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.

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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.

I’ve got this suspicion that you’re reading over my shoulder and I’ve come to find that life is much better lived with a shadow than alone. There’s nothing like that looming feeling of something coming, under that guise, over that expectation, and beyond what I really knew what we were capable of.

I’m tired of your late night phone calls and your early morning drunk dials.

You told me you loved my smile and I told you I hated the smirk you get on your face when you prove me wrong. I told you I loved the way you laugh when I say the things you least expect for me to say out loud and you told me you hated the way I wrote. Like a child, you said. Like a teenager spurting worthless feelings, pitter pattering away at a keyboard. That’s what 90 words a minute sounds like, my friend. clickityclickityclickityclickityclickityclick. I’ve kept a snare drum going on my keyboard like a Little Drummer Boy. Christmas is over and it’s still your favorite song, pah rum pum pum pum.

Therapy has taught me that maybe self respect should be a higher priority than not being alone. Quenching that thirst for companionship that we all have. Women are swans, mating for life, and men become dolphins, having sex for pleasure. But I have never felt as if I was an incomplete person… like I had to find someone to fill some sort of void, like liquid in a sponge. To be filled and made heavy and whole. You make me happy, you know, but I have to let you out on a long leash as keeping you close makes me weaker. You make me feel less than I am, less than I should be. Weak. Pathetic. Dumb. You have more interesting conversations with your houseplants, you said.

And I feel stupid. I do. But then I feel like I have these genius moments where I have to save every bit of energy inside of me until an idea bursts from my lips and that moment of brilliance can’t be outshined. I feel the need to point out that I’m smarter than I look to people on a daily basis when these moments manifest, and my friends, they laugh, because they know that my uniqueness is like bringing whiskey to the dinner party instead of wine. I find myself being told that I make people very insecure. That my energy radiates confidence, even when I’m underdressed and overextended. The reality is my shyness overshadows all conversation, and I’m trapped inside a very uneasy body that won’t shout out the correct answer in fear of being wrong. I have been beaten with your newspaper enough times to know when to keep my mouth shut in fear of another joke being made at my expense.

From time to time, I can taste your sincerity. Lately, it has faded, like a gummy lollipop that has sat in the junk drawer for far too long. The candy is half its size once you make it through the chewy, stale exterior. I’m tired of having to fight to get to where your sweetness begins.

it’s a series of teenie tiny little bits of happiness. little puzzle pieces that fit perfectly instead of having to try the same pieces over and over because it looks right. things fall into place – they do.

a man approaches a woman and kisses her. she can do nothing but think of the problems, the worries, the mistakes that can be made by the two of them being together. she expresses her concern and he kisses her again. end scene.

this lively roller coaster we appear to be unintentionally strapped into has how locked us into place and we are along for the ride. i am screaming – nonstop – as the lack of control over my own destiny terrifies me. you love it. you throw your hands in the air and yell wildly because you love the rush and you’re not thinking about the future. you’re thinking about how in this moment you’re being whipped around, your torso flying wild like one of those inflatable wobbly armed men. im gripping the bar for dear life.

theres something inexplicable about all of this. something effortless and pure. we made our mistakes and licked our wounds and waited for them to scab. we pick at them as if they were the edges of envelopes until the paper gives way and tears to the crease.

How to deal with your nemesis

February 24, 2011

I wrote a pretty long post about this originally and then decided that bitch was a total waste of my energy.

Here’s what this breaks down to…
How to deal with your nemesis:
1. Avoid talking about them.. What better way to get back at someone who’s a major asshole then ignoring their existence! “Who? Oh that chick? Haven’t spoken to her in a year. I hope she is having a lovely life in whatever pasture they put her out to die in. Have you tried the wings here? I hear they’re AMAZING!”
2. When you do run into them, continue to pretend like they don’t exist. Oh, hi? Is that you? Oh. You’re still a horrible person? KBYE
3. Act normally. This person is officially a complete stranger, and unless they’re a 6’4″ skinny jeaned hipster hottie, I’m not gonna spend any extra time staring at you in a bar. She’s just some chick who’s overdressed and trying too hard on a date at a dive bar, so definitely text your gays and inform them that you ran into this shitshow at your bar and you would like to kick her in the poonani, but you know better, and then get distracted by your whiskey. Oh, and when she has the audacity to SIT AT THE TABLE NEXT TO YOURS, keep having a fabulous time, because she just ordered the dumbest drink on the cocktail menu and is making this guy work too hard for her loosie goosie poon. Yep. You heard me. Pretty sure that ish is dirty, so wrap it up dude. I should have passed him a note or something. Smoke signals. Morse code. Something. Sorry dude.

It helped that I looked big pimpin with two dudes on my arm and that this chick had to “Psssst!” at me to get my attention. Whatever. Stop wasting my time and find a bar on your side of the neighborhood so I don’t have to see your snotty smirk anymore. In fact, please move across the country so we don’t have to breathe the same air right now as you use so much of it talking shit and then get really confused as to why you don’t have any friends in New York.

I think that’s about all I’m going to say about that today, as I’ve already wasted enough time and breath on someone who went out of their way to be cruel to me after I made a huge effort to be a welcoming and supportive friend. HAVE A NICE LIFE, PSYCHO.

Update (3-1-11): This was a really ugly post. I apologize for y’all having to see that… I should tell you how I REALLY feel 😛

5 Good. 5 Bad.

February 21, 2011

5 things that are making me itchy and 5 things that make life a-okay… right now:

5 things that are making me itchy:
1. My cuticle on my right thumb hurts. Im afraid if I mess with it anymore I’ll have a black swan moment.
2. The weird spot next to the right side of my nose hurts. I think I’m getting a zit.
3. I had that “brain freeze” sensation earlier. It wasn’t because of something cold.
4. My shoulders feel tense. Like they’re being pulled up by strings that are connected to pulleys on my ears.
5. I am feeling a little guilty I slept so much last night. I’m feeling guiltier that the extent of my outside time today was walking to the bodega, and walking upstairs and around the 4th floor so I know what’s going on when I start showing rooms.

5 things that are making things a-okay:
1. There’s something about curling up on the couch under a fleece blanket in a cashmere sweater. It’s sublime.
2. This episode of This American Life is making me feel a bit better about my life. This episode is about this documentary made about a crazy drug-addicted mom and an ex-rock star alcoholic deadbeat stepdad… yikes.
3. This weekend flooded me with a lot of happy feelings. That’s why I’m kind of feeling down now… like the drop off after a high but I’m okay with that knowing the rest of it was happy.
4. My roommates are pretty awesome. Dave made me laugh pretty hard this afternoon, Steven is a true blue friend, Justin is one of the most entertaining people I have ever met, and Jessie made me biscuits.
5. I am feeling awesome about the fact that I am able to make conscious recognitions of when I feel shitty, it is just a feeling… a symptom. It is fleeting and not forever and it’s kind of remarkable my brain is starting to see that as its taken me 23 years of living and 10 years of therapy to get there.

So there you have it.