if you play it loud enough it'll keep the demons at bay

so. i suppose i could start in on some long drawn out attempt at putting my terrible day into poetic form, but i just can't seem to do it. i had and am continuing to have a shitty day. no better way to put it, no easier way to explain. first off i am easily persuaded and stayed out far too late last night. i am lathargic and regretting every minute of it. i didn't hit the sheets until some ungodly hour circa five-thirty a.m. and have had to work since eleven. it is ninee-fifteen and i still have fourty-five umbearable minutes in this giant pill container. (the pharmacy at which i am currenty employed) i hate it here. partially because i am overworked and underpayed (to put it nicely), partially because i want to move back to camp, and partially because most everyone here is a giant ass in one way or another. i nearly cry during every single shift, and although i have a tendency, this is not me exaggerating. as proof i offer up the fact that today's "breaking point" came only about fifteen minutes ago and prompted me to write instead of beating myself up. also, and trust me there is no way to put this poetically...i got booted from my insurance today. up until now i thought it was mildly funny what an absolutely terrible driver i am. it's really not so funny anymore. not funny at all really. i want to run away and despite what other people say, i think that sometimes running away from your problems like a bat outta hell, full speed ahead, and as far as your little legs can carry you is exactly what you need. exactly what i need.

an ordinary day in my extraordinary life

The searing pain I feel behind my eyes as I open them this morning is all too familiar. It’s a staple in the waking life of every dreamer and is caused by the violent separation of my brain from it’s preferred home, la-la land. Who, might you ask would do such a thing? Why, only the devil incarnate…my alarm clocck.

A flurry of covers disrupts the quiet of our apartment. The dog, which had been keeping my feet warm all night, looks up at me indifferently and sighs as she falls back asleep. I envy her. The carpet is harsh and unwelcoming of my tingling toes. The process of making my coffee seems loud and echoes off the walls of our kitchen. I sit at the table, eyes half closed, listening to the drip-sizzle-slurp of my favorite machine. My roommate doesn’t drink coffee, in fact she doesn’t even like the smell, I however, am dependent. My favorite mug is stolen property. It came from California by way of my suitcase a few months back. It has a scene of trees, and birds, and grass. It reminds me of the mountains and has the perfect handle. I pour my first searing cup of dark, black, magic and proceed with my morning rituals. Someone once compared my coffee to embalming fluid. I smiled and said simply, “I am my father’s daughter.”

Occasionally, if I have the time, I sit in the bathroom after my shower with the door closed. Perched on the edge of the tub or the closed toilet seat just letting the steam hover. It’s easy to imagine yourself somewhere wonderful when everything is misty. The second violent separation of my day is the opening of that door. The now colder air outside my makeshift sauna invades every inch of my body, terrorizing my flesh and making me want for my bed again. As I wipe the fog off the mirror and see my reflection appear, it occurs to me that I am looking older. As young as I may be, there are countless lines, scars, and blemishes that haven’t always been there. I look tired. I am tired.

I’m sure watching me get ready in the morning is a sight to behold. It starts off peaceful enough, until I wake up to the fact that I will most likely be late…again. It doesn’t matter where I am going…I will be late. I hope I marry someone who doesn’t mind a twenty-minute whirlwind of the following: toothbrush, body lotion, baby powder, underwear, socks, bra, jeans, blow dryer, concealer, eye liner, powder for the shine, mascara, t-shirt, shit! I forgot deodorant, favorite necklace, a spritz of something that smells nice, shoes, cardigan sweater, don’t forget your cigarettes, or your keys, out the door, wait…the dog, grab your books, and your coffee, dog in cage, body in car, start the engine, blast the radio, destination known too well. Maybe someday I’ll get my act together.

For all the relentless moments of my day, there is one that makes it all ok. Without this moment, I feel as if the rest of my day might not be bearable. Without this moment things are somehow out of sync. Without this moment the beginning of my day would be comparable to “starting off on the wrong foot,” or “waking up on the wrong side of the bed.” I know I need to quit, and it some ways I honestly want to, but lighting up that first smoke, behind the wheel, music turned up, window rolled down, aviators on and the sun coming up…makes a girl feel like she’s got it all figured out.

The third violent separation of my day isn’t really a separation at all, but rather the merging of my idealism with the world’s harsh reality. I love people. More accurately, I want to love people, but they make it hard sometimes. That feeling that starts out my day, the feeling of having it all figured out, is quickly vanquished by an all consuming ignorant, apathy; particularly of many people my age and unfortunately a vast majority of people I work with. I currently feel as if my life is on pause. I finally know how the characters in a movie feel when you press that button, to get more popcorn, go to the restroom, to answer an important phone call, or forget about them all together and never return to finish out the rest of their story; they feel like college students. Everything about your life is on hold, you don’t know what you’re going to do next and you hold your breath going from one scene to the next, you enjoy a lot of them along the way, but at what point does it all come together? I can’t help but wonder…when does my life begin?

I read. I listen. I punch a time clock. I smile politely. I fain interest. I help people. I study. I speed. I cram in a lunch break. I smoke too much. I watch people float around in their self-blown bubbles. I binge on caffeine. Sometimes, I cry. I miss my mom, but I do things for myself. My day is littered with moments of utter hopelessness, but somehow I keep going. I tell myself that if I take this class, nail that interview, go to bed earlier, budget my money, say nice things, it will all eventually work out for me. I am happy…for the most part. Sometimes I want to ask other people to do things for me, pay my bills, do my homework, and buy my groceries, but I don’t. When things go terribly wrong I want to curl up in my mother’s lap and have her make it all go away, but for the most part…I don’t.

At the end of the day, after all the madness, the laughter, the striving…I come home. I come home to the apartment I help pay for, the dog who sleeps on my feet, the roommate who isn’t really a roommate at all, but my best friend, the coffee pot I probably forgot to turn off and an overwhelming sense of independence. The violent separations of my day merge into the violent separation of my life as a whole. I am rapidly, furiously, and cruelly being torn from girlhood and am gloriously plummeting into womanhood. I am frustrated, but it’s ok. I’m learning everyday to worry a little less about where I’ll end up. I’m enjoying this roller coaster, this whirlwind that is my life.

no amount of coffee, no amount of wine, no no nothing else will do, i gotta have you

so i won't say this year is going to be different, because i fear i'd be setting myself up for disapointment, however i have finally decided on my main objective for the year. to live a life i can be proud of. i refuse to spend anymore time doing things of which i am ashamed. i don't ever again want to feel the way i did in my last post. i don't ever want to get sick over preventable mistakes. this doesn't mean i won't make them, but the ones i can't help making i can deal with. it's the ones i could have somehow prevented by using common sense, thinking ahead, or let us be honest; not drinking too much, that i hope, and plan, and pray to eliminate. instead of putting my money where my mouth is, as they say, i hope to put my actions where my big fat mouth has been. to have a more structured, loving, honest, healthy, happy exsistence. what this looks like exactly i don't know just yet, but breaking down the previous list looks something like this, although it will entail much more, i am sure...

structure-going to bed before 5 in the morning and getting up early a.k.a not five minutes before class/work/exercize or coffee with mom (may or may not happen tonight)
love-i do a decent job of loving others, but this year i've got to love me
honesty-plain and simple: learn to say no
health-quit smoking!!!!!! and only drink occasionally, oh and exercize more, stop drinking pop, and let people love me (apparently i have several suggestions for this category)
happiness-accomplish all of the above and allow god to be a part of every single step without beating myself up for not being as "good" as the next jane doe. i serve a different purpose than her anyhow.

all of this sounds really good to me. and although i can't do it on my own, i can think of a lot of good friends, one in particular ;) that will be more than willing to help me out if i ask. so, jesus...i'm asking. and please allow me to recognize the help you send.

and seriously if i don't start using the canvas bags i bought to carry my groceries in i am not going to allow myself food (which might be a good thing since extreme weight loss is also a vanity goal i have) because the condition of our enviroment is no laughing matter and i need to atleast try. conserving toilet paper and water are also on the top of my list. you don't need as many sheets as you think you do and nobody needs to run the water while they are brushing their teeth, turn it off unless your toothbrush is actually under the faucet!

i am done preaching, but only because it is 4:23, i have to work in the morning and technically i'll be getting in bed before 5 a.m.-look at me i'm already making progress...

i'm ashamed of all my somethings

i really can't keep doing this.i degrade myself to the point of utter and total self-hatred.i replay things that never should have happened over and over again in my mind until i have to close my eyes, shake my head, and breath out hard pushing the memories out as the salt in my tears burns the edges of my eyes.trying not to get sick all over myself.i don't like hating myself, but i am deserving of it.i just want to disapear.

god-i am so sorry for not listening to you.i know this is you breaking me.i am sorry that i have to be brought to my bleeding and broken knees before i get the message.you never stop giving, you never stop reminding me of your love, and its as if i laugh in your face and walk away telling you i can handle it, when really everything i touch without you burns me and usually ends up exploding in my face.all my efforts to make myself clean leave me putrid and filthy.it really is growing up time.my life up until this point has been a funeral procession and it is time for me to finally accept it and die to self.

the only way out is through

i wanted to drive by your house today. just to pass by and say hi. but i was sure that if i did all the memories would overwhelm me, rushing out of my mind, fogging my vision and tingling all the way down to my fingertips and feet, making it impossible for me to continue steering or otherwise. i would pull over to have a good cry, the one i haven't let myself have since i came home for you.i even made myself stop at your funeral, i couldn't let the saddness take over because our friends needed something else from me then. perhaps next time i'm out that way i should just go by and get it over with.

what can i compare you to? my favorite pair of shoes?

rain, rain, don't go away. come again every day.

i had the strangest longing for children today.i don't know if its genuine or just maternal instinct.so many people i know are having babies.i've learned of four or five pregnancies within the last couple weeks, so perhaps i just have baby on the brain.

your hips are bad

the quaking aspens outside my bedroom window turn gold this time of year. their ivory bark and aching branches remind me of skinless, bony hands. they desperately grip handfuls of pure amber flakes, waving them for my entertainment when the wind blows. it makes my chest ache, just about everything does these days. if the daylight is just right, and i squint my eyes to certain degree it really looks like a hundred skeletal hands, holding a thousand flakes of flawless gold, shivering in november's bitter breath.

yesterday my head hurt so badly i wondered if my brain was finally disinegrating.fed up with all the torture i subject it to.i lay upside down on my bed.bare feet on my pillows,eyes inching toward the window sill.i imagined my brain leaking out through my nostrils, slowly at first and then faster as my nasal passagways were torn open by the torent.my pajamas and bed clothes were soaked in cerebral fluid and eventually my whole head emptied out.i wasted a few minutes of this daydream wondering exactly how much fluid my brain would amount to. a pint? a gallon? i opened my eyes with a clear view of the door and wondered who would find me. i imagined myself still alert and breathing, but in reality if my brain seeped out my nose holes all bodily functions would cease.i wondered how long it would take them to determine the cause of death or recognize the sticky fluid soaking my clothing, as my brain.liquified.

i want to rake a monumentous pile of leaves and jump in it.allow myself to sink down endlessly, to hold on to that feeling of falling i sometimes get before drifting off to sleep.or use to get, before i stopped sleeping without aid.it would be glorious if the pile caught fire.not burning me up or anything(i have problems, but no current death wish) if only for that burning smell i live for in autumn.the addictive scent of wood and the droppings of fall all aflame.what an evening that would be.

i was involved in a brief conversation with several superiors today.they said they wouldn't trade anything to be my age again.they said it gets better, that you find some peace.because its not about looks (it can't be) or your memory (you have none) its about your heart, i don't believe them for a second.i want to, but i can't.i just don't see the next step.i see my future, any idea of getting married, or whatnot as so far off, like it will never actually happen.similar to the thought of graduating high school when you're in eighth grade.in my mind my wedding will be like playing barbies, just pretend.and i'll be terrible at it too because i never owned a single barbie in my life and never really got the big idea.





i am unsettled.people should know better than to dick with my friends.