Static silouhettes

I returned to the states this past June 29.

My body has hated me ever since.

July saw three weeks late.

August is almost over and again I'm almost three weeks late.

I've spent the past two months trying to get off that high.

That high I had, purely on life.


How do you go back to living a life so ordinary, when it wasn't that way for so long?

And how come, I've spent most of my adolescent and young adult years yearning to be anywhere but here. I love this city, this city is my home, but I can't quite get to that point of all right here. And I still have never figured out why this is the case.

So another close call. And I guess we never really learn from our mistakes, do we? Or maybe it's just me. Who knows. A lot of things I'm not sure of lately.

Such as graduate school part II.

Last year, I said, all of it had to be for something, and at the end it was. It was more than something.

So I guess round two will produce something different, still of worth, just different.

Had some girl time over at Angela's tonight. We were saying goodbye, sitting around, five of us on her bed, gossiping, laughing, same shit we've been doing for a decade now. And it never gets old, and we're always saying goodbyes, and even now, we've still got things to figure out.



Tuesday marks the one year anniversary since I left this city for Florence.

I hope I don't do anything too drastic.

Autumn in Firenze.

September 12, 2008

"Girls feel emotions strongly," he said.

She said, from reading my blog that my love life, or rather lack thereof, makes hers seem not so bad.

You once said, my writing read so honestly that it didn't come off as pathetic.


But really, I'm aware I do come off somewhat tragic. I like to say it's merely the diction. That we're all pretty much the same. But who knows.

So perhaps, in calling you tragically pathetic the other day, I probably subscribe to the same dosage.

And why is it that the thought of men in this moment makes me want to throw up and or cry.


And why is this happening.

And I've been doing this for so long now.

I've been playing this game for 6 years and counting and I'm so fucking sick of it.

Real life is not sex and the city.



And why is it that it took to this point for you to give me any reply at all?

And when did you lose your respect for me?

And when did it all become just such a bunch of bullshit.

That's what I'd like to know tonight.

I would go along with someone like you

Phoenix, stilettos, Irish car bombs, modern affairs and girls lookin for love were the anthems that summer. The stocks never got high, but it was a damn good time.

Kings of Leon and Phoenix make me feel like I should be living life out west, in the city, by the ocean, in the hills.


Home back east is not quite right for this time of year. Autumn brings goodbyes, but I'm still here.

"FYI: you are epic," he said.

That's a cool line.

As of late I've been reading my yahoo horoscope and although I don't really believe in that stuff today's was awfully smart.

Seek out a person you respect, not just someone you have a fun time flirting with.


Note to self.

Been making a lot of those lately.

difficile dimenticare

empty threats, without candor

I can't go on making these requests, these resolves, and then throwing them all away in an intoxicated stupor over a text or an IM. God, we don't even use the phone anymore. And god you used to respect me, you used to answer me, you used to be my friend, you used to give a fuck.

And I can't say it was all my fault because it wasn't.

But I can say, common culture was right, sex does ruin everything.




I pretty much just need to get over it.


I guess, I expected more out of you. At the end of the day, I expected more out of you. But perhaps, I didn't know you as well as I thought I did at the beginning. Perhaps that was my mistake, my fault.

And I won't make a big deal out of this time. I'll keep your life drama free. I won't defriend you on Facebook.

What have we come to, in an age where things as small, as pointless, as effortless, as meaningless as an IM, a text, or a defriendship have come to matter so much?




I still refuse to believe the entire male species is filled with assholes. But I do believe it's filled with a good number of cowards.

My headband's been cutting off the circulation to my brain. The synapses must not be firing correctly. I'm a day away from disastrously failing.

Written word for the sake of sanity.

Sometimes I wonder where the line between therapy and exploitation falls.

Sometimes I wonder if I take some kind of masochistic pleasure in emotional turmoil.

I'd have no material otherwise.

And then, what about the people I maintain relationships with who accidentally get caught in the diction.




I don't know.

But I'm sorry.

Hands down I'm too proud for love.

It was only an affair

"Are you sure?"
"Yes."

He'd asked her repeatedly.
She couldn't figure why he cared so much.

Now, in retrospect, she really didn't have anyone to blame but herself. Though, blame was perhaps the wrong word. The way things were ceased to exist after that first time. Because well, she should've known better.

But we never learn from our mistakes do we? Sometimes we keep making the same ones over and over, until it works out, until they're not mistakes anymore.

And she never wanted any more than what they had, or that's what she told herself anyway. She wasn't sure if she'd convinced herself of the fact, or in actuality it was just that, fact. And it was only the pure idea of more that bothered her.

She didn't want more, but she drew the line at others. He couldn't very well fuck her and others at the same time. That was where she had to draw the line. Of all the mistakes, she had to draw it there. That was where she could draw it. Because, at that point, she couldn't compromise.

But she wondered still, how could she ask that of him. So she didn't because it wasn't hers to entitle. So she left.

And at the end, she wondered if she left because she couldn't compromise or if she left because she didn't want to accidentally fall for it all.

And we all wonder. What's the big deal? It's not like it was love. After all, it was only an affair. It was only an affair.

There was never any weight, was there.

Their banter was never the same, and was it worth it? Probably not, but she'd probably make the same mistakes again.

Awworthy

"Bros before hos"

So what's the saying for girls? Girls before idiots? I'm too tired to come up with anything clever.

Matters of the Heart Pt. 2

So this is where it starts.



I'm really sick of this.

I met him in college, at a not so random party. He was taking flying lessons and had a thing for Frank Sinatra. He introduced me to Ben Harper and burned me a copy of his CD. We laid in his bed talking about life, and a myriad of things I can no longer recall. I left near dawn. And the innocence of it all. Well, that was a time I no longer seem to subscribe.

Intoxication reduces inhibitions. I'm more prone to doing and saying things I wouldn't ordinarily do in a sober state because I don't care about the consequences. Now, sometimes this leads to good results, sometimes it leads to fmylife mornings. I'm wondering though, if at the end of the day, a lesser dose of inhibitions turns out to be better or worse for everything that is my life. Sometimes it enables me to look at things simpler, instead of my ordinarily state of mind where I'm simply crazy. I don't know. I don't know.


Btw. I find it highly ironic that I'm getting an M.A. in Communications, the one subject I abhorred all through grade school. For the life of me I could never get past that ugly Satisfactory on my report card. The entire report card would be tainted by that one ugly Satisfactory.

And now here I am, choosing to get my second M.A., in Communications. I'm making the choice to get out there and actually talk to people. Bizarre. I never saw that one coming.