May 1st, 2012

When I get out of the shower, there’s almost never any towels clean. So I grab a bed sheet and wrap it around my body and sit there, playing guitar until I dry off. My thoughts get stronger as my eyelids get heavier, and I like to contemplate the meaning of life all day long. I was trying to tell a story the way I heard it the other day, but people wrote it off and a girl told me I talk about coffee a lot, so I guess it didn’t matter whether my version was correct or not. Maybe I do talk about caffeinated beverages a lot, maybe I talk about love a lot, or the reason behind bicycle tires, but does that mean that what I say is no longer important? I’ve heard people say that nothing is ever new anymore. Information on coffee, and love, and bicycles gets recycled, never placed in a language landfill, because people just tend to reuse it. But I believe it is all about what you do with what you know. I had something to say, and it should have been found. My phone always dies before the night is up, and every time it’s off, I hope for a message that never comes when it comes back to life. I don’t get why we say our phones die. They’re merely tired. We don’t die every time we run out of energy. Only once. I wait; every day I check my mail box and for some reason, expect a love letter. A love letter that has never been in there, that has no one to come from, that has no reason, but it does have hope and that is it’s gift from me. Because I figure one day, it will find it’s resting place inside that metal container, even if I have to write about the love I have for myself. At my first open mic, I panicked and messed up the guitar chords, but I kept singing anyway and pretended that the song needed little breaks with just my voice. It didn’t and they probably noticed, but the point is I ended the song properly and people clapped anyway. Sometimes in life, we panic and get nervous, and mess up on everything. Sometimes I do that. But much like I handled it while performing, I keep going through all the mishaps. I keep forgetting to do laundry. I’ll eventually run out of sheets. I’ll be told that I say too much of this, or too little of that, my words will get stuck in a place inside of me without breaking free, because of interruption and disbelief. We all have words inside of us that need to be shared. Don’t let someone tell you to quit your thought. I’ll diffuse another open mic disaster bomb, I’ll forget the chords, and hit the wrong note. I’ll keep waiting for that letter. We’re all putting on a performance called life anyway, people will stare anyway, and eventually, it will all write itself out and get back to you.

Balloon

And it happened in the worst way.
I admired with all my heart, and I longed, and I lost sleep, but with all the sheep I counted and with each breath I lost, nothing changed. Nothing happened, nothing came along and made things my way. So I decided to let go, like a balloon that was tied around my wrist, but not tight enough. It blew away, despite my wanting it more than anything, and I watched it as it flew.
I yearned for it. I wanted to go back and get another, as if I were a kid again. But things are not simple, and two are never the same. It doesn't work that way. I knew with time, it would be better. I could make myself get over it, reverse my mind back to a time when I didn't know him at all. When I was a child and I didn't understand the point of helium, or love, or why people can't have what they want.
Yet every day, I have to deal. I have to deal because he has hatched onto my ideals like they are his own. He does it as if I were never a part of them, never a giver, never a stepping stone to where he is going, or where he is headed. I sit back and I watch, watch as he embarks on my journey without me, and he is accompanied. She had everything I longed for, and now she has more. Not that she cares, not that she realizes, but she has stolen the piece I never thought I'd have to share, or lose. It seems to me like a mockery, but I bet it's overdone.
It is haunting because it wasn't a mere goodbye. It's as if the balloon keeps coming back, but floats slightly out of my reach. Yet I see it in all of my favorite places, it follows me. He follows me. He pops up here and there, and instead of letting my feelings leave, he decided he'd mark my heart with a sign. With thousands of signs. Because why would moving on be easy? Why wouldn't he take a part of me with him wherever he dwells?
But does he wonder, does he think, does he know? Does my name transcend out of his thoughts, into his dreams, whenever he does what he does? I hope so, or else there was no point of me at all, was there? What was my point, his point, our point? I care, I stare, I know, but he won't identify all I have brought to him. So while they get to accompany each other on the ride I should be taking, I am a single soul on a bike all alone, and the street signs are the signs that I haven't learned yet. I stop looking back, because the sunrise is ahead and eventually... the balloon pops.

The Wrongs and Rights

There were so many wrong things about yesterday, but there was also so many things that were right. That's the way life unfolds; the wrongs and the rights pop up here and there, when you need them and when you really don't, or right after you really needed them and you wonder where they were before. Yesterday was a day that left me feeling self conscious, as I usually do when I'm faced with a crowd of people whom I'm familiar with, and it branched onto today like a sloth holding on for dear life. The thing about being around a lot of people that you know, is that they judge you in a different way. They know you, or at least, they know enough to give you a profile. People that don't know you assume, and you can tell yourself that they are not worth worrying over because they are merely passer-by's on this road we call life, and we wave at them as we ride by. They are assuming things about you, and they don't know your story. They can look at you and say, “Wow, they need to lose weight” but they don't know that you lost thirty pounds and slipped a disc in your back that disables you from pushing your body to any outer limits. Sometimes you can't even move- you have to worry when you're shoveling the sidewalk. People you know though, they are judging you and it's bothersome because they aren't assuming. Some of them might know about that disc and still think the same things to themselves, because so many in the human race do not come embedded with the sympathy gene. You want to convince them when you're so sure of, that is not the case. You aren't always what meets the eye. But how can you convince anyone but yourself? How do you tell them what is true, when it is already true but their minds have played it for foolish? There are days like yesterday and today when my realistic sensible mind occupies the part of my brain where optimism likes to reside. I've heard that what happens now, is only for now. I can't necessarily say that's true, and that's what bothers me. The wrongs and rights pop up more than once, not just now, but frequently. Some of them the same. It's a shame to look at myself and somehow feel less human than anyone else, because my stomach is a sight that I myself can't even accept. If I can't accept me even though I understand obstacles keep me from my goals, how can I expect anyone else to? I accept that I try, that I know I could if I had the chance, but it doesn't change the way my body layers like lasagna. The way I feel when standing next to a pretty girl. Why not me? Why have they no obstacles like I? I guess what I'm saying is, people judge books by their covers, despite the tell tale saying that they shouldn't. I'm just waiting for someone to take a chance on my cover, because maybe it's intriguing despite being out of the ordinary, and I want them to find out I'm not such a bad book after all.

I've been trying to be there. It's like I'm trying and failing, but getting back up and trying again, without any recognition. It goes unnoticed and I'm starting to wonder what the point is because, will people always just notice who their head tells them to see? Even if they don't deserve it? One person; unreliable and uncaring, probably once loyal and true but has since been lacking in that department. Another; standing in front of someone, trying to show what kind of person she is, left to wonder what more she has to do. If I'm going down, I guess I'm going down with a fight. I'm pulling out all the stops, and if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Whatever happens is meant to be, because it happened. Whatever decision you make is the right decision or else you wouldn't have made it. It's complicated, but so entirely important when facing things you can't change. Maybe you never could, maybe you just can't anymore. I'm trying to show that you can miss where you've been, where you were, but you have to find bits of where you were, here, and then maybe then you can appreciate where you are now. The sad thing is, if it doesn't work out, I can partially understand why. Just once I'd like to be girl that stands out in the crowd. The one that gets the stares. Unafraid to wear a bathing suit, to sit comfortably without worrying how my clothes look, to feel the way I deserve to feel. Winter always instills these kind of thoughts into my head. Everything is frozen over, and I'm left to wonder why we don't hibernate like bears. They have the right idea. When the plants die, everything fades, why do we continue on despite the elements? It comes off as unnatural to me, as if we're invading a space that we're not supposed to inhabit, and we should rest, but we don't. I just want to lay here, because sometimes, I can't guarantee it will be any better out in the world. I looked at my hands today, at my veins with blood coursing through them. I could feel the sting in my throat, the literal pain in my back, the sleep in my forehead, and couldn't help but wonder why certain things are important. Why is the math I'm learning important at all? When the blood stops flowing, will I care about what set builder notation is? Maybe Einstein did, but who am I to appreciate it for what it is? We should learn about what we appreciate, and shouldn't be forced to care. We just should. We should be able to surround ourselves with subjects we care about, or else it's just a waste. Everything deserves to be appreciated. Would you want to spend time with someone if they were being forced to know you?

My niece turns 7 today, since it's technically after midnight. I feel as if she was just born, and yet here I am, laying in bed thinking about her smile and the way she likes to paint her nails. When I was 7, I walked with moon shoes, I experienced my first true loss, and I was in the process of moving. Now, I am here with a sick body, a body that feels like it's slowly falling to shreds, even though I'm only 20. I say only 20, because I am only 20. My back is causing me pain, which creates anguish within my soul, because why can't it just rest, like the birds in winter? Like everything in the winter. Besides us. I guess that's why life is continuous. One thing after another. One right, one right, four wrongs. I am out numbered, rights are sometimes outnumbered, but I'll keep on counting. I will count because yesterday, despite everything, there were rights. The weather was perfect for this time of year, the snow heavy and flowing like confetti. The forest illuminated with the perfect amount of snow on all of the trees. The hug of my baby niece. Pictures of smiling faces. The feeling of being alive, despite everything.

Everyone you've ever met.

This is a picture I took in NYC a few years back, on the ‘Top of the Rock.’ I was trying to take a picture of the scenery and the Empire state building, and this boy comes stomping in front of me just as I took the shot. He froze and we laughed, and I told him that he wasn’t right smack in the picture, just a little bit. I thought he was cute. He worked there, and had a uniform on. We meet so many people in our lives. Imagine if you had to make a list of everyone you’ve ever spoken to. The girl in line at the concert, the man that cashed you out at the Good Will, a celebrity that you’ve met, and everyone you’ve ever said “Treat or treat!” to. It would be impossible. I read somewhere that it would be great if we could spend our lives with one person, and then start again with someone else in the next life. But we only get once chance for sure. We have to choose who we want to spend our time with. Whenever you interact, remember that while that person may be a small blip on your mental list, you could be at the top of theirs. You could be the only person that asked them how they were in months, you could be their role model, or you could be the guy in that girls picture, the guy whom she may never see again. The guy on top of the rock. I wonder what his name is.

About a boy.

Middle school was a tough time in my life. More tough than you can imagine. But that’s not really what this is about. This is about a boy. I was always the odd girl out, the girl who was poor, always wore her hair in a pony tail, no makeup, chubby and did not at all fit in amongst the girls at my Catholic school for various reasons. So, you’d imagine my surprise when one of the popular kids started talking to me online. We started iming each other, and I can’t remember how now, but the point is that we talked. He dated the popular girl, the smart one who liked to pretend she was angelic, but they broke up. He would talk about her and I would listen. I was the friend, but that was okay, because I wanted friends. We’d talk about New Found Glory because we both liked that band, and school, and everything. One day he said, “Why don’t you ever say hi to me in school?” I told him that I was shy, and I had always wanted to but was nervous. He said that I should, and I told him that he should first. So one day, during the last few days of school, we went out to play sports in the field after our exams. I was sitting on the bleachers, alone, and a group of girls sat next to me. His ex girlfriend was one of those girls. They didn’t care that I was sitting there alone. They didn’t pick on me right then, but they didn’t care. I saw the boy running towards the bleachers with a football in his arms, getting ready to play with the guys. I assumed he was running past, or maybe he’d want to talk to that girl. Then he yelled my name, loudly. I looked up and he was waving, and yelled “HI!!!!” I smiled as wide as I could, and waved back and yelled, “HI!!” He smiled and ran to the guys, and I turned my head to see the entire group of girls just staring at me. Giving me that look. Not only the look of shock, but the look of, “Her? Really?” It was the slight revenge and the “What now?” slap in the face that I always wanted to give them. I thanked that boy in my head and forever wrote him off as one of the nicest guys I knew. I saw him at Panera the other day, and he stared at me as if he was trying to make out who I was, but couldn’t quite get it. He’s different now. Completely country, republican, voting for Ron Paul, and although not so different, a football player and a wrestler. He still has the same red cheeks, but I don’t know him or what he likes anymore. Not that any of what I said about him should be categorized as bad, but we are different. I don’t know what he thinks of gay marriage. I don’t know if he still likes New Found Glory. I do know that no matter what, deep down, he is a good person. People are more than their stance on politics, than their taste in music, than their favorite sports team.  So even though we’re different and he couldn’t quite figure out who I was at a glance, he may have been the highlight of my middle school years, and I will always remember him.