Today I had locally made four berry (strawberry, blueberry, raspberry and marionberries*) jam and crunchy peanut butter sandwiched between two pieces of toast.
Consider yourself updated, blog.
*I am not convinced that is a real berry.
I read The Hunger Games today.
Great story, abysmal writing. To that end, I mean comma splices galore, at least one major faux pas of using ‘well’ instead of ‘good’ and boring word choice. Luckily, these transgressions were not so distracting as to interrupt the pace of the novel. I read the entire thing in one sitting. This is, sadly, a big step for a girl who has finished only one novel since completing her English degree nearly three years ago.
I didn’t realize there are more books until the last page, which concludes with, ‘end of book one.’ I’ll be damned. How irksome.
Sometimes I wory about my lack of a personality.
Chirp chirp.
Eating homegrown snap peas in the boyfriend’s bed.
We so crazy.
Addendum: We threw some of the pea pod tips straight on his bedroom floor!
Accordingly, ‘[w]e so crazy’ is a fair description of the evening.
Every day I better understand how much of my life Cymbalta has carried for the last few years. Holding it all together myself is much more taxing than anticipated. I’m very afraid of trying to manage things completely on my own within a couple weeks. What if I am not strong enough to live by myself? I can go back to antidepressants (or more anti-anxiety medications in my case, as I’ve finally pieced together). It makes me feel like a waste of life and human to even consider that I can’t exist without a drug balancing my brain. I can’t fathom how useless I will feel if that turns out to be true.
I complicate things. I get deeply upset by minute occurrences that mean nothing. I am insecure beyond any form of reason. I second-guess everything. I am unable to let go of reservation and live in a moment, or trust someone else. I want so badly to love and trust that I am going to be loved in return, but I am, hardly even subconsciously, doing everything in my power to stop that from happening. And to what end? I can’t even answer that…. Am I forcing things that don’t exist, or self-sabotaging?
I want a pretty little apartment in Midtown. I want bike rides and the farmers’ market and our garden square complete with tacky light-up meerkats. I want long hair and sunburns and wine on a porch at night. I want more reading and less computing and that look in his eyes when he is so happy with me.
I haven’t lost my entire capacity to dream, but it is becoming a stretch. I need to find some part of my life in which I can relax and be sure for a little while. I am wearing so thin and I feel like I’m going to break before very long.
Why is breathing and thinking and being close to others so much harder for me than it seems to be for everyone else?
So very tired of words.
Flop-into-a-tiny-ball-and-squeeze-my-eyes-shut-until-something-changes tired.
Passive aggressive
Needy
Angry
Off-the-walls wound up
Silly
Sappy
Polar opposites
I’m exhausting myself and in grave danger of pushing away the people I most want in my life. I just want need to level out.
I hate this. I want to be a normal, not-an-asshole, girl for a little while. What the hell is wrong with me?
It’s hard to leave [nouns] in the past.
People, places, things, ideas. They stay with me. I carry them all into the future in different ways. Everything I’ve done and been, every person who has slipped through my life — it has all shaped me. How do I let those things fade into memory and become has-beens instead of are-nows? How do I let go of any of that?
There is a great deal of choice in the matter. A person can say s/he is leaving my life, but until I decide to let go of him/her, s/he isn’t exactly going away. I’m forever hoping this individual will drift back in, will not have changed beyond recognition, can fit back into my life even though I reshaped it all without that person. Until I say, ‘No, I’m done with you. You left first, but now I’m walking away too,’ well, I’m still letting part of my life idle curbside while everything around me is moving forward. I’m wasting everything just to leave a chance for someone who already walked away from me and almost undoubtedly isn’t returning.
Sometimes it’s scary to do that. To say that someone or something that was once so great doesn’t get to have a chance of being part of things again — that closes off a lot of possibility. Then again…it also opens the present and future to dreams you never knew you had until they smacked you in the face.
Sometimes I get to decide to walk away from someone in my past. I get to close that door, get to say, ‘No, you weren’t good. You were hurtful or using me or only cared about yourself.’ And when I make that decision, that person is sealed off. S/he can crop back up, but ultimately, I have acknowledged that I have changed since that point in time, and even if I made bad choices or mistakes then, they don’t define me for the rest of my life. They are moments and lessons from which to grow, but I don’t have to spend any more time feeling regret.
Do you get that?
I’m not going to spend any more time feeling regret.
I’m not going to waste any more time on you.
Cut Copy – Lights & Music from Modular People on Vimeo.
Raw With Love – Charles Bukowski
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
I won’t blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won’t blame you,
instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won’t use it
yet.
