It's interesting to watch from inside, the acquisition of an entity by a significantly larger one. Made to look more like a swallowing up of one by the other. Whether it be business, or hate, or a home; at some point we all get consumed. Business is consumed by money, humans corrupted with greed. Our selfish nature is the only thing about us that seems boundless these days. The rain sounds beautiful tonight, and I'm glad to know that so many people are with me tonight listening to mother's nature most beautiful composition.
In looking for a job, I've begun to think about leaving my beloved city of Boston. I grew up in the country, and never wanted to be a city dweller. But it just so happened that once I moved in, I didn't want to move out. My family is here, my best friend, my boyfriend. And I know that if leaving Boston for a good job were important to me, the ones I love would support me. But could I really be happy displacing myself from the rocks and stones that make up my foundations? Could leaving this place really be a change for a better? A question only answered long after the decision is made.
For how much my life has changed in just the past few months, I'd hoped to have a little bit more faith in myself that I could make good of less preferable circumstances. Break back into the music industry, and work hard for the music I love. Everyday on my drive home from work, I turn up the volume just a few more delicate degrees and feel the bass drum pedal hit the taught cow hide down to the marrow. My skin is enveloped with crisp, clear harmonies. My hair stands on end with round, ringing resonance of a smooth voice, and a carefully constructed guitar riff. How music makes us feel is what sells music. Not marketing, or shelf placement, or ad space. Not the EPKs or the even the blogs. It is the moment, when you hear the line of the chorus that perfectly describes how you feel on your worst day, or at your highest of high. The pounding of your heart matched by the fingers strumming on steel strings and the slamming of a powerful hand on the drum. There is absolutely nothing like the way music makes us feel. It is an industry almost purely driven by the emotional connection that we feel to our artist. We use them almost, to feel like we're not alone, to connect and know that someone with the power to reach millions is sending out the message that we would send if we had that kind of power. All I have is my voice, but when I sing along with Florence and the Machine, pounding out the rhythm to "Drumming Song" on my battered steering wheel, wailing at the top of my lungs that there IS A DRUMMING SOUND INSIDE MY HEAD THAT STARTS WHEN YOU'RE AROUND, I SWEAR THAT YOU COULD HERE IT, IT MAKE SUCH AN ALMIGHTY SOUND! (you know who you are). And I sing it as loud as I can as if I were standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon with you at the other side, and I need to tell you right now with all the urgency of a thousand tidal waves that this is it, this is what I feel when you are around. What else gives us that power?
Music sells itself. If you make good music, you touch one person, you have reached a thousand. There is no beat in the USA Today ad. No slide of the skin against the guitar string in the album review. No drum roll at the pit of your stomach in the poster plastered on the walls of your nearest retailer. Even my words are not enough, I'll have to find you a song to describe it. A good example "I Know What I Am" - Band Of Skulls.
And this is why I love the music business.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Time after Time
Today is Sunday May 9th 2010. You know this, because I'm sure this fancy program time stamps this blog post for me. I am sitting on a futon given to me by my dear friend Hisham, whom I had the deepest of pleasures knowing while he was here in the US for Graduate school. He since has moved back to Lebanon, in need of a job, and there are some days that I am just so sad that I can't call him up, or run over to Central and give him a hug and hear him tell a bad joke. I am thinking about change today. There is so much happening, constantly. At every moment of everyday. As the saying goes "the only thing constant is change" and they sure do know how to say it just right. There are things that I miss. I am so young, yet there are periods of time that have passed that took with them some of the most wonderful experiences a person can have. Also, some of the worst. Some memories I have now feel like only dreams. I miss music. I miss the pure over abundance of music that just surrounded and enveloped me while in school. The instantaneous moments of jazz and blues, bursting out in song with the beat just filling my body. I miss getting in my car at all hours of the night and driving to anywhere I wanted to go without any regard to sleep, or where I had to be in the morning.
I hate this feeling. This feeling as though I've dug myself into something so deep and I'm still completely confused as to whether or not I was ready to begin at all. As though I bought the new goldfish before I was done mourning the last. Why are there just somethings that my heart will not let me move past. I look at people and wonder how I spend so many years connected and suddenly, a screeching halt.
Change is a beautiful thing. It hurts sometimes, so much that it makes us do all those crazy things that people talk about around the watering hole on Friday nights, drowning our sorrows in Miller Lite, or a vodka tonic. Crazy things that make men call women "bat shit crazy" and women refer to men as "pigs", "dogs", "assholes", and whatever else there is. We don't understand each other because we don't understand ourselves.
In losing my job and thus, looking for new employment, worrying about grad school, supporting my family and friends, and toying with the idea of falling in love; I suppose some of my mind can feel a little twisted upon itself from time to time. Granted, I am lucky to have these people in my life. And I get upset sometimes and how ungrateful I can feel. Unappreciative of the love and grace that so many bring into my life. But again, change can be beautiful. If all falls into place, I could get a great job that pays well and close to home, be able to afford grad school at night, but still get out and paint the town red, while smiling and laughing with the unimaginable power of love in my life. What a picture to paint. A difficult picture, when all your brushes are broken and your paint is dried out.
Suppose I'll just cross my fingers.
I hate this feeling. This feeling as though I've dug myself into something so deep and I'm still completely confused as to whether or not I was ready to begin at all. As though I bought the new goldfish before I was done mourning the last. Why are there just somethings that my heart will not let me move past. I look at people and wonder how I spend so many years connected and suddenly, a screeching halt.
Change is a beautiful thing. It hurts sometimes, so much that it makes us do all those crazy things that people talk about around the watering hole on Friday nights, drowning our sorrows in Miller Lite, or a vodka tonic. Crazy things that make men call women "bat shit crazy" and women refer to men as "pigs", "dogs", "assholes", and whatever else there is. We don't understand each other because we don't understand ourselves.
In losing my job and thus, looking for new employment, worrying about grad school, supporting my family and friends, and toying with the idea of falling in love; I suppose some of my mind can feel a little twisted upon itself from time to time. Granted, I am lucky to have these people in my life. And I get upset sometimes and how ungrateful I can feel. Unappreciative of the love and grace that so many bring into my life. But again, change can be beautiful. If all falls into place, I could get a great job that pays well and close to home, be able to afford grad school at night, but still get out and paint the town red, while smiling and laughing with the unimaginable power of love in my life. What a picture to paint. A difficult picture, when all your brushes are broken and your paint is dried out.
Suppose I'll just cross my fingers.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Tonight, I sat down to a microwaved Indian dinner from Trader Joe's and popped in a movie. A movie just like any other that I receive through my Netflix service and pop in on quiet nights to distract myself from those pesky life events. Job becomes more stressful, friends are having trouble, family is pressed. Everything swirls around and around itself and we forget what it is to slow down, almost to make it stop. We can't make it stop, no matter how much we try. It keeps going even as we make every attempt that we know to keep it in line and going according to plan. It never does. This movie, like some that I fall upon, stir something within me. It makes me sad and happy that it sometimes only takes something so trivial to bring about something so tidal. I just wanted to hug my family. Tell them that I'm scared to lose them, and remember how much I love them and how proud I am to be a part of wonderful family. I think about my friends, ones that I've lost, ones that are far away and those that are so close. The relationships that I have created and lost through years past. I worry about my perception of life, and how meaningless it can sometimes appear as opposed to how meaningful it really is, every single day. I pray that before it is too late that I can feel what that oneness that everyone keeps talking about.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Time
This morning while on my way to work, just like any other day, I came up to one of two rotaries that I go through in Cambridge, respectably yielding to the traffic. The person behind me apparently did not feel that my reaction time was adequate enough as he prompty honked his horn feverently, indicating that I needed to move my ass. Normally I guess the average person's reaction is to go on the defensive.
"Oh, shove it up your ass!"
right?
But I guess I felt as though whether or not I have really moved that much faster, thus allowing the other driver to get to their destination that much quicker, made really no difference at all.
I played out a few quiet scenarios in my head:
1) They're running late already to the big meeting/presentation of the year. This could mean their job, their bonus, the inground pool, or the new puppy! or it could mean they're fired. Is that really my fault? does that really require a brain rattling honk? based on the state of the vehicle, something tells me they weren't wearing a suit, nor prepared to stand before a powerpoint. But I'm judging.
2) The passenger is having a baby (there was no passenger, by the way) and they were rushing to the hospital (which I'm not aware of one around that area) and I held them up for that one second, causing the baby to be born right there in the broken down vehicle, thus spurring an ill-fated life of drugs and crime.
3) They needed to be somewhere. A place, to see a person, about a thing. Or just to get to train station or the grocery store, or really no where at all. who knows, but I was in their way.
Massachusetts drivers do have a well deserved reputation for being a tad bit more aggressive behind the wheel. It seems as though we've acquired for ourselves a busier lifestyle, overloaded with caffiene and fried foods. We drive fast, communicate through e-mails while traveling to avoid having that awkward personal connection, and we cherish every minute of it until we die.
What's the rush? I mean, I know so many philosophers and song writers and next door neighbors all say the same thing. Carpe Diem. Live like you were dying. Be thankful for you life and so on and so forth. I whole heartedly agree. But shouldn't we be doing things that we at least enjoy? just a little? don't get me wrong, nothing sounds more appealing than speeding down Storrow Drive, with my bluetooth flashing and my Dunkin' large hazelnut with skim and 2 splenda balancing effortlessly on my right knee while I try and read up on the daily news. But what's the rush? where's the fire? how is a 15min 37 sec ride to work that much better than a 16 min ride to work. or a 20 min ride.
I love having a busy life. Working two jobs and learning to balance my personal life manages to challenge me everyday. There are definitely times when people cut me off or I don't move fast enough and I'm the one shouting obscenties over the Local radio announcer. Everyday I ask someone "how are ya? how's it going? how's the family? no news is good new right?" and it always seems that someone comes back with "there is just not enough hours in the day, or days in the week".
A shame that the time we're given isn't enough. We are given so many precious moments, and still we can't learn to appreciate that much. Even if we were given more time, what the heck would we do with it? More crap! Spend it being angry about something else.
Our weekend consists of two and 1/2 days. This past weekend, I was able to see my Best friend, my family, My long-time college friend and neighbor, A co-worker turned friend and my boyfriend; and still managed to have a good healthy phone conversation with my other close friend. That was a lot of people for 2 1/2 days! This is an average of 2 people a day. I loved getting to see them all, absolutely loved it. And it made me feel like somehow I will learn to evenly distribute and manage my personal time so that I get to smile and laugh with the people I love most in the world all the time. The gas was worth it. The time was worth it. I didn't rush and I made even more wonderful memories as I try to do everyday. People always make living like you were dying into this overly dramatic situation. Go skydiving! Swim with sharks! Say yes more and No less! but what about maybe, and perhaps. What about, yeah I'll be there, but I might not have my make-up done just right. What about, I'll do my best. How did our time become so important to other people. Or how others spend their time, so imporant to the rest of us.
As my 4 year old nephew said to his Auntie Jessica: "Don't worry about me Auntie, worry about yourself".
"Oh, shove it up your ass!"
right?
But I guess I felt as though whether or not I have really moved that much faster, thus allowing the other driver to get to their destination that much quicker, made really no difference at all.
I played out a few quiet scenarios in my head:
1) They're running late already to the big meeting/presentation of the year. This could mean their job, their bonus, the inground pool, or the new puppy! or it could mean they're fired. Is that really my fault? does that really require a brain rattling honk? based on the state of the vehicle, something tells me they weren't wearing a suit, nor prepared to stand before a powerpoint. But I'm judging.
2) The passenger is having a baby (there was no passenger, by the way) and they were rushing to the hospital (which I'm not aware of one around that area) and I held them up for that one second, causing the baby to be born right there in the broken down vehicle, thus spurring an ill-fated life of drugs and crime.
3) They needed to be somewhere. A place, to see a person, about a thing. Or just to get to train station or the grocery store, or really no where at all. who knows, but I was in their way.
Massachusetts drivers do have a well deserved reputation for being a tad bit more aggressive behind the wheel. It seems as though we've acquired for ourselves a busier lifestyle, overloaded with caffiene and fried foods. We drive fast, communicate through e-mails while traveling to avoid having that awkward personal connection, and we cherish every minute of it until we die.
What's the rush? I mean, I know so many philosophers and song writers and next door neighbors all say the same thing. Carpe Diem. Live like you were dying. Be thankful for you life and so on and so forth. I whole heartedly agree. But shouldn't we be doing things that we at least enjoy? just a little? don't get me wrong, nothing sounds more appealing than speeding down Storrow Drive, with my bluetooth flashing and my Dunkin' large hazelnut with skim and 2 splenda balancing effortlessly on my right knee while I try and read up on the daily news. But what's the rush? where's the fire? how is a 15min 37 sec ride to work that much better than a 16 min ride to work. or a 20 min ride.
I love having a busy life. Working two jobs and learning to balance my personal life manages to challenge me everyday. There are definitely times when people cut me off or I don't move fast enough and I'm the one shouting obscenties over the Local radio announcer. Everyday I ask someone "how are ya? how's it going? how's the family? no news is good new right?" and it always seems that someone comes back with "there is just not enough hours in the day, or days in the week".
A shame that the time we're given isn't enough. We are given so many precious moments, and still we can't learn to appreciate that much. Even if we were given more time, what the heck would we do with it? More crap! Spend it being angry about something else.
Our weekend consists of two and 1/2 days. This past weekend, I was able to see my Best friend, my family, My long-time college friend and neighbor, A co-worker turned friend and my boyfriend; and still managed to have a good healthy phone conversation with my other close friend. That was a lot of people for 2 1/2 days! This is an average of 2 people a day. I loved getting to see them all, absolutely loved it. And it made me feel like somehow I will learn to evenly distribute and manage my personal time so that I get to smile and laugh with the people I love most in the world all the time. The gas was worth it. The time was worth it. I didn't rush and I made even more wonderful memories as I try to do everyday. People always make living like you were dying into this overly dramatic situation. Go skydiving! Swim with sharks! Say yes more and No less! but what about maybe, and perhaps. What about, yeah I'll be there, but I might not have my make-up done just right. What about, I'll do my best. How did our time become so important to other people. Or how others spend their time, so imporant to the rest of us.
As my 4 year old nephew said to his Auntie Jessica: "Don't worry about me Auntie, worry about yourself".
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Happy New Year.
I'm curious about this New Year, what is so happy about it? What was wrong with the last one? And what difference does it make if there is glitter and kissing involved?! I guess every blog today is probably taking a moment to pause and reflect on the year past. I suppose I could too, but there truthfully would not be much to tell. A year of travel, realization, growth, death, writing and a severe lack of sleep, too much wine, not enough cheese! I believe that 2009 was probably the least eventful year for me, and honestly I quite like it. It has been a year of work, and just a moderate level of play (have to work on that for 2010 I propose). I was unbelievably grateful to have my family home and safe from Iraq and to be able to have us all together for some much needed Cabot/Ritter tom foolery!
I am sitting, staring at the same computer screen I stared at this exact time 1 year ago. And all I can wonder about is how my thought process has changed. What occupied my mind then as opposed to now? I know what it is and unfortunately due to my lack of self discipline and probably a little respect for my mental health, it is the same thing. Why do we kiss the one we love when the ball drops? We could kiss them anytime we want, what is so special about this giant glowing ball and the fact that is it being, quite dangerously, lowered from the sky. Are we thanking them for sticking by as one year passes to another? An appreciation of having wonderful people in our wonderful lives? A good-bye to the past and hello to the future. But I'm starting to wonder about the desperation people feel. This deep burning need to just have that one kiss, just when the ball drops. Alright, alright, maybe I'm only talking about myself because I sure as hell haven't the felt the need for any kisses at any other point in time when there is not giant glowing glittery mechanical balls dropping in celebration of a new and prosperous year. Perhaps is the nostalgia, the overwhelming sense of warmth and positive energy of getting starting everything anew. Well, maybe not everything. Some old habits are seriously hard to break.
You are like the most bitter cup of black coffee
scalding hot and
steaming from my faded travel mug
curling the ends on my hair
my taste buds screeching
and my heart pounding in his cage.
My blood pressure takes off, straight to the moon.
You are like the Marlboro Red
I bummed from a stranger outside a bar
my breath cursed me and
my body beat me
the burning tornadoes tearing
at the corners of my heart.
And the race had begun in my chest.
You are like the tall glass of dark red wine
flushing my cheeks and warming my skin
my fingertips and toes seem to move like mud
and my body slows to a guiet lull
reminded of the movement of the sea.
For shame, I must pour myself another.
I'm curious about this New Year, what is so happy about it? What was wrong with the last one? And what difference does it make if there is glitter and kissing involved?! I guess every blog today is probably taking a moment to pause and reflect on the year past. I suppose I could too, but there truthfully would not be much to tell. A year of travel, realization, growth, death, writing and a severe lack of sleep, too much wine, not enough cheese! I believe that 2009 was probably the least eventful year for me, and honestly I quite like it. It has been a year of work, and just a moderate level of play (have to work on that for 2010 I propose). I was unbelievably grateful to have my family home and safe from Iraq and to be able to have us all together for some much needed Cabot/Ritter tom foolery!
I am sitting, staring at the same computer screen I stared at this exact time 1 year ago. And all I can wonder about is how my thought process has changed. What occupied my mind then as opposed to now? I know what it is and unfortunately due to my lack of self discipline and probably a little respect for my mental health, it is the same thing. Why do we kiss the one we love when the ball drops? We could kiss them anytime we want, what is so special about this giant glowing ball and the fact that is it being, quite dangerously, lowered from the sky. Are we thanking them for sticking by as one year passes to another? An appreciation of having wonderful people in our wonderful lives? A good-bye to the past and hello to the future. But I'm starting to wonder about the desperation people feel. This deep burning need to just have that one kiss, just when the ball drops. Alright, alright, maybe I'm only talking about myself because I sure as hell haven't the felt the need for any kisses at any other point in time when there is not giant glowing glittery mechanical balls dropping in celebration of a new and prosperous year. Perhaps is the nostalgia, the overwhelming sense of warmth and positive energy of getting starting everything anew. Well, maybe not everything. Some old habits are seriously hard to break.
You are like the most bitter cup of black coffee
scalding hot and
steaming from my faded travel mug
curling the ends on my hair
my taste buds screeching
and my heart pounding in his cage.
My blood pressure takes off, straight to the moon.
You are like the Marlboro Red
I bummed from a stranger outside a bar
my breath cursed me and
my body beat me
the burning tornadoes tearing
at the corners of my heart.
And the race had begun in my chest.
You are like the tall glass of dark red wine
flushing my cheeks and warming my skin
my fingertips and toes seem to move like mud
and my body slows to a guiet lull
reminded of the movement of the sea.
For shame, I must pour myself another.
Monday, December 28, 2009
To my Best Friend
What is it about these sneakers? It seems as though when I wear them I tend to feel some kind of unconscious spring in my step. It has been that way in the past, but today I feel heavy. Not even the extra dose of caffiene in this mornings coffee seems to help. The sticky notes look a bit more pink today and the lights, awfully bright. What I thought might be a mindful and productive day, has quickly turned itself downhill and I can smell the sting of the smoke trailing up from the crash landing. There is so much more I could be focused on. Things that are detrimental to the path my life may or may not take. Things that could alter what is to be my next move in what looks to be a horrific game of chess and chance.
In attempting to escape my life for a few days in the deep corners of a quaint wooded town in Massachusetts, it seems as though the dive back in has been fifty times harder than the climb out. A gentle reminder, there is no escaping, as much as I'd like to think so. Loved ones are still sick, family is still struggling, and friends are still shaking their heads in wonder. I'm still going to make stupid mistakes under the influence of alcohol, after which I will pour myself another drink and apologize profusely while continuing to make rude sarcastic comments and hiding myself behind slurred language and the deep green of empty wine bottles.
How do some people come to mean so much to someone. My best friend and I have known each other for about 15 years. Some of these years we didn't talk on a regular basis, what with me in college and her having children and getting married. I was still learning what it meant to have balance in your life. School, work, family, boyfriend, and my best friend. But we never let each other go. Still to this day our attachment to each other astounds me. Our support for each other has been boundless, even when we don't agree. There is not one subject we can truthfully agree upon and yet still I am over there almost every weekend. Bottle of wine, hand rolled cigarette and deep belly laughter. There is nothing better than freezing in the basement, watching QVC and crying out how heinously ugly all the jewelry is. Laugh about Friendly's in Fitchburg and times when our judgement proved us wrong. Building strong relationships has never been my strong suit, but it seems as though in the sense of having a great friend, she and I have found true love (just don't tell her husband).
In researching Humanism for a writing sample I am working on, I found something interesting, well it's all interesting I suppose, but this was an aspect of religion that was not something I had thought about previously. Humanists put a significant amont of emphasis on living in the here and now. Living life to the utmost and making make decisions that are not only conscious and aware of the human race, but also making yourself happy. In working towards a common goal as a species, this is to make the individual a happy and successful person. It is about fostering and encouraging creative thought processes to add to personal satisfaction. Humanism puts the responsiblity of creating a happy and successful home on each and every one of us. In letting go of the supernatural, we are dependant only upon ourselves to make this life worth living. A part of an article I read stated "Humans are social by nature and find meaning in relationships.... The joining of individuality with interdependence enriches our lives, encourages us to enrich the lives of others, and inspires hope of attaining peace, justice, and opportunity for all." (Human Manifesto III). Building strong relationships is something that therapists say, we are taught by our parents and by the positive/negative relationships we have when we are younger. Of course, this is open to interpretation as mostly everything is, but based on circumstantial evidence, I could aggree with the statement for the time being. So it can be said that based on the lessons I have learned in my past surrounding relationships and how to build and sustain them, I could be helping the human race. The pressure is unbelievable!
To my best friend of 15 years, thank you for helping me enrich my life while trying (perhaps fruitlessly) to enrich yours and thus adding to my personal satisfaction and encouraging me to create peace with the other people that I meet along the way, as I work through these mindless days. Who knew our laughter could affect so much!
In attempting to escape my life for a few days in the deep corners of a quaint wooded town in Massachusetts, it seems as though the dive back in has been fifty times harder than the climb out. A gentle reminder, there is no escaping, as much as I'd like to think so. Loved ones are still sick, family is still struggling, and friends are still shaking their heads in wonder. I'm still going to make stupid mistakes under the influence of alcohol, after which I will pour myself another drink and apologize profusely while continuing to make rude sarcastic comments and hiding myself behind slurred language and the deep green of empty wine bottles.
How do some people come to mean so much to someone. My best friend and I have known each other for about 15 years. Some of these years we didn't talk on a regular basis, what with me in college and her having children and getting married. I was still learning what it meant to have balance in your life. School, work, family, boyfriend, and my best friend. But we never let each other go. Still to this day our attachment to each other astounds me. Our support for each other has been boundless, even when we don't agree. There is not one subject we can truthfully agree upon and yet still I am over there almost every weekend. Bottle of wine, hand rolled cigarette and deep belly laughter. There is nothing better than freezing in the basement, watching QVC and crying out how heinously ugly all the jewelry is. Laugh about Friendly's in Fitchburg and times when our judgement proved us wrong. Building strong relationships has never been my strong suit, but it seems as though in the sense of having a great friend, she and I have found true love (just don't tell her husband).
In researching Humanism for a writing sample I am working on, I found something interesting, well it's all interesting I suppose, but this was an aspect of religion that was not something I had thought about previously. Humanists put a significant amont of emphasis on living in the here and now. Living life to the utmost and making make decisions that are not only conscious and aware of the human race, but also making yourself happy. In working towards a common goal as a species, this is to make the individual a happy and successful person. It is about fostering and encouraging creative thought processes to add to personal satisfaction. Humanism puts the responsiblity of creating a happy and successful home on each and every one of us. In letting go of the supernatural, we are dependant only upon ourselves to make this life worth living. A part of an article I read stated "Humans are social by nature and find meaning in relationships.... The joining of individuality with interdependence enriches our lives, encourages us to enrich the lives of others, and inspires hope of attaining peace, justice, and opportunity for all." (Human Manifesto III). Building strong relationships is something that therapists say, we are taught by our parents and by the positive/negative relationships we have when we are younger. Of course, this is open to interpretation as mostly everything is, but based on circumstantial evidence, I could aggree with the statement for the time being. So it can be said that based on the lessons I have learned in my past surrounding relationships and how to build and sustain them, I could be helping the human race. The pressure is unbelievable!
To my best friend of 15 years, thank you for helping me enrich my life while trying (perhaps fruitlessly) to enrich yours and thus adding to my personal satisfaction and encouraging me to create peace with the other people that I meet along the way, as I work through these mindless days. Who knew our laughter could affect so much!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Addiction
It feels like such a flurry. Feelings that I had just about forgotten, right down to the gently lifting of a bleach blonde arm hair, preparing for the goose-bump. I should've written last night and I didn't. I forced myself to read and fully enjoy my novel, since it's due date back to the library is quickly approaching. All I wanted was to talk to him a little longer. Feel his fingers on my tattoo one more time. Tell him stories that I can't bring myself to admit to. But my opportunity has passed. Perhaps I never really had one, everything is always so cloudy. Why does he still hypnotize me? Why does his voice move deep and slow like molasses and hands haunt me? I had told him I didn't love him anymore. Perhaps I lied. I actually have to admit that I'm not entirely sure how to write about what it is that I am not entirely sure I'm feeling at this moment. I feel like I'm still in love, that I was always in love, that there was never a moment of doubt and all those other beautiful things that happy white-picket-fenced-in couples spew at the alter on their most holiest of days. But I don't particularly care to feel this way. I expected more from myself. More strength and endurance, more emotional freedom and capability. But I have fooled myself once again. The overwhelming sense of need has taken over my morning cup of coffee and drab excel reports.
I smoke my last cigarette this year, I hope, and stub out the remains in the left over snow that the plow didn't manage to pick up. I feel a subtle wave of self doubt, as though I am perfectly in control here and have sabotaged myself to settle here. Right here. In the half empty parking lot at Midnight on a monday after having worked for 14 hours; lying, laughing, squirming in my seat. What a masochist he is. To simply watch, as though he has no idea, but he knows. He knows even better than I do. I don't mind so much. I've spent enough time in a tattoo chair, and they don't joke when they say it's an addiction.
We talked about addiction. Something that you feel you can not function without. Does that mean I'm addicted? I can function, I just don't like it. Look at me, wallowing as though I were some star crossed lover with a gun to my temple, trembling and weeping to a melancholy man. How is he the only one that brings this out of me. This flood, this monsoon, this tidal wave, if you will.
I smoke my last cigarette this year, I hope, and stub out the remains in the left over snow that the plow didn't manage to pick up. I feel a subtle wave of self doubt, as though I am perfectly in control here and have sabotaged myself to settle here. Right here. In the half empty parking lot at Midnight on a monday after having worked for 14 hours; lying, laughing, squirming in my seat. What a masochist he is. To simply watch, as though he has no idea, but he knows. He knows even better than I do. I don't mind so much. I've spent enough time in a tattoo chair, and they don't joke when they say it's an addiction.
We talked about addiction. Something that you feel you can not function without. Does that mean I'm addicted? I can function, I just don't like it. Look at me, wallowing as though I were some star crossed lover with a gun to my temple, trembling and weeping to a melancholy man. How is he the only one that brings this out of me. This flood, this monsoon, this tidal wave, if you will.
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