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here's a brand new one of these. i dare you.
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staring. i've been staring at my screen for the last 16 minutes. lost in space. letting my tea go cold. letting the music play on. letting myself get the best of myself. it's friday night, it's dark in and out, and i'm in my pajamas. letting demons get the best of me. letting myself get the best of me. i turn the heat up. i turn the heat down. i boil the water for my tea, and then i let it go cold. so i start all over. and i'm pretty sure for every cup i've had to drink, i've poured a cold one out.
i'd like to say i don't know what's wrong with me. but i do. so i'd like to say i could harness it. but i can't. distrust. distrust and betrayal. they loom sometimes. they haunt sometimes. and sometimes they make me a worse person than i'd like to be. not worse as in bad. worse as in wary, unsteady, all akimbo on a wall.
we don't talk about the things we ought to talk about anymore. mostly. sometimes. and even then, we don't say the things we need to say. we face decisions every day. sometimes, we face the same decisions day after day. and we fear the gravity of the path we push aside. we roll over, close our eyes, and worry about making the same decision another day. and we roll over. and we roll over. and so the days, the decisions, the fear roll into one. and then we're just an avalanche waiting for something to crash into.
our skin tingles with touch, as though it were loneliness packing up and taking holiday. our skin tingles when the phone rings, even when we choose to ignore it. we are remembered. we are thought of. but where do we go when the phone doesn't ring, when there's no one there to touch us, when distrust and betrayal take stay where loneliness has left?
and how much of it is self-imposed? how do we know when we're not just pushing ourselves back against the wall, arms akimbo with frustration over the decisions we refuse to make? and how much of the decisions are self-imposed? what is the weight we lay upon ourselves, trying to be better? how much do we push ourselves down the mountain, trying to save ourselves from the crash?
staring. i've been staring. i've been lost in space. just waiting for something to happen. waiting for the avalanche. wondering it will fall from me. or come crashing in. just staring. staring.
time. time goes by so quickly. christmas lights are going up, leftover turkey being passed out in tinfoil packages, and we're all looking for that warm body to press up against late in the cold, cold nights. the counting crows are re-establishing themselves on ipod playlists. we slow down. we lay around. and whoever you may be, i'd like you to stay a while. just a while longer. and then some more.
this year. this year has been a lot to take in. i feel like i've had to start my whole life over this year. reintroduce myself to myself. everything i had in january is now gone. and everything i have now, i yearned for back then. and somewhere, there is this fine balancing line on which i walk warily along. arms outstretched, trying to make it across without falling one way or another. and it's so hard to look back.
there is some peace in learning how to be a person again. there is sometimes pain in learning how to sleep alone again. there is some loneliness in the ways sex has changed. sex used to be such a quick fix. but now, for the first time in my life, i just have no desire to have sex with someone i don't care about. maybe this is growing up. maybe this is outside forces. maybe this is the fine line between peace and pain; between forward progression and the fear of looking back. all the same, i don't know that i want love, but that warm body and spontaneous lips would be so comforting. and i guess that's the paradox. the give and take. the compromises we all have to make. maybe i do want love, just in different ways. for different reasons.
this new isolation has been such a great learning and growing experience. i surprise myself; i miss ryan. not in the boyfriend way. i miss his presence. i miss being able to talk to him. time goes by so quickly.
there has been so much that i miss, that i never thought i would. just in different ways. like everything that is the same is so different. this winter is so overwhelming. push me up against the wall and kiss me. make something feel normal. make it easy. make it simple. make it different, but the same. make my blood rush. this winter is so overwhelming.
waking up next to someone i really like is nice. almost nice enough to make me forget about the things i haven't liked much. i've felt my heart pitter-patter in ways i haven't felt in... years. literally, years. and it scares me as much as it excites me. and it leaves me with little to think about except how badly i want to kiss him. and how good he smells in my house, even after he's gone.
4 dry days. 4 days with him. thanksgiving with him. and more dry days hopefully to come.
and, proof:
judgment. we all make judgment calls. we all quietly judge. because, whether we want to believe it or not, these judgment calls are what get us through life. it all boils down to judgment. and we will be amazed by the things we're willing to do to protect ourselves from the bad judgment calls we will make. even as this cursor blinks away at me.
it's our hands first. when we realize we've made some disasterous mistake, our hands are the first to react. be it flight or fight, our hands will clench. we'll try to push away the problem with our hands. and we only hope, whetever the problem may be, it is smaller than our hands. me, i have small, trembling hands; from an accident, in a pool.
and when our hands can't protect us from our bad judgment calls, we rely on our heads. when our hands can't stop what's happening, we rely on our heads to fix it. to change it. to make it easier to swallow. we change the parameters, we hypnotize ourselves, we reprimand ourselves; all in effort to ensure we never make a bad judgment call again. we blame our judgment when bad things we can't control happen to us. and that is how we protect ourselves.
we protect ourselves by protecting our loved ones. we put our faces to the corners. we hyper-sensitize everything. we put our backs to the walls, and judge with severity and intensity. we lose sight of everything but protecting ourselves from the bad judgment calls we will make. we cry when we know no one's listening. we half-heartedly convince ourselves there was nothing we could do. not because this is how we feel; simply because this is how we should feel. instead, though, we chalk it up to bad judgment and try to laugh it to nothing. we try to make it so small we can't allow ourselves to feel it. we try to make it so small we can fight it off with our small, trembling hands.
i stood in the intersection, in the rain, a bag full of broken glass at my feet and pickles rolling around me. i stood in the intersection, defeated. i stood there trying to figure out how i would juggle the 5 other plastic bags in my small, trembling hands, collect myself, and pick up the mess at my feet. i felt myself start to well up inside. i felt the tears starting to hold residency behind my eyes. and all i could think, as i came closer and closer to crying, was, "i was really excited for those pickles." i was frustrated. i was tired. i was standing in the street, in the rain, cars driving around me, with pickles rolling around at my feet. twenty to thirty mini pickles rolling around before me. and i wasn't sure if i was about to laugh or cry. or both. it wasn't the pickles. it wasn't the mess. i made a bad judment call and my hands were too small. it was my god damn hands. too small to hold it all together. too small to push away. too small to do anything but tremble under pressure.
i must have stood there for at least an entire minute, just staring down at all the tiny little pickles. then i heard a woman at the nearby bus stop call out to me. "sometimes you just have to walk away."
"yeah. sometimes i think i'm invincible." i said back to her. "and then it surprises me when i realize i'm not." she chuckled. and i took her advice. i left my mess there in the street, and walked away.
half a block later, two girls pulled up and told me to get in. "we saw what happened back there. it's raining. you have a lot of groceries. you shouldn't have to walk." so, i got in and they drove me the four blocks home. i sat in the backseat, next to a child's carseat full of home made blueberry muffins. i wanted one so bad. i was so hungry.
i made a bad judgment call. i made a bad judgment call and something bad happened. i was trying to root for the underdog, and i got bit. and my hands were too small. and my words meant nothing. and i woke up hypnotized. simply hypnotized. sometimes i think i'm invincible. and then it surprises me when i'm not. it kills me when i'm not. and so, sometimes you just have to walk away. i made a bad judgment call, but it doesn't mean it was my fault. it doesn't mean i had any control over it.
we will be amazed by the things we are willing to do to protect ourselves when something bad happens.
my grandfather used to play solitaire for hours on end. laying on his couch, tired and worn, with the volume on the television down. solitaire for hours. as a child, i was scared to death of him. now, as an adult, i often wonder if he was lonely. i never doubt he was in love and loved. my grandmother is a wonderful woman. i just think he felt pretty isolated there. on his island of a couch, playing solitaire for hours on end. you see, his life was something of a tight rope walk, when he was younger. born of a cherokee woman and a white man, he had little opportunity and education. he was on the road, on his own, by the age of twelve. sleeping on trains, working for cents a day, making his way from texas to california. he endured and became this self-made man, who made the most of the little he had. even though i never had a strong relationship with him, i think he is the relative i am most like. i look at photos, that startle the family. we're identical. and so, i think i understand solitaire for hours on the sofa. he died about a year and a half ago, during a time that i now consider one of the hardest in my life. i was in this relationship, playing my cards, stacking my points. and one day i looked down to find i was running out of cards. i was just dealing the same hand, over and over again, with nothing to play. wondering how i could have gotten so far, played for so long, and run out of moves. me, on my island, trying to make the most out of the little i had. i don't like to quit. i don't like to give up. even if it means playing the same hand, over and over again, trying to force some sort of alchemy. we're raised to believe that if you try, try, try, you can achieve anything. and i didn't understand how i could try, try, try and keep coming up with nothing. spades per spades. all the force and pressure just creates erosion. and you wear yourself away. we have been islands, trying to harness the seas around us. trying to mass the distances in between. and only eroding our own coastlines. sometimes drowning in everything we can't control. in all the trying not to give up we do. trying to make good. trying to be superheroes. we are not alchemists here. but i still walk wounded. wondering why i couldn't change those spades. wondering how i could have come up with something more. the winning card. and i wonder if my grandfather spent his years wondering how he could change his cards. how he could make love and life fit into the same hand. and i guess the difference between us is he chose love. he chose love and played solitaire for hours on end. i never had much of a relationship with him, but i miss him more than i miss anyone. a self-made man who made the most of the little he had. an alchemist in his own way.
there is an apple tree in the backyard, just outside my window. when the rain gets heavy or the wind starts to roar, the occasional apple will plop to the ground. we could make a killing on apple pies. we could make a killing.
i'm starting to get over my fear of the rain. i'm even starting to slightly enjoy it. but i love it the most when it stops. when everything is wet and dim, and the leaves papier mache the sidewalks with orange and red and yellow. when the air is fresh and sweet with the smells of wood burning in fireplaces and water flowing through gutters. when you can get outside, without your hood or umbrella or anything else you might use to hide from the rain. and you just look up and look around, and bury your hands in your pockets. when everyone slowly peaks out their doors, and hesitantly step out into the streets, and smile.
and so we get our quick fixes of life. tuesday night the rain took a nice, long break and let me walk the 60 blocks to some bar downtown, where for $5 you get 5 vodka cocktails. i drank too much, but so did everyone else. and i made friends. and i made a killing.
but maybe it's just this double vision. this here and there. this pabst blue ribbon at the hollywood lanes, making things happen. this happenstance, which is both here and there. like we're all just falling to fly; trying to make the most of what's already passed, by trying to make the most of whatever falls into our laps. the occasional apples. how we could make a killing. rummaging for answers.
it rained all day. i sat in the living room, in my pajamas, watching it fall. letting it sink in. i. live. here. i live here.
i kept my glasses on. i drank hot muscat tea. i let the screen door rest on my foot as buckley sniffed around the lawn. i thought about this isolation. i've always been a very isolated person, even amongst the faces that i love. and now, now i'm up here on my own. i live here. and it's kind of nice. letting it all sink in. being alone with myself. piecing together chards of glass. trying to make sense of the last few years, in ways i'd never been able to while surrounded by distractions.
i've done most of my unpacking. my walls are obscenely white. no holes, no paint. those are the rules. so i keep my eyes on book bindings and old photos and snoring dogs. and roses. i got roses two days ago. i did. i never get roses. as my mother and i tried our best to break into the 1-800-flowers box, i couldn't for the life of me figure who would send me flowers. there were two people i'd hoped they were from, but had no clue who they actually were from. who would send me flowers? no one sends me flowers. they were from pam. and it was so nice not to feel forgotten. it was so nice to get something tangible in the mail. emails can be so damn impersonal, especially when you're feeling so damn isolated. so, i look at the roses when the white walls offend.
the house, itself, is gorgeous. i've never lived in a place this nice since i've been on my own. the roommate is wonderful, too. and now i have two job interviews lined up. could everything really be falling into place so easily? i'm never one to hold my breath. but i do enjoy what i have. and i have a lot now.
and the isolation swells with the rain. and you know, that's all right. it gives me time to think. about everything. about you and everything.
it is. so beautiful. here.
i've lived in awesome cities. i've lived in quaint towns. but i've never lived somewhere breathtakingly beautiful. i took the red line to lloyd center after dropping my mom off at the airport. from there i walked down 13th to belmont, and up belmont until it started to rain. luckily the bus pulled up as the sprinkles gained some weight.
autumn is here. the leaves are orange, yellow, red and falling. piling up in the streets and in the gutters, sitting looking lovely. and it's cold. real cold. colder than anywhere i've ever lived. 36 degrees yesterday. and i kind of like it. it makes the coffee taste so much better. it makes clothing so much warmer. it makes you want to cuddle up with whatever you can find, and just breathe life into the chilled air. we kick around leaves, with our hoods overhead, our hands in pockets, with no where in particular to go.
tomorrow i'll start looking for a job. i'll take some more photos. i'll take buckley to the amazingly beautiful park (laurelhurst) 5 blocks away. i might even go to the cupcake place. i'm going to be very happy here.
but deep inside, hidden from everyone and most of me, i know i miss you. it comes out on quiet train rides, listening to bitter-sweet songs, as the trees pass by. as i swallow my coffee and parts of my pride. as i stare out the windows and wonder what you're thinking. as i stare out the windows and wonder if i'll ever see you again. and i think i probably won't.
yes, our hoods are up. and we kick through the bright red leaves, under the thick grey skies. and we wonder.
but portland is beautiful. and i feel blessed.
