someday. someday soon (now).

Death Cab for Cutie ‘Your Heart is an Empty Room’

If I could again reference the past…‘I can’t sleep, I need to tell you goodnight’ March 4, 2008
As the frequency to which I submit to my affections, my curse and weakness taken human form,
I realize all I live for right now is suicidal for I’ll die when it will most certainly end.

It’s as if everything here is seen through the eyes of a child, but one abused–I take everything in it’s truest form, shocked by the lies and misgivings of adult human nature. I am constantly taken aback by the power of compulsion, sex, and love. Faux love. At the same time, I am smug, knowing somehow I would be wrong, let down, poisoned by the entire situation.

I don’t feel naked anymore. It’s that avant garde feeling you hate, but love feeling scandalous and taboo. What is it worth?

I did die, but it was not the end, surely. I was almost reborn and shed of all sweaty sins committed, all lies believed, all nights wasted together and alone. I have a new beginning, not a new outlook, but another chance, and a new hope.

calm in a storm

A stiff breeze blew the curtains into the room and stirred me from sleep. The room was dark but the coast held a dusky glow reminiscent of the previous evening’s sun. It wouldn’t last, and I rose early to enjoy it, enjoy the quiet. There is so much noise where I am from. It is nice here, a perpetual vacation with a paycheck. Work is easier to tolerate, life is slower. Life has slowed considerably since I fled, and eventually more so since I took up residence here. The porch encompasses the entire exterior of the house, and allows for constant rambling.

Do not ask me what I do, it does not matter. What matters more is what I do not  do. I do not worry more than anyone should, sensibly. I do not frown, I do not choke down acid, I do not become consumed with anxiety. In fact, I do not become consumed with much of anything. A kind of peace is found here, where there is no one else. I had waited long enough in my short life for it.

The days I have free from work I sit in the sand in any weather, save rain. I tend to enjoy the rain, the crisp smell it brings, and the waves that swell in it’s presence from a safer, drier distance. I bring Oliver down to watch the tiny sand crabs bury themselves in retreat of the tide, and to collect buckets of shells before exchanging them for dinner and pajamas inside.

I realize this is not everyone person’s fantasy, living out their life the way we do. We are not surrounded by the push, push, push. There is so little noise, so few of the many gadgets that are necessity to others. It is a simple life that many envy, but few actually want. I simply swore off everything that made me worry, wait, or want. I took refuge in an entirely different location, as I watched myself change, I swore again, as we all do, that I would be better than my mother. I look at him now, his copper hair aglow, and wonder how it would have been if I wasn’t here, self-secluded. Is it fair? For whose sake have I taken flight and landed here? I begin to frown, and know immediately, it is for all good reasons. He looks up to me and smiles, waves, points to his castle. The water slides up the shore and licks away his tiny neverland. I watch his lip quiver in disappointment, but I laugh. I pray it is the most he ever looses right there at his grasp and out of his control. If so, I have done him the biggest favour I could manage. The rest of his life is at his disposal as he wishes.

The sun fades to the back of the house and it’s time for the end of another day. I do not need anything else. It has all failed, fallen to confusion, greed, shame, mistake. I take my best work, and tuck him in for the night. I hear the water begin to come down in long torrents and blanket the ocean, the house, the sounds. I am nothing more than grateful. I climb into bed myself, and take in the room. I am surrounded by photos of the people I love, I loved, who loved me. I’ll be back one day, when it is eventually too quiet here and I need punishment for all I have done. When I need to be flooded with words, lights, indulgence, guilt. I am sorry, but I am also very happy.

any more anymore?

The Strokes ‘You Only Live Once’

Do you ever miss being miserable? Ever wish now and then you should endure the worst, hang on for pure hope, sit quietly home alone wondering when someone will find you and bring you back to life?

I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Life is more interesting when you feel like shit. There’s more to say. It’s not that you want to be miserable is it? Of course not. It’s missing the usual. If you get used to something, eventually, no matter what it is, you’ll learn to sort of love it.

I was reading an article a few years ago about nicotine addiction in lab rats. They wired the nozzle that delivered the nicotine with a small, relatively harmless electric shock. Even though the rats had adverse affects to the nicotine they were addicted to, that even the painful effects of the electricity did not deter them from wanting more.

Are humans addicted to unhappiness? Is this why we always let ourselves fall into the same series of bad decisions? We spend too much, laugh too little, love the ones who don’t love us, want what we can’t have, settle…

Why not break that cycle? It’s not so bad, forgetting everything else except what’s in front of you. I like the view. It’s okay to take pause now and then, we are human after all. We’re bound to still do a few stupid things.

not as bad as it looks

Joshua Radin ‘Closer’

I could quote myself from a November “I’ll have this to thank you, for getting me as far as you did”

I’m three weeks from hitting the mark. It’s enthralling.

It’s (he’s) all I have ever wanted. I didn’t want a washed up doctor wanna-be, a writer who can’t write, a drunk mechanic with a death wish. I guess I didn’t really want a solider either. Some would argue that brief lapse was wanting love and attention from a different solider gone rogue–my Father. Fuck ‘em. My Italian is everything I could hope for. He is devoted, affectionate, caring, sensual, kind, masculine, funny, and a little rough around the edges.

Lily Allen ‘Littlest Things’

It’s terrifying.

Who am I jacking thinking I’m so fit? I’m not really. He’s fit as Hell, honestly. Anyone would have him, but he just wants me. What’s so scary is all the buzz. It’s all the everyone and their Mother knowing (oh, just knowing) that we’re absolutely getting married. There’s not even the thought that something awful will happen and the whole fucking parade will derail and shit. Not a fucking word of it. It’s assumed the whole thing. In a way, I must say I’m sensitive though, it’s expected, all this happiness. I mean, when I said I was in love, that I was happy, I never got a single ‘Good for you, love!’, or even a ‘I knew you’d find him (Mr. Right)!’ It was all ‘well you should be happy (just look at him…[swoon])’. That’s well up and all but honestly….I mean REALLY wouldn’t it be nice just once for someone to think that he’s good enough for me, and not that they guess I’m good enough for him? Is that a fair thing to ask? Cause when you get down to it, so long as I don’t kirk the fuck out and do something irrational which I don’t intend on doing (I hate enough of everything else, why make my life worse, all emotion aside?), this could be it………………..could it not? He loves me, I love him…what’s not terrifying about this equation? Spending the rest of your life with someone, that’s bloody intimidating. SHIT. Think it’s pressure for the guy?

Maybe where all my problems lie with being insulted by all the assumptions I should have gotten around to finding my Italian faster, etc, etc, and being scared of something working, and settling down some point off in an undisclosed distance of time, or fantasizing that if we don’t live happily ever after he will come swooping in to win me back….(take a breath!)…is it’s all my mistake. It’s not the one night stand, or the co-worker, the grocery market encounter, or the friend of the friend. It’s not any one of them, it’s all of them. Had I met Mr. Fantastic when we were kids, it would be like everyone always said about me and D…we grew up together in that small town, we were connected long before that, we were meant to live out our lives with each other. That is an assumption I can handle? Eh, it doesn’t put me in the wrong, so I’d feel cleared for flight. A go. The thing is, it’s my past that’s all wrong–he’s not in it. He’s everything I have for the future, and that’s where I am, where I should always be. The thing is, I have such a damn finite memory, I can’t block out feeling like a failure. It shouldn’t matter now whether I passed or failed the last however many years of my life thus far, it should just be a straight road ahead. Not that simple. I look at Auto lying on the sofa half-drunk and unresponsive to me, and I wonder, yeah he’s a total dick, but hey, am I really all sure there was nothing I could have done differently??? No, no, you argue. But…that’s what kills me. That there may be buts in this relationship, and I just couldn’t stay in my own skin if I lost this one. It’s different, and I guess it’s exactly how I know I had something to do with the rest of them flailing and failing. I’m not trying at this relationship, I’m letting it happen, letting him in, loving him back, all so openly. Regrettably, it was a scandalous thought previously.

This all sounds so confusing. I am happy. Sometimes, I just wish I would have known him longer, like I knew the others. Years from now we’ll have more of a history than eleven months and one week, but for now, it’s not disappointment I feel, it’s not. It’s regret. It’s not understanding why I couldn’t get it right the first time. I know, I know, I was meant to meet HIM (stupid!); but, part of me wonders why I couldn’t manage when I can now. It’s not me, it’s them? Or is it that I enabled them, gave them all what they wanted so they could walk away? Perhaps I am just confusing myself more than ever.

I feel like I’ve known my amor as far back as sandbox adventures. I just don’t have stories to match. That’s okay, knowing me, they’d be terrible ones, and he’d be long gone by now. Instead, let’s just say he’s half-clad sleeping in the next room. I win after all. Against myself? Sure, why not. Fuck ‘em.