tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79561168858367278942024-02-08T02:54:15.518-08:00Irrevocable Chaosmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04588500198768383293noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-1318882320164446282013-12-02T16:10:00.002-08:002013-12-02T16:10:48.148-08:00Bricks and Pieces. I reach out to feel it, the coldness and the pockets and grooves in the bricks. The cement in between each one.<br />
This is most definintely a brick wall.<br />
I pull back, the wall getting smaller as I pull away from it, already sore from before. As fast as I can, with all of my strength, again, I throw myself. Because everything I need is Inside of that wall and I need to get into it. Not on either side, INSIDE. so I try again. Gearing myself up, I connect with it, and ricochet off, again. I can feel the bruise pooling under my shoulder, the same one I've always used, a new fresh bruise where the last one was just starting to go grey. I want to cry. I have that feeling just under the skin, just behind the parts of myself I can feel, welling up. And I know that she is coming because she always comes after I connect with the wall instead of melding into it. The voice in my head that starts to tell me unless I take the wall down brick by brick and rebuild around myself, I'll never have a chance at being in the middle of it. I'm not a stone mason, I dont know how to build a brick wall.<br />
So I sit. and I look at the wall. It's been there forever. I've never so much as put a chink in it, and I never really will.<br />
Then she starts to whisper, in her darker voice, that I feel in the back of my head and the pit of my chest, because she is a feeling more than a person, that I should just simply walk around and see whats on the other side.<br />
And this time, like every time before, I come a little closer to standing up and walking around it like she's asking me to. And every time I wonder how many more times before I do. mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04588500198768383293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-68192437436542292122011-01-15T11:36:00.001-08:002011-06-16T00:57:20.879-07:00What happened to thinking that the world was flat? What happened, what happened to that ?It's like breathing, The way if you think about it , you have to think, for the next few minutes, "Breathe in, Breathe out", you have to do it manually, even though if you forgot, your body would remember, Your body would slip into that circadian rhythm and do it for you. My heart is like that sometimes. Even when I forget that the ache is there, my body, my heart remembers to keep feeling for me, to keep missing, to keep breathing in hope and out the exhaustion that comes with it. <div>I'm all caught up in myself and most days I don't even realize, most days I think I'm perfectly normal, but my heart remembers all the time.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04588500198768383293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-4694489555388326152011-01-04T23:56:00.000-08:002011-06-13T21:43:47.105-07:00" I saw pictures in my head, and I swear I saw you opening up again"My new years resolution? <div><br /></div><div>I made a whole posterboard. But, really, it boils down to</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Stop impeding your own progress. </b></div>mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04588500198768383293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-51521576415138561932011-01-01T20:24:00.000-08:002011-06-16T00:49:08.221-07:00promises promises<span class="Apple-style-span" >I will not apologize for my feelings to anyone, regarding anything. Write a one act play. share myself in a real way again. come from a place of yes. treat writing like a career I will not wear a scarlet letter. Dress the way I see myself. Go back to school. Take some kind of vocal lesson. Stop trying to earn back people who do not deserve me. Mend my heart. Apologize to those who deserve it, let go of those who don't. Blog. Read Literature as much as possible. Create a youtube channel. I do not hide how I feel in order to protect relationships. Choose my words carefully. Think of myself as woman, not a girl. Ask for help when I need it. Forgive her. I will continue to let my heart be my compass. Have sex again. Write lyrics and don't be afraid to share them with others. Further my independence. Little victories. Journal the way I used to. Take care of and love my body. Perform at an open mic night. Tattoo. I will not apologize when it's not my fault. Write letters to adrienne weekly. I will allow my self to experience my emotions as they are happening , regardless of what they are. Love Fearlessly. <b>Reclaim my life. </b></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >These are promises I've made myself, the things I wrote all over my 2011 poster. Vows I made to myself, definitions of who I am that I'm going to live by, things I aspire to, things to remind myself. This blog, is not going to be a blog for me to lament and complain about 201o. This is not what this is. </span></div><div><div> </div></div>mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04588500198768383293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-57226139415862117052010-12-23T19:33:00.000-08:002010-12-23T20:03:35.291-08:00" all the pieces, pieces, pieces of me "(Excerpt. To be entered in a local " narrative short " contest.) <br /><br />The night of our first kiss was nothing short of cosmic. Truly. The kind of feeling you can only hope for, and at the same time, tell yourself isn't real, as you watch all the clark gable and cary grant "swept up in you" Notting hill kind of moments. <br /><br />We drove out of town, talking the entire way. Partly because I wanted to fill any silence that might become awkward and spoil the momentum we were slowly building, and mostly because the conversations I had with him were better than any other one's Id ever had. God, I realize now how young I was -- how full of idealism and dreams. I wanted to stop talking alltogether, unless it was to him. To save up all of my words an ideas for him, for us. <br /><br />He pulled the car over, into the quaint parking spaces of a park. "Let's walk" he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. I willed my knees to stop knocking , though this seemed impossible. <br /><br />One of the many things that played in my head, in the weeks after, and even now, is the act of taking his arm. It seems so simple, but it was crossing a barrier. IF we touched before it was just touching, but now it was something more. It was myself folding into a fold of him. My young romantic self took note of everything. <br /><br />We walked in the lightly sprinkling mist, across a cement path that cut through some grass. It occured to me for but a moment to worry about being seen and by who, but this was outside of my world, a different place. My heart was racing too loud to let my voice of reason get a word in edge wise. <br /><br />He steered me towards a park bench. It was cold out, moist, and chilling. To be honest, I was freezing. My teeth were chattering and he was looking at his hands. The same ones I stared at whenever I had a chance. <br /><br />We had a few moments of conversation. I remember we talked about movies, and jokes. He reccomended a song. I laughed a few dozen times too many. And then it got quiet. <br /><br />" I don't want to scare you. I don't want to be some creepy person who hurts you or makes you feel like you owe me something. That isn't what these feelings are." <br /><br />The breath before my reply was the deepest one I've ever inhaled. Every word, needed to fall carefully. It was now I needed my strength of word choice, and now when my mind was failing me. If being well worded my superpower, his proximity was kryptonite. But I carried through. <br />"I know what I'm getitng into. I can't ignore how I feel, and I'm not afraid of you." <br /><br />"Ok then" he said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. His arm slid up around my shoulder and he pulled me in. <br /><br /><br />I vividly remember, every single detail about those next ten seconds. The way his head turned, and the way , but a few seconds before, the mist had turned into those drops that come in warning of a pending rainfall. He tasted like stride gum, coffee, and everythign Id ever dreamt of. I giggled, in a knee jerk reaction, and pulled back just a bit. I apologized, and he slipped his tongue into my mouth. He had was on my face, soft and at the same time, the kind of worn that comes from working to create something beautiful. I wanted to kiss him until I ran out of oxygen. Until I forgot everything I'd learned up until that moment. It sounds cliche and probably anti feminist, but I was restructured that moment in the park twenty minutes outside of town. on an old bench in the almost rain. <br /><br />Who I was didn't miraculously change, rather, she burst into something she'd always wanted to be. Not because of him, but because of who I'd let myself become, because of the fear I'd thrown aside, and the choice I'd made to love with everything I had, at the risk of everything I had, for as long as I had.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-84834339200305475612010-12-23T12:20:00.001-08:002013-12-02T15:46:59.771-08:00"Isabelle what can I do? The last thing I need is to end up askew"When I up and left for San Diego, I had no idea where I was going. Half thrown out of my parent's house, and half running away to never look back, I landed on my aunt's couch without any idea where I was going. Terrified. Angry. Blaming my parents for every mistake they've ever made to screw up my life. Trying as hard as I could not to let anyone see why I wasn't okay. Trying to not let myself see that I wasn't okay. Nursing a feeling of mistrust and a lack of faith in people in general that my last year has given me, and wishing I could just turn off the way I did in September. climb in bed for a few weeks, and wait untl the storm blew over. My first morning here, my beautiful aunt took me out and told me, pointblank, that If I wanted to stay I could, but it wasn't going to be easy. Those first weeks in San Diego, were grueling. I went to be freezing every night -- only to get up and down a million times, to pace the unfamiliar house, watch the television, and ache for the comforts of a home long gone. I didn't just grieve my home, I grieved the family I thought I had. I grieved the way it used to be, at least the better version of who we were. I graved coming home from a long night at school to a note on the counter and some food in the fridge. I grieved when my father was simply a hardworking jerk who cared about his family and did everything he could to provide. I grieved the sanity of my mother. I grieved the friendships I spent years cultivating. I grieved my relationship, all over again, because I was in a new place -- and if my old bed had felt lonely, my new one, the strange one I couldn't ever place a memory of having been held in, seemed as vast as any dark forboding body of water. I grieved my friendships with friends who I hadn't realized I cared about. It's easy to see the goodthings about people you wrote off, when you're a million years away from who you were, and all alone. I felt as though there wasn't a single person in the world who wasn't going to look at me and say "there she is, Hester with the scarlet letter" or something less dramatic but equally implicating me as a whore. I was tired. and Cold. I was afraid and anxious. I was realizing for the first time how on my own I truly am. I felt pressured, I felt scared. I felt like my wonderful aunt who so kindly saved me from destitution, was riding me as hard as possible, and I couldn't do anything right. Be awake by six thirty. No wearing pajamas after seven. No idle time. etc. These are all things I'm going to say, are great. But I wanted them to be decisions for myself. I knew she was helping me, I was just terrified of the level of maturity she had set for me to reach. The bar was too high. I missed highschool. Gradually though, things shifted. I found myself waking up on my own, earlier and earlier in the morning. I grew to enjoy the habits my benefactor was trying to help me develop. I began writing down my goals, making to do lists, looking for work, and exploring the new world around me. By the time Haylan came to visit, I was ready to break out of the glass case I'd set up around myself in the middle of september. I found a reason, to get out of bed in the mornings, without forcing myself, without contemplating utter defeat, without wishing I could stay in my sweatpants all day. In a swift 24 hours, Haylan saw the things that I see. And I had a partner in crime. The whirlwind that was our decision to move into a converted garage studio behind the house, and find jobs, happened in a matter of 48 hours. There we were. In business. Here I am now, a different person. I wouldn't describe myself anymore as the girl who lost her way. I am a woman, who can take care of herself. I am a woman who goes to work and balances a budget and cleans her apartment and cooks meals. I go to work with AMAZING people, and I have friends who say things like "What are we doing after work tonight ? " I get excited to get ready for work, and I get excited to come home, to MY home, that belongs to ME. To decompress, to lounge, to think. I found things I want out of life that I didn't even realize I want, and I found things that I didn't know if they even existed. I've always said I want to get up and love going to work, no matter how menial my job is. I LOVE going to work. I love talking to people, and raising awareness about a cause I really truly agree with. I love san diego. The coffee shops. The stores that are open 24 hours. The jackinthebox behind my house that I've already frequented WAY too much. I love having dinner a couple nights a week with my roommate and my aunt. I love having a glass of wine when it's late and we're eating dinner under the stars . Hell. I just love having a glass of wine. I have my days, believe me, it's not all rainbows and butterflies. There are nights when Haylan is with mike, or I turn down what may have been a date, or a certain song plays on the radio, that I know I'm having a bad night. But I get through these, I push past loneliness and fear and anything else that tries to creep in and make me crazy, by pushing forward. By continuing to build a life for myself that I can share when I'm not so lonely. I'm ten times the person I was six months ago, and I know I can only grow exponentially more. I guess this is all really written for me today, to tell myself that I'm okay. That I've gotten out of the town I hated, and created a life for myself. This is a reminder to myself that everything else I want that seems as far fetched as that dream I had to run away and start over as a starving artist, is just as attainable as this was. I'm going to keep focusing on getting the things I want out of my life, that are in my control to achieve. I'm kind of a big deal.<br />
<br />
<br />
current jam / guilty pleasure : This Album. This Song.<br />
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<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/hg0qmGLY3lc" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-48641565192615852892010-12-20T17:37:00.001-08:002010-12-20T17:46:29.022-08:00"Tomorrow if a golden train came to take me away, would you go or would you stay?"I don't have the most commonplace idea of "Family." <div>We hear so many times "You can't choose your family" or "I love them because they're my family" etc. I don't believe that this is what "family" is. "Family" Is not the people you are related to. The parents I was born to, the siblings I grew up with, these people are my Relatives. I'm not saying Family and Relatives can't be the same people, but they are not synonymous definitions. To me, Family is defined by the people who you want in your every day life, your support system. the people who make you feel safe to be who you are, to be open and warm and loved, those people who you know don't ever want to hurt you, those who lift you up, fight for you, would die for you, help you and want to see you do well. Maybe I'm biased, but this idea of family, is not what most people's "relatives" are. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have some pretty shitty relatives.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My children, will not be my relatives. they will be my family. My best friends, the two of them are my family. The love of my life is my family, my sister is my family. My aunt who took me in when I had nothing and helped me build a new life, is my family. </div><div><br /></div><div>The people who sat with me and held my hair back as I shook and cried and was sick with grief, who told me to get out of bed and move on, the people who stayed in my life when everyone else walked out, the people who I'd do the very same for, </div><div>They are my family. </div><div><br /></div><div>My family is a wonderful group of people. And I'm so blessed to have them in my life, in whatever capacity they can be. I love my family. Even though I've built it piece by piece on my own, at this point in my life, I wouldn't have it any other way. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-50219547838124418552010-12-16T17:35:00.000-08:002010-12-16T18:02:13.694-08:00Searching for your hand at sunset, I hear you whispering in the wind.This last month of my life has been about a lot of growth and change. In so many ways, I can already look at the person I was thirty days ago, and seen leaps and bounds of change. I can see who I am in the future so close I can almost touch her. I'm not a child anymore. I have my own place, I pay rent, and my own bills. I have a full time job, where I work 40 hours a week and I come home exhausted. I can drive a car, I am not a virgin, I don't have a curfew, and when I've had a long day , I have a drink to relax. I can vote, I have an exhausted and a cautious heart, and after I finish this blog, I'm probably going to go smoke a cigarette. I'm responsible for me in every way possible. <div><br /></div><div>There are still so many things I see in myself though, that aren't all the way there yet. I have a sense of idealism that most adults seem to have shaken. I believe in things more than most "adults" I know. My refusal to fall into cynicisms as much as the "adults" around me, makes me question if I've grown up wiser, or if I haven't grown up at all. I still will eat my curly fries as fast as I can, like a child who's afraid they'll have to share. I still hate waking up, and I still put projects up the way I did in highschool with homework. I am just as inclined, at work, as I was in class, to fake sick. These things may be parts of me who haven't grown up, or they may just be who I am, and part of me hopes it's the latter . I'd like to hang on to my idealism as long as possible. I'd like to tell my heart to start beating again the way it did before it was broken, because there is a girl inside of me who KNOWS it won't stay that way. I know as much as I know my own name, that I won't end up alone, that I'm going to land right where I was supposed to, wherever that may be. Childish? Perhaps. But I hope that childishness in particular, is something I don't outgrow. </div><div><br /></div><div>Currently Listening : </div><div><br /></div><div><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/d_0LMpycXFg" frameborder="0"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-63838660754601046222010-12-08T10:58:00.000-08:002010-12-08T11:12:17.636-08:00"too late, two choices, to stay or to leave, mine was so easy to uncover."I wish that I were strikingly beautiful. The kind that makes people stop and stare. The kind that people say "she doesn't know how beautiful she is" . The kind that didn't leave me saying "This is it then" every morning. I wish I could achieve this without standing in the mirror pulling myself apart.<br /><br />I have this idea in my head of the woman that I should be. petite, alluring, able to turn heads and challenge a conversation without seeming overbearing. I wish I had the classic "grace" attributed to most of my favorite novel characters, and I hope these are things I can learn myself in the ways of. I feel as though I'm already too old.<br /><br />I sat down last night, with my favorite novel, and immediately I was lost again. Lost in the pages of a woman who I've seen in my mind since I first read this book at the much too early age of 12. In "Petals on the wind" I find a niche for the voice within my heart. In this protagonist, Catherine Doll, I see so much of myself. She's a woman, who knows that she needs to know how to be a woman in a man's world, but also who claims her fierce independence. She's convicted, to the point of burning herself to prove she can hold her hand on the stove. She's rash and thinks with her heart. She loves everyone she loves more than she can understand. She's got a darkness in her, a side that was broken so young and so small, that it's always there, a chasm of the childhood she didn't have. She has a lover she fights for, a man she can only hold but in instances, a man the world is watching her to see she doesn't love. While other girls talk about the way their heart skips a beat to see/ speak / read Edward Cullen, I have these same fondnesses in my heart, for Dr. Paul Sheffield. It's more unique, because I'm certain I'm the only person who has ever loved him the way that I do, upon just reading the book. Hes got grace, a heart, the kind of mind that never stops working, he has tragedy in his eyes, but lightness in his laughter. It's so silly to love a literary character isn't it ?<br /><br />I came across an old journal of mine recently, dated 2007. I wrote, in small handwriting late one night "Sometimes I fear that love won't be enough to satisfy me, that I need something greater, deeper. I fear I'm too dark to merely meet a companion and be happy. I need someone who can see the recesses of me,who will love my broken pieces, I don't want the kind of love one just has, I want the kind of love that would DESTROY me to lose."<br /><br />I must say, my poetic/pathetic analysis of myself shook me. Did I search out an impossible situation without realizing it, so that I could love in my comfort zones and still allow that broken part of who I am to love as well ? The part that doesn't work, did I need something deep and tragic and "once in a lifetime -- but heartache for eternity" so that I could feel like a whole person ?<br /><br />I don't know. I don't feel like who i am anymore most days. I am lonely, and I tell myself in the mornings, I'm going to go out and find new people. But in my head, I don't want to meet a nice boy and fall appropriately in love.<br /><br />I say with probably much too much candor, that I found Dr. Paul Sheffield, and as fleeting as it was for my beloved Catherine Doll, my own sense of irrevocable unending love, even for the broken pieces, nails me to my floor most days.<br />I can't be angry, you can't be upset that you had the most wonderful thing in the entire world, and didn't have it LONG enough. But at the same time, how can I move on from the most amazing thing anyone can feel ?<br /><br />It's a petals on the wind kind of day, that's for certain.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-47066045719018243222010-12-06T00:17:00.000-08:002010-12-06T00:54:56.965-08:00"you're chasing the ghost of a real thing, haunting yourself as the real thing"<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> I am not very easily understood.<br /><br />I can be offputting, to say the very least. This is, as I've come to realize, a defense mechanism. I don't give a good impression, because I'd probably rather you think I dislike you, than give you the opportunity to dislike me. I don't like this about myself ( ha self, I beat you to the self loathing). But in seriousness,<br />I'm a lot of talk -- in the sense that, you probably won't find someone who loves their friends more than I do. Nor will you find someone who wishes they could be EVERYONES everything as much I as I do. In the last years, I spread myself too thin. Gave too much of myself to too many people, and the people I trusted the very most, made me feel like the ONE thing I could always count on , my heart's intuition, was faulty.<br /><br />So lately, I'm cold. I'm disconnected. I look out for me, and I fight back with an acid tongue I am not proud of. I'd rather pretend I don't care than let people who I took the time and effort to love see how harshly their judgment has effected who I am.<br /><br />But I'm not cold. I'm not detached. I don't hate people. On the contrary, I weep over the friends I've lost, the people who I've pushed away, and those who have gone running even more. It kills me to look at the list of people who I tried so hard to be there for, and see how quickly it dwindled itself, and I whittled it down, all in the span of a few months.<br /><br />I cant say that I expect everyone to agree with all of the decisions I've made this year, and please, forgive me for comparing myself this way, but I feel like a bad Britney Spears song. I am growing up. I am growing into who I am. I can't change the things that have gotten me here, but I wish people cut me a little bit more slack.<br /><br />So . You call me a slut. Perpetuate stories that aren't true, laugh about me like it's a joke. How funny was it when I drove across town to pick you up for rehearsal all summer? When I NEVER left , no matter how late it was or how tired I was, without making sure you had a way home ? When I fought for you to be allowed to try your damndest ? And who are you to pass judgement anyways. I was honest with myself about how I felt . Can you say the same ?<br /><br />I'm honest with me a lot. I tell myself over and over and over again when I've messed up. Believe me, Just because I don't broadcast my self criticisms, doesn'tmean I don't know they're there. I'm emotional, I react rashly, I'm stubborn, and I can't take no for an answer. I know these things, you don't have to click your tongue and shake your head. I know me.<br /><br />but I'm also compassionate. I react so quickly because I feel so passionately. I'm vulnerable. I'm in recovery, and I'm still pretty broken. I'm funny. I love with everything I have. I'm loyal. I'm good with words. I'm a good friend, and more than anything, I am good at using my heart. When I love, I do it to the very best of my ability. I work, actively to be what people need from me.<br /><br /><br />I don't give a very good impression, not anymore. But it's because I'm guarded in a way I didn't use to have to be. I've had pieces of me go missing, and I'm afraid to do that again, I'm afraid to ever hurt myself again. But it doesn't mean that I'm cold, that I'm angry and mean, and it certainly doesn't mean I'm a slut.<br /><br />I'm growing into who I've become. I only wish It wasn't so lonely.<br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-9553756719459234622010-12-03T10:32:00.000-08:002010-12-03T17:01:41.161-08:00"Keep telling myself that it won't take long till I'm free of my disease"<span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >for December :<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Oxygen - Willy Mason</span><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"We can speak louder than ignorance, cause we speak in silence every time our eyes meet." </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Smoking Signals - Sean Hayes</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"Stop that buzzing over there </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Stretch your bones and wash your hair </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Change your strings </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Dust your wings"</span> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />3. The hypnotist's son - Emmy the Great </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"It's like I missed all the memos</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> And I missed the boat</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> And a meteor shower</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Is heading for my throat</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Bang, bang. Smack. Ouch."<br /></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />4. Do you see me - Ron Pope<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">And as the sun cuts through the cold and tries its best to keep me warm<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I loose myself in thoughts of I don't know "<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />5. Love save the empty - Erin Mc Carley<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"Stars feel like knives,<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">They tell us why we're fighting.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Storm, wait outside.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Oh, love, hold us together."<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />6. Campus - Vampire Weekend<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">" How am I supposed to pretend,<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">That I never wanna see you again? "<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />7. Rocket Man (Cover) - Jason Mraz<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">" And I think it's gonna be a long long time,<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Till touchdown brings me round again to find<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I'm not the man they think I am at home, no."</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />8. The Shape we made - Peggy Sue<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">" I will remain missing whilst you're missing me. "<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />9. if you find her - future of forestry<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"At the break of morning<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">The day awaits her when she sleeps<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Deep inside her dreams is all<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">The beauty that she keeps"<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />10. Fall apart today - Schuyler Fiske<br /><br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"There's no good reason for<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Giving up<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">All this mess is just bad luck<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">So please don't lose your<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Confidence in me<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I wish I wasn't so fragile<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Cause I know that I'm not<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Easy to handle"<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />11. Alter the ending - Acoustic - Dashboard Confessional<br /><br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"Maybe we were right to carry on, to carry on<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Even when they said we'd be undone<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Take it as a sign we can still go on, we still belong<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Even when the worst is yet to come"<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />12. Iris - Goo Goo Dolls<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">" I don't want the world to see me,<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I don't think that they'd understand<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Everything's made to be broken,<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I just want you to know who I am."<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />13. Pretty eyes - Jason Reeves<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"We took the highway,<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">that curves along the ocean on a friday<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">the sun was falling down and you were shining<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">the rhythm of the waves was keeping time as you were singing"<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />14. Hope in the Air - Laura Marling<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"I have seen men provoked<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I have watched lives revoked<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">And I looked at my life and I choked<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">And from there, no more ever has spoke"<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />15. I wish you would - Ryan Adams<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"Screw all my friends, they're all full of shit."<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />16. Long December - Counting Crows<br /><br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Maybe this year will be better than the last "<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />17. Love - Jon McLaughlin<br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"It's a four letter word<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">and who'd ever thought that<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">a four letter word<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">would be so hard to spell out<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">and our hearts skippin' beats<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">on edges of seats"<br /></span></div><pre><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br />18. hallelujah (cover) - Rufus Wainwright</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"> "remember when I moved in you, the holy dark was moving too and every breath we drew was hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah." <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></div><pre><br /><br /></pre></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-1229307593543369702010-11-28T21:21:00.000-08:002010-11-28T21:57:57.919-08:00people always say, life is full of choices no one ever mentions fear It's one of those nights. You know what I'm talking about don't you? We all have them. Even the best of us have those nights that just don't sit well. I've done all the right things. Tonight I lit a dozen candles, and locked the bathroom door, I soaked in a tub full of steamy water and bathsalts, with lowplaying acoustic music and a mug of hot cocoa. <div><br /></div><div>Twenty minutes ago, as I slipped on my nightshirt (red silk) and towel dried my hair, every muscle in my body felt relaxed and calm. </div><div><br /></div><div>However. <br /><div><br /></div><div> Tonight, </div><div>In a way that I haven't been in ages, I'm lonely. </div><div>Tonight, I'm trying my best to hold myself together, because the weight of the world is weighing down on who I am and it's not too easy to get out from under it. Tonight is one of those nights I want to throw a tantrum, yell, throw things at the walls, hold my breath and stomp my feet until the world gives in to me like bad parents to horribly behaving children, and give me what I want. </div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like all I want is so simple, and yet I am simultaneously the most selfish person in the world. There is so LITTLE I want out of the world, but what I'm craving, seems to be the most difficult simplicity to come by. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't always feel this way. I don't always stare at the ceiling and cry, but tonight is one of those nights that I'm going to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight, I feel alone in a gigantic world that I ran away to. I'm in a town that isn't mine, that I'm dying to find a way into, In a giant feeling empty bed, with nothing but a box of my old journals to sort through and make myself crazy over. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's sunday. I've never liked sundays. There's probably a connection between day of rest / gods day / and the day that makes Brittany want to scream as loud as she can just to cut through the silence of sunday nights, but I'm too exhausted to search for the witty response to why god's day makes me want to kill myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm being dramatic. </div><div>But it's one of those nights. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's one of those nights that I cannot breathe. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-66497376815464684542010-11-23T20:20:00.001-08:002010-11-23T20:47:49.440-08:00"some pages turned, some bridges burned, but there were lessons learned"<div><b><i> I'm thankful, that I'm breathing</i></b>. </div><div><br /></div><div>How often do we hear ourselves say that aloud at Thanksgiving dinner? As we go around the table, and count our blessings, how often do we count ourselves blessed to simply be alive ? TO have made it through another year where millions of people die of famine, dehydration, chemical warfare, among a million other reasons? How often do we simply count ourselves immeasurably blessed, to be in possession of a body that is still working and allowing us to give thanks at all ? </div><div><br /></div><div>Have you had a bad year ? So have I. As is customary for Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother's, I sat down tonight to write my "What I'm thankful for" Speech. For the last four years, I've been something of a sideshow come thanksgiving. We all talk about our blessings as we share a turkey, but at one point or another, my grandfather looks at me and says "And now to the wordsmith" Or something equally as flattering. Compliments don't come often from him, and usually when they do , they're wrapped in an insult. "You're too damn smart to be so stupid" is his favorite for me, But, On Thanksgiving, he's looked at me these last few years, with pride in his eyes as he asks me to read the message I've written. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last year, I had quite the speech. There was so much to say , and so much that I couldn't. Last Thanksgiving, I wanted to be "anywhere but here" and I was counting the hours until my family left for their vacation and I could have my own time, but none the less, I thanked the world for the family I had, as broken as they may be, I was thankful that we'd all pulled through the swine flu, thankful that I wasn't lonely, thankful that it was almost christmas. I was thankful that I'd graduated highschool, and thankful that I was so happy with who I was. There was so much to say last year, and so many to say it to. </div><div><br /></div><div>This year is different. This twentieth year of my life has been a trying one, to say the very least. In a year filled with so much loss, and frustration, with so many hours full of tears , In a year where I can count months that I layed in bed with no desire to see the outside world, I am so, unbelievably thankful, to say that I am breathing. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful for other things, the kindness I've seen this year, that the trials I've been through have been formative, that at the end of a dark tunnel, I know who I am, I am thankful for my siblings, for my sister who is my favorite person in the world, for my best friends, I'm thankful that I'm able to get up every day and know that not all is lost. </div><div><br /></div><div>But most of all, I'm thankful, and you should be too, that we're breathing. Because as long as I'm alive, I have a chance to make it better. As long as I am breathing, I have it in me to be the stronger, better, more adept version of myself that I know I can find. </div><div><br /></div><div>What a wonderful gift is it to say I'm alive to keep growing, to learn and to try harder? </div><div><br /></div><div>This year, I'm thankful, that I'm here to be thankful at all. </div><div>And everything else, is an additional, extra, WONDERFUL blessing. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7956116885836727894.post-37332998226170041212010-11-14T15:40:00.000-08:002010-11-15T15:41:01.883-08:00Say Hello GoodbyeThe same thing happens every time.<div>I'm innocently completing a task, be it laundry, possibly the dishes, or even finishing off a particularly important livejournal entry, when it happens. ITunes, which is, on most ocassions, my friend, turns foe, and immediately starts to kill me.</div><div><br /></div><div>They're all in on it together too. It's not as if one artist in my repertoire of music has a grudge against me. It's not like Kanye is angry that I dare keep him in the same library as Ben Folds, or vice versa.</div><div>No.</div><div>This effort is collaborative.</div><div><br /></div><div>Matt Nathanson, Joni Mitchell, Paul McCartney, The Jonas Brothers, Dashboard Confessional, Alltime Low, Kelly Clarkson, Rosi Golan, Meg & Dia, Ingrid Michaelson, and various broadway musicals not limited to but ESPECIALLY " The last five years"</div><div><br /></div><div>Come together in a group effort to slay my heart and leave me bleeding out on my keyboard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe, Its my own fault. I buy music that will inevitably be my downfall. I live with my heart completely on the line. I say things like " I trust you implicitly with my heart " and " Don't apologize " and most precariously " I love you endlessly." I mean it. I don't say things if they're not what I'm feeling, I don't give opinions if they aren't genuine.</div><div>I live vulnerably.</div><div>And I expect other people to want honesty when they ask me a question.</div><div><br /></div><div>This ofcourse, leads the universe and the music industry, to give me what I give. To hyperfocus on my feelings via the omniscient "Itunes Shuffle" and cut directly to the still pink center of the metaphorical steak that is my heart on the barbeque of my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>look at me and my ridiculous metaphors. My Love would be proud. My Composition and literature teacher would not be.</div><div>But I digress.</div><div><br /></div><div>IT HAPPENS EVERYTIME.</div><div>Music, which is quite possibly the most important component in my life beyond my best friend and my soul mate,</div><div>is my inevitable downfall every time.</div><div><br /></div><div>A good song can make the dancing flutters of my heart soar. Cleaning my kitchen while Britney spears tells me over and over that the beat does, in fact, go on. The Veronicas can pulse through my veins with their pop sensation-y voices leading me to desire nothing more than a cigarette, or sex, depending on which album I'm listening to.</div><div>More often than not,</div><div>Shedaisy can leave me singing, on the floor of my shower, Crying my eyes out, for the umpteenth time.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't dare ask the universe to right this. I wouldn't want music I can't relate to. Because, Itunes, is giving me what I need. The honest answer to the questions I'm transferring with my fingertips on the keyboard.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's getting in my face and honest about the way I feel. It's not censoring itself for my benefit.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've trained my music library well. It's not afraid to give me the honest answers.</div><div><br /></div><div>None the less. Sometimes. I have to shut the computer, or make a playlist that doesn't scream "the mistake you're making is beautiful." or "Get your head on straight" Or even " maybe it's because I'm crazy, maybe it's because I just can't honestly tell you what I want." (alright, that one's not my brain, it's Matt Nathanson.</div><div><br /></div><div>But . As much as I'm constantly stitching myself back together,</div><div>I commend you Itunes. For even as I type this blog, You decide to pull out "Pretty Eyes" By Jason Reeves, and remind me of times that formed who I am today, no matter how many times I've cried over the lyrics, You know right now, It's what I need to hear.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2