Why not?

     I haven't blogged in a while. I haven't been creative in  a while. I haven't been able to wreck the internet with my virtual tears about non-consequential shit.
     I think this means things are ok.
     This isn't going to be a story. Or have a lesson. It's just going to be words. And maybe they'll make sense.
     Nashville does not, as I've made it seem, suck. It is beautiful. It is freeing. It is slowly being unravelled and, like the left-over Halloween Tootsie Pops that are surely rotting my teeth away, the best part is in the center. Finally, it feels like I'm in the center of something; surrounded by the most amazing people. I've spent a lot of time treating God like a coach who's constantly sitting me on the bench, but maybe I had to prove myself. Honestly, I think I was trying too hard to play for the wrong team.
     I thought the last year was supposed to be about starting over. Unfortunately, sometimes starting over means making out with your best friend, getting uninvited to a wedding, and then somehow in the mess unearthing these amazing people you couldn't see clearly through the haze. And at the risk of sounding totally cheesy, all of those people...are my angels. That was cheesy. I'd erase it, but then I'd have to re-read it and vomit.
     I don't necessarily know if those old friends are lost. I can't say I'm trying to salvage anything. I am content. I can say that for every mistake, and mistrusting step I made I learned something. Mostly that I'm a sucker for a sweet word. It's because I watch too many movies. I think now though, my eyes are clear, not clouded with the MTV quality drama that exists within the confines of whatever kind of family I'm the black sheep of.
    I think more than anything I am trying to resign to the fact that everything that I used to think was a big deal isn't. And every single drunken girls night, or pajama conversation is a big deal. That is happiness. That is family. That is love. And that is what makes everything ok. That is why I'm here.
     So bottom line, and an update for anyone that still checks this thing: I am living with two of the most amazing people in the world. And I will find a home, but for now I am safe. Oliver is happy and healthy and not a fat dog anymore. I feel fulfilled by everyone I hang out with. I miss my family every day. I answer their phone calls. I am happy most days. And when I'm not it usually only lasts one cigarette. I am over the things I needed to be over. I am ok.

I am ok.

Poem. Thought. Observation.

Poem: Written on my leg in the dark
A love that lasts, not lingers.
That is not simple.
That shakes you.
That doesn't knock you down,
but eases your unsteady feet off the ground

I want that. To be honest, the wanna-be princess inside every human doomed to live a life constantly derailed with estrogen emotions wants that.

Someone to give a shit.

Magic 8

     I think we're constantly searching for answers that don't exist yet. That has to be why there's a Magic 8 Ball online. So at the push of a button we can see some predetermined answer, and if we don't like it, we push again.
     We push too hard sometimes. We push so we don't fall apart. We push the pieces we want to fit into puzzles they weren't meant for. We push through. We push for. We push ourselves around. We are so consumed with the end, the goal, that we lose sight of all the beautiful things quietly residing in the deepest places of our hearts. Wrapped safely in memories of cigarettes, swimming pools, dry heat.
     Some things that are old are dissolving. Some things that are old are going through a metamorphosis we could have predicted had we been paying more attention. And they will grow, they will turn into things more real than we have known. They will be tangible.
     We will be patient.
     We will submerge ourselves, or perhaps test the water with our fingertips. We'll feel the heat on our faces slowly warm the chill in our hearts.
     And it will all be ok.

There's a Reason

This is dedicated to someone, but I don't like to name names on the Internet...



      He slipped his shoes off, leaving his socks on, as he sank back into his chair. Closing his eyes while he sipped on another beer, he tipped his head back to enjoy the last song on side B. He didn’t notice she was watching him, lying backwards in his bed, making a mental note of this accidental smile.
     “That fucking candle went out again,” he said trying to cool the wax before it ruined the wick.
     “What an asshole,” she replied with ambivalence. One less candle wouldn’t make a difference.
The digits on the clock were increasing. The shots, and beer, and cocktails made the time seem irrelevant. The music wasn’t stopping. The laughing grew louder, more uncontrollable, their voices hoarse from conversation. What would have usually been a night spent respectfully annihilating a pack of cigarettes turned into a longing for a life in the 1970’s, holey t-shirts, beaded doorways, and weed.
     “But then the house would smell like weed.”
     “But that’s why we’d get incense.” She prided herself on fine-tuning the details.

      As the sun threatened the open window, the noise grew faint. The musicians sang deeper. Their faces closer as he whispered information in her ear she’d never understand. Their heavy eyelids fighting sleep, fighting tomorrow. She pulled the blanket over their heads; they breathed each other’s air.
     “I’m dead,” she said.
     “You’re not dead,” he mumbled as he lazily tried to revive her.
     “What if I just died every time someone said something I didn’t like?,” She mumbled back, her face glistening with sweat.
     “What if you could decide to just stop breathing?”
      “What if you actually had control over anything?
They turned to face each other, in complete darkness; searching for eyes they had no chance of finding. Without a word spoken they let out a breath.

      Undoubtedly some friend would find them; both lifeless, only heads covered by a blanket in the summer sun. The candles would have burned out, the record playing an unwavering static. There would be rumors. A story. A great mystery like the kind she used to love. They’d be a mystery. A present day Mulder and Scully who’d succumb to their own desire to experience the unknown. But those closest to them would know, they'd done something original. Together they just stopped submitting to the most natural obligation. Freeing themselves from the decisions that the rest of us are plagued with. Letting that night remain eternal.

 

The Masses

I don't cry. I'm still faking smiles. My eyes don't focus. My hands shake. I'm still not hungry. I am even. But I am not numb. My brain is screaming, laughing, crying, kicking, howling behind a soundproof glass window of medication. I know this noise is there, but I can't hear it all the time. I hear it when I wake up in the morning. Or the middle of the night. I hear it when I'm driving for too long. I hear it when I'm alone while the sun sets.
Nothing can be tied up.
Nothing can be finished.
Just ignored.
Ignore each other.
Ignore our conscience. 
Ignore the heart you stole
And the one you forgot you had.