ditto: used
in accounts and lists to indicate that an item is repeated (often
indicated by quote marks under the word or figure to be repeated); used to indicate that something already said is applicable a second time; a word that Nick taught me how to spell
Brilliant!
I'd wish you happy holidays, but first, I have an unyielding inquisition. here's the question-- if Xmas lights are so beautiful and sparkly, and provide so much cheer, why don't we keep them up all year? Fuck, that even rhymed. It's an omen, or a sign, or something equally as forthcoming.
Anyway, onward in true tradition. You all know how much I love this video/song, so here it is again. Sigh. It never gets old.
I'll spare you this year and won't rant about materialism and how the holiday themed media that I subject myself to is limited, at best. (Christmas is not a valid excuse for inadequacy and compromising quality, people.) Instead, I'll let you enjoy your holiday. Oh joy!
update 1/3/11- so Mollie got me derby socks and Sparking Apple Cider (the fancy multi Northwest Apple Blend), isn't Mollie the greatest! I drank the entire bottle out of this obnoxious beer glass my step-dad has with ducks and waterfowl on it. Reminded me of wearing camo and sitting in a blind for four plus hours of si...lence... I really do like hunting though. Despite the killing and bloody corps you have to haul away if you are so lucky, it really is very serince and peaceful. Speaking of dad, I just got a card in the mail from him today. It was a thank you card stating how much he appreciated my gift to him. I found a first edition (second printing) copy of Errnest Hemminway's Form Whom the Bells Toll for Hyde Park Books here in Boise. I'm glad he loves it.
hill of beans: according to urabandictionary.com, this term is U.S. Marine jargon comparative for something worthless
You know what, sometimes you break your ankle and lose the very love of your life and realize you hate your job and where you live, and then BAM! your dearest friend Nick comes to visit and reminds you that depression sucks balls, but life amounts to more than just a hill of beans. So I dedicate this song to Nick.
Our time together was too short, as always, but I'll always remmember how we we ate delicious co-op sandwiches and hung out with Anthony. They cooked noodles, I ate them, they played pool, I got frustrated (I really susper suck at pool and am a poor sport about it), they argued, I didn't help. Ha! And of course, there was this...
fun with lighter fluid, burning anarchy! Not illegal, no, nope. Perfectly safe.
Not really sure what's going on here, something to do with watching Nacho Libre, maybe.
Anyway, so this was really the cherry on top, I also got a new job and am cleared to skate come Feb, and found a new place to live! So, suck it depression. Check and mate. I win this round.
cabin fever: irritability, listlessness, and similar symptoms resulting from long confinement or isolation indoors during the winter
I was bored at work so Will (our IT guy, ex Marine) and I scrambled our names. I came up with "no ham, get quail" from my name.
I seriously couldn't think of a "qu" word
other than quail. Will's was "moon rain swill n.i.b."
I asked him if I could start calling him "Moon" for short.
He didn't resist. Jealous.
I also wrote some poems and listened to a fuck ton of Wye Oak. Winter songs!
Sadist
I wish I had a sheet big enough to block out the sun
Fucking quit calling me hun*
Same song seven times
Buried beneath piercing blue chimes
Boiling belly
Sugar sugar sugar sweet
Withhold your judgment
Cracked golden popcorn
Contaminated toxin
Handful of candy
Colors patch the clouds
Neon green and acid orange
Blood red rain rains drown
Blood red rain runs down
Hey, wait, deepest dark
Let us complain together
Light blinded bright eyes
Pick apart the pieces that persistently permeate
Forever
Final request, fatal foe
Don’t blow through many hoes
Filthy figment of my imagination
Please, stop
Stop, please
Word Games
fuzzy butter flys by
pass me the dish
full of winter star
rowe a boat and we'll begin again
this content is from Merge Records, perhaps one of the greatest record labels to ever exist on this sweet earth.
Eeyore: a character in the Winnie-the-Pooh books, created by A. A.
Milne; generally characterized as a greyish-blue, gloomy,
depressed, anthropomorphic, old stuffed donkey
I went over to help eat the food Alby cooked and watch her put shiny things on their Xmas tree. I wasn't much help. Actually, in my defense I have a broken ankle and I did string on some beads!
We also watched the following movie...well I can't find a version to embed, so you can see The Help trailer here.
It was a fantastic reminder that, in retrospect, I have nothing to complain about. If I ever again speak of suffering, I need only to remember that there are those who have been deeper in the depths of pain than I. One thing is certain, the more you suffer the more resilient you become. My life has been worse than some but a whole heck of a lot better than others. My mom lent me the book, I'm reading it now.
p.s. I apologize for my masochistic and my self-loathing and my sadist vanity. Sometimes I relate most to Eeyore.
p.s. my roommate just came home with another guy (another toothbrush, that's how I can tell for certain). I've stopped trying to call them by the correct name. Anyway. This reminds me, I've been meaning to complain IN GENERAL, AT LARGE, TO EVERY GIRL WHO HAS EVER GIVEN ME THAT EVIL LOOK. I've been meaning to complain that it's not my fault that all your boyfriends hit on me, it's not my fault that your husband never told me he was married until I met you, it's not my fucking fault that your fiance said he loves me in the wrong sort of way, it's not my fault that my ex is now your ex and for some ridiculous reason you are angry at ME...it's not my fucking fault. No wonder the one person I've ever loved is a moron who gives genuine attention like a cold, heartless rock.
normalcy: being within certain limits that define the range of normal functioning, President Harding's 1920's presidential campaign slogan
Houser, one of the girls I skate with, was sharing a story about both her personal and professional experience with VA psychologists. She, like me, was once in a relationship with an Iraq veteran. She also happens to be a licensed therapist. And well, apart from "reminiscing" about how crazy we felt in those relationships, she also confirmed my suspicions... some VA psychologists' idea of therapy is "pushy" at best. They define for the vet what is "normative behavior," and then they push them into that box, sometimes the pushing occurs even when the vet is ill suited or not ready for such normalcy. Take for example, a month ago T told me that he is in a new relationship. We've discussed, at length, about how he actively fights against being in any sort of relationship on a daily basis. When I asked him why then, all he had to offer was, "because I want to feel normal." If you don't genuinely want or desire to partake in normative behaviors, than why do them, why strive for them? And more importantly if you cannot fully and wholeheartedly engage in normative behaviors, aren't you cheating yourself and others involved? Seems silly to me.
I've struggled with this myself. The subjective and highly self-sustaining idea of norms, normalcy, normative behaviors, normal, etc. are not easily understood, at least not by my brain. I am not normal, others remind me of this daily, and actually, I have come to enjoy actively working against norms. That;s not to say I'm a deviant or some subversive. I'm an individual rather. In my own observations, many "individuals" lack the courage they need to be unabashedly themselves. They instead, compromise themselves and their life experiences in order to fulfill society's definition of "normal."
Fuck being normal. If I have to compromise my identity, my intuition, my love, my emotion, my anything, well then, that norm ought not to be followed. I suppose this starting to leans towards anarchy. But optimistically, without norms, society as we know it would change radically for the better, or so postulates my theory. If everyone adhered to the "you can swing your fist so long as it doesn't hit my nose" philosophy, I'd like to think that we'd have a happier healthier, more "zen" like existence.
Okay, this is turning into a run away thought. I digress. Back to normalcy and how being yourself above everything else is admirable! I got my brother-in-law a children's book for Christmas in the How do Dinosaurs...? series. It's a collection of books that basically socializes children and introduces them to the very identity stripping normative behaviors that I complained about earlier. I gave him this book as a reminder of a conversation we once had. The conversation was about his struggle to find the courage to be an individual, even if that individuality doesn't fit conventional norms. My brother-in-law is also an Iraq vet and he too has transitioned out of an organization where individuality and non-normative behavior are not valued. The transition has been difficult and I am glad that he has crazy me and my crazy sister here to remind him that non-normal is where it's at! Look, I'm no President Harding, but folks, don't compromise yourself just because society tells you to. Live with courage and intention; be an individual.
love: an incurable disease, or maybe an innate trait that manifests in unusual forms
Actively, I am trying not to fall in love ever again. Never again. The only way I can "return to normalcy" is to pretend you (there have been few) have met your death, your ultimate demise, vanished from this earth. The other remedy is to simply recognize that I have a disease. "Watch out cupid struck me with a sickness, pull out your little arrows and let me live my life." I wish I had written those words.
Love is sickness. Anyone have the virus?
Music video by Saves the Day performing Deranged & Desperate. (C) 2011 Razor & Tie Direct, LLC
Official Music Video for "Sick Muse", from the album FANTASIES 2009 Metric Productions http://www.ilovemetric.com video by Justin Broadbent and Michael Leach (HotDogGarbage) http://hotdoggarbage.com
Come to think of it, I just might have the cure, I just may. Materialism and destruction (posts to come on these topics). Bubble wrap and a shiny new dress, big sunglasses, loud music. There's comfort is destroying things, there's comfort is movement. DANCE. DANCE. DANCE.
Update 1/3/12- So today was the perfect day to listen to Dawes; sunny and cold, lots of work to do.
Remember I don't own this content, it's from "North Hills" by Dawes (2009)
Anyway, this song, specifically the lyric "you might be loves reminder, but love is all I am" got me ah-thinking. What if "love" is an innate trait that comes in varying degrees of intensity and some people have so much of it that it fills their entire being, where as others cannot feel it at all? That would explain a lot. It sure make coping with loses easier. What if everyone I have ever loved, their memory binding to my skin like super glue, painful to rip apart, are simply reminder of this trait that I have called love? I sure like that idea. It means that I have some control, no that's the wrong word, some ownership of where my love manifests, but I can still accept that "love is not convenient, it does not cease at your command."
Those are my thoughts! I have many more, mostly about materialism and destruction, but I will save those for another post.
adroit: clever or skillful in using the hands or mind
Competent, that was the theme of my Wednesday. I installed a washing machine and changed the dryer duct, which I got free just for being cute and curling my hair this morning. The delivery gave me his number too. Thank you genetics and thank you curling iron, even though you're half broken, both of you. I also made croutons, gluten free croutons at that. And I was craving chocolate ice cream, but the freezer was devoid of chocolate ice cream. Tragic. But alas, I found some coco powder, added it in and wha lah! There is something so gratifying about making or fixing things with your own hands.
This remind me of by far the best find in all the Treasure Valley Area. My new friend Ryan took me to this place called the Reuseum. They do a more eloquent job of explaining themselves than I can, so just make the jump over to their website. As added incentive, I promise you robots!
I used to be a remarkable baker, and then I developed a wheat allergy :(
SUUCK.
A bunch of pretty jars now sit perched in my pantry shelf. They're filled with all sorts of powdery goodness, rice flour, teff, coconut flour, starches, tapioca, sorghum flour. Early on in my battle to re-learn how to bake, I tried using Bob's Red Mill all-purpose gluten free flour, but it tastes like beans. Uck.
Now, cometh the dawn of a great challenge. A fight for decent Christmas cookies.
I'm not sure when I'll find the time but, soon, I vow to bake the following cookies. And they will be delicious, or else.
I should back off on the threats. Too much of my writing has been angry lately. Heck, I will challenge all things to a duel to the death. I will conquer everything, cookies, people, society. I will crumble them all into a million tiny pieces. Delicious, wheat-free pieces.
and the grand finale! A trailer park ginger bread house
I will take pictures as proof. Pinky promise.
Update 1/3/11-
I didn't make them all. I got lazy. Well no, frankly, I got frustrated. Baking used to so easy. It's challenging now. The things I did end up baking turned out bomb though!
GF Dark Chocolate Brownies with Peppermint Chocolate Creme Ganache
Rocky Road Fudge with homemade marshmallows, cashews, fair trade dark chocolate, and coconut
Drunk Alby and Just-Woke-Up Alby are surprisingly similar people.
"Do you want to go Chrrrrristmas shopping?" I knew it. I had called too early in the morning. Damn. She was talking in that silly voice again, "Do you want to go Chrrrristmas shopping dear sister? I just ate an entire bag of biscotee. Do YOU want to go Christmas shopping with me, your beautiful sister?" Fine. Fine. I will go Christmas shopping. Stop asking. Grumble grumble. I am only do this to avoid the bobbery that would ensue, like being punched in the boob.
The rest of the day was spent receiving absurd looks from other customers and cashiers. Apparently, we talk about not so normal things in the checkout line. My favorite was, "I'm like 20% lesbian already, so I might as well work on it." "Makes sense to me." Nervous chuckle from our cashier. We also texted Mom a cascade of random photos of random things in random places; a taste of her own medicine. She secretly loved it though. And if I hear the words, "What should I get so-and-so" or "What do you want for Christmas" one more time...
fire, death, destruction. All will be black. Quit asking me for Pete's sake!
Here, here, here you go, these are my favorite things, these are things I need:
Costco-sized bag of Gold Star Jasmine Rice
Boise Opera Tickets/Seattle Ballet Tickets, if you really love me you'd get me a season pass :)
Wax skate laces from derbysupply.net (better yet, a healed ankle, you can fix broken bones magically, right?)
Miscellaneous kitchen things that are M.I.A. (pastry cutter, basting brush, cast iron pan, tupper wear/lunch box that Gill stole from me/I keep forgetting to get from him, knife set, don't even ask me how I lost an entire knife set)
New blow dryer, curling iron (both died on me, in a tragic accident)
When in doubt, anything with sparkles, a pin-up on it, smells like lavender/ginger, or was made 50 years ago, headphones too. I can always use headphones and socks! I go through these the most in life. Well that and crappy boyfriends.
Actually, this is kind of fun. I also like big pearl earrings, ice cream, root beer, ice cream and root beer together, I believe they call that a "float," those sea monkey pets we used to get when I was little, Eddie Vedder's hand in marriage, Bonnebell cherry lip gloss, green apple gum, Lion brand yarn, purple inked pens from Paper<3<3Mate
Scratch everything, if you can't do the following, don't even bother with a gift
just kidding. Sort of. I would be content making cookies in your company.
I have even put some serious thought into what I will be attempting to bake. see subsequent post to come.
All said and done, I accomplished most of my shopping. There are stickers involved. Lots of stickers. You have been warned.
abdicate: (of a monarch) renounce one's throne; release responsibility or duty
I quite my job today! Two weeks notice submitted, new job at the Idaho State Archives as a Research Assistant and Territorial Project Archivist secured. I wouldn't exactly call my old position a monarch, nor did I have a thrown (sad huh?), but I am indeed abdicating my duties as Technical Records Specialist. Never again will I do a job that requires 10 hours of sitting at a desk, staring at a computer screen. As happy as I am to make this change in my life, I do want to thank my coworkers and boss, I learned a lot from that position and from them. It's simply that that job was tearing me down, eating at my soul. Not sure how someone could do ten years there! Well, at least I managed to squeeze in some fun. Like the time our HR lady said that my small picture of Betty Grable (a super mild pin-up from the 40's) was offensive and against office policy, so I printed out ten or so stickers of her and stuck them under all the cabinets, filing drawers, desks, and conference tables. Sneaky me. Or like the time our network and internet went down and no one could do any work for nearly half a day, so I played with my camera phone...
et voila: French for 'there you have it," "there it is"
I am famous! Ha. Hardly. You can, however, find my face on the Treasure Valley Roller Girls website. That's almost like be a celebrity, right? Same difference.
omega: the twenty-fourth and final letter of the Greek alphabet (Ω, ω), transliterated as ‘o’ or ‘ō’
Do you ever feel like you're going to give up on everything soon. Like an ending is nearing? Like you're running out of letters to use and once you've used them all, there is no hope.
I hate this feeling.
Fuck having a perpetually broken heart.
Fuck losing your appetite.
Fuck insomnia.
Fuck scars.
Fuck depression.
So, today I had a doctor's appointment to get my cast off and I left work early. I had lunch at Baja Fresh and bam! there was the most recent copy of the Boise Weekly stacked tall in it's little wire press cage. When I got it, I instantly flipped to the back and read the following horoscope:
"When I see your face, the stones start spinning!" wrote the poet Rumi, as translated by Coleman Barks. "Water turns pearly. Fire dies down and doesn't destroy. In your presence I don't want what I thought I wanted." I think you need to be in the presence of a face like that, Gemini. You've got to get your fixations scrambled by an arresting vision of soulful authenticity. You need your colors transposed and your fire and water reconfigured. Most of all, it's crucial that you get nudged into transforming your ideas about what you really want. So go find that healingly disruptive prod, please. It's not necessarily the face of a gorgeous icon. It could be the face of a whisperer in the darkness or of a humble hero who's skilled in the art of surrender. Do you know where to look?
looks amazing so far. I made the cinnamon rolls after work yesterday and they are bomb. I came home and did not have the energy or motivation to make real food, so I baked instead. Stress has taken over my being lately and I seem to have lost my appetite. I don't want to eat anything but sugary food stuff. Yesterday, for example, all I had was rice and three cinnamon rolls. Not okay. I've also been watching a lot of stupid sitcoms; they are comforting. Check out Last Man Standing, Melissa and Joey, and Suburgatory.
let's just say, I go a new job, fancy new job, jobitty job job job!
I gave my two weeks notice and will start at the Idaho State Archives, $17/hr, in January as the Territorial Archivist for the State of Idaho. I win, I am winning, win win win. It takes a certain amount of crazy to work there, and I've got it!
motherfucker: self explanatory swear word, surprisingly in Microsoft Office spell check. I have more than likely already used this as a post title, oh well.
Humph. I'm tired of dating people who look down upon the fact that I cuss. No more editing, no more turning "fuck" into "fudge," no more apologizing after the fact like it's going to offend everyone and all their precious golden sensitive ears. Fuuuuck Your Precious Golden Sensitive Ears. Te he. In the words of hyperbole and a half blog author (best blog ever), I offer this explanation...
Q: Will you stop using swear words?
A: [No.] I like swear words. I think they can be really funny. I try to use them sparingly because I know that some people don't feel the same way, but sometimes a sentence just needs the word "motherfucker" in it. If I've used a swear word, I have probably thought long and hard about whether it was necessary and decided that it was. In my opinion, they are just words and should not be given so much power. However, I understand that some of you wish to share my posts with your children and not everyone feels comfortable with their children knowing the word "fuck." In that case, I give you full permission to transfer my posts to a word document and erase the offending words or print the post out and black out the "fucks" and "shits" and "motherfuckers." And I apologize if my use of these words has offended you in any way. but seriously, saying "motherfucker" just makes the day brighter :P
Grad school is not necessarily academically rigorous, but instead mind-numbingly time consuming. Something needs to give. I cannot keep working 40 hours and trying to do school on top of it all.
And the cherry garnish, you ask? Well that comes in the flavor of being perpetually sick with step throat. The folks at urgent care on Broadway know me by name now. Pretty sure they think I'm dealing antibiotics or something nefarious.
bout: what roller derby matches/games are called; period of intense activity of a specified kind
First HOME bout with TVR today! Beyond excited. It's a "pink and green bout," meaning it's the last season inter-league bout. Feels like Christmas/I need to puke because of all the anticipation. You can get tickets from me ($10) or from one of our sponsors.
cocknocker: I don't really know the definition 100%, but people say it all the time as an insult in Canada. You cocknocker! It's just good clean, err, good fun to say
This past weekend we drove two stretches over 8 hours each to get to Edmonton, Alberta in Canada. Why you ask...well to strap on our skates and roll around in circle, maybe get a few bruises and cracked ribs of course. We lost our bout, but it sure was a blast. I was inside my own head the whole bout, still getting used to the wheels I bought in September. At one point on the trip we had stopped at Canada's version of Costco for snacks, etc. As I was walking out of the store, I turned to look back and saw Rampage trying to exit the entrance, then she got wildly distracted by a large display of canned maple beans, "Oh my gosh beans! I need these." She shoveled 4 or 5 cans into her arms, stuffed one down her shirt and ran back into the store to pay. Ha! And to think this lovely lady is perhaps one of the jammers I respect most and even want to emulate. Damn, she's got skill, but is bat shit crazy, cracks me up. The rest of the weekend is freckled, no, filled to the brim with stories like this.
P.s. never have I seen Highway that intoxicated before. On the drive up, there was construction traffic at 1am! and what did Highway do? She got out and peed in the middle of the road, not the side, but the middle, then waved to the semi truck driver in front of us. And to think, they made fun of me for talking about quail while I was sleeping in the backseat!! Who's crazy now. Well, I guess we are all. It's a prerequisite in derby, you have to be fucked up and broken even before you can skate.
Right after we ate (most delicious GF buttered noodles I have ever had) in Missoula, MT
Like a boss! Probably the only thing I did right that whole bout
Fine art in the powder room at the Calgary Motel 6
meathead: slang for a muscular man, who isn't highly intelligent
First, a disclaimer-- I am going to be judgmental in this post. It's bad, but sometimes, I reserve the right to be a little snooty.
After my UW orientation in Seattle, I spent the weekend with Zack in Olympia. Now remember folks, I dated Zack in high school. Why did I decided to stop doing that?... oh right, the man is a meathead. There, I said, I feel bad, but it's true. He's a strong, proportional, 6'6" guy who likes playing football, drinking beer, listening to metal, and not much else. Most of our conversations (since we live in two separate states) are about how his day was and what he ate. Too snooty? Yeah, I think I'm being too snooty. Okay, so he's not 100% meathead, he's also very loyal and supportive of his friends and family, he's kind-hearted, and won't admit it, emotional (especially when not fed), and has surprising qualities (like the ability to improve). Mar, anyway, so during this weekend, I learned that Zack, albeit a fantastic catch for some other individual, just is a little too meatheaded for my tastes.
What gives? Seems like if I'm attracted to someone physically, I'm not mentally or emotionally, and vise versa. I think it's high time I took a hiatus from relationships, and attraction, and all that jazz. As soon as I am done with this post, in fact, I am going to write a to do list and the number one task will be "quit trying to fall in love."
Zack's ACDC shirt, I hand washed it, and this is how grey the water was after the third wash! My collection of men's t-shirts is unprecedented.
Flight back to Boise, ID. Do you see the heart-shaped pond?
Anyway, sorry Zack and the dozen or so other people I've dated over the past year, I'm exhausted, and if something isn't genuine-100% attraction, why bother? We're only cheating ourselves that way.
maffick: to celebrate with boisterous rejoicing and hilarious behavior; "Maffick" is an alteration of Mafeking Night, the British celebration of
the lifting of the siege of a British military outpost during the South
African War at the town of Mafikeng (also spelled Mafeking) on May 17,
1900
Ugh. These feelings I am having, they are abstruse at best. I should be rejoicing, celebrating the accomplishment of getting into grad school, relishing the opportunities that now lie before me. But in all honesty, there is something missing. The same "keep your nose to the grind stone" motivation that got me through my undergraduate program seems to be exhausted. I used it all up during the last four, no, the last sixteen years of my academic life.
Now I'm in Seattle, on the UW campus for orientation. It's grey and everything is so...underwhelming...so underwhelming, in fact, that it seems to be overwhelming. That's paradoxical, I know, but I'll go with it anyway. The golden question is, how long will it take me to make it though this degree? Double ugh.
see? Grey, I told you, everything is grey, stupid Puget Sound
This is my future: cat-eyed glasses and a beehive!
Okay, sometimes it's not grey
On the upside of things, Nancy and her husband, Colin let me stay with them for the extended weekend. I ate chicken curry, spoke a little Spanish, went to rainy soccer practice, and got lectured in a British accent (Colin is verbose, quite like myself, and it was less of a lecture and more of advice, I suppose). I bought them a stunning orchid as thanks for their hospitality.
neologism: a newly coined word or expression, rising in use
I started reading my first assignment for LIS (Library and Information Science) 510 this morning, and already, I have reservation, contestations even, with the first sentence. THE VERY FIRST SENTENCE of my graduate education, and I already have issues. Oh boy, oh bother. Here's my rant, hopefully, getting it off my chest will allow me to move on and finish reading this stupid article...
Yeah okay, we get it. You are smart, and are a doctoral student,
and wrote this fancy pants article. But seriously?! "Necessitatean"
is not a word. Probably never will be. I mean, what the fuck does it even mean?
You could have just said "made necessary." I even looked in the latin
dictionary. It's not in there. You can't just make up words! What merit badge allows you to do that in a scholarly article? Only children who
are confused about the past tense and grammatical structure of modern English
do that. You are being a child! Or are you? Fine, make up your own words. Go
right ahead. Maybe I'm just jealous. humpf. Whatever. "Necessitatean" is not a word!
bottom line.
It's funny how lately I have been trying to eschew from contacting you. I know it is inevitable and I really should truly try to avoid seeing you. You have a girlfriend, whether you respect her or not is not my problem, but I know, and you should too, that having your cake and then eating it is not the right thing to do. So, yes, I have been avoiding you.
Funny though, how fate likes to taunt me. I walked to Hastings at lunch today and there you were in line. Fuck. I tried to turn and leave quickly. You saw me. Flustered I made some asinine excuse and darted out the door. Then you went and did your stupid thing that sucks me the fuck back in. Text from you reads, "It was nice to see your face. I'm sad we couldn't chat more." Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. What part of "I will always love you and it is not fair to your girlfriend that you keep me in your life...cry cry cry" do you not understand? It's not really fair to me either. You're in your own little world. Sigh.
Text from me reads, "I'm not stalking you, quite the opposite actually. Cross my heart. Pinky promise.'
update- I was told that I need to stop referring to "you" as if I am directly talking to you. So here on out I will speak of you in the third-person, like normal people do.
This is how I answered the last phone call between Nick and I. On his drive back to Eugene he hooked his droid phone up to the radio and BAM! I had my own talk show. Best. Thing. Ever.
I cleaned out my hard drive last night, only to realize that most of my life is anthologized by playlists and mixed CDs. So I went to Office Max down the road from my house, bought a bunch of blank discs and started burning! If I get the courage, I think I'll mail these to all the people who have inspired them. So, T and Nick and Jen and Rob, the list goes on, if you get a randmon massive amount of CDs, don't panic! Just listen. That's my moto lately. DON'T PANIC, JUST LISTEN.
original content owned by the Fruit Bats
I hate biting my tongue. Probably can't do it for much longer, I apologize in advance.
We're always told slow and steady wins the race and good things come to those who wait, and blah, blah, blah blity blah. I've been trying to listen to this "societal advice" for nearly my entire life. Not any more! the next time someone insists that I be more patient, I am going to tell them that THEY OUGHT TO hurry up and be more IMpacient!
firecracker: an idiom meaning a very intense, lively, and outspoken individual; spitfire
I must place a disclosure at the start of this post...the words below are not aimed towards anyone other than one specific individual, and it's probably close to a 99.99% chance that you are not that person. Despite this, please feel free to read on.
So last night, meh, I forgot to mention one thing while under the dim lights of Sonic, sitting across from your small skeleton on that cookie-cutting red bench which left imprints of evil ovals on my thighs. I forgot to inform you that you're the one who made the biggest assumption of them all. You assumed I was okay, silly really.
Que poem.
Firecracker
I am not like you
your face all smugged together,
vapidly dribbling, "pain's not necessarily a bad thing...
drifting through life is the right thing to do"
fuck that shit,
I never want to live my life like that again
if it comes to it,
I will make all things messy and difficult
I will feel, but not wallow
I will live with intention, and not suffer
I will be a wild whirlwind
I will swing my wreaking ball right into your heart
smash it into a trillion tiny flecks of ruby red
you will feel my wrath
you will have no choice but to bow in my presence
as I sweat sugary seven-7-up-sprite
and stomp in giant puddles of hyperactivity,
splashing you and all your pathetic lambs with exhalation and a natural high
I will firecracker through your life like an electric storm of
glittery gold and fiery yellow,
sprinkling down onto your skin,
seeping-in like the creeping ash and the flickering sting of a cigarette burn
I will not be compromised.
"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me": song lyric from Mirah, off her album C'mon Miricale
content courtesy of chaosrah on youtube. I do not own this video.
My mind is a vortex of spinning cognition and introspection. Never stopping, never slowing. It's at its worse when my thoughts get so loud that they proceed in a shouting match with one another. There's a screaming opera of voices in my head right before I sink, sink into a hole, spinning downward, buried beneath my thoughts like a pile of dirt slowly crumbling over my body, compressed under a heavy and pensive elephant sitting on my chest.
If I think too much, I can think myself straight into a panic attack. I wish anxiety on no individual. You honestly feel as if you are dying, as if there is nothing you can do. The harder you try to calm down, the more you try to halt thinking, the worse it gets.
Don't get me wrong, I love thinking. I have a very complex inner life. More rich than, probably, most people's day to day lives. My brain is a crazy place. But sometimes, in rarity, I long for a quite mind.
Recently, I've been listening to a lot of Mirah. Her music makes my mind quite. She sings the words I am already thinking, so my mind just stops, listens, lives. There is no reason to think when the thoughts are being passed through your brain by another. Maybe this is why hypnotist have jobs and commercials tell you to "buy, buy, buy" and we obey.
Anyway, with this influx of thinking, I've realized that I haven't written in a long while. So, I packed my notepad and have been frantically scribbling and scrawling these past few days. Word vomit, some may say. This has helped, my mind may not be completely quite, but it has turned the volume down. My brain is quite enough now to realize that, frankly, "if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me." This you, thye may not know who they are, but I do.
I wrote this, these are my thoughts. I am secure and safe now, and wish you were too. You'd at least, then, have the courage to live your life unabashed.
So.
QUE PENA
quality is a trait I stopped searching for once you choked the suss out of my curiosity.
ugly is the more I see, the closer I get.
ending is my tolerance and compassion, the pity you deceived your way into guarantee.
please leave me alone. I need coping, I need to lament my losses and gasp for the air that has long vacated my livelihood while buried beneath grand and lofty egos.
everything is frigid, chilled.
no air colder to breath, ice crystals stab my esophagus and consume my lungs, freezing my heart frigid and numbing my head into a solid stone of slush.
again
no, I can't do this again.
