the light of day: publishing old drafts that never made it past the cutting board or my head
"I was not sure of being beautiful enough."Anais Nin
Nursing an upset stomach with the Starbucks version of a Arnold Palmer, sitting in an oversized maroon velvet chair with one of the many diaries of Anais Nin in my lap, my eyes came to a halting stop at those words. Something in me stirred, a feeling in my past buried under layers of pain had been unwantingly purged, and I began to remember the insecurities i've overcome, the faces that caused them, the glances that went over me, and a resolution made to forget them, it. I, like the author, was thin and underdeveloped throughout my formative years; i soon realized the boys were only intertested in me for my proximity to the pretty, developed girls, and I was not one. Unlike the author however, my affinity to be loved and understood wasn't sufficient enough to cause me to compensate with other attributes as a snare, instead I found comfort in the love found in friendships and my family. Neverless, all those years of being invisible to the opposite sex, had a great impact on the woman i'm becoming.
tristan is running around the living room, recklessly; loudly gurgling nonsense to the dog he's chasing and the audience he knows is watching. he is attempting to throw a blanket over the dogs head in hope to suffocate it, i can only imagine. i don't remember ever being this unruly, but anyways. the news/sports/sport news in the background is to focus solely on the aroma. it works for awhile. when i come to, i'm comotosed: i'm really here in this living room in the outskirts of a small oregon "city". i never saw this coming. not until i said yes to moving here at least, and still i can't believe i'm here.
finding the words is one thing, manipulating them to jump from a safe and cozy habitat to complete and utter darkness is quite another thing altogather. like so, i have a friend; i have a friend who for two years has buckled under the pressure of the vulnerability that comes with spoken honesty. she feels outloud but shares these feelings only in her head and to her friends, typically more openly after a few cocktails or a cappacino. i can't condone or condemn her behavior--so many times before, so this very second, i too, do. it's not neccesarily a torment without prospect. there is a relief that lies in the belief that time will do the talking for us. afterall, is it not on my side?!?
duck is no longer on the menu
like sneaking a peek into the kleenex after blowing your nose, so i believe is the common secretivity and private shame in many a things. insecurities, curiosities, and guilty pleasures: weighing ourselves, only after (and never before) taking a number two, waking up every morning in time for dawsons creek, an erotic dream concerning the same sex, a solo follicle of hair growing in an unwanted place, hanging on to a box full of mementos from an old lover (years after the fact), eating a piece of candy despite it's 30 second duration spent on the ground, believing the onion was a credible source of news before you were too cool to know better, reading your horoscope before you read the front page, reading your significant others before you read your own, and smoking menthols.fccking a.d.d, i have no idea where i was going with that!!! i seemed to have ventured off for the past two hours, thanks to craigslist and myspace. both are endless entertainment. you wouldn't believe the trashy and irrestible (from a social stand point of course) content found in rant and raves. "
"i miss you,do you miss me?
how is work?
how is your life?
if something bad or you are mad e-mail me, it will help.
i am here for you.