I watched The Breakup last night - I love Jennifer Aniston and I have a secret, school girl crush on Vince Vaughn. It is a great movie and easy to relate to - most breakups generally follow the same script. At any rate, below is a scene from the end of the film. It's kind of perfect, for me at least. Enjoy.
Johnny O: You know what? It's her fault she got hurt. You shouldn't even feel bad about it. She should have expected it from you. You're a fun guy, okay? Everybody likes you. You're the quickest guy I know. Anytime we go out, I have a blast. Alright? But, everybody who knows you knows you're gonna do what you want to do. And if it's not what the other person wants to do, well, that's their problem.
Gary: That's bullshit.
Johnny O: It's not bullshit.
Gary: There's plenty of times I do shit that I don't want to do. That's ridiculous. No.
Johnny O: Like when?
Gary: That's bullshit to say about me.
Johnny O: When have we ever done something you didn't want to do?
Gary: You know, I don't know, off the top of my head. I don't keep score...
Johnny O: When's the last time we went to a Sox game? The Sox. Not when they're playing the Cubs, either. We always do what you want to do and she always did what you wanted to do. It's who you are. Everybody thinks that you're their friend, okay? But the fact of the matter is that there's not one person that I know that you trust enough to let close enough that they could hurt you. And her big problem is that you really liked her. I mean, she is the one girl you really liked. And no matter what she did and how hard she tried, you were never gonna let your guard down. That poor girl never stood a chance.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
December 20th, 2009
"And if you promised you'd love so completely And you said you would always be true You swore that you never would leave me, baby What ever happened to you And you thought it was only in movies As you wish all your dreams would come true, hey It ain't the first time believe me, baby I'm standin' here feeling blue, blue Ha, yeah, I'm blue, hoh, baby" -led zeppelin, fool in the rain
Saturday, December 19, 2009
These are a few of my favorite things.
I love the holidays. Me, and the other 85% of the American population. I love bundling up in pea coats and day tripping through the city - armed with slouchy boots and winter scarves (a white glittered fringe being my current favorite). I love any excuse to sport knitted caps and gloves - as I firmly believe that gloves, specifically evening, are going to make a comeback - and winter is the only time accessorizing with a Starbucks cup should ever be allowed. (Eat your heart out Britney Spears) I love dressing in glitz and making appearances at cozy holiday gatherings. I especially love the craziness; the hoopla and scurrying to find appropriate gifts. I can spend hours at target selecting wrapping paper with matching name tags and bows and even more time arranging table settings and centerpieces. I have inherited the domestic gene from my mother; there isn't a single cocktail party I can't pull off. There is no amount of baking, or cooking, or combination of the two that I can't master and deliver in stilettos and a smile. (And, of course, a fabulously tailored apron) The holiday season has been carefully marketed for the people (of course, who else?). Bring the people together; convince the people to spend money on friends and loved ones - but ultimitely, bring them together.
This year, I wanted to exploit my hosting skills. I wanted to wine and dine and enjoy the company of those close to me. I wanted to spend this season in the arms of my lover building our foundation for the coming year (this is beginning to read like a Nora Roberts novel...sorry). I was excited to spend my time with a man I actually felt something for. I wanted dinner parties, movies by the fire and kisses under the mistle toe. I wanted to walk the city, hand in hand, admiring christmas lights and partaking in all things cheesy and cliche and Christmas. I wanted Frank Sinatra's best and Christmas morning pancakes and champagne in bed. I love this time of year, I love being IN love during this season of merriment. However, my recent breakup has left me feeling betrayed, devastated, and all other emotions resembling anger/hurt/what have you. I am bitter, and whining. So now I wonder, if you can't make a relationship work under the magic of the holiday season, should you abandon hope completely? If Christmas can't bring two people together, what else is there? 'Tis the season of forgiveness and love and all things beautiful. It's magic. Ask any 5 year old and prepare to be enchanted with their eagerness and ability to believe in everything they cannot see. Santa Clause, case and point. If Christmas is about being together, why is it December 19th and I feel completely alone?
I see these couples in department stores, they are embracing the hostility of last minute shopping and the company of each other. Their "togetherness" is intoxifying, and I am envious. Not because I find myself - once again - single, but because they survived. They made it through whatever bullshit happened in 2009, and they made it together. I can't explain the feeling of defeat that suffocates me; I know what I am capable of enduring, what I can fix and what I can live with. But now I know what I can't live without (please don't place me in the desperate woman category, just hear me out). I fell in love this year, and I am now convinced it was the only time I ever actually WAS in love. I fell for a man that was completely wrong for me; however, I am a stubborn gal and refused defeat. I put a lot of weight on this holiday season, because I was excited to share the magic with HIM and because I was sure that same magic would rekindle what had already begun to disappear. Unfortunately for me, neither rang true. So I will ask again, if you can't make love happen under the haze of Christmas magic, what happens next? 2010, cheers to starting over.
This year, I wanted to exploit my hosting skills. I wanted to wine and dine and enjoy the company of those close to me. I wanted to spend this season in the arms of my lover building our foundation for the coming year (this is beginning to read like a Nora Roberts novel...sorry). I was excited to spend my time with a man I actually felt something for. I wanted dinner parties, movies by the fire and kisses under the mistle toe. I wanted to walk the city, hand in hand, admiring christmas lights and partaking in all things cheesy and cliche and Christmas. I wanted Frank Sinatra's best and Christmas morning pancakes and champagne in bed. I love this time of year, I love being IN love during this season of merriment. However, my recent breakup has left me feeling betrayed, devastated, and all other emotions resembling anger/hurt/what have you. I am bitter, and whining. So now I wonder, if you can't make a relationship work under the magic of the holiday season, should you abandon hope completely? If Christmas can't bring two people together, what else is there? 'Tis the season of forgiveness and love and all things beautiful. It's magic. Ask any 5 year old and prepare to be enchanted with their eagerness and ability to believe in everything they cannot see. Santa Clause, case and point. If Christmas is about being together, why is it December 19th and I feel completely alone?
I see these couples in department stores, they are embracing the hostility of last minute shopping and the company of each other. Their "togetherness" is intoxifying, and I am envious. Not because I find myself - once again - single, but because they survived. They made it through whatever bullshit happened in 2009, and they made it together. I can't explain the feeling of defeat that suffocates me; I know what I am capable of enduring, what I can fix and what I can live with. But now I know what I can't live without (please don't place me in the desperate woman category, just hear me out). I fell in love this year, and I am now convinced it was the only time I ever actually WAS in love. I fell for a man that was completely wrong for me; however, I am a stubborn gal and refused defeat. I put a lot of weight on this holiday season, because I was excited to share the magic with HIM and because I was sure that same magic would rekindle what had already begun to disappear. Unfortunately for me, neither rang true. So I will ask again, if you can't make love happen under the haze of Christmas magic, what happens next? 2010, cheers to starting over.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
I have just received the most devastating news of the decade. This just in: Escada Magnetism is DISCONTINUED!! This is awful news. This is the end of an era, this is an absolute OUTRAGE! I have been a happy supporter of the fragrance for 6 years - yes count them - 6 years! I feel so angry and betrayed - how can such a brand throw my heart into the wind? I feel as if I found my lover in bed with another woman - I am furious! (And slightly over dramatic) I bleed, sweat, and cry that scent. The heavy, pungent fragrance has become my signature. What am I to do now? - Aside from piss and moan about how ludicrous this entire issue has become. You can rest assured that I will be writing a very angry letter. Until then..
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Someone like me.
I am feeling nostalgic today. I feel the need for reflection - I am blue. Melancholy. (And the infinite sadness) Whatever. This entry is simply me whining about things I can't change. Enjoy?
"There are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone." -Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live
Someone dear to me recommended the above book to me, and it is one of the best pieces of literature I have come across thus far. The writing is real (mostly) and the author, Chuck Klosterman, speaks as if he is sitting across from you at some dive bar. Bud Light in hand, teetering the line between semi-coherent thought and blacking out completely. Bottom line - it is a great read.
The above quotation is perfect, and relevant to men and women everywhere - which solidifies its momentous value. I have read and re-read the excerpt and each time I can't help but ask, "what about the other person - the person on the other end?" Her. Maybe she hasn't experienced that significant love. For her, the current love is creator of her heart. Is she forever fated to stand in the shadow of the "defining" woman before her? It's like finding this season's Manolos in a size 8 - and you're a 6. So you buy the damn shoes anyway thinking, "I can make this work." But you can't. So I ask, what about HER? She fell in love and landed on her face; she lost her logic and became totally enamored with an obviously unavailable man. Timing is a wicked trick of fate; it determines the outcome long before you start the game.
So, a guy falls in love and ends up with a broken heart. He loved some girl that made him feel important; she made him feel confident. She has more charisma than his previous girlfriend and she captivated him. He loved her because she was different; she was fun and encouraged him to break his own boundaries. I get it. It makes sense. But every woman after is bound to comparison? Every female - even the good ones - are never capable of filling his void? I have a hard time buying that. So now I have to ask, is it only frustrating chasing shadows when you know that they exist? What if you didn't know about the woman on a pedestal before you - would there be no feeling of inadequacy? If you didn't know that your character was being evaluated - that is was made into a list of pros and cons - could you trick yourself into believing that you were the "defining" woman? Its possible. But curiosity is the ultimate killer of both good and evil; Pandora's box is just too tempting to ignore. I have been there. Twice actually and both experiences were, or have been, absolutely horrible. I don't want to be the next girl, I want to be THE girl and Chuck Klosterman is a bastard for spitting the truth in my face. I hate authors that bottle truth in pint size doses and force feed their readers with eloquent language and witty banter. He is a bastard because he is right.
The epic woman is the control factor in this senseless battle we label "love". Love is a daily measure of checks and balances - comparing notes and doodling in the margins of experience - we fine tune our senses and learn the qualities that are ultimately compatible with our own character. The trick to escaping the labyrinth is this: don't be the next person. Don't allow yourself to become the person AFTER the "defining" love. You will spend the rest of your life chasing shadows; a 6 will never be an 8.
I was a smart girl, until I fell in love. (quoted from Sex and the City)
"There are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone." -Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live
Someone dear to me recommended the above book to me, and it is one of the best pieces of literature I have come across thus far. The writing is real (mostly) and the author, Chuck Klosterman, speaks as if he is sitting across from you at some dive bar. Bud Light in hand, teetering the line between semi-coherent thought and blacking out completely. Bottom line - it is a great read.
The above quotation is perfect, and relevant to men and women everywhere - which solidifies its momentous value. I have read and re-read the excerpt and each time I can't help but ask, "what about the other person - the person on the other end?" Her. Maybe she hasn't experienced that significant love. For her, the current love is creator of her heart. Is she forever fated to stand in the shadow of the "defining" woman before her? It's like finding this season's Manolos in a size 8 - and you're a 6. So you buy the damn shoes anyway thinking, "I can make this work." But you can't. So I ask, what about HER? She fell in love and landed on her face; she lost her logic and became totally enamored with an obviously unavailable man. Timing is a wicked trick of fate; it determines the outcome long before you start the game.
So, a guy falls in love and ends up with a broken heart. He loved some girl that made him feel important; she made him feel confident. She has more charisma than his previous girlfriend and she captivated him. He loved her because she was different; she was fun and encouraged him to break his own boundaries. I get it. It makes sense. But every woman after is bound to comparison? Every female - even the good ones - are never capable of filling his void? I have a hard time buying that. So now I have to ask, is it only frustrating chasing shadows when you know that they exist? What if you didn't know about the woman on a pedestal before you - would there be no feeling of inadequacy? If you didn't know that your character was being evaluated - that is was made into a list of pros and cons - could you trick yourself into believing that you were the "defining" woman? Its possible. But curiosity is the ultimate killer of both good and evil; Pandora's box is just too tempting to ignore. I have been there. Twice actually and both experiences were, or have been, absolutely horrible. I don't want to be the next girl, I want to be THE girl and Chuck Klosterman is a bastard for spitting the truth in my face. I hate authors that bottle truth in pint size doses and force feed their readers with eloquent language and witty banter. He is a bastard because he is right.
The epic woman is the control factor in this senseless battle we label "love". Love is a daily measure of checks and balances - comparing notes and doodling in the margins of experience - we fine tune our senses and learn the qualities that are ultimately compatible with our own character. The trick to escaping the labyrinth is this: don't be the next person. Don't allow yourself to become the person AFTER the "defining" love. You will spend the rest of your life chasing shadows; a 6 will never be an 8.
I was a smart girl, until I fell in love. (quoted from Sex and the City)
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Whisper words of wisdom; Let It Be.
I am very dissatisfied with the direction of this blog, or lack thereof. I have become unreliable in my musings and I am not that sorry. So today I compiled a list of quick tips from the Lindsay Logic Library. (Yes, I am nerdy enough to coin my own advice as such.) These are just some things that I have found to be either true, or crucial to life. Enjoy.
-Monday's are best handled with a stiff cup of coffee and a great pair of shoes. Also, the better your outfit is the more effective your day will be. Confidence is essential.
-Ranting is important, it is very therapeutic to yell and scream and cause embarrassment. Find a friend that allows you to behave childishly.
-The Starbucks on Scottsdale and Shea is impossible to get into. Avoid that location.
-Whoever said coined the "if life hands you lemons..." cliche should be shot. I cringe every time I hear that reference. Life just is. That's it.
-Movies lie. lie. lie.
-Rhett Butler does not exist. Anywhere. I have looked.
-Men act out of necessity, women out of passion.
-Don't let a man take charge of your happiness, that is entirely too much control for such a person to have.
-Infidelity is the ultimate fate of a restless partner.
-Curiosity killed the cat - and destroyed the relationship. What happened to monogamy?
-Confidence. Enough said.
-Happy hour is an important part of the work week. Find a bar and become a regular.
-If someone wants you in their life, they will make it happen. Force should not be necessary.
-Gabel's laugh is the cure for everything.
-Trust is crucial in any relationship - work, friends, and love. The loss of such is crippling and nearly impossible to rebuild. I have tried.
-People don't change. They evolve and adapt. Stop trying to turn monkey's into men - it should just happen.
-On the above note, don't change for some blockhead. He should appreciate your greatness as is. Otherwise, he most definitely is not worth your time.
-A person's dating history is like their credit report; don't be silly and ignore bad habits!
-Love doesn't happen just once. It is every day.
-Find freedom in independence.
-Smile.
-Listen to your mother, she has been around and can offer great advice.
-Marry your best friend. (Just a goal of mine)
-Live in love. Every day.
-Give back. It's a great feeling.
-Remember where you came from; your roots help to define character.
-Strive to make an impact in someone else's life. This correlates with giving back.
-Stop searching; You're never going to find it if you're looking for it.
-Monday's are best handled with a stiff cup of coffee and a great pair of shoes. Also, the better your outfit is the more effective your day will be. Confidence is essential.
-Ranting is important, it is very therapeutic to yell and scream and cause embarrassment. Find a friend that allows you to behave childishly.
-The Starbucks on Scottsdale and Shea is impossible to get into. Avoid that location.
-Whoever said coined the "if life hands you lemons..." cliche should be shot. I cringe every time I hear that reference. Life just is. That's it.
-Movies lie. lie. lie.
-Rhett Butler does not exist. Anywhere. I have looked.
-Men act out of necessity, women out of passion.
-Don't let a man take charge of your happiness, that is entirely too much control for such a person to have.
-Infidelity is the ultimate fate of a restless partner.
-Curiosity killed the cat - and destroyed the relationship. What happened to monogamy?
-Confidence. Enough said.
-Happy hour is an important part of the work week. Find a bar and become a regular.
-If someone wants you in their life, they will make it happen. Force should not be necessary.
-Gabel's laugh is the cure for everything.
-Trust is crucial in any relationship - work, friends, and love. The loss of such is crippling and nearly impossible to rebuild. I have tried.
-People don't change. They evolve and adapt. Stop trying to turn monkey's into men - it should just happen.
-On the above note, don't change for some blockhead. He should appreciate your greatness as is. Otherwise, he most definitely is not worth your time.
-A person's dating history is like their credit report; don't be silly and ignore bad habits!
-Love doesn't happen just once. It is every day.
-Find freedom in independence.
-Smile.
-Listen to your mother, she has been around and can offer great advice.
-Marry your best friend. (Just a goal of mine)
-Live in love. Every day.
-Give back. It's a great feeling.
-Remember where you came from; your roots help to define character.
-Strive to make an impact in someone else's life. This correlates with giving back.
-Stop searching; You're never going to find it if you're looking for it.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
fated to pretend.
I am exhausted. I spent most of my night tossing and turning between lynard skynard lyrics and the obnoxious sound of my dog snoring. I was hot, I was restless - I couldn't flip the switch. As expected, the clarity of my thoughts became muted and I found myself wandering between impatience and insanity. (I really wish that I could leash these things, I feel I would be a more sound individual if I could just contain the high strung ideas that bounce around my head. Unfortunately for me, no such thing exists.) But in my madness I did come to one very solid realization: I am a product of my generation (how cliche!). I am pickled by the media and have a very unrealistic perception of the logistics of life. I think about point A and point B and spend little to no time calculating the distance between the two. I demand instant gratification; if I do not see results immediately I throw a fit and dictate blame. I wish that these little annoyances of my life could be bottled up and tossed into the waves. How simple would growing up be if the shitty things that make you crazy could just be shipped off to sea - fantastic, right? Too fucking bad.
At 2am I started picking apart love. Love is such a ridiculous thing to be wasting your sleep on. Except that I can't stop turning that thought - smoothing it over, pulling it to pieces, rebuilding its structure - I have given up and decided that I never will understand it. It came and I let it consume me: like locusts to a field I was devoured and left with ashes. Ashes that somehow are supposed to build my morale and prepare me for the next conquest of l.o.v.e I became stupid, made outlandish sacrifices and somehow went from being one very sane, very put together woman into my current state: the medusa haired potato lady. (I use this analogy because somewhere there is a large breasted woman laughing her ass off. Picture the potato that you seemingly forgot about until that day you rediscovered it growing tentacles under the sink. That is what I became this year - the spud covered woman that was left to her own craziness and demise. Pathetic.) So what happens next?
I feel so jilted - where is my Rhett Butler? Where is the man that comes and envelopes me in affection and adoration? And where the HELL is the man that thinks my childish giggle is cute and my high strung personality is fascinating? (I imagine that he somehow got lost in translation - his plane was delayed from Hollywood, I know he sends his apologies.) I guess these lessons in life are mandatory - 23 isn't supposed to yield a love of epic proportion. It is the age of learning these ridiculous rules and building that absurd thing my parents refer to as "character". At 23, I am expected to fall on my face and bear the scarlet letter of a shattered heart. Apparently it is a right of passage. Apparently cynicism is common in women of my character - apparently we are just tra-la-la-laing (thanks Jordan) through life on a magic carpet that will never land on the door step of any single/eligible twenty something man. No, this carpet just kicks me off into the wasteland of unavailable, unattainable, and completely commitment phobic men. (They're all really just frat boys dolled up in suits and ties) I really need to get my hands on a better flight itinerary.
At 2am I started picking apart love. Love is such a ridiculous thing to be wasting your sleep on. Except that I can't stop turning that thought - smoothing it over, pulling it to pieces, rebuilding its structure - I have given up and decided that I never will understand it. It came and I let it consume me: like locusts to a field I was devoured and left with ashes. Ashes that somehow are supposed to build my morale and prepare me for the next conquest of l.o.v.e I became stupid, made outlandish sacrifices and somehow went from being one very sane, very put together woman into my current state: the medusa haired potato lady. (I use this analogy because somewhere there is a large breasted woman laughing her ass off. Picture the potato that you seemingly forgot about until that day you rediscovered it growing tentacles under the sink. That is what I became this year - the spud covered woman that was left to her own craziness and demise. Pathetic.) So what happens next?
I feel so jilted - where is my Rhett Butler? Where is the man that comes and envelopes me in affection and adoration? And where the HELL is the man that thinks my childish giggle is cute and my high strung personality is fascinating? (I imagine that he somehow got lost in translation - his plane was delayed from Hollywood, I know he sends his apologies.) I guess these lessons in life are mandatory - 23 isn't supposed to yield a love of epic proportion. It is the age of learning these ridiculous rules and building that absurd thing my parents refer to as "character". At 23, I am expected to fall on my face and bear the scarlet letter of a shattered heart. Apparently it is a right of passage. Apparently cynicism is common in women of my character - apparently we are just tra-la-la-laing (thanks Jordan) through life on a magic carpet that will never land on the door step of any single/eligible twenty something man. No, this carpet just kicks me off into the wasteland of unavailable, unattainable, and completely commitment phobic men. (They're all really just frat boys dolled up in suits and ties) I really need to get my hands on a better flight itinerary.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
signs her letters in x's and o's
When I grow up, I want to do grown up things. I want a grown up job in a big, working in a grown up building. I want to talk about politics, international trade and global warming. I want to become educated on stock options and 401k investments. All the while, I will run the city in my Manolos laughing with all of my grown up friends. I feel like 16 was only yesterday, and yet here I am. 23 years old and still wondering, "am I an adult yet?"
I have been thinking a lot about responsibility, and the so-called "perks" of being an adult. According to my age, I should know a thing or two about managing my life in the up scaled, grown-up way. In reality? I don't know a damn thing. I fake maturity nearly every day; I work, I bank, and I enjoy cosmos at happy hour. I even have a weekly date with the dry cleaners - but beyond the bullshit, I am still just a girl playing dress up. I have accepted the fact that I am a poor decision maker (Because I HATE making decisions, and I have a hard time making commitments. Ick.) and as a result of this I find myself pressed to juggle the boring, yet fundamental and essential, aspects of life. (IE appointment planning, meeting deadlines, and organizing all of the above.) I often find myself facing ridiculous and completely STUPID problems. I asked a girlfriend recently if she though that other "adults" our age face similar problems. Her response? Probably not. Which got my mind rolling in another direction - do we create our own drama/anxiety/bullshit? ABSOLUTELY! Pardon the cliche, but shit rolls downhill and you can't run forever. At some point you have to stop and breathe and it is at that exact moment that the mound of avoided responsibility will seize you by the throat and drown you in consequences. My mother would call these spectacular displays of life "lessons in humility" - which I think is just a smug way of saying, "I told you so". Apparently the first rule of entering adulthood is learning how to prioritize responsibility. Funny, at what step do I learn the responsibility? I find the curriculum to be very exhausting.
I am still just a nerdy girl with glasses, standing on my tiptoes at the adult table. I giggle at everything and ask too many questions. I still use lip smackers chapstick and wear band t-shirts to bed. I throw temper tantrums when I don't get my way and I still think that underneath every layer of arrogance and selfishness lies a decent human being: I have faith in people. My view of the surrounding world is altered - like I am looking through a kaleidoscope. My reality is bombarded and sugar coated with my own wants, dreams, and perceptions. (Through my eyes, the world runs on high-fives and cherry coke.) Too bad I am not 13 anymore.
I have been thinking a lot about responsibility, and the so-called "perks" of being an adult. According to my age, I should know a thing or two about managing my life in the up scaled, grown-up way. In reality? I don't know a damn thing. I fake maturity nearly every day; I work, I bank, and I enjoy cosmos at happy hour. I even have a weekly date with the dry cleaners - but beyond the bullshit, I am still just a girl playing dress up. I have accepted the fact that I am a poor decision maker (Because I HATE making decisions, and I have a hard time making commitments. Ick.) and as a result of this I find myself pressed to juggle the boring, yet fundamental and essential, aspects of life. (IE appointment planning, meeting deadlines, and organizing all of the above.) I often find myself facing ridiculous and completely STUPID problems. I asked a girlfriend recently if she though that other "adults" our age face similar problems. Her response? Probably not. Which got my mind rolling in another direction - do we create our own drama/anxiety/bullshit? ABSOLUTELY! Pardon the cliche, but shit rolls downhill and you can't run forever. At some point you have to stop and breathe and it is at that exact moment that the mound of avoided responsibility will seize you by the throat and drown you in consequences. My mother would call these spectacular displays of life "lessons in humility" - which I think is just a smug way of saying, "I told you so". Apparently the first rule of entering adulthood is learning how to prioritize responsibility. Funny, at what step do I learn the responsibility? I find the curriculum to be very exhausting.
I am still just a nerdy girl with glasses, standing on my tiptoes at the adult table. I giggle at everything and ask too many questions. I still use lip smackers chapstick and wear band t-shirts to bed. I throw temper tantrums when I don't get my way and I still think that underneath every layer of arrogance and selfishness lies a decent human being: I have faith in people. My view of the surrounding world is altered - like I am looking through a kaleidoscope. My reality is bombarded and sugar coated with my own wants, dreams, and perceptions. (Through my eyes, the world runs on high-fives and cherry coke.) Too bad I am not 13 anymore.
Sunrise.
Sunlight slips slowly through chiffon,
blanketing my room in a warm crimson hue.
I spent so much time on those windows.
The light dances across mirrored surfaces,
pausing momentarily upon each
only to vanish seconds later.
You're not awake yet.
You're somewhere far away, and that small
smile that adorns your lips - your so soft
and lush and perfect lips - is a testament to your happiness.
And I can't help but admire this picture that you paint -
so soft, and flawless, and content - I am infatuated with
your beauty.
Your hair is curly now, unruly and natural.
Those ebony tresses cover the ivory linen like dark
chocolate;
cascading the perfect features of your face and your
pillow.
I smile, and count the freckles kissed on your nose
and across your cheeks.
You hate that I find them sexy.
You are so vulnerable, laying amongst down and silk
and so far away with your dreams.
Dreams that I know replicate me, our life, and our love.
You are so open with your adoration for me,
that the mere thought of this affection turns my cheeks hot.
Love is unknowing. It is raw, blind, and ignorant of
boundaries.
You are my living, breathing example.
Your innocence, it is perplexing, and fascinating
and real.
I envy you for this.
I want to kiss you, but in doing so I know that you will
wake 0
and smile, that smile that melts my soul and reddens my cheeks.
It is in sleep that I confide in you. I lower my guard and the wall
that I built disappears. In your sleep, I open my heart.
But the morning glare turns you restless, and slowly,
slowly you open those amber, almond shaped eyes.
And as your lips brush my cheek my wall returns.
Brick by brick, concealing my own vulnerability.
But tomorrow i only a dream away
and knowing this I smile.
blanketing my room in a warm crimson hue.
I spent so much time on those windows.
The light dances across mirrored surfaces,
pausing momentarily upon each
only to vanish seconds later.
You're not awake yet.
You're somewhere far away, and that small
smile that adorns your lips - your so soft
and lush and perfect lips - is a testament to your happiness.
And I can't help but admire this picture that you paint -
so soft, and flawless, and content - I am infatuated with
your beauty.
Your hair is curly now, unruly and natural.
Those ebony tresses cover the ivory linen like dark
chocolate;
cascading the perfect features of your face and your
pillow.
I smile, and count the freckles kissed on your nose
and across your cheeks.
You hate that I find them sexy.
You are so vulnerable, laying amongst down and silk
and so far away with your dreams.
Dreams that I know replicate me, our life, and our love.
You are so open with your adoration for me,
that the mere thought of this affection turns my cheeks hot.
Love is unknowing. It is raw, blind, and ignorant of
boundaries.
You are my living, breathing example.
Your innocence, it is perplexing, and fascinating
and real.
I envy you for this.
I want to kiss you, but in doing so I know that you will
wake 0
and smile, that smile that melts my soul and reddens my cheeks.
It is in sleep that I confide in you. I lower my guard and the wall
that I built disappears. In your sleep, I open my heart.
But the morning glare turns you restless, and slowly,
slowly you open those amber, almond shaped eyes.
And as your lips brush my cheek my wall returns.
Brick by brick, concealing my own vulnerability.
But tomorrow i only a dream away
and knowing this I smile.
Yesterday.
A thousand promises remain sewn to these lips -
words forgotten. Confessions and apologies bled
together in a mosaic profession of love. and devotion.
these promises, these fragmented utterances of exposure
echo through me, beating at my head. my heart.
my soul.
yet never straying from my lips.
their resonance is crippling;
their presence keeps playing this scene before me:
you are there and i am there and we are there at that place-
the place between yesterday and today
before the fighting and the resentment
at that time when all that was seen was you. and me.
and it was good.
i remember this: the air is thick with that new lust-
that lust that quickly consumed us and whispered life
into love.
that love that synced the beating of our hearts
and set blinders to our egos and to our fears.
i remember this yesterday, as it is still a part of me.
stuck far beneath the brigaded surface of spite -
the protective layer that still remembers.
these scenes are momentary, teasing memory
only for a second - promising encore, only to vanish
with that love.
that love.
that love that will never be.
These promises remain sewn to my lips, the words
that gave hope to a future, but remained silent to their
giver;
her pride too great, her remorse too heavy, and her heart
too bruised.
My eyes will not close, my lungs will not breathe
my screams will not deafen their mockery.
the last falls silent,
and gathering the shrapnel of this heart, my pride,
i turn to tomorrow and slip away.
words forgotten. Confessions and apologies bled
together in a mosaic profession of love. and devotion.
these promises, these fragmented utterances of exposure
echo through me, beating at my head. my heart.
my soul.
yet never straying from my lips.
their resonance is crippling;
their presence keeps playing this scene before me:
you are there and i am there and we are there at that place-
the place between yesterday and today
before the fighting and the resentment
at that time when all that was seen was you. and me.
and it was good.
i remember this: the air is thick with that new lust-
that lust that quickly consumed us and whispered life
into love.
that love that synced the beating of our hearts
and set blinders to our egos and to our fears.
i remember this yesterday, as it is still a part of me.
stuck far beneath the brigaded surface of spite -
the protective layer that still remembers.
these scenes are momentary, teasing memory
only for a second - promising encore, only to vanish
with that love.
that love.
that love that will never be.
These promises remain sewn to my lips, the words
that gave hope to a future, but remained silent to their
giver;
her pride too great, her remorse too heavy, and her heart
too bruised.
My eyes will not close, my lungs will not breathe
my screams will not deafen their mockery.
the last falls silent,
and gathering the shrapnel of this heart, my pride,
i turn to tomorrow and slip away.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Stripped and polished
I left my shoes on your patio. I gathered my belongings - handbag, lipgloss and heart - and left you for the evening. The day has painted itself into the vibrancy of my mind; the fertility of my imagination has begun to twist and morph your words into mutter. I feel they have become the tourniquet of my heart as their imprint brands me, and leaves me with a day to organize their meaning. I asked you about forever, and you responded with that wordless grin that so infamously distinguishes your character. You remind me of my immaturity. My imperfections. My earnest and overwhelming devotion. I feel that I look at you with the hopeful eyes of a child - eager. Expectant. You know me well, and manipulate my heart effortlessly. Your voice hangs like velvet, caressing my ears and pumping lullabies into my soul. I believe you. I listen to you. I love you. I close my eyes, and I breathe you. Questions burn deep; they scratch at the surface of my sanity and beg for release. Her presence has pickled my mind. I clothe the subject of my insecurity in trivial conversation. Conversation that pertains to anything and nothing at all. The anvil of deceit drowns me; it strips away faith and security and leaves me naked with my imagination. I fumble words, and trip over mistaken phrases. I scramble for the poetry that has become my adoration for you. But for once, language fails me.
I left my shoes on your patio - I just needed a moment to breathe. I would have lingered on your doorstep, but this evening is inviting my current state of confusion. In solitude, I meticulously arrange the thoughts that always seem to scatter in your presence. In solitude, I allow the notion of forever to tiptoe between those thoughts and pirouette its beauty from my lips. Whispered lullabies surround me and tame the wildfires of mistrust; I believe you. I listen to you. I love you. I close my eyes, and I breathe you. In the blankness of this night I feel you. Regardless of her presence - her name tattooed in my brain - the affection for you is apparent. It screams at you from the redness of my cheeks, from the brilliance of my smile, and from the softness of my kiss. My love is so obvious, and shameless. So now I ask you about forever, and at last you concede.
I left my shoes on your patio - I just needed a moment to breathe. I would have lingered on your doorstep, but this evening is inviting my current state of confusion. In solitude, I meticulously arrange the thoughts that always seem to scatter in your presence. In solitude, I allow the notion of forever to tiptoe between those thoughts and pirouette its beauty from my lips. Whispered lullabies surround me and tame the wildfires of mistrust; I believe you. I listen to you. I love you. I close my eyes, and I breathe you. In the blankness of this night I feel you. Regardless of her presence - her name tattooed in my brain - the affection for you is apparent. It screams at you from the redness of my cheeks, from the brilliance of my smile, and from the softness of my kiss. My love is so obvious, and shameless. So now I ask you about forever, and at last you concede.
Monday, June 1, 2009
'cause im free as a bird now
Today I am feeling indifferent. I started thinking about where the hell I am headed with my life - a thought that consumes an entire day and leaves me feeling even more angst and stubborn than I had originally planned. I would rather be knee deep in the waves on the California shores, or rocking out by myself to some obnoxiously loud ACDC or GnR. I would rather be screaming obscenities at the top of a roller coaster - I would rather be doing cartwheels in the sand.
Anywhere but here. So I do what I do best in these situations, I spill my jumbled nonsense into print. I have compiled a list of random things that make me happy (and some that really piss me off). I do this in an attempt assuage my apathy. If you are of the bored and unemployed - the people that really have nothing better to do than listen to the bullshit of an angry woman - please read on and find comfort in the realization that you're not the only disorganized individual residing in Phoenix Arizona - or wherever you live. Enjoy.
1. My father nicknamed my Ruby Begonia at the age of 3. I am sure he meant Scarlett Begonia, in which case makes me somewhat cool.
2. I ran into a wall at the age of 13 and broke my pinky toe. Even more hilarious, I had a cast up to my shin that I busted because I refused to stop dancing simply because some doctor ordered otherwise.
3. I am a dreamer; I have a lot of ambition and plan on slowly taking over the world. (Metaphorically speaking) I will have two Pulitzers at some point in this life and an outlandish collection of my bullshit in print - i.e ridiculous novels.
4. Writing is a huge part of my life. I have absolutely no organizational skills to apply to this talent, a defect that I am sure is holding me from my success. But I am stubborn and I continue to hack away at my dream.
5. I have problems with ignorance in people - I have been quoted saying that, "ignorance simply means that you're not smart enough to be stupid." I stand by that.
6. I fall in love with everything - everything is my favorite.
7. I come from a huge family but hardly stay in contact. This really depresses me.
8. I am ruled by my emotions; I am a very passionate person. I love and hate with everything that I have. I express my emotions openly, sometimes when unnecessary, but I am incapable of keeping my mouth shut.
9. I have the spirit of a child and I throw tantrums. I remain pissed for about 10 minutes.
10. I grew up on a farm, and I am proud of that upbringing. I am not kidding when I say, repeatedly, that I am a homegrown country girl.
11. I have an amazing child. He keeps me sane, most of the time, and is a daily reminder that hard work most certainly does pay off. Success is never free, but the payout is always worth the effort.
12. I want a busy lifestyle; I want to write and teach and pursue the creativity that I have been blessed with. I want to travel and experience every part of this world.
13. I also want to settle down and build a family.
14. I have never been prone to dating. I think it is exhausting and cumbersome and reaps little reward. If I don't like you, I don't call you back. I am turned off easily - I believe this is the reason I always seem to have epic relationships.
15. I am really into "epic" anything right now. I am sure I use the term too loosely and will soon become bored it.
16. I have been in love once in my life. Or I thought I was in love, I have since changed my mind.
17. Stress causes me to pull away. I push the people out and work alone to solve my issues. I hate asking for help.
18. I have dictionary.com text me the word of the day - this excites me. New vocabulary has become a highlight of my days. And this makes me sound very pathetic :/
19. I make a lot of faces. Unintentionally, I am sure it goes hand in hand with my habit of expression. I don't hide feeling well, if at all.
20. I talk a lot of shit. I am not good at pool, beer pong, or darts. But I am pretty damn good at convincing my competition otherwise.
21. I hate repeating myself.
22. I have a hard time dealing with the emotions of others (bizarre because I am so passionate).
23. I get mad when I feel I am not taken seriously.
24. I will give every person I meet a chance, sometimes two. Life is too short to be angry.
25. Though I am a little nutty, I feel that I am pretty diplomatic. I hate fighting. I hate arguing. I have a bad habit of letting my language take control of a situation, but I will almost always admit when I am wrong.
26. I have confidence in my nerdyness, weirdness, whatever you may call it. I know I am a little crazy, but that craziness makes me feel alive.
27. I lose interest in things sometimes too quickly. Good luck trying to change that.
28. I am a tough gal - I have overcome a lot of rubbish in my short 23 years. I embrace challenge and I thrive off of adrenaline. I feel that I am most productive in stressful situations.
29. I read more than any other person I know. I love literature for the language first, and then the story.
30. I am loyal. I am brutally honest. And I fight for what I believe in.
31. I get what I want because a.) I am stubborn and unrelenting and b.) I fight.
32. I love music, as most do. And I am open to almost every genre.
33. And I am totally the type to blast depressing, slit-your-wrists and cry your eyes out over a stupid boy tunes when I am blue.
34. I love to cook and I am pretty amazing at it.
35. Most days, outside of work, I can be found in cut offs and band t-shirt. I am a nerd.
36. I love hole in the wall bars.
37. I love to dance. I dance in the shower. I dance when I brush my teeth. I dance around the kitchen when I cook. I don't give a damn where I am, I dance. :]
38. I learned to ride a horse when I learned how to walk. I was raised in the rodeo arena and spent my toddler years romping through the dirt and bathing in buckets in the grand stands. I rode the hair off of any four legged beast I came in contact with (goats, sheep, horses, cows, dogs, etc.) - this is a lifestyle I lost after my parents divorced. Damn them.
39. I drop the "f" word a lot. Though far from classy, it remains one of my favorite words of the English language.
40. In all of the chaos, and drama that is inescapable in life I have learned this much: life is worth every drop of bullshit. It is worth the tears, the anger, and all of the negative things that change you. Cry and yell and cuss and throw tantrums, be stubborn and persistant and ambitious - don't skip a beat. I don't want to miss out on anything, I want to be apart of every new experience that presents itself IN my life.
I am sure this list is incomplete, and I will continue to add to it in the future.
Anywhere but here. So I do what I do best in these situations, I spill my jumbled nonsense into print. I have compiled a list of random things that make me happy (and some that really piss me off). I do this in an attempt assuage my apathy. If you are of the bored and unemployed - the people that really have nothing better to do than listen to the bullshit of an angry woman - please read on and find comfort in the realization that you're not the only disorganized individual residing in Phoenix Arizona - or wherever you live. Enjoy.
1. My father nicknamed my Ruby Begonia at the age of 3. I am sure he meant Scarlett Begonia, in which case makes me somewhat cool.
2. I ran into a wall at the age of 13 and broke my pinky toe. Even more hilarious, I had a cast up to my shin that I busted because I refused to stop dancing simply because some doctor ordered otherwise.
3. I am a dreamer; I have a lot of ambition and plan on slowly taking over the world. (Metaphorically speaking) I will have two Pulitzers at some point in this life and an outlandish collection of my bullshit in print - i.e ridiculous novels.
4. Writing is a huge part of my life. I have absolutely no organizational skills to apply to this talent, a defect that I am sure is holding me from my success. But I am stubborn and I continue to hack away at my dream.
5. I have problems with ignorance in people - I have been quoted saying that, "ignorance simply means that you're not smart enough to be stupid." I stand by that.
6. I fall in love with everything - everything is my favorite.
7. I come from a huge family but hardly stay in contact. This really depresses me.
8. I am ruled by my emotions; I am a very passionate person. I love and hate with everything that I have. I express my emotions openly, sometimes when unnecessary, but I am incapable of keeping my mouth shut.
9. I have the spirit of a child and I throw tantrums. I remain pissed for about 10 minutes.
10. I grew up on a farm, and I am proud of that upbringing. I am not kidding when I say, repeatedly, that I am a homegrown country girl.
11. I have an amazing child. He keeps me sane, most of the time, and is a daily reminder that hard work most certainly does pay off. Success is never free, but the payout is always worth the effort.
12. I want a busy lifestyle; I want to write and teach and pursue the creativity that I have been blessed with. I want to travel and experience every part of this world.
13. I also want to settle down and build a family.
14. I have never been prone to dating. I think it is exhausting and cumbersome and reaps little reward. If I don't like you, I don't call you back. I am turned off easily - I believe this is the reason I always seem to have epic relationships.
15. I am really into "epic" anything right now. I am sure I use the term too loosely and will soon become bored it.
16. I have been in love once in my life. Or I thought I was in love, I have since changed my mind.
17. Stress causes me to pull away. I push the people out and work alone to solve my issues. I hate asking for help.
18. I have dictionary.com text me the word of the day - this excites me. New vocabulary has become a highlight of my days. And this makes me sound very pathetic :/
19. I make a lot of faces. Unintentionally, I am sure it goes hand in hand with my habit of expression. I don't hide feeling well, if at all.
20. I talk a lot of shit. I am not good at pool, beer pong, or darts. But I am pretty damn good at convincing my competition otherwise.
21. I hate repeating myself.
22. I have a hard time dealing with the emotions of others (bizarre because I am so passionate).
23. I get mad when I feel I am not taken seriously.
24. I will give every person I meet a chance, sometimes two. Life is too short to be angry.
25. Though I am a little nutty, I feel that I am pretty diplomatic. I hate fighting. I hate arguing. I have a bad habit of letting my language take control of a situation, but I will almost always admit when I am wrong.
26. I have confidence in my nerdyness, weirdness, whatever you may call it. I know I am a little crazy, but that craziness makes me feel alive.
27. I lose interest in things sometimes too quickly. Good luck trying to change that.
28. I am a tough gal - I have overcome a lot of rubbish in my short 23 years. I embrace challenge and I thrive off of adrenaline. I feel that I am most productive in stressful situations.
29. I read more than any other person I know. I love literature for the language first, and then the story.
30. I am loyal. I am brutally honest. And I fight for what I believe in.
31. I get what I want because a.) I am stubborn and unrelenting and b.) I fight.
32. I love music, as most do. And I am open to almost every genre.
33. And I am totally the type to blast depressing, slit-your-wrists and cry your eyes out over a stupid boy tunes when I am blue.
34. I love to cook and I am pretty amazing at it.
35. Most days, outside of work, I can be found in cut offs and band t-shirt. I am a nerd.
36. I love hole in the wall bars.
37. I love to dance. I dance in the shower. I dance when I brush my teeth. I dance around the kitchen when I cook. I don't give a damn where I am, I dance. :]
38. I learned to ride a horse when I learned how to walk. I was raised in the rodeo arena and spent my toddler years romping through the dirt and bathing in buckets in the grand stands. I rode the hair off of any four legged beast I came in contact with (goats, sheep, horses, cows, dogs, etc.) - this is a lifestyle I lost after my parents divorced. Damn them.
39. I drop the "f" word a lot. Though far from classy, it remains one of my favorite words of the English language.
40. In all of the chaos, and drama that is inescapable in life I have learned this much: life is worth every drop of bullshit. It is worth the tears, the anger, and all of the negative things that change you. Cry and yell and cuss and throw tantrums, be stubborn and persistant and ambitious - don't skip a beat. I don't want to miss out on anything, I want to be apart of every new experience that presents itself IN my life.
I am sure this list is incomplete, and I will continue to add to it in the future.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Just A Small Town Girl
I have been shuffling through the memory box lately - organizing each former piece of my life and tucking them away into the past. I have come across several journals, as you have obviously been reading, that have brought the past back into my life. Many entries are simply the rants of an angry ex girlfriend and some are the tearful confessions of a broken heart - but each of them has brought my growth from that point, full circle. I have grown so much in the past few years - I am discovering a whole new woman hiding beneath the skin of a girl. I still run around playing dress up, and stand on my tip toes in the adult world - but I am no longer sitting at the children's table. I am making my mark and learning the comfort of my skin.
I found the following from may of 2007. It was after my transition of small town girl to Phoenix fashionista ;] - I have definitely changed.
**********************************************************
I used to love lazy Sundays: sleeping in, a mid day coffee run, an afternoon in the park - or even just a drive through the country. Oh how I miss Walla Walla.
Well, all of that is gone. my coffee run forced me out of my mother's estate and onto a six lane "road" - which by Walla Walla standards would be considered an over sized freeway. Once there, I was shoulder to shoulder with about 30 other people - screaming on cell phones, thumbing away on palm pilots, and monitoring the stock exchange - all demanding their triple non fat no-whip no-flavor extra hot latte. When did life become so complex? There I stood, in a boho skirt, flipflops and over sized sunglasses - and I felt about two feet tall. In a city where most are worth millions, how can a country girl squeeze her way in? Not even my years spend in San Diego could have prepared my for this culture shock. Though the weather is absolutely gorgeous, and my mother's estate closely resembles something out of Sunset Magazine - the intimidation of the roads, the traffic, even the grocery store is more than enough to outweigh all of the above. I miss Walla Walla.
In this life, I have learned that there are two types of people: those that FIGHT and those that choose FLIGHT. (Please forgive me, this does sound cliche) I have fought my whole life for what I believe in and what I thought I deserved. I don't go down easily and I'm stubborn as hell. All of that has changed, however, and I now find myself a little less zealous and enthusiastic - I have become ambivalent and probably a little lazy. I pick and choose my battles, which in many ways is a good quality to possess simply because it avoids drama and saves me energy. So now I choose flight as what I believe to be a healthy defense alternative. Who else do you know that can pick up their entire life and in one day move 1300 miles away? Personally, I don't know many. So you can add "impulsive" to my list of character qualities.
This city amazes me; it is big, hungry, and ready to eat anyone alive that can't adapt quickly to its fast pace environment. I'm not going to sugar coat my fear of being swallowed alive, nor am I going to say that I have confidence in my survival - because neither are true. I do, however, know this: change is nessecary. Sometimes in life, in every life, you're moving along on cruise control and you hit a wall. At this point, you have two options. Sometimes one may outweigh the other in benefits, but this is very rare. Typically we are forced to make a decision that is irrational and against our beliefs. I had come to this stop light. I felt like the entire world was happening all around me; I was standing still, not moving, thinking or even breathing directly in the center of all of this commotion. I was hungry for something new, and then life threw me a 60mph curveball that hit right between the eyes and I made a choice: I chose flight.
I don't know where I'm headed next, I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow. But I do know this: life is full of surprises, some good and some bad. Every day we are faced with new choices, challenges, and adventures. Why should we wait for something to just happen to us? Grab life by the horns, ride the bull, and if you fall off then just stand up, brush yourself off, and get back on the son of a bitch.
I found the following from may of 2007. It was after my transition of small town girl to Phoenix fashionista ;] - I have definitely changed.
**********************************************************
I used to love lazy Sundays: sleeping in, a mid day coffee run, an afternoon in the park - or even just a drive through the country. Oh how I miss Walla Walla.
Well, all of that is gone. my coffee run forced me out of my mother's estate and onto a six lane "road" - which by Walla Walla standards would be considered an over sized freeway. Once there, I was shoulder to shoulder with about 30 other people - screaming on cell phones, thumbing away on palm pilots, and monitoring the stock exchange - all demanding their triple non fat no-whip no-flavor extra hot latte. When did life become so complex? There I stood, in a boho skirt, flipflops and over sized sunglasses - and I felt about two feet tall. In a city where most are worth millions, how can a country girl squeeze her way in? Not even my years spend in San Diego could have prepared my for this culture shock. Though the weather is absolutely gorgeous, and my mother's estate closely resembles something out of Sunset Magazine - the intimidation of the roads, the traffic, even the grocery store is more than enough to outweigh all of the above. I miss Walla Walla.
In this life, I have learned that there are two types of people: those that FIGHT and those that choose FLIGHT. (Please forgive me, this does sound cliche) I have fought my whole life for what I believe in and what I thought I deserved. I don't go down easily and I'm stubborn as hell. All of that has changed, however, and I now find myself a little less zealous and enthusiastic - I have become ambivalent and probably a little lazy. I pick and choose my battles, which in many ways is a good quality to possess simply because it avoids drama and saves me energy. So now I choose flight as what I believe to be a healthy defense alternative. Who else do you know that can pick up their entire life and in one day move 1300 miles away? Personally, I don't know many. So you can add "impulsive" to my list of character qualities.
This city amazes me; it is big, hungry, and ready to eat anyone alive that can't adapt quickly to its fast pace environment. I'm not going to sugar coat my fear of being swallowed alive, nor am I going to say that I have confidence in my survival - because neither are true. I do, however, know this: change is nessecary. Sometimes in life, in every life, you're moving along on cruise control and you hit a wall. At this point, you have two options. Sometimes one may outweigh the other in benefits, but this is very rare. Typically we are forced to make a decision that is irrational and against our beliefs. I had come to this stop light. I felt like the entire world was happening all around me; I was standing still, not moving, thinking or even breathing directly in the center of all of this commotion. I was hungry for something new, and then life threw me a 60mph curveball that hit right between the eyes and I made a choice: I chose flight.
I don't know where I'm headed next, I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow. But I do know this: life is full of surprises, some good and some bad. Every day we are faced with new choices, challenges, and adventures. Why should we wait for something to just happen to us? Grab life by the horns, ride the bull, and if you fall off then just stand up, brush yourself off, and get back on the son of a bitch.
Friday, May 8, 2009
'Keys to doors that don't exist'
Another pulled from the depths. Written in September of 2007 - I promise to post something fresh soon!
Sitting here motionless
thoughts in thoughts, and mouths left speechless.
The finality of goodbye is endless,
I close these eyes and a sigh escapes my lips.
Screams fall deaf to my ears
my face is cold, and streaked with tears.
The softness of a man, so passionate, so sincere -
yet I am ignorant to his touch, I am imprisoned with fear.
Pieces of this heart make trails in the past;
I am absent of the present, trapped and unmasked.
These remnants of my heart - the last of the last
lay scattered like the crumbs that Hansel surpassed.
I am frozen, afraid to open these eyes.
The fear of the present, the echos of lies -
they captivate emotion, and leave my blind.
I am unable to see the rain giving way to sunrise.
Each of my days bleeds into the next.
Breathe in, breathe out, love left a mess.
A hollowed vision, a hollowed chest -
love has this soul, and time took the rest.
Leave me to sit, in my self-made shrine?
Leave me to wait, rotting in time?
Give me your breath, feed me your line
follow the trail that those before you left behind.
Sitting here motionless
thoughts in thoughts, and mouths left speechless.
The finality of goodbye is endless,
I close these eyes and a sigh escapes my lips.
Screams fall deaf to my ears
my face is cold, and streaked with tears.
The softness of a man, so passionate, so sincere -
yet I am ignorant to his touch, I am imprisoned with fear.
Pieces of this heart make trails in the past;
I am absent of the present, trapped and unmasked.
These remnants of my heart - the last of the last
lay scattered like the crumbs that Hansel surpassed.
I am frozen, afraid to open these eyes.
The fear of the present, the echos of lies -
they captivate emotion, and leave my blind.
I am unable to see the rain giving way to sunrise.
Each of my days bleeds into the next.
Breathe in, breathe out, love left a mess.
A hollowed vision, a hollowed chest -
love has this soul, and time took the rest.
Leave me to sit, in my self-made shrine?
Leave me to wait, rotting in time?
Give me your breath, feed me your line
follow the trail that those before you left behind.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
take me down to the paradise city
I pulled another piece from the archives. I wrote this in March of 2008. Enjoy:]
An April sunset paints the sky with a crimson glow.
And the Santa Monica breeze and palm trees hint a promise of paradise.
A promise that masks the street lights - a badge of fame concealing the city's hunger.
"come down and waste away with me"
The seduction of this night cools my hell. My anger. My passion.
I have many names for my rage.
But like a serpent I am shedding this skin.
Leaving behind a life once lived. Loved. But barely remembered.
What have I become?
This confusion wages war in my hear.
My search for answers only unveils my captivation for this place.
This city houses me and all of those like me.
We stare blindly at this painting of paradise -
knowing the visage, understanding the hunger
yet hiding behind our own mask of ignorance.
It seems I've been in metamorphosis for too long.
Should answers take this long to find?
I've forgotten the question; my search has become tiresome.
Archaic. Obsolete.
Too long I have been mesmerized with forgetting.
I feel as though I have been running forever.
Palm trees promise me paradise,
through the evening exhibit of fame.
I am still searching. Still hiding. Still sloughing a day old life.
Exhaustion is familiar to me, but I cannot blink.
I find my sanctity, seclusion and security in the pink, sun kissed skies.
An April sunset paints the sky with a crimson glow.
And the Santa Monica breeze and palm trees hint a promise of paradise.
A promise that masks the street lights - a badge of fame concealing the city's hunger.
"come down and waste away with me"
The seduction of this night cools my hell. My anger. My passion.
I have many names for my rage.
But like a serpent I am shedding this skin.
Leaving behind a life once lived. Loved. But barely remembered.
What have I become?
This confusion wages war in my hear.
My search for answers only unveils my captivation for this place.
This city houses me and all of those like me.
We stare blindly at this painting of paradise -
knowing the visage, understanding the hunger
yet hiding behind our own mask of ignorance.
It seems I've been in metamorphosis for too long.
Should answers take this long to find?
I've forgotten the question; my search has become tiresome.
Archaic. Obsolete.
Too long I have been mesmerized with forgetting.
I feel as though I have been running forever.
Palm trees promise me paradise,
through the evening exhibit of fame.
I am still searching. Still hiding. Still sloughing a day old life.
Exhaustion is familiar to me, but I cannot blink.
I find my sanctity, seclusion and security in the pink, sun kissed skies.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Where the green grass grows.
I haven't been sleeping. I can't slow my thoughts long enough to make peace with the day. I have been so riddled with indifference; or maybe the feelings that I am having are just battling for dominance. As a result, I am left with only apathy and isolation. Living inside of my head has proven itself to be a detriment to my well being - but I haven't figured out how to stop the commotion. I haven't found the switch. It must be hidden somewhere beneath my logical self, and I rarely waste my time digging through those parts. So the only possible outcome of my madness is self-destruction. I have these moments of complete insanity; I waste too much time trying to decipher the life around me. Every breath has meaning, every moment holds value. Trying to crack the code of God is an impossibility - but I still take a stab at it every now and then.
So after accepting defeat, I think about home. When I have exhausted all internal quarrels, and when I have burned through my last wick, I find the only stable tranquility left - home. I grew up between two small towns, so "home" is a medley of farmland expanding the belly of eastern Washington. From Moses Lake to Walla Walla, my roots run deep. I am the farmer's daughter, the cowboy's little girl. I am that scrawny little blue eyed gal chasing butterflies in the alfalfa fields. Those fields that stretch from horizon east to sunset west - the fields that blanket the valley in the familiar scent of summer: the blooming flora fused with late august rain. If I ever close my eyes, and indulge in a brief moment of nostalgia, I can still smell the sweetness of those fields. Like a conch, memories flood and take me back to that heartland. That home. The place where the sun meets the earth and explodes into a brilliant, prismatic burst of color. The place where God and nature and man bleed in unison, in perfect harmony.
I spent my youth conquering that farm. I had an expansive 250 acres at my fingertips and I took complete advantage of my surroundings. I swam in irrigation canals, and shot coyotes with paintball guns. I constructed forts between the trunks of pine trees, and hosted tea parties in vacant chicken coops. My imagination was seizing; there was no fantasy that couldn't be recreated. I utilized my resources - the land and the earth and the air - and created excitement from the ordinary. The magic of summertime - the freedom of long evenings on an enormous playground - became the definition of my childhood. Every solid, wholesome memory I have stored can be attributed to that farm and my existence there. Life in rural America is similar to living beneath a snow globe: your environment is fantastical, and yet nothing seems to exist beyond the perimeters of alfalfa seeded land.
I miss that age. The pace was slower, the worries were few, my life was different. I imagined my world and breathed life into at the start of every summer day. I believed that nothing existed beyond the walls of my land. I believed in the beauty of my world, and the people that inhabited it. Farming is a way of life, a culture. It is a love affair with the benefits of the land - a tender kiss upon the fruits of nature. It is an appreciation and understanding of hard work. It is the ability to take nothing and mold it into something. It is me, a homegrown country girl. But the farmer's daughter, and the cowboy's little girl grew up. I left to conquer the world; I left to deepen my footprints on this earth. I put use to my wild imagination and concluded that it could reach beyond what was in front of me. I wanted everything and settled for nothing - I still have that ambition. My roots extend deep into the Columbia Valley, and when my world becomes distorted I will still find myself escaping to those fields. The code of God is written in the earth - I find comfort in this.
"Dear Jesse, as the moon lingers a moment over the bitterroots, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming softly; not to the music, but something else; some place else; a place remembered; a field of grass where no one seemed to have been; except a deer; and the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you, dancing in my awkward arms." - Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It
So after accepting defeat, I think about home. When I have exhausted all internal quarrels, and when I have burned through my last wick, I find the only stable tranquility left - home. I grew up between two small towns, so "home" is a medley of farmland expanding the belly of eastern Washington. From Moses Lake to Walla Walla, my roots run deep. I am the farmer's daughter, the cowboy's little girl. I am that scrawny little blue eyed gal chasing butterflies in the alfalfa fields. Those fields that stretch from horizon east to sunset west - the fields that blanket the valley in the familiar scent of summer: the blooming flora fused with late august rain. If I ever close my eyes, and indulge in a brief moment of nostalgia, I can still smell the sweetness of those fields. Like a conch, memories flood and take me back to that heartland. That home. The place where the sun meets the earth and explodes into a brilliant, prismatic burst of color. The place where God and nature and man bleed in unison, in perfect harmony.
I spent my youth conquering that farm. I had an expansive 250 acres at my fingertips and I took complete advantage of my surroundings. I swam in irrigation canals, and shot coyotes with paintball guns. I constructed forts between the trunks of pine trees, and hosted tea parties in vacant chicken coops. My imagination was seizing; there was no fantasy that couldn't be recreated. I utilized my resources - the land and the earth and the air - and created excitement from the ordinary. The magic of summertime - the freedom of long evenings on an enormous playground - became the definition of my childhood. Every solid, wholesome memory I have stored can be attributed to that farm and my existence there. Life in rural America is similar to living beneath a snow globe: your environment is fantastical, and yet nothing seems to exist beyond the perimeters of alfalfa seeded land.
I miss that age. The pace was slower, the worries were few, my life was different. I imagined my world and breathed life into at the start of every summer day. I believed that nothing existed beyond the walls of my land. I believed in the beauty of my world, and the people that inhabited it. Farming is a way of life, a culture. It is a love affair with the benefits of the land - a tender kiss upon the fruits of nature. It is an appreciation and understanding of hard work. It is the ability to take nothing and mold it into something. It is me, a homegrown country girl. But the farmer's daughter, and the cowboy's little girl grew up. I left to conquer the world; I left to deepen my footprints on this earth. I put use to my wild imagination and concluded that it could reach beyond what was in front of me. I wanted everything and settled for nothing - I still have that ambition. My roots extend deep into the Columbia Valley, and when my world becomes distorted I will still find myself escaping to those fields. The code of God is written in the earth - I find comfort in this.
"Dear Jesse, as the moon lingers a moment over the bitterroots, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming softly; not to the music, but something else; some place else; a place remembered; a field of grass where no one seemed to have been; except a deer; and the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you, dancing in my awkward arms." - Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It
Friday, May 1, 2009
"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.
- Captain Corelli's Mandolin. "Love is the beauty of the soul." --St. Augustine
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.
- Captain Corelli's Mandolin. "Love is the beauty of the soul." --St. Augustine
Monday, April 27, 2009
L.[oh].v.e - just another word I never learned to pronounce.
I have recently come to a very eye opening conclusion; I have discovered that not only do men and women reside on completely different planets and speak entirely different languages, but they are not even of the same species. While scientists will argue that xx and xy are of the same genus - homo sapien - they are in fact, mistaken. These scientists are so absolutely wrong and why no one has challenged this notion is just as perplexing. I have spent my entire life - an astounding 23 years - studying the male mammal. (I grew up with several brothers, I felt that I was somewhat of an expert on the subject - but really, my "understanding" has recently equated to just a bunch of bullshit.) And up until just a few days ago, I was confident in my realization that most men are just little boys trapped in hairy bodies (or balding bodies, it depends on the specimen). But after even more careful, and pondering deliberation, I have abandoned any and all previous notions on the subject. I now believe this: men, even in their most simple form, are utterly and entirely not worth the agony that we credit them to.
Now, I am not trying to come off as sexist, feminist, or a bra-burning woman of war. I just think that women spend way too much time obsessing over the opposite sex. And we spend an even larger amount of time trying to understand and change them. As women, we are programmed to take care of others. We encourage and push those that are dear to us - there is no problem that a little love or a motivational lecture can't solve. We hold the people that we love to a higher standard, and become disappointed when that individual doesn't conform to our expectations. So we try, and try again. Men are the kryptonite; despite any of their faults, or inability to transform into our expectations, we will continue to try, and try again. After repeated failure, it is common for the exasperated woman to become fused with rebellion. "Whatthefuck is wrong with this man. I do and I do and I do for him and he doesn't reciprocate" or "Why should I continue to do and give if he is incapable of being a decent human being and returning the gesture" These are common, one sided battles that wage in our heads. And most women, generally speaking, do not verbalize this concern. So the angst continues to build until ultimately the woman explodes, closely resembling the girl from the exorcist (as rage does funny things to a person) and the man is just sitting there, dumbfounded. Confused. And scratching his head (one of the two) and no real conclusion is ever reached. There is a pattern - it is consistent. So why do we allow the displeasure and resent to cycle. Why can't we ever really "fix" the issue?!
All of the miscommunication, all of the banter and differences - it's all familiar. Men just don't understand that a woman is ruled by emotion. And all of those emotions are precious. Love. Passion. Rage. Empathy. They aren't given away for free - each bears an unspoken price tag. Appreciation, respect, understanding, affection - these are the payments accepted. Our feelings cause vulnerability, so we protect them. This shield of armor is composed of the "whys" and the "how come he can't just comply" and every other daunting question that women throw towards their counter species. After a certain point, exhaustion settles and we consider defeat. We hurl questions, and receive no answers. So we bait some more. But the fish just aren't biting. They're too busy hanging out with their other fishie friends and doing stupid fishie things. So then we ask, "Why should I sugarcoat the fucking bait if the fish isn't even biting?!" Which translates to, why should I give this man the benefits of something he isn't ready to commit to. And then we recoil. A woman can be madly in love, deeply passionately in love, and still manage to alienate herself from that love. We are not an oasis, at some point we need to be replenished. The affection has to be returned because, as I said earlier, we are ruled by emotions - including those of men. Ladies, we are our own worst enemy.
Someone very dear to me said, "the more you show him you care, the more he'll be apt to show you [he cares]. Its not about who gives what." This is the statement that started my rant. It is the other side of the coin, the third party's opinion of a situation. She is so unbelievably right. It's the price tag on our actions that bites us in the ass. If you are in love, really truly in love, then the things that you do - the sweetness that composes you, the things he admires about you - should come naturally. We can't expect a man to return the emotional overflow because they aren't programmed in the same manner. They aren't even of the same species!! We KNOW this, we bitch and complain about this difference at least once a day. But suddenly, when things don't go our way, we get pissed and forget. We get mad and don't communicate. Man may have many talents, but ESP is definitely not one of them.
I don't really know what the point of my rambling is. I get on these tangents, as I am a very passionate gal, and then I get so involved with the expression that I forget the moral of the story. I guess my lesson would be this: when looking at a trout, it is obvious that the fish is nothing other than a trout. It isn't a carp, or a bass, or a catfish, or an orca whale. It's a trout. We can fillet it, saute it, bread and bake it but underneath all of the fluff, it's still a trout in gourmet clothing. Men: we can dress them, educate them, and show them the difference between Prada and Gucci, but underneath the bullshit, he is still just a man.
Now, I am not trying to come off as sexist, feminist, or a bra-burning woman of war. I just think that women spend way too much time obsessing over the opposite sex. And we spend an even larger amount of time trying to understand and change them. As women, we are programmed to take care of others. We encourage and push those that are dear to us - there is no problem that a little love or a motivational lecture can't solve. We hold the people that we love to a higher standard, and become disappointed when that individual doesn't conform to our expectations. So we try, and try again. Men are the kryptonite; despite any of their faults, or inability to transform into our expectations, we will continue to try, and try again. After repeated failure, it is common for the exasperated woman to become fused with rebellion. "Whatthefuck is wrong with this man. I do and I do and I do for him and he doesn't reciprocate" or "Why should I continue to do and give if he is incapable of being a decent human being and returning the gesture" These are common, one sided battles that wage in our heads. And most women, generally speaking, do not verbalize this concern. So the angst continues to build until ultimately the woman explodes, closely resembling the girl from the exorcist (as rage does funny things to a person) and the man is just sitting there, dumbfounded. Confused. And scratching his head (one of the two) and no real conclusion is ever reached. There is a pattern - it is consistent. So why do we allow the displeasure and resent to cycle. Why can't we ever really "fix" the issue?!
All of the miscommunication, all of the banter and differences - it's all familiar. Men just don't understand that a woman is ruled by emotion. And all of those emotions are precious. Love. Passion. Rage. Empathy. They aren't given away for free - each bears an unspoken price tag. Appreciation, respect, understanding, affection - these are the payments accepted. Our feelings cause vulnerability, so we protect them. This shield of armor is composed of the "whys" and the "how come he can't just comply" and every other daunting question that women throw towards their counter species. After a certain point, exhaustion settles and we consider defeat. We hurl questions, and receive no answers. So we bait some more. But the fish just aren't biting. They're too busy hanging out with their other fishie friends and doing stupid fishie things. So then we ask, "Why should I sugarcoat the fucking bait if the fish isn't even biting?!" Which translates to, why should I give this man the benefits of something he isn't ready to commit to. And then we recoil. A woman can be madly in love, deeply passionately in love, and still manage to alienate herself from that love. We are not an oasis, at some point we need to be replenished. The affection has to be returned because, as I said earlier, we are ruled by emotions - including those of men. Ladies, we are our own worst enemy.
Someone very dear to me said, "the more you show him you care, the more he'll be apt to show you [he cares]. Its not about who gives what." This is the statement that started my rant. It is the other side of the coin, the third party's opinion of a situation. She is so unbelievably right. It's the price tag on our actions that bites us in the ass. If you are in love, really truly in love, then the things that you do - the sweetness that composes you, the things he admires about you - should come naturally. We can't expect a man to return the emotional overflow because they aren't programmed in the same manner. They aren't even of the same species!! We KNOW this, we bitch and complain about this difference at least once a day. But suddenly, when things don't go our way, we get pissed and forget. We get mad and don't communicate. Man may have many talents, but ESP is definitely not one of them.
I don't really know what the point of my rambling is. I get on these tangents, as I am a very passionate gal, and then I get so involved with the expression that I forget the moral of the story. I guess my lesson would be this: when looking at a trout, it is obvious that the fish is nothing other than a trout. It isn't a carp, or a bass, or a catfish, or an orca whale. It's a trout. We can fillet it, saute it, bread and bake it but underneath all of the fluff, it's still a trout in gourmet clothing. Men: we can dress them, educate them, and show them the difference between Prada and Gucci, but underneath the bullshit, he is still just a man.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday's Food For Thought
In keeping to my word, the "I am going to post SOMEthing every few days", I am posting an excerpt from my current literary obsession, Lullabies For Little Criminals by Heather O'Neil. I am captivated by the language, and the dark wit threaded within each page. The story is heartbreaking, and empowering. The blatant honesty is seductive, and holds you prisoner until the very last page.
"It was necessary to have a black chalkboard to be able to see the words written on it in chalk. The stars are always up in the sky. You just can't see them during the day until the sky becomes dark. Then when it is perfectly black, they feel less vulnerable and out they come. To see the stars properly, you have to be out in the country where there are no streetlights or lights from apartment windows. When you stood outside the detention center, it was almost shocking how many stars were out there. This is where they were all sent to. So that nobody could see them but one another." -Lullabies For Little Criminals
"It was necessary to have a black chalkboard to be able to see the words written on it in chalk. The stars are always up in the sky. You just can't see them during the day until the sky becomes dark. Then when it is perfectly black, they feel less vulnerable and out they come. To see the stars properly, you have to be out in the country where there are no streetlights or lights from apartment windows. When you stood outside the detention center, it was almost shocking how many stars were out there. This is where they were all sent to. So that nobody could see them but one another." -Lullabies For Little Criminals
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Masterpiece
I pulled this piece from an older archive; I wrote it nearly two years ago. I love the concept behind the poetry. I love how the words blend together, and the portrait that comes alive. So, I repost here. Enjoy :]
She paints a picture for the world to see
her brush is a smile; bristles dripping with paints of
laughter, jokes, and half hearted sincerity.
Her colors run in a painterly fashion, no black
that outlines the shapes, the emotion, or the meaning.
Each color so artistically becomes the next -
creating an almost mosaic architecture of
simplicity and perfection.
But her hand is flawed.
Where her heart should be lies a recording
of precious perceptions, times, feelings.
Beneath layers of paint this canvas hides
her whispered cries for love.
Exhaustion has overcome her efforts -
optimism has come and gone -
and the scars of love have come and left
their days on her heart.
From the bottom of the well she scratches
at the walls that seduce her into solitude.
This paint stains granite and cobblestone
in an attempt to disguise her
ego. Her heart. And her pain.
Fear has allowed the seeds of despondence
to plant fields in her soul.
And as her brush strokes
she paints herself a smile, a laugh
and a hollow picture for the world to see.
She paints a picture for the world to see
her brush is a smile; bristles dripping with paints of
laughter, jokes, and half hearted sincerity.
Her colors run in a painterly fashion, no black
that outlines the shapes, the emotion, or the meaning.
Each color so artistically becomes the next -
creating an almost mosaic architecture of
simplicity and perfection.
But her hand is flawed.
Where her heart should be lies a recording
of precious perceptions, times, feelings.
Beneath layers of paint this canvas hides
her whispered cries for love.
Exhaustion has overcome her efforts -
optimism has come and gone -
and the scars of love have come and left
their days on her heart.
From the bottom of the well she scratches
at the walls that seduce her into solitude.
This paint stains granite and cobblestone
in an attempt to disguise her
ego. Her heart. And her pain.
Fear has allowed the seeds of despondence
to plant fields in her soul.
And as her brush strokes
she paints herself a smile, a laugh
and a hollow picture for the world to see.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
...and so it begins.
Cheers to turning the page. Cheers to blogging and the unknown road to self preservation and soul searching that it may bring to me. Cheers to the faux pas statements and utter bullshit comments that escape my lips - or in this case, fingers. I assemble this medley of creative thought with two goals in mind: a.) dominate the literary world with my free thinking ideas and b.) house all of my superfluous ideas together. Like milk and cookies - this is where gibberish births creative thought. Sometimes, I get so deep in my own bullshit, that even I forget whatever point it was that I was trying so desperately to make. I love to talk, I ramble. I am the broken faucet that over prolonged exposure will drive you to shove bamboo shoots into your nail beds. I have a talent; I am an expert at the manipulation of the English language. But in order to make the most of this gift I have to wade through all of the nonsense: in short, I blog.
Today has been mediocre at best - Wake up. Coffee. Meeting. Plot ways to make an exuberant amount of money while doing absolutely nothing at all. Pester my friends via text message. Argue with my mother. Coffee. And it is now only 3:15pm. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When did I allow my habits to become to trite? (disclaimer: I actually really love every aspect of my life, but sometimes it just feels really good to bitch and complain about absolutely nothing at all. It makes me feel accomplished) I know for a fact that I have an extensive bank of earth shattering ideas that have the great potential to win me a Pulitzer someday - however, I am easing into this suit and for the moment I am totally satisfied with getting my weirdness out there in the open. My blackberry currently houses all of my potentially fantastical ideas - I find inspiration in the most unconventional situations and being the phone whore that I am, the blackberry is my scribe. Slowly, these jems will be unveiled and I will find myself naked before my readership. (I really like the idea of a readership. It too, is fantastical) Writing puts me in my most vulnerable form. I will run the streets in my birthday suit, I will karaoke out of tune, and I will allow robust and completely incriminating phrases to escape my lips - but putting my thoughts into form, and then exposing said form to the public is extreme. And potentially scarring. I am sure that I reference this fear in almost every theoretical piece I have ever written - it is a legitimate concern of mine. Stand naked, with my opinions and beliefs, for an entire audience to critique? It leaves me shaking in my heels. So bear with me as I assuage this phobia, if nothing else I guarantee your entertainment;]
I am excited about this new venture, I am looking forward to the journey and possible outcome of sorting through my rubbish. Though I fear the vulnerability that I associate with public writing, I encourage commentary. The good, the bad, the ugly - I will accept any of the above. My goal is to put thought to print every few days as I am trying to fit structure into my randomness - I hope by doing so I become more productive and organized in my writing. For now, I close with this thought: "My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - came by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy." - Normal MacLean, A River Runs Through It. Cheers to that.
Today has been mediocre at best - Wake up. Coffee. Meeting. Plot ways to make an exuberant amount of money while doing absolutely nothing at all. Pester my friends via text message. Argue with my mother. Coffee. And it is now only 3:15pm. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When did I allow my habits to become to trite? (disclaimer: I actually really love every aspect of my life, but sometimes it just feels really good to bitch and complain about absolutely nothing at all. It makes me feel accomplished) I know for a fact that I have an extensive bank of earth shattering ideas that have the great potential to win me a Pulitzer someday - however, I am easing into this suit and for the moment I am totally satisfied with getting my weirdness out there in the open. My blackberry currently houses all of my potentially fantastical ideas - I find inspiration in the most unconventional situations and being the phone whore that I am, the blackberry is my scribe. Slowly, these jems will be unveiled and I will find myself naked before my readership. (I really like the idea of a readership. It too, is fantastical) Writing puts me in my most vulnerable form. I will run the streets in my birthday suit, I will karaoke out of tune, and I will allow robust and completely incriminating phrases to escape my lips - but putting my thoughts into form, and then exposing said form to the public is extreme. And potentially scarring. I am sure that I reference this fear in almost every theoretical piece I have ever written - it is a legitimate concern of mine. Stand naked, with my opinions and beliefs, for an entire audience to critique? It leaves me shaking in my heels. So bear with me as I assuage this phobia, if nothing else I guarantee your entertainment;]
I am excited about this new venture, I am looking forward to the journey and possible outcome of sorting through my rubbish. Though I fear the vulnerability that I associate with public writing, I encourage commentary. The good, the bad, the ugly - I will accept any of the above. My goal is to put thought to print every few days as I am trying to fit structure into my randomness - I hope by doing so I become more productive and organized in my writing. For now, I close with this thought: "My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - came by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy." - Normal MacLean, A River Runs Through It. Cheers to that.
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