This past week, my writing work has picked up to the point where my mind is left strained, incapable of producing intelligible words after a certain point. Though I’m beyond thrilled and appreciative to have the work, it leaves me with leftover brain mush to spew out onto my blog. My blog is a big part of my life and I made a promise to myself to write every day (a promise I haven’t kept), but on days when my mental and emotional states are taxed, I want nothing more than to write “BLARGHHHHHSMAPPPPPPP!” over and over in this empty white space.
But last night at 2AM, I forced myself to upchuck thoughts onto paper with pen, something I hadn’t done in awhile and something that ended up looking like a child wrote it. It was difficult and often ugly, but a good exercise in knowing that I could still partake in the art of journal-scribbling.
My life has gotten very regimented. I go to bed around 12AM-1AM, wake up between 8:30AM-9:30AM and write and interact on the web until the waft (more…)
As of late, I present a lighter fare to nosh on.
I’ve drifted further and further away from any complex or adverse feelings due to wanting to keep the site a happy playground full of Jeff Goldblum photos, poop jokes and jointly Jeff Goldblum photos containing poop jokes.
This need to check rain clouds at the gate coincides with my own personal progression of keeping my emotions to myself. This isn’t due to any particular person or experience in my life scaring me into not sharing my thoughts (though I have a grandmother who stifles her emotions to the point where they manifest into random outbursts of directionless anger and a former, life-changing boss who often told me I acted too much “like a girl” and that I should stop it), but by the fact that I became sick of hearing myself whine, lament, sob and complain as an early twenty-something and have become increasingly annoyed by others who do the same thing (mostly the whining part). This act of personal defiance is not necessarily (more…)
Last night I woke up at 4:30AM and could not go back to sleep. I was wide awake, my brain working a mile a minute. When I used to do this earlier in the year, it was because I was afraid masked men were creeping outside my window, ready to break in. I no longer fear this though oddly enough this happened to my friend last week. Now, now I worry about if I made the right choice. If going freelance is something I can handle without going insane.
The money situation is fine. I have enough steady work to pay the bills. I’m a little concerned that I’m not able to set aside for self-employed taxes yet, but considering I paid taxes for most of the year, I don’t think I’ll have too high of an IRS bill. I’m still adjusting to not getting a paycheck every other Friday, but rather one check here, another check three weeks later, a small check a week later etc. The fear of running out of dough has definitely made me a lot stingier- which I don’t necessarily like to be.
I love everyone that I (more…)
The day L arrived home from the war he felt alive for the first time in two years. He was coming home to see his boy, jump back into the family business and do nothing but enjoy life from now on. He was far from the fighting and far from the hospital bed he laid in for nearly 2 months in Vietnam. The surgery to remove the shrapnel from his skull left an intriguing “X” pattern across the left of his forehead that resembled that of a laurel crown. It made L look noble. He often stopped before a mirror and traced his finger along the jagged scar. The doctors did a good job, he thought. Even his son Jesus thought his scar looked daring. L was happy that he looked like a hero to his son. If only one person appreciated what he did for our country, he hoped it was his child.
Life became normal after the war. At 7AM he’d drop Jesus off to the private school he had saved up for, then head back home to get started on the day’s work. L was in the animal balloon business. The company had been handed (more…)
This stretch of road never changes, only I do. Every twist and turn and is the same and will be for hundreds of years. Only I will go away.
All the times I made this drive, I never could have guessed what the future held for me. Now I’m here and all I can think about is the past. The future is now and and it’s better than it was back then. Cold, monotonous journeys back and forth through towns that I would run away from, seeing a young boy that I will never see again, and a lifestyle that was not for me.
We had no idea what would happen over the past ten years.
We had no idea that Josh would get into a car accident 12 months ago and die and come back. The months of being in a coma, rehabilitation. I was mentally preparing myself on the drive to his house yesterday, preparing for the changes I would see. The new Josh. Telling myself not to cry. When I saw him, there was no reason to mourn. Though life is more challenging for him now he only has optimism. He’s so far ahead than (more…)
Visiting home is always…always…
I’m not sure what the word is.
Every time I visit home I feel different. Like the arm of a clock on a different time. When I was 22, I was 3AM, when I was 25, I was 4PM and now the clock rests on noon.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve mellowed out. Initially their dutiful daughter who always did what she was told suddenly did not like it. She snapped back. She was trying to figure out who she was and the last thing she needed was someone infringing on her time alone in her head.
Now, now she knows who she is. Now she doesn’t have a guttural reaction when one of them does nothing more than simply be the overly-concerned mother or grandmother that they are.
But coming home brings a new emotion. It’s no longer youthful angst, but rather seeing something I don’t want to see.
Something I’ll pretend is not happening.
As I hung in the doorway of my grandmother’s bedroom watching her get ready to go out, I noticed how small she looked. The weight (more…)
Watching Drive and writing that post today really got to me. The LA in Drive is the LA in so many movies and was the LA in my head when I lived there, though it’s not the LA that actually exists. I’ve written about this way too many times before, so I will not rehash it too much. Or maybe I will.
There are multiple LAs that exist in film- the glamorous 1920’s LA, the dangerous noir 40’s/50’s LA, the sunny carefree 1960’s LA, the porn/drug-riddled 70’s LA and the beautifully nihilistic 80’s LA. After that, the LA that exists now is the one we all know, but we want the other LAs, you know? The Day-Of-The-Locust-Who-Framed-Roger-Rabbit-Chinatown-LA-Confidential-Boogie Nights-Less-Than-Zero all rolled into one LA.
I just can’t stop thinking about her tonight. I can’t stop thinking about all the illusions and the dreams that weren’t real. The holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. The anticipation that anything– good or bad- would reveal itself to me. (more…)
My favorite time of year is here! The time of year where I no longer have to worry if my ass cheeks are hanging out of the bottom of my shorts. The time of year my frame is no longer a terrain of small bodies of sweat and dried kneetop and elbowtops. A time where I can resort back to dressing like Truman Capote. A time of cardigans and scarves and stockings and pants and soon enough I’ll be bitching about how cold it is even thought it’s only 65.
In two weeks I will be heading up to the Vermont Film Festival with my honey sweetie child (the longer you date and become more comfortable with someone, the more obnoxious nouns you add to their name) for a screening of his first film, Mars. At that time, my mother will take a carload of people including my auditorily-challenged grandmother, the cognitively-challenged Lionel, and the hyper-activelly challenged Jack Russell Terrier named Lucy and meeting us in Burlington.
This will be the first time my mother meets my boyfriend, something (more…)
Sitting across the room from him, writing, listening to the consonance of alt-country, thinking how one day I hoped for a moment like this. How I used to write about the faceless passenger who rode beside me, out into the desert at night, the top down, thinking how there was nothing more beautiful than this. These thoughts converged as your face became clearer.
Sitting here thinking whether or not I’m a good daughter, if I should live closer to home, if I should not feel guilty about the impending leap I’m about to take. That will make me more hyper-focused than I’ve ever been.
I spoke with her earlier on the phone and I could tell she was bored. She recited the entire contents of a magazine she picked up in Walmart. A magazine featuring all the places one should visit in America. She deserves to go to all of those places. She deserves to do it sooner than later. Because life is short, right? And that is what I keep telling myself about the impending leap I’m about to take.
I died while listening to an Arcade Fire song.
It seems apropos, really.
I always secretly wished I’d go out to an epic swell in A minor.
The life soundtrack equivalent to the ending of a Six Feet Under episode.
I wasn’t thinking about anything truly important that moment. The thought that Funeral still remains far superior to any subsequent album released by the band crossed my mind.
Visualizing the dress I was going to be wearing to the dinner on Friday was fighting for the preliminary spot in my brain. I wanted something long and sleek, black…or maybe teal! I was into teal the months leading up to my death.
What I was thinking about foremost was getting home. Home being a relative term, I’m discovering now. What I wanted then was warmth from the cold air. To take off my skirt, put on some sweatpants, and watch that Ryan Reynolds movie sitting in the DVD player. But my actual home will forever exist in the memories of my childhood. The place I grew up. The house my parents (more…)