No, it doesn’t work like that
YOU do not get to decide when you want to come back into my life. EIther of you. You both are old enough to know better. YEARS. YEARS since you kicked me to the curb with no explanation and now TWO of you want back in?
YOU didn’t want me. Remember? YOU couldn’t even say goodbye, or get out of the bed to hug me when we last said goodbye.
It does not work like this. These random “hey sexy” text messages when you haven’t said boo in years. These “Can you get me into this show?” text messages when all you did was roll your eyes at what I do in the music industry.
YOU dropped me when I needed you the most. YOU ran away. YOU didn’t tell me that you were back together with that girl you left me for.
You don’t understand how many nights I racked my brain, read through text messages trying to figure out what I did wrong. You don’t know how much self-doubt you put in me. And the worst part about it is, YOU DON”T EVEN CARE!
Oh, you’re single now? The both of you? After years, you “want” something to do with me? It doesn’t work like that.
Yes, I may keep getting burned, and hurt and still lay awake at night wondering what it was that destroyed my most recent thing with a guy, but you do not get anymore of me. You do not get anymore tears, or whiskey filled fast bike rides wishing I took a turn too sharp and…
The only thing I ever want to hear from you two is an apology. To know that you’ve recognized your stupidity, and your immaturity. Surely after all these years you could recognize that.
YOU BROKE MY HEART! And after all this time, these years, you have the gall to play friendly. Well, FUCK YOU.
on: loving, leaving, friendships and that sort of messy stuff
i’m that kind of person that will wait to speak to you, instead of text you certain things. for instance i always wanted to tell you, “you’re going to hurt me. i’m going to hurt you. that is just how life works, if we’re lucky, we wont hurt each other too bad. if we’re lucky, we’ll look past it.”
when something feels like an end, we tend to think about the things we were saving to speak, instead of text. we tend to think of the laugh that would follow, or the humbled, murmured response. i’ve always believed that people come into your life when they are supposed to. sometimes they come, and go, and come back several times, until they decide to stay, make a cup of coffee and light a cigarette next to you. sometimes we ignore each other because we don’t have the words to make it better. we look at our respective mobiles. notice how their name slowly descends the rank from most recent text, call, voicemail.
sometimes if we’re lucky, we end up back where we once were. safe, comfortable, happy, vulnerable, unashamed, uninhibited. there are many times in life where we don’t end up back there. lovers and friends weave back and forth in our lives, each city, each road-trip, each time we leave our homes. strangers become friends. friends become lovers.
they all will go, at some point. we die. we get sick. we get married. we move to another country. no, it never is easy when you feel like you’ve “lost” someone. you rack your brain for the reason, what did “i” do? maybe its better, some say. maybe it shows us that for that one moment in time, we were worth loving. at one moment we meant something to someone, and in that moment there was no pain, there were no questions.
i sit here with Bukowski, looking at a valentine i made, too early. do i send it? do i dispose it? dismantle? none of the above. i’ll keep it. and if you ever come back, you’ll receive it. it reminds me of our first interaction. it reminds me of when you made me laugh, and it’s just a spoon.
Dear Lisa Frank diary purchased at Toys [backwards R] Us
Who knew that the fate of the next month+ lay in an email from overseas. There is a lot to prove in this time, and is going to take A LOT of focus.
I may be playing My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy every morning to get me going; accessorized with a double black coffee, naturally.
It’s really hard because I can’t, like legally can’t talk about what the future has in store. It’s nothing bad, I assure you. It’s all part of what I’ve signed up for, you have to be able to keep secrets, hustle and give sideways glances without looking suspicious.
I will have to try harder to stick to an hour by hour schedule.
Okay, off to the gym for a two hour training session. Get them endorphins up, stay strong, stay focused, stay healthy. Baby girl can’t have solider status if her immune system is faulty.
Welcome to the game.
the two lovers
It wasn’t uncommon for a woman of olive skin and dark features to attract his eye. It was uncommon for his pulse to rise, and his mind to wonder away from the bedroom. She stood confident, head held high and shoulders back. She was a warrior with war wounds. He thought himself a solider, but was nothing more than a sad heart, hungry groin, and tender eyes.
He thought it something sexy, the way she smoked her light cigarette. Maybe it was the way her green eyes looked through the smoke. Maybe it was her full lips inhaling the slender white paper. Her eyes pierced his dilated pupils like knives of honesty. He saw a future, an escape route in her eyes.
She saw a thought of them that would escape his mind, as soon as the next came along. No two hearts are ever full of honesty, she knew this. It was a matter of time. It was a matter of who would be brave and speak up first. She weathered many storms in the past, and she knew that nothing idyllic could last.
He had wanted one thing. He had wanted freedom, a new start.
He would be sorry, and she would be a memory. She would say goodbye, and he would pour another drink. The game would go on to be played with another. The fantasy, however, the fantasy would never compare to another.
being a grown up is hard
we get feelings and silly attachments to people, to words. when we were younger, it was, oh so much easier to wash those feelings, words, promises off our backs.
bills are stupid. but when you have your own tidy, small place, with your own things, in their own place, well, money always seems to work itself out.
christmas alone as a grown up is really, quite horrible.
pizza for breakfast is really, quite awesome.
knowing what you have to do, even though it pains your heart, so, so much is the worst. you can’t make up an excuse, because you know you are past shit you pulled when you were 22. you have to buck up, to own your feelings, and your life. you have to allow yourself to grow.
on distance: a description of how far two things are
Before my papa left for Istanbul, he leaned down, kissed my forehead, and said, “You’ll fall in love with the adventure. There is too vast many distance in the world, mi hija.” Damn. He was right.
Distance. The thought of distant places fills ones mind with images of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. Planes, trains, people, colours, sounds, and new experiences. It’s a romantic thought, distance. It’s an overly whelming sad thought, distance.
Distance keeps us away. Distance keeps us together, if we’re lucky.
In an age where we have, at any given moment at the tips of our fingers a time machine. A time machine that gives us the advantage of being anywhere with anyone, distance seems like an afterthought. That means effort. It means effort on all sides. We wax and wane like the moon. Sometimes we fall and distance is there to catch us, to be there to pick up the phone at 1 AM.
Friendships come and lovers go. Distance is brutal, but in time, always reveals the truth.
It takes a lot to keep people in your life. It takes guts, vulnerability, smiles, wine, penciled in skype dates. When you find the good ones, the ones who reveal to you themselves without armor, and you yourself; you realize it’s all worth it.
Distance is sometimes a two way street. You may be going to someone, who just may be passing by you. When you find the distance that is a one way street, all you can do is keep at it. Keep walking, keep hustlin’, keeping each other in eye sight. It’s when you can stare into those eyes, and say, “Hi.” It’s then when you realize that the distance, it never mattered. It was the journey.
“He’s better because he’s real, he exists, because he wants more than just the idea if me. He wants me.”
You can’t really know a person until you spend time together. To be a part of a morning routine, if only as the sly fly on the wall. To be able to watch the way a body moves when discussing certain topics. Its the unexpected raise of an eyebrow, coupled with that unexpected belch after a dark lager…or three.
I think we all want to be someone’s fantasy. There is something so enticingly magical, and mysterious about a fantasy. When we fall for the idea of someone, we’ve already played it all out in our heads. We have the specific theme song that will buzz through our ear buds, at just the right volume. So that when we see them for the first time, we can read their lips, but barely hear their voice.
All of this is done in slow motion, like in the films.
We inevitably show signs of jealousy when we are not part of the fantasy. We then lose ourselves in the judgement of our own minds. Why wasn’t I coy? Or shy and bat my lashes? I shouldn’t have been myself. Why is my laugh so loud? Why did I tell him I was eating a bean and rice burrito from Taco Bell, and how it was “A.Maz.ing”
These things are not part of the fantasy or the idea. These are the things that make us who we are. To demystify any idea or fantasy, I eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon, sitting cross legged in bed.
Also, last night I had a Taco Bell bean and rice burrito and it was, A.Maze.ing.
The weird delay between the things you think and the things you say
Tonight I went over to my friend Tim’s where we rented movies and drank wine. We talked about co-habitation, and how we are both ready to be with someone for while, and it got me thinking. As we get older friendships are parted by two things; people get lovers, or people move away. I do not have a lover, but moving has been on my mind since, well since I moved back. Then I wonder if my wanderlust is masked by fear of being alone in one place.
When it comes to the relationship part it’s pretty simple. I just want someone to share his headphones with me, eat Thai food, and drink beers with. Cuddles and cupcakes are an added bonus. I mean really real, slow, giddy, I can’t stop smiling with you because I’m so nervous real, we want to have a smoke at the same time real…you know what I mean?
I don’t know, I may have drank too much wine.
So on my way home from Tim’s I see a rabbit. A rabbit straight up crosses my path, stops and sits there. And smiles at me. I smile. What the hell is a rabbit doing at Broadway and Belmont, alive? Smiling at me? I think to myself that it will be OK, life will be OK. Somehow it will end up OK. The Cherokee Indians or something had a saying that when a rabbit crossed your path it was the universes way of saying something to you…or something…. but it was just one of those synchronicities that the universe hands you, and it made me feel alright.
As I walked the long concrete courtyard to my door, I tilted my head up to the sky. Maybe I am alone tonight, but at least, at least I have the stars to come home to.
1:28 am: You know this feeling
Humans are wired to roam the earth. We long for the experience, for that sweet nectar that will quench out bodies, and fill all voids. Some of us roam until we find it, trying each separate, delicate piece until we have our fill. Or until something better comes along.
Humans by nature long for attention. The acknowledgment to be by someones side, and to do good.
Sometimes we get so caught up in what we aren’t getting, that we forget exactly what we have. Sometimes we don’t know what we have, because we never knew in the first place. Then there are some of us who know better in out heart of hearts. We don’t choose to see what we have because we just don’t want to open our eyes.
At the end of the day, all we ever want is to be wanted. Sometimes we get lucky, and have someone to fall asleep next to. Or someone behind a mobile device to say goodnight to. I believe that in all kinds of relationships it’s the small things that matter.
Actions speak louder than words, and silence crushes the universe.
Silence brings in old habits, bad thinking, and a general feeling of loathsome worry.
Some of us wonder what we mean to the people we care the most about. Why is validation from the people we care about so important to us? Because we want them to feel for us the way we feel for them.
Silence is a horrible response.
Silence implies that there is no feeling, and suggests that perhaps there never was.
I’ll never be sorry for caring about you, but I am sorry that you can’t tell me what I mean to you. And, on the off chance that my codeine induced, and frankly, over dosed head is right in thinking that I was only there for you because she wasn’t, and that she may be back in your life..
Then I pity you.
Brief overviews of hideous men: the young one
He told me not to worry about not being I one of the beauties to grace his page or run through his dreams when he holds his pillow at night. I felt like his secret. I still do. His little secret song bird that used to keep him up at night, to make him laugh.
I finally figured out why I care. It is because, you see at one time, for a brief moment in our friendship/relations whatever the fuck mild flirtations we had…I honestly thought that he did find me beautiful. That we were good friends. I was convinced that my witty banter he found charming. That we could be great friends.
There were lies told. There were lines crossed. There was a pit in my stomach. There was frustration at lack of honesty.
It is with a heavy realization that what I feel now, is that I was just a passerby to him. And I hate that it hurts me. It isn’t a crying, heartbreak hurt. There was none of that nonsense. It’s a crushing hurt, it’s a disappointment. It’s a disappointment in myself that I had been vulnerable, that I had told him he wasn’t being selfish. It is a disappointment to realize that I cared, I missed him, and he never I.
I feel as I must not be interesting, or there is a new more interesting person to be friends with. To start again. To start anew. All attraction aside, I really did want to be his friend. The little crush thing that followed was just the icing on the cake.
He reassured me it wouldn’t alter our friendship. I believed him. It did.
However, I regret nothing.
Songs that I will always associate: A Change of Heart by El Perro del Mar, Forget by Twin Shadow, Cubism Dream by The Local Natives, We Could be Friends by Freelance Whales,
a rambling: on being “the consolation prize”
i thought by the time i turned 30 i would stop being mens boys consolation prize. not to say that i currently am, but in ways i feel like i am. i have many boys that are friends. they vary in degree, but i’m always there. i am always willing to help, lend an ear, buy a 24pk and sit and get drunk while talking of that shitty ex girlfriend. send the “saw twitter/tumblr/facebook/enter other internet social community here that x,y, and z happened, just wanted to let you know i’m thinking of you.” text message.
here is what is total shit; not having a guy like that to turn to. for some reason there are certain things that when you tell a guy they get in their head that you want them, sexually or in a relationship. i will say that there is only one man that i would want to be with, but it can not be. it can’t. we are friends and friends are good, but i wish i could key him up and talk with him, without the fear of him thinking otherwise.
i hate the late night drunk random throughout the year texts from some that have been so, so cruel. don’t tell me a text from a guy you haven’t spoken with in anywhere from 9 months to a year, at 3:30am on a tuesday isn’t a drunk one.
if these texts came from a friend i would think them endearing. but boys, boys that only wanted some part of me at one point in time who appear like the ghost of Christmas past is just infuriating.
the internet, tumblr is the perfect place for people to build “fantasy” relationships with each other. generally one person doesn’t tell their entire story, generally one person feels more. i’ve had some of my closest friends on here fall into that mess. i have, to a degree, but not to any point of actual realization. i never developed actual feelings, that weren’t fantastical until i met one person. still, they were just feelings. rushes of dopamine, serotonin, smiles, pitter patter of the heart. i’ll have feelings for that person for as long as they are in my life because they are amazing as all hell, i only wish he knew that. but i’m not planing on dating any one of my guy friends anytime soon, or probably ever. basically once that line of “i don’t have feelings for you” is crossed with all men in my life, the idea of them ever wanting to wake up next to me is gone. until one day, one of them tells me otherwise.
it sucks to be alone. to only have guy friends key you up when they need a pep talk, for advice, to talk about that hot chick bartender, and will you go to the bar with him, he’ll buy. it sucks to not have a guy friend that i care about to dial up and just say, “hey, can we talk? the universe is all wibbly wobbly this week and i just need to talk.”
that is the conundrum isn’t it? that we always want someone to take care of us, the way we take care of them.
warm brownies out of the pan are good for the soul
When one reaches a certain age you have to manage your time, your travel, family, friends and lovers. I’ve had such a problem saying no to people in my life, inviting them in, being vulnerable is hard. When feelings are involved I either share too much, or kiss then toss mud on said gentleman, and run.
I just took a fresh pan of hot brownies out of the oven.
I am really good at hiding my feelings when I know a man is out of my league. It seems every man I meet I am immediately tossed into best friend/confidant/drinking buddy territory. I have crooked teeth. I have small boobs. I’m no model. These are the things that replay on my inner tape deck. Aside from the 30 yrs of bad things/media adverts/cheating boyfriends to make me believe these things are the reasons, I know they are not.
One thing that greatly upsets me is when a man says, “I know how you feel.” When they don’t bother to ask why it is you feel that way. How is it possible for they to know? How can someone want to be so involved in your life, or want to stay great friends and not ask you questions?
The brownies are cool to the touch, which means I can grab a spoon.
I believe it to be terribly infuriating when one can’t let go of the past and look to see what is standing in front of him. Perhaps what is standing in front of him isn’t as beautiful, youthful, rich, or what have you as the past. Chances untaken are so much more painful than those that are. Because the truth can hurt, but at least you’ll be able to sleep at night.
I put a spoonful of fat-free frozen yogurt on my brownies. Sometimes it’s just you and a pan of warm brownies at the end of the day, sitting on the edge of your bed, in your Halloween costume.
And you think, maybe if they are lucky, they’ll notice you before you’re gone.
part two:
I look down. Blood. His head is dripping blood, fresh blood. But how? He spins me free only to spin me into the tight grip of one of the sturgeon. With a menacing look on his face he presses his whiskers against my face. They sting. As if I were being branded he pushes harder into my cheeks. I shout and scream but it’s all inside my head. No matter how hard I try, I cannot make any noise. No cry for help or pity. Nothing.
I see the badly dressed sturgeon continue to take apart my bicycle. With every tug and pull of my bicycle I feel a sharp pain. One in my abdomen, one in my head, my neck as they tear the fork out. Sharp, like a knife. Not too deep, yet deep enough to feel pain. Louder and louder the music begins. The polar bear lets out a thunderous ROAR with laughter.
“What are you doing!?” I shout, louder and louder, until the orchestra halts. Everyone halts. The circle in which I had been the nucleous of has grown big and quiet. My breasts still heaving up and down, with my racing heart. The sturgeon rips the chain from my naked bike frame, and with that I am down. My body hits the sand on my ocean floor. I see the smoke and close my eyes. I feel my body sink. I sink into all the layers, peet, sludge, and mud of the earth.
I open my eyes to find the surface of the ocean sparkling, glistening. The bright sun pierces the ripples, but nothing. I cannot move. All I do is breathe and stare up at the sky. I long to be back there. To be part of the walking dead. Part of the society that hides beneath it’s own skin, that wears a shrowd of denial on a daily basis.
My ocean has betrayed me. It has seduced me, tricked me. I close my eyes and think of old lovers. Of wine, of vicious Scrabble games. When I awake I find that I have been washed to shore and the bright sun has dried me up, with the waves crashing my body. My bicycle lay five feet from me. As I pick it up I find a monocle intwined in a piece of seaweed on the handle bars.
