Honest

You talk too much

Maybe that's your way

Of breaking up the silence
that fills you up

But it doesn't sound the same

When no one's really listening
--aqualung

Today I wonder, what do they see?

THE DAY: May 30, 2007.
THE TIME: 11:30 PM
THE MUSIC: "Something to believe in"
THE MOMENT: Fumbling for sparks.

Release.

THE DAY: May 29, 2007.
THE TIME: 12:22 AM
THE MUSIC: Change; By Tracy Chapman
THE MOMENT: Gushing.

Today I ran. I jumped. I sank into the water. I renewed to the surface. Speeding over the lake, I closed my eyes inside the wind. I surrendered to all the contradiction inside of me. Loving him was a truth that will remain somewhere within me. However, I fight to remove him from my future. I have to get away. The windows came down, the air rushed by, I drove too fast. I stayed too long, but still not long enough. How do you extract love? How do I take all the knowledge of our perpetuality, and bend it around this girl I am trying to become... The strength I am trying to uphold. Though it doesn't come passively, I know that strength is within me. I refuse to let it hide dormant behind spheres of excuses or self pity. I will overcome this. Still, as I allow small pieces of him to slip away from me, I must also give up some of myself, and therein lies the surrender. The pain of losing who I once was. The trust of finding new ways to fill my spaces. The loss and gain of my own life.

12:22 AM May 29th 2007

FLoW.SKeTCH.SPiN.

THE DAY: May 24, 2007.
THE TIME: 12:14 AM
THE MUSIC: Casmir Pulaski Day; By Sufjan Stevens
THE MOMENT: A rush of being alive.

Once upon a time, my family moved around a lot.

For a while after I came home, I avoided the old houses.
Tonight, I drove by them.
And not because I knew I could handle it.
And not because I was curious.
Because I was looking for something...

There were lights on in the living rooms, faint glows behind windows that no longer connected me to the world that surrounds.

There were new cars in the driveways.
There were no bikes or skates in the yards.
There were manicured flowers over mulch instead of resilient trampled pansies and crunchy pine needles.
There were lot of fences.
There were no frog shaped stepping stones.

At the first house there was a crepe myrtle tree. My Mom used to show me pictures on the computer of what it would look like when it grew bigger.
Her tree is taller now.
I did not feel like it remembered me.

I spiraled around the coldesacs. I heard a lot of my old Dad. I saw a lot of my past self. I tried to seperate all the time and space. I searched for what I was supposed to feel.

I've yet to find it.

"I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers."

--Sylvia Plath (from Mirror)

reach. Reach. REACH.

THE DAY: May 22, 2007.
THE TIME: 7:06 PM
THE MUSIC: Summer Girls; LFO
THE MOMENT: Saturated in cheesy pop music and reaching for optimism.


Today i woke up and rocked my job.

Oh yeah.

Except for one thing... I have fallen to responding to the flirts of old men for good tips, oh dear have mercy upon me.

On the positive side... 8 thumbs up for the good tipping population of America and the noble way in which they shine down upon my lowly broke college employment.


Then I came home and made some CDs for a few kids I love.


I also do this thing where I morph from lazy laptop teenager into supersonic soccer mom in .054136 seconds. I picked up kid 5 and brought him to drop off kid 3 so we could pick up kid 2 and take him to kung fu. Kid 4 has been MIA... all day. Then Mom came home and took kid 5 which is slightly relieving but also not; we're really good friends these days. He always wants to play with me. Cool huh?


Now I should take a shower. But its summer... so that will happen later.



Also, I wrote something at the beach last weekend that totally contrasts with the whole optimistic tone I was going for today. I'm hesitant to put it up for a few reasons. But I'm going to anyway... shaft apprehension. Plus I'm pretty sure no one reads this anymore... so whatev.

* * * * * * * *

I know the heartbeats of your unspoken words, they burn beneath my bare running feet, hot with the ever-haunting hidden truth... frigid with your forgery... a constant reminder of your cowardly absence. And though I run, it is no longer in circles. I now strive for forward motion, knowing my words have all been released, fueled by the hope of freedom from you. So as my outline recedes into the distance... feel my shadow on your face as you smile at your girl from the safety of your secrecy...

Though you watch from afar, you cannot escape the rhythm, the truth that spins around us at the speed of silence.

Parentheses...

THE DAY: May 18, 2007.
THE TIME: 1:28AM
THE MUSIC: Sweet Melissa; By The Allman Brothers
THE MOMENT: A fighting contradiction.

I have to say, and not articulately, that the thing I wrote below this post was a load.
A load of ____. (Just pick an honor code word for that one.)
Regardless of my natural inclinations...


I will be not a runner.
I do not aspire to be.






“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” --C.S. Lewis

Maybe.

THE DAY: May 16, 2007.
THE TIME: 11:57PM
THE MUSIC: 6th Avenue Heartache; By The Wallflowers
WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING: In the name of summer, this line has been officially abolished.

This is today.

THE DAY: May 10, 2007.
THE TIME: 6:27
THE MUSIC: Title and Registration by Death Cab
WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING: Buying indigo jeans so I can be a waitress.


I live on a street of dollhouses, sometimes I look down at all the identical rooftops and have this desire to take off running. I think of running past my neighborhood, all the new restaurants on my road, past the Wal Mart and the tire place and the cook out and all the car dealerships... and just going until I no longer feel any familiarity. There's this notion in me that if I were to reach that point, and then keep going, I would eventually find a place where I could be content to walk, or even just to sit and look around, somewhere I could stay. Then I remember that I'm not a very good runner, that I have a job now and a family... and I feel very trapped in something I can't exactly describe. After that I immediately feel guilty for feeling trapped in a place that was supposed to be home.

Everywhere I am feels so temporary. I quietly search for some permanence, or just some kind of summer epiphany that would make me content with this new fleeting and transient nature of mine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In other news, I have a job now. Ole!
When I walked in, some kids were in red shirts, some yellow.
Confession: I have this massive hope that I can be a yellow shirt kid. No matter how many times I remind myself that it's dumb to care... I still wait in hopeful anticipation. I decided though, that it's a good thing my hope doesn't rely on the practical things as a reason for being. With this realization, I allow myself to wish. But I'm talking about a lot more than yellow polos at this point.

Last night, in a fit of confused insomnia, I read most of what I'd written on my xanga junior year... and remembered who I was then. Remember that song Rockabye? I loved that song. I loved lots of things I'd forgotten about, and some that I wish I could forget... but almost refuse to.