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