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!

Monday, May 12, 2014

Post 90

There was something lacking.... creativity. A serious lack of creativity in her days right now. She had ideas, things she wanted to do but was scared to invest in them for fear that she'd lose interest, get discouraged too soon.

And of course that eternal nagging question about money. It's not like she had a bunch to spare...she had to be meticulous, spend it wisely. On something she'd absolutely want to do and keep doing.

She could feel it in the pit of her belly, an ache for something more. But always the feeling that hovered about her that she couldn't do it cause she wasn't good at it. Frustrating and discouraging. No wonder it seemed so unattainable.

Now the question was, and always had been, how to break through the funk and grab that thing that was rightfully hers.

Went back to being a figure model today at the New York Academy of Art. 
Was feeling rather inspired sitting up there in all my naked glory...
 Drawing by extremely talented Professor Mark Tennant.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Post 89

In this great big city it would seem that everything terrifying that could ever possibly happen happens underground. In the dark. In the tunnels.

Every single day I see a post about someone getting struck by an oncoming train. Sometimes surviving. Sometimes not.

And just today the F train derailed in Queens! Talk about putting a dent in the morning commute. All those people stuck underground. Hurt. Panicked. I couldn't possibly imagine it.

My heart skips a beat every time the train stops between stations for more that ten seconds. My impatience peaks when we hear the automated announcer saying "we are delayed due to train traffic ahead of us" more than once.

Or when I'm waiting in the station and another robotic voice booms out through the loud speakers saying "after an earlier incident...there are delays..."

The transportation of over a million souls on this insane metropolitan island could make the entire city come to a screeching halt with just one misplaced rail. Unsettling.

Yet we keep going. Keep disappearing into the subway stations with a dumb blind expectation that everything will be just fine. That this will surely not happen to me. That I will get to where I need to be on time.

The morning gamble. The nightly risk. The New York City subway.

MTA subway workers heading out into the tunnels
2:30am on my commute home from Brooklyn. L train



Post 88

My poor darling! Everyone's in love with you! Everyone! Whatever will you do?

I don't think you did it on purpose, casting your spell on them like that. It's not your fault you're so wickedly charming and desperately hilarious. Once you get going, you can't stop and everyone is immediately hypnotized laughing along.

Guts busting. Eyes crying with happiness.

No wonder they all love you. Want you. It can't be helped!

Same thing happened to me once upon a time. But still, your wit never gets old. You never get old. And you will be forever loved. Forever pined for.

Whether you like it or not.