What I want to write right now should be saved for a night when I've had too much to drink, and I'm lonely and sad, and can't understand why I can't have the things I want. Because as it stands, it's 10:40am, and I'm stone sober. It's not that I can't understand why I can't have what I want; I just don't want to understand.
When I have too much to drink, I get into that mindset--the childlike get-grab-gimme. It's kind of amusing, and makes for some really funny stories sometimes. Right now, I can't even blame it on booze, and last night I wasn't drunk either. I hate it when issues become symptomatic even after you remove the most obvious cause. Ahh, I'm just throwing an inexcusable fit. Haha.
Understanding probably won't solve anything. There's no sense in asking things like "Why have I been dealt this hand?" or "When will it be easy again?" The sad and horrible truth is probably as simple as Christie waits. Why? Because she's good at it.
That's how Russia avoided becoming Napoleon Country. Want to conquer Russia? Go right ahead, they won't stop you. Just don't come running when you realize how much of Russia is impenetrable frozen tundra, and your troops start dying of frostbite and hunger.
Actually, that metaphor sucks. I give up on this block of text.
31 August 2010
29 August 2010
A Hearty Meal
Eating pride is like swallowing a bag of broken glass.
I'm bleeding from my esophagus.
I'm bleeding from my esophagus.
26 August 2010
Waking up and the bed was made
No one looked me in the eye
More I try, more I cry
And it’s all for the best
Watched my brother cutting grass outside
Sitting on the porch he told me
It’s a long way to go before we can rest
But it’s all for the best
You’re so beautiful it sings
On a lonely lazy morning
And when I see you rocking back and forth
Whispering that it’s all for the best
One day the stone will roll away
Soon you’ll see
you’re far away from home but never far away from me
And that’s all for the best
No one looked me in the eye
More I try, more I cry
And it’s all for the best
Watched my brother cutting grass outside
Sitting on the porch he told me
It’s a long way to go before we can rest
But it’s all for the best
You’re so beautiful it sings
On a lonely lazy morning
And when I see you rocking back and forth
Whispering that it’s all for the best
One day the stone will roll away
Soon you’ll see
you’re far away from home but never far away from me
And that’s all for the best
23 August 2010
An Old Mix
Recently, while cleaning out my closet, I found a few old mix CDs I made when I was in high school. Some were badly scratched and unplayable, but I was able to salvage one labeled "Compilation #1". It might be the first CD I ever burned.
When I was in high school, I had a handful of songs that were my absolute overplayed favorites. I'd rotate a few songs in and out, but for the most part, my favorites were made of bricks and unmovable.
When I stuck it in the CD player and hit play, it was as if I'd found a diary full of entries I'd forgotten to write down ten years ago. The wave was so huge it knocked me flat. I was speechless. It was more powerful than when I found the CD I burned to roll for the first time.
I know it's bullshit, but I felt like I was connecting myself then with myself now, skipping all that calamity in between. All the stuff that happened after I burned that CD made me a different person, and I'm glad I took that audible snapshot of my life when I was 15.
When I was in high school, I had a handful of songs that were my absolute overplayed favorites. I'd rotate a few songs in and out, but for the most part, my favorites were made of bricks and unmovable.
When I stuck it in the CD player and hit play, it was as if I'd found a diary full of entries I'd forgotten to write down ten years ago. The wave was so huge it knocked me flat. I was speechless. It was more powerful than when I found the CD I burned to roll for the first time.
I know it's bullshit, but I felt like I was connecting myself then with myself now, skipping all that calamity in between. All the stuff that happened after I burned that CD made me a different person, and I'm glad I took that audible snapshot of my life when I was 15.
18 August 2010
Biblical Lot's Stress Fractures
It's been a difficult month. I'm feeling the physical effects of extreme stress, lack of money, and a new (and financially unsatisfactory) job. Living less than paycheck to paycheck is taxing in so many ways.
My hope is not totally lost. Many great people in history have died penniless, at the expense of inspiring others.
Honestly, I probably shouldn't be so dramatic about it. Everyone goes through shitty financial circumstances, and mine could be so much worse. The most stressful part seems to be working my ass off and not making what I deserve. I'm disappointed with every paycheck, because it's gone immediately to (usually overdue) bills.
Is this the life I wanted? I've asked myself this so many times in the last 30 days, but the words have not lost their meaning. I've got to keep asking, because I need to make sure I'm still on track--with all this messy, consuming stress laying about, it's incredibly easy to want to backpedal. Undo all this ground-removal and put the corpses back underneath me, so I can bury them again and stand comfortably upon them. Forget their names and their lives, like I had before. It was so easy.
For better or for worse, this is what I wanted. I wanted to dig them up and catalog them so I could remember how I came to be. I wanted to write in publications, be free to come and go, and make my income wherever I land; however, getting finances in order is the first step to what I want. These are the circumstances that occasionally accompany it. And for me to survive them, it has to continue to be what I want. I can't stray my eyes away just to look back.
I've been told that I've been stubborn my entire life. Maybe this is why--so that when I'm running so hard that stress fractures my bones and breaks me piece by little piece, I'll keep running, because I simply do not believe in stopping.
"And Lot's wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes."
My hope is not totally lost. Many great people in history have died penniless, at the expense of inspiring others.
Honestly, I probably shouldn't be so dramatic about it. Everyone goes through shitty financial circumstances, and mine could be so much worse. The most stressful part seems to be working my ass off and not making what I deserve. I'm disappointed with every paycheck, because it's gone immediately to (usually overdue) bills.
Is this the life I wanted? I've asked myself this so many times in the last 30 days, but the words have not lost their meaning. I've got to keep asking, because I need to make sure I'm still on track--with all this messy, consuming stress laying about, it's incredibly easy to want to backpedal. Undo all this ground-removal and put the corpses back underneath me, so I can bury them again and stand comfortably upon them. Forget their names and their lives, like I had before. It was so easy.
For better or for worse, this is what I wanted. I wanted to dig them up and catalog them so I could remember how I came to be. I wanted to write in publications, be free to come and go, and make my income wherever I land; however, getting finances in order is the first step to what I want. These are the circumstances that occasionally accompany it. And for me to survive them, it has to continue to be what I want. I can't stray my eyes away just to look back.
I've been told that I've been stubborn my entire life. Maybe this is why--so that when I'm running so hard that stress fractures my bones and breaks me piece by little piece, I'll keep running, because I simply do not believe in stopping.
"And Lot's wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes."
05 August 2010
Hungry
I looked in my fridge today, and was greeted with desolation. Rarely has my fridge been so bare. I haven't been grocery shopping in...2 weeks now, and that was a measley $20 trip. I've just been broke lately, what with the car insurance, rent, dental bill, bridesmaid dress, and AAA membership renewal happening in the space of 2 weeks, while I also have a new day job that doesn't pay nearly what I thought it did. I'm more strapped than I have ever been in my life, to say the least. I'm not starving by any means, but these circumstances started a thought that grew into the plight of starving families. How terrible it must be. I may get hungry sometimes or eat once a day to tide groceries over, but imagine the pain of being a parent, having to skip a meal to feed your children. Or, god forbid, having to watch your child starve, and being tasked with explaining why something like sustenance costs money.
That's when I remembered something from my childhood that I hadn't bothered to think about in a long time.
My mom worked at a Catholic Church office when we were kids. Actually, that's the reason we were able to go to the adjoining Catholic elementary school--her boss, the pastor, gave her a tuition waiver or discount on some level. I remember the tuition bills coming in, and seeing my parents stress about it, so they must have had to pay something; it wasn't free.
Every once in awhile, mom would bring home strange bags of foods that we'd never buy--weird stuff like spam, ranch-style beans in cans, odd pastas and mac-n-cheese. I always got really excited about these occurrences, because when you're a kid, different groceries in a giant bag are a treasure to dig through. It's like a surprise present bag. And mom would bring it home ceremoniously. I can't remember if both me and my sister got excited, maybe it was just me, haha. I didn't realize then... I actually don't know exactly when I figured it out, but that food had been donated to the church for needy families. At some point, we qualified under that category.
I've no idea the extent that the church helped us out, or how "needy" we really were, because all I remember about my childhood is that it was beautiful. I never truly wanted for anything. Though, in reality, we lived in a rapidly-shifting ghetto, had some broke-ass vehicles to carpool to school in a high-crime area.
I don't think it'd be right to ask my parents about that period in our lives, because I'm sure it broke their hearts at the time to have to ask for help. I know my parents. Especially my father. He doesn't like asking for help.
I look at my parents now, fairly well-off and able to handle pretty much anything that comes their way financially, and every wrinkle (they wear them well) was hard-earned. They gave me everything I needed, and I might never know their personal sacrifices to do so, as my kids will never know if I have to ask for help.
I didn't need the weight I'm losing, anyway. Everything good in American cuisine was facilitated by the lack of resources, and I'm gettin' creative. Bring on the ranch-style beans; I was born for this shit.
That's when I remembered something from my childhood that I hadn't bothered to think about in a long time.
My mom worked at a Catholic Church office when we were kids. Actually, that's the reason we were able to go to the adjoining Catholic elementary school--her boss, the pastor, gave her a tuition waiver or discount on some level. I remember the tuition bills coming in, and seeing my parents stress about it, so they must have had to pay something; it wasn't free.
Every once in awhile, mom would bring home strange bags of foods that we'd never buy--weird stuff like spam, ranch-style beans in cans, odd pastas and mac-n-cheese. I always got really excited about these occurrences, because when you're a kid, different groceries in a giant bag are a treasure to dig through. It's like a surprise present bag. And mom would bring it home ceremoniously. I can't remember if both me and my sister got excited, maybe it was just me, haha. I didn't realize then... I actually don't know exactly when I figured it out, but that food had been donated to the church for needy families. At some point, we qualified under that category.
I've no idea the extent that the church helped us out, or how "needy" we really were, because all I remember about my childhood is that it was beautiful. I never truly wanted for anything. Though, in reality, we lived in a rapidly-shifting ghetto, had some broke-ass vehicles to carpool to school in a high-crime area.
I don't think it'd be right to ask my parents about that period in our lives, because I'm sure it broke their hearts at the time to have to ask for help. I know my parents. Especially my father. He doesn't like asking for help.
I look at my parents now, fairly well-off and able to handle pretty much anything that comes their way financially, and every wrinkle (they wear them well) was hard-earned. They gave me everything I needed, and I might never know their personal sacrifices to do so, as my kids will never know if I have to ask for help.
I didn't need the weight I'm losing, anyway. Everything good in American cuisine was facilitated by the lack of resources, and I'm gettin' creative. Bring on the ranch-style beans; I was born for this shit.
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