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I’m in such a horrible state of mindfuck right now. I’m not sure if it’s because the music I’m listening to is all wrong, or everything I thought I knew is all about to change (eh, Bostonians?! EHHH!?) but what it really is the kicker of the whole bit is that I’ve tangled myself up in a little mind web of guilt, regret, and complicated feelings.

I would also like to point out that the Urban Express messengers walk around like zombies. At least I think they’re UE… they prowl up and down 1st ave (why, I’m not quite sure… how many businesses are there in East Village that use a messenger service – we RARELY do) like they’re out of fucking thriller or something (yeah, more Michael Jackson references in our everyday lives is what we need right now) and kind of even do this great little growly/slobbery thing.

Had a really wonderful evening last night… I think the only way I stayed awake is by refusing to drink at the Broadway show “Rock of Ages” which serves beer DURING THE SHOW IN THE AISLES LIKE A FUCKING BASEBALL GAME. It was completely appropriate for this show, and the show was completely inappropriate for anyone under the age of 13. Maybe 14. Maybe 18. It was pretty risque, but campy and fabulous and blah blah blah I’d see it again.

After that I jetted back to Brooklyn and after parting with my father and brother (who moseyed back to my apartment), I met up with Matt and a group of photogs (Nicole, Noah, and Danny) at Huckleberry. Matty and I have been going excruciating periods of time away from each other (not like our first summer where I saw him EVERY DAY) and we often lose track of what’s going on in each others lives. I’ve reached a ridiculous crossroads (yesterdays reference to the “fork”) and needed his input. I also need Stef’s input, but I’m not getting that until our brunch on Sunday. I’m in a pickle. A nutshell. A New York State of Mind. Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m clearly manic and slightly disoriented and I’m not sure if I want to just go home and sleep or if I want to lock myself in my bathroom in a tub full of ice and try to teach myself how to harvest my own organs so I can maybe afford to do something really fun and expensive this month.

Matty and I talked for awhile. It’s weird that I’m kind of going through this parallel relationship evolution with Matt as I am with my Mom. I’m finding the more open and willing I am to be perfectly honest, the more sincere support and advice I receive. What Matt said kind of worked against the few hours of therapy I’ve had over the past few weeks, but GOD it was refreshing to have someone see another side of it. I’m just so used to “You’re wrong. You need to grow out of this. You will learn. We can fix you.” and Matt was sort of saying “Well maybe you need to listen to yourself for once and deal with this baggage properly.” I could tell he could feel what I’m feeling… I honestly wasn’t expecting what I heard from him, and while what I heard wasn’t necessarily what I wanted to hear, it was probably the truth, in plain English, instead of all this “how are you projecting this on others” and “how do you really feel?” bullshit. Sometimes I feel like I don’t have the answers… that’s why I’m constantly asking other people. I want their answers. I’m tired of pretending like I know what I’m doing. I really don’t. Not even close. What’s worse is I’m terrible at following directions.

I saw a pretty girl in a white summer dress almost get hit by a bike the other day on Metropolitan. I noticed her because she looked like a girl who came to see my apartment (not the crazy one!) Its witnessing shit like that girl that becomes reason number 4 why I don’t own a bike (numbers 1,2, and 3 being “I probably wouldn’t ride it enough,” “it’s too expensive,” and “where the fuck is it going to live in my apartment”.) Some guys walking on the street behind me saw it to – she was completely oblivious – riding through a red light in front of a cab and a semi, while, what looked like, texting on her iphone. Talk about asking to get hit by a car. The guys behind me started talking about it and I chimed in to their conversation.
“Some people are idiots.” One guy said.
“She was almost gonna be dead on the road.” The other guy said.
“That white dress was gonna be blood red if that cabby hadn’t been paying attention.” I said.
“That was so fucking poetic.” The first guy said. He was completely serious.
“Well it’s true.” I said.
“I just bought a bike helmet.” The other guy said.
(“I like turtles.” I wanted to say.

Today, I leave you with “Obsessions” by Marina and the Diamonds, so you can get a better idea of how my brain is working today.

Sunday, wake up, give me a cigarette.
Last night’s love affair is looking vulnerable in my bed
Silk sheet, blue dawn, Colgate, tongue warm
Won’t you quit your crying? I can’t sleep
One minute I’m a little sweetheart
And next minute you are an absolute creep

We’ve got obsessions
I want to wipe out all the sad ideas that come to me when I am holding you
We’ve got obsessions
All you ever think about are sick ideas involving me, involving you

Supermarket, what packet of crackers to pick?
They’re all the same, one brand, one name, but really they’re not
Look, look, just choose something quick
People are staring, time to come quick in
Cheeks are on fire; just choose something, something, something
Pressure overwhelming
Next minute I am turning out of the door, facing one week without food
A day, a day when things are pretty bad
Don’t let it make you feel sad, the crackers were probably bad luck anyway
Can’t let your cold heart be free
When you act like you’ve got an OCD

We’ve got obsessions
I want to erase every nasty thought that bugs me every day of every week
We’ve got obsessions
You never tell me what it is that makes you strong and what it is that makes you weak.

We’ve got obsessions
I want to erase every nasty thought that bugs me every day of every week.
We’ve got obsessions
You never told me what it was that made you strong and what it was that made you weak
Makes you weak, makes you weak, make you weak, make you weak, make you weak
Make you…

Sunday, wake up, give me a cigarette
Last night’s love affair is looking vulnerable again