please don't be in love with somebody else
Old purgings of my hard drive from the winter months.
I am one of those people who have to say what is on their mind in one form or another or it comes out in violent and destructive ways the longer it is kept in. Should I write those apology letters, do that therapy exercise? People I have wronged...time to forgive.
I am up to my old tricks again. Do I just get bored with my own lifeless heart, causing me to play with other people's little fantasies of romance? People's fantasies of what they could possibly think I am like: Maybe they think I am always on, always cracking jokes and garnering appluase for my valient comedic efforts. Maybe they think I look good under my clothes, under my skin. Maybe they think I got those bruises from bumping into a table edge. Maybe they like my smile. Maybe they think I am thoughtful and loyal. Maybe they think I am smart. I hope they know I am nothing like they see me on my "good" days. They make these assumptions about me that they see as the truth and anything differing is just simply less true. How is my tendency to be cruel any less true than my tendency to be emotionally supportive to my friends? How is my pessimism to be tsked and laughed away, because as a person who sometimes smiles and laughs, that is just silly talk. How is me warning someone that I WILL hurt them "crazy talk" ":) :)" How do you know I am a "genuinely nice" person? Have I ever fucking done something genuinely nice to you? That is your assumption about what you think I'm gonna do for you. I am not going to do shit for you. I am going to use you, pick through you for what I want and then discard the remains. That's life; get used to it. At least that is life on my playing field.
I felt like I was at the top of the world. Honestly.
Boy of uncertain origin - You were a wall, solid, I could move roughly against. A fortress of muscle that could absorb my blows without so much as flinching. A sandstone to erode my anger. You could take my fury into those dark secret places and remove it temporarily from my wild grip. My floundering self respect could fall by the wayside for a few hours.
Corey - I resent you for giving up on our friendship. We had a connection and you can't deny anything that took place. I think you are just scared and I understand that. It terrified me too. Like looking into the core of the earth. I wish you would have sucked it up. I wish you would have stuck around. I wish that our connection these days didn't come in one or two generic "catching up" sentences every six months. I wish you would rise up and use your potential instead of squandering it in the wasteland of Westland. Everytime I hear This Is For Keeps or Your Own Disaster I would like to punch you in the face a little bit. We fought so hard to establish what we had and for what? To act like it never happened? I'm done trying, but who knows when I will be done thinking about it. I am sorry I slept with Cory. I thought I was doing you a favor. I essentially broke up with him for you. You made out with Jessica and slept with Olivia. So why does it matter? I know you only slept with her to get back at me. I hope her spray tan rubbed off on you. Idc...I still love you as only a true friend only could. You are scared and inconsiderate and it makes me angry.
Cory - A million words to you; nothing of value. You will probably haunt me always. You were integral in the most chaotic part of my life. I think it is definitely for the better we don't talk anymore, but I wish we could have had more closure. Although I don't ever think I could get enough closure with you. I'm not even sure what or why...but I guess it will always be an unsolved knot in my chest. My stomach will always periodically hurt when I think about you. I wish you well, even though I know it will not go well for you. I fantasize sometimes about what would happen if we ran into each other and worked things out and came away as friends. But I know that is silly. Thank you for everything you did for me and even though some of the things we went through sucked, I suppose I wouldn't take them back if I could. The ache slowly dulls with time.
Sorry ex girlfriend - There she was. Standing there, clumsy and self-depricating, in the ugliest sweater I'd even seen someone wear. She was perfection. I still have trouble describing the turmoil my stomach feels when she is near, or exactly why I desire to ruminate on her. I guess because she is untouchable. She is the ultimate taboo, she is red tape and hoops one should never jump through. If I could get close enough to break her a little, to inflict some mutual violence upon her body. Her hips are wide and her nose is a bit crooked. Her eyes are whips, sometimes they sparkle and that is my favorite thing. To see her eyes light up with recognition or pleasure. They close when she is smoking or drunk, lazily drift shut. She is at once robust and delicate. She requires love and hatred. Stupidity and grace. Intelligence and recklessness. Hallelujah. These thoughts will remain buried forever in the deepest recesses of my heart. These are secrets not even worthy of the written word. The way the world works sometimes is unfathomable. I don't get it. I think that thinking you can learn to love someone is dangerous.
Haiks - I always lived in my best friend's shadow. I am not sure exactly why we were best friends. Maybe because I could make her laugh. I was so awkward and fumbling and she had cool matching fleece mittens and a non-dorky hat to match her fleece vest (all the rage in 1998). I had no fleece vest or cool insulated lunch box. I had a brown paper bag and hand me downs from my older brothers. I would always go to her house in the summertime and we would ride bikes or play in the pool with the neighbor kids. Sometimes we would make up plays or her favorite was to make up choreographed dance routines to songs. I was never a good dancer but I tried to go along with what everyone else wanted to do. Her favorites were pop groups, mostly the Spice Girls. This was all new to me so I tried to learn the songs so I could sing along and dance and not be left out. We would look for new material and I remember one day her singing her little happy heart out to her favorite backstreet boys and spice girls tapes/cds and my favorite cassette tape was tigerlily by natalie merchant or nebraska by bruce springsteen. I would sit in front of my little boombox in my room and play it and listen to the words. I wasn't sure if I should bring it over to dance to...that has always been my life.
Embarrassing - I liked Eminem in sixth grade because I was angry. I am not embarrassed to admit it. I was searching for something and my older brother had some of his cds. His words were vulgar, biting, sarcastic, seething. Even though it was many different life experiences then I had, I still felt drawn to the music because I had these turbulent emotions boiling under the surface for the first time in my life. Shortly after I discovered punk rock and I realized that was what I was truly searching for. It is so cliche but it blew my little mind and I felt like the ears of God were planted on my head. I was an outcast in a lot of ways. The book Speak was like me in a lot of ways but without the rape and total silence. That was my escape. I could have cared less about Britney Spears or rap or whatever the popular kids liked. I had this beautiful music that connected me in a naive way to all these other beautiful freaks. To a world where blue hair was beautiful and nose rings weren't weird. These had been my people all along and I felt like finally I could be excited about something. I know that is an overly simplistic view of the subculture but I have a totally nostalgic and happy view of it. I understand everything isn't so simple or how we remember it
I have nothing to write a story about. I am not cut out to be a writer. I thought I was. It's so disappointing to realize you are not poetic or talented in the slightest.
I am one of those people who have to say what is on their mind in one form or another or it comes out in violent and destructive ways the longer it is kept in. Should I write those apology letters, do that therapy exercise? People I have wronged...time to forgive.
I am up to my old tricks again. Do I just get bored with my own lifeless heart, causing me to play with other people's little fantasies of romance? People's fantasies of what they could possibly think I am like: Maybe they think I am always on, always cracking jokes and garnering appluase for my valient comedic efforts. Maybe they think I look good under my clothes, under my skin. Maybe they think I got those bruises from bumping into a table edge. Maybe they like my smile. Maybe they think I am thoughtful and loyal. Maybe they think I am smart. I hope they know I am nothing like they see me on my "good" days. They make these assumptions about me that they see as the truth and anything differing is just simply less true. How is my tendency to be cruel any less true than my tendency to be emotionally supportive to my friends? How is my pessimism to be tsked and laughed away, because as a person who sometimes smiles and laughs, that is just silly talk. How is me warning someone that I WILL hurt them "crazy talk" ":) :)" How do you know I am a "genuinely nice" person? Have I ever fucking done something genuinely nice to you? That is your assumption about what you think I'm gonna do for you. I am not going to do shit for you. I am going to use you, pick through you for what I want and then discard the remains. That's life; get used to it. At least that is life on my playing field.
I felt like I was at the top of the world. Honestly.
Boy of uncertain origin - You were a wall, solid, I could move roughly against. A fortress of muscle that could absorb my blows without so much as flinching. A sandstone to erode my anger. You could take my fury into those dark secret places and remove it temporarily from my wild grip. My floundering self respect could fall by the wayside for a few hours.
Corey - I resent you for giving up on our friendship. We had a connection and you can't deny anything that took place. I think you are just scared and I understand that. It terrified me too. Like looking into the core of the earth. I wish you would have sucked it up. I wish you would have stuck around. I wish that our connection these days didn't come in one or two generic "catching up" sentences every six months. I wish you would rise up and use your potential instead of squandering it in the wasteland of Westland. Everytime I hear This Is For Keeps or Your Own Disaster I would like to punch you in the face a little bit. We fought so hard to establish what we had and for what? To act like it never happened? I'm done trying, but who knows when I will be done thinking about it. I am sorry I slept with Cory. I thought I was doing you a favor. I essentially broke up with him for you. You made out with Jessica and slept with Olivia. So why does it matter? I know you only slept with her to get back at me. I hope her spray tan rubbed off on you. Idc...I still love you as only a true friend only could. You are scared and inconsiderate and it makes me angry.
Cory - A million words to you; nothing of value. You will probably haunt me always. You were integral in the most chaotic part of my life. I think it is definitely for the better we don't talk anymore, but I wish we could have had more closure. Although I don't ever think I could get enough closure with you. I'm not even sure what or why...but I guess it will always be an unsolved knot in my chest. My stomach will always periodically hurt when I think about you. I wish you well, even though I know it will not go well for you. I fantasize sometimes about what would happen if we ran into each other and worked things out and came away as friends. But I know that is silly. Thank you for everything you did for me and even though some of the things we went through sucked, I suppose I wouldn't take them back if I could. The ache slowly dulls with time.
Sorry ex girlfriend - There she was. Standing there, clumsy and self-depricating, in the ugliest sweater I'd even seen someone wear. She was perfection. I still have trouble describing the turmoil my stomach feels when she is near, or exactly why I desire to ruminate on her. I guess because she is untouchable. She is the ultimate taboo, she is red tape and hoops one should never jump through. If I could get close enough to break her a little, to inflict some mutual violence upon her body. Her hips are wide and her nose is a bit crooked. Her eyes are whips, sometimes they sparkle and that is my favorite thing. To see her eyes light up with recognition or pleasure. They close when she is smoking or drunk, lazily drift shut. She is at once robust and delicate. She requires love and hatred. Stupidity and grace. Intelligence and recklessness. Hallelujah. These thoughts will remain buried forever in the deepest recesses of my heart. These are secrets not even worthy of the written word. The way the world works sometimes is unfathomable. I don't get it. I think that thinking you can learn to love someone is dangerous.
Haiks - I always lived in my best friend's shadow. I am not sure exactly why we were best friends. Maybe because I could make her laugh. I was so awkward and fumbling and she had cool matching fleece mittens and a non-dorky hat to match her fleece vest (all the rage in 1998). I had no fleece vest or cool insulated lunch box. I had a brown paper bag and hand me downs from my older brothers. I would always go to her house in the summertime and we would ride bikes or play in the pool with the neighbor kids. Sometimes we would make up plays or her favorite was to make up choreographed dance routines to songs. I was never a good dancer but I tried to go along with what everyone else wanted to do. Her favorites were pop groups, mostly the Spice Girls. This was all new to me so I tried to learn the songs so I could sing along and dance and not be left out. We would look for new material and I remember one day her singing her little happy heart out to her favorite backstreet boys and spice girls tapes/cds and my favorite cassette tape was tigerlily by natalie merchant or nebraska by bruce springsteen. I would sit in front of my little boombox in my room and play it and listen to the words. I wasn't sure if I should bring it over to dance to...that has always been my life.
Embarrassing - I liked Eminem in sixth grade because I was angry. I am not embarrassed to admit it. I was searching for something and my older brother had some of his cds. His words were vulgar, biting, sarcastic, seething. Even though it was many different life experiences then I had, I still felt drawn to the music because I had these turbulent emotions boiling under the surface for the first time in my life. Shortly after I discovered punk rock and I realized that was what I was truly searching for. It is so cliche but it blew my little mind and I felt like the ears of God were planted on my head. I was an outcast in a lot of ways. The book Speak was like me in a lot of ways but without the rape and total silence. That was my escape. I could have cared less about Britney Spears or rap or whatever the popular kids liked. I had this beautiful music that connected me in a naive way to all these other beautiful freaks. To a world where blue hair was beautiful and nose rings weren't weird. These had been my people all along and I felt like finally I could be excited about something. I know that is an overly simplistic view of the subculture but I have a totally nostalgic and happy view of it. I understand everything isn't so simple or how we remember it
I have nothing to write a story about. I am not cut out to be a writer. I thought I was. It's so disappointing to realize you are not poetic or talented in the slightest.