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Summer is over and distorting time. The sun escapes earlier everyday and soon you cringe from thinking it was much much later than it actually is. Perception is off. Spinning out of control, I lose track of everything around me. The world is off kilter and I wish to reset the planetary positions. We havenít lost anything, only gained. Minutes and hours will do what they do. Experience comes with its passing. You need not see the sun physically set every day in order to know that it did indeed depart, and will do so again tomorrow and the next.
Space and time. Time and space. Transcending reality. What is reality? Sometimes reality is God. Sometimes we are reality. Sometimes everything outside ourselves is reality. Everything can take on many forms and identities. Reality is mutable. Objects are mutable. But are all objects subject to change? Constant state of flux, yes, but only to certain extents, no? Melted wax changes drastically, yet essentially remains intact. People change drastically, yet remain the same. This chair is in a constant state of decomposition, but remains the same. Only, in a different way. I can't compare our transformations to a chair, can I?
Three months ago, on the third of July, I killed. That agony was briefly romanticized in the same manner as the uncontrollable death of my father two years ago. In comparison this is nothing. I quit working three months after that, three months after this and Iíll probably be quitting school. Things slip so freely from my grasp, my life. And sometimes, when I sense something wants to go, I try dearly to kick it away, pushing away anything good that I have loved deeply. Life changes in the same fashion as the weather. Weíre all blowing in the breeze.
It was a sad movie being played out before my very eyes. My hand pressed to the window. The dog crying. He tried to reach me as I left him. I tried to tear my heart out of his hands. There is no being strong, not this time. I turned forward in my seat and a tear slid from my eye. Sniffle. Mom assures me itíll be okay. Theyíll both be happy together. They need each other. And I worry that my dog will love his new owner more than he loved his six years with me. Iíll miss him.
I gave my dog away for a trial weekend with the boy who will probably become his new owner. If the dog has fun through this weekend then the boy will keep him, already, before me and mom even move. Crying will not fix this, but I cannot contain it. My heart is broken in yet another new way. As we drove away I had my hand on the window as he tried to run after us. Ultimately, they will be good together. The boy wants someone to walk with. My dog may be old but still loves to walk.
These feelings wonít go away and I hate TV, the only truly inane distraction. I gave away my best friend, the one who truly loved me unconditionally. Never had I known that a love like that existed. A bond like this has been severed. How can I allow this to happen? Logically this is the only solution. Dogs are expensive. Life is outrageous. The things me and that dog have gone through, together, are unfathomable. Words cannot encapsulate the way my heart aches with each breath of air. And he has no idea. He doesnít know why I did this.
School has officially defeated me. Itís gotta be more than one bad professor. Perhaps itís foolish to try and blame it on anything other than my own dissonance. Dissonance? Indifference. Spanish is not my thing. Suddenly the entire idea of school is overwhelming, even despite my second Ė and only other Ė class being canceled two weeks into it. A burlap sack of potatoes has more academic motivation than myself. My dad would be highly disappointed right about now. I had been going along so smoothly, now one bump and Iím ready to give up. Next semester shall be undoubtedly much worse.
The length of the hallway smells like a bad collection of morning breath. Hotel rooms absorb only the worst of smells. At ten in the morning there is little a housekeeper can do to keep from gagging. There is little a housekeeper can do toward anything.
In the hallway I stand in front of my fully stocked cart. Soaps, towels, various cleaning suppliesÖ everything. My mind fixates on grabbing towels and the stuff needed to scrub a tub.
A man exits his room. ďNice rooms.Ē
At ten in the morning itís all I can do to keep from killing myself.
D-day is fast approaching. Death day. His deathday. And just like our shared birthday, it is destined to suck.
I had a chance to see, undeniably, that I do in fact sometimes forget about him, like truly forget about him and the whole being dead thing. While doing a little verbal confirmation with my manager about my upcoming hours I actually utterly forgot that I wasn't working on the 28th and I was seriously confused for a moment. It was a good thing to know though. And an even better thing to forget sometimes.
I will surely miss him forever.
As of today I am done with Spanish, hence done with school. At least for the remainder of the semester. I am pathetically unencumbered. Thank God for work. I suspect that I wouldnít have stopped any school thing if not for work. So, if anything other than my own choice were to be to blame here, it would be work. Nothing else. But the fact of the matter is that I dropped out. I value the learning aspect of school, therefore it is a waste of time and effort to stay in classes where Iím not/wonít learn a damn thing.
The cats try to out cry each other. Are they hurt? Will they hurt? Can we do something to save them from themselves? What is an infinitive? Should I care that they are split? What is life anyways? Meaningless. Come empty, leave emptier. Vicious cycles are all we know. I've got nothing and you've given me even less. Show me something real, something meaningful. Something powerful. Tell me anything at all. Teach me something new. Should I give it up? I've got nothing and you've given me even less. Look away now. I'm a mess and things are dirty. God.
Caught in a violent throw of remembering all that death entails. Away from me Ė that is what he is. More than that, he is forever departed. Itís hard to begin to fathom the reality. Nearly two years later and Iím still at a major loss of understanding. By now I should get it, right? His plot in the Earth proves nothing to me. His name on a stone means little. Always without. Without him and without awareness on behalf of those around me. How easily they forget what I face daily. Should they be expected to remember or to care?
With his last piece of dignity moderately intact, he thinks that he will go home now. He will crawl home to the people who he now realizes loved him unconditionally until he gave them unavoidable circumstances in which to hate. Giving up what means most is never easy and is clearly never the right choice. To know you can always go home again is not always reassurance enough. Will they still welcome him and his final shard of pride? In a reverse situation, would he? Even still, would he have lost respect to begin with? His unconditional was always unconditional.
Blank blank blank. Drawing a blank. The white screen blinds. Screams to be written. Deaths and heartache come to voice. Blow by blow, fighting it to the end. I miss things most when they go away. I miss them still as they lay, leaving me. In the blurriest of memories I see how you once smiled. Life was once good. But sometimes not even flexible fabric Band-Aids can withstand the turmoil of all that is the living. Havoc crushes us from above. Tears run through the materials. Streams of serenity pass before our very eyes as we wave
Next month I vow to make a huger effort to write these words every single day. I loathe playing catch up. I want it to be done already. Itís been two months since Iíve been able to wake up on a first and read my completed month of 100 words. I still savor that month in which I didnít cheat and read my unfinished batch. Itís hard. Should be easier these days though because I know that my words are shit. I write nothing special at all. Just blather and whining and meaningless vignettes, if you can call them that.
I wish I had loved him more. Too much energy was placed into hating him for too many years. As the anniversary nears new memories resurface. Sixteen months of dying summed up into one day of actual death. To have one moment with him, or even five words, I am sure I could fix everything of ours that I have broken. I could make my father and me whole instead of us both being shells of who we used to be. Torturous reminders of all I lost have the ability to bring me to my knees on a daily basis.
On a day when dads death felt like the stings of a thousand feral bees, she decides to drop the bomb I knew was to come. It kills that just that morning I was sitting in her lap crying. Then come night no tears were found for I had no one to turn to. I had ultimately given up a life. I canít believe I almost gave up my dog for her. The path of destruction I now trek back into doesnít exactly welcome me with open arms. What Iím about to go through will force me through my fears.
I donít like anything or anyone right now. I feel 125 years old. My body aches. My heart is sore. Emotions are taut. Motivation is escaping. Apathy is entering. I wish she would call to tell me how her first day went. I know she wonít. If a babyís face were all it took to soothe any pain then I would be cured. There are some things that shall remain unmendable by even the most gorgeous of smiles. So Iíll take this, all of it, and Iíll cower into the corner where I shall remain for as long as possible.
Iíll add the salt to my old wounds if youíll promise to douse the impending fire with kerosene and grenades thrown in fits of not wanting to hurt anybody while continuously asking if everything is alright as I flail in the middle of my cataclysm upheaval. Please donít bother checking my eyes soul because I swear that itís not telling whole truths or empty lies. Being the next in line, Iíll let you push me aside without bothering to so much as speak my way to the door. Iíll sidle out of your life without a voice or a prayer.
He was so tiny when we first brought him home. His weight was barely existent. The newness was pristine and relaxed. All he did was sleep.
Suddenly his weight grows enough to tire an arm. His body is lengthening. Once limp limbs are now tense able to move where he pleases. A once quiet voice now shrills with cries and coos with intentional baby noises. Life is phenomenal. Every time I see him he is more
Today he seemed like he was coming out of himself and just one short step away from conversing with me. Tomorrow? Who knows.
The easiest way to lose something is to want it too badly.
A void has replaced the spot my father once dwelled. I live in regret, it is all I know with all my heart. And Iíve done this all before. Heís not coming back, not even for a day made for him.
Take the pain out of life and love wonít exist.
I never let go. I cling to threads of hope and shards of glass. I tear my hands when I squeeze too hard, but I do it repeatedly, regardless. It doesn't matter. We die without shoes.
Dark, humid, and empty. Ultimately, this too shall pass. Of this I am sure: I will get over this. In reality she is just a girl. Yet another perfect one who sees that thing in me that makes them run. Flee from my life; I will leave you be. These are the scars that do mend in time. They are the memories that you once cherished and as such will always treasure. That time when everything was
is what I will continue to hold dear to my heart, reminding me that love does exist. Maybe someday it will return.
I miss her so much more than I want to. Her voice, her body, her personality. She had such an amazing personality. I fell
with her much faster than ever before. That is the driving force behind allowing myself to fall as I did. It felt safe and real and it seemed like a sure thing. She changed my idea of home for the first time, ever. I was going to give up my dog for her! But itís gone. All gone. Did I even ever have it as I felt assured I did? What did I do?
I apologize for being unable to remain friends. Iíve always been an all or nothing kind of person. Itís no surprise that I am not friends with any of my exes. I donít get over things. I cling to everything. Iím the loser who would remain friends just for the hope of someday getting another chance. Iíve done that enough to know that the second chance is rarer than rare and not worth the constant heartache. I am sorry. We probably could have had a beautiful friendship, if we hadnít started it as lovers.
am the toxic one.
(And you donít even care.)
Everything is perfect for you now. Life is serene. The whirlwind that was me has passed and your state of upheaval is settled. Things are good. So good in fact that when I call you to basically beg you to reconsider, you donít so much as flinch in your stance against all that is a relationship with me. Clearly, you are better off without me. In reality, I will be fucking fine too. In time. Love smarts. There is no real beauty to be found in the false hopes of forever.
(Iíll still love you.)
He clings to me like a starfish. Awoken from a sound sleep in his crib, he now silently drifts into newer dreams with fresh memories of his Godmothers closeness, of her heart beating singsong patterns into his tiny ears eager to take in anything at all. This is Love, with a capital ell. The feeling he provides astounds me. With him in mind I am sure that I can make it through anything. Every worry and care melt when he is in sight. He is the only one to make life truly worth living for. He makes the world spin.
My knees got weak in the sense that they wanted to bend, they wanted to run into her arms the moment my eyes sent them the signal that she was within sight and radiating with the goodness that can only arise from all that is her utter beauty. The running of blood through my heart quickened and with a great force of will I had to urge my psyche to resist temptation and instead opt for rationality. The superego needed to calm the id in order to maintain wellness within the ego. Life can be as simple as psychology 101.
Today holds a birthday/holiday feeling. It's like a birthday because it feels special to me but I know it feels like nothing to everyone else because not only donít they remember they also don't care. It feels like a holiday in that I honestly expect stores to be closed.
Overall I think I feel better than I would if I hadn't of dreamt so clearly about him. It was fucking vivid. In the dream I was awake and aware of seeing my father. I knew he was dead and I knew I was seeing him when I shouldn't have been.
The savage that it is, cancer shall ultimately ravage my entire family. Itís foreseeable. The blood-tainting beast has struck again. Another face will be distorted in no time. Lives will be affected without returning to how life once was. Everyday is part of the
good old days
because the sameness of the next day is never guaranteed in any form. Cancer is real. Cells have a limit, the Hayflick limit. Then their regenerations are left to a mixture of fate and luck. And oxygen free radicals are only looking to better themselves, with a complete disregard for those they hurt.
Work is great. Been there for a month and I have already gotten promotions and a raise. All kinds of incentives. Does it get better than that? Life
be perfect right now. I got a job, my mom, my dog and things should be fine. Instead I lack one key element to my whole equation equaling happiness. The girlfriend. A job does not replace a love like that. Working seven days a week doesnít quiet the incessant voice of missing her intensely. Enraged with miss. Engorged by the breaking of a heart. Next month Iíll stop writing about this.
I am depressed. We see it in my face, splayed in my sullen eyes. Tell me, Doc, will I ever be okay? She seems assured. Outside of death I am concave. My mind a desolate isle. I think I've written that somewhere before. Maybe I write too much? Please, tell me I suck. It all sucks. I'll never amount to anything. Regret. I take it all back. Every word written. This was not to be about death or dying or unhappiness. This was to be something else. Something more. Nothing better though. An outlet, a hole to stuff my prongs.
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