To the one who means the whole world to me...

I'll never know why I didn't tell you...why I let it continue, why I didn't question what was going on around me.
I could have stopped it, I just didn't want to see the truth.
And when it was all over, I just didn't want to talk about it anymore.
Didn't want to bring it up.
Didn't want to make you angry.
Wanted things to be normal for once.

There were other things.
Other things to cry about, I didn't want one more.


Now you know, and I'm glad.
But I'm still so sorry.

Not That Lucky

*written years ago, remarkably like something that just happened a few weeks ago. life is very cyclical, no?*

"It never tastes the same anywhere else...you know?" Shiloh mused as she stared at her Big Mac. "You know?"
"Yeah...of course."
I would have done anything to get away from her at that moment. She was obviously "toasted" and was laying on the couch in her underwear dropping sesame seeds onto my jacket.
"Billy..."
"Will be here soon. He just went to run a few errands." she said, somewhat gruffly,face full of half chewed beef and sesame seed bun. It was like this every time...I would come by for the stuff, Billy wouldn't be there and Shiloh would be lonely. I'd feel bad, come in and sit while she yammered on about things that I didn't care about, and people I didn't know...and I always wondered to myself: what kind of grown man has a name like Billy? So many thoughts were running through my head as I looked around the familiar apartment. It was almost as if I spent more time there than at my own place, they still had that disgusting wall clock from the seventies that mom had given Shiloh when she married Mark Gray.
Whatever happened to Mark Gray? And how did my sister, who I always thought was alot smarter than me, end up shacking up with someone like Billy? What kind of name is Billy? When is he going to get here?
I looked up from my shoes and tilted my head towards my sister.
How long had I been out? Had I been out, or just not paying attention? She was still talking...talking to me.
"...and then Kelly and Steven got married but only because Kelly was," she patted her stomach lightly, as if she too had something growing inside "you know."
"Yeah well..." I started, feigning interest "that happens sometimes."
The rattle of keys in the door was my saving grace. I wouldn't be there much longer...and I was glad. Shiloh is my sister, and I love her to death, but that apartment creeped me out like nothing else. I guess when you know too much and aren't able to tell anyone else, the paranoia just creeps up on you.
"Hey Shi...how about a little..."
She giggled. "Shut up you pig, Denise is here."
I hated him...more than I hated the apartment, and every time I went crawling back I made myself sick. Why couldn't Billy just tell me that I was wasting my life, in over my head, in need of some help or some other shit like that...coming from the dealer himself it might mean alot more. Even though he was never there there when I came shuffling in for another fix, she was...that's what made me stay long enough to make a mistake. What if I showed up...and he wasn't there, and he never came back? Would I be alright then? It didn't matter, he always came back. He was always ready to make a sale.
I bought alot that day, more than usual, and managed to swallow all of them before I had the chance to chicken out. I can't really say what made me do it...no real reason other than the fact that I was just so tired of using and didn't have time for rehab or detox. I didn't want to be found in the kitchen...I didn't want them thinking I choked on a ham sandwich or something...so I got up from the table and made my way to my bedroom. I made it halfway down the hallway before I started to feel "the effects". A couple seconds later I fell...right on the cat. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was her biting and clawing at me, trying to get out from under my seemingly immovable arm. Footsteps...Grady...darkness.
I woke up, sometime later...could have been days later. I still have no idea. I was so upset that I woke up. Why can't it just be over? In my shower, wearing the clothes I had worn to Shiloh's...
Grady was sitting next to the tub with a horrified look on his face that I had never seen before. I felt a little guilty because I knew I had put it there...but it's not like I planned for him to find me.
"Denise..."
"What?" I gurgled, rolling over like a seal pup. "Turn off that water."
He obliged, and grabbed my arm in an attempt to drag me out of the freezing water.
"Leave me alone."
" You're about to get sick," he insisted.
"Don't you think I'd know if I were about to get sick?"
He pulled me up and positioned me just in time for my biggest mistake to be purged.
" Good God Denise...you could have died, what the fuck is the matter with you?" he cried desperately, holding onto me like he thought I might get up and run.
Yeah, I could have died...but I'm not that lucky.

crunch

a little brown leaf came rushing
flying an invisible plane
kamikaze branch separation anxiety notwithstanding
it flew as fast as it could and crashed
with a light crunchy whisper
on the pavement


all it's comrades will be under my feet in a month
leaving the trees naked as the bluejays that live in them

missing the cashew

hi.

my name's meg.
and believe it or not, i have some friends.

some of those friends don't have kids yet.
but some of them do.
and i'm really happy for them.

but everytime i see baby pictures of other people's kids it makes me want to puke.
not because the babies are ugly...
i've only seen one ugly baby in my life and that was my brother when he was a newborn.

wooo...he was red, bowlegged, and looked like an 80 year old. not a pretty sight.

but i digress.

it makes me want to puke because i am supposed to have a baby in 7 or so months.
but that's not going to happen because there is no baby anymore.
you know...they say that miscarriages are really common but i find that hard to believe.
this pain i'm feeling, it's something that could only happen to me.
i feel it so completely with my entire body and being that it's hard to believe that anyone
else has ever felt it, or that it's ever going to go away.


but they promise me it's going to go away with time.
i'll never forget it but i'll get some closure, get some peace.
and when i'm ready, and with only moderate medical intervention, i'll be able to get pregnant again.
carry to term.
give birth to a healthy baby.

all of those things i could be doing much sooner if...
well...
if she were still there.
in the womb.
growing. developing. turning into something more than a cashew.
waiting to be born.
waiting to grow up and be a smartass like her parents.

but she's not.
she doesn't exist.
the little cashew that i was sure i was going to be able to love and protect and take care of doesn't exist.
all the plans i made for her, for me, for us...
null and void.
they count for nothing.
they're never going to happen.

i'm trying to come to terms with that. i'm trying to set the idea somewhere outside of my mind and somewhere more managable.
somewhere that doesn't make me cry every hour on the hour, or every five minutes if there happens to be babies anywhere in
my vacinity.
but it's just so hard.

Denny loves America

Recently, something good happened to me.
I met Denny.

Denny is a 30-something Vietnamese man with cerebral palsy who owns an oriental grocery store a block away from my house. Incidentally, his shop is the only one on the block that has unprotected WiFi. Of course this means I mooch off of him on a daily basis.

"Denny," I said, when I finally learned his name. "Why don't you put a password in so no goods like me won't steal your WiFi?"

He looked at me, with a very peaceful look on his face.

"Because, this is America...and I love America. If I were still in Vietnam, I would be an outcast because of my disability. I would have nothing, be nothing. People say this is a free country and that is the most true thing I've ever heard in my life. I'm contributing to the spirit of America when I share my internet with you."

And then, the biggest smile I had ever seen turned up on his face.

"Besides," he added "if I didn't...how would you check your Myspace?"



I want to be like Denny when I grow up.

walking the walk, unlocking locks

being lazy and loving food don't go well together, as my increase in dress size has shown me recently. so, i've been taking long walks around my neighborhood whether i want to or not, and believe me i'm leaning more towards not.

it's an ordeal though.
i have to load my mp3 player with songs that i won't get bored of, and then i actually have to leave my computer and haul my fat ass outside. this step alone could take almost an hour. song selection is important you guys!

then, i have to make it down my driveway. doesn't seem like a big deal right? well, considering the fact that i live in the country where leash laws don't apply and everyone and their mom has a farm dog or seven, it's actually the most nerve wracking element of the walks. i KNOW the dogs aren't going to bite me. logic tells me most of them are old and would only advance on me if i were wielding a machete threatening to kill their owners...but i still break out in a cold sweat everytime one of them follows me down the path. i just know they're going to go all Cujo on my ass and rip me to bits.
of course, they don't.

so once i'm down the drive i have two options: keep going or bone out. as scary as those dogs are the thought of exercising really puts me in a mood. i want to be healthy and a little bit smaller but DAMN it's hot out, too many bugs, i'm wearing the wrong shoes, what if i get kidnapped while i'm out there etc etc.
oh yes, i have the best excuses for not going on my walks.

but for some reason i'm able to muster up enough whatever it is and actually do some walking. as i plod along the dirt and gravel paths that make up this neighborhood, swatting kamikaze flies and mosquitos away from my mouth so i don't end up eating them, i pray.
not for peace on earth, good will towards man, sadly.
no, i pray for autopilot.

that mental space i get into after a certain point where i can't hear anything but my music and footsteps, can't tell that i'm sweating, don't notice that my feet are killing me, can't see anything but the path in front of me and the goal i set in my head.

sometimes i wonder if i should turn off the autopilot, if i should suffer through the pain and discomfort like the good little masochist that i am. but then...i realize how good i feel when i'm done. how...new i feel. like i can achieve something, like i DID achieve something. i may have cheated a bit but placing myself in a nearly mechanical state of mind, but i got it done. i figured out the trick.

figuring out just what it takes to get me there, get me anywhere, is amazing. i feel alot like i discovered myself, like i found they key and unlocked the secret of my own mind.
or maybe it's just the adrenaline talking.

the problem with my legacy

see, the problem i have is that you have to die in order to leave behind a legacy.
the legacy, i'm fine with. people saying or writing nice things about my great accomplishments
is right up my alley. it's the dying that i'm not quite cool with just yet.

sure, everyone has to do it i guess.
i mean, die. everyone has to. i know a few people who have.
some knew it in advance. only one was pissed. i'm gonna be like that guy.


his problem was, i think, that he hadn't done anything yet. nothing particularly notable.
he was married, had two grown sons and had retired not long before learning of his impending
doom.
many people will argue that he had done exactly what he was put on earth to do...marry,
have children, raise said children into adulthood and then, apparently, croak over and die.
and right after his retirement! what a gyp right?
i didn't know him very well so i didn't know his entire life plan but when he died i couldn't
help but wonder if he had done ANY of the things he set out to do. what were the things he didn't
do? did he have a list?


it reminds of me that question that they always have in those stupid myspace surveys, or those
little games you play at cocktail parties that are meant to be fun but in fact are actually
quite morbid. you know those ones. the if you had to lose a limb which would you pick?
if you were on a sinking ship and could only save one of your children which would you let
drown? if you were going to die in a week what would you do/where would you go/who would you bang?
games.
holy mother i hate those.
i never know what to say. i always want to say "i know what i wouldn't do...i wouldn't waste my last
week of life going to stupid cocktail parties that's for damn sure" but i never do because i'm not
that brave.

*sidebar
did you know, that one time i was at a party and we played this game, and one of the women said that
she would spend her last week of life volunteering at an animal shelter. she shouted the question out
to her friend who was in the kitchen making a drink, and the friend shouted back "screw that shit, i'd
spend all week vag deep in a box of vibrators!"
true story.


and then i think of the ones who didn't really have the luxury of knowing in advance that they were
about to shuffle off their mortal coil. luxury...can you even call it that?
the ones that didn't expect it, well...i can't speculate. despite what i may have lead you to
believe in the past i'm not psychic. but i can tell you, had they known exactly where when
and how they would have had some beef with it. i can't imagine anyone being totally comfortable
with the fact that they were going to die. there is no reference point. all the people you know
who have died are still dead. i mean, it's not like a tattoo or something. it's not like you can ask
them if it hurt or not.


i guess what i'm trying to say is...
i have no idea what i'm trying to say.
all i know is that i think about death too often and it freaks me out everytime.

when it comes down to it, i just want to take off my bra

i'm having those weird body issue problems again. it seems the closer i am to leaving the more i get pushed over the edge emotionally. i'm so stressed out about every little thing, i don't want this trip to be a mistake. i want to go there and STAY there, not have to run home with my tail between my legs.

but when it comes down to it, all i really want to do right now is just take off my bra.

i was watching ANTM and i'm pretty sure none of the models were wearing bras, but being that they were all little and had tiny boobs, none of them really required a bra and that pisses me off.
i think of how much i'd love to just strut around in a tank top, no bra, no nothing. but my boobs are too big, too saggy too...awful. i would never want to inflict them on the world.

but it's all i can think about.
i just want to take off my bra, take off my shirt, pants, underwear and just run free and naked thorugh the world and not give a shit. but i always give a shit. too much of one, and that's why i'm wearing a push up bra. on a sunday. sitting at home. by myself.

maybe i just need someone to take my bra off for me?

insomniatic smatterings part one

you said you wanted to know what went on in my head...
i didn't mean to laugh so loud, it's just that i know you're too sane to actually want that information.
it's not one of those "if i told you i'd have to kill you" sort of things, more like "if i told you, you'd want to kill yourself".
please, not on my sofa...i just had it steamed.
oh goodness no...not against my wall. that's a faux finish! took me at least five minutes to finish which is longer than my attention span.

what were we talking about?
oh right...my mind.
well honestly i think my seeds are rotten.
yes, seeds. the seeds of my mind.
plant the seeds and watch them grow.

seeds? or was it wings.
plant the seeds.
grow the wings.
seeds.
wings.
wing seeds.
plant the seeds of thought and watch your dreams grow wings and fly.

but that's not what this is about kid.
this is about how i can't sleep.

this is about how the news isn't news and probably isn't even true. walter kronkite my ass...isn't he dead?
paris hilton is newsworthy i suppose, just for the simple fact that i've never seen a bigger skank in my life. that's guiness book material my friend!

did you know she has big feet?
she should use that talent.
bigfootparisstompseggs.com
no that's not already a registered domain, you pervert!

look, i'm not usually belligerent but you have to understand. this is my last chance at stardom kid. this blog...well...it's all i got.
i gave up the stage because i didn't belong on it.
hung up my paintbrush because i saw an elephant on pbs that could paint a better portrait than i could.
i wasn't made for the talkies...my voice is too husky. like a man, but with boobies and other various girl parts.

oh woe is me, it's not easy being insane.
you'll learn.
i'll teach you.

now go eat some wing seeds and get out of my face.

my fingers wrote this and my mind just went along for the ride...

Hemingway

i feel like every little bit of me
is falling out of linty pockets
pennies from hell, brimstone rockets
screaming out loud
reddish coppery brown
in your hot little hands

all i wanted was a clean well lighted place
but just like Papa i shot off my face
to spite my mouth
to spite myself
and maybe you too...you sonofabitch.

rust

the drive was brief and dark with the occasional street light blinking furiously as if to justify it's existance. when we arrived, the bridge lay stretched wide and empty in front of us.
empty. not one other car anywhere near the bridge, and as far as i could see there was no one on the other side either.
i remember running on that bridge, away from the fights and the screaming and the hitting. tripping every few steps on my clumsy, scared feet. trying to get away from here, from them, forever.
from my first time seeing that bridge again, in all it's quiet and rusty majesty, i knew i couldn't stay here much longer.
that bridge represented everythig i had always loved, hated and didn't understand about the town itself. it was old and rickety, but no repairs had been made since the 1950's. no one usually crossed it since the newer bridge was built a few blocks down the river, but no one closed the old one or tore it down. it served no purpose other than to usher those few who had never heard of the town's emptiness into their own little oblivion.
almost ten years ago we left this place but i never really forgot it. i wanted to believe that some day i could move back into the simple life, and be happy living in the country with a house full of children and a yard full of dogs. but somewhere, somehow in those ten years i grew out of the simple life and began dreaming big dreams.
i can't be as fabulous as i want to be in a town without a theatre, a cabaret, or even a pub.
why i chose the "showbiz" life, i will never be able to explain.
all i know is that ten years didn't take the painful memories out of this town, or out of my heart, and i shouldn't have to hurt anymore.
so i cross that bridge, now that i've come to it.

the all encompassing pessimism and morbidity of human kind -- or -- a catchy little ditty about death and stuff

on the way home from bc today, i started thinking about life.
pretty sure it was the last time i'd ever set foot on that campus, and things didn't end well. just like they technically didn't begin well (i wanted to go to cal state instead, since it was closer, and have probably been holding a grudge against bc since last spring) but i guess that's all in the past now.

i was thinking...
maybe that was what i wanted all along.
to be right about things turning out badly.
there are alot of things i've been pessimistic about, i suppose.

but i think we're all like that, in a way.
we all want to hear gossip, tragedy. it's why we watch the news. they never tell us anything good and yet everyday at five, six, seven, eight and eleven we're sitting in front of the television just dying to see who has kicked the bucket and whether or not there was a murder on our side of town that day.


it wasn't a very long trip. and i didn't want to dwell on things, so i started thinking about how cool it would be to have a giant cupcake shaped like a bear. (don't ask)


when i got home, i went back to packing and watching human giant.
at dinner in the living room with my grandpa, we were switching in between cspan and the history channel before we finally stopped on a program about world war two. he seemed excited to see it, which made me think...again.

we view history the same as we view the present and future.
we mentally (and sometimes officially) label decades and eras by what wars occurred in them.
we want to know all about the wars, the plagues, the uprisings.

do we ever think of the people who fought the wars?
or died in the plagues...and better yet, the ones that survived?
or risked their lives in order to rise up against an unsatisfactory political regime, trying to make a better lives for themselves, their families, and their countries.

no.
but we sure as hell want to know how a guillotine works, and whether or not the victim of one would be able to see their own body as their head rolled around on the ground.





or maybe that's just me being morbid.

"you're so nick drake right now"

someone said this to me, in a dream last night.
who it was that said it, i forget. probably no one i actually know.
probably one of those people you meet in dreams that are there to lead you somewhere that no real person could.
i don't know if this realization makes me feel any better about my life, seeing as how nick drake killed himself at the age of 26...
but i suppose anything you retain after waking up must be something worth remembering, for whatever reason.


the rest of my day has not been filled with similar revelations. makes me wonder if i should just go back to sleep.
today is just one of those days where i think i want to feel everything i should have felt in the last month or so but didn't let myself.
everything is gaining this eerie finality...
people are talking about when i'm leaving and when i'm coming back.

when i say i'm not planning on coming back for any extended period of time, they laugh. they don't believe me.
it's like they don't trust me to make a decision and stick with it. it's like they don't trust me to live my own life.

i can't even get angry.
i'm just so tired, confused, contemplative, distant.
or at least i want to be.
i could be all those things if i wasn't so numb.

i'm trying to enjoy my friends before i leave but really all i want to do is curl up and sleep.
trying not to worry so much about how things are going to turn out and whether or not the decision i made is right.
i don't want to be wrong about this, for a lot of reasons.
this is a very expensive, potentially very emotionally taxing mistake to make if it is indeed a mistake.


but i am worried. as much as i say i'm not, i definitely am.
a part of me thinks i'm fleeing this place when i should be picking myself up by my boot straps and carrying forward, no
matter what being said or done against me.
but another part of me thinks that if you're unhappy, you should go great lengths to make everything better....
because if there is one thing i've learned, time and again, it is that sadness can be very dangerous.



i shouldn't have to keep feeling this way.
i deserve so much more that settling for an existance that i've always been uncomfortable with.
i deserve to be happy and to laugh again...with my entire body, my entire self, my entire soul.


i have tried to feel all day, but all i get is a brain full of words that i'm not sure i connect with.
maybe i'll get some good songs out of this.

i'm going to...

believe in myself, even if i'm wrong.



i feel better now.

one day at a time...thankfully sans mackenzie phillips

i have noticed that i feel a little better about life every day. one day at a time...who knew?

i booked my flight this afternoon, and as soon as i clicked "submit" it felt like a two ton weight was lifted off my shoulders. i'm really going. REALLY. i couldn't turn back now even if i wanted to...unless i could immediately pay my grandparents back for the $200 they ended up spending on my tickets which...hi, college student. no way in hell!

sometimes, i have to do this to myself. burn bridges so i can't cross back to where i've already been. it's not such a good idea to do that with people, but i have no problems doing it with locations/situations.
i guess you could say i didn't fully think out this plan, but you know what? like i said before, i can't back down. i have to man up and take whatever consequences come with my decision.
MY decision. that feels really good to say.

i'm moving.
and for once, i'm the one that gets to decide the when, where and how.
it's not because my stepdad lost his job and couldn't afford our rent. it's not because of any of the reasons there were before.
it's because i wanted to change my life, and finally had the guts/balls/brains to do it.

i'm so immensely proud of myself right now.
i love the world and everything feels so good.
and the best part of it is that i know it's gonna feel better tomorrow.
and the next day.
and the next.

it's not vanity, it's reality

in my quest to be more selfish, i 've been thinking alot about myself.
and i came to realize that my body is always at the forefront of my mind.

i never quite feel satisfied with the way i look, how much i weigh, etc.
maybe if i fixed my body, i would feel better.
from the outside, seeping into the inside.

i know that's not how things are supposed to work, but whether i like it or not
i wil never feel one hundred percent until i lose some weight.


my goal is not to weigh 80 pounds or anything drastic.
if i could just get back to 150 i would feel so much better.
i would look the way i want to. not the way anyone else wants me to.

it's not like i'm huge or anything.
unless you classify weighing over 150 as huge, and then, i'm gigantic.
and by alot of people's standards, i'm fairly attractive.
not supermodelly, but pretty.
and (this may sound vain but...) i agree with them.
i have a nice face.
it's just my body i'm worried about.
and no matter how many times people say that
"oh i love curves"
or
"more cushion for the pushin'"
or whatever they say
i know i won't be happy until i reach a weight and look that is suitable
for me, and my own tastes.

and that's not vanity, it's reality.
MY reality.

you're a queen, sister

since wednesday, i've been going to therapy.
i know it's only saturday but seriously, i've gone everyday. for two hours.

just talking.
me and my therapist.

my zaftig, Nubian Princess-esque therapist.



our first meeting, i was sitting in the chair tired, dazed and confused.
i always thought it would be easy for me, to just sit there and talk about myself
since that is what i've always wanted to do but instead, i sat there. saying nothing.

so we started with writing.


"write what you feel"


she gave me a pen. so i wrote. and wrote. and kept writing.
i ran out of paper.


she stopped me, and read what i wrote.
as she was reading her eyebrow raised considerably and for whatever reason, i felt like i had
done something wrong. i must have turned red and radiated heat in her direction, because she lifted a
hand to silence me before i had said anything.


"it's good."

i didn't say anything. still silent.
maybe i shouldn't? maybe i could just keep coming here, and listen to her soothing voice and have her
heal me without having to help her.
sit and be healed.

things don't work that way, as it turns out.



"now you need to say it" she said.

"i can't"

"you can't talk? you just did!"



so i muttered, stammered, contradicted, lied, apologized for lying, double talked, looped, weeped, yelled, paced, cussed, smoked and finally...
finally...
after two hours, she said
"there is something i want you to know, young lady"

i stood silent, again feeling like i had done something wrong.

"you're a queen, sister"
and then
"maybe you're too young to be a queen. how does princess sound to you?"

i asked, laughing
"can i be a queen like you when i grow up?"

and she said
"you can be whatever you want to be, whenever you want to be. didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

i shook my head no. they hadn't. no one had.


"well...now you know."

Alec Baldwin and I should have babies

Today I was in the living room watching TV, when my grandma came in hemming and hawing about something or other. Usually I don't ask but she was being so vocal about it that it was getting on my nerves.

"What exactly is your problem?" I inquired.

She put her hand on her hip and said "I'm so over this Alec Baldwin thing. What did he say that was so bad?"

And for the first time ever in my life, I agreed with her.

Maybe it's just the way I was raised, but the whole "tirade" seemed pretty tame to me. It's not like he threatened to beat the shit out of the kid, all he said was that she needed to be straightened out.
In my experience, this is true for alot of kids...I can only imagine how it would be for a kid going through the drama of having Kim Basinger and Alec Baldwin as parents. Poor kid probably never has peace and quiet BUT that's not an excuse to act out.

When I was living with my mom, brother and stepdad in a one room apartment with hardly any food you bet your ass I wanted to lip off, lash out, and just generally tear everything and everyone to bits.
But did i? No.
Why?
Because I would have gotten my ass handed to me, that's why.

Sometimes I think that spanking and speaking harshly to your children isn't such a good thing, but you have to prepare them for what they are going to encounter in the real world.
Yes, that's where we live people. The real world. This isn't Candyland and there aren't unicorns prancing around my apartment as I type this.

Kids these days, have a sense of entitlement that is, in my opinion, disgusting. They expect things to be handed to them. They expect to be rewarded whether their behavior warrants a reward or not.
Maybe if more people took an old school approach to raising their kids, we wouldn't have so many foul mouthed, rude little punks running around making life miserable for everyone around them, including their parents.
There are things called discipline and respect. Better to learn it sooner than later.


Moral of the story:
You go boy! *three snaps in z formation
You show that daughter of yours what a good old fashioned Irish/Catholic upbringing is all about!



And before you say anything...no I do not advocate beating your kids. Spanking and beating are two different things. Don't even get me started on that!

Hi, my best friend is moving and it's making me feel like I'm ten.

My best friend is moving in a month or so and I am terrified that I won't be able to function without him. I'm terrified of being alone. This is like fourth grade all over again.

Before I go any further, let me graph this out for you:
He is moving to Georgia, which is literally ALL THE WAY on the other freakin' side of the country. Without me. I tried to talk him into taking me because I'm a pretty good tag along, but it's just one of those things he has to do by himself. A rite of passage. Blah blah bah. It's a man thing I guess, because I can't imagine going all that way by myself...just me and my stuff in a car.
He tells me this, and I am fine. Pissed that I have to stay in Bakersfield but generally understanding the choice he made since I know how he is. Trust me, I know all about those "I don't know why I have to do it that way but I just HAVE to" things. I definitely understand.

What I don't understand, however, is why I felt the need to go into the dramatics of "I'll never see you again! You hate me don't you? You're just trying to get rid of me! You can't claim the entire state of Georgia...I will move there if I want to!!!"
How could I say all that out loud when I know that's not what I was thinking? How could I accuse him of hating me when I know how close we are? And without crying? I swear I don't know myself sometimes.

Being the person that he is though, he was ready for it and assured me he didn't hate me, in fact he's quite fond of me and he hopes I DO at some point move to Georgia so we can hang out like we do now.

And then he said:
"I guess we're just very different kinds of people. You're emotional and needy, and I'm emotionally retarded."

THAT'S when I started crying.
"HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?! I'M NOT NEEDY, I JUST DON'T LIKE BEING BY MYSELF EVER AND I NEED YOU TO STAY HERE SO I DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE!"

Truth hurt much?

It's not entirely untrue, in fact, it's not untrue at all. I think that as it applies to our relationship I absolutely am annoyingly needy.
As sick as it sounds, considering the fact that I have sex with this friend on a regular basis, at times I see him as a father figure, and catch myself over-reaching for his approval.
In fact, today (his first day back after being gone for two weeks) I probably uttered the phrase "aren't you proud of me?" like, fifty times.

He was.
And that is why he's my best friend.
He deserves sainthood for putting up with my shit for the past however many months we've known each other.

I'm gonna miss that fucker...
and he better have his shit together when I get there so I can crash on his couch!

la commedia est finita?

A couple of months ago, I got it in my mind that I wanted to put together a sketch comedy show. Yes you heard right, a sketch comedy show...to be performed live, on stage. SNL without cameras, celebrity hosts, or money.
Now that I think about it, I've had this idea in my mind since I was about ten. That's when my mom finally started letting me watch SNL. I had never seen anything like it. A live show, where mistakes were made, lines were flubbed, laughs were unable to be contained. It just looked like so much fun I knew I had to get in on it somehow.
Ten years later, sketch comedy is hell to me. Just trying to get the sketches written is like pulling teeth, the only one guaranteed to crank out more than one five minute piece at a time is me. I keep getting dicked around by people who say they want to help, that they have the same dream, that they've always wanted to do exactly this.

It's been really rough on me. I have a goal and I'm going to make it and no one is going to get in my way. But it seems like the ones that keep trying to get me off track are the people who should be trying to help me reach the finish line.
Everytime I think I can count on them, they fail me. And I'm not totally sure that they're not doing it on purpose. All of their excuses just seem so paper thin, so insincere, so pointless. I don't know who or what to believe anymore.
I don't know if I can do this much on my own.
A part of me thinks I'm losing my mind.

If this is comedy, I hope I never laugh again.

from where i'm sitting

i got up as early as i could this morning to continue work on the sketches i assigned to myself at the last sketch writer's meeting, and from where i'm sitting everything looks good except for the eyesore of a green desk that's directly in front of me.

a part of me wants to use said desk as a metaphor for my life. you know, chipped paint with good wood underneath...or something like that. but really, looking at it causes some mild internal conflict. there's nothing wrong with the desk except for the outside so why bother working on it, right? it still fits just perfectly in my room and holds all my important papers. but doesn't it deserve to look as good as it can, to be restored to it's original state or maybe something better?

it is my opinion that we all deserve to look and feel the best we can but at the same time i realize how vain of a statement that is. did you notice that the word "look" went before the word "feel"? i think it always goes that way. the next time you use the phrase, you'll see.

maybe i've just seen it too much, but this desk is really starting to feel very human. a straight back, puffed out chest, charmingly thin legs, and that obnoxious green paint with some of the wood peeking through like roots on a dye job gone wrong (or patches, whatever the case may be). the wood is good wood, a light-ish soothing brown and so...i will strip the paint away and find the perfect stain. something to enhance the wood, not cover it. and just so i don't seem too concerned with outward appearances, i'll stain the inside first.

it's going to be a project but it's worth it.
i think we all are.

a word from the wise

if i could tell you anything, i wouldn't. because i think it's important that you find out for yourself.

but...
it's gonna hurt.
i'll tell you that much.

life...
it's gonna hurt. alot. and sometimes you're going to feel like you can't take the pain, that you'll just absolutely die if one more damn thing happens to you but for the love of pete...
man up.
you're gonna have to.
if you're gonna survive in this world, some part of you has to be tough.
and a bigger part will have to be brave enough to do what scares you most...
and looking in your eyes i can tell that what scares you most is screwing up.

you're gonna screw up kid.
we all do.
you'll drink too much.
you'll cheat.
you'll lie.
you'll lose your faith in those around you
but don't you EVER lose faith in yourself
'cause once you do, it's all over.
somehow, i know you'll make it.


but you didn't hear it from me.

"Drugs are bad, mmkay?"

"I don't even know who you are anymore" she said, grabbing my baggie and flying across the room with it. Did she ever really know who I was, or who I thought I was, or even who I wasn't? I was going to say it, but if there's one thing I had learned about my mom up to that point it was that she had a really strong right arm, and that was the one she hit with.
I tried not to roll my eyes, but this scene was so mundane I couldn't stand it. It was exactly the kind of thing I never wanted to happen again in my life. Something familiar.
I could still smell the smoke on my sweater, it's sweetness drifting into my nostrils, distracting me from her invariable rage. And she wondered why I loved it so much, what the draw was, what was so exciting about it.
It gets me away from here. From you.
It helps me sleep mom. It makes me hungry. It makes me forget that I'm however old I am and still share a bed with my mom, share a room with my entire family, that I'm a freshman in high school and I work so many hours at my job that I barely have time to take a shit anymore, forget trying to actually do my schoolwork.
She was waving her hand in front of my face. All that time she was in my face I didn't even see her, didn't feel her.
"What else have you been taking?" she asked, as if she had found aspirin instead of a bag of weed. What do I say? Advil? Midol?
Taking. It's not taking, it's experiencing.
I wanted to say that so bad, but again, the right arm.
It struck me then that she shouldn't be surprised in the least bit. I came home smelling like weed and acting like a stoner everyday of my life and it takes her finding the bag to say something? It didn't seem logical. Nothing did.
She stood there, waving her skinny arms around and yelling but she seemed to just get more quiet the wider her mouth opened. She had an aura, a putrid yellow aura that made me nauseous and the room spun and dipped, like a child imitating a dancer they'd seen on television. Little colored sparks were coming out of her eyes, her fingertips, her frazzled blonde hair.
"Seriously?" I wondered aloud, slowly, before my face met the carpet.

I guess you could say this story has a moral, and I guess you could say that moral would be "sometimes weed isn't just weed. sometimes it's weed with angel dust."
But I'm sure you knew that already.

best month ever

since my mom left today, here's a recap of what we did the past month:



yeah.

bones

i'll find a place at the end of the world
and i won't come back until you're good
when you're gone i'll stack your bones
in my office so i'm never alone
your keys will jangle in my pockets
next to your watch
i'll take the photos out of lockets
it's time to stop
no dirt nap for you, you get no rest
i'll keep you up all night
i must confess
i can hear you sometimes like a whistling train
right next to my ear, soft like rain
until it gets closer like machine gun blasts
pounding in my ears like an airplane crash
i wake up bloody and bruised
just like when i was with you...

i found my place at the end of the world
and didn't come back until you were good
good and dead that's all they wrote

good
and
dead

curiosity killed the cat, and by cat I mean my self esteem

I weighed myself today and I've got to tell you...not happy with the results. Not at all. I feel like I have no control over myself, or my body or any aspect of my life. I was perfectly fine and everything was going well and then I just HAD to weigh myself. I just HAD to let my morbid curiosity get the best of me.

And now, I'm going to pay for it. Big time. I just know it.

i'm leaving

maybe.
i just don't know.
it's one of those want to go, but not totally sure if it's rational or possible.

but i hope it is.
i'm ready to get out of here.

wish me luck.

what do you really mean?

I've been paying close attention to the things that come out of my mom's mouth. Sometimes I think she makes very astute observations without even realizing it or meaning to. This morning, when we were the only ones awake, we were discussing whether or not we'd be going grocery shopping.
"Your grandma said we were going" she said.
I rubbed my eyes, rolled over and said "That doesn't mean we are."

"That's why you guys confuse me. You never say what you mean or mean what you say."

I blink.
It never occurred to me that that was bad until it came out of her mouth with such contempt attached to it. To me, it always just meant everything was flexible.

"I'm not like that" I retorted, quickly.
"You kind of are."

Kind of.
Ok.
Good enough. That means I'm not so far gone that I can't change. That I'm only about knee deep into it and I have the rest of my body to pull myself out.
I don't want to be that type of person.
When I say something, I don't want people to have to fight their way through the pretext and subtext to find out what I meant. I want them to take it, run with it, and fulfill its intentions.

So from now on...
do what you say
say what you mean
one thing leads to another.

or something like that.

note to self: 2007 edition

calm down
grow up
stay young (at heart, of course)
get a job you damn dirty hippie
learn to drive
smile
take some time to think
be less clingy
be more loving
stop playing the victim
like it or lump it
talk less shit
make more friends
stop dressing like a boy
spend less money
move out
stay moved out for longer than two months
stop jumping in head first
don't overanalyze things
be a better friend
talk someone into going camping
eat more cake
wean yourself away from Purell
don't apologize for being yourself
learn a card trick
finish a play
don't let theatre run your life
lose a weekend
don't quit school
play more games
don't buy pants unless they REALLY fit
work out more
don't obsess about working out
leave your hair alone
dress like a pirate
have more fun
buy a real life corset
don't pretend to not be smart
be less jealous
be more trusting
don't push it
and don't forget to breathe.