Flirting in Bars

March 28, 2011

“Ask me anything.”
“Oh yeah? How many toes do you have?”
“Good question. 10.”
“That’s excellent news.”
“Can I ask you anything?”
“Well ask me and we’ll go from there.”
“What do you want to do with your life?”
“I’m gonna be an astronaut.”
“I’m serious. What do you want to do with your life? Like when you grow up.”
“I’ve stopped caring what I’m doing. I just hope I get to grow up.”


Mars Needs Dads Too

March 21, 2011

Sorry I’ve been MIA. To some, it’s a refreshing change not to know every gory detail of my no-so-personal personal life. Fuck you. It’s easier than sending a really impersonal mass email.

I’m passing a lot of judgement on myself for my behavior lately. Part of me doesn’t mind taking risks (or not living with consequences I suppose) and then the other part of me is still skittish and nervous. I need some security on one of these fronts.

I’m sick of empty promises.

The Coast

March 16, 2011

My last vivid memory of you was from several years ago when we drove to the coast. I drove, actually, and we listened to Daft Punk and you told me that you loved this album. So did I.

We got to the coast and it was foggy. We walked down an unmarked hill towards the shore and you walked down the steep wooden steps ahead of me. Not looking back. Not taking notes. You had your shoes off before you even hit the sand. It was cold. Damp. Reminiscent of similar trips to the coast as a child, thinking the beach would be bright and sunny and it predictably being cold and wet.

You walked toward the water and disappeared into the fog. I took a picture. It is the last picture I have of you. One of maybe a handful in my possession. I still only have two pictures of the two of us: one candid when I was 15 and we were laughing hysterically on a trampoline. We’re both falling out of the frame. The other is of our hands in a review mirror. We were driving to the zoo.

We didn’t say much on the beach.

It’s so funny my last vivid memory of you is walking into that fog. Walking away from me. Your last memory of me is probably finding me already asleep in your bed, crawling in next to me, and falling asleep with our backs towards each other. I woke up the same way, far away. We both left. There wasn’t much left to say. I think I’m happier remembering you walking away from me, and me walking away from you.

Eat Something

March 6, 2011

God I’m depressing. No really. Those last couple posts are just downright sad. I owe you some explanation:

One of the things I’ve struggled with since I moved to New York was developing a social life that was satisfying and reliable. I feel like after 2 years I might be making some progress in that department.

And then I took a part time job.

Well it’s kind of part time. What I’m learning is that it is a bit more than a part time job. It’s really a second full time job, where I don’t make as much money as I do at my full time job. However, the results are instant, and it keeps me busy instead of spending most evenings watching entire seasons of 24 and Futurama and obscure British sitcoms I’m never going to be able to muse over with someone else. My hours that I “work” (both jobs) are now about 9-7, and after that, I’m so burnt out from running up and down 4 flights of stairs at least 4 times a night (yep), trying to get people to move into an apartment I can’t entirely stand behind, and having to actually tell people I’m too busy to hang out. I hate that.

On top of that, the stress is making me ill. I can’t open my mouth all the way today. I feel like I’m hungover but I haven’t been drinking. I told the guy I’m “consulting” for that I needed to take some more time for myself, but I don’t think it’s sinking in. What I need is a vacation. From all of this. A real vacation. And I know I say that a lot.

The sad part is that my second job might actually make a vacation affordable. I’m stuck in the hustle yo, and it’s draining me.

Rotten from the Outside

March 4, 2011

I am feeling faded and weak. I remind myself to smile in the subway. It helps, honestly, but not always the way I expect it to. It’s a glimmer. It’s mindfulness. It’s what I’ve been going to class for. Focusing on the happiness.

But I get so dark sometimes. Really dark. Like I don’t want to listen to anyone or anything and nothing is right. I don’t want to leave my house and I just want to sit in silence and not think about eating or sleeping or anyone. This darkness is always preceded by guilt. By confusion. Always questioning if I’m doing the right thing. The right thing now felt like forcing myself to write for exactly 5 minutes. Nothing more. Nothing less. I can’t really ask more from myself right now. I just needed to do something. Even Ira Glass couldn’t cheer me up.

I just won’t stop writing for 5 minutes. Ninety words a minute. 5 minutes. 450 words. We will get there.

I’m the laziest person I know. I’ve chosen to spend the last 3 Friday nights sitting in darkness. Not even being creative. Just sitting. Well, showing apartments and sitting. My job sucks so much of my creativity out of me… it’s why I quit so long ago. But priorities are setting in and I can’t seem to get a grasp back on making things. I’m not even sure if making things makes me happy. I’m lost in that sense. So many people have asked me what I want to do with my life and I’m getting tired of telling them I don’t know.

When I’m in this place all I want is to have someone to curl up around next to me. Some call it neediness. I call it selfishness. I don’t need to talk. I don’t need to fuck. I just need someone to lie here and make my bed feel smaller.

Well, it’s not 450, it’s about 350, but it’s harder to type lying down. In the dark. I can get out of this. I know I can. I’ve done it before I’ll do it again. I think that’s the difference now. I can see the light. But this feeling is so… stagnant. I have to wake up on the other side of my bed tomorrow and get out of this perpetual motion machine. It’s making me restless.

about 400 words? close enough.

Spring is in the air. In New York, the smell reminds me of past walks of shame in the crisp mornings, desperately scraping the bottom of my purse in search of my sunglasses. It’s bright. It’s somewhat refreshing. It leads me to the edge of temptation and dares me to jump. Almost texted an old fling this morning in a moment of… pure insanity. The spring makes me sick. Not ill, but my brain is clearly diseased, as I’m lusting after the past… I made such an effort to kind of turn things around in the last year, and now with spring back in my nostrils, it’s like I’m trying to reinact old facebook photos. SPRDRZ. Shitshow Natalie. The tempting self-destruct button burning my skin. Spring reminds me of where I’ve come from, but tempts me to revert back to what I also was.

Josh (Happy Birthday, darling) once told me maybe I needed to step back and look at my life and think about a short time down the road where I’m going to have to explain myself to someone. He was absolutely right, and when he said that to me, I wanted to rebel. He said he hasn’t felt much worse than that moment… having to explain all my irresponsible behavior and risk it all. Cards down. Passwords shared. Full disclosure. When I really care about someone enough to be transparent – I can’t imagine. – I guess that’s when that moment has to happen. All this time in between has only given me opportunity to make it worse…

It’s been a really long time when I felt the need to be open in that way. Arlen, oddly enough, the only person within the last few years that I’ve been truly transparent with. Yes, I’m using his real name for a multitude of reasons, the primary being I realized yesterday that it’s been a year and a half exactly (happy half birthday to me) since we’ve had any contact, and to a certain degree that I’ve outgrown who that person was. I don’t think he can hurt me anymore. I wouldn’t even recognize that girl anymore; I don’t know if he would either. Arlen seemed to have a strong hand in some pretty important developmental moments in my life, and he’s the only one I ever felt like I needed to put my cards on the table for. Even Daniel didn’t entirely warrant that privilege… I’m not sure if I cared enough or just didn’t have the strength to fight him; I was always afraid to walk away from such a codependent relationship.

I suppose a lot of that makes a lot of sense to the people these people by name… those that know me best and watched me fade and swell over the past few years. I feel like a runny egg at times… like I’m supposed to be strong, but soft enough… parts of me just slipping through the edges. I feel like I’m on the edge of being comfortable with someone again… trusting at the very least, but I won’t let that guard down yet. The other night with Alida we both squealed over how we wouldn’t settle…

I’m testing out some waters. I have my toes in the pool. Maybe get me a raft and a set of goggles and I’ll get in, but I’m certainly not putting my head under.

Unpublished Works

March 1, 2011

He once told me acid trips were like pie pans filled with milk and soap and dropping food coloring on to the surface and watching it struggle for a place to settle. I’m not sure if I agree, as I find that to be more like every day life… struggling to get my own grasp every minute of every day. Everything seems to be covered in a sheer layer of oil and I’m not here to wrestle for my place in this town. I won’t strip down to my skivvies and parade. If I see life like he sees acid trips, I wonder what life is like sober.

I witness crime on a daily basis. I’m surrounded by it constantly. We all are. Consciously or not. It’s always there. Waiting. Waiting for us to slip up maybe just once in order to get a foot in the door and corrupt the entire stairwell. Up the ladder to the roof, so we can see heaven much better.

I am frighteningly satisfied with where things are at the moment. That’s a lie.
I am satisfied with where things are going. That too is a lie.
I am constantly dissatisfied with how my life is and how it is progressing. Mindless job to mindless job. Creative burst to writers block. Grass is always greener. Always.