resentment rides high but emotions won't grow

a snappy comment here.

a retort there.

empty spaces in between. of nothing. of everything.
and finally. you give me what i need.

"you just don't get me."
funny. the thing that seemed to bring us together, is now the thing that tears us apart.
"be good," i say.
and you. so calm.... "you be good."
"i plan on it."

and here it comes, the kicker.
"being is better than planning."
you. setting the moral standard of the day. you. turn me upside down and inside out.

you.

this is just what i needed. at the moment, i don't hate you. So, i apologize. "i know i sometimes acted like a child. and i'm sorry for it."

here, you go. "don't be. it's in the past."

the past. sooner forgotten than relived. But, luckily, you just gave me exactly what i needed.

Closure.

I feel right. i feel good. and i'm done with you.

just because....

"An old man said to his grandchildren, 'Inside everyone are two fighting wolves. One wolf is generous and kind, but the other is deceitful and unkind.' One of the children asked his grandfather, 'Which wolf will win?' The old man replied, 'The one you feed.'"
— Native American proverb

get out of my dreams. and into my head.

You have, methodically, unattached the upper part of my head and pulled my brain out. A bloody mess, a bloody mess.
You hold it inbetween your hands and you're staring at it. (flashback to Gone with the Wind when Rhett clutches his hands over Scarlett's head).
Hold it up in different angles to examine every area.
Even hold it above you to get a clear view of the bottom. The blood drips all over you. You barely notice.
Blue-red. Blue-red.
Drip, drip, drip.
Don't even blink.
I, brainless, lean over to wipe the blood off your face.
Soooooooo romantic.
I look up. Follow your gaze. Try to see exactly what you're looking at.
You look over. At me.
You smile.
I smile. Brainless.
I touch the outeredges of my unattached head.
Dig inside. Archaeologist.
Space.
Empty, bloody space.
Brainless.
Get out of my head.

hand in glove.

Regret.
I understand you. I’ve never shunned you. And I feel you. Within every fiber of my being, I feel you.
Tickling the back of my brain. Cringe inducing. Feel you at the back of my throat. Wishing I could time travel.
Time travel. What an interesting conundrum.
And yet. This isn’t one of those times. It’s not regret. It’s not remorse. It’s shooting yourself in the foot. It’s sticking your foot in your mouth. Deep. It’s not learning when you’ve said enough.
It’s self realization.
But it’s not regret.
And I have regretted. I know it’s sting. I know the feeling. And you’re not it.

dead

I'm watching her closely. I can't take my eyes off of her. Where i once saw someone somewhat unintelligent, i now see someone who has gone through things i may never understand. Hope to never understand. A deeper insight.
You can't judge a book by its cover.
And she breaks down and cries. Short blond hair hitting her hands. And curse me. All i can think about is you. Here today. Gone tomorrow. I'm so selfish. So consumed within myself. I'm a fool. And its usually easy to forgive myself.
She's so sad. I wallow. Send a smile her way. Sympathy. Empathy. Which is which? My guilt consumes me. I feel so stupid. Words escape me.
And i can't help it.
I just want to fuck you. Death. They say its an aphrodisiac. Makes you appreciate life. Sick fucks. And my guilt , it still consumes me. I don't want anything to be left unsaid. But you don't want to hear it. You block me out.
A casket. A grave. Death is always lurking. And it consumes me, because we're both very much alive. And there's no excuse for this. Words, exit stage left. Curtain closes. End scene.

my brain is a well oiled machine. that never forgets.

i have the cunning ability to make you forget me. (or rather, forgive me.) and in intervals, you do forget me. forget my existence. forget what I'm like.
but not for long. it never falters.
it takes a smile. a comment. and my existence comes back all too soon. it stings you in the most absurd of places, like under your foot. where it won't kill you. but it'll drive you nuts. and then. I'm back.
but not for long.
and i don't blame you. I'd want to forget me, too. But only momentarily.
you swat at me. telling me to go away. only before you completely forget me. you're asking for more.
me and you. we'll never learn. and we'll keep trying to forget.

good memory is a bitch.

regression.

As a woman, I should know better. I should know that I'm not the cure all to your problems. I should know that you'll always be you. And no matter how charming or funny or beautiful you may think i am... that won't change you.

As a girl, with what now seems to be a beating heart, I can't help but be illogical. To think that what we have is different. That what we have is DIFFERENT. And that you'll realize that I really am that charming. And that you won't be able to live without me.

As a woman. I think with my head.
As a girl. The heart is the center of thought.

I can't meet in between. I'm purely a girl right now.

A rant.

I've noticed lately that a lot of people around me are preoccupied with minuscule problems and too focused on themselves to notice what's really going on in the world. We all have problems. Every single one of us, but (I know it may sound corny) there is so much life to live and there is so much more to life than what we are facing, individually. There's a really big picture that we don't always see or care about.

If we could just stop and think outside of ourselves for a little bit, we would realize that there is so much beauty in life. In simple, everyday things. Simple things that are bigger than us and our problems.

There are people suffering real pain. Real gut wrenching pain. The kind of sadness that doesn't let you live, doesn't let you move, doesn't let you think things will ever get better. And sometimes we have these tiny problems, bumps in the road, that are nothing. We obsess and obsess. It's human nature, I know, and we all do it. I am glad for every tough experience I've ever gone through. I think it's made me strong and it's made me realize that worse things could always happen.

I was in the car with my friend the other day and a really sad topic came up. And it made me realize that we focus so much on negativity that sometimes it eats at us until it's all we see.

So, in essence, my rant is about people and their problems and the way it consumes them and how they don't see anything but themselves.

My cousin was diagnosed with cancer as a baby. She had to have her eye removed (I can't tell you exact terminology, science has never been my forte). She had a stay at the Ronald McDonald Children's House (which is a really wonderful organization). I would go visit her and I would also get to see some of the other kids. It was not an easy experience. Every time I would go visit I would end up in the bathroom crying (getting teary eyed thinking about it now). I slowly started to notice that while I was in the bathroom crying, these kids weren't shedding tears. These kids, with, for the most part, shortened life spans, were sitting around, playing, laughing and joking while I was in the bathroom crying, hiding from them so they wouldn't see me feeling bad for them.

I remember the pain my cousin went through during chemo.
I remember how sad my family was. I remember seeing sadness in my mother like i had never seen before.
I remember time going by so slowly and just hoping that from one day to the next day things wouldn't take a change for the worst.
My cousin is 13 now.

On a car ride with my friend the other day we started talking about what a monster cancer really is. It totally drains your body and your spirit. It consumes you and and those around you.
It's true sadness. It makes no room for pettiness.

My friend's uncle recently passed away from cancer. From what my friend tells me about him, I just know he was the kind of man that was full of life and passionate about it. Never missing a beat. Talented, smart and caring. She says he was not ready to die. He wanted to live.

...Which leads me to my point (because sometimes I ramble on and on). Life, good and bad, is ours for the living. We can be petty, childish, obsessive over things that in the large scope of things don't matter OR we can take the bad with the good.
We can focus or energy on other things. Positive things. And we can learn to be survivors.

Aurora Borealis

At night, on the beach, you look out into the ocean and you have no clue where the ocean meets the sky. Until you look at the lights on the boat and all of a sudden you see the line come into focus and you know exactly where everything meets.
Those damned boats.
And you say that if the boats are really bothering me you'll go into the ocean and get rid of them. A romantic gesture, close to impossible.
And we're perfect strangers but at the very moment you get me. And i get you. And i dig my heels into the sand. And i draw on the sand. Stupid pictures.
Those damned boats.
I notice that tonight the sky is clear and you can see the stars up above. I start to talk about Alaska and the Aurora Borealis.
You smile.
i ask you if you know what that is.
And you do. And then i smile. We're all smiles you and me. And everything would be perfect if it just wasn't for those damned boats with their damned lights ruining everything.

i want nothing.

and.it's.fucking.scary.

you pour yourself over me, like the sun through the blinds.

you want to throw up

you walk on the sidewalk. avoiding the cracks. you're a little ocd that way. you notice the writing on the walls. play with your hair. you think you really need a haircut. you feel the tips of your hair. they feel dry. split end-y. you shake your head. you smell the smell coming from the dumpster behind the italian restaurant. you scrunch your nose. you notice the man on the bike looking at you as you do that. you look away. you avoid eye contact at all costs. you see the little crossing man telling you to hurry so you can cross the street. you do a little jog. you see a man digging through the garbage. his hair was once dreaded but you notice that now it's all matted together to look like just two thick dreads. he's looking through the garbage. in the middle of broad daylight. you see him and you can't stop staring. you forget about the cracks on the sidewalk and your hair. you forget. he finds a starbucks cup. jackpot. he opens it and drinks from it. you seriously want to throw up. you hold it in. barely. you feel like gagging. you walk by him and he doesn't even notice. he's so happy about his starbucks. you wonder how long it's been in that garbage. you fight the urge to throw up. you walk to your car. put your monthly decal on the window and head back to your office. you catch up to him. he's walking in front of you. the air is not working in your favor. it's going against you and you're catching his stench. he occasionally stops and talks to himself. you realize you have no problems, except the urge to throw up.

easy vs. not easy

It's easy to sit around and do nothing and then talk poorly about someone who is doing something.
It's not easy to give credit where credit is due.
It's easy to sit around and complain but not be willing to do anything to fix your problems.
It's not easy to get up and do something you never thought you'd have to do.

It's not easy to acknowledge when people work hard for what they have.
It's easy to sum it all up to good luck.

Luck is shit.
Work hard. Don't let talent go to waste.

Sponsored, in part, by Electricity.

His eyes dart back and forward, only occasionally stopping at me.

I, on the other hand, can't stop looking at him.

I follow his eyes.

Electricity.

Conversation is better than with others, but I still manage to feel inadequate. Always smart, except now. Always witty, except now. Always funny, but not now.

I can't listen enough. Waiting for my moment to contribute.

Right now, though, I'm a head nodding robot.

Electricity.

He's eating away at his food. Never missing a beat.

I can barely touch my food. I fumble with it. Pulling it apart. Playing with my food. My mother would not be happy.

We speak of law school dreams. For obvious different reasons.

We are worlds apart. Sitting in the same Spanish restaurant across each other, but worlds apart.

Eyes still darting. I try to follow his eyes and end up with nothing.

I make a joke. he acknowledges it, but doesn't smile. Doesn't give me any credit. I give him too much credit.

I look around the room. I want to remember.

Everything.

I find a picture of Jesus. Sacred heart and all.

Point it out. (so clever I am)

"It was really hard for me to realize I don't believe in God," he says.

And i have so much to contribute, but I open my mouth and only manage silence.

He's staring at me. Big brown eyes.The floor is mine.

I ramble about mankind's need for faith. To know that after we die, we're still "something."

No air quotes, though.

Who wants to die and be nothing?

"I'll never be nothing. I'm electricity. I have a soul. Electricity is everywhere."

He's Electric.

Boogey woogey woogey.

Conversation feels so right.

Too right.

I feel it.

Electricity.

And he says, holding the door open, "A pleasure. Like always."

Bullshit.

V day=D day, simple mathematics

I've never been a Valentine's Day fanatic. For starters, I was the girl in high school that never got anything. Yeah, that was me. I hated looking at all the preppy girls with their little flowers and balloons. Wasn't to say I didn't have boyfriends, I think I've just always attracted guys that didn't think I'd value that kind of adoration.
(Or, you know, the kind of boyfriends that would spend their birthdays with their ex-girlfriends, get hickeys and then blame it on the vacuum cleaner. Yeah. Not even joking. But that's a completely different can of worms)
And I didn't. I've never really been into public displays of affection (probably because it interferes with my tough girl persona).
It has become increasingly apparent to me that I don't know much about relationships. I've been in long term relationships, practically married, really, and i still feel like I don't know shit.
HOWEVER, i do know one thing.
I know that in my last relationship I felt loved everyday. There wasn't a schedule of when I should feel loved, when i should get presents, when i should get flowers.
That being said, it is pretty obvious to me that the problem with Valentine's Day is not these cheesy couples trying to impress each other with tennis bracelets and expensive wallets. The problem is, and always has been, me.
I don't know how to deal with affection and I definitely don't know how to deal with love.
I think it's easier for me to pick a fight, to have my guard up and to turn that away because as warm and charming as love is, it's not really in my comfort zone. Sad? yes. Lonely? sure. Should I seek a shrink? More than likely.
Here's my thing.... if you are capable of receiving and giving love (and really, we all are, at least to a certain extent), do it everyday. And don't do it just to significant others, do it to strangers, to your parents and even those crazy bums in downtown that ask you for change and get mad when you don't have any.
Forget the mass hysteria of Valentine's day and show appreciation for the people you care about every day. Life is short. And you're only guaranteed death.

Tyler Durden says that sticking feathers up your butt doesn't make you a chicken.

And he's right.

a continuation of the earth may or may not be shifting.

I'm with Erika, I take a caveman any day of the week.

Clive Owen, call me.

the universe may or may not be shifting.

as of lately it seems that men have become quite sensitive. there seems to be some strange role reversal occurring where women are becoming more insensitive, and men, well, are crying a whole fucking lot about pretty much everything under the sun. i mean, i will listen and sympathize with my close friends, but it still feels very odd to have a dude cry for a really long time. what is even more odd is that i have become increasingly insensitive and i am really enjoying it. if i wanted to even so much as date someone half-seriously i would definitely need a MAN in every sense of the word. i mean sharing your feelings and emotions is fine but sometimes i just wanna tell them to MAN THE FUCK UP. thnx.

p.s. will the men come back to us please.

insomnia.

"For years now, I've wanted to fall asleep. The sort of slipping off, the giving up, the falling part of sleep. Now sleeping is the last thing I want to do."
Fight Club.
Chuck Palahniuk. (my hero)

How (not) to pick up a woman.

In taking a break from my adventures in dog-sitting, I decided to meet up with our darling little Erika over at the Vagabond for Shake.
Being that I am the early bird that never gets the worm, I made it there like at 10:30, at which poin there are like -10 people there. I walked in with the phone to my ear (thanks, Erika) to avoid any stares or to avoid looking like a total loner who goes to clubs alone (NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT). I sat down in one of the couches (although I did consider standing in the middle of the dance floor and looking super fly)(....).
When this very dapper young man comes up to me and asks me "Not to do that."
A little bit confused and a little bit taken aback by his obvious dislike for showering or deodorants, I managed to say, "huh? do what?"
He looked at me like I was from another planet and he said, "Just don't do that."
Now, I have no idea what I was doing but obviously it was very menacing. I mean this guy looked like he was really shaken up by whatever preposterous act I was committing.
I sit back down and in order to avoid any second form of communication with this fine, not at all creepy young man (SARCASM ALERT) and I pull out my phone and start to maniacally text. Anyone that knows me knows that I don't have a plethora of people to text mostly because I'm an obnoxious pain in the ass that people can't stand. So I text Erika. I'm begging for her to be my Jesus and save me.
There's only so much I can text so I put my phone down and (lucky me) there he comes again. He points at the couch I'm sitting on (I'm guessing asking if anybody is sitting there)(the couch is completely empty except for me). I look at him like I have just spotted an animal that is supposed to be extinct. I'm confused and a little scared. He sits down next to me and his lovely odor of 5 days no shower no deodorant hits me. Nice.
He sits down next to me and right away he looks annoyed with me. Probably because I was doing whatever it was he didn't want me to do.
He asks me where I'm from.
"Miami." I'm trying my hardest not to breathe through my nose.
He rolls his eyes and looks annoyed. "Right, but your family?"
"Cuban".
He shakes his head. He looks REALLY annoyed.
"So what do you do?"
I hate explaining what i do. Hate it. Especially in a noisy club.
"Office Manager." I have perfected the two words or less answer.
He rolls his eyes. Again.
Starts moving his hands in a really weird way. I'm starting to think he's escaped a mental institution.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
I can't even lie at this point. "No."
"Do you want a drink?"
"I don't drink." Still trying not to breathe through my nose. He looks at me like I'm a scumbag. He looks away.
I'm a little scared for my life. I have the feeling he's going to follow me home and kill me. And not in a sexy way.
In a really scary, creepy way.
He pulls out a carton of cigarettes and asks me if I want one. "No."
I'm actually thankful for the cigarette smoking hovering all over me because it kinda/sorta eliminates the stench exuding from his arm pitts.
Kinda/sorta but not really.
He starts to mumble.
"Mumble, mumble,mumble, yadda. yadda, yadda."
In an attempt to stop his pointless mumbling I ask him what he does.
He looks at me all cool and says, "I don't have a job."
Nice.
(Men, seriously, if you meet a girl at a club and you're trying to sleep with her/date her/chop her up/pimp her out/sell her body parts in order to get medicine for your momma do NOT ever tell her that you don't have a job. Freelance writer works just fine.)
I'm pretty sure at this point this guy collects SSI or SSA (i forget which is the one that the crazies get).
Excellent news.
I ask him, "How old are you?"
He says,"31, like it's none of my business and rolls his eyes. AGAIN. (I am not kidding)
He looks like he's had enough of my conversation. He says, "It was nice meeting you," shakes my hand for what seems to be an eternity and tells me his name is Craig or Greg or something that rhymes with Egg.
A couple of minutes later Erika comes in and I give her a recap of my prince charming on the white horse with B.O.
I point him out and she says, "I love that his pants are really far up his ass."

In the spirit of sadness.

“There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.”
-Carl Gustav Jung

I feel comfortable being sad. Because as long as I'm sad, I'm feeling. As long as I'm sad, I know it won't take much to make me happy again. And that gets me through those periods of time when all I want to do is lay in bed and mope. And think about things I can't change.
But, still, I feel alive, and I know that, eventually, the feeling will subside and I'll want it back again.
Because sadness,no matter how lonely, how ugly, how miserable, is what keeps me going.
It's what keeps me wanting to write. It's what makes me want to do better.
So i think sometimes I inflict it on myself. On purpose.
Masochist.
Hedonist.
I need sadness.
Because you don't really miss it when it's gone,but you feel it so hard when it comes.
Because it's always there. Even when you don't think it is.
So this is my thank you note for it. Don't ever be gone for too long.
xoxoxoxo.

this gets me every time.

Seeing as how I am not the biggest fan of the Beatles, I journeyed into Across the Universe half-heartedly. I ended up falling madly in love with this film, particularly this scene.

Every time I see the dog tag drop it makes me incredibly sad. Easily the saddest part of the film (at least in my mind).

And the little boy's voice is amazing.

once i thought..

maybe i'm god's idea of a fat joke. then i remembered god and i weren't really down.

you're not as metallic as you think.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
-Robert Frost

*You're not as arrogant as I'd like for you to be. You're also not as easy as I'd like for you to be. You're none of the things I'd like for you to be. But still, you never disappoint.

Fizzle, fizzle. Dull.

fuck ups that fuck up.

so you think you've got your shit together...but, not so much. you pretend you have your shit together which makes you believe you have your shit together. thats more like it. you talk to other people about things and get this sort of friendly reassurance that you've worked hard, you still work hard and you've done better than most..but that confident relief is only momentary. it feels like trying to swim with weights around your ankles. you're in that final stretch. you just want it to be over with. you want to move on, move elsewhere. be alone, start over. i'm almost fucking there. fuck friendly reassurances.

what happens when you stop giving a fuck? is that bad? i think it's pretty fuckin stellar.

no one is ever completely satisfied with anything you do. why are THEY so important?

for the most part, i do what i want and it feels just fine. but when the thoughts catch up, it becomes a downward spiral. so i drink and party and fuck and repeat. i enjoy it. i don't really feel or care. it's perfect for now.

what i really can't wait for is...for it to be over. to really, truly move the fuck on.

for now, i'm a fuck up that just keeps fucking up. fuck yea!

Alice in Fucking Hell-Land.

You don't know how this is happening, but you've agreed to help someone rob a house.
Not a house really, but a rinky dink apartment that this person assures you has tons of jewelry inside that you can sell for big bucks. You can get that damned Prada bag you can't stop thinking about. Prada bag? You have credit card bills. A new home to look for, to furnish, but fuck it.
So you agree, and you look over at this person and you realize you know them, but really, you don't. You see a face, but not so much. You have their name on the tip of your tongue, but yeah, you don't.
Why are you doing this again?
Somehow, really you don't remember how, you make it in to the apartment and you grab some junk. Expensive looking junk, but really you can't tell the difference between real and fake. Especially not now. You hear someone coming into the apartment so you make your way into a bathroom with this person.
Your natural instinct is to turn off the light, but this person says,"That's too obvious. Leave the light on."
Too obvious?
You fight of your natural instinct and go along with the person.
You hear the person that has made their way into the apartment talking. For hours and hours and hours (or maybe it just seems that way) you're in this bathroom with the light on... no conversation, just empty stares at some person that you know but you don't know. Makes no sense. And you want to turn that light off, but it's too late now to turn any light off. Too late to make any moves. Too late to even wonder why you're doing this.
You hear them leave the house so you realize that it's now your time to leave.
And you don't even care about that bag anymore. Or your bills. Or your furniture. You just want out. You want to pretend this never ever happened.
So you leave.
And as you're walking, actually speed walking, to the car, you start to notice this apartment building looks so fucking familiar. You start to drop all the crap you just took and you don't even care.
You just want to get into that car and get home. Forget about this.
So you get in the car, and suddenly there's a third person in your party.
Some guy in the backseat. You definitely don't know him.
Your thief of a friend starts to drive and doesn't say a word. You stop at a red light.
You see a man selling flowers and you know something is wrong. Something is wrong with this man selling flowers and you want to say something but you don't.
Again, you avoid your instinct.
And the man, the one selling the flowers, comes up to the car, pulls some kind of a hammer out of the flowers and blows the hammer straight at the drivers mouth. You hear teeth breaking.
You scream.
The guy in the backseat is looking at you and you're looking at him, when all of a sudden you see the hammer hit the side of his head.
You look at the guy with the flowers. He smiles. Walks away. You're safe.
You wake up.
And you wonder how you're supposed to deal with nightmares when you're alone.
And you realize it doesn't matter.
You'll deal with it. You'll get over it.
And you realize that following your instincts is always the best way to go.
Because even when they're wrong, they're yours.
And the best person to be angry at is always yourself. Because you're easier to forgive than anybody else.