Sunday, July 28, 2013

Single Girls Live in Fuzzy Red Cocoons

Sunday July 28, 2013 2:19 P.M.
                I was lying in bed all wrapped up in my favorite fuzzy red blanket remember fond memories of C and I. Sometimes as a lie within my red fuzzy cocoon of comfort I feel as if my bed is an extension of myself. It is hard to tell where I begin and it ends.

                It’s tiring being so painfully aware of how single I am. I don’t want to be this girl I’m becoming. The girl that doesn't exist unless she’s somebody’s girlfriend. I want to exist apart from someone. I want to exist individually. I don’t want to be so codependent. I hate how much I need people because I’m a terrible judge of character and the people I let get closest to me often hurt me the most. 

Friday, July 26, 2013

Kissing Queen

My life is boring. There is nothing particularly interesting about me. I have no special talents or abilities. Exciting things don’t happen to me. I live in Florida in a city you’ve probably never heard of.
                And this is my story.
                Let’s fast forward for the time being to my junior year of high school. Heck, let’s skip right to my first kiss. Underwhelming romantic, it took place in a soundproof piano room in the school’s independent music study area.  I ditched some school ceremony to rendezvous with him. We both sat on the wooden bench in silence. I was aching for him to kiss me, but he was playing hard to get.
                “I’m not going to kiss you unless you tell me you want me to.”
                “Why are you doing this? You know I want you to.”
                “But I want you to say it.”
                “I want you to kiss me.”

                And he did. It was awkward, but I didn’t realize at the time. I was too busy reveling in the moment. I’d made a bet with myself at the beginning of the year – that this year – my sixteenth pathetic year here on planet earth would be the one that I got my first kiss. I had succeeded. I was elated. 

People I know, That know me.

I know people
who have monsters in their head
instead of under the bed.

I know people that
spend their love
in order to buy time.

I know people
who use their daddy issues
as an excuse to hold on too tight.

Yeah, I know some people
and they're all a reflection
of me.

Dear Future Me

2:21 P.M. (Same Day)
                Dear Future Me,
                                I am writing you this letter in the event that in the near future you find yourself regretting your decision to break up with C. I got the idea from How I Met Your Mother so bear with me.
                He was a great guy but you needed to let him go so he could figure himself out and what he wants out of life. Likewise you needed to let him go so you could figure yourself out and what you wanted out of life. As much as you wanted to you couldn’t do this while you two were together and that’s no one’s fault.
                You’re both so young and need time to experience things that you wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. Everything happens for a reason and you must remember that when God says no to one thing it’s because he has something even better in store.
                It’s okay to remember the good times and even the bad if it helps you cope, but don’t regret. He was your first love and you were his. Revel in that and know that is something great. He was your first in so many ways and the thought of him having a second or third may hurt but a time will come when you’ll love again too. Don’t doubt God’s plan. Don’t doubt your decision. When you feel lonely just remember the words tattooed on your skin: “still growing into my wings, but one day I’ll fly.” Rest assured in that truth.
                You and C were the sun and the moon. It worked for a while but you were doing more damage than good by staying together. You had two different definitions of worthwhile experiences. You should never be with someone that makes you feel less than. You shouldn’t have to compete against the one you love. Love isn’t a competition. It’s sacrifice. It’s doing instead of just saying.
                Don’t be bitter or angry towards him. He loved you as much as he could at this point in time. Don’t put your life on pause for him, but you also shouldn’t rush into things out of spite. Don’t do anything stupid that could have a lasting impact because you think it will take your mind off the pain. It may work for a moment, but you can only outrun reality for so long.
                Maybe one day when you’ve both matured and lived a lifetime apart something magical will happen and it will be that much better because the time you spent apart. Maybe you’ll never see him again. Either way be happy that whatever happened was for the best. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and go do something productive.

P.S. You depending on how far into the future you decide to come back and read this, remember that you want to name your child Solace if it’s a girl and August if it’s a boy. Hell, just go ahead and have two kids. This is not to say you should rush into having kids. If ever you go through one of those phases where you think a baby will fix all your problems just watch the movie A Happy Event. You’ll thank me later. 

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Treasure Hunt

                 After we both finished our meals and Asher had a second cup of coffee we paid for the meal – compliments of Gavin. We climbed back into his pick-up and he pulled onto the main road running through the city. We road in silence until –
                “Hey, you just passed our turn!” He turned to look at me and shot me his sideways smile.
                “Relax. I wanna take you somewhere. You trust me?”
                “I dunno if I should. The last time I trusted someone he betrayed that trust.” I trailed off and turned to look out the window as the streets flashed by. The first covers of night had begun to fall. We didn’t speak again until he pulled to a stop.
                “It should be close.”
                “What should be close?” Instead of answering he climbed out of the car. I followed him. I couldn’t tell where we were. Maybe some city park. We walked along a winding path for what seemed like five minutes and then he came to an abrupt stop. He strayed from the path, into what looked to be a small expanse of forest. I reached my arms out in front of me, not wanting to lose sight of him in the darkness and my fingers brushed against the back of his t-shirt. He stopped walking and held out his hand with a laugh. I took hold of it with only a slight reluctance.
                He began walking again, only slower this time to avoid tripping over the upturned tree roots. He jolted to a halt, letting go of my hand. I crossed my arms over my chest in a defensive stance as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He used it as a flashlight, shining it towards the ground.
                “There!” He said pointing.
                “What?” I asked, fearing his answer. He handed me his phone.
                “Shine it right here,” he instructed, guiding the beam of light. He kneeled on the forest floor and pushed aside some branches to reveal an army green storage box. He popped the latched and opened it.
                “What’s that?”
                “It’s a geo cache. It’s like a real live treasure hunt.” He dug through the box and found a small note pad and a pencil. “This is a list of all the other people that have found it before us. I’ll write our names down.”
                “How’d you know this was here?” I asked.
                “Well you can find coordinates online, but I made this cache a few years back.” He placed the pad and pencil back into the box. He dug around again and held up a hand woven bracelet made of hemp. He slipped it on his wrist and smiled. “One of the rules of geo caching is if you take something out, you have to put something in to re place it.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter.
                “You smoke?” I asked. He tossed it into the box.
                “I used to. I just never stopped carrying around the lighter because I’d developed a nervous habit of flicking it on and off. It helped me cope with my anxiety.” He pulled out a piece of paper with a picture on it. He held it up to show me. It was a red, white and blue peace sign. “It’s a temporary tattoo,” he said, handing it to me.  I admired it for a moment before pushing it into my pocket.
                “I don’t have anything to put in,” I said.
                “Sure you do. There has to be something in that purse of yours you wouldn’t mind parting with.” I dug through my bag in the darkness until my hand brushed against a small bottle of body spray. I pulled it out and handed it to him.

                “That’ll do,” he said and tossed it into the box. He snapped it closed and was on his feet again in an instant. I handed him back his phone. He placed it back into his pocket and held out his hand to me again. I took it and we started walking back in the general direction of the car. 

Dream Me Into Existence

You like me more when you're asleep.
I seem prettier through your closed eyelids.
My voice is more sing-songier over your snores.
My touch feels electric.
I'm as real as you want me to be.
I exist as long as you're sleeping.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

5:23 P.M. (Same Day)

                Work was painfully slow, but on the bright side my coworker was in fact very attractive. I kept waiting for him to bring up the fact that he had a girlfriend because it seemed too good to be true. The only unfortunate thing is that he didn’t invite me to grab a bite with him after work. He was handsome, he’s in a band, he’s Italian, he’s handsome. Let’s call cute coworker guy Italy.
                As we talked we came to realize we had quite a few mutual friends. He even knew a guy I’d crushed on my junior year. I tried my best not to make my enthrallment with him too obvious, butI’ve always been a terrible actress. A few times I looked in Italy’s direction and caught him looking back at me. Maybe I was just imaging it…but maybe I wasn’t.

                The sad thing about guys is that as a girl I tend to like the idea of a guy a lot more than the actual guy himself. I see an attractive male and think he will match up to my idealistic hopes of how a guy should be. For this reason I am frequently disappointed. This disappointment tends to start shortly after they open their mouth and begin to speak. The words that come out of a guys’ mouth largely reflect the kind of person he is. Certain things a person says can muck up how I perceive their physical appearance. I don’t care how good looking you are – the moment the word “epic” leaves your mouth you immediately drop ten points in attractiveness. 

Wednesday July 24, 2013 2:27 A.M.

                I miss having someone to hold and having someone to hold me. I miss tender kisses and the way it feels to share mutual affections with someone. I can’t seem to find a decent remedy for this, so here I am in the wee hours of the morning typing away on my keyboard, hoping to find some resolution to this dilemma.
                I can recall fond memories of days when C and I were going steady without much feeling now. Like there is a force field numbing my emotions. I’m not sure if I prefer numbness or pain. The obvious answer for most would be numbness, but pain can be pleasant when it’s reminding us of or mortality. I am alive, and pain is just a reminder of that. If I deny pain then aren’t I also denying the perks of my very existence?
                I’m not trying to go all philosophical on you, but I can’t help that my mind is churning with curiosity. Another thought that is occupying my mind is work. Tomorrow I work the morning shift with a co-worker I have yet to meet. My foolish hope is that he is attractive and finds me mutually appealing. Maybe then he’ll ask me to grab a bite with him after work and we’ll hit it off over a shared appetizer and lighthearted stories about years past.
                …But the cynical part of me can’t let me enjoy this fantasy because this part of me is quick to remind me that my fantasies are no more than overly hopefulness. I’ve learned the consequences that come with being overly hopeful and I don’t wish to re-experience these consequences sooner than necessary.
                I spent the last several hours over at J’s house. We caught up on our favorite TV series, smoked some hookah and talked about our dreams. I enjoyed myself, and for a brief time I forgot how lonely I am. But even in the presence of another I can’t seem to completely shake the feeling of isolation.
                I think I like writing because it’s another distraction from those feelings I try so hard to outrun. For a short while I have a purpose and I can feel as though someone is listening to me. Someone can hear me. But of course I’m just talking to myself really. That’s all this is. Me trying to comfort myself. And the thought of that saddens me more than I could have anticipated.
                My life is an indie drama that no one’s ever watched. It collects dust on the bottom of the shelf along with the other VHS tapes that are no longer of use to the video store… by this point I’m sure you’re beginning to grasp what kind of mood I’m in. Introspective. Deeper in thought than I’d care to be.
                As I now will myself not to cry I have the urge to walk down the hall, through the kitchen to my dad’s room and wake him up just so I can have him hold me for a few moments. So I can remember what it’s like to be comforted by someone other than myself. Someone that hardly has the choice to love me. Would he hold me? Let me cry briefly perhaps? Or would he turn me away before I plead my case? This could seem like a cruel response, but I too have been cruel so maybe it would be my karma.
                I know it’s hard for him to see me in a fritz. It makes him feel uncomfortable. Something he can’t fix. I just want him to be my dad for two minutes. Then I could shuffle back to my bedroom, slip into bed and drift in and out of sleep. I don’t know when my dad and I became so afraid of each other. Our relationship is now that of two roommates that don’t really care for the others company. It’s as if I woke up one day and realized I was homeless, yet ironically living in the home of my father. The separation we’ve built up between each other serves as an emotional wall so we can’t hurt each other. Those are two things we’ve both become experts on – hurting each other and building walls.

                It’s strange the way all these feelings well up inside me all of the sudden. I was able to keep them at bay all day, keeping busy at work. In fact I had a great day – even making a decent amount in tips. I keep torturing myself. This self-mutilation only seems to worsen.