how did i get here?
sometimes we all go through life just running about ourselves.... not realizing what we are doing but rather running in circles because thats what were trained to do.
i spent the first years of my life when i turned 16 years old. once i turned 16, i realized what they say when you get lost in your routine. id catch myself doing it all the time.... rolling out of the bed and driving to school was just automatic. i put no thought into it. some mornings i wouldnt really wake up until i saw the wrinkly, scaly face of my first hour teacher or hear the girlish laughter of lisa, my chem buddy. it would be that moment that i would realize i didnt remember driving to school or even waking up. sometimes you just dont remember the routine things.
it was every day i would ask myself, "how did i get here?" who and/or what brought me to my desk in first hour. i know it wasnt me. it was someone else.
as i progressed throughout college, i realized i asked myself that more and more. no, no, not just how did i roll out of bed and get to class on time, but rather.... how did i get to college? how did i make the friends i have? why am i here?
the decisions have always been automatic and have always been something i didnt waste my time thinking about. all it took to get myeslf to college was filling out a long white sheet and typing 500 words on what i thought life was. hardly memorable. friends fell into place and i would always ask myself, "how did i get here?"
its now 5:30am on a dewey september morning in st. ives, uk. and now, more than ever i wonder how i got here and why i am here. i dont remember telling pete id go across the ocean to live with him on the sheep farm, it just kinda fell into place. like i had nothing better to do.
i didnt think about it.... i just got here. looking out into the dewey sunrise, i see the black sheep we need to kill in order to get the bad genes out of the family before it learns to breed. sometimes, when a black sheep is born, i really can relate to it. its just wandering around like me waiting for something to happen that i will remember. certainly i dont expect to be killed because i have the wrong color fur. but sometimes i know i will be killed for having the wrong color soul. the attendants are to preform the slaughtering in the afternoon. poor thing.
pete just left. he gets up early to make sure everything is okay on the farm and then he drives his big black range rover to his architectural firm in the city. winding down the narrow country dirt roads, surrounded by bush and animals, i wonder if he drives to work like i used to drive to school. ill bet he does. ill bet hes not awake yet. none of us are awake.
when i was 16, i had big plans for myself. i was going to be a lawyer, a businessman, an executive.... anything but a simple english housewife on a sheep farm. but it just fell into place. im not saying life here isnt good. the life is great. there are no worries about money, constant trips to london, an affectionate boyfriend, maids, and a lot of sex.
its just.... i didnt see myself here. and when i wandered here like a sheep i didnt realize i would be devoting a portion of my life to being an architect's boyfriend on a sheep farm.
the insomnia is getting to me. it could be the sheep, it could be myself telling me this isnt where i need to be, or it could be all the pills i pop. prescription pain killers are easy to get here. complain about back pain (from the car accident), and the doctor calls the pharmacy and the pharmacy puts the vikes in a little green glass bottle. then i pop them. no one knows about my pill popping habits. i have to remain together on the outside.
my day is simple. wasted, actually. i wake up early and watch the sun rise alone. then ill get a hot steamy shower and get ready to face the day. ill take a stroll through the grounds and then, if im feeling adventerous, ill take my roadster and drive to the train station and vatch the next train to london to buy clothes and cosmetics to make pete stick with me.
if im not adventerous, ill drive to town and pick up prescriptions and take a look at the harbor. after that, pehaps a swim?
the setting seems so romantic: the green grass, the twisting roads, the sheep, the old country house with a pool. in reality, living here isnt all that gorgeous. it gets tired just like everything else. actually, id die to take a shower in a bathroom that was made after 1910 and i would kill for bright lights and electricity that worked more often when it just felt like working.
pete'll stroll in around 4:00 and we go through "the routine" for about an hour. we'll make small talk about our days, even though he just talks and i nod. hes the one who gets to see the interesting things. nothing changes during my day except the occasional sale at harrod's..... if i go to london. pete tells me about his clients that fly from all over the world to see him and the gigantic projects hes involved in and how stressed out he is.
the only thing that is exciting about my day is when the pool guys fuck up the pH on the pool.
after the smalltalk, we go to our room and have sex. we dont make love, we dont fuck.... we just have sex. making love and fucking are two phrases that evoke an emotion of excitment or activity. when pete and i have sex, its just routine. we do it every day on schedule, just like catching the train. our timing is like a swiss watch. the sex is rouine. sometimes i wont even remember getting into bed with him. its just something we do.... like driving to school.
our chef will prepare dinner. and pete and i will sit there munching on blanched vegtables and al dente pasta drenched in god-knows-what. no words exchanged. just eating.
after dinner, we mix ourselves drinks and smoke cigarettes out on the balcony. ill have a cosmopolitian and he'll have straight vodka. we just sit there glaring into eachother's eyes, trying to figure out who the other one is. for two people that live together, we really dont know eachother. the agreement behind our relationship is silent, but we both know it. im there to keep him company until we grow apart. im there to live off of him. we have eachother, but its still lonely for me. i cant say i love pete, he's kind of just there.
ill go to the bathrrom and pop two or three vikes. i fall asleep early and the day will start all over again tomorrow.
its a routine life. i want to break the cycle of routine someday, but sometimes it is just so comfortbale being in routine. having no drama, no excitement.... just the usual.
itll continue this way until i figure out i really should get on my own feet and go back to the states to get a job. which may be never. ill look out of this window for the next twenty years worrying about black sheep and wondering how i got here.
i spent the first years of my life when i turned 16 years old. once i turned 16, i realized what they say when you get lost in your routine. id catch myself doing it all the time.... rolling out of the bed and driving to school was just automatic. i put no thought into it. some mornings i wouldnt really wake up until i saw the wrinkly, scaly face of my first hour teacher or hear the girlish laughter of lisa, my chem buddy. it would be that moment that i would realize i didnt remember driving to school or even waking up. sometimes you just dont remember the routine things.
it was every day i would ask myself, "how did i get here?" who and/or what brought me to my desk in first hour. i know it wasnt me. it was someone else.
as i progressed throughout college, i realized i asked myself that more and more. no, no, not just how did i roll out of bed and get to class on time, but rather.... how did i get to college? how did i make the friends i have? why am i here?
the decisions have always been automatic and have always been something i didnt waste my time thinking about. all it took to get myeslf to college was filling out a long white sheet and typing 500 words on what i thought life was. hardly memorable. friends fell into place and i would always ask myself, "how did i get here?"
its now 5:30am on a dewey september morning in st. ives, uk. and now, more than ever i wonder how i got here and why i am here. i dont remember telling pete id go across the ocean to live with him on the sheep farm, it just kinda fell into place. like i had nothing better to do.
i didnt think about it.... i just got here. looking out into the dewey sunrise, i see the black sheep we need to kill in order to get the bad genes out of the family before it learns to breed. sometimes, when a black sheep is born, i really can relate to it. its just wandering around like me waiting for something to happen that i will remember. certainly i dont expect to be killed because i have the wrong color fur. but sometimes i know i will be killed for having the wrong color soul. the attendants are to preform the slaughtering in the afternoon. poor thing.
pete just left. he gets up early to make sure everything is okay on the farm and then he drives his big black range rover to his architectural firm in the city. winding down the narrow country dirt roads, surrounded by bush and animals, i wonder if he drives to work like i used to drive to school. ill bet he does. ill bet hes not awake yet. none of us are awake.
when i was 16, i had big plans for myself. i was going to be a lawyer, a businessman, an executive.... anything but a simple english housewife on a sheep farm. but it just fell into place. im not saying life here isnt good. the life is great. there are no worries about money, constant trips to london, an affectionate boyfriend, maids, and a lot of sex.
its just.... i didnt see myself here. and when i wandered here like a sheep i didnt realize i would be devoting a portion of my life to being an architect's boyfriend on a sheep farm.
the insomnia is getting to me. it could be the sheep, it could be myself telling me this isnt where i need to be, or it could be all the pills i pop. prescription pain killers are easy to get here. complain about back pain (from the car accident), and the doctor calls the pharmacy and the pharmacy puts the vikes in a little green glass bottle. then i pop them. no one knows about my pill popping habits. i have to remain together on the outside.
my day is simple. wasted, actually. i wake up early and watch the sun rise alone. then ill get a hot steamy shower and get ready to face the day. ill take a stroll through the grounds and then, if im feeling adventerous, ill take my roadster and drive to the train station and vatch the next train to london to buy clothes and cosmetics to make pete stick with me.
if im not adventerous, ill drive to town and pick up prescriptions and take a look at the harbor. after that, pehaps a swim?
the setting seems so romantic: the green grass, the twisting roads, the sheep, the old country house with a pool. in reality, living here isnt all that gorgeous. it gets tired just like everything else. actually, id die to take a shower in a bathroom that was made after 1910 and i would kill for bright lights and electricity that worked more often when it just felt like working.
pete'll stroll in around 4:00 and we go through "the routine" for about an hour. we'll make small talk about our days, even though he just talks and i nod. hes the one who gets to see the interesting things. nothing changes during my day except the occasional sale at harrod's..... if i go to london. pete tells me about his clients that fly from all over the world to see him and the gigantic projects hes involved in and how stressed out he is.
the only thing that is exciting about my day is when the pool guys fuck up the pH on the pool.
after the smalltalk, we go to our room and have sex. we dont make love, we dont fuck.... we just have sex. making love and fucking are two phrases that evoke an emotion of excitment or activity. when pete and i have sex, its just routine. we do it every day on schedule, just like catching the train. our timing is like a swiss watch. the sex is rouine. sometimes i wont even remember getting into bed with him. its just something we do.... like driving to school.
our chef will prepare dinner. and pete and i will sit there munching on blanched vegtables and al dente pasta drenched in god-knows-what. no words exchanged. just eating.
after dinner, we mix ourselves drinks and smoke cigarettes out on the balcony. ill have a cosmopolitian and he'll have straight vodka. we just sit there glaring into eachother's eyes, trying to figure out who the other one is. for two people that live together, we really dont know eachother. the agreement behind our relationship is silent, but we both know it. im there to keep him company until we grow apart. im there to live off of him. we have eachother, but its still lonely for me. i cant say i love pete, he's kind of just there.
ill go to the bathrrom and pop two or three vikes. i fall asleep early and the day will start all over again tomorrow.
its a routine life. i want to break the cycle of routine someday, but sometimes it is just so comfortbale being in routine. having no drama, no excitement.... just the usual.
itll continue this way until i figure out i really should get on my own feet and go back to the states to get a job. which may be never. ill look out of this window for the next twenty years worrying about black sheep and wondering how i got here.