Sunday, September 06, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Better Late Than Never...
Originally Posted Friday, July 22, 2005
counting down the days...
this is what dreamers do
leave their boring lives-
just pick up and move
risk it all
on some far off city view
where all our dreams-
our visions
are supposed to
come true
most of the songs are written about california. leave the east coast. become a surfer or something.
but see... my california is boston.
yep. boston, massachusetts... home of the red sox.
the nation's second most expensive city to live in.
i know, i know... boy, can i pick 'em! but that part of the challenge is not the point.
the countdown has begun.
i'm about 3 weeks into this adventure... and just really starting to internalize what i'm actually planning on doing.
in may of 2006. i'm moving to boston.
shit. i just typed it out for the first time. i just made it real. made it tangible. provable. made it possible to think that i might come back to this blog sometime later in my life and know that i failed or chickened out.
no no. positive thoughts. baby steps. but oh i'm all goose-bumpy now and i seriously cannot wait.
...here i am, though:
counting down the days.
The grin on my face right now is ridiculous. Sure, I'm three years late. But I'm here. I am in Boston, starting grad school tomorrow.
And while I would love to spend some serious time tonight blogging about this new beginning...
I have homework to finish!
:cheese:
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
sweet nothings
the roots us wallflowers dig deep into the ground, holding us still...
they break apart under the pressure of imagined pelvic thrusts - tucked and turned inward - afraid to be directed at anyone. in particular.
we bloom into the center of the room. fresh. floral. we reek with hot pink sex stink. it is that time of season.
this. is impending sexual peak.
it illuminates the horizon it sits on...
whispering promises of the best years of my life.
they break apart under the pressure of imagined pelvic thrusts - tucked and turned inward - afraid to be directed at anyone. in particular.
we bloom into the center of the room. fresh. floral. we reek with hot pink sex stink. it is that time of season.
this. is impending sexual peak.
it illuminates the horizon it sits on...
whispering promises of the best years of my life.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I challenge you to...
Write. Every day.
Even if the only thing you get on that paper is the word "Fuck."
I wonder if he knows that he speaks in vignettes.
Like... every day that I talk to him... I could just write out a few of the sentences he shared with me... and not a single post would be crap.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
One Page Play:
The scene opens to a group of regulars at their neighborhood dive bar. They raise their shot glasses, clink, and drink. They walk stage right and leave Liz & Don seated at stools (center).
Liz looks longingly over her shoulder at the group, makes eye contact, smiles and waves. A few members of the group half-heartedly return the sentiment until Liz turns to face Don, and almost immediately, they start scowling and whispering.
Don, seeing past Liz, rolls his eyes. Liz slumps down in her stool and fidgets with her cocktail napkin.
Liz: They hate me, don't they?
Don: Yep.
Liz sighs and starts ripping apart her napkin.
Don: Get over it. They just don't know you very well.
Liz: That's the problem! I have hung out with these people for 4 years! They haven't even bothered to TRY to get to know me. (As she rants, she picks up Don’s napkin and starts shredding his too). It's like, just because I don't dress like a slut, participate in their incestuous dating circle, or buy everyone shots all the time, I am not cool enough to be in their little club.
Don: It's the Liz factor.
Liz: What?
Don: (annoyed) You know.
Liz: No, actually... I have no idea what you mean.
Don: It's just... you have this suspicious confidence about you all the time.
Liz: Suspicious?
Don: Yeah. Like it's there... but you don't even think you believe it.
Liz stops playing with the napkins. She looks down at her fingers.
Don: It's like there's this part of you that isn't broken...(he stops mid sentence, almost questioning whether or not to finish, before continuing)
... and
... it's annoying.
Don picks up his beer and chugs the whole thing.
Curtain.
Liz looks longingly over her shoulder at the group, makes eye contact, smiles and waves. A few members of the group half-heartedly return the sentiment until Liz turns to face Don, and almost immediately, they start scowling and whispering.
Don, seeing past Liz, rolls his eyes. Liz slumps down in her stool and fidgets with her cocktail napkin.
Liz: They hate me, don't they?
Don: Yep.
Liz sighs and starts ripping apart her napkin.
Don: Get over it. They just don't know you very well.
Liz: That's the problem! I have hung out with these people for 4 years! They haven't even bothered to TRY to get to know me. (As she rants, she picks up Don’s napkin and starts shredding his too). It's like, just because I don't dress like a slut, participate in their incestuous dating circle, or buy everyone shots all the time, I am not cool enough to be in their little club.
Don: It's the Liz factor.
Liz: What?
Don: (annoyed) You know.
Liz: No, actually... I have no idea what you mean.
Don: It's just... you have this suspicious confidence about you all the time.
Liz: Suspicious?
Don: Yeah. Like it's there... but you don't even think you believe it.
Liz stops playing with the napkins. She looks down at her fingers.
Don: It's like there's this part of you that isn't broken...(he stops mid sentence, almost questioning whether or not to finish, before continuing)
... and
... it's annoying.
Don picks up his beer and chugs the whole thing.
Curtain.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I am Getting Better. But...
Normally, I would have fallen asleep to visions of our locked lips and whispered giggles... with hopes of an implied tango beginning between our hearts.
But I'm not playing the idealistic idiot card anymore.
I think I drew out the evening because I knew it was never going to happen again. Because I wanted a chance to truly see him. To try and enjoy him.
But I just couldn't.
It was too much like all of the others before. The waiting around, the uncomfortable boredom while the smoke was shared, and the lack of stimulating conversation that followed.
Yes. I wanted to be wanted.
But not by someone like him. And not. On a night like that.
I am getting better. I am recognizing the rad flags a lot sooner.
But I still have a long way to go.
But I'm not playing the idealistic idiot card anymore.
I think I drew out the evening because I knew it was never going to happen again. Because I wanted a chance to truly see him. To try and enjoy him.
But I just couldn't.
It was too much like all of the others before. The waiting around, the uncomfortable boredom while the smoke was shared, and the lack of stimulating conversation that followed.
Yes. I wanted to be wanted.
But not by someone like him. And not. On a night like that.
I am getting better. I am recognizing the rad flags a lot sooner.
But I still have a long way to go.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I tried to be anorexic once
... i lasted about 3 hours.
Sigh. That was one of my favorite jokes in high school. And college. Who am I kidding... I still probably use it once a week. But the eating disorder I would like to make light of this evening is not actually anorexia. It's bulimia.
And after 27 years of binging...
Luckily, I am not talking about vomiting. Or pooping.
I am talking about paper and prose. You know... books.
This is my vice. My inner pack rat.
Anything that has to do with the written word, I KEEP it. Especially if I happened to be the one to write it down, or someone wrote it down specifically for me.
... it is not surprising to discover that I feel a little weighed down by all of this.
So over the past couple days, I have been going through my desk, book shelves, cubbyholes, storage containers and cardboard boxes... and I truly believe that collectively, paper makes up of over 75% of my material possessions.
That canNOT be healthy.
So. In celebration of my upcoming move to Boston, I am trying, quite literally, to lighten my load. If you are interested in receiving a random assortment of awesome reading/writing crap I don't want anymore, please leave me a comment below. Or, if you are far away, feel free to email me your address.
Sigh. That was one of my favorite jokes in high school. And college. Who am I kidding... I still probably use it once a week. But the eating disorder I would like to make light of this evening is not actually anorexia. It's bulimia.
Bulimia nervosa
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Bulimia nervosa is an eating disorder characterized by recurrent binge eating, followed by compensatory behaviors. The most common form—practiced by more than 75% of people with bulimia nervosa—is self-induced vomiting, sometimes called purging; fasting, the use of laxatives, enemas, diuretics, and over exercising are also common. The word bulimia derives from the Latin (būlīmia) from the Greek βουλῑμια (boulīmia; ravenous hunger), a compound of βους (bous), ox + λῑμος (līmos), hunger.
And after 27 years of binging...
I'm due for one big. ass. purge.
Luckily, I am not talking about vomiting. Or pooping.
I am talking about paper and prose. You know... books.
This is my vice. My inner pack rat.
Anything that has to do with the written word, I KEEP it. Especially if I happened to be the one to write it down, or someone wrote it down specifically for me.
... it is not surprising to discover that I feel a little weighed down by all of this.
So over the past couple days, I have been going through my desk, book shelves, cubbyholes, storage containers and cardboard boxes... and I truly believe that collectively, paper makes up of over 75% of my material possessions.
That canNOT be healthy.
So. In celebration of my upcoming move to Boston, I am trying, quite literally, to lighten my load. If you are interested in receiving a random assortment of awesome reading/writing crap I don't want anymore, please leave me a comment below. Or, if you are far away, feel free to email me your address.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Ready. Set. Write.
It was a potent and complex emotional cocktail:
Part rage, part hurt, part frustration, part humiliation, and, still, part suffocating love.
Over the years the quantities of each had changed, but the result was the same...
Almost overwhelming, drunken feeling.
I never got past the first chapter of The Reading Group, by Elizabeth Noble (Thank god. I mean, why don't I just start wearing my red hat with purple, buy 8 more cats, and join my mother's book club already).
But the point is... that quote makes my insides churn.
I used to think that pain was necessary in love. In creation. In life. That through great conflict I would learn to appreciate peace and harmony.
Now, this mentality can prove to have elements of truth, but I took it too far.
I became accustomed to pain. To never having my needs met. To emotional despair. Being unsatisfied and stressed the fuck! out. with too much responsibility became home.
A few years ago, my old roommate had a shirt custom designed for me...
Only now, dozens of self help books and chick lit memoirs later, am I actually recognizing that I am NOT a drama magnet... but truly, a drama facilitator.
I have a sick sense for drama (that might be my super power... for real for real). And when I find the right scenario, I get out the watering can, miracle grow, and unleash the power of my own personal sunshine on this itty bitty drama sprout, and to my contrived surprise... TA DA! DRAMA!
It's disgusting, really. I find someone in need of help or advice and I am drawn to them like white on rice. They get me high. Because I see this potential and opportunity to really FIX something... and well, it's like the chance to make up for what I couldn't fix originally.
Get ready, kids... cause here comes Freud.
I couldn't fix my family. My parents' marriage. And god dammit! did I try. I tried everything I could to get them back together, and I tried everything I could to protect my little brother in the wake of it all.
... but it didn't work.
I remember most of my late childhood being a job. I had to be perfect in school. I had to always be good, never get in trouble, never do anything wrong. I had to take care of my little brother, my mother, and eventually my grandmother because dad left... and mom gave up.
But I got too tired. Too sick of failing. And I started to see opportunities outside of my family to help, fix and actually SUCCEED. Shy best friends, deviant boys, socially awkward classmates, blah blah blah... I was hooked.
The problem is that I wasn't actually hooked on the succeeding. I was hooked on the struggle.
The only time I felt truly connected to you was when we were in pain together. When I was empathizing and helping you through your issues. When I was left unfulfilled because you were too preoccupied with your own shit to really even see me as anything other than your therapist. Your life coach.
I made it all about you. And I forgot all about me. Codependent. I needed you to need me so you wouldn't leave me...
fear. of. abandonment.
But you always left anyway. Whether you were my "best friend" or my "boyfriend"... you still always left. Always ended up hating me. Probably because despite what I was doing and thinking about on the conscious level...
... deep down I probably wanted you to stay broken. Stay sick. Stay needy so you won't leave me.
It makes me nauseous just thinking about it.
And I don't ever want to be that again.
I have to learn how to love and help ME as much as those close to me. No. MORE than those close to me.
But when you've spent your whole life chasing distractions (albeit, very interesting, exhilarating and awe-inspiring distractions) in order to avoid dealing with yourself...
How do you even know where to begin?
Monday, May 11, 2009
"Baby Steps."
I have been following that dumb ass motto for a cursed 5 years now...
and it's time to stop.
In theory, this is true.
But in my case, it's just another carefully crafted avoidance technique.
A macro that I use to hide my micro behind.
A way to keep myself from having to do
too. much. work.
I told myself that eventually, with time, I could be the powerhouse female that lives in the back of my mind, despite my locking her inside a cage of insecurity and self-loathing. I told myself that I could pick away, slowly, at all my bad habits, ease out of my addictions, and basically avoid pain.
But it was bullshit. And I knew it the whole time.
Even when I gave this advice to the people closest to me, I knew it was bullshit.
We needed to jump.
Really fucking high.
and it's time to stop.
We tell ourselves that if we initiate tiny, little changes, we can have a profound impact on the world. We can be that poetic, cliched pebble: dropped into the water, our ripples radiating outward, and eventually our seemingly small splash will reach the moon...
and get it all wet.
In theory, this is true.
But in my case, it's just another carefully crafted avoidance technique.
A macro that I use to hide my micro behind.
A way to keep myself from having to do
too. much. work.
I told myself that eventually, with time, I could be the powerhouse female that lives in the back of my mind, despite my locking her inside a cage of insecurity and self-loathing. I told myself that I could pick away, slowly, at all my bad habits, ease out of my addictions, and basically avoid pain.
But it was bullshit. And I knew it the whole time.
Even when I gave this advice to the people closest to me, I knew it was bullshit.
We needed to jump.
How high?
Really fucking high.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Ok. I'll Admit It...
I have officially been offered acceptance to the Massachusettes School of Professional Psychology for their Counseling Psychology and School Psychology graduate degree programs.
Tonight, I accepted admission into the School Psychology program, and put down my first deposit.
... but I'm not quite sure I believe it yet.
I mean I. am actually going to grad school.
... in Boston.
... in 4 months.
... with enough financial aid that I DON'T have to work.
Part of me wants to say it. out loud. every day.
... just to make sure it isn't all a dream.
Tonight, I accepted admission into the School Psychology program, and put down my first deposit.
... but I'm not quite sure I believe it yet.
I mean I. am actually going to grad school.
... in Boston.
... in 4 months.
... with enough financial aid that I DON'T have to work.
Part of me wants to say it. out loud. every day.
... just to make sure it isn't all a dream.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
only because he'll never read this.
your bright, bloated anime eyes
walk tight rope on your heroine thin lies
apathy masks fear
and you had that stink about you, my deer.
i know.
my headlights.
they shine too bright.
too fast.
but fleetings like this-
you have to jump on them while they last.
i don't have the time to wait around.
the time to see what might bloom.
if you want me. take me.
but treat me like you've just landed on the moon.
honestly, though...
the game has already been lost.
i questioned myself too much
to even let you see that underbelly
part of you may have wanted to touch.
you came in heavy just like any other cliche
but couldn't walk your talk
or say what you wanted to say.
my regrets
they are part of a pattern
deeply seeded
protecting myself
from the hurt i make you deliver
but if i get another chance
i'll show you
what you'd never have the courage to go after anyway...
walk tight rope on your heroine thin lies
apathy masks fear
and you had that stink about you, my deer.
i know.
my headlights.
they shine too bright.
too fast.
but fleetings like this-
you have to jump on them while they last.
i don't have the time to wait around.
the time to see what might bloom.
if you want me. take me.
but treat me like you've just landed on the moon.
honestly, though...
the game has already been lost.
i questioned myself too much
to even let you see that underbelly
part of you may have wanted to touch.
you came in heavy just like any other cliche
but couldn't walk your talk
or say what you wanted to say.
my regrets
they are part of a pattern
deeply seeded
protecting myself
from the hurt i make you deliver
but if i get another chance
i'll show you
what you'd never have the courage to go after anyway...
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
i fell asleep...
with my computer in my lap.
the "create new post" window open.
and drool running run down my chin.
... i'm on the right track, right?
the "create new post" window open.
and drool running run down my chin.
... i'm on the right track, right?
Friday, March 20, 2009
hell froze over.
my heart beats big. bright. barbie doll pink.
flesh breathes. muscles tear. stretching to fit around it.
i. am in a big way right now.
my massive shifts in mood. they are reflective. this pendulum turned wrecking ball. back and forth - we swing. leaving craters in the walls that used to house everything i protected myself from.
perpetual. this motion has started.
flesh breathes. muscles tear. stretching to fit around it.
i. am in a big way right now.
my massive shifts in mood. they are reflective. this pendulum turned wrecking ball. back and forth - we swing. leaving craters in the walls that used to house everything i protected myself from.
perpetual. this motion has started.
but the question. of direction.
it still stirs. unanswered.
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