she likes her hair to be real orange, she uses tangerines.

hey god,

i'm super appreciative of the fact that you're like, overseeing existence.  and normally, i'm the one asking you for advice on like, how to live my life but today i have one minor comment.

what's up the tangerine?

it tastes good-- but like, are all the stops really necessary?  there's that hard orange peel around it, then the weird chewy white "skin", and a finally a load of seeds before you can get to the good stuff.

i try to trust that you know what you're doing but you may have missed the mark on this one.

then again, what do i know?

keep up the good work.

love,
me
(i know you know who i am)

ps- nice job with the whole sun rising/sun setting, earth turning thing.

in the middle of the night when i'm in this dream, it's like a million little stars spelling out your name

if i was going to write the story of us i wouldn't leave one part of you out.

you.

you're like, perfect.

i met you at the end of the hallway on the 19th floor.  

you ate a whole pack of tums on our first date.  

i remember every second of the first night i spent at your place.  now our place.  

always together, you and i

remember that time we were in west elm.....waiting in line to use the bathroom i remember wondering what was taking you so long.  i love you- you wrote, on piece of toilet paper, and left in floating.....well, you know....

i still have the map that you drew for me, that time i got my haircut in soho.  and the ticket stub from when we saw ps i love you.

we have walked on every street, hand in hand.  everybody knows how we go together.

i don't even remember, how long it's been, since we've lived together-- all i know is that i can't wait to see you.

today.  tomorrow.  forever.

lost your balance on a tight rope, it's never too late to get it back

i remember exactly exactly when things started falling apart.

i remember exactly which decisions were the wrong decisions.

i remember, but i can't do anything about it. 

i can't go back in time.

all i can do is pick up the pieces and continue moving forward, despite the set back.


this reminds me of the line in the tim burton' movie "big fish"-- they say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. what they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.


i don't know anything about love but i think the same rules apply to tragedy.  only in some cases, things fuck you up so bad that when time starts speeding again- you spend the rest of your life just trying to catch up......


sometimes i think that it's possible you'll get there and sometimes i don't.


what can i say?  i don't claim to have any answers. 


that's why i'm writing i guess.  not just today but every day. maybe someday it will all make sense.


not just for me-- but for you too.

i never try anything, i just do it-- want to try me?

you are awkward

the hesitation in your voice

it's

long.


i wonder

what is inside

that empty space


what is it

that makes you get lost

in

between

words


i've seen you react

with such conviction

and i've seen you

paralyzed

with doubt



control or be controlled



we're all wild animals

dear



even in captivity



you can practice

even perfect

your roar

but

not

your

bite

and he looks at me like a prince but i know i better bite the bullet cuz it's just another one of his jedi mind tricks

i was cleaning out the boxes on the top of the closet today.  boxes that i keep but never really open, you know? 

and at the bottom of the lucky brand perfume box with the shiny pink cover, was the letter that you sent to me.

it was still in the envelope.  addressed to me in all capital letters.  my name underlined.  postmarked september 25, 1996.

inside are two letters-- one hand written on yellow lined paper and the other perfectly typed explaining how you wrote the first letter but forgot to actually send it.

i know i wasn't the only one to receive a letter from you that summer but still, that letter made me feel special.  it seemed like you put a lot of effort into it, you know, like you cared.

and when i found it today, i read it, your words are just as perfect now as they were then.  i think it would surprise even you, to look back and read the wise words that you wrote to me at 21.  (more yoda than luke skywalker--i know you'll like that.)

not that you will ever read this.  because we never stayed in touch.  the last time i saw you was 12 years ago on foss hill.  you were not as interested in me as i was in you.

it's not a bad thing.  life happens the way that it's supposed to, right?  i just think it's ironic that years later we both ended up living in the same borough and yet still remained strangers.

that's nothing new for me. 

i've written about that before.  how someone you know becomes someone that you knew. 

i mean, if i ever had the opportunity to speak to you again i don't know what i would say.  besides thank you, for sending that letter.  it meant the world to me once and it still makes me smile.  and i hope your life now is better than you ever thought it could be then. 

may the force be with you

 

want a violent girl who's not scared of anything help me kill my time cuz i'll never be fine

this morning i had a crisis.

a total fucking melt down.

there were tears.

there was a lot of yelling.

and slamming doors.  yeah.  there was a lot of slamming doors.


it all started when i woke up and got dressed.  there was a breeze coming in through the window and i thought-- maybe i should wear jeans. 

i knew this day was coming.  i was just trying to put it off for as long as possible.

jeans day.


i don't know what happened.  i mean, i put the jeans on and looked in the mirror and the shit hit the fan.  seriously.  i mean, all of the sudden it was like nothing but me wearing jeans and it was not good.  they pulled, they stretched, they highlighted every flaw i work so hard to hide.  i can't even tell you how the sight of my reflection just knocked the wind right out of me.


all of the sudden i was in it-- this place of self loathing and i could not find a way out.  i tried on every pair of jeans i own.  skinny, straight, flare-- black, blue, distressed--- only hating myself more and more. 


i've never liked wearing jeans-- they've always been uncomfortable to me.  and my legs have always been a source of stress for me.  i just want them to be different.  drastically different.  (not like oh i want a pony someday kind of want.  but like a real painful kind of want that you feel on a primal, guttoral level).


so putting on jeans this morning, for the first time in 5 months was tragic.  and no i am not exaggerating.  i would have ripped my skin off if i thought i could do it and survive.  i went from the bedroom to the closet, slamming the door with each entrance and exit-- to laying on my bed in the fetal position sobbing-- to walking out the front door, to going back inside, tearing one pair of jeans off and pulling another pair on-- to more crying, more slamming, more stomping.


my poor boyfriend just sat on the couch with his head in his hands. 


there is no fixing me when i go this low.  there is nothing that anybody can do but let me cry it out until i'm so exhausted that i fall alseep or get so delirious and blurry eyed that i don't care what i look like anymore.


and it sounds so ridiculous-- to care so much about what i look like.  because i don't put that much emphasis on the way people look.  i mean, i don't judge other people the way i judge myself.  i don't hate anybody for the way they look-- except for myself. 


but i really do hate myself.  because i don't like the way i look in my jeans.  and that's just the story i chose for today.


hopefully tomorrow will be different. 

xo xo xo

they will catch me if i dare drop back, won't you give me all the speed i lack

i just remembered how this one time it snowed before christmas.  he came over late one night on his snowmobile....like not here but to my parents house.  and it was strange how like, they (my parents) didn't wake up because he drove it (his snow mobile) across the front lawn and waited for me beside the front door.  like he knew that i would come out.  dressed.  and ready to go.

but i did.  because i was a fucking wreck.  you know like i was so sure that other shoe was going to drop that i wasn't going to sit around waiting for it, you know.

and it wasn't cold.  or that cold-- anyway.  if it was, i don't really remember.

all i remember was racing down the hill like there was no tomorrow.  trembling with a cocktail of excitement and fear because we didn't stop or look both ways before crossing the street.

the earth was so quiet and the sky was so black......sprinkled with a handful of stars......lightly dusted with a sugar coating of snow as we raced farther and farther away from everything that i knew.

i didn't know where i was going.  i just held on.  

there is like this feeling, when you know you're slipping, falling, sliding out of control and like you know there is nothing that you can do to stop it-- and in that moment you have a choice-- like you can say fuck it and let go and freak out and try to brace yourself.  

but it doesn't matter what you do-- nothing prepares you for the future.  nothing.

it just happens.  life just happens.  

and it happens easier when you let go.

i try to remember that, when i'm like white knuckling it through the day.  the feeling of not knowing and not caring-- just being in the moment.

because that was a long time ago, i guess.  and somewhere along the way i started believing that i'm like, fragile.  that life is fragile.  and maybe it is, you know.

but like, who the fuck cares? what good is it, if you always stay inside the lines?  my biggest fear is looking back and saying i followed all the rules.  

i used to be pretty good at making my own.

say yes, i'm in love with the world through the eyes of a girl who's still around the morning after

i was on the escalator

going down

when he said

do you want to hear something funny

and i said yes



i said yes

but i thought

how funny can it be?

like, haha funny?

or like

weird funny?


because with him

you never know

so i tilted my head

inquisitively

as i was looking at the flowers

and not really seeing them


because

remember that guy

he started to say

and i thought

what guy.....what guy?


the guy who.....

he says as i make my way

through the crowd

of tourists and men in suits

women with babies and people people people


it all feels like a blur

the people and the words

that he is saying


and the blur

twists

into a tornado

inside me

creating havoc

in some places

and leaving other places

eerily untouched


i can hear him

smiling

on the other end

of the phone

and i want to give him wings

hold on to nothing as fast as you can .....still

maybe

deep in my subconscious

i believe

that if i stare at the blank screen long enough

words

will appear


my thoughts will write themselves.


because i've been sitting here

on 13 notebooks stacked on my desk chair

thinking


i was thinking about all the things i should be doing

instead of what i was actually doing

which was

nothing


i am experiencing a serious lack of inspiration


maybe if i had a box of crayola crayons i could color my way out of this empty space

one more reason

not

to stay inside the lines


i can't

i won't

i don't


everthing that i write is complete and utter nonsense. 

maybe i will delete my blog tomorrow morning.

in my mind, the sun shines, all the time, because i'm just a summer girl, i wear my flip flops

 There are certain things that you have to do in the summer no matter how old you are. 

You have to wake up too early because the sun is shining in your face.  You have to lay in bed longer than you should listening to the birds chirping or the trees whispering.  You have to take your breakfast outside and eat it with your feet up.  You have to not know how you are going to spend your day BUT you have to know that it can be the best day of your life.  You have to know that—even if it rains.  If it rains you have to take off your shoes and run through it— even if you are just going to go inside and change your clothes.  You have to leave your house with nothing in hand—not even a house key.  You have to pick a flower but then you have to feel bad that you killed it, (but only for a second), because then you have to give that flower to someone—even if it’s yourself.  You have to spend a little too much time in the sun without any sunscreen so that you get your fill and you can glow for the rest of the year.  If you really want to radiate, then you have to pass your sunshine onto other people by smiling—even if you don’t know them.  You have to remember your old friends and sit out by the curb remembering old times.  You have to let yourself laugh at the funny parts, hold hands at the scary parts, and cry at the sad parts.  You have to do that until the sun starts to go down.  If you get hungry—you  have to have a barbecue.  You have to wonder why those watermelon seeds that you planted when you were seven never grew into watermelons and why you ever stopped digging that hole to China.  You have to stop wondering and start running when you hear the ice cream man and you have to get something that you haven’t had “since you were a kid” even though you had one last summer when you thought the same thing.  Then you have to eat it like you did when you were little—even if that means spilling it on your shirt and leaving it on your face.  If you don’t have an ice cream man, you  have to remember to bring a hoodie to the grocery store because the ice cream aisle is always freezing.  You have to join into that game of hide-and-seek, spud, or TV tag.  You have to watch the fireworks with the same eyes you saw them with when you thought that someone was shooting the sky and it was bleeding pretty colors.  You have to write your name in the air with sparklers.  You have to catch lightening bugs in a jar.  You have to have a picnic in the park (or even in your front yard).  You have to go to a baseball game and root for which ever team is winning.  You have to slip down the slip and slide because you are still waiting for your parents to come home with crocodile mile even though you know that it was discontinued in like, 1987, because all of those kids ended up with stitches or something.  You have to go night swimming but you shouldn’t go alone because even now, it can be sort of scary.  You have to write a postcard to someone who isn’t with you and tell them that summer isn’t the same without them.  You have to take that one last walk on the beach.  You have to ride the carousel or the ferris wheel at least one time because, like life, even though you are only going around in circles—you are still going up and down and you never know who or what is around the bend.  You have to stay out too late.  You have to sleep in nothing but your super hero underoos (or whatever you have replaced them with).  You have to fall asleep with the window open.  You have to fall asleep happy then you have to wake up too early because the sun is shining in your eyes.

you think you're in the movies and everything is so deep

i used to think that my brother was really good at monopoly but it turns out that he was just really good at cheating.

i used to think that i could make enough "snow" with my snoopy sno*cone machine to fill up my entire back yard.

i used to think that the main street near my childhood home was called rutaydee but then i got my driver's license and noticed the street sign-- route 80.

i used to think that all bookcases were secret passageways into mysterious rooms like on scooby doo but i could never find the right book to pull down to make the door swing open.

i used to think that if i ate a lot of carrots i would have perfect vision.

i used to think that grilled cheese was "girl" cheese and that there was something called "boy" cheese for boys.

i used to think that my mom was a good cook-- turns out that i just liked the taste of ketchup.

i used to think that if i poured a bunch of popcorn kernals in the chandelier they would get hot and turn into popcorn.

i used to think that all of my dolls were staring at me when i tried to fall asleep at night.

i used to think that the swamp thing lived in my basement but that he couldn't get me if the lights were on.

i used to think that i was really driving the cars/motorcycles/boats that i rode on at amusement parks when i was 4.

i used to think i could speak french because i took ballet.

i used to think if i kept digging that hole in my backyard--i would eventually get to china.

i used to think that when people in france made toast- that they made what we call french toast.

i used to think that all candy bars might have a golden ticket in them.

i used to think a lot of things.  what did you used to think?

pretty little tragedy look so good to me don't ever let em tell you you're not going to hell with me

i was born with an extra gene

misery


i heard that

somewhere

and it reminded me

of a life i used to live

not

that

long

ago


i used to think

that i was

marked

for

suffering


a target

for

tragedy


a black sheep

in a world

lit up

by a million shining suns

in which i was certain

that my destiny

was to be

burned


i  didn't have any

hope

and

i didn't have any

dreams

because i never

allowed myself to

sleep


in the darkest hours

i would

sit beside the window

and look up

into

the

night

wondering why

all i could see

was a sky without

stars


even then

i was always

searching

for something


but every single night

i made

the same

mistake

of thinking

that what i needed

was

somewhere "out there"


because

the light i see in you

is just a reflection

of the light

within me


and that means

everything i thought

i needed

i already had


now all i have to do

is

remember

that

won't you tell me what you're thinking of, would you be an outlaw for my love?

i've been thinking about texting you but i haven't.  i mean, i did (text you) but like, you didn't respond. 

and that's okay, you know, to like, not answer a text.  especially my text.  it wasn't really important anyway.  i mean, it was completely not important.  so yeah.  i guess it really didn't merit a response anyway.  but then a couple weeks later, i emailed you and you didn't respond to that either.

but there is no law that says you need to respond to me-- in a timely manner or at all.  we get so many texts and emails and phone calls that it starts to feel like a chore, right?  keeping up with like, people.

i'm the worst-- i do it all the time.  that's what i keep telling myself when i look and see no response.  from you.

it's funny- i've gotten used to that from you.  so i don't know why i care.  especially now.

i guess because we had sort of been talking more recently i kind of got used it.  maybe a little too used to it.  (if that is even possible, with like, people that you know.)

whatever. 

i should be making dinner for t right now instead of writing to you. 

he was gone last night and i missed him.  before he had to go he wrote me a note and left it on my pillow.  i don't know why it surprised me because he does these really sweet things like, all the time.  sometimes we are living, like so close to each other, that i forget to see all that he is.  and being away from him helped me remember.  the hours were long because we haven't spent a night apart in years and even though it's only been 24 hours, i can't wait for him to walk through the door.

he will sit down on the black chair and i will sit down on his knee to listen as he tells me about his day.  he will twist a lock of my hair between his fingers as i tell him about mine.  and i will remember the way he looks at me, like if he could, he would keep me in that moment forever, closed inside of a locket.

two perfect pictures.

him and me. 




  

and i feel like i'm naked in front of the crowd cuz these words are my diary screaming out loud and i know that you'll use them however you want to

i struggle with thought.

sometimes my thoughts go full circle.  sometime i think in straight lines.  sometimes my thoughts dissipate into thin air.  sometimes i think parallel thoughts.  sometimes my thoughts are cut short as if my mind were a chopping block and the chef accidentally dropped the knife.  sometimes i think myself into places that i can't think myself out of.

that's why i need to write.  i need to write all of the words out of my way so that i could escape.  i need to write out all of words until my head becomes empty so that i could think clearly.  so i could free myself of the words that weigh me down.  i write because the page is always strong enough to carry the weight of my words wherever they need to go.  once the words are on the page, i'm free.

some people write to remember but i write to forget.  i have no stories to tell.  i have no beginnings, middles or ends.  i have no chapters.  i have nothing but decades of conflicting thoughts that take up too much room in my head.  so i write.  i write to figure things out.  i write the dialogue between me and myself.  my fingers are their own entity responding to the voice in my head.  i write all of my questions and i will continue writing until i've written out all of my answers.

i write because there is nothing else to do when i'm home alone on a monday night in bk.  i write because even though i have cable there is still nothing worth watching.  i write because i do not have the patience to read.  i write because there is no one awake to talk to.  i write because i would like to sleep tonight.  i write because if i could find a place for all of these thoughts, i may actually have a chance to dream great dreams.

 

when she cries at night and she doesn't think that i can hear her she tries to hide all the fear she feels inside

i haven't had a panic attack in a long time but i had one last night.  at like 3 am.  it wasn't pretty.

i was woken up out of a deep sleep by the cat stepping on my stomach.  doesn't sound like that big of a deal but considering the cat weighs about 1/3 of my body weight it knocks the wind right out of me so i bolted up scared and out of breath before i could even open my eyes.

at first, i tried to lay down and go back to sleep but like, i felt like i couldn't breathe.  seriously, i thought i was suffocating, like to death.  and t just kept telling me i was fine but i didn't feel fine so that was freaking me out even more.

at one point i remember standing up and walking over to him and saying you are not a doctor.  if something happens to me, please just fucking call 911.  sometimes i just want him to tell me out loud that he will take care of me only he doesn't get that so i have to like, yell it at him at ten after three in the morning.

then i was pacing.  like back and forth.  across the foot of the bed and then from the bedroom to the living room.  i could not calm down. i remembered how when i lived alone and i would have panic attacks, i would run around my apartment to get all of the energy out.  #notagoodtime

i kept trying to calm myself down by meditating, but like, every time i tried to take a breath it just stopped somewhere in my throat and every time i tried to breath out it felt like my chest was on fire.  this was like, the opposite of serenity.

i kept replaying the words that cole said to me a couple years ago about stuff like this so i started feeling really dizzy.  then my hands and feet were tingling and numb.  i kept thinking, no fucking way am i going to breathe my last breath on this ugly carpet in a 3rd floor apt in bk. so i went back in the bedroom thinking i would distract myself with television.

unfortunately t did not have the good sense not to negotiate with me about what to put on so i started crying thinking that the last thing i might ever watch would be some shitty independent film about joy division.  

he tried to hug me but like, that's really not the best thing to do to someone who feels like they are suffocating so i pushed him away, grabbed the remote and put on friends-- hoping that a little ross and rachel would make me laugh.

it didn't.

so i went into the bathroom and sat in the sink and started praying.  i know that sounds ridiculous but i do my best praying in the sink.  something about the harsh lights on the vanity and the discomfort of my feet pressed up against the faucet keeps me really focused as i'm saying to the universe-- seriously dude, this prayer is no joke.

because it was no joke.  not at three forty something in the morning.  i was tired and hell bent on waking up in time to go to the gym this morning.

and i did.

wake up in time to go to the gym this morning.  and i ran a couple miles just to prove to myself that i was okay.  because like, i kind of knew that i was okay all along even though i didn't feel okay.  

that's the thing about panic attacks.  they're like, sneaky.

so anyway this morning as i was walking to work i was thinking because i do my best thinking when i'm walking and i realized what triggered the panic attack.  (besides the cat).

gluten.  yesterday i was really distracted when i bought my lunch and i forgot to get the salad with the gluten free dressing.  it's funny how just a little bit of wheat could make me feel like shit.  for like a week.

so today i'm playing by the rules.  fruit, nuts and pureed veggies till i feel better.  not even coffee.  oddly enough water bothers me the most.  hydrogen and oxygen.  

anyway- i got distracted now and forgot what i was writing about and in response to someone's lack of response, i just wanted to say, don't worry-- you're still 2,000 miles away.

in the sun, in the sun i feel as one, in the sun

i haven't seen  you since christmas and even then i literally like, saw you.  we didn't get a chance to do anything other than exchange formalities and pop culture gifts that nobody else would understand.

it's my fault, i mean, i never come home anymore.  or like, my home is no longer your home-- if that makes any sense to anybody other than you.

cuz with you, i don't have to say anything.  i can look at you without raising an eyebrow and you get it.  you get me.

ironically i don't call you because i wouldn't know what to say.  we don't talk, really.  we just........are.

we're song lyrics and movie quotes.

we're a series of yups and huhs?

we're random acts of i don't know what......


if i texted you as often as i thought about you, you would throw your phone in a lake.  (not that there is a lake anywhere near where you live.)  but you would.  throw your phone.  in a lake.

cuz i think of you all the time.

you are the first person i think of when i need to get out of my head.

like if i were there we would race shopping carts at super stop and shop, or race rolling desk chairs down the driveway.


sometimes i'll hear a song and i think you would like it, or i read a book and think you should read it.  i always think, if i had a million dollars, i would send you everything.

i would send you the whole world if i could.

and i would wrap it up real cool in like the comics from the sunday paper with a lot of scotch tape and a bow.  not because you need that bullshit but because i think you deserve it.


cuz you and me, we live in the slippery side of the slope.  we're familiar with the dark.  we swim in the deep end of the ocean.

it's too bad you don't have facebook.  cuz i don't think you'll ever see this.

xo

rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold behind the clouds

i just remembered how when i was like 5 i was obsessed with the never ending story. 

anyway i just realized that the story did end.

#lyingtochildren

it's not having what you want, it's wanting what you got

i could tell that t wanted to meet me somewhere before i came home.  i thought maybe he was just kind of stir crazy from being inside all day or that maybe he was just trying to be nice because he knew i was sad about summer ending....

but i was wrong.

he wanted to meet me to tell me that our neighbor m had died.  i guess he thought i would be scared to see all the police trucks outside the building-- and i probably would have been.  my heart would have been racing and i would have pounded up the stairs and banged on the door until t opened it revealing that he was okay.

so he came to meet me, in front of the deli, where he held my hand as i stepped off the bus and told me m had died.

i don't think he expected me to cry-- at least not as much as i did.  but like, in that moment i felt m's light go out and there is something very human in that moment-- the moment you reflect on the value of life.

truthfully, i didn't really know m.  she sat outside smoking her cigarettes and walking her dog.  sometimes she would talk about her illness, other times she would talk about the weather.  i remember this one time, she told me to go to coney island to watch the sunrise.  i always wanted to do it-- but i never did.  maybe i will go sunday morning in her memory.

this one time, when i was sick, i saw her walking out of the vascular center in beth israel.  when i told her that i saw her there, she just looked passed me like i never even said it.  she didn't want to live in that space.  of being sick.  and she didn't.  at least as much as she could control, anyway.

in the mornings, when i would leave for work, she would always tell me how beautiful i was and i would thank her thinking how nice it was for her to offer that compliment.  she would often tell t how lucky he was, as if she knew how easily he forgets.

last month, on my birthday, she told me to go up to her apartment and take a bottle of champagne out of her refrigerator to celebrate.  i didn't have the heart to tell her that i don't drink champagne and so that bottle is still sitting on the top shelf-- in honor of m.

she would always invite us over on holidays-- and although we often considered stopping by, we never did.  and now it's too late.

that's the thing about life-- you have to live it right now.

i used to think that life was about getting what i wanted and everything that i wanted was something outside myself-- the right job, the right apartment, the right boyfriend, the right dress.......

i used to think that and i couldn't figure out why i was "getting nowhere".  and then i realized when you try to fill yourself up with "things" you're always going to feel empty.

now i think life is about feeling good, feeling happy, feeling free, feeling satisfied.  when i think about what i want in my life it's this: i want to wake up and feel that light tickling on my skin and glitter in my chest of knowing that the sun is warm and shining.  i want to walk through my day and feel the white heat of the summer sun radiating from my soul's core knowing that i'm right where i'm supposed to be.  and i want to go to sleep at night feeling the warm blanket of summer air around me, knowing that my breath is going in and out just as natural as the waves....i want to feel as free and uninhibited as the dolphins jumping up and diving back down into the sea.

i wonder what m wanted.  i wonder if she felt that her life was a life well lived.  i wonder if she was happy.  i hope so.

m- now you are eternally free to watch the sunrise every morning in coney island.  i wish you well.

in memory of m <3

i don't believe that anybody feels the way i do about you now

dear proactiv

i know that you have big name celebrity endorsers but like, you don't work.  not even a little. 

xo

me

ps- you forgot the "e"

mamma said there'd be days like this there'd be days like this my mama said

last night feels like a blur.  it was crazy hot in the bedroom because i was too stubborn to put on the a/c.  i'm getting all freaked out that summer is coming to a close.  i get into that mentality of like, no  way dude, i will suffer through this damn heat as long as it lasts because soon i will be pissed that i have to wear a coat everywhere i go.

that and the fact that i was ridiculously tired of looking at my computer screen.  i almost went out for a long walk because i saw the sun sneak back out after the rain but i don't like when the water splashes on the back of my legs while i'm walking.

i do my best thinking when i'm walking though.  i swear i could figure out how to bring about world peace if i could just walk long enough.

doorbell.  life is full of interruptions isn't it?

i can wait, i can wait, wondering what in the world you think about, i don't think i'm ever gonna figure it out

i'm home alone, listening to elliott (smith) and thinking about writing

i haven't actually been writing-- i'm just thinking about writing

even that's kind of a lie because i started off thinking about writing and now i'm thinking about my high school math teacher


it's not completely unrelated

(writing and my math teacher)

because i was going to write about high school


so first of all i just want to acknowledge that it's probably a good thing that i'm not thinking about my high school english teacher because i haven't fucking used a capital letter or correct punctuation since college-- and even then i just relied on microsoft word


anyway.  high school.  math teacher.  right.


here's the thing about me and math-- we're not friends.  we don't speak the same language.  no comprende.  luckily my high school math teacher was a saint.

he wore dockers.  usuaslly they were brown or green but every once in a while he wore navy blue and the thing about the navy blue pair, was that they had this random red string on one of the seams that i always wanted to cut off.

and he also ate a lot of oranges which kind of intrigued me because he had this way of peeling them without getting that white shit all over his hands.  (maybe there was some kind of mathamatical trick to it).  it's something i will never know-- (much like the quadratic formula).

i can't say that i really tried to understand alegebra-- in high school i had other things to think about.  i wanted to pay attention, but like, i couldn't....

i mean, i wasn't the only one-- the girl who sat in front of me was always obsessing about whether or not to "save herself" until she was married and the boy who sat next to me always fell asleep.  at least he tried to fall asleep but the math teacher wouldn't let him.

that was the thing about my high school math teacher.  he noticed things.

like in freshman year, that line at the top of the paper where you're supposed to write your name-- i used to write "the mega-loser".  like i wrote it there in all my classes but my high school math teacher was the only one who used to write little notes back.  always in red pen.  i don't remember what the notes said, i just remember that he cared enough to write them.

he also cared enough to meet with me before school started (at some ungodly hour that was in no way intended for math) to try explain how in alegebra-- letters could equal numbers.  (i told you he was a saint.)  he tried his best to explain it before 8 am and i still didn't understand because i was always trying to figure out if there was coffee in the cup he was drinking from or something else.  maybe it was orange juice?

it's weird how in high school, your teachers know all kinds of shit about you but you don't know anything about them.  it's weird how in high school, you don't really want anyone to care about you, but you're kind of happy to know that someone does.  like, care about you.

i guess that's why i cried when i found out he was leaving. 

when you're in high school, you don't always say what you mean.  like i wanted to say thank you (to my high school math teacher), for everything i already wrote and even some other stuff that i didn't write, but instead i gave him a bag of oranges.

15 years ago, a bag of oranges sufficed.

now, if i could, i would say thank you to my high school math teacher.  i might even tell him that he was the single most important teacher i had there.  not because of his mathamatic genius or brilliant teaching skills, (seriously i never used alegebra again-- not even in college) but because he sent me to the guidance office.  he knew what was up and he knew i was down and he didn't ignore it. 

anyway, if i could, i would tell him that i noticed, you know, like that he noticed, and that it meant a lot to me.

if you ever look behind and don't like what you find, there's something you should know, you've got a place to go

i remember sitting across from you in some shitty diner.  we were drinking stale coffee and like, talking.

that was the second to last time i saw you if you don't count the summer after we stopped being friends.

i've been sitting here at my computer for a while now, trying to remember the first time we met.  what did i say to you, what did you say to me, that prompted us to be us-- like the way we were then?  because we were so different-- you and I.  

together 

we often walked outside the lines of campus, lingering as you smoked your cigarette.  

i can picture you in birkenstocks, your wet red hair tied back at your neck.  long sleeved and strong, i trusted your arms to be my safety net, as i slipped off the edge of that summer.  

this one time you were teaching me how to defend myself if i was ever attacked.  you were holding my wrists and it hurt-- but i liked it because you wouldn't let go.

but you did let go.  it's been years since i've known you.

strong

you were the fortress and i suppose i didn't earn the privilege of being let in.

every time i think of you i smile.

i walk for miles, along the highway, well that's just my way, of saying i love you

you sit in your room

and i sit in mine

across the apartment

across the universe

it seems


we fight about the little things

because neither one of us

has the courage

to face the big things


avoid everything 

that's just my way


my way

of saying i love you


i know it's not fair

and i'm sure it's not enough


enough for you

or even

for me


let's stop here

before we lose our place

turn the music up

and continue this dance

together

before

the two of us

collide

then one days she's satisfied and the next i'll find her cryin and it's nothing she can explain

i'm not happy about being back.  not even a little bit. 

and that unhappiness is so overwhelming that like, i slept through what was left of yesterday and most of today.  

i don't want to deal with the low level depression.  not today.



for a week- everything made sense.  every breath, every step, every decision.  

but right now everything feels up in the air.  everything.

chaos

happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you look like an animal and you smell like one too

it's my b-day.  taking a day off.  go listen to some summer songs and eat cake.

so now you're sleeping peaceful, i lie awake and pray, that you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll see another day and we will praise it

i just remembered how obsessed you were with follow that bird......i know you were like 3 but like, that movie sucked.

i must have just slipped your mind wonder why didn't i think of that

i think about calling you

like i look at my phone and

i think of what it would be like

to talk to you

because i remember what your voice sounds like

sort of

(or at least i pretend to)

before i put the phone down

and walk away


there is a reason why

you live your life

and i live mine


like there is a reason why

we don't speak


only i forgot

or i forget

or maybe i don't care


i'm messy

with my feelings

i'm careless

with myself


i don't put things where they belong


last night i found my socks

in a pair of shoes

that i have not worn

in weeks

i put them back

in the box

and even put the box

away in the closet


i do things like this when i cannot sleep


i agree

it's not right

the way i keep people

there

at a safe distance


maybe i just want

for you to reach me

no matter

what it takes

you know but as i write this

i think

if i let you


if i let you

it's 0 to 60 in 3.5, you got the keys, now shut up and drive

my mind is empty

or maybe i mean that my mind is like

closed for business today


i wish that i knew you right now

so that i could call you

and then you would come over

with some starbucks

to watch reruns

of buffy or the simpsons

and not even talk


sometimes i don't want to talk

i just want to be with somebody

who just knows me

inside and out


it's been too many days

of not sleeping

it's been too many days

that i could not find my new socks


can you just drive around

for as long as it takes

for me to fall asleep

in the passenger's seat

I long to tell you That I'm always thinking of you I'm always thinking of you

there is no such thing as distance

i know this

but do you?



do you know

how much you're loved


i'm not sure

that you really understand

the magnitude of your own

existence


we walk around

talking to each other

getting things done

but sometimes

we forget

to love

one another


and that is just not good enough


life is not

the size of your house

or the number on your paycheck

it is not where you've traveled

or what even what you know


life is

a return to love


praying for your safe return

i'm so tired but i can't sleep, standing on the edge of something much too deep

i feel like shit.  almost like i'm hungover or something.

obviously i'm not.

i'm just tired from the stress of yesterday.

and even though i was tired

like

i couldn't sleep

i couldn't like stay asleep last night

oh the places i've been

not physically

but mentally

the places i've been

this morning, on the way to work, i called my mother

and we talked about december 2005

i had given up

i was done

but my parents said- just try to get through the holiday

you know

and like my gift that year

was not under the christmas tree

no my gift was tt

my gift was having something to look forward to

because at that time in my life

there was nothing

there was nothing

and it's a strange fucking journey

like how you get there

and then how you get back

that's what this blog was really supposed to be

a place to get the creativity flowing again so that i could tell my story

because my story could be your story

sometimes we are all living

under a sky

without stars

but you will still find your way home

i can promise you that.

i can fucking promise you that

a.....are you okay are you okay a..... a.....are you okay a.....are you okay are you okay a.......

the hours feels like days right now

somebody to tell you that life aint passin you by i'm tryin to tell you it will if you dont even try

i've been up since like

i don't even know

did i even sleep

between yesterday and today

the hours were restless



my mind is racing

i can't concentrate

on any one specific thing

where is he?


where would he go?

what would he do?

what is he thinking?


is he okay?


please god let him be okay


we are all

praying

we are all

negotiating with the universe

trading this for that


when you think too many things at once

it's almost like you're not thinking about anything


i remember

playing baseball in the yard

when i was 11 and he was 3

and the crowd is going wild

i used to say

blowing air into my cupped palms

to make the sound of a hundred screaming fans


and the crowd is going wild


here

your crowd is going wild


i'm writing to you now

number 2


your phone is off again


this is not the way you want this to go down


footloose

footloose

kicked off your sunday shoes

please louise pull me off of my knees

jack get back c'mon before we crack

lose your blues everybody cut footloose


just turn on your phone okay?


call somebody

text somebody


call me

i am not going to lie to you

life really fucking sucks sometimes

and it can feel like one wave after another

crashing over your head

pulling you under

and all you need is air


but then you'll be like

walking home on a tuesday night

and realize that the counting crows are playing a free concert

in an old parking lot

and when you look up

and see nothing but stars

you will take the deepest breath

and you will thank god that you are alive


i can promise you that


i can fucking promise you that

i don't have a title yet cuz i'm not done

there is so much stuff that like, we don't say.  

some stuff i guess we shouldn't say, like stuff that would hurt people's feelings.  but the stuff that we don't say because we are afraid of being vulnerable, or because we are afraid of being authentic, or not being cool enough........we should say that stuff.

i recently exchanged emails with someone that i used to know (better than i know them now) and like i realized that i never really told that person what they meant to me.

it wasn't something that i would have known to say when they were a part of my daily life-- it was something that i kind of realized later....but that would have been nice to share with them.  

you know, like who doesn't want to know that you think highly of them, who doesn't want to know that you're grateful for them, you doesn't want to know that you like them (or love them)?  right?

i'm like a huge fan of writing letters that i'll never send.  i've written a few of them here on my blog.  some i'll never send because i've lost contact with the person and others i won't send because i've already closed that door and it would be best to keep it closed.

yeah, i don't know why i needed to write all that to write all this:

you know, i kind of admired how you wanted to be present in the world.  in your orange pants and goggles you wanted people to see you, and know you, and hear you.

if it were up to me, i would have chosen to be invisible.  i was so uncomfortable in my own skin-- and i was terrified of taking up space.  

but something about you made me feel a little bit more comfortable being me.  i guess in some way you were (one of) the catalyst(s) -- of like me finding my authentic self.  like because of you, i became aware of how hard i was trying to be something other than myself....and because of you, i felt comfortable enough to begin uncovering the pieces of me.  

i'm not done- like with this thought.  but i have to go so i'll post it anyway.  you know who you are.

xo

well maybe i'll call or write you a letter, maybe we'll see on the 4th of july, well i'm not too sure and i'm not too proud to say uh huh it was good living with you uh huh

when i was in ct, for the funeral, i couldn't sleep.  it was like 2am and i was bored so i started pulling shit out from underneath the bed.  most of it was not even mine- which kind of offended me but kind of made sense because, like, i haven't lived there since 1998.  anyway tucked against the wall was one brown box of stuff that was mine.  not the stuff that i expected but like, stuff that i had completely forgotten about.

it was from the summer of 2000.

there was a t-shirt a poster, and bunch of notebooks-- all of which contained scribbles and poems and bullshit like this.  but like on one page there was this one sentence.  it was like written on a slant and while that's pretty typcial of me (to like disregard the lines on the page) it was not my handwriting.

it was yours.

you wrote
"do you not even know how beautiful you are?"


i remember what i thought when you turned the notebook around for me to read it-- i thought
"do you not even know how painfully aware i am of my own existence?  how terrified i am of taking up space?"

it felt good to get lost in you that summer.  you called me little a and i liked it because it meant that i was small. 

you were silly and creative and in love with someone else.  i was pretty sure that when you looked at me, you saw nothing.  and for someone like me, someone who was so self concious- it was safe.  like it was safe to feel invisable.

(i just stopped writing for a minute and remembered that day in 1996 when we rolled down foss hill in the rain. and then that day in 1999 when we watched the sunrise.  it seems like another life time, doesn't it).

anyway- i don't think i ever said thank you, for like, writing something so sweet in my notebook.  now that i found it, i think i'll keep it.  like on purpose.

and more appropriately-- i found this, and i remembered what i loved about you and i hope that your life is better than good.

see 'em wearin' their baggies Huarache sandals, too A bushy, bushy blond hairdo Surfin' U.S.A.

iamsohappythatitshotanditssummerandiamwearingadressandflipflopsandthesunisshiningandpeoplearesmilingandit'stotallyokaytoeatmassiveamountsoficecreamandgotothebeachandgointhepoolandfirefliesandfireworksandpicnicsandladybugsandbutterfliesandbarefootandhairuncombedandslowingdownandwateranditalianiceandconeyislandandtossingandturningintheheatandthesoundofairconditionersandiceteaandicecoffeandwatermelonandsummersongslikecaliforniagirlsandcaliforniasunandundertheboardwalkandwaterparksandferriswheelsandsurfingandtanningandandandandandandandandimsohappyicouldhardlybreathesee?

22 days

hangin out down the street same old thing we did last week not a thing to do but talk to you it's all all right it's all all right

walking home

to the sound of air conditioners

i get lost

in memories of vacation

when i was young

and everything was all right


we would sit outside

our room at night

on the two white plastic chairs

placed on either side

of the air conditioner


the perfect soundtrack

to

those perfect summer nights


walking home

under the navy blue sky

the streets buzzing

with the sound of air conditioners

i feel grateful that's it's summer

and that i'm here


i couldn't be happier

than i am at this moment

you know

like happiness cannot be measured

love cannot be measured


it's not the size of the ice cream sundae

it's not the height of the wave

it's not the brightness of the sun


it's this feeling that everything is all right

i do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught

if i ever saw you again i would tell you that i couldn't stop thinking about you.  hanging back walking down the street together in the dark i thought you were perfect.
#constructionorange #neonorange

my scars were reflected in the mist in your headlights i look like a neon zebra shaking rain off of stripes

i wear an elastic band around my wrist every day because it keeps me safe but safe from what i don't know

my mind is the most dangerous place of all because in my brain there are no stop signs and i'm stepping on the accelerator because it's like not a good look for me to actually care

so let's just keep things moving okay and like skip the formalities because i don't need to know you and you don't need to know me

i don't want to have to say anything and maybe i just want to be left alone to pick at my scabs and turn them into scars


whatever 

someone once told me if you touch the wings of a butterfly the oils from your skin are so heavy that the butterfly will no longer be able to fly so eventually it will die


let's pretend i never wrote this and that you never read it because it's all just bullshit

what'd i say to her, why'd i say it to her, what does she think of me, that i'm not what i ought to be

i woke up

before the alarm clock

woke me

up


good

i thought

it's so fucking good

that i don't have to get up yet


you know

i can't start my day

this way

(not today, not today)

cold and unhappy


i hear him

in the kitchen making coffee

as i pray


as i pray for today

to be less painful

than the last


because i hate

i hate

the space that i'm in

the space between

the space between

morning and night


oh i've always been

the girl

who likes to

stay up late

like a zombie

on the walking dead

(or something)


no that's a lie

i like to run

in the dark

just to see

if

i

might

fall


whatever

i don't care

i don't like what i wrote

but that's what's in my fucking head

okay


it's okay

it's okay

to say

whatever i think

so i don't have to think it again


cuz once i write it down

it's gone

it's gone from my brain


(wish it worked that way for pain)


sometimes i wake up

in the middle of the night

and i get

scared

that i've made all the wrong

decisions

in my life

and i'm going

nowhere


but by the time i wake up

i don't care

i don't care because i've got no where to go

anyway

anyway

this is how i start my day


before the alarm clock

wakes

me

up


i roll myself around

in the covers

as i try

to convince myself

to

get

up


i'll sleep when i'm dead

i said

i said

in my head


and i got up.

open up your morning light and say a little prayer for i you know that if we are to stay alive then see the peace with every eye

i was approaching 30, had a job, an apartment, a boyfriend, a body that i loathed-- and i just thought that was normal......until i ended up in the hospital with a serious health issue. i remember feeling like my body was literally attacking me-- that i was living life stuck inside the confines of my worst enemy.  for nearly six months i lived in a constant state of panic-- wondering how i would ever escape myself, when it finally occured to me, "there has to be another way."  i just didn't know what it was yet.

in an effort to restore my health and deal with my anxiety, i began reading a ton of self help books.  one of my first "a-ha" moments came when i read "you can heal your life" by louise l hay.  she said that disease in your body literally comes from feeling dis-ease (not at ease) in your body.  well if that was the case, i realized that i had better shape up.  the only problem was that i couldn't follow along with the exercises in the book: looking at my reflexion in the mirror and saying "i love you" to myself, outloud, was out of the question--i didn't even LIKE myself.

so i took the suggestion of another self help author, gabrielle bernstein.  in her book "add more ~ing to your life" she suggests climbing to higher thoughts.  while i wasn't able to profess my love for my body to my own reflection-- i was able to feel immense gratitude toward it.  that was my second "a-ha moment."  one morning last summer, as i finished my morning run and realized how far i had come i literally fell down onto my knees crying.  i finally realized that my body was miraculous.

that sounds like the perfect ending to the story right?  i could just stop there and say that it is- but that would be a lie.  truthfully, i'm still not besties with my body.  while my "a-ha" moments were not quantum shifts-- they did solidify my belief that there is another way-- a kinder healthier happier way to live in my body. 

it goes something like this:
-waking up every morning and asking the universe to help me make peace with my body
-going to the gym and allowing my body to perform miracles
-silencing my inner mean girl when i get dressed for work and reminding myself that the things she says are just illusions that come from old wounds, misperceptions and insecurities
-having compassion for others and not judging the way anybody else choses to live their life
-thinking of eating and food as "taking my vitamins" and "nourishing myself" healthy
- allowing myself to "take up the space" i need to be human-- which means room for mistakes and breaks

i know that it's going to be a life long practice and a life long commitment-- but every morning, after i finish my morning run and realize how far i have come-- i know that i will get there.

xo xo xo

you have pointed out my flaws again as if i don't already see them, i walk with my head down trying to block you out cuz i'll never impress you, i just wanna feel okay again

it started with one less ice cream cone here and a couple less cookies there

then it just snowballed into this place where i was constantly negotiating with myself.  if i do this, i could have that-- if i have that i have to do this.  suddenly food was something that i was "allowed" to have because i was "good"- not something that i "deserved" to have because i was human (or hungry).

eating.  it was like, a problem.  i mean, it was okay if i was completely by myself and i could just take my time and like, not think.  but i couldn't deal with other people-- especially other people who seemed to enjoy it, who seemed to indulge in it.  i thought it was repulsive-- mostly because it felt terrifying.  it became difficult for me to eat in front of people.  walking into the school cafeteria or a restaurant or a holiday dinner-- i imagined everyone's eyes sizing up my plate, and sizing up me.

at the time i felt so transparent.  like i thought people could see right through me-- and that they could see the very feelings that i was trying to hide.  i thought they could see everything that was wrong with me just by looking at my body.  

i wanted nothing more than to be invisible-- and because i wasn't-- i began to hate myself.  

my inner dialogue soon became that of the meanest girl at school.  i didn't just bully myself-- i tortured myself.  24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, and i didn't think that there was anything wrong with that.

i guess that is enough for today.

xo xo xo 

you lost your place in line again, what a pity, you never seem to want to dance anymore

i don't remember exactly when i first started feeling uncomfortable in my body.

there was that time, in my second year of dance classes, that my ballet costume shredded at the seams.  i think everyone's did.  but then i had to change costumes with a girl who was really tall and thin and because of that, i remember thinking in some way that maybe her body was better than mine.  i was 5 years old.

i spent 12 more years in front of the mirror, in a black leotard and pink tights, staring at every inch of my body......wishing it looked different.

my big toe was too "big", my arches too "flat", my ankles too "thick", my calves too "muscular", my "thunder" thighs touched, my legs too "short",my hips too "wide", i had "no waist" and my torso was longer than my legs-- my chest was, of course, too "small", the back of my arms "flabby"........there was something wrong from every angle.

i was 5"2 and weighed about 100 lbs-- the "wrong body" i was told, over and over again for a dancer.

all i wanted was to be long and lean.

i spent 30-40 hours a week dancing, moving, exercising my muscles--- and nothing changed.  every time i stood in the mirror, i felt trapped inside a body i didn't want-- and ashamed that this body is what people saw when they looked at me.

it was that shame that took me to the next place....the place of feeling "not good enough" and "not deserving"-- farther into wanting to be invisible.

for as long as i could remember, i wanted to be perfect.  i wanted to be perfect and do everything perfect.....not need any help, not cause any trouble, not take up any space.  i just wanted to "chasse" by- unnoticed and unscathed......

 but it didn't happen that way-- you know, like life doesn't happen that way.

and every time i messed up, every time i did something wrong, or needed help, or remembered that i had the "wrong body" for a dancer-- i felt the heat of that shame rising inside of me and it felt bad.   so logically, i punished myself.

i guess that's enough for now.  xo

when you kiss my nose the feelings show cuz you make me smile even just for a while

last night

just as the sun began to set

we walked to the ice cream factory


somewhere along the way

i stepped

in dog doo


this was upsetting

because

i was wearing my

gym shoes


and like

there was no grass

anywhere

in which

i could rub my feet

to remove the doo


so

he picked up a stick

and ran it through

the grooves

of my

running shoe

to remove

that inconsiderate doo


if that is not love

i don't know what is


later

he was lying in bed

and my hair was wet

from my shower


i squeezed his knees

really tight

against my chest

and i thought

i cracked

one of my chest bones


he said

don't worry

those sticks are not as fragile as you think


and i said

i am too fragile


and he said

something else but i don't remember what

because

his arms were wrapped around me

and i was

already fast

asleep.

if this war inside my head won't take a day off i'll be dead

to be honest, i'm not really loving today.

i have not really had a chance to write till now and even know i kind of shouldn't be but i am.

that's just the way it is.


today i am resisting

i don't like where i am


and i know that fighting it is only making it worse, you know, but like it's on such a guttural level


it's giving me a headache-- like my internal dialogue.

it's really loud

and it's not letting up


i'm just trying to like, ignore it, you know, but like when you ignore big things that like, you feel deep inside yourself-- it causes fucked up physical things.

i know this.

i know this very well.

so i guess what i have to say to my inner self today

is

that i hear you

i hear you and i promise to do something about it

not right this moment

but soon

i'm not ignoring you

i'm just not ready

okay dear self?

i will get there

i will get there

that i will promise you.

with love,

your outer self

xo xo xo

summertime and the livin is easy fish are jumpin and the cotton is high

summer mornings

i have

breakfast

on the deck

with my mother


good morning

mrs. redmond

she says

to our neighbor

who always seems to be

hanging

out the laundry


we sit

side by side

at the white plastic table

the wide

lattice straps

of the chairs

digging

into the backs of our thighs


i swing my legs

back and forth

because

my feet

don't touch the ground


we eat

grapefruits

or bowls of cereal

and

my mother

always

drinks tea

with milk and sugar


sometimes i have tea

and sometimes i don't


my mother

doesn't really

follow the rules

in the summer


she lets me

go outside

without any shoes

and she doesn't

make me

brush my hair

(at least not before breakfast)


still

she always

uses a napkin

to carefully collect

the crumbs

from her toast


the funny thing

about napkins

is that with every gentle

summer breeze

they try

to fly away


our neighborhood

is mostly quiet

except for

the birds and crickets


i notice

every ant

every bee

every spider


there is a spider

that spins

her

web

between mrs. redmond's house

and ours


every day

we knock it down

and every morning

it's been spun again

sprinkled with

drops of dew

that glisten

in the morning sun


i think to myself

doesn't that spider

sleep?


i hope i never

see that spider

unless

my dad is home


my dad

isn't afraid of spiders

you know

he isn't really afraid

of anything

i think


neither is my

brother

he's not even

afraid

of mrs. redmond's

dog

(and he seems pretty mean)


my brother

is the strongest

kid

on our block


he doesn't say anything

twice


i go where he goes

not really because he wants me to

but

because i can


in the summer

we get to

stay out late

and play

whiffle ball in the street


sometimes

we even get italian ice

from the truck that drives by our house


my dad usually gets lemon

so does my mom

sometimes she gets chocolate though

and i always get raspberry

only

the problem with raspberry

is that if you don't eat it fast enough

it melts

and

it makes a stain if you spill


a lot of times

if i can't finish

my dad

finishes

mine


when we come in

my mother tells us

not to

let in any moths


the moths

hover

by the light

shining

above our front door


we take

baths

and my mother

dries my hair

while

my dad and brother

watch tv


i don't know what time it is

when our family

goes to sleep


but we sleep

together

under our roof

under a sky full of stars

and if you get the choice to sit it out or dance.....i hope you dance

i saw these flowers the other day- i guess they're called orange stars or something.  i like them and i can't stop thinking about them.

i've felt this coming on for a couple of weeks now....the low level sadness that hangs over this time of year.  spring-- the season of rebirth, regrowth-- for me, is a season of loss.  i mean, with every loss there is the opportunity for rebirth and regrowth, it's just not like, i don't know.  it's just not easy to see it that way i guess.

all those years................god all those fucking years

today i'm just going to feel the sadness and know that tomorrow the sun will rise again and it will be a new day.

15 years

fifteen years ago today

oh you probably won't remember me, it's probably ancient history, i'm one of the chosen few who went ahead and fell for you

last night on the way home i was on the g train and this guy....he stood next to me and he kind of reminded me of you.

he didn't look like you-- not that i know what you look like anymore..... or even really remember what you used to look like.  it wasn't anything specific but like, something about him, like the way he was standing and like his hair from the back- kind of reminded me of you.

you. 

to me you are cigarettes, work boots, and a red pick up truck.  to me you are stolen kisses, car rides and walking in the dark.  late night phone calls........yeah, that's who you are to me.

and i'm not mad at you- at least not anymore.  i mean, i guess i was never mad at you, i was just hurt, you know, because of the way things turned out.  and i never really had the chance to tell you, like anything.

i didn't know what i was doing-- like, with you.  maybe i was confusing feeling "being cared for" with "being cared about".  i'm not really sure what you wanted from me and obviously i was not clear about what i wanted from you.  i mean, it wasn't the same thing-- what we wanted from each other.

just so you know-- there was nothing that i wanted more than for someone to tell me that everything was going to be okay--that i was going to be okay-- and even though you never really said it, when i was with you, that is how i felt.

so i guess thank you, you know, like for that.  it might not seem like such a big deal but because of you i was able to sleep again.  so i guess thank you for that too. 

and i can forgive and forget about the other stuff.  the way you were careless with my heart.  but sometimes i wish i had the chance to ask you if you knew-- like if you knew the whole time you were going to leave a scar.

i heard from someone, that you are not well and like, i want to tell you that you'll be okay.  i tried to-- but like, you blocked me.  and i get it, you know, like i get the way it is but that doesn't mean you don't exist.

some times i kind of hope that i will run into you like in the supermarket or at the bank-- and i will tell you how you broke my heart and then i will put my arms around you anyway.  i will remind you that who you are is not who you've been.  and you will watch me as i walk away and think "i cannot believe i let her go".....

we would have been better off as friends.

then we wouldn't have to act like strangers. 

i don't know you and you don't know me.

and you will never ever read this.

i don't ever wanna feel like i did that day take me to the place i love take me all the way

we left early and walked over the bridge

it's like this thing we do

you + i


i couldn't stop talking

but you

were unusually quiet


walking beside you

i'm not sure where you are

because

i can feel the distance

between your steps


maybe you would rather

be alone today

maybe i would

too


i'm not afraid of being alone

i'm not afraid of heights

and i'm not afraid of water

if i could

i would walk along the edge

the edge of here and there


i don't know where i'm going

and i'm pretty sure

neither do you


i guess we both just keep going

don't we?


we'll cross that bridge once we get to it

yes we will

we always do

in the morning

in the evening

we've walked this walk before


time just takes us around in circles

wherever we go

we always come back

together

you + i


whatever you see

when you look at me

is probably wrong

and i'm sorry for that

especially

when

you

smile


maybe you would still want

to hold my hand

if i was special

someone more special

than me


we walked

together

separate

apart



we'll cross that bridge when we get to it

no you can't take it, no you can't take it, no you can't take that away from me

just in case you were wondering-- that sentence, the one you shot across the room to me-- that's when i checked out for today.

i'm not giving you what you want.  i'm just not.  i knew that from the very beginning which is the major source of tension between us.

yeah- i guess i've been through a lot.  maybe i look weak.  maybe i look easy to manipulate?  i don't know.  

i mean.  yeah.  i'm not anything that you think.  i am not what i do.  i am not who i date.  i am not where i'm from.

i get that.  do you?

this thing that we do-- this like, choreographed interaction where you read your lines and i read mine-- let's just stick to the script.  okay?





you think you own me but you don't.

come as you are, as you were, as i want you to be, as a friend, as an old enemy

i've weighed nearly the same amount for about eight years now

for eight years my clothing size is 0

0 = zero, nothing, no space

but in the last year, i've gained about ten pounds.  i'm almost kind of afraid to write that.  here.  on the internet.  where it will be published and (probably) never erased.

if i'm really gonna go there- then i'll go there.

today i hate myself.

i hate myself for allowing 10 extra pounds to sit on my hips and thighs.

when i look at myself in the mirror- i kind of feel sick.  like i want to erase myself.  like i can't be.

i am so not okay with these extra pounds.  i know that they don't change who i am but they change how i look and i'm not okay with that.

i just want to be small.  i want to be smaller than small-- i want to be like, oh my god, she is like, reaaally skinny.

that's like the most important thing to me in my whole life.  and like, i don't want to "wait" for this "weight" to go away.  i want it gone now.  i look at myself and i'm embarrassed that i've been indulgent or taking more than i need-- that i've been out of control.  careless.

but i do care.

i really fucking care.

like i care so much that i hate getting dressed and i hate being me right now.

and i'm scared, you know.  like i'm scared that i won't be able to loses the weight.  what if i can't lose it and i actually gain more?  i can't.  like.  i can't.

i don't know if anybody really gets that.  i mean- people can read these words but i don't think they can understand the fear i feel.

whatever.  i can't write anything else.  i mean i can but i'm done sharing.