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It was seven dollars so I don't think its sterling silver, but I don't think it'll turn black. The stones aren't even cubic zirconia, so the shine will eventually fade. By then I'll be bored with it, and need a different style to identify the personality of my wrist. It won't last as long as I thought it would, because the stone separations keep snagging the fine hairs beneath it. I've been shaking my wrist all morning to release them. If they would detach from the skin completely that would be great. But no, they stay buried in their follicle.
They have something I don't. The patience to perfect a meticulous eye for ... editing. They have the advantage of higher education and word manipulation, facilitating a reader's journey to the point of a dissertation, a story, paragraph, a sentence, whereas I can scarcely manage to dance around a main idea. An electronic heartless spell checker corrects incorrect letter placements, but never bothers to try to understand the essence of my expression. But that's okay. My passion is just shy of 95%. I don't aim to make a reader be in my mind, just to hear it ramble a bit.
"Our families get along well,"
I say at our tiny candle-lit gathering to celebrate 30 years of loving success for my parents. I realize how untrue the statement was. We've all tried to take her in despite her blatant insecurities and sour faces, but we eventually gave in to perfunctory politeness. She makes not the slightest feign of ingratiation. When she's not around we talk nice about her, but kill the sincerity with our exaggerated tone and giggles. Hey, we sincerely tried. Well, I didn't try as hard, because I know she likes egging on the people who slander me.
More than one person spread exaggerated rumors about me. Fighting to clean my name would've only stooped my honor. People will believe whatever the hell they like to believe, and nothing I do to defend myself will put them in the right. Therefore, I patiently allowed time and action redeem my name. My name is becoming become clear to those who were fogged down by twisted lies spawned in a pool of jealousy. People who are unhappy, judgmental, and that only fuck in missionary position. I haven't lost a thing except the friendship festering in the scum of the earth.
Thursday is an awkward day. It's the misfit of the week. Not in the middle. Not a weekend. The Friday anticipation begins on Wednesday...so Thursday is like an uninvited extension for Wednesday. Everything ends up being surreal about it. On a full moon, forget about it. If it was pulled from the calendar, nobody would miss it. Except those kids that have early release. What's up with that? A few years ago there was no 'get out of school early card'. Maybe the system felt the awkward length of the week and thought children shouldn't have to plow through it.
Two bad habits combine. First is the take what you can because you can. Free coffee at banks, chicken samples on toothpicks, holiday address labels. Effortless gluttony. It's available, right in front of you, you can't stop. The second, keeping something because its always been there. Invisible, unnecessary comforts. Who cares what the greeting card says, it must be sentimental. The ugly night table lamp, well, it's always been there. Shabby peach colored bathroom, since I moved in. It's been there. Did I take him because of availability and is he here because I'm used to having him linger around?
Big Fat Doofus is leaving. I'm singing my song. Like a kid's taunting song: nanny nanny boo boo. Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬ËœBig Fat Doofus leaving'. Someone else can wince every time he grunts, huffs, tells himself he's stupid, or does his feminine customer service voice. Someone else can hate his kiss ass tone and the gross wart growing on his greasy nose. Someone else can smell the mounds of grub that stink up the office of garlic and armpit. They can write a blog about him and post it for the world to know how disgraceful his presence is to this office.
Common sense is over my head impossible. My perception belongs to the tangible: music, art, dessert. I'm collecting viewpoint angles from everywhere to chart on a map. Pieces and bits since departing mom's gunky uterus to the last time I pissed. Disease, imbalance, prayer, hobbies, workouts, kindergarten, graduation. Elders, therapists, daddy, women over 30. Grabbing random stuff from every corner to find a pattern. Correlating unlikely details to add up answers I can't perceive. Can't pushpin my lack of equilibrium. Like an idiot savant that senses number patterns breaking down Castro's explicit plans to instigate WW3 in a Cosmopolitan magazine.
She says I have anger.
Ok. Sure. I'm fuming mad.
Why is that? Can you tell me now?
We're going to be monitoring my moods in one of those "about me"journals.
She's curious to see what we find?
The songs I choose, the doodles I draw, and lists I keep will not miraculously explain anything.
If I've learned anything in life is that everything is variable and inconclusive.
If "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."- Einstein.
Then = "Don't assume malice, if stupid suffices"- adage from unknown.
She's my baby. Those two extended ears that flop back, up and out. That fuzzy little twitching nose. That cotton bottom tail. That scurrying at night. The tiny balls of dry poop. The skimming of her teething teeth on my finger. The way she follows me around. Her frozen lumpy butt when I carry her with thumbs under her arms. I have someone to come home to till death do us part. Someone who knows what its like to live in a cage with a limited toy selection. Someday, I'll buy this baby bunny a frickin condo made of meadow.
"Legend says she's the last living fairy."They cautiously stepped through the woods.
"Her wings are a sheer gold, translucent cartilage that lights up in rainbow colors. Their width spreads so far she wraps herself in it to sleep.-
A faint cry falls with a swift circular breeze, followed by a flapping flutter hitting the night fog. A shimmering sparkle outlines the silhouette of a delicate girl, and disappears into the treetops.
"Liquid stardust flows through her veins, lighting up her life source. But in this dark city, she's fading out. It doesn't rain sun drops for her to swallow.-
They add color to the front office with treats for employees. They assign the old saggy clown of a receptionist to pick out what the other conscience humans in the office might find up building. Morale booster? If they're gonna offer us stale jelly beans to thank us for putting up with underpaid slave drivers, they should put out! Buy Jelly Belly Jelly Beans! An actual pleasantry to rid our tongues from the compliment chlorine-flavored coffee sucking the moisture from our mouths. Personally, I just like blending two blueberries and one popcorn to create the flavor of a blueberry muffin.
I I have a relationship with our morning star. Matter of fact, I wished I lived on a planet lit by a chandelier dawns and sparkling twilights from the overabundance of hanging suns. Here our daylight skies are littered with endless skyscrapers, or we're trapped by four walls, impeding our imaginations to stretch to the other realms that might exist. The only beneficial uses of our natural resources are wireless communication and clothes. I'll setup my computer outside the office, where they can hover their craft and transport me to a far away civilization that refuses to top buildings with ceilings.
I needed somewhere to hang my head
Without your noose
You gave me something that I didn't have
But had no use
I was too weak to give in
Too strong to lose
My heart is under arrest again
But I break loose
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I'll never give in
I've got another confession my friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
My ritual gym habits are declining. It's not by choice. But my joints are mimicking Smack, Crackle andPop.
This means two things:
1)I'm coming down with Lou Gherig's, Rheumatoid Arthritis, or Muscular Dystrophy.
2) I'm poor and cannot afford a pillow, much less a mattress that are engineered for astronauts.
Forget that, I can't afford a friendly visit to the chiropractic, which I believe they are nuts with diplomas but I'm desperate right now.
Maybe I just need Helga in a day spa to loosen up knots.
Did I say loosen?
I meant detangle.
Maybe I need some Percocet.
Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God what have we done to you
We always tried to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have put you through
Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give
Angels with silver wings
Shouldn't know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you
If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it's your eyes He's seeing through
I pray you learn to trust
Precious - Depeche Mode
I want to suffer the pain I put you through.
I want to create the Hell I don't believe in so I can hurt forever for what I did.
I didn't mean to hurt you.
I meant to love you.
I didn't know how.
I gave up.
I'll take your balance of the blame and sink with it until I can't breathe.
I want to kill you, to make you unconscious of the monster that ripped your heart out, your dignity.
That kiss... the man meant nothing.
It meant I don't know how to live without you.
Goodbye, my love.
There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week
I keep on talkin' trash but I never say anything
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
and the touchin' leads to sex
and then there is no mystery left
I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you
but just bein' around you offers me another form of relief
When the lonliness leads to bad dreams
and the bad dreams lead me to callin' you
and I call you and say "C'MERE!"
And it's bad news
Baby I'm bad news
I'm just bad news, bad news
Some cuntbubble tailgated me all the way to work. When someone rides my ass like that, I get inspired to enjoy the beauty of country roads.
Pollen dusted trees .........
Cows eating pasture.........
(I slam brakes violently!!! My rear view mirror reflects a distorted face jolt forward at the unexpected.)
That wasn't a stop sign. It was a speed limit sign. I'm going 10 under it seems. What's that? A passing lane. I better speed up so no one disturbs my view of the horizon.
She parked right behind my car at work. An underpaid illegal bitch.
There's this craze about postsecret.com. Who doesn't love a mystery? Who doesn't salivate for juicy gossip? I know I sure do, but I don't like all the drama implicated in knowing facts that could so easily travel by mouth to become slander. I must buy the book to indulge in secrets that won't get anyone I know or me in trouble. Lord knows I've accumulated a bundle of secrets within the past few years. The anonymity of 100words suffices to a degree, but a 4x6 cardboard spill will color up and create wonder. Oh, how I love to be mysterious.
"After we've been as close as we were, I think I have the right to interrogate you.-
"Uh. Okay......what happened .... I mean...... Uhm......I don't...Did you...? What I'm saying is......
...... I would never act that way with just anybody. I want to know if I was just a matter of vulnerable convenience, because must have been something ... you know... even the most remote...
Can you help me out?-
"I think we both gave into a moment of weakness. We've never really gotten to know each other.-
"Yeah! Exactly what I was thinking!"Liar! Liar! Liar!
It's not rock bottom until your six feet under. For the first time, I'm starting over for the last time. I've traveled through the variant levels of all qualities of life, trying to find an anchor. I never can and/or will. I've settled not to settle.
I'll go up when I'm high and go down when I'm low.
If you can't beat em, join em.
Let er rip.
You want to fight? Make sure to win.
I'm too malleable to solidify my existence.
A mediocre reality with some smiles in between satiates this life of mine.
Good for nothing library. The Runny Babbit, a Silly Book by Shel Silverstein is checked out. No old movies to rent for free. Blockbuster's close-minded selection doesn't carry Amadeus, a more deranged, tormented mind than mine. No appetite for ice creams and aversion to sweets. No Starbucks with 78 degree conditioning. No quaint mom and pop stores that ding when doors open and close. No Barnes and Noble with enormous cushy couches to lounge in. A town without color, options, culture, variety. Boring conformists with nowhere to go, driving like their lack of ambition. It's time for a drastic change.
The true excitement of moving is suffocated by the annoyances of packing. Trips to the DMV, switching insurance, sorting stored junk, asking friends with trucks to drive here and there, filling out the address change at the post office. There's all the pain staking aspects you don't wanna cry through. Picking furniture to tag in a yard sale, sealing boxes, removing the last dress from the closet, final visit to the dry cleaners, the last time you pull out of the drive way. The picture you found buried under the bed that you couldn't bear to look at or burn.
Everyone's saying it. That I have a negative self image. What the hell are they seeing in me? My fashion is great. I'm know how to have a good time (when I want to). I'm fit, and I stand out in crowds. I get the men I want (in some form or another). And I can carry a great conversation. So I don't trust myself every other day, I still think I put off vibrancy amidst dullness. It's all about my willingness. Lately I will to lay low. But when I have to emerge... you know I bring it on!
"Are we moping?-
I could hear the static shuffling of her sheets coming through on the receiver.
"Are we allowed to?-
We both sighed. The puffs sound awful and loud on the phone.
"I'd tell you everything will be okay, but it won't."
I toss to face the wall on my bed.
I can imagine her closing her eyes the same way I'm shutting them.
"I wish I could just fast forward through next year. The worst part is the waiting.-
My eyes well up again.
She says aloud what I'm thinking.
"I'm tired of crying.-
All because of this incompetent failing technology!!!
If my cell phone didn't drop calls like rain, we would've have less frustration in our communication. If his stupid phone hadn't quit on him, I would've known it wasn't over. When it was over, if the other guy wouldn't have let his phone fall from his clip, we would've addressed our situation immediately. All within a weekend's work. All over dead air waves. Words unspoken stuck in voicemails. I used to say my phone was my lifeline to the outside world. How ironic it makes me want to curl up and die.
He turns twenty-five today. He was supposed to call,yipping and cheering about the bike he just raced down 95. He was to go on and on about loading his truck and coming to pick me up on it to drive it down a boardwalk. Instead, I will go home today. Put together the new vacuum cleaner to replace the broken one, let the bunny loose to get her exercise, watch her closely cause she's teething, give all liquor collection to my sister, and tell my demons to the elders. He'll purchase his bike. I wonder if he'll drive in silence.
He's the type of guy I couldn't bare to lose. The little piece I had of him, now must remain an unattainable desire forever. Aside from it being too soon. Aside from painful history dancing circles around his circle of friends. Aside from my instability, I would shut down and wither away if I had him, only to lose him. No, I'd rather keep this fantasy. I'd rather be one of those friends that listen and bites her tongue. I'd rather not have any guilt related to his name. Only the memory of tasting his skin. His sweet, sweet skin.
This is a complete sentence.
A complete thought.
I was going for two in a row.
I'm coping. Forward March.
Counts for something right?
Sigh...where is the love? What's wrong with the world today? I want to stand outside it and observe these deteriorating masses of atoms trip over their forward steps.
Right outside the atmosphere, next to a seraphim to discuss with an ethereal voice connected to a body of ectoplasm.....
why things must be so damn chaotic?
Why people resign willingly?
Why we try reinventing ourselves, adjusting advice through experience?
Why we become walking aimless empty shells?
The first call was for closure. The second call was confirmation of the first call's closure. The final stage of closure was a letter printed in green ink, Trebuchet font. An "us"picture printed on white paper, red-eye removed, cut into an insert-picture-here do-it-yourself greeting card. Subtly I lay the larger lump of the blame on him, accept some of my own, tort his actions into my grievance, but step down with dignity. A tear jerker for sure. He will realize he let go of the only love that can tolerate him. It's sealed and stamp. I'm never sending it.
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