enough and focus long enough,
I can see blurred distortions of burdens and sadness,
with flecks of emotional martyrdom,
All of which are fading into yesterday.

Some people find God.
I didn’t find God.
You wouldn’t believe what I found, even if I told you.
What I found is beyond imagination and secrets.
I hid it deep underneath my bed, next to dust and old magazines.

I traveled alone and took off my clothes.
Slept in a strange bed.
Rode on subways to sidewalks until my feet gave way.
I flew to where everything claims to be bigger.
I drove to where the wind gave the city its name.
But even in places where people travel in herds it
was impossible to feel anything other than isolated.
I guess it started in New York.
I suppose I can attribute this life to that day in New York.

Heartbreak paid a visit and outstayed its welcome.
I had lost all value.
The weakness of my own heart confounded me and the
Carelessness of hearts belonging to others shattered me.
I wrote a love letter and fell into routine of endless cigarettes
And making lists of things I wanted to do but would never make an effort to.
It was at the peak of this cyclical, seemingly never ending pattern
of self loathing and deprecation that a promise was made to me.
We met by chance.

In the same way that a row of domino's can only fall if one falters,
that is how we came to be.
The inter connectivity of countless ostensibly
trivial occurrences somehow conceived this.
Had my domino's remained still,
who knows what might have happened.

After years and years of emulating that storybook duckling,
I, with great hesitance, shed my garish feathers for ones of white
As I found myself surrounded by flashbulbs.
It took a while, but I now can accept that
people see me differently than I see myself.
There are moments when we are unified
in our perceptions, but very rarely does that occur.
I know who I am, I know who I see. But I nod my head and say
“Thank you” like I am supposed to.
White feathers are harder to maintain.

I mended some patches, and burned a few holes.
Losing touch, gaining insight, growing up.

The little brick house under the sky where birds and
planes collide within reach is still there.
It’s still occupied by the people who
insist that the door is always open.
My room is undisturbed, although it
seems to be used to store spare chairs.
My visits never last more than an hour.
They point out what food is where and
what cupboards hide what dishes.
They say “Make yourself at home.”

I wake up everyday above an octopus.
I never wake up alone.
Morning beams and street lamp shadows fill the room.
Sometimes I can’t come to terms with the fact that others came before me.
The bed holds moments I will never know.
Memories I will never understand.
I am constantly reminded of how easy it is to be replaced.
It was just a t-shirt. But I’m just not there yet.
Regardless, that aforementioned promise stands true.
And within that promise, our love is constantly evolving.
We're happy.

Christmas trees, planted and sewn in perfect, linear rows.
Lovers calling out, darting in and out of branches.
Ice cream and cow kisses.
People singing in the street.
Drunken lucidity.
Driving away; driving away and burying deep.
Weighing the cost.

China.
Apparently I changed.
I let myself get taken away and I was reduced to childlike excitement.
We tried to move forward, but we can’t seem to escape it.
It was nice to think about. It was oddly comforting to feel like it was a possibility.
China’s red enough, anyway.
It’s for the best.

We walked blindly into a church somewhere far from home.
Wind blown and tattered, we found a scrap of salvation.
Little girls ringing bells, fire burning blue.
A disjointed version of Silent Night by a girl no older than seven
Accompanied me down the aisle while I imagined a candle lit life.
Hymnals, empty pews, illuminated idols, shadows belonging to storybook angels.
The roses were still in bloom.
I asked them why they were still alive
and how they managed to survive.
I’m still waiting for a reply.

The twelfth month was unlike any other of
my previous twelfth month experiences.
My family grew twice its normal size.
I was never alone, nor did I ever once feel alone.
I was able to give.
This year was silver, not green,
despite the newness of this abounding flood of warmth.

Some days don’t go as we plan.
Sometimes buildings are lost and the city is a tundra.
Sometimes we get turned around and miss our turns.
Sometimes we don’t want to leave the house
And sometimes we don’t want to go home.
We can’t foresee what will come tomorrow.
We can only foresee that the love we have will continue
To be our saving grace…even when things don’t go as planned.

At this moment, I am watching the sky turn from blue to gray,
snowflakes swirling about in disjointed dance.
I am warmed by all that I learned and all that I felt.
My heart has finally reached its capacity.
Overwhelmed with possibility, this is what I’ve waited for.

A few short hours ago, this year became a distant and pleasant memory.
One that will remain to be a dream; distant and pleasant.

photo by Dan Lippitt

2009-11-25T12:42:00.000-08:00

If you're still free, start running away

Life for two.
Two plates, two servings. Two loads of laundry, two dryer sheets.
Two pillows for two heavy minds on one bed in the middle of one room in one house
underneath a solitary, shining streetlamp.

I never really played house when I was a child. Partially because playing house by myself proved itself to be too difficult for my lonely, only child imagination. Now, at 21, I find myself playing house almost everyday. In this life the food is edible and eaten from dishes not made of plastic. Appliances are plugged into walls surging with electricity provided by hungry pocketbooks. In this life there are consequences for being right and for being wrong about things that are no longer pretend. In this life time exists beyond the confines of recess.

The bruised sky obliged a disheveled flock of birds squawking boundlessly at the thought of escape. Feeling despondent within the barely noticeable breeze, I reconfirmed that I have settled for what I have been given. I’ve lost the will to fight for more. Not out of depression or sadness (both of which are usually responsible for such indifference.) This stems from pure contentment. This stems from feeling safe. Instead of letting myself remain immobilized by comfort, I know that I should trek forward in search of that place where happiness grows in grandiose amounts, so that I can ensure that these feelings will be a part of me for a while longer.

I shouldn’t say anything. Listening to commentary from people who are untouched and uninvolved is unhealthy. It’s puzzling to know that people only want the best for me; it’s what I want, too. The pieces don’t fit because what’s best to them and what’s best to me are not the same. It’s not a matter of who’s right. It’s a matter of what’s right for me within the paradox of “us” within the microcosm of life, love and trial and error.

It was bound to come to an end. I have been replaced by December.
And sooner than I would like, I will be at the bottom of some pile, somewhere.
At least I was at the top once. At least I’ll be able to look back.

Duct taping my window shut, he avoided eye contact.
I stood by, a bag of clothes in tow, admiring this seemingly inconsequential act.
"I wish you would come back home." His eyes were tired and damp.
"I...I wish I could, but I can't. I've been home before."
"It's just...I miss you so much. You're my world."
"I miss you, too. You know how much I love you, right?"
"I love you, more than anything."
We hugged. I drove away.
This isn't a choice that I've made, it is a choice I've been given,
thanks to my necessary and exhausting evolution.
Part of me wants to reclaim my territory
but if I were to stay I know that I would never go.
And I just know that I couldn't live with myself if I
knowingly locked my own cage.

The last Thursday of every November has always been the same.
I don’t have a significant memory from any of these Thursdays from my past.
Needless to say, approaching the holidays this time around is going to be different.
Because this time, I am different. The list of things I am thankful for reads too long
and if written on a scroll, it would surely wrap around the circumference
of the universe more than once. Within a years time, my life has become a
cornucopia full of all those things you wish for and never expect to receive.
Of course I am cursed with minor infractions of perfection,
all of which I am learning to paint as blessings.

There has been a lot of conversation swirling around infinity.
More specifically the permanence of all that is infinite
embedded on our skin.
This is a scary commitment.
I've seen the marks of others left upon familiar skin
only to become a faithful flood of all those things
you do your best to forget.
I'm not giving out expiration dates.
As far as I can see, there's no end in sight.
I just chose to tread carefully
because I know that if the end comes
I won't find a love like this.
People lie. People cheat. People manipulate.
I won't recover...
even if infinity says otherwise.

(photo by: christianog.com)

2009-11-14T14:14:00.000-08:00

“I never promised you a rose garden”

“You weren’t listening. I was talking.
And then I traced your fingers and said ‘gobble, gobble."

We went without jackets and we moved forward without intent. Squeezing through fences, tossing handfuls of autumns leftovers above our heads, posing as flesh colored statues. The crimson ivy climbing its way up the library walls housed flocks of playful sparrows, darting in and out of tangled vines and occasionally hiding behind the leaves. Eyes behind the lens, face to the sun; We were chained to ourselves and sheltered from what the day was supposed to be.

I don’t mean to. Paradoxically, I do it almost entirely on purpose. Often times I speak cinematically. It’s as though I collect and unknowingly rehearse lines in my head, all of which are organically grown from my seeds of thought. I then take these impulsively crafted lines and use them in such a way that unsuspecting strangers and non strangers alike would assume that a film crew were near by, recording my every breath. Most of the time I simply enjoy the way certain things sound when said in a certain way. There is no script.

I don’t know my place. Sometimes my words precede my sense of rationality and the sounds of “we” and “our” evade my mouth. But, to my defense, it’s very misleading to hear the same sounds from a different voice only to reiterate that I, in fact, do not live there. People express confusion when told of my current living situation. They usually all ask the same questions with the same baffled look on their face. I am constantly running back and forth between two houses both of which I am incapable of calling home. No matter where it is I chose to sleep, or where my belongings currently reside, I feel like an intruder. Everything I know has great potential to become impermenant. Perhaps it isn’t a matter of having a place to call home as much as it is to feel at home. I am thankful, however, that I have several beds that are forever inviting my dreams to rest.

A beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, teetering on sturdy heels, I tossed my head back to release a plum of smoke. That’s when I caught them. A group of girls all of which I could only remember first names and whether or not we shared a class together in high school. They stared. They pointed. They tossed their heads back out of mockery to let out muted laughs; the music was too loud. An oversized branch of girls extending from the gossiping tree of origin, walked past, spitting my name far enough for me to hear it. And in an instant I resorted to my high school defenses. I cowered. And then I entered phase two (which I attribute to my alcohol use); I began to huddle amongst those I could trust and I shot disapproving glances in every direction, curse words flying. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized that perhaps I overreacted. It took me a cigarette and a quiet, solitary moment for me to feel sorry for those girls; Those girls who managed to have some sort of power over me in school and who will be 35 years old, going to the same bars, dressing the same way, drinking the same beer with the same crowd. I smiled at the thought of this because I don’t even have to try to avoid becoming them. Becoming them isn’t in this plan.

The weather was unusually beautiful for November and in this rare moment of seasonal sunshine and warmth, I found myself feeling completely unbarred and free. Steering the wheel with my legs, I drove over a cement hill, eyes closed. Spreading my arms, the autumn breeze lifted me to a place where all of the mismatched, mislaid pieces fit together. This may be considered unsafe verging on reckless but it was in some way life affirming. Half way through my decent, I peeled my eyes half open. But only because I wanted to see if I was going to survive this glimpse of clarity. To my surprise and delight, I did. My hands returned to their respective places upon the wheel and I regained control of the road before me. My newly found freedom has given me the strength to take on anything and everything, because I know that I have the control to do whatever I please. Overwhelming? Yes, it may appear to be so. Nevertheless, I much rather be overwhelmed with possibility that to be riddled with oppression.

We are innocently wired this way, but we are far from alone. It’s the instant where things show great promise of working out and going well that we habitually throw our progress to the wind, leaving us without words, without reason. It’s in my easily threatened nature to remain tight mouthed and walk away than to confront our wrongdoings and our missteps. If I don’t find a way to rewrite this character flaw, I might be granted my unconscious, unwanted wish. The life that has been treating me so preciously over the past few months could easily be taken from me. We would be foolish to not want to work towards patching holes and opening our mouths so that only the real truth can come out, all of the time.

It isn’t that I’m not listening, I simply can’t hear you. I strain my ears to meet your voice but no matter the volume, I only hear muted whispers. Sometimes I forfeit and I say what I’m expected to say depending on your facial expressions and body language. This is valid for everyone I verbally encounter. I’m frustrated by my own disregard. I now appreciate the quiet side of life.

Here I am, writing. Headphones muffing my ears providing a soundtrack to the poorly fused sentences in my head, rocking back and forth, side to side. I am, right now, a composer. Notes are evolving into scales and scales are developing into sentences and sentences are developing into paragraphs. This may not be music and I may not be a musician, but this fluidity of thought pressing itself against the tips of my fingers, spilling onto notebook pages and computer screens is the only time that I feel as though I am a creator. Very rarely do I feel worthy of having something to say and even less often do I feel as though I have the right words to speak with. Every once and a while it is crucial to remove yourself from your little white room; the one up the stairs, with two windows. Every once and a while the only push you need are the unassuming words of a stranger, convincing you that today, this day, is a beautiful one. That’s all it took, for me anyway. How can you be expected to inspired enough to create something from nothing when you can’t see the music?

I am confident that I want nothing more than to be in love forever.

"I never promised you a rose garden. I never promised you perfect justice . . .

and I never promised you peace of happiness. My help is so that you can

be free to fight for all of those things. The only reality I offer is challenge,

and being well is being free to accept it or not at whatever level you are capable.

I never promise lies, and the rose-garden world of perfection is a lie . . . and a bore, too!"
-Joanne Greenberg From “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden”

photo by christianog.com

2009-11-01T18:11:00.000-08:00

The time changed

and the clocks hesitated.

You fell from a secret

and I whispered in the dark.

These thoughts belong to Wednesday.

A moment I had been waiting for; shrouded in rain and disbelief. The magazine shelves extended for what seemed to be miles, upon miles against the west end of the bookstore. My heels scraping against the floor, I paced slowly, scanning every glossy cover. Titles and painted faces swirling about, I eventually captured a glimpse of what I had been anticipating for two solid months. Holding it in my hands, my knees began to shake which made standing nearly impossible. So I sat. I turned each page as if they were made of some material that would dissolve if I didn’t handle them with care. Sooner than I expected, she appeared. Seven pages of someone I don’t fully recognize. After processing every element of the page, I ran my finger over her. I looked unlike anyone I had ever seen before. As discomforting as it may seem to see yourself in a new way, there is something to be said for feeling the way I did.

Contrary to what one might think, it’s relatively difficult to breathe inside a greenhouse. The air reflecting back and forth from paw print covered panes was stifling and at times, oppressing. Regardless of my struggle to breathe smooth and effortless breaths, I felt completely new as I marched the aisles of green, dodging branches and leaves, chasing the tail of a cat through potted plants.

As you get older, wedding dresses evolve into an emotional trigger. A team of people lifted the bottom of the gown from the ground as she sauntered within the confines of flashbulbs and the sunlight that fell through the glass ceiling. This was all pretend, but her smile was much too convincing. In a moment of weakness (of which there were many) I managed to slip a $75,000 ring on my left hand. I held my hand in front of me as I imagine many girls with wedding rings must hold their hand. To ease the jealousy that flooded my mind, I wandered off in search of the cat, who I often found curled inside a flower pot.

It was more than just quitting. I’ve given up on many things, without thought or care. This was bigger than my default gesture of throwing my hands in the air, shrugging my shoulders, sighing a regretful “Oh well.” He pushed me to move on, which is exactly what I did. Over a year of my life, clocking in, clocking out, hanging on a thread of hope that things would change. I would have stayed there forever if it weren’t for him. I would have continued to make excuses. I realize that it is, for the most part, natural to dislike your job. And I realize that I have no warrant to complain. But there comes a time where you have to accept your self worth and do everything in your power to find what it is you deserve. This isn’t to say that I am in any way worthy of anything more than this, but I now know that I am worth far beyond $7.83 an hour. Once I leave I don’t think I’ll go back.

Three months is merely a speck of dust. Yet, if you’ve learned to open your eyes, that same speck of dust can become an entire glistening universe upon entering the right moment; the right sliver of light. Within this dust we’ve created a life. A life where things don’t go as planned; where things aren’t always what they seem. But at the end of the day, in our secluded, dust filled universe, this life has meaning. I feel whole. That’s love, I think.

The record player is spinning some discarded record downstairs, someone is whistling, another someone is drawing muscles and bones at the kitchen table. And here I am, sprawled across an unmade bed, writing, eagerly waiting for another someone to climb the stairs only to fall somewhere into my arms. To most, this may seem mundane. But to me, in this moment, it is exactly where I want to be.

Purple flowers are something to behold.

Teenage school girls, in plaid skirts and white button up shirts are much too distracting so early in the morning.

These thoughts belong to Thursday.

Waking up before the sun, arriving home after dark, retaining enough energy to
desire nothing more than sleep is not only exhausting but slightly disappointing.

The things you think will make things easier often only complicates things more.
By sacrificing your happiness to avoid inconveniencing someone you love, paradoxically inconveniences the relationship because one of you is unhappy, while the other one is frustrated by your martyrdom.
This is just something I’ve learned to recognize in hopes of fixing this repetitive habit .

These thoughts belong to Friday.

It’s best to end a week full of troubled and confounded feelings with a bloody Mary.
It’ is truly the only way to forget everything and start over.

Exhaustion has become enjoyable.

I forgot to enjoy the fall.

These thoughts belong to Saturday.

It was nice to be back, even if it was only temporary.
I was laughing again. Making ridiculous jokes, smiling and singing.
I don’t know where I went or why I left but it’s exciting to feel like the best version of myself again.

Mauling a forgotten teddy bear, trimming and pinning ears, piles of white stuffing on the floor,
pipe cleaner whiskers;He became a wolf.
Fake eyelashes, dirt colored blush, a red coat turned cape; I became a story book character.

Alcohol makes people needy.
People who are unable to drink become passive aggressive.

Sitting on the steps, face to face, he was drunk.
Confessing all the things I've wanted to hear
since I was old enough to know that love was
of the magical variety. His words, almost song like in nature,
were certainly nice to hear. Whether or not they
helped reaffirm my feelings, I do not know or care
because really I knew it all along.

The wolf got sick; red took care of it.

I'm not sure what prompted me to cut all ties, but I did.
I have found mothers in so many people far more worthy of the title than she.
I find no value in the fact that she gave birth to me.
Giving birth doesn't make you a mother.
And being born doesn't mean you have a mother, either.

This thought belongs to today.

This was the first day that life was real.

2009-10-22T07:16:00.000-07:00

"Me, I'm fresh on your pages
Secret thinker sometimes listening aloud.
Someone like you should not be allowed to start
any fires"

I don't remember making a wish. I doubt I even made the attempt to construct a wish silently in my head. Instead, I dug my face into the warmth of the flames and thought of how my life is almost all figured out, even though it's not. This isn't the world I imagined creating. But considering the aforesaid detail, gravity is pushing and pulling me, aligning the elements of my little, disconnected world in a dizzying array of change. Having said that, I have yet to figure out where it is I should go from here.

My key ring is one key heavier and my clothes have found a new set of dresser drawers. These measures were, of course, intended to make everything easier. I am just now beginning to realize that this has the potential to over complicate even the simplest of things. I'm living between two houses. I've become a gypsy, even though I long for some sort of permanence.

We were seated on the brim of a shopping mall fountain. I wanted to dream, he wanted reality. A car ride full of I'm sorry" and "I don't know." He pulled up to the house, dropping me off to gather my suitcase (a relic of my gypsy lifestyle.) My stomach fell and the urge to vomit was the only thing I could make sense of. I slammed the door and he drove off. I stood on the steps, new key in hand, watching tail lights disappear down the tree lined street. There was an instant where I believed that it was the end. We met an hour later on familiar ground and ate a forgiving lunch. This was just a taste of what would come a few days later...and a few days after that.

Lying alone in the old bed, in the new house, I found myself alone and restlessly unmotivated. Feeling this way has been a persistent visitor the past few weeks. No matter when I am able to fall asleep or when I wake up, my body insists that I need more rest. Be it the shift in the weather or the shifting tide within, I don't enjoy this feeling of fatigue. I reap no satisfaction from this uninvited lethargy. By the time he came home, I hadn't accomplished anything. Not a single typewritten sentence, not a centimeter of progress. I saw nothing wrong with this, seeing that my body's desire to move at a sloth like pace overruled my fading inspiration. And then it came. I remember every word that was said, but even more than that I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, holding my stomach, actively instructing my body to keep breathing. "There's no future for us." Never in my life could I compare that aching, ruinous sensation of disappointment to anything I've ever felt before. It's hard to recover from.

My personality is a hazard, or so I am convinced. When I was a child, while my parents were screaming obscenities, hitting one another, my defense mechanism was simple. I would duck into the safest corner, cover my ears with my hands and yell "I don't wanna hear it!" I would close my eyes as tight as I knew how, repeating those five words over and over, hoping desperately that when I opened my eyes it would be over; they they would respect my plea. But it never ended. My strategy never once worked, or promised to fix anything. This is where I am now. It was midnight. "I think you should leave." So, I left without leaving. I sat in my car for an hour, perhaps longer. I can't explain the disappointment of hearing a screen door open and shut, only to realize that the sound came from the neighbors front porch. I thought about sleeping in my car, but a friend convinced me not to. On the drive home my car stalled while going 85mph. I'm not sure how that pertains to the story, but I feel like it might have been a sign or something.

You can't define love. Or at least I find it to be unfair to try and simplify something so vast. Yes, this is an overused, overstressed literary cliche, but it's currently 2am on a Thursday morning and I don't much care about cliches. I don't know what it is, but I know that it is this. This feeling that, over the past four months, has made me laugh and brought me to my knees; confused me, comforted me, pushed me away and held me close. This indescribable notion of feeling completely safe within the embrace of only one person, is all I really know. The definition of love is almost entirely useless.

This happens to us sometimes.

It was a horrifying message. Her voice, shaking and breaking, told me of her loss. I arrived on her grandmothers doorstep an hour later, white lilies in tow. I held her as close as I knew how. Two days later I found myself in a black dress, a wad of damp tissue in my hand, kneeling beside her as visitors poured prayers over the casket. She took to the podium, her sister at her side. They did their best to speak, but tears prevailed. The room began to clear, leaving only immediate family in its wake. She was reduced to a childlike understanding of death as people began to clear away the flowers. " I don't want them to take him away. I just want him to wake up." I have a lot of words to describe an endless list of feelings, but no matter how deep I search I cannot begin to express what it is to watch someone you've spent your
entire life loving, suffer from such an immense loss. I wanted nothing more than to bring him back. I want to fix her.

If all is quiet, I can hear the trains as I go to sleep. Even if they are merely freight trains, I am, at my core, a romantic. As silly as it may seem, it is such a simple pleasure to hear the train noises just before I am about to dream. No matter where it is I went or where it is I want to go, I can rely on the train to take me there.

I'm older, now. I am different, now.
"It's getting better all the time"

2009-10-06T09:12:00.000-07:00

"Once I wanted to be the greatest"

They pitched a series of crisp, white tents

in the center of where most of the caged animals call home.
We were untamed. We were without cages.
We were trusted by the ringleaders to put ourselves
on display for the cameras and for those who

dare enter our fearless tent.
Behind the stage we were place and displaced,
dressed and undressed,poked and prodded.
They painted my face in a spectrum of disguise,
eyes magnified, lips bursting with color.
People pulling, tugging and curling each

and every hair into a sculpted coif.
In the moments where I was free to roam the grounds,

I attempted to catch a glimpse of myself.

But in every shiny surface I passed,
I never once saw a reflection of someone I recognized.
It is a truly lonely feeling.

Before being pushed into the spotlight, we were instructed to place
one foot in front of the other, to hold our chins up and to move in
ways unnatural for most. We were, after all, freaks.

There was a moment, a fraction of a moment where I thought
to turn on my stilts and run. There was so much room for error
and vast room for judgment. Both of which I have never properly
prepared myself for. But there is yet another fraction of a moment
following the aforementioned fraction of doubt where I felt
as though the world was at my feet, mouths aghast, eyes wide open.

A forceful voice harshly instructing me to go

and a gentle push are all I remember before entering the spotlight.
I was blinded and all that surrounded me became shrouded in shadow.
My mind turned off.

I had to remind myself that underneath the tightrope
there is always a net to brace the possibility of my fall.

Although I never lost my footing, there were countless

opportunities for me to slip into character, never to return to

the girl with the unpainted face, who walks without grace

and smiles without rehearsal.

Two days of playing a role; It's easy to forget who you are.

I tried. I really, truly tried to sleep soundly.
After waking up in a room that has quickly become
unfamiliar, with feelings that have since grown distant
I came to realize that even though everything I own
is under the roof I've always known,

I trustfully consider a new place to be my home.

It is that space where I am embraced,
my head resting on the rise and fall of steady breathing
with one ear planted firmly over a restless beating heart
all while I am convinced by that singular voice
that I am beautiful; I am loved.

As my birthday quickly approaches,
I find myself no longer faced with the aching
dissatisfaction that usually comes with this
annual celebration. I am no longer burdened
with knowing that the holes within me remain unfilled.
Everything was a blur until now.
Everything I ever attempted to wish for upon
the flames of birthday candles, I now have.
And for that, I am not only thankful but
certain that everything is getting better all the time.

2009-09-21T13:50:00.000-07:00

"We're not the same, dear, as we used to be.
The seasons have changed and so have we."

"You're not the same."
"What do you mean? I am exactly the same."
"No. No, you're not. You're completely different."
"How so?"
"I can't describe it, really. You're just a different person."
"A different person all together?"
"No, no. You still curtsy and you still swear like a sailor.
But everything else is different."
"I feel exactly the same."
"Do you?"
"Well, now I don't know."

Within the past 48 hours, summer has peacefully bowed out,

leaving a torrential storm of newly painted leaves and
the promise of an autumn breeze in her quiet path of departure.
This time was different.
I was sad to see her go; she left without waking me.
It was just before midnight.
The only sign of her stealthy exit
was a gray and humid kiss upon my cheek.
This time will be different.

He was on the phone, settled into the arms of an orange chair,
speaking of times and dates that have yet to reveal themselves.
Lying on my stomach, sprawled across his bed wearing only
my undergarments, I began to scrawl mismatched words,
molding them into aimless sentences.
We were separate; engaged within ourselves,
tending to the delicate nature of our separate lives.
We were unified in our comfort.
This is what it feels like to be whole.
This is what life could be like.
We are trying to change;
Digging through the premature rubble, almost nightly,
hoping to find the fragments of what
we were before things threatened to crumble.
That singular moment of wholeness
reconfirmed how it is I want to feel.

Just recently have I become aware of
how little I should trust people.
I am blatantly disobeying the way I've
always known by biting my tongue and holding back.
To be quite honest, I've become rather smug.
Saying nice things with a smirk and a contrived glint in my eye.
In my quest in trying with all my might
to avoid becoming like them, the best parts of myself
seem to melt away, leaving only the ugliest parts of human nature.
This, of course, is a harsh assessment of my current
character, but it in no way desensitizes my fear
in replicating anyone but myself.

I am thoroughly convinced that everything we have (or don't have),

everyone we know (or have yet to meet) and everything we are
(or will become), can be attributed to a solitary, inconsequential
ten minute moment. And, of course, each moment can be traced
back to another moment, so much so that I will gladly argue
that we can all go back to the very beginning, if we so chose.
I am currently engulfed in dark, silence bounding through my mind,
turning the pages, eagerly searching for where this moment began.

Summer had just bloomed, exploiting every color in bursts of sunshine. I sat perched on a lawn chair, a blushing technicolor drink in one hand, the other holding a pink parasol over my head, my legs crossed and glistening from a fresh coat of sunscreen; it was during this rare moment of self assurance that he sat next to me.

That's how this moment was born.

(photo by: christianog.com)

2009-09-09T19:21:00.001-07:00

"The longer you think,
the less you know what
to do"

It's such a horrible way to be faced with a realization,
but it seems to be relatively standard when it comes to love.
It isn't until you're threatened with losing someone,
that you can properly understand how much you love them.

I responded to each "Why?" with "I don't know",
digging my face so far into my palms that my self induced
darkness has become a comfort.
He stormed off, I grabbed my keys.
I prefaced these actions by confessing my tendency
to wave my white flag without reason.
Our distance grew and grew
until the space became immeasurable
and our silence allowed us to start again.

I am lucky enough to have pinpointed this very moment
and I now know what I want to keep.

We both wore black tights. We were the only ones.
Even from across the room, I could see that each of our
breaths were labored and our chests
rose and fell in a synchronous pattern.
We were momentarily unified by all the things we did not know.
Her voice was more delicate and sincere than I had imagined it to be;
her posture and demeanor, however, were accurate depictions
of the fiction I had created.
This encounter fueled countless conversations
of doubt and insecurity. But he and I survived.
It seems like we are always escaping inevitability
by a frayed thread of misunderstanding.

Emergency rooms, despite their population,
can make you think about the things you
told yourself you would never think about.
Although I was not a patient, I convinced myself
that I was in fact dying. I have no real evidence
as to why this might be even close to truth.
I can't feel safe in a place where reflections don't exist.

My entire life my inadequacies have been adequate.
It is the most painful, yet loving feeling to be pushed
beyond what has always been expected of me
by someone who loves me more than I do.

While driving home at 4am, staggering under the posted speed limit, I hummed in a desperate attempt to stay awake. With equal desperation, I tried to leave an emotionally challenging 24 hours behind me, forcing it to fade into the ever growing dusk of a new day. While approaching a familiar intersection, I saw movement to my left. As I stopped the car and paused my humming, 3 deer darted through my headlights. They bounded with a dreamlike inelegance across a stretch of road usually bustling with traffic, now desolate, to an forgiving patch of land behind a strip mall. Even after they had left my field of vision, I couldn't bring myself to release my foot from the break. I couldn't help but see hidden parts of myself through this one, seemingly insignificant encounter. Certainly my fears could not measure up against those that must surely belong to the deer. But like my four legged refugees, I startle easily, overcoming each struggle with a swift dash far from its origin. I eventually trekked forward, rhythmic yawns replaced my out of tune humming, my eyes blurred with exhaustion and by some miracle, my car found the way home.

Down the street resides a tree that sets itself on fire long before the others.

Every year I rely on this tree to reintroduce me to
each color in the pallet of the harvest.
The leaves turn to flames and make their annual descent to the ground,
while all the other trees remain stubborn and green.
Once the tree strips itself naked, the other trees eventually fall suit.
I admire this tree and its willingness to set precedent for change.
Every day, while driving underneath this brave and fearless Oak,
I am tempted to shed my leaves, baring all that I have in hopes
that everything will fall into place. This, of course, is just a temptation;
One that I force to the back of my mind as I admire Autumns fallen embers.

Summer knows nothing of permanence.

(photo: christianog.com)

2009-09-03T11:33:00.000-07:00

"Simple little beauty-
heaven in your breath.
The simplest of pleasures-
the world at it's best."

Sitting in the chair that refused to stay still,
I watched them gather around garment bags.
Unzipping each one with my eyes before they
could reach the zipper pull, I could see it all unravel;
it all came together. Their backs turned to me,
I thought it safe to let out an inaudible gasp,
and an accidental tear.

The thought of having my face and name in
glossy printed pages is something I could never
believe to be obtainable.

Flashbulbs and rose petals at my feet.
Roughly four months ago this all started.
There's no use in stopping now.

While at work, a girl I went to college with stopped to chat.
We exchanged the usual questions.
When asked about what it is I've been up to,
I told her that I've been working and modeling, etc,etc.

"But what happened to your dream of being a writer?"
"Oh, right. That."
"Did you change your mind?"
"No, no. Not at all. I'm just a little preoccupied, I guess."
"Oh."

After we said goodbye, I stood paralyzed.
Since I can remember I've told everyone that
I'm going to be a writer someday.
And here I am, making excuses, finding reasons
to put off the one thing I've always wanted.
I think after a minor adjustment of priorities,
writing and I will fall in love again.
Not to say I ever fell out of love,
I just need to reignite the flame, is all.

Not knowing what would happen
or what would resurface, I was scared
to accept the open line of communication
that was offered to me.
But I trusted myself.
I felt empowered by my ability to say no
and I felt awakened by realizing that
what I want and what I deserve are one in the same.
It turned out to be painful in ways I did not expect.
I anticipated doubt, but felt nothing but indifference.

A Mexican dinner. I avoided eye contact. It felt new again.
I shied away from the lens and he got angry.
I threw myself against the booth seat, confessing
my discomfort with the conversation at hand,
hiding from his suggestion; the one where the focus was separation
because there's something from keeping me from
letting him in.

I will never understand why I hide my face
or why I disappear time to time.
All I am adept to understand is that
I want to be free. No walls, no guards.
Free.

Each night it seems as though I say something wrong.
We turn our backs to one another. We go to bed alone.
In the middle of our uneasy sleep cycle, we mutely forgive
whatever caused us to grow distant.
I am awakened every night by dream
induced kisses upon my back.

All I am capable of doing is apologizing.
I feel safest when the words "I'm sorry" fall
from my mouth, usually breaking into a million pieces
upon impact. Each time, I silently pick up each
tiny, invisible shard and swallow them
so I can prepare to avert my
glance until the words decide to spill out again.

It astounds me that someone can call me beautiful
and tell me they love me every single day.
It astounds me even more so that I can say I love you
and it is reciprocated in every way imaginable.

If someone were to ask me what my favorite moment is,
I have prepared an honest answer.
It is when a glint or two of early morning sun cascades
through the space between the blinds; specks of dust
glimmering in dance, light weaving in and out of heavy
eyelashes, casting prismatic rainbows in my eyes.
Those moments, which are reoccurring, are the singular
moments where my world stops, holds its breath and
threatens to resume to a time where everything seems possible.

The house has temporarily returned to my preferred state
of unoccupied. I will walk room to room, pretending that each one
belongs to me. I will tend to the garden as if I planted each seed.
I will make the noise that will surely shake the frames from the walls.
It will be me who decides to let the sun in.

(photo: christianog.com)

2009-08-26T09:51:00.000-07:00

"We're reeling through an endless fall.
We are the ever-living ghost of what once was.
No one is ever gonna
love you more than I do."

Involuntarily bound to this house surrounded by rain and uneasy thoughts,

I broke down. The rain is collecting and my heart is flooding.
If I don't start to swim, I fear everything I've ever known will quickly
become sunken treasure at the bottom of this impossible sea.

Hopeless on the freeway, hazard lights ablaze.
Smoke billowing from underneath the hood, neon fluids escaping,
creating pulsing, narrow, neon rivers beneath my feet.
The action of having to pull over while cars sped past me
best simplified and metaphorically summarized my life.
Something has to change. I can't keep flashing my lights
hoping for someone to help me. Something has to change.

Having come face to face with them before, I thought
I had finally built an immunity to being haunted by
likely and unexpected ghosts. But seeing that I've been in ill health
as of late, I am just as susceptible to old feelings as I was before.
My body just fights them in a new way.
We're happy for one another; the ghost and I.
We waltzed through a memory or two.
I filled in some long overdue gaps.
My "What if?" questions finally received answers.
I bit my virtual tongue as to avoid rehashing
what I've worked so hard to bury.
It doesn't matter, though.
I'm better now.
Ghosts come and go
but what I have is here to stay.

The drunken conversation I brought to the foreground
was one of sympathy and compassion.
We cried. I felt invasive, but I had to tell him
and I had to know all there was to know.
Rain hesitated while all my words preceded question marks;
his answers proceeding silent pauses.
I held my chest as if to take my heart from its resting place,
giving it to him without precaution.
Barelegged, I sat on my knees by his side, convincing him that it was okay.
How a girl so beautiful, yet so completely tragic;
how such a tragically beautiful girl can love and be loved
so entirely and yet never see the love in herself.
She did everything to suppress the light within her,
while only one saw it bright enough to let it shine.
I realized how lucky I am to have the same one in my life;
with the same willingness to make me see my own light,
even on impossible and dark Tuesday nights.
Although we were slightly inebriated, I felt like we learned from things
we thought we would never even discuss.

I am convinced that my body is incapable of properly processing pleasure.
It's much too accustomed to various forms of pain to
understand that pleasure is something I'm worthy of.

It's been one month.
Most would say that one month is merely a speck of time.
Although that is true, it has felt like a lifetime.
What the future holds for this one month old, I am not sure.
All I know is that we've come a long way.

He fell asleep between my legs.
Searching for my soul is a truly tiresome juncture.

I love breakfast.

2009-08-24T10:39:00.000-07:00

"Oh, my talking bird
Though you know so few words
They're on infinite repeat
Like your brain can't keep up with your beak"

Flocks of planes intercepting the smoke trails they
carelessly left behind, interfering with the paths of the
black birds; playfully weaving in and out of
the mountainous sky. As I watched the slow,
intimate battle between steel, feathers and clouds,
all I could process was my hunger to fly amongst them.
I may not have wings, and I may not be designed to
brave the wind or the rain, but I promise you that I can fly.
And I promise that once I am given the chance, this cage
will be nothing but a mangled mess of wire, far, far behind me.

Sooner than I thought, I find myself in this empty house once again.
This time, less satisfying.
I am doing my best to interrupt the quiet with
screaming and singing, but somehow the quiet always wins.
I can hear it even now; over my attempts to be in tune and on key,
over the music I insist on making louder and louder, over the
interminable beating of my imprudent heart.
Usually a comfort, the noiseless space between these four walls
is quickly leaving me yearning for voices; ones that are willing
to guide me to where discord and content collide.

I've said these silly words to people less deserving.
No matter how much I open my mouth, no matter
how hard I try to expel these three, single syllable words
my throat closes up and my mouth sews itself shut.
I'm trying to defend myself. I'm not trying to protect myself.

As if money and I were not the finest of bedfellows prior to today,
I received a letter stating that I owe roughly $1,200 to
the state of Michigan. I'm not sure how I'm going to sweet talk
my way out of this mess. I'm always talking my way
out of the things I've done wrong.

I found a dead bee on the sidewalk.
I wonder what she did to deserve such an unforgiving death.
I've probably done worse and have been punished
with a lesser consequence.

When he tells me that everything is going to be okay,
I believe him. Not because he is particularly convincing,
but because he always tells the truth;
something I am rarely accustomed to hearing...
or feeling, for that matter.

While folding piles of mistreated, poorly constructed tshirts,
counting the minutes on my broken watches, black lines
from hangers lining my wrists, pop music pulsing in my ear,
children angrily tugging on the legs of their mothers,
I realized how unimportant most things are.
Life is so much bigger than this little world
I've regretfully created for myself.
I'm making it a goal to find the bigger things.
I want to feel it all.

My imaginary wings are growing weak.

2009-08-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

"You shouldn't think what
you're feeling
They don't tell you what
you know you should want"

Once in a blue moon (or on certain occasions, a six pack of the former)
something happens, whether you're ready or not.
Stumbling through familiarity, tasting of cigarettes,
I said yes or some misinterpreted form thereof.
My twin bed, once accustomed to a solitary occupant, held two;
squeaking with each shift and each swift, inelegant movement.

I'm not sure it was supposed to happen this way.
A damp bedroom, the only sound filling the air was
the incessant crying of my disgruntled cat.
Before I could bite my tongue, it happened.
And what I had held on to for so long flew out of my open window,
which provided very little relief to the unbearable heat.

It followed a day of on and off conversations about painful,
yet good intentions;unrealistic decisions. I was forced to
revisit romantic defeatism.Flashbacks and flash forwards
threatened to erase the moments where I remember being happy.
Part of me wanted to walk away and forget the whole thing.
But instead, I apologized for something that was
most likely no fault of mine and came to terms with the fact
that perhaps they've been right all along.
After hearing those words fall so carelessly
and so rehearsed from his mouth my heart raced at a panicked pace.
It seems as though I'm always the one forced to patch up holes
and mend the patches.
My heart returned to
normal; we returned to us.

The remaining evidence of my charm is a temporary,
milky white stain on my unwashed sheets.
People are looking at me differently
and I fear some people will think me to be a different person all together.
I'm no different, but I'm certainly not the same.

I have to find the energy to wash this long overdue
transgression from my body.
It doesn't matter much.
There's no closing Pandora's box.
There's no going back.

I purchased two used, malfunctioning watches,
both without batteries.
I have no intention of making them tell time,
but I'll wear them anyway.
If anyone should ask for the time,
I will simply tell them that it's infinite
and that there's no going back.

My quiet little house will soon be washed away with sound.
A different set of keys will soon hang from the door;
footsteps other than mine ascending and descending.
I can no longer pretend it belongs to me; the quiet or the house.

2009-08-17T07:07:00.000-07:00

"Don't question why she
needs to be so free.
She'll tell you its the
only way to be"

Escaping the clutches of strip malls and deafening black and white noise,
we found a patch of earth to call our own.
Following 37 to 69. Breakfast in heaping amounts.
A little green tent and stubborn, unforgiving fires.
We traveled up river in a silly, little boat;
the sun swallowing the current.
The bottoms of my feet, blackened with dirt.
Mysterious bruises gracing every inch.
Lying on the edge/laying on the edge, underneath
the endless sky of burning dust, making choices without reason.
Shedding my clothes by the sea, running and jumping
spreading my arms like makeshift wings.

I had forgotten how many stars are in the sky.
I was lucky enough to see them all. I lost count.

It hit me while sitting Indian style on a basement floor,
listening to folk music, tapping my fingers steadily on a beer can,
clicking the shutter and shaking the lens.
Nestled into my human back rest, I thought to myself,
"I could be happy here."

There we were, reciting those three words in character.
But I had no idea I would be saying them off stage, when the curtain fell.
I'm not ready to say them or hear them, but I'm feeling them.
It's a tough distinction to make.

The morning after will never be as much fun again.
Jumping on the bed, clothes and blankets strewn upon the floor,
inquisitive stares and shielded eyes.
"You two are perfect for each other" she said.
And in that moment, topless, Pat Benatar playing in the foreground,
he with a yo-yo in one hand, a beer in the other, I had to agree.

Within the past few days some of the worst possible things one person

can say to another person have been said to me.
Within the past few days some of the most loving things one person
can say to another person have been said to me.
I am completely raw. I am completely guarded.
Who am I to believe?

Seeing my face and my body plastered in newspaper print, scattered about
the town is truly a surreal feeling. And I realize calling something surreal
is often times considered cliche, but it's the only word that can skim the surface
of how it makes me feel. The fact the so many people are proud
of me and support me is truly overwhelming.
I don't see how I am in any way deserving of such love.

The thing I hate the most is all I have to offer. Or so it seems.
It scares me to think that once people look past
my porcelain shell, they will be devastated to find nothing but emptiness.

I wonder what people thought of it.
I wonder if people I knew back then,
saw it and thought about how they used to know me.
I wonder if they wish they still knew me.
I miss everyone that vanished.

I wrote some letters.
When a conflict arises, my spoken words often fail me,
usually because of my relentless and biting tongue.
So, I write a letter. I feel safe within the lined margins.
She needs time.
I told her I will do anything to repair the damage I have done.
I don't think she'll let me back in. But I won't let her give up on me.

Synchronicity is my most recent fascination.
The world isn't nearly as big as I thought.
The more people I meet, the more people I realize I've always known.

I've come to realize, despite my past and my present problems, that I may
easily be one of the luckiest people ever to live. I say this only because
I am completely undeserving of the things I have and the people that love me.
But at least I understand that I've done nothing to deserve this life.
I promise that I am going to put forth exhausting efforts to earn this happiness.
I want to work for it. I want to fight against what I've come to expect.
I need this struggle, or I will surely disappear.

For the first time in months, I am completely alone.
The house is still, with no promise of visitors.
The sound of the fan whirring, cats claws tapping against wood floor
and the delicate noises of my empty stomach
are orchestrating a symphony of restless distress.
This life is a stranger.

2009-08-02T21:11:00.000-07:00

"All's quiet as she takes her aim.
But the weapons have changed"

A dead dear. A dead deer. A misguided branch. A neglected notebook.
Sore throats.Panic attacks. Sun kissed kisses. Mean spirited jokes.
Coming and going. Soft spoken doubts.

I'm slowly becoming more extremist in my disapproval of most things. I've been silently ranting to myself about obese children and abused farm animals and starving nations and outsourcing employment and prideful gluttony and exploited headlines and over commercialism and pointless consumerism. I am in no way saying I am not guilty of committing the very offenses I have decided to revolt against. But I'm starting to see the wrong in the world and no longer want to be a part of it.

Having been actively avoiding that restaurant for months, I was finally forced to face the three way door and the familiar patch of leather bench. After making a stealthy exit, I stopped for a moment. I stood with eyes closed and labored breath. I briefly revisited that day which eventually led to a downward spiral of self-doubt and confusion. I tried to feel something other than relief, but could not. Without giving it too much thought I skipped away like a child, eagerly anticipating the open arms of the one I have yet to scare away.

I received yellow flowers.
This prevented me from choosing what would surly
be an emotionally self-destructive evening.
I opted against the possibility of being faced with an impossible feeling.

In regards the the previously mentioned yellow flowers,
I still can't believe they are mine.
I've been given flowers twice that I can remember. Perhaps three times.
Once by my parents to congratulate my success in my ballet recital.
And once by my Grandmother for braving a terrifying surgery.
Pulled out from behind his back,
I thought about crying, but decided against it.
Instead I stained my nose and cheeks with pollen.

My hate for wearing shoes is growing
and my love of being barefoot is overwhelming.

I'm under a thousand microscopes.
Each magnification a prettier distortion of the last.
Please, don't pull away. There won't be anything beautiful left to see.

My expectations for happiness are no longer tangible.

While trapped in traffic, I realized that I was at a complete stop beside an exit I once thought I would grow to love. One that I thought my car would drive to without me telling it to. I hesitated. I hate that I hesitated. I don't want to be that type of person. I blame the heat and my overall frustration with life in general for allowing my mind to wander and exit. Right, left, left. Despite my ill fated attempts, I still remember the way. I praise the heavens everyday that my car fights temptation and instead directs me to where I feel safe. Where I am safe, I should say.

I am a firm believer in second chances
and find myself thankful for those given to me.

A psychiatrist approached me while on my cigarette break and gave me his card. He was half hitting on me, half concerned for my well being. According to him, I looked like a girl with problems.
I can't say I blame him for thinking that.
He's right, for the most part.

2009-07-27T16:07:00.000-07:00

"I'd offer my soul
if I thought it might help at all.
and I'd follow you down that road
If I thought it might help at all"

I always expel a gasp of pain before I get hurt.
And I'll make a barely audible noise even
if the pain was not that great.
I'm always getting hurt, or so it seems.
Bruises and cuts, scrapes and dings.
My body is tarnished with lavish displays of accidents.

I pricked my finger. Blood surfaced. She brought to me a band aid and peroxide. With tenderness and sincerity, she gently dabbed my finger with a cotton ball. The next day, she made food for me. She's always telling me to take care of myself. She's always reminding me to breathe, a seemingly easy and natural task to most, but for someone like me, it's detrimental to have constant and loving reminders. Most of the time I feel unworthy of her, but she knows that I would give her the world if I were capable of doing so.

My bed has become a perfect place to store
the things I no longer have the time to sort through.
My car seems to know only one destination.

Their support is waning and their doubts
are growing at an exponential rate.
I can't prove to them that my
choices are in fact good ones, but
I can't be bothered with what
people want me to be.

It seems to make most people happy.
But I'm afraid I'm just not wired that way.

There is a slight chance
that there will be room for error.
It has very little to do with loyalty or faithfulness,
but the truth of the matter is keeping
my head and my heart in sync
is something I've never been able to do.
But I'm learning.

I can't wait until the bridge is rebuilt.

I went back to save the bird but it was too late.

I am the richest kind of poor.

2009-07-24T09:44:00.000-07:00

"We once belonged to a bird
We cast a shadow on this world"

In addition to my poorly constructed inner clock I mentioned previously, I have come to learn and accept that I was born with an inaccurate inner compass rose. Even when I am following the most intricate and seemingly exact directions I always manage to take a wrong turn. And instead of realizing my mistake, I continue to follow the wrong turn with an aching sense of hope that I am in fact traveling in the right direction. The frustration that ensues when I realize that I have to turn around and start over is overwhelming and at times deafening. I eagerly await the day where I reach my destination without needing a map. I eagerly await the day where my destination is clear.

While resting on what has become a familiar and loving shoulder, it hit me and I started to cry. I can't face another let down. I can't let myself down because I know what will end up happening. I will become a bore. My elusive, illustrious, visionary personality will evaporate into more of the same and this will fade before I'm ready. There is no proof, however, that this is the direction this venture is taking, but I know that I am almost entirely incapable of keeping the attention of someone I am learning to care very deeply about for more than five minutes. I don't see how I'm worthy of such patience. I am a troublesome juncture. I am an elaborate ruse.

I will never let the simple act of having the car door opened for me become an unappreciated part of our routine. Nor will I allow myself to wander too far.

I am officially now a part of the industry.An over sized black book and a signed contract with misleading agreements. It became real and I am someone new.

There's something I want to know before I can keep going.
Okay. I lied. I need to know everything.

Would you mind leading the way? Knowing me, I'll just end up lost.

2009-07-21T08:48:00.000-07:00

"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."

There's something wonderful about
being cold during the summer months.
There's something wonderful about
knowing it will rain tomorrow.

I have a stray kitten in my bed.
I named him Rhubarb. I think I have fleas now, but I don't care. I want to keep him, but I know that I can't. He fell asleep on my face. I forgot how beautiful it is to feel so enraptured by something as simple as a sandpaper kiss. It is a remarkable feeling to love and be loved by something so small and unassuming, so quickly. It reminded me of being a child which reminded me that perhaps I'm growing up too fast.

When I said I have one kitten, I meant I have two.
It is a new feeling for me. It is nice to feel special.
Although this kitten and I have failed to define our relationship,
I am quite content with whatever it is we have.
That isn't to say I don't have my reservations.
That isn't to say I'm not being cautious.
But, regardless of what happens or doesn't happen
I'm happy as of right now. That's gotta count for something!

Patching holes is a good feeling. I fear if I spring another, I will eventually become a living, breathing void. I want to avoid becoming my own black hole.

I'm losing sight of what it is I've wanted to do my entire life. All thanks to pesky flashbulbs and filtered dreams. Of course they aren't entirely to blame. I think I may be too ambitious and too unfocused. Regardless of the source of error, I've let things get in the way and now there are words I have to learn all over again. Definitions and all.

There was a moment. I was standing in the broken dusk, white feathers swirling beneath my feet, my hands blackened by soot. I spread my arms, as I often do, and it was then that
I silently revolted against everything.

I have yet to meet someone who understands it. All I need is a 10 inch by 10 inch patch of ground to call my own. Enough room to lift a leg, sway my hips and cautiously toss my hair side to side. The satisfaction that comes with reaching that burst of cool air that awaits patiently above the crowd. The way the smoke dances around faces, making everyone beautiful. Pulsating drum beats in sync with stubborn heartbeats. It is the only time in my life where I feel unified and safe and free. Last night was no exception. Actually, it may have set a precedent for what happiness, true and unbridled happiness, should feel like.

I am a lucky girl. My life is abundant in smiles and snorts and is filled to the brim with amazing people. This, however, makes my weak moments so much worse. I go from appreciating the ground I walk on, to cursing the world and all of its inhabitants. My weaknesses tend to prevail but I'm working on it.

It is truly a strange comfort to see someone you haven't seen in a long time and there is still a thread of familiarity. I like that very much.

My horoscope said something about freeing myself.
Freedom in what capacity, I am unsure.
But I would be a fool to not consider it.

2009-07-16T09:28:00.000-07:00

"The sound of my heart,
it startled me."

The songs I've spent the past few months listening to, usually on repeat, usually in between sobs and gasps, no longer apply to me. They are still great songs, but they fail to trigger that feeling I seem to have abandoned. I'm no stronger than I was before and I'm certainly in no better shape, but there is something magical about having to search for a more suitable soundtrack to new and unfamiliar feelings.

I have an outstanding fear that I'm not going to make it. That my work will trail off into the sea of my past. I can't let it happen. Not now, anyway. It hit me yesterday. The sun was going down on the city of Pontiac. A cotton candy colored sky to my right, an empty stage to my left. I was wearing a black vintage Christian Dior shift, grass tickling my ankles, my friends playing in the patches of dusk, the sounds of shutter clicks and ambulances swirling around. It hit me. This is tangible if I allow it to be tangible. I can make this happen if I want it to happen. The only question I face now is, why?

As much as I say I cannot stand children, nor do I want children of my own, I always am surprised to see the uninhibited nature and unbridled honesty of children and how refreshing it is to hear such free thought. I can't help but smile and wish that all the children of the world understand that there's no hurry to grow up. Everything they know and everything they don't know is completely beautiful. I actually tend to tell children I encounter to not grow up, to stay as they are. They usually tilt their head and ask why. But during yesterdays encounter, I bent down to tell the sparkly, wide-eyed seven year old to never grow up, she threw her arms up like two, stringy question marks and said, "But I have to grow up. My birthday is in October!" I told her that my birthday was in October, too. It was then that I came to the obvious, yet insightful conclusion that yes, my body and mind must mature with the natural progression of age, but I never have to forfeit the sweet, unassuming naivete of my inner child.

I had a brief moment of weakness, which is not uncommon, let me assure you. I knew what I was doing when I made the choice to look. And when I did, the sparks reignited. So, I wrote it down again and set it on fire again. I awoke to nothing. Nothing had changed. It just didn't work. Maybe I don't need it to work, because it never will anyway.

I need to purchase a calender or a planner. I have dates and times and locations and lists, all creating clutter and mess in my head. I've asked my inner child to clean up a bit, but she's stubborn and defiant. So, I'll have to do it myself. But it can wait until after I've run through my neighbors sprinklers, barefoot and giggling.

2009-07-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

"What you once were isn't what you
want to be anymore."

I truly believe I was born with a poorly constructed, slightly damaged inner clock. Please don't ask me to give a specific example as to why I believe the previous statement to be true, just trust me. Too little, too late. Too much, too soon. These cliches are the bane of my existence, of which there are several.

How is it that I am always the one leaving notes on peoples windows and doors? I try so hard to make people realize that I care about them. In regards to my most recent case, she won't respond. Not even a handwritten note could save this now.

I don't blend in anymore. When I was a child I wanted nothing more than to be normal. When I was a teenager I wanted nothing more than to be different. And now here I am. Standing out. I don't know what to think of it. I don't believe the nice things people say, not because I think everyone to be a liar but because I am most comfortable disliking myself. I'm being asked to carry myself differently and to change all the things I feel most comfortable doing. Perhaps this is a mid-mid-life crisis. Or more so a identity crisis. The point is, blending in is easier. Was easier, Jerilyn. Was.

I can't bare to look at myself anymore, in any form. I'm exhausted by my various painted faces, curls and swirls, pigeon toes and blank stares. I'm a one trick pony, anyway. Everyone will see it soon enough and all of this will be merely a freckle. A freckle easily covered with some foundation and concealer.

I should have realized I wasn't love bound when I was in the fourth grade. You see, I fell in love with this Russian kid who moved to Michigan (to my fourth grade class) And when I say love, I mean love. He wasn't nice to me and when we passed notes back and forth his replies usually contained misspelled curse words. I wrote him poems and eventually forced him into being my boyfriend. To summarize my traumatic, elementary love affair, I was too much in love to see that perhaps love wasn't for me. Isn't, Jerilyn. Isn't.

I'm just now learning from past experiences, just one confirmation of my malfunctioning clock.

It seems as though I am constantly tiptoeing around as to avoid upsetting anyone. But very few people show me the same graciousness.

I turn everyone I meet into my therapist.

All I've got is the Ace of hearts.
I'm all in and I think I should fold.

2009-07-09T07:39:00.000-07:00

"No one ever said it would

be this hard.
I'm going back to the start."

Clarity is a funny thing. We crave it and beg for it.
But somehow when we actually have it
we want to return to our familiar state of blurriness
because, after all, moving on is always more difficult
than standing still.

For the first time in my entire life,
I did not apologize for anything.
It felt electric.
I feel as though I've added a
new word to my vocabulary,
or perhaps I've removed a few.

I'm the type of person who apologizes to a chair if
I happen to bump into it. And although I will still feel
awful for doing so, I will now at least acknowledge the
chairs wrong doing in the matter.
Instead of waiting to be forgiven,
I will open myself to forgive.

In the spirit of funny things,
I would be foolish to not mention the funny nature of truth.
We hold honesty and truthfulness in such high regards.
Yet, sometimes we use truth as a last resort.
Like, it's our only option after we've done something we are sorry for.
Very rarely do we fall back on truth before the road forks.
But in my very vague case, it's nice to hear. Even now.

Someone special told me recently that they think I'm on the right path.
And for the first time in my entire life,
I would have to agree.

To put it simply, we are not perfect and it's okay.
In regards to the aforementioned
clumsy, over apologetic girl,
she's going to be fine.
Trust me.

2009-07-07T06:14:00.000-07:00

"I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose"

I finally saw fireworks. The best kind. The ones that take you by surprise. Falling embers, falling stars. Taking cover from man made meteor showers. As fantastical as they were in the sky, it was their reflections on the water that I found to be most magical. Dreamlike, yet tangible.

The past few days I've been forced to face music that I've been more than reluctant to listen to. But I'm taking it all to heart. Although the aforementioned heart is confounded and weak, it is feeding on the brutal honesty of this chorus; learning from these scattered instrumental interludes. I think I have become better suited to keep rhythm. Well, at least a beat or two.

I initially traveled north to find peace and quiet. I would have settled for one or the other, really. But the noise found its way to me somehow. Paradoxically, the noise was not music.
It was steady and constant. It was foreign to me then, but now has become a vivid part of my presence. The fresh air, which usually inspires me, left me lethargic and heavy.

I miss very much the land where feet are stained with earth and where people paint their houses whatever colors they like.

I befriended a dog and smoked too many cigarettes. I told her the saddest story I knew. She told me even when I'm happy I'm sad. She wants me to find the missing piece. I asked her where I should look. She didn't know.

I've been frequenting a different area with a new group of people. I'm surprised they let me in, seeing that I am much younger and have retained all those annoying, youthful qualities. But I enjoy the change of pace. I enjoy their company. With them, my laughter is never forced.

While downtown, standing amongst a sea of the same, I felt my progress dissolve. Those lousy two steps that took me forever to take, faded to nothing as I quickly moved 10 miles back. So, I am back at square one. You have to start somewhere, right? Right. The car ride home was particularly painful. It was 4:30am. I was on empty in more ways than one. As I was coming undone, it all came together. I refused sleep, but sleep won.

I wrote it down and put in the fire.

People are most vulnerable when they're at their happiest.

I've never feared ghosts until now.

Yesterday, upon my return, things began to unravel as I knew they would. She wants to give up on us. Kind and unexpected inbox confusion. Police have too much power. The girl's moving out and moving on. There's not much I can do. I can fight, but what's the use?

My mother called me fat.

I better start looking for the missing piece.
But where do I start?

2009-07-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

I blame the change in weather.
I know it's unfair of me to blame the weather, a non cognitive entity,
but what's a girl to do? I'm sure weather will understand.

Coming home when the birds are stretching their wings awake and
sprinkler systems casually erupt is becoming something I am starting to enjoy. I could do without the endless paid programming on television, though.

Part one:
Excessive snorting fits, memorial dance party, harmless flirting, drunken clumsiness, misting rain, raccoon eyes, making people laugh,Kings and Aces, being snarky, misinterpreted winking, playful glances, turning around one last time and handmade unicorns.

Part two:
Sun sans screen, midday sleep frustration, tuna sandwiches and Oreos, volleyball, friendly vulnerability, sunburned cigarettes, wanting shade, telling secrets

Part three:
Matinees, playing dress up, vintage Jean Paul Gaultier, ancient sequins, cheese pizza, free haircuts, being adopted, being thankful, late starts, touching everything, overcast skies, broken bicycle chains, confident sheerness, wind blown hair, changing in cars (again), bare feet on city pavement, off brand cereal, cold cement and finding a wrinkled and weathered copy of myself.

Part four:
Name induced smiles, new car bitterness, revisiting an old infatuation, cheating on forgotten vices, pop its and sparklers, counting pennies, taking back empties on empty, spurts of creativity, enunciating my A's as Ah's, couple triple, sketchy drugs and lessons about hooking up, night to morning conversation, dinner for breakfast, waking in the afternoon and cursing the heavens.

I feel like I'm spying on hidden parts of myself.
I am a fake and a fraud.
I'm getting really sick of carrying this with me wherever I go.

I'll be clearing my head over the next few days, in a cabin by the lake.

I want to feel fireworks again.

2009-06-26T11:18:00.001-07:00

"if you see a shadow, there's something there"

It really is a small world after all.

The past few days have been spent chasing shadows and the light in between. It's been a struggle finding comfort in the dark, illuminating my apathy with street lamps and morning sun, but I've managed to find temporary solace in the place where both worlds collide. Not only am I having a difficult time telling the difference between hunger and appetite, I can't figure out if this is what I want. Everyone is telling me that I'm going places and that what I have comes naturally to me. But when I'm in front of the camera my mind is turned off. It's the only time in my day where my mind is blank. Perhaps I'm confusing apathy with freedom. I don't know.

Wizard of Oz torrential downpour, zipper shaped lightning, clean air, flat tires, immediate breaking, sweating through cotton, hairspray in mass quantities, yellow eyes and nude lips, not wearing undergarments, constellations of bug bites, ivory skin tarnished with sun, sandy knees, blank stares, fitting in, not fitting in, words of praise, honoring a king and an angel, "put your chin down", Detroit U-turns, screaming "I'll find it myself", quitting, the boy in the fitting room, faded reds, dirty dishes, pointless arguments, a productive carousel ride, "the friend zone", wind blown cigarettes, traffic jams, flooded highways, threatening headlights, having an audience, changing behind sheets in hot cars, wading, waiting, shopping in the dark, twin bed secrets, chipmunks, starving, wedding talk, awkward admissions and a song about unicorns.

While at the beach, we noticed a lifeless mass of white floating, atrophied in the water. Looking to the shore, we see a swan standing, watching the white mass float back and forth. We concluded that it was the deceased mate of the swan on the shore. She stretched her wings, bending them inward and outward as if to acknowledge us. We stood in silence. The swan, who we thought was in mourning, entered the water slowly, making its way up to the other. She approached him, still lifeless. And as if by some strange miracle, the once lifeless swan lifts its head from the water to greet his other. We cheered and wiped the stubborn tears from our eyes. It's funny. Life is always taking me by surprise. And sometimes, hope surprises you in the form of a white swan who simply was much too tired to greet a trio hopeless wanderers.

When I'm 40 years old, someone is going to nonchalantly offer me an unwanted ticket to the ballet. When I seat myself and the show begins I know that I will look back and wonder how it is I denied myself of one of my most persistent and potent dreams. Everyday while doing the dishes, I lift my leg straight and horizontal, toes pointed east and west. When I stand, I'm always in third position. I know that I am clumsy and I was born with very little grace, but for some reason I think it would make me happy; dancing on my tip toes, spinning around and around, arms out like wings, legs parallel to the ground.

Do you feel fireworks?

2009-06-23T08:12:00.000-07:00

"I threw in a life preserver, but preservation is always only temporary."

I thought I needed it to live my life more happily.
I think I may have been wrong.
I think I may be the exception.

Perhaps, I've only wanted it because I was supposed to want it. I've been conditioned to want it. The truth is, if I had it I wouldn't know what to do with it. And I doubt it would even help me at all. The funny thing is, I've known it all along but it's much too difficult to admit until now. The way I am and the way I've always been is all I've ever known. There's no need to complicate things. There's really no need at all.

There's another problematic factor in this already problematic equation. We will always refer to the feelings we once felt and the experiences we had, to judge how to approach everything that comes next, before we even see it through. We dismiss and accept things without knowing what will really happen. Never will you be able to force time you spent from your memory, no matter the lengths you may go to. And these same spans of time are the crossroads and roadblocks that prevent you from freeing yourself.

I climbed my first tree.

Yesterday, while making an early trip to McDonalds (7am) I witnessed something awesome. Picture this: A heavy set kid on a bike with a bag of McD's food and a drink. He looks in the bag (he's alone, mind you) and he smiles the biggest, most happy of smiles. He then proceeds to pick up a boom box (ghetto blaster/cassette player) with a CORD and he rides off on his bike, food, drink and boom box in tow. Where he was going, or what he intended to do with the cassette player, I have no idea. I do know, however, that it made me a very happy girl.

My worst fear is slowly coming true. Awkward silences, small talk, "catching up." I'm not sure we can repair the damage that the natural progression of growing up has done. If there was a way for me to patch up the holes that we've allowed to exist so that we could return to our sisterly state of familiarity, I would. But it takes more than that. I wish I could say I was referring to only one person, but there are a few. Le sigh.

As of tomorrow morning, I will be thrown into recycling bins and trash cans all across Metro Detroit, only to rest peacefully in my immortalized newspaper condition for ever and ever. Well, until I am recycled into something new someday.

As of lately, it seems as though the only ideas I have are bad ones. If I ever have a good idea, I'll be sure to write it down so I can have proof that I was at one point capable of doing so.

I'm better off airbrushed and retouched.

(unedited photo by Joshua Band Photography)

2009-06-20T07:33:00.000-07:00

More than this - there is nothing

More than this - tell me one thing
More than this - there is nothing
It was fun for a while

Champagne and late night cigarettes with the girl from Iceland, tugging hair, painting faces, doppelgangers, lipstick on wine glasses, invasive and persistent flashbulbs, new acquaintances, playing dress up, pink water, drifting right, bloomers and bow ties, congratulatory words, play list adoration, birds of paradise, 2am and 3am and 4am, smoke induced hallucinations, a nap on a strange couch, saying 'thank you', negative association, rain filled reflections, mid summer's day karaoke, roaring thunder, fake laughter, dump trucks, feeling whole, old vices, hazard lights, makeshift garment bags, newspaper stained finger tips, sloppy signatures, little details, angry and cathartic walks, feeling sexy, pillow forts, $63 paychecks, second and third place ribbons, stopping in the middle, spontaneous interventions, apologizing excessively, a lonely breakfast with pen and paper and realizing you can't describe color.

How many failed marriages does someone need to go through before they realize what they need to do differently? Let's hope 5 is the end of it.

I've exhausted my welcome. I have to stop assuming people are here to help. It's selfish of me.

I hate money.

I wonder how many times we were in love and didn't even know it.

I wear red lipstick now and mens tshirts. I don't fucking care.

We're always missing out, aren't we?

They say the camera loves me, but it's not a real love so who cares, anyway?

[unedited photos by Josh Band Photography]

2009-06-14T16:33:00.000-07:00

"You'll figure that out. The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you."

I don't recognize myself. I am the same. Exactly the same.
Maybe I'm just forgetful.
That must be it.

I made a wise choice. I can't believe I sided with the angel on my shoulder. I seem to always favor the devil's quick wit and irrational tongue. But foreseeing the implications of my unruly desire to act on my flawless ability to make emotionally self destructive decisions (take a breath) I am relieved to know that I am capable of doing what is best for me. This, of course, is a once in blue moon occurrence.

I hate that I can't afford a new car. Don't get me wrong, I love my car. But I'm pretty sure cars are not supposed to stall, let alone stall while in motion. I have a honest to God feeling that I may be killed within the next few weeks, all because of that stubborn piece of machinery. There's not much I care to do, though, to alter the outcome of my inevitable crash.

Is it wrong that I am comforted with knowing certain people will most likely spend their life alone, searching for something that will never exist to them because they have done nothing to deserve the happiness that comes with companionship? It is wrong, isn't it? I feel just awful for even thinking that, let alone publicly confessing it on the interweb. But I can't help smiling at the mere thought of a well deserved fruitless journey.

I don't understand relationships. I don't see the point.

I did another photo shoot.

I'm on the cover of Real Detroit.
I'm just now realizing that I'm not cut out for this.
And I'm a fool to ever think I was.

I have 5 pages. 3 of the 5 pages are convoluted chunks of dialogue; unassigned, poorly worded dialogue. I want my character to become a heroine. But I don't think she's strong enough yet.
It's all a bunch of rubbish if you ask me. I hate not knowing how my story ends, but I guess that's the beauty of being young.

Do you ever have the urge to just run?
Leaping over sprinklers, escaping curious dogs, darting across busy roads and highways, over wire and wooden fences, through barren fields. This is what I want to do.
Where I end up won't matter in the end.

2009-06-10T14:47:00.000-07:00

I know where the summer goes.

Aside from suffering from heat exhaustion to the point of near hospitalization, I can't seem to catch a minute to take a breath. I can't be bothered to think about things that were once self-destructive and consuming. And it appears as though I've lost the ability to frown. All of the aforementioned details are positive.

My life is quickly becoming a technicolor kaleidoscope, twisting and turning in every shade of wonderful. Reds, yellows and violets. Although it's a beautiful color in every form, I very rarely see the blues; they're difficult to find these days.

Spf 50, warm swimming pools, wine coolers for breakfast, white eye liner, flashbulbs, kind and confident people, shish kabobs, seedless watermelon, $110 sunglasses, bikinis, thumbs up, biting straws, diving board laziness, hot pavement on bare feet, oversexed condiments, awkward legs, leotards, scar secrets, shaking hands, high maintenance boys and sun kissed happiness.

After waking up on the couch at midnight, in a heat exhausted stupor I thought about how I really wanted someone there to pat my forehead with a cool washcloth, fetch me ice water with a bendy straw, walk me to my room and to tell me that by morning I will feel much better about everything. But I had to do these things on my own. It's okay, really. Everything is coming along just as it should.

I should have invested in waterproof mascara a long time ago.
But if my luck keeps up, I won't be needing it any time soon.

Steady as I go.

2009-06-07T12:56:00.001-07:00

"Hope is the thing with feathers"

Correction:
It's not a matter of moving on. Moving on is the easy part. I've done that already. Actually, I remember doing that a long time ago. It's finding ways to appreciate experiences and finding lessons in messes that takes time and effort. But at least I've found a flower in this shit of a situation. It's actually quite funny, really. Without this, what fodder would I have for my writing? This whole mishap was a Godsend. A fucking Godsend, I tell you!!! I thank both my lucky and unlucky stars that this fell into my open lap because in all honesty this is the funniest, most ridiculously genius situation that could possibly be presented to me (of all people!)

Am I ashamed? Am I embarrassed? Of course I am. How could I not be? At least I'm not too prideful to admit my shame and ultimately my poor and careless judge of character.

Now that I'm living off of the state of Michigan (although I am still rightfully employed), with days upon days free of responsibility and/or obligation, I can finally make shit happen (not, of course, the same shit I referred to previously) For example; I start my second attempt at composing a novella tomorrow morning. I'm also de-cluttering my world of many things that are merely collecting dust. The modeling thing? Yeah. I'm going to start working on that in a more pugnacious manner, too. It's time to get aggressive because now I know what I want and I know what I deserve; Happiness. Duh!

I bought Guatemalan worry dolls. I've been wearing them around my neck.

I bought an old photograph of a girl who shares the same hunger.

I ate a cactus.

I'm shooting a cover and spread for Real Detroit on Tuesday.

There has been, within the past 24 hours, a dramatic shift in my rotation. I need a gravitational push.

I am convinced that the birds are literally falling from the sky. Every where I go, there are fallen nests, birds with broken necks, abandoned eggs. I'm starting to think that they've forgotten how to fly. Or maybe the winds are not carrying them the same.

Are we not all just flightless birds?

2009-06-04T04:55:00.000-07:00

¹in·fi·nite

1: extending indefinitely :endless <infinite space>
2: immeasurably or inconceivably great or extensive: inexhaustible <infinite patience>
3: subject to no limitation or external determination

I'm getting a new tattoo. I'm starting at the beginning. Things will start happening, not because they need to or have to, but because I now know that I have the power to alter each and every avenue I am confronted with.

Three years ago today, I graduated high school and I am in the exact same place, feeling the exact same way, thinking about the exact same things. This is a wake up call. I suppose this whole week has been a wake up call. But what happens when I fall asleep?

Freedom, in its purest most unassuming form can only be found on a dance floor. Or so I am convinced.

I spent the entire evening dancing with my eyes closed. Flashes of light shined through in distorted shades of shadow. Of course when I opened them, I was blinded by awkward familiarity, which I did my best to avoid even though I wanted nothing more than for them to recognize me (which they would have if I had been standing a bit closer.) It's best that we did not exchange words. They would have forgotten my name, but would remember my brief association with you. Perhaps you told them all about how it "Didn't work out" or perhaps you never told them anything at all. Despite not talking to them, seeing them was proof enough that this hurts. I was led astray by a reckless heart and now I am trying to find my way back.

Him: clean break?

Me: I don't want to lose a friend, though.

Me: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said.

Him: Its not as if you'll never hear from me.

Him: Its ok.

Him: It isn't right for me to talk to you anymore.

Me: It's fine. I'm fine, really.

Him: Keep this part out of your blog.

Him: but I really am an awful person; An awful, lonely, bad person.

Me: Oh shut up with that. jesus. And I leave nothing out of my blog.

Him: you should have more confidence. My final words.

Me: final words?

I won't be drinking from the poisoned well of love any time soon.
In fact, I'm starting to lose the will to drink at all.

I will never begin to understand how it is people can hurt one another. I include myself in this both parts of this riddle.

It's strange to watch everyone walk away from you so easily.

My world is moving in such a dreamlike rotation.

I'll find the pieces.

2009-06-03T06:29:00.000-07:00

Alice: Oh, no, no. I was just wondering if you could help me find my way.

Cheshire Cat: Well that depends on where you want to get to.
Alice: Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as...

Cheshire Cat: Then it really doesn't matter which way you go.

The past few days have merely been slightly distorted mirrors of one another. Early morning walks, accidental poems and car rides without destinations. Oh, and cigarettes. Lots and lots of cigarettes.

It makes sense, I suppose. The truth is, this has become a game. I don't know what I'm trying to win or why I'm trying to win. I'm not sure I even want to win. If the past is any indication as to what is awaiting me at the finish line, then I feel like I'm wasting my time. It's like when you play those awful games at traveling carnivals. The one where you attempt to win a goldfish, even though you have no desire to own or care for a goldfish. You simply have to win. And when you take it home and place it in a bowl of sorts you are certain you'll wake up to find it floating at the top. You won't care. You'll flush it down the toilet and forget about the prize. Because after all, you've already won. You can't lose something you never had. I think I secretly want to win just so I can lose.

And yes. I am the queen of convoluted metaphors.

I realized how nurturing I am and how willing I am to nurture just about everyone and tend immediately to their needs. So much so that I forget to take care of myself. I just need a little water now and then. I need some sunlight, too.

While at the pet store, trying my best to avoid walking near the cats in cages, I caved and had to give my fond regards to the furry residents of the towering land of feline imprisonment. And that's when I saw her. Lily, was her name. Solid black. All I had to do was look in her direction and I knew it was fate. I walked to her cage. She pawed at me. I had to pull myself away otherwise I would have opened the cage, put her in my purse and bolted out of the door. Not having her in my arms is my most consuming regret.

That last line would sound beautiful coming from a boys mouth in reference to a failed love affair, wouldn't it? I think so, too.

I feel as though I have voluntarily severed my own leg.
I'm not quite sure how I feel about this rash decision.

It feels like Valentines Day.

2009-05-31T08:49:00.000-07:00

This Is Not An Exit

I knew my invitation would be indirectly declined. I was a fool to think otherwise. Although I was lucky enough to be in the company of good friends, they failed to take note of the empty chair beside me. Just as the curtains were opening and lights were dimming, I turned back to look at the doors. They were shut. I returned my attention to the screen where a bloody onslaught was about to mirror the one within. Oh well. Despite my ignored invitation, seeing American Psycho on the big screen is easily one of the coolest experiences ever. Hands down.

I have seven days off. Some might say that I'm on an involuntary vacation, perhaps a lay off. Voluntary or not, I'll gladly accept the coming days for which I haven't a single plan or obligation. More than likely I will spend the week ahead writing and running and singing and falling. Perhaps I'll just roam the streets aimlessly in desperate search for adventure.

Last night, I finally slept sound enough to dream. Too bad it was a nightmare.

I've reached the conclusion that I am much too selfish to be anything other than alone.

Someone told me the name of the rarest bird in the world. I have since forgotten it. I want to be the rarest bird in the world but I've got a long way to go.

2009-05-27T14:11:00.000-07:00

"She said she couldn't stand people

who gave up trying"

You know something in your life needs to change
when you wake up to, "Hey! You might have an STD!"
So, so awesome. I'm fine, though. Nothing to worry about.
It's just really, super funny.
A virgin with an STD?
Comedic gold.

Surprisingly, that's a whole lot less funny than the happenings of the past two days, believe it or not! Close your eyes...are they closed? CLOSE 'EM, DAMMIT! Okay. Now, imagine fighting for the love of someone you could see yourself potentially being with somewhere down the line. Got it? Good. Okay. Now, imagine you make countless attempts to explain your true intentions only to have them ignored by a fucking defeatist attitude. Once you've got that, imagine hearing the same lines over and over. For example; "I'm a bad person. I'd ruin your life. I was trying to protect you." Now, pretend you cut it off because you can't handle all that bullshit small talk. Then imagine being deleted out of that someones life, causing you to delete them from yours. Now, stick your hand down your throat and yank out that dreadful and persistent heart of yours and set it on fire. That's right, fire! Feels good, doesn't it? Finally, try to imagine the one that got away. It's the same person, isn't it? Open your eyes. Hey, hey! Don't cry! It's funny, see? Laugh! Love is a joke; the funniest joke.

The remaining days of this week and the days that spill into the next will be spent primarily looking for new employment. This, so I assume, should be a major check mark in the "fail" column of my life chart. I assume the same result will be true of the diet (which consists of eliminating the entire food pyramid and then some) I plan on starting tomorrow.

I looked up "rut" in the dictionary:

1: an annually recurrent state of sexual excitement in the male deer
2: a track worn by a wheel or by habitual passage
3: a usual or fixed practice

All of those are suitable definitions of the state I am currently in. No need to worry, though. I'll dig myself out of this somehow. All I need is a shovel or two and perhaps a miracle...whatever that is.

Check ignition and may Gods love be with you

2009-05-23T09:24:00.000-07:00

In all my life, things have never been so discombobulated as they are now. I feel like I have the Midas touch. But instead of gold, it's shit. Shit, I tell you!

First, the impossible happens. And of course it happens when I least expect it, thus leaving me completely unprepared. It was the most frustrating conversation I have ever had in my entire life. I feel like if we had been talking face to face, I would have been screaming. Even though no one could see me, I threw my hands up out of pure vexation more than once and cursed at the computer screen as if it made a difference. It was cathartic, despite the fact that my questions were endless and his answers were metaphors. Nothing was resolved. Thus is life, I guess. It's sad how I willingly anticipate that all promises made to me will be broken. So far, this one is no exception.

I hate that this isn't easy for me and that I have given power to a powerless situation. And I especially hate that I have publicly humiliated myself (I might go as far to say flagellate) all thanks to butterflies that someone once graciously gave me and then stole back only to set them free without me. Well, rest assured. Next time I happen to see one of our butterflies (well, they're your responsibility now) I will trap it in a jar and let it die. It's only fair.

I catwalked to what I surely believed was my inevitable death. Turns out (after watching video recorded evidence) I didn't embarrass myself that bad. It was all actually quite adorable. I laughed. I laughed on the runway. How cute is that?! (If you don't know how to answer that question, allow me; SUPER CUTE!)

Me: Do you girls happen to have a pen?
Model: What? Are you signing an autograph or something?
Me: No...

Model: You know who you look like?
Me: Jenny Lewis?
Model: How'd you know I was going to say that?!
Me: Lucky guess?

I need a new job within the next three weeks. I'm nearly unemployable, seeing my flawless track record of being fired. But I need a job. I cannot live on less than ten hours a week, making less than eight dollars an hour in a place where my off color jokes are ridiculed by the ill humored. Fast food and stripping are my last resorts.

It's funny how just a few months ago everything seemed to be falling into place. Which place, I am unsure, but they were undoubtedly falling strategically into a some designated fate. And now, the pieces that were once so systematically arranged are now scattered haphazardly. Don't worry. I'll get my dust pan and start cleaning up. Perhaps if I take the time to align the pieces they will form a silver lining...or something like that.

[I had to, I'm sorry. I just wanted you to let me in. I cared about you more than you will ever know. Thank you for protecting me. ]

(No butterflies were harmed in the writing of this entry.)

I'm your teenage prayer.

2009-05-17T07:30:00.000-07:00

"You might think I'm not somebody,
you might think I'm nowhere
But I'm here to tell you I'm your teenage prayer."

There's a first time for everything. It just so happened that my spur of the moment trip to New York City presented me with an overwhelming amount of firsts; all of which I find nearly impossible to realize (and at times, accept) as truth. Looking back, all I can do is smile and wonder (only briefly) what my life would be like if I wasn't in it.

I spent half of my trip with clothes on, the other half was spent naked. Half of the nudity was expected, the other half was anticipated. I was happier with my clothes off. It was freeing. And for the first time in my life I felt (on some level) desirable. I realize it's not important to feel this way, but in the spirit of first times I think it's important to mention. I stumbled upon a few heartbreaking love stories and did my best to avoid becoming one. I think I survived (another first) although not entirely. I'm much too sensitive to be a tally mark on a bed post, but I'm dealing with it. I'm growing up. And even though my feelings and actions were only temporary, I now know what I want in permanence.

Flashbulbs against bare skin, neglected naps, twin bed closeness, avoiding eye contact, kissing races, Miller High Life, sweet and sour smells of Chinatown, warm and saturated sleep, city summer sun, free condoms and matches, trampoline nudity, tourists with crinkled maps, productive showers, lunch under grapevines, apathetic subway rides, models on street corners, loose tobacco, borrowed lighters, wanting to call someone mister just to spite you, drunken 2am pizza, walk/don't walk ignorance, grocery store oneness, not calling someone mister because I can't without you, vertically inclined in a vertical city, being called "Fucking Hipsters", fabricated truth, manufactured lies, over exposure, nylons ripped in fervor, walking tall, a song about a love song, release form release.

After my car dropped me off at the airport I stood outside and had a cigarette. I decided that I couldn't go back. If I were to go back home nothing would ever change and if I were to stay nothing would ever be the same. I came up with a plan (not much of one, really) where I would purposefully miss my flight. By the time my cigarette was finished I walked back to the sidewalk and waited for a taxi back to the city where I would call my parents to tell them how I couldn't come back. A taxi pulled up beside me and my luggage. I hesitated. With tears in my eyes, I waved him off.

I wanted to stay.
I couldn't leave.
I had to go.
I couldn't come.

Life is so beautiful in its randomness.
I would be a fool not to appreciate every little surprise.

(unfinished entry. to be edited.)

2009-05-14T16:08:00.000-07:00

I'm going to New York City in the morning, Manhattan to be exact.
It just happened this way.
I never thought I could take my clothes off,
but I guess there isn't much to hide anymore.
It's mine to do with what I wish.
It should be fun, regardless.
I'm staying with a friend in Brooklyn.
I'll be back Saturday evening.

I woke up to a thunderstorm.
I found a Blue Jay feather in the grass.
I fed geese in a parking lot.

2009-05-12T14:58:00.000-07:00

"The spark is not within me"

My face is tinted with sunshine and my freckles are in full bloom.

I realized that I enjoy not wearing underwear.

I gave up on giving up.

I started writing again. New title, new story, same ol', same ol'
But writers block has since gotten the best of me.

This morning (after calling off of work for no reason) while braiding my hair into pigtails, sitting Indian style, eating chocolate cake for breakfast I realized that there must be some Curious Case of Benjamen Button shit going on. There's no way I'm 20 years old.

Having said that, I start collecting unemployment tomorrow.

I think it should be required that every physically able person should go outside and do something nature-y every single day. Fresh air changes everything, for the better of course.

I really think I need to quit smoking soon. I sound like a dreadful combination of Christian Bale (as Batman, of course) and Kathleen Turner. Sultry? Perhaps. Unhealthy? Most definitely.

I finally found the words that have been sitting so patiently in my throat
but I have no one to say them to. I hope I find someone to tell before I swallow them.

I made a wish on a deceased dandelion.
I wish I knew then what I know now.
Or something like that.

For the record, I lied. I lie quite often, actually. But in this particular instance, I lied about that "last shot" business. Oh, and I broke a promise too. You know the one where I promised to take a hint? Yeah. Scratch that. The truth is, world, I don't have anything better to do than to keep trying. And I challenge you to find a better use of my time. My pleas have transcended merely wanting this. The hunger is unbearable. I've left a breadcrumb path for you. I'll be there when you're ready to follow it. I am the destination.

Person one: Why are you begging? It's pathetic. He doesn't want you.
Person two: Keep fighting until you don't want him anymore.
Person three: In the words of the great Pat Benatar, "Love is a battlefield."

In regards to person one; I know. I disgust myself.
In regards to person two; I've got a lot of fight left in me.
In regards to person three; Truer words have never been spoken.

"And now," cried Max, "let the wild rumpus start!"

2009-05-05T12:32:00.001-07:00

"You gotta be the one,
you gotta be the way"

The past few days have been whirlwind like in nature, but in all actuality the past few days have been just the same. So, I find it only appropriate to summarize the aforementioned past few days in a whirlwind matter; in true haphazard fashion;

A vast sea of comic books, mutants and moon shadows, pulling a radio flyer wagon, peanut butter cookies, rough drafts,a little red dress, one long drive on empty, duct tape on a door, duct tape on a window, mustaches and keg beer, older men fascinated with my wasted youth, further demotion, grimace and the hamburgler, track #6, feeling heroic, heated argument over what belongs to me, bursts of unexpected wind carrying cherry blossom petals into my face, finding our groove, undesirable sobriety, red to blond thoughts, finding a house without directions, Romeo & Juliet, track #6, technicolor scars, Julie Newmar, jumping on train tracks, climbing barbed wire fences, feeling defeated, The Last Batgirl Story, waking from a dream where I was defiant and oblivious, clumsy and unfocused pirouettes, impatient hands holding a silent phone, disowning once trustworthy butterflies, irrational and exaggerated exclamations, snapping at friends hopeful words, choking fits induced by laughter, eating massive amounts of humble pie, crying "I can't do this" and screaming "I did it", running in nylons, financial sacrifices for rock and roll, walking on the top of the world, faking it, feeling lucky, blurry photographs and track #6.

If my car were a cat, it'd be on its ninth life.

I should have known things wouldn't be easy.
I'm putting it to rest or setting it free.
Either way, it's no longer a part of me.
Wait. Not yet. Okay?

Dandelions are unappreciated.

love thy self.

2009-05-02T06:27:00.000-07:00

"In love the paradox occurs that two beings become one and yet remain two."

My bad habits are resurfacing and I'm gaining a significant amount of weight. And in regards to both the former and the latter, I don't much care.

My mother had a miscarriage yesterday. She wasn't going to "have" it, but it's still a sad thought for some reason or another. We laughed about it today, though. We're always laughing about the sad things, or so it seems.

I'm reading the thesaurus.

I need money for ballet lessons. And perhaps, too, a leotard. Or better yet a unitard. My body would look so slammin' in a unitard.

Your name comes up more often than I feel comfortable noticing. But never from my mouth, I can assure you. I'll hear it in a crowded bar or in a quiet bookstore and it always leaves me with the same feeling. I usually smile, shake my head to myself and then look out of a nearby window, at a nearby street, eyes glazed over with a sense of "Oh well." The complete duration of this cyclical, almost daily process is approximately 33 seconds, give or take a few.
Copious, affluent, flush, fertile, abundant, opulent. Even your synonyms leave me distant.

The fate of my day must surly be foreshadowed by a bowl of pink milk and perhaps the sun which insisted on nudging me unwillingly awake.

milk and honey.

2009-04-29T03:19:00.000-07:00

"I'll show you where the flowers never grow"

In the past week I've experienced, in summary, a rainbow, a dead dog and lots of rain. All of which, or so I find, are suitable guests to this abrupt and adamant feeling.

I have $25 and some change to last me until next Friday. This should make the next seven days nearly impossible.

I find it relatively amusing that people are so concerned about this pandemic. I'm not sick and my immune system is doing just fine. I'm more concerned about that silly little organ situated comfortably underneath my breastbone. It's not beating the same these days.

I accidentally felt up several female mannequins today. They are much too stubborn to move on their own, so my hands did all the work.

I desperately want a motorcycle. I want to sell my car, buy a motorcycle, move to the countryside and open a pie shop. I'll just bake pies and tend to a garden. Did I mention I would have a garden, too? Because I would. And a weathered wooden fence and creaky porch steps.

Even when I'm running late, I'm always early.

I'm running out of eyelashes to pull.

two part harmony.

2009-04-27T13:36:00.000-07:00

"The world is dying to meet you"

Spring is so, so wonderful that I find it to be completely exhausting.

Yesterday I went to a used book sale. The books I purchased perfectly summarize who I am; Get Happy: Biography of Judy Garland, a thesaurus, Survival, Evasion and Escape: A guide published by the U.S Army in 1968 and The Art of Loving. I went to a concert, too. Every song was about love, which was tiring but opened a few closed windows in my barely open mind.

It is windier than usual today. Our windows are open and the drapes keep blowing upward. The trees are sporting their new growth and the cherry blossoms are popping. Now is the time for something good. I think.

Some people find my ceaseless crusade to be romantic. While others think my relentless attempts are pathetic; they think I look desperate. The truth is, I'm fighting for someone who won't fight for himself. So, I've come to a viable solution; my only option. I've made the choice to surrender. However, I am not waving my white flag out of defeat, no. I am waving it out of indifference. If you want me, then you'll have to find me. I'm worth fighting for. I am (as you are) a creature of endless value. I cannot promise you that I'll be waiting with open arms. And I certainly can't promise a open heart. But we'll burn that bridge when we cross it; if we ever cross it. But before I go off waving flags and burning bridges there are a few things you should know. I had a good feeling about all of this and I truly believed that something good was to come of it. I am in no way superior to you. My feelings and intentions were and are true and unassuming. And I firmly believe that we will both soon find whatever it is we are looking for, or something like that.

"Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes."- Paracelsus

I know very little about very much. I know nothing about fruit.

Not enough ladies, too many mans

2009-04-25T10:17:00.000-07:00

Last night was fun. But I wasn't really there. The combination of Detroit, late night comedy and what I assume to be mass quantities of alcohol is lethal; especially to a sober girl, drunk on the impossible, observing within.

I never really finish anything I start. I have an unfinished novella on my desk, not to mention countless stories, letters, songs and poems, a sketch pad full of incomplete line drawings, books with dogeared pages and piles of untouched to-do lists. I suppose it's safe to assume that my motivation runs out half way through whatever it is I choose to do and then I hide it away to finish someday. Well, I've decided to see this through until you tell me not to. I would hate to face myself in a few years knowing I didn't even try. This may all seem obsessively persistent and at times utterly pointless, but I figure what the hell? I've got all the time in the world. I can't be held responsible for feeling this way, I can only own up to what I choose to do. Within the past few days I've come to realize and fully understand that the things you want most are the ones you must fight for. So, gather the troops, load your guns and say your prayers because I have a feeling this might be a very bloody affair. (ewww blood!)

I'm confident that I will be, in some way, victorious.

I need a place to stay for a few days.

The emergency sirens are going off and I don't much care.

2009-04-23T11:37:00.000-07:00

It's getting better all the time
This heart's on fire

I had to take one for the team. And when I say team, I mean me. I thought at the time what I was doing was a complete mistake, little did I know that my choice was pure genius. GENIUS! I threw him off my trail, once and for all. Conversation resumed naturally and greedy hands returned to familiar positions underneath my shirt.

"Hands to yourself." I said.
"Come on." he pleaded.
I shook my head sheepishly.
Only a few gentle minutes passed before it started again and I refused him again.
"So, are we done here?" he asked.
"I suppose we are."

Buying me a slice of mediocre apple pie doesn't give you admission to pants paradise. All you'll get is a thank you and a prudish goodbye. Hmph!

Job hunting is so bothersome.

I was almost late for work due to masturbation.

I have $3 to my name. I had $5, but I bought a milkshake.

I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. Legit as fuck.

Now, if you don't mind, please allow me to step away from this dreadful play and take my rightful place at the end of the stage to perform my winded, over thought, unrehearsed aside. Spotlight? (clears throat):

"I'm not sure you pay attention to this thing anymore, but seeing that my options are limited, this couldn't hurt. This may all be a complete oversight of something minuscule, but I would be a complete idiot to let this go unnoticed. I've had to fight for very few things in my life, but my previous battles seem so unimportant now that I'm willing to fight for this; whatever this is or isn't. I'm assuming your answers and explanations are true because I have no reason not to believe you. So, assuming the former, I must tell you how completely crazy you sound. However, I see where you're coming from because if I had made the choice to make a clean break, my explanation would be identical to yours. The possibility of being hurt is the most frightening thing; I would know because I anticipate it, too, upon meeting people I could potentially care about. But I am not in the business of hurting people. I remember the moment I realized I was invested, in some small way in you. I made a phone call upon reading a message you sent my way. I was overcome with fear that you may have been hurt. But the reassurance of your voice calmed my nerves and awakened something I had been looking for. To cut the shit (which I'm not very good at, I'm afraid) I want you and have wanted you for quite some time. And as pathetic as it may sound to you or anyone else, I don't see these feelings fading any time soon. I can't dispose of this as easily as you can and have. I really, truly, want you.And I'm not exaggerating when I say that it would be my greatest pleasure to be wanted by you, too.

[exit stage left]

And yes, world, I have lost my fucking mind.

The blind leading the blind

2009-04-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

Alas, I have had yet another painstakingly strange week. As if that comes as any surprise.

I was demoted from my position at work on Friday. This entailed a private talk in the back room, with a few stubborn tears running down my face. "It's too little, too late" she said. "It's obvious that you're burned out" she said. I'm not sure what any of this means. So I now fail to hold a position of any importance. I am merely there for the sake of being there. A few hours of my evening were spent in a strange house that resembled the one I grew up in, with a few people I hadn't met before. It smelled of incense. Birthday cake was involved.

The early portion of my Saturday was spent at work. I stood in the front of the store greeting incoming customers, bidding farewell to those leaving. It's upsetting how many people ignore your cheery "Hello" and your equally cheery "Have a lovely day!" After work I made a pit stop at McDonalds, as I was fucking starving. While enjoying my food a man also eating alone (in the corner) began to sing (to himself, or perhaps AT me) Token- The Lion Sleeps Tonight. Oh yes. He also managed to hit the high notes on every set of "Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh." After he concluded he started to talk about the time he was in the war and then something about a hitchhiker. I headed over to Rockabilly's to celebrate record store day and to ultimately see The Silent Years. I was in that store far too long. Some guy started hitting on me, talking to me about old Stones records and vinyl. And then I had a scare which sent me running for the door. I perched myself on the side of the building, smoked a few cigarettes and made a panicked phone call. I ended up hiding in my car for a lot longer than I had wanted. I wrote a song while I waited for my nerves to calm themselves. Mama Sara (Mama is a loving pet name I have chosen to give her) eventually showed up and TSY played in the backroom for 9 people, maybe 10. They played a song about a forest fire. Afterwards they replayed their set in the parking lot for a couple of kids who missed it. A few friends ditched me so Mama and I went and got ice cream, shot the shit. Went to her house, ventured out to Hamtramck to The Belmont. I sent/recieved too many text messages. Several messages in my inbox startled me upon reading them. I got home around 3am. It was a beautiful day. The sun left its mark on my cheeks.

Everywhere I go women are pregnant.
Everywhere I look cars are embedded in embankments.

I had to explain to someone why the word "cunt" is regarded as a curse word. I had to explain to them what it meant. I then proceeded to explain the context "cunt" is and should be used in.

If I should be trash, then I hope that someday soon that I am found as someones treasure.

"Powdered sugar and battery acid."

2009-04-16T10:38:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure where to begin with Chicago, as my adventure was rather anti-climatic.

My bus ride there was enjoyable. I spent the entire trip talking to a 60 year old woman about life and what not. I received some advice and offered some in return. We hugged each other when we departed. I realized I can have lengthy conversations without cursing.

Big cities are seemingly less romantic when you spend your time walking in the cold rain alone, fighting the wind, wondering how you got to where you are.

Chicago is pretty easy to navigate. I followed my map to everywhere and nowhere. The only people that are nice to you are the people who are paid to. It's hard to light a cigarette in the windy city.

My hotel mates were very sweet. They invited me every time they left, but I politely declined as to not intrude on their vacation. I traveled there alone, so I figured I might as well commit and do everything on my own.

I shared a ride in the hotel elevator with two scantily clad transvestites. They had parties every night. They were only two rooms away from us. I wanted nothing more than to party with them.

Chicago fog is intense. The tops of buildings disappear. It was apocalyptic.

As for the "opportunity", the sole reason I went in the first place...it went well. They're interested in me and would ideally like to see me move there come autumn. The meeting was roughly an hour and a half long. She took a few measurements and asked a series of scattered and at times random questions. She hates that I have tattoos and asked me to consider removing them, I agreed but will not consider it. My hair color is all wrong, she said. "It's the same shade as rust." She said that I'm an actress. The conversation always came back to the discussion of passion. After being asked to list the things I am passionate about, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Of all the things I mentioned, all of which made my heart flutter just by saying them out loud, I failed to say anything involving the reason I was sitting in that office talking to that woman about a life I thought I wanted.

I suppose my time spent in Chicago can best be summarized by the following two events:

1. Hungry and in search of pizza that was not of the deep dish variety, I walked a few blocks and stumbled on a place that would feed my craving. I ordered a small pizza and decided to eat in. When my order was ready, they included on my plate one pizza, two plates and two forks. It was actually quite funny.

2. On my way to Navy Pier (I never actually made it), while attempting to cross the street, a man stops me and the following exchange of words took place:
Homely looking man with a thick accent: Oh my god. You are so beautiful.
Me: (ignore)
Homely looking man with thick accent: Your hair. So beautiful.
Me: Um, thank you.
Homely looking man with thick accent: You are so, so beautiful.
Me: Okay. (Made second attempt to cross the street)
Homely looking man with thick accent: Listen. I'm going to the bank...
Me: Awesome. Have fun!
Homely looking man with thick accent: I'll get money. We could have sex....all night long. All night.
Me: That is a truly tempting offer, sir, but I must be going.

On the bus ride home just before settling in for a cat nap I saw the Oscar Mayer Wiener Mobile speed past my window. I thought I was dreaming, but nope. Just another illustration of my strange, strange trip.

I was mistaken for a party of two and a prostitute. That was my time in Chicago, a truly unforgiving city. Well, at least it was this time around.

I only think of you when I'm vacuuming. I'm not sure if there's any significance to that, but I like to think that there's a reason as to why that chore brings about thoughts of you. It could be the consistent humming that drums up such imaginary conversations and regrets. Perhaps it's the concept of "sucking." That's probably it.

Although I have a great deal of thinking to think about thinking about, everything is simply wonderful. Things are coming together at a snails pace, but it's coming together.

I went out of my way to smell the flowers and to chase a butterfly today. It's those little things. It's always the little things.

Good Friday.

2009-04-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

I have yet to see what is so good about this particular Friday, but I suppose the day is young, yet. There's still time to prove me wrong.

I have, for the past few days, the most insane cravings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Apple Jacks. I have not had, nor wanted these things in years. If my cravings are not fulfilled soon I may resort to doing something crazy! Crazy, I tell you!

My work situation is getting progressively worse and worse. I will have been there a year next month. $7.63/hr. That place is fucked. Fucked, I tell you! I hate that I'm relying on something good happening in Chicago, but I am. Desperately. I've told everyone about my opportunity and it will be super embarrassing if I have to come back home to say, "Well, things didn't work out."

It's going on one month and I know this because I can't help but keep track of time. I realize I'm not an "easy" girl to love or even like, for that matter. And I know that I'm not as special as people make me out to be. But I've come to my own conclusion even though I know it's not the truth. This is taking longer than I had anticipated.

I watched Saved by the Bell: The College Years and it made me happier than I feel comfortable admitting.

Since starting this entry my pb&j and Apple Jacks cravings have been fulfilled, thanks to my stepmother. Praise the heavens!!!!

I think I'll start wearing mens cologne. It suits me a bit better.

I'm probably going out tonight. It's Good Friday, after all.

this need not be.

2009-04-08T14:10:00.000-07:00

Toiling with ennui, I opted against falling into bed to watch a movie I've seen a dozen times or more. Instead, I went on a bike ride. Granted, I only went to the beach and back but factor in 40 mph winds (perhaps an exaggeration), flat tires (almost) and one particularly flaccid, out of shape smoker and that makes for one exhausting adventure. I saw some deer and I heard some frogs. I saw two lovers holding hands, walking with the water.

Speaking of adventure, I travel to Chicago in just a few days (via Mega Bus.) I have yet to prepare myself for the disappoint that will surely come with hearing the words, "You're not what we're looking for."I'm not sure what I'll do in Chicago. I have no money (approximately $8.) I guess I'll just walk around for hours watching the city change colors. That should be nice. Perhaps I'll just say hello to everyone I pass and I can tell everyone back home that I made a few thousand friends.

People never cease to amaze me. No matter how bad things may seem to be, there is always something to laugh about. Even so, I must wait another 2 weeks to know whether or not I can laugh a little easier. I don't know what I'm so worried about. I should be fine, right? My body is just playing vicious little magic tricks on me. But no matter the outcome I suppose it is all very, very funny...right? Right.

You know what else is funny? I wanted to hear those silly words from somebody else. But like the great Mick Jagger once said;

"You cant always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you might find
You get what you need"

Right on, Mick. Right fucking on, man.

Mayday, mayday.

2009-04-03T14:10:00.000-07:00

I walked without a jacket. Only three people passed me.
They were all running. Running from what, I still don't know.

Today is a bit different; less forgiving.

I really love Jews.

I hate that the boy at the Gap has a super nice, mediocre looking girlfriend.

I have to go to the free clinic. I don't think I should still be bleeding.

danger! danger! high voltage!

2009-03-30T12:37:00.000-07:00

It snowed last night and I saw two black boys in the street, sword fighting with broomsticks.

My boat is too still. I better safe my strength because I'm going to tip it over.

Cigarettes are going up one whole dollar and yet, I can't find the desire to quit. But I probably will. I'm a quitter.

I find it amusing when people get upset over the smallest most insignificant things. It makes me smile. I have nothing to be angry about. Perhaps I can be upset at making a few bad choices, but surely everyone is guilty of this. I have very little license to complain about my mistakes.

I eat far too much apple pie. I think it keeps me alive.

We've been had.

2009-03-29T08:46:00.000-07:00

It's been a rough couple of days. Did I have the power to alter the outcomes that have been so graciously handed to me? Possibly. I'm not sure what I could have done differently, but I bet there was something. I'm not going to beat myself up about it, though. I've got enough healing to do as it is.

I think people can see my transgression and it ties my stomach into knots. I can't seem to shake my desire to vomit. And I can't seem to find the energy to be angry. I just am not that person.

At least I have a sense of humor about things. I've spent the past few days with friends, laughing hysterically to the point of tears. Case and point:

Ashlee: "God, I feel like shit. Today sucks.
Me: "Well, at least you didn't, like, get raped.
Ashlee: "Well, at least you got some!"

Me: "Dude, how do you expect me to get off if you're playing fucking Rockem Sockem Robots with my vagina?"

I'm attending a live sporting event today. I don't understand the object of the game or why it's being played, but I'll cheer the best I can.

You're recycling lines. I thought you were better than that.

96,000 miles & the starlings are mating.

2009-03-27T06:12:00.000-07:00

"God doesn't always have the best Goddamn plans, does he?"

I refuse to retract the things I have said in the past few days, but I would be stupid to not acknowledge that I might have been wrong about a few things. But just a few.
Dry spells are underrated. People are reckless. Things that come unexpectedly are not always enjoyable. And even though I can tend to my temple the best I can, I can't keep others from defacing it.

I spent my evening moaning uncontrollably into a unforgiving neck. Judas and Jesus were singing at each other as I was overcome with physical pain and confusion. It was sacrilegious and sad. It was violent in nature. When I saw the blood stained cotton I realized that, although not entirely, I had lost a fragment of innocence that I had been clinging to. It was a truly tragic sight. I remember saying, "Well, I'm just not that type of girl." Which was responded with, "Why not?" This was far from an ideal situation and in all honesty was rather frightening. But I did nothing wrong. I am not at fault.

When I woke up this morning the first thing I did was hug my parents. They hugged back. It felt good to feel safe, even if it was just for a moment.

But no worries. I'm not going to let the world make me ugly and I'm not going to settle for second best. I've come too far to let misfortune bring me to my knees. I can stand, but it hurts to walk.

Jesus Christ Superstar is a stupid fucking movie.

2009-03-25T14:53:00.000-07:00

"I'll start building the boat."

Although things have been rather rough the past few weeks, I am finally starting to see how and why things come together the way they do. And even though the end result is not always to my pleasing, I am happy to have had an experience, no matter the outcome.

I decided to start taking care of my temple. When I say temple, I mean body. I've quit soda and caffeine cold turkey. And I am no longer eating red meat. Only birds and fish. Yes, I still smoke. But I started wearing my seat belt thanks to a dear friend. I came to realize that if I go on, treating myself as though I am disposable then not only will that allow other people to want to treat me the same, but I won't live very long. I know, I know. I'm twenty years old. I've just been spending a lot of time putting shit into perspective.

My laugh makes me laugh sometimes.

I forget how confusing naps are. I never remember where I am, what time it is, what DAY it is. And I always drool. Naps and I were, at one time, realllllly close. Like, on the verge of "third base" close. But I realized that they've never really made me happy. It's funny how that happens. You trick yourself into thinking something or someone makes you happy. And yes, I am speaking in a convoluted metaphor. I no longer have the use for brief periods of sleep. They just aren't satisfying. Never were.

Breaking a dry spell is so fucking liberating.

It is also mildly liberating to spend time with people who are not reckless and careless.

I like when things happen unexpectedly. I like being caught off guard once and a while.

I have the next four days free of any responsibility and I could not be happier.

"I'm just going to go eat a sandwich in my car."

2009-03-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday started out overcast. But the sun came out, eventually.

The boy in the purple pants at the record store stumbled with my change. The little blond girl holding a copy of "The Wizard of Oz" on vhs made me smile. My dad bought me a mood ring and a book for my thoughts. I learned that putting my car in neutral is a good idea. Being social can be as simple as sitting in a crowded place with a good friend. Knowing people is nice. Knowing people are there for you is even nicer. Blending in isn't as overrated as I thought. Watching lovers argue is painful. Watching lovers argue makes me want a lover to argue with. It is in dim lighting and smokey air that you truly know who a person is. Safe usually means sorry. We drove past Chicago street and I nearly lost my breath. She was speechless and thinks you're a coward. Simplicity is better. Sitting at bars while bartenders look at you, trying to figure out your birthday and not saying a word is mildly empowering. Tipsy thoughts are clearer and more potent than drunken ones. Choking on a sandwich in a car is a funny thing.

It looks like the clouds are coming back. Looks like I've gotta go scare them away.

Not on Main Street.

2009-03-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

"My arms are not ashtrays."

My life is different. I felt the change upon waking yesterday. I'm not sure I know what it is but I sure know why it occurred. I am thankful for this chance to change. So, thank you.

After a very productive work day, I showered and almost slipped and crashed through the glass door. It's a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach when you think you might get hurt and there's nothing you can do to prevent it from happening. But I caught my balance. I'm always catching my balance.

I spent the day with the girl I've known for 16 years. I've considered her my best friend for all 16 of those years. I'm pretty sure I pissed myself out of uncontrollable laughter. This is not a rare occurrence when we are together. It is to be expected. Lets just say our late night conversation involved scramble-egging someones car while both drunk and naked (and then disappearing into the night with a pack of wolves.) Not funny to you, I'm sure. You, um, you had to be there.

What are taxi's doing in the suburbs?

I'm going to Chicago soon. I've come to realize that modeling disgusts me. 26 inches is too big, apparently. I hate so say that I'm working on it, but I am working on it.

New music (well, to me anyway) is changing everything (well, today anyway)

I noticed I roll through stop signs, and depending on the time and area, I ignore them completely. I don't know what to do. I think, metaphorically, I need to ignore all the stop signs. What's the use in stopping?

2009-03-19T19:25:00.000-07:00

I slept on my grandmothers couch this morning. I had strange dreams.

My car windows are broken and my ashtray snapped.

I cleaned my car today. I was hoping to find something fantastic. I found nothing but empty cigarette packs, crumpled receipts and a mountain of empty coffee cups. Oh, and a vacuum cleaner, a painting and several blankets. There was a pile of indifference underneath my seat.

It was cold today and I loved it. It reminded me of fall.
My stomach hurts from laughing so much.
I love feeling limitless and free.

"Have you ever fucked a T-Rex?"
Yeah. That's lyrical gold.

It's a bad man's world.

2009-03-18T18:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was strange. A protest, trash on fire, the glistening lake, a good friend, a tired road, apple pie and damp eyes. I received a very subtle sign. I'm not sure I believe in signs or understand what they mean if they actually do serve a fate altering purpose, but I took it to heart. Well, whats left of it, anyway.

I almost died an estimated 17 times while driving today. This weather brings out our aggressive nature, or so it seemed today. I have also found, that contrary to what I once believed, that this weather makes people...frustrated and angry. Whereas I am completely transformed into a contagiously happy person the minute the sunshine hits my skin. Not to say I didn't breakdown today. I did. Several times. I just don't understand people. I don't think I ever will. I don't think I want to.

I am in a great deal of physical pain today. I've never felt quite this decrepit before. I feel weak and I feel old. Although my back is made of steel, I feel as though it might give way and I will be nothing but a heap of dust. I need a day to wallow. A 24 hour, wallow fest. And no. You're not fucking invited. Actually, you are formally UNinvited to everything forever. ha!

Everyone tells me that I am alllllll talk. Well, you know what? Not anymore. This weekend...I'm going to do several things I've meant to do for a very long time. Will I regret it? Most likely. But fuck it. I've got nothing to lose but time.

I bought a rap cd today for $5.
"There's a line about 27's. It's on track 10"

Lady, don't fall backwards.

2009-03-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

"Everything is clearly a blur of something."

Taking photos while driving (home from work at 3am) would be unwise had there been another wandering soul like me, searching for the spot where the moon meets the ground. But, alas, I was alone. With the exception of a police car here and there.

I'm tired of people patting my hand, telling me I can have the world. If that were true why I am I denied people and places and things I have deep, sincere feelings for? Over and over again. And back again. I never asked for the world. I just asked for...well, you know.

Advice is a funny thing. So is pity. Do you know how many times I've heard, "Aw, Jerilyn. You'll be okay." in the past two weeks? Many times. Well, perhaps it's not pity as much as it is certainty. Who knows.

Apologizing is a truly humbling experience. A rough one, too.

For the record, I did not (despite what people may tell you) cry while listening to "You're Not Alone" by Michael Jackson. And I certainly wasn't crying into a large pile of camisoles. And HAD I been crying I certainly wouldn't be mouthing the words to the song. No...that would be pathetic. I did, however, sing almost every "Jock Jam" on the "Jock Jams" cd. Oh, and I did slow dance with myself to a Justin Timberlake song.Nothing to be ashamed of. Right? Right! But, remember, I DID NOT CRY while listening to a MICHAEL JACKSON SONG. Pshhh. Thats not something I would do....ha.....ha.

Have you heard? Spring has sprung...and he's hung like a horse!!!!That is why I would like to announce that I plan on losing my virginity to Spring. I'm going to blow his mind (among other things.) I'm going to come IN like a lion and come OUT like a lion. Oh, Spring. I want to fuck you. Let's do this.

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows.

2009-03-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

The weekend is over and in response to its glorious departure I must say, "Yay!!!!" I cannot remember a three day period in which I was devoid of so many things. I was positive I was not going to live to see another day. But, alas, here I am, alive and well on the most beautiful day ever to exist. Granted, I am still troubled and have threatened myself with yet another breakdown of sorts. But don't you go worryin' bout me! I always pull through...because, after all, I've become completely accepting of being an afterthought. It's okay!!!!!!!!!! Reallly!!! I swear!!!

Today my grandmother turns 91! 91!!!!!!!! Can you believe it? I can't even wrap my mind around that sort of time span. I mean, 91 years of life, ya know? Amazing. She is hands down my favorite person and I don't think it's possible for me to love another human being half as much as I love her. It's probably best if you don't even try. You'll be wasting your time.

When I opened the mail box, what did I find? Well, my friend, I found my tax refund check ($312. $200 of which will be going into my soon to be re-opened savings account. woohoo!)
as well as the Polaroid film I ordered via Amazon (because apparently Polaroid film is completely obsolete.) Both of these findings are potentially life changing. But you wouldn't understand why. It's okay.

I dusted off the ol' suitcase and placed it strategically next to my bedroom door. I estimate it will take me roughly 15 minutes to pack up and leave. You can do so much in 15 minutes. Think about it.

Tomorrow is my day off. The weather is supposed to be superb. You know what that means, right? RIGHT?! I'm gonna grab my bike and ride until my legs fall off. You have know idea how long I've been waiting for this day. Too long, I tell you, TOO FUCKING LONG! I don't know where I'll ride or what I'll find but I can assure you it will be wonderful. So, so wonderful.

I started a poem today. It might be a song, actually. I can't even give you a taste, it's THAT good. You will never be able to read it or hear it. It's a secret...just like everything else.

Shhhh. Please don't tell anyone.

Rant: 1 of 250,386,789,257

2009-03-14T10:39:00.000-07:00

So, here I am, right. Curled up peacefully in my bed, stretching in accordance to the movements in my dreams. But then the sun, the same sun that befriended me so kindly yesterday, wakes me up before my alarm. The first thing I thought of was how bitter I was about having to wake up in such a lonesome condition. The second thing I thought of was how badly I had to pee. The third thing I thought of was how sad it must be to be someone like me, someone who forgets to count her blessings and instead dwells on her "misfortunes" (I have no misfortunes. I've had a great life. I'm fucking alive.) and her inability to accept the inevitability of being alone. The fourth thought that came to mind was something about wanting that work out machine, you know, the one sold by that dude with the creepy ponytail? (I fell asleep to infomercials, or at least that's my excuse. OH! And I really want that 50's music box set sold by Bowzer from Sha Na Na)

AND ANOTHER THING, I went out with friends last night and the focus of our conversation was how to manipulate relationships and peoples perceptions in order to get your point across. Why can't people just fucking say how they feel? Why be vague and mysterious about it? Why would you purposefully confuse and potentially hurt someone you care about all because some unwritten rule in the book of "love" says you must do it in order to "win"? What's so great about winning, anyway?! Can't there be something beautiful to be said for losing once and a while? I mean, when you lose something or someone, you fight even harder. When you win, all you can do is hope to not lose.

I don't like being a third wheel.

I haven't had a period since November.

conclusion of rant.

I cleaned my room. I'm all dressed and ready to go. But instead I'm watching Rock Star with Mark Wahlberg. It's the worst movie.

Chris: Oh, maybe if I get really lucky, I'll get to grow up and listen to Air Supply and wear jack boots.
Joe: What's wrong with Air Supply?
Chris: Nothing, if you're the cop from the Village People.

(In your face ridiculous fictional movie character. In. Your. Face.)

man, was it rough.

2009-03-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

Today was surprisingly wonderful, considering I spent my evening rethinking every little detail of my life while chain smoking and crying on my front porch. It must have been quite the sight for anyone driving by. A girl sobbing in a kimono, holding cigarettes with shaking hands. Pretty funny.But upon waking today, I felt so refreshed and rejuvenated. I found the most beautiful spot amongst a development and the mall at which I work. There I found a sunrise. I also found some happiness. I've proudly carried around all day. I'm glad I found it. I just hope someone didn't lose it. Secondhand happiness. Ha.

The sun must be exhausted for shining so much today. I wish I could tell it how much I appreciate all its hard work. I'd give it a big ol' hug if it were humanly possible.

I wrote a few lines for a few poems at work. I made up a few lines of dialogue between lovers. I had a good line about a ghost, but I forgot it. I'm always forgetting the good ones.

I paid six dollars for cigarettes today.

My bottom lip is bleeding a little.

I'm singing really loud right now. I have to stop denying that I have a deep voice. I should also accept that my voice does not even have the potential to be somewhat tolerable.

Today must be my lucky day or something like that.

I'm going to take what's rightfully mine. Thank you.

Solitaire is the only game in town.

2009-03-12T14:19:00.000-07:00

I smell like a boy and his dog.

Last night was completely unplanned and unexpected. I spent the night in a strange bed. It was the first time I had to tell my parents that I wasn't coming home. A rite of passage of sorts. The dog was jealous and we were restless. And although I shared a bed with someone else, I never actually fell asleep. I left for work around 7:30am.
I have been awake (and wearing the same clothes) for 35 hours.

Currently I am irresponsibly denying my body of sleep. I need a shower, but am afraid that I may fall asleep and die. Actually, that wouldn't be the worst possible outcome. That's how I feel right now.

A girl I work with told me something that her grandmother told her. I quite liked it. "It's not a matter of simply living with something that makes it important, it's what you can't live without"

You know how you're usually excited and eager to see how something ends? Well, I can't say that I am. I can only imagine the disappointment that lies ahead. Cover my eyes, please. I cannot bare to look. I just know I won't survive the crash.

I never realized what a mean and shallow person I was and continue to be. I'm trying to be better. I promise.

Saturday Night Fever is a ridiculous movie.

let's build ourselves a fire.

2009-03-11T14:36:00.000-07:00

So here I am. Listening to "For Once in my Life" by Tony Bennett. I feel uplifted by possibility. But at the same time I'm immobilized with it. It's a funny feeling. Damn you, Bennett, DAMN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yesterday I decided to get my hair cut.Although many people urged me not to, I knew I must because my hair was dead. Dead, I tell you! I went to a salon with friends. I told the stylist what I wanted (convoluted celebrity comparisons) and voila! Here I am. Loving the subtle change.

The boy working at the drugstore told me that I was "ridiculously pretty." I could feel myself blush and smile simultaneously.

I'm starting to think that people are interested in certain parts of me and disregard the other parts. Why can't people like all of me? Why can't people close their eyes and still think I'm wonderful?

That last statement sounds so horribly self absorbed, but...I don't regret saying it.

I want to start a country folk band.
All of my lyrics will be about how a boy gone and did me wrong.

I had a dream that a boy wrote me a poem. It was the most beautiful poem. And then he drove me to this house by the sea that was left to him. And even though he was broke, he said he would never sell it because that was the house he wanted to start a family with me in. Once I woke up to find that the poem was not in my hand, nor was my other hand embraced in another hand, I was temporarily devastated. But then I realized that perhaps I dreamed it so I could look forward to it.

Oh, this is my favorite part.
"As long as I know I have love,
I can make it."

I'll just wait here a bit longer. But only a bit.

What I feel has come and gone before.

2009-03-09T14:05:00.000-07:00

The sun is FINALLY shining and I promise you that I am smiling.

I am a sloppy drunk. I wasn't carded last night and I was encouraged to indulge in such a rare opportunity by everyone around me. So I did. A gin and tonic here, a martini there. I always drink to such excess that I am never able to drive myself home. Yeah. I'm that girl. I slurred my words and sprained my foot. And despite my friends countless attempts to keep my phone out of my reach, it always found it's way carelessly into my hand. When I stumbled on home, my parents put a bucket next to my bed and kept my door open. They checked on me periodically throughout the night. I'm not sure why I feel the need to push myself to such limits, but I assume it must have something to do with my desire to lose control. Perhaps it is attributed, also, to my hunger to be completely uninhibited and honest. I know now that this gets me into trouble.

I don't think what people understand about me is that I am a complete and utter runt. At first glance everything seems alright, but when they look closer they don't want me anymore. I'm the kitten huddled in the corner of the "Free Kittens" box. It's okay. I understand your reservations.

Compliments are lovely, but they sure are exhausting. I am just really tired of pretending to believe them.

I have been given a possible opportunity that could easily change my life. But I can't jinx it. It seems too good to ever be true. If this chance does flourish, then perhaps everything will fall into place.

I want to be the next Karen Carpenter.

Baby, I'm on Texas time.

2009-03-08T09:45:00.001-07:00

Because I think that a day to day summary of my time spent in Texas would not only be exhausting, but rather mundane, I will share my silly notes I took about observations I made and thoughts I had.

Anna (flight attendant): "We do what we have to do, honey."

All older men in Texas look like potential (and in some cases, guilty) child rapists.

"The moment I realized I was in trouble was the same moment I knew that I was safe."

Adjusting the volume, I crouched beside the clock radio, delicately turning the dial hoping to hear a whisper from home."

Texas is alone.

I heard Dolly Parton on the radio. The man conducting the interview asked her about the upkeep of her acrylic nails. She giggled and gave a southern answer.

It was either Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins. I could never tell the difference.

I walked past someone smoking a cigarette. My knees buckled and I'm pretty sure I came.

Main topic of discussion when out to "brunch" with a "mom"? Childrens food allergies.

"Although I remain untouched and oblivious to the pleasures of sex, the rapture that seizes my body at the sight (and smell-oh, the smell!) of vintage clothing and antique furniture is undoubtedly the greatest feeling I've ever known. Perhaps I don't need the companionship of a man. Maybe I just need to live in the past forever, where my future holds nothing but second chances."

Gay Asian=Gasian

The music box on the mantle plays Aidel Weiss. For some reason it reminds me of my childhood.

Is it wrong to feel flattered by middle school boys whistling at me through school bus windows?

"You'll have to identify the body. You know her tattoos better than anyone"

Who gave sixth graders that idea that they could sing Broadway show tunes?

In brief summary, I had a wonderful time. I spent my days in a mansion house surrounded by sunshine. I felt out of place, but I was warm.

I will rise up with fists

2009-03-02T15:23:00.000-08:00

This past week has been void of both solid sleep and rational thought.

It's funny how things surprise you. It seems as though everything is constantly sneaking up behind me. Sometimes the surprises are exaggerated and enthusiastic disappointments. Other times they are gifts of happiness punctuated with endless exclamation points. I don't know what to think of the surprises this week has so generously forced upon me. All I can do is hope, upon waking, that the day will hold for me an abundance of surprise.

My biggest annoyance at the moment is the impermanence of everything. It's killing me to know that feelings and perceptions can change within minutes. Just for once, can I feel consistently happy for more than a day? And why do I have to find flaws in things/people/situations that make me happy? It's not that I don't have the hunger for change, it is simply that I don't want good things to sabotage themselves because of the temporary nature of...well, life.

I hate having to second guess things. Sincerely.

My manager confessed to me that she has had not one, but two dreams involving her and Brett Michaels. This, of course, made me burst into a fit of laughter. This is why I refuse to quit my job.

I am truly intoxicated with the definition of love and I feel as though I might vomit. I've never learned how to nurture my habits.

I'm over packing for Texas. I leave in the morning. I'm not completely prepared to feel inadequate, nor can I muster the courage to pretend to be less rough around the edges than I really am. But I am thankful for this chance. It'll be nice to not have to work. It'll be nice to see some family. It'll be nice to feel warm for a change.

I have three cigarettes. I need to smoke them wisely.

I'm fraudulent, a thief at best.

2009-02-27T15:52:00.000-08:00

Chapter One:

So, I had this dinner date thing and the guy had the nerve to show up 30 some minutes late. Total tool. He was all like "There was traffic blah blah blah." And since it was too awkward for me to just get up and leave, we ordered food and I did my best to pretend like I had something in common with him. And to top it all off, he talked about pussy the ENTIRE time!

Of course, I am only kidding.

I spent most of Wednesday morning nervously anticipating the evening. I paced back and forth and prepared myself for the possibility of being stood up, which in all honesty, wouldn't have been a complete shock given my misfortunes in the past. I smoked too many cigarettes and convinced myself that this particular person wasn't going to show (he was late and it's completely understandable) and I would have to suffer the humiliation that comes with realizing you're not that great after all.

"Table for one?"
"Um...I'm actually meeting someone."
"Oh...okay."

Aside from being stood up, awkward silence was my biggest fear. But, to my surprise, silence was never an issue. No topics were off limits, but probably should have been seeing that we were constantly surrounded by children, which actually made things funnier. Did I mention everything was funny? Because it was.

"What's wrong with you? You're so...happy."
"I know. Its strange for me, too."

End of Chapter One

Today is, of course, another story. I want nothing more than to run across the highway and hope for the worst. Though this is a common urge of mine, it seems much stronger today. I'm finding it more and more difficult to willingly compromise myself and I certainly can no longer justify the mess I have become. I also fear that I'm becoming a mean person. I'm not comfortable with this and I wish I could apologize to everyone I've neglected to appreciate.

Poison is poison, right? Right.

I leave for Texas in a few days, which means I should get my suitcase out of the backseat of my car. I keep it there in case I ever get the urge to travel the highways to somewhere new. This urge is as deep as the one where I want to get hit by a fucking car.

It's Friday night. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

rabbit fur coat.

2009-02-24T16:56:00.000-08:00

One week from this very moment I will be sitting in a mansion house in Plano, Texas.

I received a 23 cent raise today. A complete waste of paperwork, if you ask me.

Even though I drive past it every now and then, today I paid a special visit. I parked across the street and stood in front of a foreign fence encasing a familiar plot of land. A house once stood there. A house was condemned there. I grew up there. I remember the old lady who lived to the right of us, with the red kitchen. She was always locking herself out of her house. She always said we looked like movie stars.And I remember the alcoholic butcher who lived to the left of us. I'm certain that if I were to dig through the earth, I would find a bullet or two, aimed out of my mothers drugged disillusionment. I can still imagine the overgrown weeds, the sea of cats and the oxidized swing set.

I wanted to trespass on what was once mine, but opted against it in fear of being arrested.

I am very distracted. So distracted in fact, that I consciously neglected to acknowledge something/someone/ some feeling. It's truly an amazing feat.

I have the day off tomorrow and am already overwhelmed with nervous energy. I just don't want to disappoint anyone, because I fear it's what I've become good at.

Dōmo arigatō, Mr. Roboto

Creatures of value.

2009-02-23T16:01:00.000-08:00

My mind and body are under siege, thanks to unknown enemy forces of inconsistent uncertainty. And yes, I realize I use the word "uncertainty" much too often when describing my life and/or state of being. I'm okay with it.

Everything is contradicting everything. And I feel as though I'm being pulled in thousands of directions by thousands of ideas and fears. I feel compelled to bite off more than I can chew. Yet, I feel equally compelled to dismiss my potential all together and settle for a life that is less than satisfactory.

I just Googled Google.

I will admit, that amidst the chaos, it is pleasantly refreshing and foreign to fall asleep happy.

While watching the Oscars, I found the perfect way to end my acceptance speech; "I suppose Dorothy was right all along. The dreams that you dare to dream really do come true."
It's beautifully cliche, not unlike myself.

I feel like my life has a laugh track. It's ironically appropriate.

the biggest flower.

2009-02-20T16:46:00.000-08:00

I was just another face amidst a sea of plaid and flannel. I felt (and continue to feel) like a carbon copy of a cliche. I tried my best to refrain from judging people who were less refined than my co-pilot and me. I came to the conclusion that I'm jaded with things that I never wanted to be jaded by.

There was this kid standing in front of us wearing a Dandy Warhols shirt. We joked about how were were going to beat the shit out of him for being a "fag". And then we made disapproving faces at another kid for dancing like he was fucking....Charlie Brown at a Fallout Boy concert. Good times.

There was a moment. While at the piano he sang "We've seen the sunrise with new eyes" and as the words fell from him, he looked into the spotlight, wide-eyed like a child. It was then that I learned to believe that I have the power to change things. And I convinced myself that I will, without a doubt, find happiness.

Sometimes I forget how much I miss her. I followed her out, we both missed the exit. When we approached the proper exit, it split in two, she went right and I went left. It's okay, though. We're all going to the same place, anyway.

I like when people are happy. I really do. I cried at work today. I felt helpless. This happens all too often.

I bought two pairs of boots that are truly ancient relics. I got chills when I tried them on, and they happened to fit almost perfectly to the natural arches and curves of my feet. I can't help but wonder where their previous owners walked to. Maybe I'll walk there, too. I hope so.

My parents are gone for the night. It's refreshing. I think I'm going out.

No matter how hard I try...I just can't catch a break.
I need a break.

total eclipse of the fart.

2009-02-17T15:17:00.000-08:00

I saw a dead deer today.

I almost stole a police car yesterday.

The day before yesterday I ate a burger the size of my face.

The day before that I remember being completely consumed with vacancy.

I am quickly losing track of time. Forgetting time, actually.When I go to work the sun is on its way up and when I'm leaving work it's on its way down. The space in between is spent sleeping or pretending, sometimes both at once. I've lost my will to fight, and in turn have become completely accepting of everything, without question. I fear I have lost my desire to change or make things better. I have accepted mediocrity.

I feel like people stare at me the same way people tend to stare at a child being scolded in public.

I really did come awfully close to stealing a police car. He was in the gas station and he left the car running. I paused for a moment beside it, thought briefly of the implications
and realized I was much to tired for a high speed chase.

a gaggle of cock rings and a pornographic kitchen

2009-02-11T07:39:00.000-08:00

A young man, smelling of marijuana, wearing florescent flower clips in his hair approached me while at the register:

Young man: Do you have a calculator you can type on?
Me: Sure.
Young man: Okay. 35,000 x 500.
Me: Okay.
Young man: Now multiply that by 21, 000 and add 60.
Me: Okay.
Young man: That's how many sparkles you have in the store.
Me: (long pause) I assume that to be an accurate number, sir.

I had one of the most enjoyable nights approximately two or three nights ago. I think I may be getting the hang of this whole socializing thing. Perhaps I have surpassed "socially inept" and have entered the world of being "Charmingly quirky." I realized I don't need alcohol to be successful in meeting new people and starting conversations. People aren't as presumptuous as I thought. I might not be such a lost cause after all.

The days that have followed that evening have been draining.
I'm at the end of my metaphorical rope.

It's funny when you see someone briefly and feelings you once had return as if they never left you. It's also funny when people question your feelings and you haven't an answer, just an uncontrollable smile.

I have to finish my drawing and write another sentence or two.

quiet little voices.

2009-02-06T17:37:00.000-08:00

My lips are chapped, which makes my mouth feel neglected.
My stomach is turning upside and downside and side to side.
My head is swelling, possibly from the excess of persistent thought.
This is to be expected. It is Friday, after all.

I almost bought a Huey Lewis and the News cd at the Salvation Army. Not buying it is currently my most consuming regret. What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking (which is very rarely a problem for me.)

I also almost bought (and regret not doing so) a pair of portraits of these creepy and sad looking redheaded children.

While contemplating the purchase of the aforementioned cd record album, a little blond girl asked me if I had ever been in a movie. When I said "No" she told me about her dog and her love of marshmallows. She was my only true and unassuming human interaction today.

The joy of clean sheets and bedding is completely unappreciated.

I think my fish knew me in a past life. He's always looking at me. Staring, actually. And not staring like a fish just, like, stares. He's neurotic and easily startled.
I'm glad I saved his life.

I think I might vomit.

"Let's slam our doors in unison
and step out into the light
when we're ready to be okay.
Okay?
Okay.
Alright?
Alright."

(happy 50th post to me. yay)

too little, too late/ too much, too soon

2009-02-05T16:38:00.000-08:00

"You don't have to compromise who you are to grow up."

Everyone has both "good" and "bad" days.
Some have more of one and some have more of the other. The past few weeks it seems as though I have had my fair share of bad days and I find it to be completely undeserved.
Hmph!

My size 0's are falling off my hips and I haven't had a period in over three months. I suppose my body is reflecting the outer chaos. Or maybe I'm just dying.

When I went on my cigarette break, I was very close to leaving
work and never coming back. But I forgot my keys.
I'm always forgetting my keys.

I am actin' a fool when it comes to my writing.
I make excuse after excuse as to why I have to postpone writing.
I just hope that these excuses don't add up to something bigger and more permanent.

Three days off and a few unstable plans.
This might be nice.

I hate people who are living "the" life.
I'm not sure I can associate with perfection.

There has to be more to this story.

Inseparably combined

2009-02-03T16:54:00.000-08:00

I've learned something today. You can either compromise or stay true.There really isn't much gray area in between. If you have to question it, you're lying to yourself.

The bedroom connected to mine is empty for the second time in seven years. But this time, furniture has been replaced, bags of clothing have been transported and there have been enthusiastic discussions about what new purpose the room will serve.

I have no prospects of leaving.

For my lunch break, I sat outside feeding parts of my cookie to the sparrows, all while absorbing as much sunshine as possible. Good thing, too. It started to snow a bit later. It's snowing now, actually. It looks like craft glitter.

Some days when I see people in love, I am disgusted and bitter. I make snide remarks under my breath, scoffing at the most innocent hand holding. But other days, I am absolutely enraptured with joy, just to see love. Sometimes I actually cry. Like today, for example.
My manager was celebrating her two year anniversary and her husband came in (unexpectedly) with chocolates and a card. They looked so happy that I couldn't help but be completely hopeful.
I fell back into love with, well, love.

Having said that, I'm totally sick of this Valentines day business. Diamonds and roses and sappy bullshit dripping everywhere. Love is all a bunch of manufactured shit. Absolute shit.

Having said that, I desperately want flowers and one of those Disney themed cards that I used to buy in boxes for my elementary classmates. And you know what? Fuck it. I want dinner, too. A real nice fucking dinner. Yeahhhhh.

Last night I sat in bed and attempted to start writing where I left off two months ago. (Mind you, I was distracted by the movie "Ice Princess") It took me two hours to write one sentence.

"The morning confronted me with great consequence."

This is all I have.

Outta mind outta sight.

2009-02-02T15:25:00.000-08:00

I heard that Olive Garden is getting sued because
some girl got herpes from a chef jerking off in the Alfredo sauce.
How awesome is that guy? Right?

My manager said that she was watching me walk
and she could tell I was listening to music in my head.
I wonder if everyone can see that.
I hope so.

One of my favorite things in this entire world
is my selective ability to make people laugh
their genuine, deep down, laugh.
When I hear it, I feel like I'm hearing a secret.

Yesterday while on my ten minute cigarette break
there were these two kids, no older than three, all bundled up
doing their very best to catch two sparrows nesting in a tree.
I cannot remember a happier ten minutes in my entire life.

I've been writing tons of songs in my head.
I need to find a band, man.
Like, seriously.
I can't play any instrument.
My voice is fucked.
But...I don't know.
I just want to be bigger than you.

I have severely underestimated the power of breakfast
AT breakfast time.

The days are getting longer already.
It feels alright.

My name is Harvey Milk and I'm here to recruit you!

2009-01-31T15:13:00.000-08:00

I started my day by going to see yet another matinee alone.
The film was beautiful and captivating.
It filled me up to my brim with hope and optimism.

I saw a old man walking in the cold, pushing a cart
with his oxygen tank. He slipped on some ice
and I cried. My dad then proceeded to make things
worse by adding, "Well, if your car wasn't such a mess,
we could have given him a ride."

Some of my most cherished moments are
those I spend talking with my 90 year old grandmother.
It is within those moments that I feel secure about the choices
I make and the life I hope to have.
She is amazing.

I'm going to Texas in March.
I am not that excited.
My twelve year old sister is "gifted"
and recently accepted Jesus Christ as her savior.
My grandmother will tell me how I will most likely end up like my mother.
She will also disapprove of my weight.
Don't get me wrong. I am happy to see them both.
I'm just not ready to feel inadequate any more than I already do.
But I suppose it will be nice to leave Michigan.

I've been driving too much lately.
I've been doing a lot of favors lately.

I might be suffering from a sexual identity crisis.

The only things that would cheer me up
would be a chocolate milkshake, a kiss and
a jew fro. Mainly the jew fro.

copyright.

2009-01-28T18:03:00.000-08:00

People insist that I am a free spirit
but there's nothing really free about me.

+I am learning and discovering too much, too fast
+I have the sudden desire to sing various tv theme songs, including:
Facts of Life, Charles in Charge, Laverne & Shirley and The Patty Duke Show
+While at work (8pm-4am) I was fortunate enough to listen to New Kids on the Block (step by step, anyone?) and Jock Jams. Needless to say, it was amazing.
+ I've been saying "Sike!" way too much lately.
+You know when a subtle, discrete smile creeps up onto your face for reasons unknown to you?
I love that feeling.
+I've run out of good advice to give myself.

I was a fish once. Don't you remember?

2009-01-25T17:10:00.000-08:00

"It is an insignificant moment. The moment you realize the place you grew up has nothing left to offer you. The moment strikes when you see a girl who attended your high school, frantically busing tables. Or when you see a shopping cart miles from it's designated grocery store. Or when a solitary sparrow picks at stones, mistaking them for crumbs. Or when the traffic lights resort to blinking a unified amber through the night. Sometimes it's even smaller than that. Sometimes all you have to do is wake up. That was my moment. It was insignificant."

Godspeed.

2009-01-24T15:18:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning and went to a matinee alone. The movies are a completely different experience when you go by yourself. The movie I saw was about being trapped in a life you never asked for. Although it was not what I had hoped, it still successfully filled my mind
with aggressive and worried thoughts.

The better part of my afternoon/evening has been spent almost entirely on saving the life of one particular, ungrateful fish. He truly has no idea the aggravation I have gone through to make sure his life is more than satisfactory.

I went to the store and I've never felt so small. My shopping cart contained a bottle of soda, a fish aquarium and a birthday card. But I wanted to desperately look into my cart and see things that would surely be evidence to passing strangers of a content and fulfilled life.
Ingredients of something other than indifference, perhaps.

The Jenny Lewis comparisons are never ending.
Never. Ending.

I'm twenty years old.
This is the best I'll ever be.
Isn't that frightening?

I need to be reinvented.

Love me (bar) tender, love me true.

2009-01-23T14:51:00.000-08:00

I ate a Big Mac meal and went to a bar with friends. Good, honest, genuine, friends. Pineapple upside down cake in alcoholic beverage form, as well as a plethora of technicolor liquids in shot glasses both attributed to my inebriation.
My lips tasted of vanilla vodka.
I received useful advice from various 30 somethings.
I realized that when I'm intoxicated I tend to dance as though I'm straight out of a Jane Austen novel. I made several errors in thought and action, but have since come to terms with my inability to detach myself from meaningless pursuits.

Showering is surely an underrated activity.

I enjoy living next to a major airbase.
I can always count on the vibrations.
And I can always count on the white noise
to save me from this noise.

I am in desperate need of a better vocabulary.

I am doing my best to bend instead of break.

(if you listen closely, you can hear everything all of the time)

a small plastic toy horse.

2009-01-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

You can accuse me of being many things, but I simply will not accept
the accusation of being an "uninspired person."
My managers think I am uninspired and unhappy
and practically asked me to demote myself, which I refused to do.
Needless to say, I am currently seeking new employment.
I plan on applying at the Hyatt to be a maid.

We went to the gas station last night.
I found the following things on the ground: A hamburger (on which I stepped), a pair of underwear (I believe it was a thong) and a television set. I was extremely enraptured by these random, discarded items and tried to find the connection between the three. It was a lovers quarrel. It is always a lovers quarrel.

I really should not read several horoscopes at once.
It's confusing. Especially when they contradict each other.
How on Earth am I supposed to know how to live my life day to day
without a structured prediction of daily outcomes?
How?!

I am most likely going to see three movies by myself tomorrow.

I live a very quiet life.

Great Sexpectations.

2009-01-20T13:15:00.000-08:00

There I was. Standing in front of my open picture window,wearing only my underwear, choking on a vanilla tootsie roll (seriously. I was close to death), watching history unfold as our new president was sworn in. It was an uplifting moment. Well, aside from my half-naked choking fit.

Don't you hate when strangers say "hi" to you, when you know they are saying it as some subdued sexual advance? Yeah. I'm pretty sure the guy was either mentally handicapped or a pedophile (not to compare the two) Either way, I'm oddly flattered that anyone in either of those two categories noticed me.

If you listen closely, I noticed, you can hear the snow melt.
Shhh. Listen!
It's a magical sound.

I constantly feel like I'm waiting for people to come to their senses.

I accidentally said "I love you."
I was just curious.

Where did my day disappear to?
Found it.
It was between the couch cushion, next to a bobby pin and some loose change.

am I making sense?

2009-01-18T16:21:00.000-08:00

My mother called with a familiar urgency in her voice.
She and her boyfriend were busted for pot last night.
Handcuffs and all.
The police confiscated $350 of bagged product ready to be sold,
some papers, some bongs, a straw and a razor.
The police wanted "the big fish"

Why is it so hard for me to be happy for people I love?

My eyes are always at half mast.

Although the snow has become nothing but a complete annoyance to me this winter, I can't help but smile when it snows the way it is at the current moment. Big flakes that accumulate into soft pillows of white, glittering in and out of headlights, falling in slow motion. With beauty like this, it's impossible to be anything other than hopeful.

These feelings are so inconvenient.

too legit to quit.

2009-01-17T07:55:00.000-08:00

I went to Linda's last night with some friends/acquaintances.
We were there for hours. I had a discussion with a philosophy major.
We came to the conclusion that I am sexually repressed.
I cannot express the relief that came with realizing a term for this...hopeless condition.

In addition to last nights riveting conversations, we were subjected to countless jokes about pedophilia, all of which were hysterical.

(I realize that talking about my sexual repression and then praising pedophilia jokes you could easily misjudge my character. Which, in all honesty, I can not blame you for)

Last night I finally was faced with the fact that I am not, in any way, intellectual.

I have many different voices and I can't look people in the eyes.
I am severely repressed.

I am young, but not for long

2009-01-15T12:02:00.000-08:00

My step mother: You know, he's not a kid anymore, partying at Club 52.
Me: You mean, Studio 54?
My step mother: Yeah, whatever.

I feel like I'm on autopilot, running on empty.

I am convinced that the guy at my gas station
(the one I frequent almost daily. they all call me "red".)
is completely in love with me.
But he would never suggest anything.
It's all sort of sad, in a way.

One of my managers said I would love L.A.
This both offends and fascinates me.

My other manager says I'm a hippie.

I don't know where I belong or what I am,
but maybe someone else knows what I don't.

I've been slaving away on my ink drawings.
Granted, they are just lines, upon lines, within lines.
But I'm so happy when I'm drawing them.
Everything is linear even when it's not.

It's funny how situations and feelings erase themselves.
Everything is at the start...again.

I hate seeing people heartbroken.
It is completely disheartening.

2009-01-12T14:08:00.000-08:00

A flamboyant employee of the Salvation Army told me my red hair is beautiful and that I could be, without a doubt, a fabulous model. If anything, his sincerity was admirable.

I listen to '50's love songs.

I am not a pessimist.

I just want to be happy and free.

2009-01-09T15:10:00.000-08:00

My peace of mind was disrupted by a momentary reminder.
My heart revisited a panicked pace.
I fell asleep draped in impermanent moonlight.

2009-01-08T09:28:00.000-08:00

My stepmother: You should start wearing make-up again.
Me: Why?
My stepmother: Because you're prettier with it.

Sleep is the only thing I truly enjoy these days.
Sleeping past the double digits of the am into the single digits of the pm is so comforting.

Sonic was totally worth the wait.
I went again last night with kelly.
It was happiest I have felt in a long time.
Popcorn chicken?
Hell yes.

I met Alicia and Nick for lunch yesterday.
I knew things would resume just as they were a few months ago.
It remains to be a sore spot.

I think I'm moving to Seattle.