The poison sticks and stays in pores and under fingernails
I linger on the stench
It reminds me of things I have not yet accomplished
The joints pulling apart at my seams in the effort of reaching so far
The surgery of days work, nimble fingers
Swiftly stitching and ripping and carefully
Carving out the imperfections to create
A new whole that begs to be hollowed and built anew
Time tocks away, it disappears
Like early snow on a hot windshield
What an unaccomplished person I would be
My pockets full and this never endeavored.
A widow of dreams and wishes
A lifetime of self-loathed grieving
Or years and fears and the possibility of becoming such despite it all.
Do I dare breathe a sigh or emit a laugh
Between the scales and lengthened stanzas
Or hold in the euphoric atmosphere for later;
My light in a weary, faded world.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Poem 3 - Divided
Who are you, living beside me?
What treasured parts still fit together
To gingerly compose the image that is my love?
How my heart weeps and seethes in his absence
Its beat dancing on reels
My feet sore at the heels
From this grey stop, so sudden.
A mindless, mindful, graceful, grateful story
We once were.
Strong bodies, young and rose-colored and smelling of sea.
Starred eyes and nights swallowed us whole.
Who are you, living beside me?
Walls and doors and chairs and stale air.
Pixelated goals replace the tangible zeal of tomorrow.
Blurred days and cloudy clouded concentrated thoughts
Shuttered words, so carefully constructed to
Love and hate and harrow and move
But to no avail.
Who are you, living beside me?
An aside, riding in my sidecar
The listless wind has somehow whipped you
Though I stand solid beneath you
Your earth is crumbling.
I shall continue to tear at the fabric of my soul
Until I can save you
And bring you home.
What treasured parts still fit together
To gingerly compose the image that is my love?
How my heart weeps and seethes in his absence
Its beat dancing on reels
My feet sore at the heels
From this grey stop, so sudden.
A mindless, mindful, graceful, grateful story
We once were.
Strong bodies, young and rose-colored and smelling of sea.
Starred eyes and nights swallowed us whole.
Who are you, living beside me?
Walls and doors and chairs and stale air.
Pixelated goals replace the tangible zeal of tomorrow.
Blurred days and cloudy clouded concentrated thoughts
Shuttered words, so carefully constructed to
Love and hate and harrow and move
But to no avail.
Who are you, living beside me?
An aside, riding in my sidecar
The listless wind has somehow whipped you
Though I stand solid beneath you
Your earth is crumbling.
I shall continue to tear at the fabric of my soul
Until I can save you
And bring you home.
Poem 2 - Speak my Love
Speak my love,
Your silent tongue
Mocks my breathless heart
I know not your troubles
But one syllable to start
Would slow the ceaseless churning
Of the scenes inside my mind
Speak my love
This worry is of the darkest kind.
Your eyes are full of coldness
That stills the breath I breathe
The anger hid beneath your chest
Is pain that I can see
I would leap from any height
To rescue you from this
Quickly speak my love
It is your smile I miss.
Your silent tongue
Mocks my breathless heart
I know not your troubles
But one syllable to start
Would slow the ceaseless churning
Of the scenes inside my mind
Speak my love
This worry is of the darkest kind.
Your eyes are full of coldness
That stills the breath I breathe
The anger hid beneath your chest
Is pain that I can see
I would leap from any height
To rescue you from this
Quickly speak my love
It is your smile I miss.
Poem 1 - Ballad of the Anarchists
Stand upon the hills,
Those who own their souls,
And cry to the night as one,
To purge this poisoned air.
Fire! They shout,
Out bloody mouths,
Frothing with the taste of anarchy.
They indulge their eager feet,
Forever drowning in turning sand,
Blissful as long as the endless sea
Remains on the horizon.
An angry world tips the scales,
To loose the furled and knotted minds,
That otherwise would climb the ladders,
Step by step
Content with time.
Compassion, love, honor,
All silently secretly slaughtered,
Apathy, unbridled passion
Wield the scythe;
The swing never whispers
Rhyme or reason.
Pattern the fields with purposed bodies,
Leave behind the selfishness of mine,
March to an even drum;
The heartbeat of possibility.
Let these burdened minds know victory ,
And find peace on distant hopeful shores,
Weary legs wrung with the effort
Of running for so long against the current.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
For the Millions Listening In...
There will be poetry coming soon. I'm not sure how good it is, but it is definitely current. Stay tuned.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A Milo Moment
Milo... without him, my most horrible days would be ten times more horrible.
Funny things he does:
1. I can't sit down without him jumping on me and commandeering the spot on my shoulder.
2. He chatters at birds and moving lights.
3. He eats the little food pieces that fall out of the bowl first before starting in on the pile
4. He hides under boxes and in bags and thinks we can't see him.
5. He'll do tricks for treats (like a dog)
6. His head is always wet from sneaking into the shower and rubbing against the faucet.. which drips a little.
7. He is half Siamese, so his eyes cross often....which is hillarious.
Funny things he does:
1. I can't sit down without him jumping on me and commandeering the spot on my shoulder.
2. He chatters at birds and moving lights.
3. He eats the little food pieces that fall out of the bowl first before starting in on the pile
4. He hides under boxes and in bags and thinks we can't see him.
5. He'll do tricks for treats (like a dog)
6. His head is always wet from sneaking into the shower and rubbing against the faucet.. which drips a little.
7. He is half Siamese, so his eyes cross often....which is hillarious.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Olympic Fever
I am totally and unabashedly watching every moment of the Olympics. And not just TiVoing it and watching bits when I'm bored. Because we don't have TiVo. I'm literally watching every second of it. I even sunk saved money into a Ralph Lauren Olympic Track Jacket that the olympians are wearing, and it wasn't cheap. I don't think its US pride... I think its maybe a little awe at how willing to put themselves in such dangerous positions for the sake of competition, and maybe a little jealousy that its not me out there doing it. Just thought I'd mention it.
What Goes In....
I read a short story in a brilliant Film class I took two semesters (wow time goes by fast) ago. It was written by Virgina Woolf, who I never cared to read until that moment. Most of the story was about how she was asked to speak at Oxford about "women in literature" and yet she had to be escorted around the campus by a male faculty member, and wasn't even allowed inside their library, being a woman. But a small part of the story was about the differences in food between the lavish meal she received after her speech at the university, and the meager dinner at a friend's house the following night.Of course I'm probably demeaning the entire work when I focus on this bit, because she was highlighting the plight of women and their individual poverty at the time, but her words stick with me. She described in detail this exquisite set of courses at the first meal, citing scents and sounds, tastes and textures... and ended with relating the bliss she felt afterward, sitting on a velvet cushion by a window, having experienced such wonderful sensations. Later she laments at the stale bread, unseasoned meat, and small portions had at a female colleague's house the next day, and draws the conclusion that food and comfort fuel a being like the difference between newspaper and logs to a fire, and the flames don't last long when the tinder is meager.
With this being said, I've started actually cooking at home. Like an adult. It is a lot harder than it looks. I vaguely remember the first time my mom asked me to help her trim the fat off of chicken breasts, and I only remember the slimy, sticky skin of the chicken, but not how freaking difficult it is to keep the stupid chicken from sliding all over the place. Anyway...
This whole escapade started out with the discovery of WHOLE FOODS. It is my mecca. You can get granola, olives, and spices from little containers where you can get just enough for a snack or enough for a month... which is always the case with their Country Spice Granola (drool). So after going there a few times and walking around in wonder with Chris, we discovered applewood smoked bacon. And after that, breakfast became gourmet. Suddenly it was fifty times easier to wake up to coffee, guava juice, scrambled eggs and a few slices of applewood bacon. Do you know how freaking good it feels to actually eat breakfast? FREAKING AMAZING, that's what.
The next great leap in Chris and my quest to eat real food came when I was at the end of recovering from my tonsil surgery, and he rented Julie and Julia. Great movie, very cute, but I absolutely hate Amy Adams' haircut. The pixie doesn't look good on anyone, even on Julia Roberts when she played a pixie in Hook. Anyway, Meryl Streep can knock the acting socks off of anyone, and I fell in love with her side of the story and kind of ignored the main plot line, waiting for her flamboyant intrusion into french cooking to come on the screen again. After the movie, I was yearning for some striped french wallpaper in my apartment, but nothing more than that. Chris, however, was already looking at prices for Julia Child's cookbook, and whisked me off to CostCo, dizzy from the codine.
We ended up buying Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and an Italian cookbook. We salivated going through the recipes, even though most of them we couldn't even afford (let alone attempt) to make. But I really wanted to try crepes....
It started out a little rough....
But in the end it was really good... but I don't think I'll make it with cheese sauce again :) Dessert crepes American style would probably be better. No offense Julia child.
Wine with crepes? I think so. I think so very much. Even though my tonsil wounds were a little angered. :P
After that success... I decided to jump in. Abandoning Julia Child for the moment (I can't afford $80 of supplies for one meal!) I searched for really healthy, cheap recipes on the Cooking Light website and looked for all the five-star ones, so that anything wierd tasting would just be my fault :) And the salmon was a HUGE hit. I can't get Chris to eat anything, but he downed that salmon. I also made grilled asparagus to go with it, but of course chris avoids anything green, so I got them all to myself!
So... since then I've made some really successful dinners - baked parmesan chicken, light enchiladas, chicken casseroles... and all of them have been winner :D So in closing, I guess Virginia Woolf would have said I was a very inspired individual, and looking at the amount of photography work I have to do this semester, i certainly hope so.
With this being said, I've started actually cooking at home. Like an adult. It is a lot harder than it looks. I vaguely remember the first time my mom asked me to help her trim the fat off of chicken breasts, and I only remember the slimy, sticky skin of the chicken, but not how freaking difficult it is to keep the stupid chicken from sliding all over the place. Anyway...
This whole escapade started out with the discovery of WHOLE FOODS. It is my mecca. You can get granola, olives, and spices from little containers where you can get just enough for a snack or enough for a month... which is always the case with their Country Spice Granola (drool). So after going there a few times and walking around in wonder with Chris, we discovered applewood smoked bacon. And after that, breakfast became gourmet. Suddenly it was fifty times easier to wake up to coffee, guava juice, scrambled eggs and a few slices of applewood bacon. Do you know how freaking good it feels to actually eat breakfast? FREAKING AMAZING, that's what.
The next great leap in Chris and my quest to eat real food came when I was at the end of recovering from my tonsil surgery, and he rented Julie and Julia. Great movie, very cute, but I absolutely hate Amy Adams' haircut. The pixie doesn't look good on anyone, even on Julia Roberts when she played a pixie in Hook. Anyway, Meryl Streep can knock the acting socks off of anyone, and I fell in love with her side of the story and kind of ignored the main plot line, waiting for her flamboyant intrusion into french cooking to come on the screen again. After the movie, I was yearning for some striped french wallpaper in my apartment, but nothing more than that. Chris, however, was already looking at prices for Julia Child's cookbook, and whisked me off to CostCo, dizzy from the codine.
We ended up buying Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and an Italian cookbook. We salivated going through the recipes, even though most of them we couldn't even afford (let alone attempt) to make. But I really wanted to try crepes....
It started out a little rough....
But in the end it was really good... but I don't think I'll make it with cheese sauce again :) Dessert crepes American style would probably be better. No offense Julia child.
Wine with crepes? I think so. I think so very much. Even though my tonsil wounds were a little angered. :P
After that success... I decided to jump in. Abandoning Julia Child for the moment (I can't afford $80 of supplies for one meal!) I searched for really healthy, cheap recipes on the Cooking Light website and looked for all the five-star ones, so that anything wierd tasting would just be my fault :) And the salmon was a HUGE hit. I can't get Chris to eat anything, but he downed that salmon. I also made grilled asparagus to go with it, but of course chris avoids anything green, so I got them all to myself!
So... since then I've made some really successful dinners - baked parmesan chicken, light enchiladas, chicken casseroles... and all of them have been winner :D So in closing, I guess Virginia Woolf would have said I was a very inspired individual, and looking at the amount of photography work I have to do this semester, i certainly hope so.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Having Things Ripped Out of You Is No Fun.
So I've been an immovable lump on my couch for the past six days, and for good reason - tonsilectemies hurt like a bitch. Thinking back to the dread I felt sitting in the waiting room joking with my mom and Chris (the ultimate support group) it wasn't silly at all. I am so glad I mentally prepared myself for the worst, because on the fourth day of recovery, I just about reached it.
Surgery Day: Joked with Chris and my Mom far too much about getting a new outfit and jewelry for surgery - the paper-thin gown, incredibly attractive cap, non-slip beige socks, and my spiffy hospital ID bracelet. I neurotically explained to the nurse that I have the most uncooperative veins in the world (and related my horrific heart ct scan story) and she assured me she'd been a pediatric nurse for twenty years- but I didn't believe her until she got the IV in me the first time (hallelujah). They piled me high with warm blankets and I wiggled my toes in my non-skid socks until they wheeled me into a really small operating room with three gowned people I didn't know and the blissfully familiar face of Dr. Blazen. The last thing I said was, "Am I supposed to feel drowsy?" I woke up very very slowly... like not being able to come out of sleep but still being able to hear everyone's conversations. Apparently the surgery only took twenty minutes- my doctor is now my hero. Every time I spoke or smiled or took a sip of water three nurses exclaimed at how well I was recovering. Nothing really hurt too much, it just was puffy and swollen and achy. I was on so much medication, I don't remember much of the rest of that day.
Day 1: Movies, hydrocodone= my best friend, soup broth and vast amounts of water. I also ran into a wall trying to get to the bathroom. Didn't really sleep, woke up every hour or so to keep hydrated and to keep my meds up so I didn't accidentally sleep more than four hours and wake up in excruciating pain.
Day 2: Movies, hydrocodone = still my best friend, eggs and vast amounts of water. Didn't really sleep again, but I'm getting really tired of being so tired and disoriented constantly from the medication.
Day 3: rinse and repeat
Day 4: Everything hurts. Ears, throat, head, stomach. Have to keep totally on top of taking the codine so there aren't any time lapses to fall into, and keep an ice pack on my neck all day. I'm sure my throat will rip open and I'll have to get re-cotorized like everyone warned me might happen.
Day 5: Nausea starts up. What fun. A little more aware of myself, can go without meds for short periods of time, I think I've burned through all my movies. I start on books and keep HGTV on for the day.
Day 6: Still Nauseous. Chris Redboxes me more movies :) what an awesome dude. Switch to liquid tylenol but... that stuff is all kinds of icky. I think it just made things worse.
Day 7: Saw doctor... she said in not so many words that I am a wuss and that my digestive system is backed up because I've been a big couch potato. And she said everything was "healing nicely" and I could take aspirin now (sweet).
And I'm at today, dreading school tomorrow after so long on my couch. I'm used to planning and stocking binders with fresh lined paper and plugging my schedule into excel and my computer calendar... but I'm not quite up to it. Well.. I thought I slacked off last semester and I got three As and a B, so maybe I'm not a total loss.
I can't help but feel like this is an omen for this semester: painful but necessary.
Surgery Day: Joked with Chris and my Mom far too much about getting a new outfit and jewelry for surgery - the paper-thin gown, incredibly attractive cap, non-slip beige socks, and my spiffy hospital ID bracelet. I neurotically explained to the nurse that I have the most uncooperative veins in the world (and related my horrific heart ct scan story) and she assured me she'd been a pediatric nurse for twenty years- but I didn't believe her until she got the IV in me the first time (hallelujah). They piled me high with warm blankets and I wiggled my toes in my non-skid socks until they wheeled me into a really small operating room with three gowned people I didn't know and the blissfully familiar face of Dr. Blazen. The last thing I said was, "Am I supposed to feel drowsy?" I woke up very very slowly... like not being able to come out of sleep but still being able to hear everyone's conversations. Apparently the surgery only took twenty minutes- my doctor is now my hero. Every time I spoke or smiled or took a sip of water three nurses exclaimed at how well I was recovering. Nothing really hurt too much, it just was puffy and swollen and achy. I was on so much medication, I don't remember much of the rest of that day.
Day 1: Movies, hydrocodone= my best friend, soup broth and vast amounts of water. I also ran into a wall trying to get to the bathroom. Didn't really sleep, woke up every hour or so to keep hydrated and to keep my meds up so I didn't accidentally sleep more than four hours and wake up in excruciating pain.
Day 2: Movies, hydrocodone = still my best friend, eggs and vast amounts of water. Didn't really sleep again, but I'm getting really tired of being so tired and disoriented constantly from the medication.
Day 3: rinse and repeat
Day 4: Everything hurts. Ears, throat, head, stomach. Have to keep totally on top of taking the codine so there aren't any time lapses to fall into, and keep an ice pack on my neck all day. I'm sure my throat will rip open and I'll have to get re-cotorized like everyone warned me might happen.
Day 5: Nausea starts up. What fun. A little more aware of myself, can go without meds for short periods of time, I think I've burned through all my movies. I start on books and keep HGTV on for the day.
Day 6: Still Nauseous. Chris Redboxes me more movies :) what an awesome dude. Switch to liquid tylenol but... that stuff is all kinds of icky. I think it just made things worse.
Day 7: Saw doctor... she said in not so many words that I am a wuss and that my digestive system is backed up because I've been a big couch potato. And she said everything was "healing nicely" and I could take aspirin now (sweet).
And I'm at today, dreading school tomorrow after so long on my couch. I'm used to planning and stocking binders with fresh lined paper and plugging my schedule into excel and my computer calendar... but I'm not quite up to it. Well.. I thought I slacked off last semester and I got three As and a B, so maybe I'm not a total loss.
I can't help but feel like this is an omen for this semester: painful but necessary.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Ripping out the Pieces
So in two days I get to have my first major surgery. I'm actually super excited about it, because it will be the day I triumph over all of those doctors who just gave me codine every time I had a sore throat, and never looked twice at my tonsils. Everyone writes me off when I say I'm getting a tonsillectomy - like because its really common I shouldn't worry about it. But when my doctor said that its "normal" to spontaneously bleed out of my throat and need to come in to re-cotorize the wound... i got a little freaked out.
But if it means when I get sick it will last a week instead of a month... I'm ok with a little pain.
But if it means when I get sick it will last a week instead of a month... I'm ok with a little pain.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Homeless people make me do things.
I just stepped into my apartment and burst into tears because I bought a homeless guy dinner at McDonalds. A few hours ago I had eight dollars and my mom heard the stress in my voice and padded my bank account a little. So when this guy, not quite a crazy person but already talking to himself, dressed in dirty, faded jeans and a dirty, faded sweater approached my car at chevron and asked for a quarter for food I had no change so I bought him dinner at McDonalds. If I told Chris he wouldn't understand. I'm sure a lot of people wouldn't. The only thing I could think to tell the guy when I gave him his meal was that I didn't know what kind of drink he liked so I got him coke, and then when he looked at me with blank eyes I just said everyone should be able to eat.
When Chris and I were out shooting pictures a few days ago for a project it had gotten dark early (darn time change) and we were driving around downtown like we do sometimes when we don't want to go home and be computer zombies. He said "I want to show you something" and drove toward the industrial part of town. We wound around side streets and down some alleys with broken bikes and chain link fences and ended up on the side of a large, clean looking factory. It looked harmless even in the dark. Then I looked down at the sidewalks and couldn't believe what was there. Row upon row upon row of sleeping bags and cardboard boxes, piles of clothing and shopping carts, all discarded people in lines that stretched for blocks. Something in me was so horrified that I sobbed for twenty minutes as we headed back toward home.
In this society of constantly updated video game consoles and blue tooth headsets, of massive malls and casinos and wal marts, why haven't we taken some time and money from all of our successes to somehow solve, if not lessen the homeless crisis? Are they all insane? Addicted? Dangerous? probably. But still people. We dole out welfare checks and give murderers life sentences with a bed and food and healthcare, but to the criminals who have served their time and can't get a job, the mentally ill who were pushed out of facilities strained for space and can't quite function on their own, the veterans who weren't taken care of, these people all need help. If it was your brother, your sister, your mother, even your cousin you might lend a helping hand. But for someone elses brother, sister, you could care less. Welfare reform, single-occupancy housing, better job placement facilities... all of these things might not eliminate the problem, but they guarantee improvement and some sort of hope.
I can volunteer, I can cry, I can care. None of these things get a homeless person an address or a job. I feel powerless.
When Chris and I were out shooting pictures a few days ago for a project it had gotten dark early (darn time change) and we were driving around downtown like we do sometimes when we don't want to go home and be computer zombies. He said "I want to show you something" and drove toward the industrial part of town. We wound around side streets and down some alleys with broken bikes and chain link fences and ended up on the side of a large, clean looking factory. It looked harmless even in the dark. Then I looked down at the sidewalks and couldn't believe what was there. Row upon row upon row of sleeping bags and cardboard boxes, piles of clothing and shopping carts, all discarded people in lines that stretched for blocks. Something in me was so horrified that I sobbed for twenty minutes as we headed back toward home.
In this society of constantly updated video game consoles and blue tooth headsets, of massive malls and casinos and wal marts, why haven't we taken some time and money from all of our successes to somehow solve, if not lessen the homeless crisis? Are they all insane? Addicted? Dangerous? probably. But still people. We dole out welfare checks and give murderers life sentences with a bed and food and healthcare, but to the criminals who have served their time and can't get a job, the mentally ill who were pushed out of facilities strained for space and can't quite function on their own, the veterans who weren't taken care of, these people all need help. If it was your brother, your sister, your mother, even your cousin you might lend a helping hand. But for someone elses brother, sister, you could care less. Welfare reform, single-occupancy housing, better job placement facilities... all of these things might not eliminate the problem, but they guarantee improvement and some sort of hope.
I can volunteer, I can cry, I can care. None of these things get a homeless person an address or a job. I feel powerless.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Rollercoaster Continues...
I am calmly frazzled with all of the projects and people and drama that gets thrown at me. The rain got into my aura, I think, and reminded me of the power of things bigger than my little world. I pulled on my brand new wonderously sleeping-bag esque eskimo jacket with tons of fur on the hood and felt safe. Why can't all days be rainy?
I have a friend who is drama incarnate. I think she is the most unlike me of anyone I've ever met. I've become friends with her boyfriend and he constantly asks me if they should be together and I don't have the balls to say "RUN! FAST!" because I call her my friend. If everyone had the forgiveness and patience I have for that girl there would be world peace... no doubt.
I got an interview two days after submitting a resume and it made me feel ashamed- Chris has been looking for months and not gotten any sort of feedback. But I hate being poor more than I feel bad for him so I'm going on an interview on Friday.
I reconnected with two amazing old friends- I forgot how much better it feels to surround yourself with people who love you than people who only save a seat for you in class when they aren't feeling pissy. I can't decide what hurts more- having amazing people living far away from me so I can't ever hang out with them in person, or having people around all the time who expect you to be their selfishness enabler. I think sadness hangs in the shadows for good people, and in the unexamined souls of bad people.
Christmas is such a horrible, sad holiday for me now. I used to be the unshakable holiday optimist who saw magic in every wreath and watched five christmas movies the day after Thanksgiving. My mom and my Chris have put me in a horrible place. My mom doesn't let Chris participate in our Christmas, claiming that he isn't officially part of the family yet (that offends Chris) and yet I'm not allowed to have Christmas with him (it is blaspheme for me to not have Christmas with my family- according to my mother). Chris claims I am allowed to make my own decisions- easy enough for someone to say when their family is easygoing and distant- and that my mom should understand. He gets depressed and refuses to celebrate the holidays. My mom just argues with me about it at any opportunity. Last Christmas there was a fight that resulted in a ruined holiday and my mom and I not speaking for two months. Somehow I've lost the wonderful spirit that used to encompass me around November and December- somehow I'm just waiting for unfairness and resentment and ignorance to smack me for wanting to be with all the people I love.
Photography is... challenging. Artistically not technically. I'm impatient to be brilliant but I'm still learning how to find brilliance, and every teacher and photographer has a different ethic and technique to thrust down our throats. Photo 111 has zero expectations, Photo 102 expects thorough research, 40 expects perfect technicality, and 199 expects the unexpected. I've found I really want to be the best but in art there is no "best". Which confuses my motivation.
I've been eating horribly... probably because two things off a dollar menu constitutes a meal and nothing else that is two dollars can be called an entire meal. My gym card is lost and they want to charge me ten dollars to get a new one... so I have to pay a third of my monthly membership price to go back to the gym and I've been avoiding it.
My cat plays with trash. Seriously his favorite toys are bottlecaps and empty soda boxes. He is the most beautiful, fluffy little boy and he is so needy I call him my little baby. He won't even sleep anywhere but on my chest. Silly animal, I love him so.
I have a friend who is drama incarnate. I think she is the most unlike me of anyone I've ever met. I've become friends with her boyfriend and he constantly asks me if they should be together and I don't have the balls to say "RUN! FAST!" because I call her my friend. If everyone had the forgiveness and patience I have for that girl there would be world peace... no doubt.
I got an interview two days after submitting a resume and it made me feel ashamed- Chris has been looking for months and not gotten any sort of feedback. But I hate being poor more than I feel bad for him so I'm going on an interview on Friday.
I reconnected with two amazing old friends- I forgot how much better it feels to surround yourself with people who love you than people who only save a seat for you in class when they aren't feeling pissy. I can't decide what hurts more- having amazing people living far away from me so I can't ever hang out with them in person, or having people around all the time who expect you to be their selfishness enabler. I think sadness hangs in the shadows for good people, and in the unexamined souls of bad people.
Christmas is such a horrible, sad holiday for me now. I used to be the unshakable holiday optimist who saw magic in every wreath and watched five christmas movies the day after Thanksgiving. My mom and my Chris have put me in a horrible place. My mom doesn't let Chris participate in our Christmas, claiming that he isn't officially part of the family yet (that offends Chris) and yet I'm not allowed to have Christmas with him (it is blaspheme for me to not have Christmas with my family- according to my mother). Chris claims I am allowed to make my own decisions- easy enough for someone to say when their family is easygoing and distant- and that my mom should understand. He gets depressed and refuses to celebrate the holidays. My mom just argues with me about it at any opportunity. Last Christmas there was a fight that resulted in a ruined holiday and my mom and I not speaking for two months. Somehow I've lost the wonderful spirit that used to encompass me around November and December- somehow I'm just waiting for unfairness and resentment and ignorance to smack me for wanting to be with all the people I love.
Photography is... challenging. Artistically not technically. I'm impatient to be brilliant but I'm still learning how to find brilliance, and every teacher and photographer has a different ethic and technique to thrust down our throats. Photo 111 has zero expectations, Photo 102 expects thorough research, 40 expects perfect technicality, and 199 expects the unexpected. I've found I really want to be the best but in art there is no "best". Which confuses my motivation.
I've been eating horribly... probably because two things off a dollar menu constitutes a meal and nothing else that is two dollars can be called an entire meal. My gym card is lost and they want to charge me ten dollars to get a new one... so I have to pay a third of my monthly membership price to go back to the gym and I've been avoiding it.
My cat plays with trash. Seriously his favorite toys are bottlecaps and empty soda boxes. He is the most beautiful, fluffy little boy and he is so needy I call him my little baby. He won't even sleep anywhere but on my chest. Silly animal, I love him so.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Because I've always been good at lists....
.. I use them to remember who I am.
I’m not quite sure who I am anymore. I’ve lost a lot of myself; stretched like thin canvas over too much frame. I’m picking up the puzzle pieces, but not all of them fit, and so I’m doing what feels natural to do – make a list. I’ll try to be as honest as I can.
1.I am calm in emergency situations.
2.I am nostalgic and cherish good memories.
3.I am a hopeless romantic in every sense of the cliché.
4.I never finish anything I start, but I always hope and want to.
5.I get my emotions and frustrations out through writing. Sometimes it’s the only way I can.
6. With enough time and patience, I am able to talk through any problem with someone who understands me.
7. I don’t respond well to violence. Something as simple as an unexpected punch can reduce me to tears.
8. I am overly emotional. I cry at anything that evokes a strong enough emotion, be it anger, passion, love, sadness, or joy.
9.I love music. I love making it (on the piano or singing) and listening to it. There are very few types of music I don’t like.
10.I’m deathly afraid of being ordinary or boring.
11.I like trying new things, but I’m always afraid I’ll be bad at them.
12.I believe I’m beautiful, but I’m ashamed of the weight I am at.
13.I truly want to lose weight, but I feel like the time and effort I put into it will take away time that could be spent with Chris.
14.I love creative, calm activities. Painting, sculpting, scrapbooking, writing in my diary, sketching.
15.I like girly things- painting my nails, going to the spa, doing my makeup and hair, masks and facials.
16.I daydream constantly. Mostly about being more adventurous than I currently am.
17.I’m a natural procrastinator.
18.I like being social, and I like when people like being around me. It bothers me when people who barely know me don’t like me.
19.I miss my grandpa every day. He was the only member of my family I feel I resemble in personality, and the glue that held my family together. I think my life would have been happier if he was still here.
20.I love reading. As long as the plot is captivating and there isn’t too much useless fluff (the Hobbit for example) I’ll read almost anything.
21.I like doing well in school. When I’m succeeding in school a lot of the rest of my life falls into place- I think it’s where I find pride in myself.
22.I am meant to be with Chris no matter how different we are. I know it somewhere so deep it took me a long time to realize it.
23.I like being productive. If I’ve spent an entire day playing games or watching TV I get a little depressed. Even if all I do is organize a drawer or do the dishes I feel better.
24.Being independent is one of my greatest wants. When I can earn enough money to support myself fully it will be a wonderful thing.
25.If I could choose any profession in the world and mold myself to it, I would be a dancer.
26.Most of the time I am mildly depressed. It takes more than just waking up to improve my mood. It would be much easier to be angry or apathetic all day.
27.I get angry when I trust people and they let me down, or are hypocritical.
28.I used to become centered and at peace when I spent time alone, now I just become depressed and frustrated. I wish I could get back to the former.
29.I don’t mind when people underestimate me, but everyone seems to overestimate me, and it only makes me feel like a failure.
30.I am a sore loser. I don’t know why.
I’m not quite sure who I am anymore. I’ve lost a lot of myself; stretched like thin canvas over too much frame. I’m picking up the puzzle pieces, but not all of them fit, and so I’m doing what feels natural to do – make a list. I’ll try to be as honest as I can.
1.I am calm in emergency situations.
2.I am nostalgic and cherish good memories.
3.I am a hopeless romantic in every sense of the cliché.
4.I never finish anything I start, but I always hope and want to.
5.I get my emotions and frustrations out through writing. Sometimes it’s the only way I can.
6. With enough time and patience, I am able to talk through any problem with someone who understands me.
7. I don’t respond well to violence. Something as simple as an unexpected punch can reduce me to tears.
8. I am overly emotional. I cry at anything that evokes a strong enough emotion, be it anger, passion, love, sadness, or joy.
9.I love music. I love making it (on the piano or singing) and listening to it. There are very few types of music I don’t like.
10.I’m deathly afraid of being ordinary or boring.
11.I like trying new things, but I’m always afraid I’ll be bad at them.
12.I believe I’m beautiful, but I’m ashamed of the weight I am at.
13.I truly want to lose weight, but I feel like the time and effort I put into it will take away time that could be spent with Chris.
14.I love creative, calm activities. Painting, sculpting, scrapbooking, writing in my diary, sketching.
15.I like girly things- painting my nails, going to the spa, doing my makeup and hair, masks and facials.
16.I daydream constantly. Mostly about being more adventurous than I currently am.
17.I’m a natural procrastinator.
18.I like being social, and I like when people like being around me. It bothers me when people who barely know me don’t like me.
19.I miss my grandpa every day. He was the only member of my family I feel I resemble in personality, and the glue that held my family together. I think my life would have been happier if he was still here.
20.I love reading. As long as the plot is captivating and there isn’t too much useless fluff (the Hobbit for example) I’ll read almost anything.
21.I like doing well in school. When I’m succeeding in school a lot of the rest of my life falls into place- I think it’s where I find pride in myself.
22.I am meant to be with Chris no matter how different we are. I know it somewhere so deep it took me a long time to realize it.
23.I like being productive. If I’ve spent an entire day playing games or watching TV I get a little depressed. Even if all I do is organize a drawer or do the dishes I feel better.
24.Being independent is one of my greatest wants. When I can earn enough money to support myself fully it will be a wonderful thing.
25.If I could choose any profession in the world and mold myself to it, I would be a dancer.
26.Most of the time I am mildly depressed. It takes more than just waking up to improve my mood. It would be much easier to be angry or apathetic all day.
27.I get angry when I trust people and they let me down, or are hypocritical.
28.I used to become centered and at peace when I spent time alone, now I just become depressed and frustrated. I wish I could get back to the former.
29.I don’t mind when people underestimate me, but everyone seems to overestimate me, and it only makes me feel like a failure.
30.I am a sore loser. I don’t know why.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm just a little black rain cloud...
>
My moods are so color-changing around Christopher. He presses against me and I can feel myself, transparent, revealing sadness, happiness, euphoria in the florescence that leaves its chest and stomach and hand shaped shadows. He can put on his deeper voice, his authoritative demeanor, his strong deep loving eyes, and I can be more in love with him than ever, curling into the shape of him as easily as slipping into a warm bath. Other times he whines, a torrent of shallow drama and feminine games, wanting to be petted and spoiled, and I feel torn. I dream mostly of the men I’ve been with and the idea of all of the sums of their good parts; a boho Odysseus with mischievous eyes and patient hands that shatters my insecurities. The dreams of real men always leave me confused and jittery- like there is a novel-worthy adventure of epic romantic proportions waiting for me if I explored the world with both hands. Other times Chris’s love is everything and the walls that keep my expanding craziness at bay. His love is dark, hardwood, constricting and solid like the hug you need when your life is crumbling away. His common sense is two hands wrapping around my throat, but his unyielding ambition is the phoenix that continues to rise from the ashes, allowing me to sing. The greys and the confusion I see in life; the space between rainbows doesn’t exist for him- he sees only cloud cover. Occasionally I can break through his melancholy with a well placed weekend away, or a perfectly executed Sunday drive when we aren’t broke enough to let it spoil the day.
Lately I’ve been a torrential rain pounding insanely on the pavement. My head aches with the effort, but I can’t seem to stop. Losing a dream is harder than everyone tells you it will be. It is like a death, and an abortion, and a breakup all rolled into one. You feel empty, rejected, and lonely but time seems to tick on, so you’re left scrambling to stitch yourself back together as your wound keeps bleeding. People help. Love helps. But not much. My own brain sabotages my attempts at happiness- I find myself angry and bitter with no cause in sight.
Maybe when the light passes through the clouds I’ll catch a ray and find myself recovering from this seasonal depression of lost ambition. But until then I’ll continue to fling myself against rooftops and sidewalks, knowing that once the rain stops, the smell of clean earth will lift my spirits.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Do I Dream.
Harlequinned memories masquerade themselves
between bedsheets and underneath stuccoed ceilings
like stars they burn the blackness,
and etch their stories with thick fingernails
like the first ray of sun
that sucks the smell of sweet earth after a storm.
Prance and undulate they cry
as a six year old girl with my face
smiles and tugs on my sleeve,
the pungent joy pierces the air,
and she twirls,
oblivious to the reality
that lies just beyond the curtain.
Step left step right
Avoid the diamonds just below
the prom dress rips
and every eye is on every other tear in the fabric
the tears drip across years and fears
unaddressed, adorned in pearls and feathers.
Stumble and you may be lost
His chocolate hair smells familiar like cigarettes,
with a smile that made our winter irrelevant.
brittle branches loiter in the closet
pulled on like clothes that hurt when we got close,
but it is all spring now while daylight plays elsewhere.
But what of the cost of dancing
she screamed to the sequined sandman,
each grain finds its way home and sticks,
breeding malcontent and planting yellow roses,
where there is only concrete and satisfaction.
My heart pays the fare but
do I trust the chariot driver.
between bedsheets and underneath stuccoed ceilings
like stars they burn the blackness,
and etch their stories with thick fingernails
like the first ray of sun
that sucks the smell of sweet earth after a storm.
Prance and undulate they cry
as a six year old girl with my face
smiles and tugs on my sleeve,
the pungent joy pierces the air,
and she twirls,
oblivious to the reality
that lies just beyond the curtain.
Step left step right
Avoid the diamonds just below
the prom dress rips
and every eye is on every other tear in the fabric
the tears drip across years and fears
unaddressed, adorned in pearls and feathers.
Stumble and you may be lost
His chocolate hair smells familiar like cigarettes,
with a smile that made our winter irrelevant.
brittle branches loiter in the closet
pulled on like clothes that hurt when we got close,
but it is all spring now while daylight plays elsewhere.
But what of the cost of dancing
she screamed to the sequined sandman,
each grain finds its way home and sticks,
breeding malcontent and planting yellow roses,
where there is only concrete and satisfaction.
My heart pays the fare but
do I trust the chariot driver.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Why I will always be glad.
I've decided to go through a bunch of my old writings I've saved up and done nothing with and expose them- they will now be shamelessly naked.
This is a list of reasons why I was glad to be alive. I believe it still applies, and I would like to remain the girl who wrote them down.
1. I'm glad I have morals.
2. I'm glad I don't have to be mean to gain respect.
3. I'm glad I still have compassion and kindness, and retain them after others break down.
4. I'm glad I have a passion for music; that I can let it override my soul and take my problems away.
5. I'm glad I find joy in things that are not man-made.
6. I'm glad I love.
7. I'm glad I trust too much. I would rather place trust in the wrong hands and be let down than never trust at all.
8. I'm glad I am healthy and whole.
9. I'm glad I have never known true hardship.
10. I'm glad I know that men are not the answer to my life.
11. I'm glad I know that women are not the answer to my life.
12. I'm glad I don't care if people decide not to like me.
13. I'm glad I'm not jealous anymore.
14. I'm glad I am insanely loved.
15. I'm glad starbucks makes portable chilled coffee that conveniently shows up in vending machines when I most need it.
16. I'm glad I keep my own secrets, until someone is worth telling.
17. I'm glad I know that even if I lose my friends, I will never lose my God or myself.
18. I'm so glad the world is beautiful, and that I'm not blind to it.
19. I'm glad I have a passion for culture and art, for masterpieces and craftsmanship, for foreign countries and far-off places, even if everyone thinks I'm crazy.
20. I'm glad I found out that sex isn't all its cracked up to be, until you find someone that makes true love all its cracked up to be.
21. I'm glad I occasionally steal my boyfriend's clothes, and he loves it.
22. I'm glad I daydream.
23. I'm glad I have unimaginably unreachable goals.
24. I'm glad I realize that my childhood is over, adulthood isn't far ahead, and my choices are all my own.
25. I'm glad I bite my nails, obsessively pluck my eyebrows, have calloused feet and am overweight. If I was perfect, it would be like starting life at the finish line.
26. I'm glad I have people that understand me. It makes all the difference when you're at the bottom of a hole you dug yourself.
27. I'm glad I like to be clean.
28. I'm glad someone invented slightly flavored water. I don't know why.
29. I'm glad I can light incense and a perfect path to who I want to be forms in my head.
30. I'm glad I don't have to fit any kind of mold. Living an unexpected life makes everything special.
This is a list of reasons why I was glad to be alive. I believe it still applies, and I would like to remain the girl who wrote them down.
1. I'm glad I have morals.
2. I'm glad I don't have to be mean to gain respect.
3. I'm glad I still have compassion and kindness, and retain them after others break down.
4. I'm glad I have a passion for music; that I can let it override my soul and take my problems away.
5. I'm glad I find joy in things that are not man-made.
6. I'm glad I love.
7. I'm glad I trust too much. I would rather place trust in the wrong hands and be let down than never trust at all.
8. I'm glad I am healthy and whole.
9. I'm glad I have never known true hardship.
10. I'm glad I know that men are not the answer to my life.
11. I'm glad I know that women are not the answer to my life.
12. I'm glad I don't care if people decide not to like me.
13. I'm glad I'm not jealous anymore.
14. I'm glad I am insanely loved.
15. I'm glad starbucks makes portable chilled coffee that conveniently shows up in vending machines when I most need it.
16. I'm glad I keep my own secrets, until someone is worth telling.
17. I'm glad I know that even if I lose my friends, I will never lose my God or myself.
18. I'm so glad the world is beautiful, and that I'm not blind to it.
19. I'm glad I have a passion for culture and art, for masterpieces and craftsmanship, for foreign countries and far-off places, even if everyone thinks I'm crazy.
20. I'm glad I found out that sex isn't all its cracked up to be, until you find someone that makes true love all its cracked up to be.
21. I'm glad I occasionally steal my boyfriend's clothes, and he loves it.
22. I'm glad I daydream.
23. I'm glad I have unimaginably unreachable goals.
24. I'm glad I realize that my childhood is over, adulthood isn't far ahead, and my choices are all my own.
25. I'm glad I bite my nails, obsessively pluck my eyebrows, have calloused feet and am overweight. If I was perfect, it would be like starting life at the finish line.
26. I'm glad I have people that understand me. It makes all the difference when you're at the bottom of a hole you dug yourself.
27. I'm glad I like to be clean.
28. I'm glad someone invented slightly flavored water. I don't know why.
29. I'm glad I can light incense and a perfect path to who I want to be forms in my head.
30. I'm glad I don't have to fit any kind of mold. Living an unexpected life makes everything special.
Back! *Now with Poetry*
2/18/2009
I look around for the source of laughter,
Expecting your face,
Sharing every moment
But now
My own perfect independence
Is bruised with loneliness
In longing my fingers trace
The shadows where your face belongs
They know its familiar curves
Better than i
The words I use pale
The sun grows dim
Without the muse that brings
Brilliant color to a faded everyday
The warmth of you still clings
To my clothes
And calms the icy thoughts
That frost the edges of my smile
I am half.
I am missing.
I am lost.
In this world of freedom
I am malcontent
Until I can again press my lips
To every freckle
And know neither of us has to be alone.
I look around for the source of laughter,
Expecting your face,
Sharing every moment
But now
My own perfect independence
Is bruised with loneliness
In longing my fingers trace
The shadows where your face belongs
They know its familiar curves
Better than i
The words I use pale
The sun grows dim
Without the muse that brings
Brilliant color to a faded everyday
The warmth of you still clings
To my clothes
And calms the icy thoughts
That frost the edges of my smile
I am half.
I am missing.
I am lost.
In this world of freedom
I am malcontent
Until I can again press my lips
To every freckle
And know neither of us has to be alone.
Friday, April 21, 2006
A bit amiss
I don't know what it is, but the last few days have been off. At first I thought it was something to do with me, or the weather, or simply just being depressed at having parentals breathing down my neck for an entire weekend, but theres just something else tugging at the edge of my mind. Its like a damp weight I can't shake; like somethings about to happen and its too terrible to really let in. Kinda crazy I know, but Chris agreed with me and we chatted about it while seeking comfort food in the Atascadero Albertsons. If I went a little out there and forgot for a minute that I wasn't a lunatic with a crystal ball, I would say that It feels like a tragedy happened; or someone died, and the rest of the world hasn't caught up yet. As if I'm just waiting for the inevitable; powerless to do anything about it, and its right at my doorstep. There's something in the wind that makes me not want to go outside- a spooky sort of night that is recreated with music and good filmography in horror movies. I don't know why it scares me but it does. Its similar to that feeling I used to get in middle school- when depression was something i whined about to my diaries.
Before I pinpointed this, my head was absorbed with finding out what it was that was making me lethargic and on edge at the same time- that feeling I had after my grandpa died- in mourning and waiting for the next blow to come. Is it a premonition of some sort? I have no idea; but its creeping me out and I'm waiting for it to go away. I hope it does, or that the blow comes, because the anguish is in the waiting, not in the moment of truth.
Before I pinpointed this, my head was absorbed with finding out what it was that was making me lethargic and on edge at the same time- that feeling I had after my grandpa died- in mourning and waiting for the next blow to come. Is it a premonition of some sort? I have no idea; but its creeping me out and I'm waiting for it to go away. I hope it does, or that the blow comes, because the anguish is in the waiting, not in the moment of truth.
Friday, March 31, 2006
into the depths - poetry for the few
A skyline is etched into my thoughts
i miss you
i stare out windows
hoping for your scent
deaf ears cannot feel or bleed
with an early morning and an empty voicemail
silent moments
so solid beside me
i call a name to the night
but it is morning
complete with faulty window
and heartless ticking
of moments alone
my heart throbs
realizing its use
and aches
after this marathon we've run
my thoughts are lost in this
dew clinging to my ankles
wading too deep
in such a shallow pool
a pale imitation
makes its entrance
expecting awe
i cannot pretend any longer
for i've seen the original
its mold
my life a lie before your face
my efforts in vain
before attempting you
and i yearn for it
as i do air after a breath.
i miss you
i stare out windows
hoping for your scent
deaf ears cannot feel or bleed
with an early morning and an empty voicemail
silent moments
so solid beside me
i call a name to the night
but it is morning
complete with faulty window
and heartless ticking
of moments alone
my heart throbs
realizing its use
and aches
after this marathon we've run
my thoughts are lost in this
dew clinging to my ankles
wading too deep
in such a shallow pool
a pale imitation
makes its entrance
expecting awe
i cannot pretend any longer
for i've seen the original
its mold
my life a lie before your face
my efforts in vain
before attempting you
and i yearn for it
as i do air after a breath.
Monday, March 27, 2006
this is what makes life divine
I had an odd conversation with a friend about love over the weekend.
Me: "But why aren't you out there trying to find someone to fall in love with?"
Mr. Friend: "I'm not sure I even want that"
Me (thoroughly confused): "What?"
Mr. Friend (patiently): "There are plenty of guys who have gone on being bachelors forever. That life is just easier."
Me: "But don't you want to be in love?"
Mr. Friend: "I've never really wanted it."
Me: "Because you've never experienced it?"
Mr. Friend: "yeah, i guess."
To some people, this might not be strange. To me, it was like two squares talking about possibly never wanting or needing a square shaped hole to fit in. (Wow, totally sounded naughty but not going there, we're talking about love peoples) I realized an extraordinarily long time ago that I was addicted to falling in love, being in love, searching for love. Its just one of those odd things I found intoxicating and easy to do, like Bejeweled 2 on yahoo games (the downfall of my anti-procrastination efforts). Being in love has the same nasty effect on me that buying something on Ebay does: giddy satisfaction. But this newfangled idea from one of my best friends was shocking to my system: no hope for romantic love? It consumes my thoughts and guides my actions, because it is the goal at which I aim with every inch of my existence. And for him, this doesn't matter at all. It sounds like the classic shock kids brought up in Christian homes face when they meet the aetheist's kid for the first time: how can something you've always known to be true, right, and worth pursuing over everything, mean nothing or even be a nasty thought in someone elses mind? Something tells me that he'll find someone amazing, that is the perfect fit in his life, and he'll see the value of loving her, and wonder what he did without it.
And then again why do I have to be right? Maybe my addiction is really that: something harmful that eats away at all other aspects of my life. True I haven't been single since the beginning of 8th grade (a good 5 years back), but why would i want to be single? I know plenty of people who would argue independance, freedom, less turmoil in life, but i really don't crave any of those things, because they exist while out of a relationship just as they do in it, just with a slightly different spin on them. Detremental as my addiction is, the worst of it probably comes with the fact that I hang on to relationships longer than I should, even when all the happiness has been sucked out and the only good that is left is shallow and hungry. The fear of being out of love, the possibility that I'd be giving up the one I'm supposed to be with, as well as the thought that I might not find one better, cripple me. Current circumstances prove to be challenging in this way, and the 2 year relationship with a boy that once resembled all my happiness is hanging on my love of love, not my good sense. Advice on this matter would be extremely helpful, for I am a fool in love, and a bigger fool out of it, so my addled brain can't think on this subject any longer.
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