I didn't think I had it in me.
I thought I'd lost my capacity to daydream myself into complete oblivion. Hoping I'd see a familiar car pull up in my unfamiliar drive way. And there would be kisses through tears and a dog barking and we'd laugh and fall into bed like we never had before, because we never had a chance.
I didn't think I would actually get here. To this coffee shop, or this state, or this city.
Right now I don't think I can deal with the distance, and the bug bites, and the quiet. And all I left behind. And how what I left is probably leaving me as I write these words.
I accidentally gave a bit of myself away. Left it in the golden state, and the freeways, and a bed, and a porch.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
It Was Never About Independence
I hate this holiday. The 4th of July. Independence Day. Whatever.
It's my least favorite. I'm not very patriotic. Fireworks make me feel sad, nostalgic, and lonely. It's been that way since I was 5, or earlier, but I can't remember too many emotions before I was 5 so that's a good estimation I guess. (I just thought "guess-timation" and how I fucking hate when people say that.)
The 4th of July is...
Sitting in the drive way of my grandparent's house that doubled as my aunt and uncle's house for a while. Watching the fireworks show across the desert at Palmdale High. I sat down right on the cement. My sister wasn't born yet and the other kids were little. The adults "Oh'ed" and "Awed" which made everything seem dramatic. The fireworks ended. I was sad. There were sparklers. There were always sparklers.
Another aunt's house. Different cousins. No firework show. Sparklers. Fireworks in the middle of the street my dad wouldn't let me get too close to. I got burned. I was wearing uncomfortable shoes. I wanted to look pretty. Those people always made me feel pressure to look pretty, and thin. More alcohol. Too much alcohol and strangers. My aunt was stumbling and it didn't seem like they used to get mad then, but they must have. I noticed that my mom and dad never hold hands.
Katie and I sat in my front yard. We had ditched the lamest party ever (because it was an adult party and they served tri-tip, not even hamburgers or hot dogs). We sat for hours. No sparklers. Alone. We laid in the grass with the cordless phone next to us hoping the guys we liked (I think I was dating one) would call like they said they would. They didn't. We waited, forever. We never got any hot dogs.
It's an ex-boyfriend's birthday. I don't hate it because of that, but it is and I feel like it should be counted. Because I think of him, yes, and it's all so much different now, but there were surprise parties, and a time when I thought the fireworks weren't so bad. But they're never that bad when you're in some one's arms. He'll be in Florida this year. With his new girl. And I don't belong there. And it's ok.
I met someone who hates this holiday as much as I do. But I think, I felt like it was a similar sort of uncomfortable memory thing that bound us. The sentiment felt familiar. But it breaks my heart to think about him and he does not think about me. And that should be ok, but I'm sentimental and fireworks still make me sad.
Someone went to jail. Someone set the desert on fire and went to jail. And it was weird that it never seemed like that big of a deal, until he brought it up tonight and we laughed about it.
So fuck it. No sparklers. No flags. No party.
I drove around the desert listening to get this, Explosions in the Sky, and accidentally caught a private fireworks show. The window was down, it was too hot, and it was sad, but it's familiar. I shouldn't complain. All I ever wanted was consistency.
It's my least favorite. I'm not very patriotic. Fireworks make me feel sad, nostalgic, and lonely. It's been that way since I was 5, or earlier, but I can't remember too many emotions before I was 5 so that's a good estimation I guess. (I just thought "guess-timation" and how I fucking hate when people say that.)
The 4th of July is...
Sitting in the drive way of my grandparent's house that doubled as my aunt and uncle's house for a while. Watching the fireworks show across the desert at Palmdale High. I sat down right on the cement. My sister wasn't born yet and the other kids were little. The adults "Oh'ed" and "Awed" which made everything seem dramatic. The fireworks ended. I was sad. There were sparklers. There were always sparklers.
Another aunt's house. Different cousins. No firework show. Sparklers. Fireworks in the middle of the street my dad wouldn't let me get too close to. I got burned. I was wearing uncomfortable shoes. I wanted to look pretty. Those people always made me feel pressure to look pretty, and thin. More alcohol. Too much alcohol and strangers. My aunt was stumbling and it didn't seem like they used to get mad then, but they must have. I noticed that my mom and dad never hold hands.
Katie and I sat in my front yard. We had ditched the lamest party ever (because it was an adult party and they served tri-tip, not even hamburgers or hot dogs). We sat for hours. No sparklers. Alone. We laid in the grass with the cordless phone next to us hoping the guys we liked (I think I was dating one) would call like they said they would. They didn't. We waited, forever. We never got any hot dogs.
It's an ex-boyfriend's birthday. I don't hate it because of that, but it is and I feel like it should be counted. Because I think of him, yes, and it's all so much different now, but there were surprise parties, and a time when I thought the fireworks weren't so bad. But they're never that bad when you're in some one's arms. He'll be in Florida this year. With his new girl. And I don't belong there. And it's ok.
I met someone who hates this holiday as much as I do. But I think, I felt like it was a similar sort of uncomfortable memory thing that bound us. The sentiment felt familiar. But it breaks my heart to think about him and he does not think about me. And that should be ok, but I'm sentimental and fireworks still make me sad.
Someone went to jail. Someone set the desert on fire and went to jail. And it was weird that it never seemed like that big of a deal, until he brought it up tonight and we laughed about it.
So fuck it. No sparklers. No flags. No party.
I drove around the desert listening to get this, Explosions in the Sky, and accidentally caught a private fireworks show. The window was down, it was too hot, and it was sad, but it's familiar. I shouldn't complain. All I ever wanted was consistency.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Take it down. Gently take the posters off the walls, the doors, the walls of your brain. Be careful not to rip them. Bend the tape back, tuck them away somewhere they'll be safe. They'll be hung up in a new home. Or scattered on the highway during the drive. You choose. Drop those thoughts. The one's you called friends about too late at night. The thoughts they knew you'd have. The ones that are both rational and insane. The ones that comfort and ache. Drop them. Leave them here. In the desert, or in a box, or in storage, or in the trash. YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU. There are miles between us. And you say they are good. And I say they are terrifying. And you inhale and agree. And I close my eyes and remember that night in the snow. I promise to write about it. I promise to write. I promise to go. I promise to stay, away.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I will miss this backyard...
One winter the power went out. There were candles and attempts at ghost stories. Katie was over like always. She backed me into the corner of my bedroom and spoke in that scary voice she uses while I talked on my parent's cell phone to the boy I would later fall in love with. Maybe fell in love with, I don't really know now if you can fall in love with someone when you're 15. I don't really know if you can fall in love with someone when you're 24.
The power is out tonight so I'm thinking of that night back in 2000-whatever. I remember thinking then that Katie is the only person who could make that night memorable. And how she's done that for so many nights since then. I don't remember what I talked to so and so on that phone about. I don't remember what I talked to any of the so and so's I thought I loved about. I remember that I thought it was really important at the time, and that I cried about it later, and that I sometimes try to hold on to all the so and so's and words, and nights and that it just doesn't matter sometimes.
It doesn't matter now. Oliver and I have a home in Nashville. We will be far away from all the people I keep saying I need to forget and remembering in my dreams. I will be far from my family and the few friends I'll remember on nights like these. I will miss my sister, and my Katie, and these chairs in the backyard, and the dry California air, but I won't miss the so and so's. I already don't. I'm just prone to weeping about the past. And it hasn't made me weep in a while, which confuses me.
It's the future my eyes tear for. The possibility. The way this is so natural. The way it's working.
The battery is draining on this thing. The house it still dark. I'm still alone. So I'll sit, one last time, and remember the one's worth remembering, who coincidentally have stuck around long enough to still be relevant.
The power is out tonight so I'm thinking of that night back in 2000-whatever. I remember thinking then that Katie is the only person who could make that night memorable. And how she's done that for so many nights since then. I don't remember what I talked to so and so on that phone about. I don't remember what I talked to any of the so and so's I thought I loved about. I remember that I thought it was really important at the time, and that I cried about it later, and that I sometimes try to hold on to all the so and so's and words, and nights and that it just doesn't matter sometimes.
It doesn't matter now. Oliver and I have a home in Nashville. We will be far away from all the people I keep saying I need to forget and remembering in my dreams. I will be far from my family and the few friends I'll remember on nights like these. I will miss my sister, and my Katie, and these chairs in the backyard, and the dry California air, but I won't miss the so and so's. I already don't. I'm just prone to weeping about the past. And it hasn't made me weep in a while, which confuses me.
It's the future my eyes tear for. The possibility. The way this is so natural. The way it's working.
The battery is draining on this thing. The house it still dark. I'm still alone. So I'll sit, one last time, and remember the one's worth remembering, who coincidentally have stuck around long enough to still be relevant.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
I don't write because it's trendy...
There was a cat in the bar last night.
It kept rubbing against my legs,
and hers.
More her legs than mine.
I hate cats.
Because I am allergic,
or because I make myself believe I am allergic,
because I hate cats.
No one spoke to us this time,
and this night felt better,
until we saw them,
and panicked,
and peeked around the corner
before running to my car,
and giggled nervously at our nerves.
Please come visit me
in that romantic city
in the south.
It kept rubbing against my legs,
and hers.
More her legs than mine.
I hate cats.
Because I am allergic,
or because I make myself believe I am allergic,
because I hate cats.
No one spoke to us this time,
and this night felt better,
until we saw them,
and panicked,
and peeked around the corner
before running to my car,
and giggled nervously at our nerves.
Please come visit me
in that romantic city
in the south.
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