#1073

August 26, 2008

I kept thinking of you today. I couldn’t remember why. It hasn’t been long since I last saw you.
Then, as I began to pack my belongings, I remembered you again. How? I knew this time. By scent. My clothes gave off your aroma. The clean ones. You smelled like my laundry. My fresh laundry, just out from the dryer.

“We must use the same detergent.” What a simple explanation.
Something I never realized, as I was trying a new detergent. I inhaled and placed things in my suitcase;
I remember what it’s like in your arms. You tasted slightly like cigarettes and cheap booze, but I couldn’t taste the difference between yours and mine. You smell safe. You feel safe.

But I’m living on the edge and I can’t be safe in your arms any more.
I have places to go and things to achieve and I’m not going to stop my life for a man, a boy, a relationship, a person. God! It’s like asking me to stop my life, at this pivotal, crucial state of being, and… have a child or something! Give up my life for someone else. I am self absorbed and focused on my success, and I will only look back, never go back, for you.

But only you. A time in my life only to reflect on. Never to live there again.

You are lost in the shuffle, King of Hearts. I am back in the present.
Clean laundry packed, I have hidden you away.

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SYKW #1

August 26, 2008

So you know when you have really long fingernails for awhile, and you break one off really close to the nail bed. Your finger is really sensitive, especially the spot right next to the nail’s broken off point. It’s reborn, it’s desensitized to touch.

My brain feels like that right now. I am incredibly disconnected.

One Giant Leap…

August 26, 2008

I think it took saying it out loud this morning to realize that I am lost. I thought I had it all figured out, and then it came crashing down before my eyes in one giant fireworks display, illuminating all the mistakes I’ve made in the past month and rubbing it in my face that my future is completely unpredictable at this point.

I don’t like uncertainty. I never have. I am uncomfortable with long-term spontaneity and/or living with no direction, no clear goal. It makes me nervous and anxious, and I don’t like it one bit.

I’m trying to remind myself that things will be okay. That I can survive – I’ve been through worse… right?

Yesterday I went out and saw “The House Bunny,” and yes, I can hear you screaming “BEFORE HAMLET 2? YOU DUMBASS!” (And yes, I put in a request to see “Hamlet 2,” and it was promptly ignored by my homompanions.) But none the less, I got over it, and “The House Bunny” was a decent choice.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall weeeeee? First off, Anna Faris is a genius. I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to be spot on with over-the-top comedy. She’s a “FUNNY GIRL,” which is hard to come across these days, considering since Belushi declared “women aren’t funny” and the ladies kind of gave up. Faris stands tall (and horrendously skinny) in the crowd of “college girls,” who are too nerdy for their own good.

This isn’t a story of change or heartfelt victory or any of that bullshit. I mean, it is (obviously) but it’s also just fluff. It’s cotton candy, just like those little bunny tails. It’s so light and silly that it doesn’t matter how much you eat: it’s still going to be funny.

Props to Faris for keeping it real, that girl from Superbad for sometimes having a double chin and her character being named “Natalie,” that girl from the Cheetah Girls doing that really bad “bri-tish” accent, and Destiny, from Rock of Love, having one line in the prostitution jail scene (don’t ask.) Word.

I would say if you’ve got the money, and you just need a good laugh, go. Of course Hef and the Girls are in it, and of course they are terrible actors, but it’s still a fun time for all. My mom probably would have enough laughed, but I’m probably going to drag her to the new Woody Allen flick instead (meh.)

The Alamo

August 25, 2008

I’m holding in a lot of things and letting out all the wrong stories. I have let down a filter, a social wall, that keeps stories quiet, brushes with greatness hidden, and my personality non-clashing. I am trying to be everyone’s non-abrasive best friend.

And I am tired.

I think I have finally reached a point in my mental development where I realized my focus needs to be my happiness. I am going to prioritize what I want rather what I think will be best, and hope that it works out in my favor. I’m assuming as long as I’m happy, I will be able to thrive in whatever situation, not just survive wherever I force myself to be. I only get to live in this body once, and I don’t want to look back and regret another year of my life spent in misery.

I’m off to read more Sylvia Plath and go to sleep.

I. Am. Fat.

August 22, 2008

Mark went out, and I made a batch of cookies.

I started eating them, and then I reached the point in the batch where you know everyone else will think you’re a fat pig and there are like 3 cookies left on the plate. When someone makes a batch of cookies, you can make a pretty solid assumption how many cookies could have been made based on the size of each. I began to worry that I had passed that point and Mark would come back to 12 cookies and say “There were 24 when they came out of the oven, weren’t there.” And I’m not a good liar so I’d say yes and feel turrible.

Then it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, I could eat all of the cookies before Mark got home, and he would never know that there were cookies in the first place.

Fatty fatterkins fatty fat fat.

Dear You

August 22, 2008

Dear You,

I am sorry to have put you in this situation. I never meant to make anything awkward or weird. I am a 20 year-old girl, and you will have to understand that although I function at a higher level most of the time, occasionally, I slip back into what is natural, and shit happens.

I’m not letting things get weird. That’s all you. If you want things to be awkward, then that’s your call. I’m fine, and quite frankly, as long as you’re fine, I’m even better. You’re overreacting, and I’m chillin, so check yourself before you take it out on me.

My friendship to you is completely unconditional. You know this. It’s your call where to go from here.

Sincerely,
Me

Baby Steps

August 21, 2008

Last night I was hit with a realization. I think it hit you too. Today is different, I’m not sure why, and I’m not sure where to go from here.

There’s an unspoken presence in the room in which we exist. I stand on one side, you on the other. We both acknowledge the giant pink elephant in the room, but neither of us want to touch it. Instead, we’ll dance around it, playing it safe and trying not to step on any toes.

It’s falling apart before our eyes. I kind of like watching the destruction.

I am destroying myself; it’s nice to watch something else fall at the same time.

I got my first parking ticket today. It’s karma. Just trust me on that one.

Lately all of my discussions have been convoluted and petty and I question their quality. A rare few have been up to par… I question my own motivation.

I make specific decisions in my everyday life that can always be broken down into specific strategic moves. I was going through a mental play-by-play of today’s events i immediately realized that every action was strategic in either getting what I wanted or getting attention.

I am somewhat of a pathetic creature. My computer is on it’s last legs and I feel as if I should be singing along with it’s swan song. Perhaps just fade away like the pixels, or pop and disappear, like a turned-off television. I plan my exit strategically, just as I had played my other moves, as if I were doing it spontaneously.

I question my motivation now more than ever. I consciously called my mother seeking guidance in my future decisions. In retrospect, I think I called for permission. I wanted my fear and stress to be witnessed and for her to allow me to have the option to quit.
Note: she would be perfectly fine if I quit, and she would have actually supported me in any of my decisions. I suppose I just need the approval. It’s years of conditioning that got me to that point. I don’t know why, but her opinion has always mattered most. I have too much respect for my mother to ever let her down.

I don’t know where all of this came from or why everything is far more complicated than it used to be. Work early tomorrow morning and I dont know if I know what I’m in for. It’s going o be another day in the office, and I’m a little confused about it right now.

I just typed all of that with my eyes closed. It actually felt kind of nice.

I don’t think I’m a very passive aggressive person. I would argue with whomever would accuse me of that.

And then I would probably short sheet their bed. 

However, I see myself as somewhat of a spiteful person. I find that when pushed, I can be an incredibly bitter, angry, defensive person. Matt spoke about a recent act of mine and described it as a wounded reaction or something like that. I was hurt, and I acted out. I don’t see it as passive aggressive, but sometimes it ends up that way. 

I guess I am an angry person. I don’t come off as one, but I am. I am angry. I guess it’s because I’ve been hurt, and regardless of the hours of therapy I’ve been through to conquer some giant walls and boulders and what not, I have been wounded; every scar I’ve got still bleeds. 

It’s difficult to tell someone when they’ve hit a nerve. Often times, I repress whatever is bothering me because I know I’m wrong and it’s just a reaction to something that has happened. There’s a lot of triggers… some of them I don’t even realize. Should I hand out lists? Should I wear a sandwich board to let everybody know what NOT to do to me? No, it’s impractical.

I once had a conversation with someone that convinced me that I love my friends unconditionally. By “my friends,” I mean the people that care about me similarly. (I’ve been trimming the fat, and quite frankly some of you aren’t making the cut.) But for those of you that did, I swear to God that I am doing my best to remain sane around you. It’s taken me awhile to get to that point, but I think I have finally arrived. 

Blogging makes my mom nervous. I don’t know why. She mentioned it on the phone last night, and I’m tempted to let her read. I should just send her the link and see what happens. It’s not like I really keep anything from my mother anyway, but at least this will still prove that I’m alive. Sometimes.

I don’t remember what I meant to say with all of this, but to my unconditionally loved friends, I am sorry if I’ve questioned your faith to me, but it is difficult to re-learn to trust. I’ve obviously proved that I am stronger than my past (I’d be dead by now otherwise) and I’m moving towards the future. I’m sorry if you get rocked in the wake.