Saturday, October 4, 2014

Post 97

Pardon me while I sink back into my cocoon for a bit.

Forgive me while I bury myself in work, shed the dresses I don't wear, try something new, dare to dream, check out from reality and explore the fantastical recesses of my imagination for a second.

I feel a shift in my being; I am currently in limbo, treading water. Psyching myself up for what lies ahead. Putting my ambitions in check. Plotting my next move.

While I may look calm, sound tired, seem listless, just know that there is a storm brewing underneath.

Alterations are in process.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Post 96

The trepidation of a clean page...

Why is it that my brain wipes itself clean whenever it is presented with the opportunity to start a new story. Takes forever to figure out the first word; the right combinations to make an intelligent sounding sentence that is at the same time witty but also thrown together like it's natural. Like I don't care that much. It just comes to me like a dream.

Simple as that.

But not really.

I'll sit in front of my screen for hours putting it off. Watching every episode of everything I have downloaded. Check Facebook a thousand times. Do some window shopping...

Another cup of tea perhaps? Don't mind if I do. It'd be too bad to leave that last bit of chocolate sitting in its wrapper overnight. Might as well have some of that too.

Meanwhile the page remains blank as I distract myself with vacuuming the crumbs under my desk. At least I'm giving myself the illusion of being productive.

As I go about my day I've got a million ideas. The beginning to a thousand stories hatch in my mind. Funny, smart, kinda brilliant sometimes. But I'm working so I can't write them down. Or rushing through the crowded sidewalks; no time to whip out a pen and that deteriorating notebook occupying the bottom of my bag.

I promise myself as soon as I get there I'll make a note of it. Can't be too hard to remember.

But then a zooming taxi misses me by that much. Or some oversized business man in an undersized blazer crashes into me and I forget all about it.

Many a genius idea of mine has vanished before it had the chance to see the light of day.

So when I actually try to sit down and give it a shot, my brain panics because it's already given me every bright idea its had all day long. Just that I didn't notice. Or have the time to notice.

And now it's gotta think of something equally as imaginative and wonderful and it freaks out.

Thus my doing everything in my power to avoid facing the reality of a blank page. The bright white screen staring me in the face, daring me to put something down.

Something remotely good...anything amusing.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Post 95

This little bit came from a conversation about the perils of Tinder....

Ah the wooing... nothing more enchanting than awaiting that so longed for text. 
Nothing so heart stabbingly painful as the cruel sting of rejection.
Nothing so innocently beautiful as the anticipation of that first kiss. 

Ah love. So sweet, so desirable, so...lovely.

And yet with every wonderful thing love brings, we must also be prepared to face...the dark side.

Sleepless nights wondering why that bastard never texted you back.
Meticulously combing through the evening trying to pinpoint where exactly it all went wrong. 
Trying to find the exact moment you revolted them forever.

Literally yanking your hair out by fist-fulls because of the constant torment their smiling face gives you.

If only you could have that face. Physically hold it to your bosom, clench it so tightly against you that you become one with that face. 

That handsome grinning face you stalked so precisely for so many months. Learning everything about them: every habit, every poop break, every coffee ever purchased just so you could randomly run into them one day. And ever so casually start a conversation...

How charmed they immediately are! How nice to meet someone with whom they have so much in common. This is clearly something special.

And so you now spend the next several months lulling them into a false sense of security. Really making them think you love them for them. That you are in love with their soul, their entire being!

Yes....yes....it's working....be patient....

Soon...so very very soon, you'll have that face you so longed for...oh yes...

To add to your face collection....the only true love of your life. The one that never figuratively stabbed you in the heart and left you for dead! Who never viciously threw you to the ground and left when you need them most! 

Because the only beautiful face worth loving is the stiff lifeless one in your freezer...the traces of their last horrifying screams etched in the corners of those endless blue eyes...

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Post 94

A continuation of Post 93....


I've been told that I should be proud of what I've accomplished, that I've done so much already. That there are some that haven't done nearly all of what I've managed to do. I know they mean well but I feel shitty when I am told these things. The fact of the matter is, I've done squat, I've contributed nothing at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

And the fantasies come back. They creep into my mind, invade my field of vision and transport me away to another existence, another purpose in which I am exactly who I want to be. In which I am unafraid, I am bold. I attack with purpose and gumption. The world is my oyster and I know exactly how to handle it.

I'm certainly not depressed. I have no reason to be at all. There's just a feeling of unfulfillment nagging at my insides. Like, I have so many ideas I want to tackle but am unsure of how to go about it. Or at least that's what I tell myself so I don't have to face the fear of failure...or is it the fear of success? I want so badly to do so many things, I've got a list a mile long but I can't. It's just barely out of reach; it's this force, this thing keeping me trapped on the futon.

Another cup of tea, another episode of something and I promise I'll get right on it. I'll start tomorrow. I'm gonna make it happen at some point.

And that point never comes.

Every once in a while a wave of yes comes over me and I am motivated as fuck and I just go and do things and it's great. But those are few and far between. And I'm back into my funk.

Post 93

From a little something I wrote a couple weeks ago....

I've always wanted to be a badass. A leather jacket wearing, cigarette dragging bad girl with a permanent smirk etched on my mouth. And when I'd walk down the street, the soft clunk of my boots against the pavement would be enough to announce that greatness was coming by. My shoulders would move with the rhythm of my feet; my baby blues would be shaded behind a very black pair of Ray Bans... Hair immaculately coiffed in a way that looked like I don't care...

I blame James Dean. Or every gangster from Boardwalk Empire. They are the ones to blame for igniting such fantasies. The dream is unattainable. Unrealistic and frivolous for the likes of me.

As much as I love to imagine myself being this larger than life incredibly charismatic character, it's not going to happen.

I am what I am and have somewhat come to terms with that. I am a bespectacled hipster with a pretty face. I wear my male roommate's clothes and a vintage military jacket. I eat kale and spend a little too much time brooding, thinking, wondering, fantasizing.


And as I sit in my living room on this very wet fourth of July I can't help but feel that there is so much more that I am totally missing out on. Others I know have amazing talents, sensational stories, such incredible life experiences; meanwhile I look at myself and wonder what I have. What have I got to contribute. What have I got to show for myself.  

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Post 92

In light of recent events I feel the need to express my anger against the violence, harassment, misogyny, and unfair treatment that women face on a daily basis.

If you don't know about Elliot Rodgers and his disgusting tirades against women by now, then by God you must be living under a rock.

So here's to you Elliot:

No one, not a single woman out there owes you anything. We, the females of the world, do not owe you our time, our smiles, our tenderness and affection, our conversation, our love. You do not have the right to demand anything from us, especially not sex which you seem to covet so much. Simply because you are a man. And I am a woman.

If I reject you, tell you "No," tell you I'm not interested, tell you to please go away, to fuck off already, then that is my right. There could be a million-and-one reasons why I do not want to talk to you. I am not obligated to share a single one of them with you.

My wanting you to go away is not an invitation to hate me, abuse me, belittle me. Us. We do not deserve your violent tirades, your festering hatred, your cruel intentions, your chilling Final Retribution.

Simply because a girl doesn't want to go out with you, kiss you, fuck you. You do not have the right to demand that from someone. A no means no. Didn't anyone ever tell you?

As your equals, women deserve to be respected. We can do whatever and whomever we want.

Maybe if you had been kinder, seen women as partners and friends in life and not as something that is to be conquered and possessed, then maybe you would have gotten lucky.

Your rejection was your own fault. Because you were only interested in getting laid, because sex was your top priority. Not the person you would be doing it with, not her personality, her story, her feelings and her thoughts. Just her pussy. That's all you wanted. And she must have known. Women are good like that.

We can see through the bullshit.

Yes, Not All Men are like you. There are many out there who have evolved and have come to realize that women are intelligent powerful beings who have so much more to offer than just a pretty face.

Yes All Women have felt the sting of your brutish tirade, we were shocked at your inhumanity. Your pompous, full-of-yourself attitude disgusted us. And I know that some of us will be clutching our mace cans a little more tightly now.

You definitely prove that rape culture is a very real and very terrifying thing. You prove that violence against women is still very much at large.

And for those who actually feel bad for you instead of seeing you for what you really are, are just as much a part of the problem as you.

I'm glad you're no longer here. Because with a soul as black as yours, you don't deserve to be.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Post 91

Three A.M. and I'm waiting at the station for the next uptown train. And when it finally comes rolling in, I drag myself into the car with the other night owls finally heading home.

Teetering on their heels, drooling makeup, lolling heads, exhausted limbs, wrinkled shirts, and rumpled hair. What once looked so perfectly put together only a few hours before is now proof of the debauchery that has taken place.

Not a single one of them will be up before noon tomorrow. Neither will I.

A late night on the town certainly has a seductive allure. The promise of good times cannot be resisted. But at some point we all end up in the exact same spot.

Reunited on the subway no matter where we came from. That unnaturally silent way-too-early ride home. Desperately fighting the urge to let our heavy eyelids droop any lower for fear of missing our stop.

And while we're just barely dropping into bed for the night, others are just barely having their first coffee of the day.

Ah, New York...what you do to your children....too cruel for words!