When women complain about how men don't have feelings, I wonder if they listen to Jawbreaker.
That being said, I can't remember how many times I've felt like this.
Been hearing about you.
All about your disapproval.
Still I remember the way I used to move you.
I wrote you a letter.
I heard it just upset you.
Why don't you tell me?
How can I do this better?
Are you out there?
Do you hear me?
Can I call you?
Do you still hate me?
Are we talking?
Are we fighting?
Is it over?
Are we writing?
We're getting older.
But we're acting younger.
We should be smarter.
It seems we're getting dumber.
I have a picture
of you and me in Brooklyn.
On a porch, it was raining.
Hey, I remember that day.
And I miss you.
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
just to wake up tells me, hell I must be brave
As I watched desert warriors play songs of protest and assertions of humanity, the drone of electric guitars, the heartbeat catharsis of calabash and djembe, the voices drawn out and chanted, as the hippies and hipsters and boomers and the girls in hijab sway and clap. They've had lives I can't imagine and struggles I can't comprehend and I'm tired from being awake from so long and zone out with my eyes closed, taking in this sound. Desert Sessions aren't just for swanky stoner rockers, after all...
I wake up exhausted, staring at the ceiling, asking for divine sustenance because it's not in me. Exhaustion and depression, post-quarterlife crisis of conscience and existence, further torpedoed by monumental shifts of power meaning more frustration for yours truly. It's not that it's so bad, but just with everything else, with the pent-up frustration, I ended up in tears today, but thankfully there was class-cutting and city-wandering and spiritual introspection as therapy to put things back into perspective.
And Mia Zapata's fabulous cut-too-short punk rock fury. It still kills me that for all the female-fronted punk bands, the Gits don't get more attention. I loved this stuff as a frustrated art kid, and as I've gotten older and dealt with more suck, it's stuck for me.
I wake up exhausted, staring at the ceiling, asking for divine sustenance because it's not in me. Exhaustion and depression, post-quarterlife crisis of conscience and existence, further torpedoed by monumental shifts of power meaning more frustration for yours truly. It's not that it's so bad, but just with everything else, with the pent-up frustration, I ended up in tears today, but thankfully there was class-cutting and city-wandering and spiritual introspection as therapy to put things back into perspective.
And Mia Zapata's fabulous cut-too-short punk rock fury. It still kills me that for all the female-fronted punk bands, the Gits don't get more attention. I loved this stuff as a frustrated art kid, and as I've gotten older and dealt with more suck, it's stuck for me.
Friday, September 23, 2011
retain a sense of humor
A possibly innocent man is dead, REM broke up but that really didn't matter much, I still don't care what some politician says about someone else, my brain seems unable to function creatively with the cocktail of seasonal cold virus and rust belt allergens manifesting late in life.
I don't know what to do with myself when I have a night off of work and no art center, and these hours of daylight are becoming rarer and more precious, so I walk through the neighborhood, go down to the shore which is beautiful and pastel and almost completely emptied, even the water is subdued.
A stack of CDs from the library, more books on my shelves than I ever seem to have time to read, a feeling of increasing disconnectedness when I half-think about calling up whoever but due to not wanting to bother anyone, not knowing what to say as it is. As it's gotten easier to interact, it gets harder to connect and there's less to connect with as the inevitable pairoffs become more frequent. There's a lot of things I don't mind doing by myself, but being too relational for my own good, I don't like to do it all the time and one can't hide behind the creative all the time without going a little crazy.
I don't know what to do with myself when I have a night off of work and no art center, and these hours of daylight are becoming rarer and more precious, so I walk through the neighborhood, go down to the shore which is beautiful and pastel and almost completely emptied, even the water is subdued.
A stack of CDs from the library, more books on my shelves than I ever seem to have time to read, a feeling of increasing disconnectedness when I half-think about calling up whoever but due to not wanting to bother anyone, not knowing what to say as it is. As it's gotten easier to interact, it gets harder to connect and there's less to connect with as the inevitable pairoffs become more frequent. There's a lot of things I don't mind doing by myself, but being too relational for my own good, I don't like to do it all the time and one can't hide behind the creative all the time without going a little crazy.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
really should be leaving but I stay...
Small interludes, veering from place to place and mood to mood, unable to truly connect, and finding momentary peace in pews with a coffee mug in hand and in front of canvas, coloring in shapes, wondering why I keep returning to the same shades when I want something different. Maybe it was the glass of wine that had me admit to a table of relatives that sometimes I feel like I'm stuck, not that I mind where I'm at, but it's that sense of never being able to transcend it that is starting to sink in, while wondering if it even matters.
It's where I'm at I guess, wondering why if the feeling of being in a rut is just a feeling or if it's truth. It's not that I liked it when everything was changing and in a state slightly more organized than total chaos, but the routine, the structures immovable, something about it is getting to me.
Some talk of moving, of starting over, but one can't undo what's been done, unhappiness is as natural occurrence here as anywhere, things left behind will inevitably recur because no matter where you go, you bring with it who you are, for better or worse. Maybe I'm jealous that I'm too rooted and afraid. I don't know.
It's where I'm at I guess, wondering why if the feeling of being in a rut is just a feeling or if it's truth. It's not that I liked it when everything was changing and in a state slightly more organized than total chaos, but the routine, the structures immovable, something about it is getting to me.
Some talk of moving, of starting over, but one can't undo what's been done, unhappiness is as natural occurrence here as anywhere, things left behind will inevitably recur because no matter where you go, you bring with it who you are, for better or worse. Maybe I'm jealous that I'm too rooted and afraid. I don't know.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
posts from last night
So last night I was sitting at a kitchen table at a friend's house letting the dog get some fresh air and compiling tuneage for the show this morning, thinking about the transpiring of the past few days, of revolutions borne out of hope and frustration only to see more of the same, of self-styled holy warriors who kill children and blow things up, of nations too busy bickering over partisan lines than actually dealing with actual problems, preferring to snipe about the mannerisms of one's spouse or what someone's wearing.
Sometimes the fuckedupness of it all gets a bit overwhelming and I find myself returning to Job and the Psalms to use the words of others to simultaneously express wonder at the Divine and the beauty of the world and to be furious at the grievous and incomprehensible wrongs that we inflict upon each other.
I don't believe that everyone who professes what I believe is going to end up where they think they're going, or that they're right or justified. Since Glenn Beck is an adherent of a religion that bears as much resemblance to my Christianity as Farrakhan's does to classical Islam, I don't take him seriously but to imply that it's somehow their fault they got shot makes me sick. So does Pat Buchanan who's always been afraid of the coming days when the world won't be so crackertastic. You know what, all these other people have souls too. God made them just as much as he made you.
Buchanan applauds the guy's grasp of history, but being a bit of a history geek, I also don't understand this conflation of Christianity and xenophobia evident here, and also stateside, especially considering that a substantial amount of early converts were not of Nordic, or even European stock and came from areas that we now lump into the general category of "the Arab World." Augustine, Perpetua, Simon of Cyrene hailed from Roman Africa, which is now modern-day Tunisia, Algeria, Libya... most of the churches in the book of Revelation are in modern-day Turkey. So, yeah, I know nobody cares about stuff like that except for me, but I somehow feel like it's relevant to point out that while the pre-Islamic world was converting to various forms of Christianity, my ancestors to the north (Celtic and Slav) were still doing that whole human sacrifice thing. Norway was still pagan for about a thousand years after. Just sayin'.
And yeah, European thought and religion have dominated the world through colonization, globalization, and mass media, so for a lot of people the West is equated with at least a cultural framework that has some basis in Judeo-Christian thought. And talk about bloody political conflicts. It wasn't all peace and love under Ferdinand and Isabella, or in the Balkans where everyone's been doing nasty things to each other for centuries, or the Crusades, or England and Ireland. It was brutal and barbaric too and like now I'd guess that the fanaticism was more of a bloodlust and lust for power wrapped up in a moralistic guise rather than any deep religious faith or understanding.
And I don't know if there's anyone who makes my blood boil than those who kill in the name of whatever religion or ideology they espouse because they have it out for whoever. I don't care what it is. It's sick and wrong. And just because someone else did something bad doesn't mean you have to do it worse. The Neo-Nazi types who think they're somehow superior because they're more likely to get sunburned are some of the hardest people for me to even try to understand or interact with, and the ones who'd say that the Hitleristas are reprehensible but more or less espouse the same garbage.
I've heard people talk about the perceived menace of Islam and can't help but think that it seems there seems to be this hard-wired human need to have an enemy, an abstract group of people to fight against. In my parents' years, it was the communists, and Hitler before that, and before that, whatever interethnic conflict which led to people immigrating here in the first place. For my lefty friends, it's those damn wingnuts, for the righties, it's the secular humanists or the perceived elite.
And sure there's wackjobs with violent tendencies in every camp who like to blow shit up and put their ideology over whatever human collateral stands in their way. And it seems more and more like we as a country focus on the talking heads and what their acolytes might do while our tax dollars are used to blow the heck out of othfer places halfway around the world and do all sorts of shady stuff and don't even pretend it's not happening anymore. I was born halfway through the Reagan years and can't remember when we weren't blowing something up halfway around the world... arming shady dictators in Latin America, going into the Balkans, Sudan, Granada, Somalia, Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Yemen, Pakistan. But those last ones, it's not really war, just some sophisticated technology that kills people from far away, so you don't have to look in that person's eyes.
I don't buy this whole "oh they're ruthless and can't be dealt with like normal human beings" because it's not like Al-Qaeda was the first or only group to use suicide bombers or there weren't people brainwashed with ideology.
But maybe it's just my own weird perspective of God-so-loved-the-world and not God-loves-my-country-best-because-I'm-cracker. I just don't understand hating someone else's guts because they practice a different religion or don't look like you or do the same things. And there are things that other cultures do that I'm really glad I don't have to deal with, especially being female. I like being able to get an education, live on my own and hang out with whoever and not have to deal with the lady parts getting cut off because heaven forbid that I experience pleasure during intercourse. I don't hate other people because they do those things even if I think it's messed up. We do things in our country that are horrible too but it's always easy to point the finger at someone else.
I should note here that I almost didn't post this, in part because I found myself so angry and frustrated at my lack of powerlessness but upon hearing the tonedeafness of the punditry, I felt like I had to tip the balance the other way somehow.
I should also note here that the above song was playing during the penning of said rant, and said song is awesome in that totally apocalyptic way.
Sometimes the fuckedupness of it all gets a bit overwhelming and I find myself returning to Job and the Psalms to use the words of others to simultaneously express wonder at the Divine and the beauty of the world and to be furious at the grievous and incomprehensible wrongs that we inflict upon each other.
I don't believe that everyone who professes what I believe is going to end up where they think they're going, or that they're right or justified. Since Glenn Beck is an adherent of a religion that bears as much resemblance to my Christianity as Farrakhan's does to classical Islam, I don't take him seriously but to imply that it's somehow their fault they got shot makes me sick. So does Pat Buchanan who's always been afraid of the coming days when the world won't be so crackertastic. You know what, all these other people have souls too. God made them just as much as he made you.
Buchanan applauds the guy's grasp of history, but being a bit of a history geek, I also don't understand this conflation of Christianity and xenophobia evident here, and also stateside, especially considering that a substantial amount of early converts were not of Nordic, or even European stock and came from areas that we now lump into the general category of "the Arab World." Augustine, Perpetua, Simon of Cyrene hailed from Roman Africa, which is now modern-day Tunisia, Algeria, Libya... most of the churches in the book of Revelation are in modern-day Turkey. So, yeah, I know nobody cares about stuff like that except for me, but I somehow feel like it's relevant to point out that while the pre-Islamic world was converting to various forms of Christianity, my ancestors to the north (Celtic and Slav) were still doing that whole human sacrifice thing. Norway was still pagan for about a thousand years after. Just sayin'.
And yeah, European thought and religion have dominated the world through colonization, globalization, and mass media, so for a lot of people the West is equated with at least a cultural framework that has some basis in Judeo-Christian thought. And talk about bloody political conflicts. It wasn't all peace and love under Ferdinand and Isabella, or in the Balkans where everyone's been doing nasty things to each other for centuries, or the Crusades, or England and Ireland. It was brutal and barbaric too and like now I'd guess that the fanaticism was more of a bloodlust and lust for power wrapped up in a moralistic guise rather than any deep religious faith or understanding.
And I don't know if there's anyone who makes my blood boil than those who kill in the name of whatever religion or ideology they espouse because they have it out for whoever. I don't care what it is. It's sick and wrong. And just because someone else did something bad doesn't mean you have to do it worse. The Neo-Nazi types who think they're somehow superior because they're more likely to get sunburned are some of the hardest people for me to even try to understand or interact with, and the ones who'd say that the Hitleristas are reprehensible but more or less espouse the same garbage.
I've heard people talk about the perceived menace of Islam and can't help but think that it seems there seems to be this hard-wired human need to have an enemy, an abstract group of people to fight against. In my parents' years, it was the communists, and Hitler before that, and before that, whatever interethnic conflict which led to people immigrating here in the first place. For my lefty friends, it's those damn wingnuts, for the righties, it's the secular humanists or the perceived elite.
And sure there's wackjobs with violent tendencies in every camp who like to blow shit up and put their ideology over whatever human collateral stands in their way. And it seems more and more like we as a country focus on the talking heads and what their acolytes might do while our tax dollars are used to blow the heck out of othfer places halfway around the world and do all sorts of shady stuff and don't even pretend it's not happening anymore. I was born halfway through the Reagan years and can't remember when we weren't blowing something up halfway around the world... arming shady dictators in Latin America, going into the Balkans, Sudan, Granada, Somalia, Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Yemen, Pakistan. But those last ones, it's not really war, just some sophisticated technology that kills people from far away, so you don't have to look in that person's eyes.
I don't buy this whole "oh they're ruthless and can't be dealt with like normal human beings" because it's not like Al-Qaeda was the first or only group to use suicide bombers or there weren't people brainwashed with ideology.
But maybe it's just my own weird perspective of God-so-loved-the-world and not God-loves-my-country-best-because-I'm-cracker. I just don't understand hating someone else's guts because they practice a different religion or don't look like you or do the same things. And there are things that other cultures do that I'm really glad I don't have to deal with, especially being female. I like being able to get an education, live on my own and hang out with whoever and not have to deal with the lady parts getting cut off because heaven forbid that I experience pleasure during intercourse. I don't hate other people because they do those things even if I think it's messed up. We do things in our country that are horrible too but it's always easy to point the finger at someone else.
I should note here that I almost didn't post this, in part because I found myself so angry and frustrated at my lack of powerlessness but upon hearing the tonedeafness of the punditry, I felt like I had to tip the balance the other way somehow.
I should also note here that the above song was playing during the penning of said rant, and said song is awesome in that totally apocalyptic way.
Friday, July 1, 2011
I can't relax 'cause I can't do a thing and I can't do a thing because I can't relax...
The ennui that hits each summer, of sapped spirit and tired eyes simultaneously lonesome-feeling and antisocial. I should be looking forward to days off more than I am but I have a wedding to go to and even when it's for people I love, these kinds of social functions make me nervy, even though I do fine, but by going alone I can come and go depending on how it goes. I enjoy people, but I'm more of an introvert... small gatherings of trusted near and dears always preferable to large groups of acquaintances or strangers.
A detour to the lake instead of going home, running into friends with their grandkids and walking on the rocks, taking pictures of the sunset. Tendrils of grapevines growing over rocks and I pull some touch me not leaves off to show the kids how it turns silvery under the water. We part ways and I drive down the street to do some writing, take in the twilight. A small soul led beside still silver waters and restored.
A detour to the lake instead of going home, running into friends with their grandkids and walking on the rocks, taking pictures of the sunset. Tendrils of grapevines growing over rocks and I pull some touch me not leaves off to show the kids how it turns silvery under the water. We part ways and I drive down the street to do some writing, take in the twilight. A small soul led beside still silver waters and restored.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
circadian arrhythmia
Thrown off from lack of sleep and then too much, trying to shake the ennui, thirsty and overthinking. I always get like this when the weather heats up, lethargic and lacking. It will pass like it always does.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
a quickening and movement...
I actually made an effort to be social and went down the street to see a band comprised of a former classmate, her husband, and a former church bandmate from my Kent days. While it's not the kind of thing I normally listen to they were really good and to see them in this element, watching the chattering at the bar cease when they started to harmonize and the sound began to build...
How does one catch up on five years with acquaintances? They're mostly married and ask if I'm seeing anyone and why that hasn't worked out. I say no it never did work out (and don't add that I doubt it will) and talk about everything else, refugees and getting arrested, making ceramics and college radio. Everything just changed so completely since those days.
My sister is with me and knows none of these people. She asks if I can take her home and I understand, because she's got her own kind of pain she's struggling through, not wanting anything to do with God and having no good friends to fall back on, standing there as the rest of us talk about geeky musicianship, mosh pits, youth crews, and punk bands whose heyday was before her time. It's been at least five years since my last mosh pit, where I flew backwards into a puddle of PBR and rode home on the Rapid smelling like a distillery.
I'd never heard of David Dondero, the headliner, but everyone else seemed to. (I never did get around to delving into folk-punk, ironic given my musical DNA containing both), but his songs hit me in a strange way, this acoustic guitar and sparse evoking lyrics painting pictures of places I've never been, minor chords, the voice speaking of years I haven't experienced, as I laugh at kiss-off songs about employers and the ache taps into what I've been feeling, makes me want to write what I feel, so now I'm sitting at the 24 hour coffeeshop, deserted due to curfew and everyone my age drinking alcohol instead of tea, starting another novel beginning wondering if I'll ever get to an ending. I always end at three pages, sputtering out into fragments and nothingness.
I just need my brain to slow down sometimes because it never seems to stop. I can't bring myself to drink it away, my prayers are a jumble that I'm glad that God can decipher, and everything will happen the way it does, longing in the meantime for wisdom to go with the knowledge, and love that isn't just being nice to the people who are nice to me or the ones I enjoy, but love for the ones I can't stand.
I try not to be anxious, I try to de-tense, because it's nights like these that become dark nights of the soul by default, walking alone back to my car in the darkness glancing behind me, nearly running red lights because it's red light district hour and I get jumpy when I see so many people in the street on that corner, wishing that I could make everything ok when I see so much hurt around me deeper than my own, trying not to think about back-stabbing wannabe overlords, continual dreams deferred, or my lack of inspiration, knowing that sleep is needed and elusive. I always get like this when I don't sleep.
How does one catch up on five years with acquaintances? They're mostly married and ask if I'm seeing anyone and why that hasn't worked out. I say no it never did work out (and don't add that I doubt it will) and talk about everything else, refugees and getting arrested, making ceramics and college radio. Everything just changed so completely since those days.
My sister is with me and knows none of these people. She asks if I can take her home and I understand, because she's got her own kind of pain she's struggling through, not wanting anything to do with God and having no good friends to fall back on, standing there as the rest of us talk about geeky musicianship, mosh pits, youth crews, and punk bands whose heyday was before her time. It's been at least five years since my last mosh pit, where I flew backwards into a puddle of PBR and rode home on the Rapid smelling like a distillery.
I'd never heard of David Dondero, the headliner, but everyone else seemed to. (I never did get around to delving into folk-punk, ironic given my musical DNA containing both), but his songs hit me in a strange way, this acoustic guitar and sparse evoking lyrics painting pictures of places I've never been, minor chords, the voice speaking of years I haven't experienced, as I laugh at kiss-off songs about employers and the ache taps into what I've been feeling, makes me want to write what I feel, so now I'm sitting at the 24 hour coffeeshop, deserted due to curfew and everyone my age drinking alcohol instead of tea, starting another novel beginning wondering if I'll ever get to an ending. I always end at three pages, sputtering out into fragments and nothingness.
I just need my brain to slow down sometimes because it never seems to stop. I can't bring myself to drink it away, my prayers are a jumble that I'm glad that God can decipher, and everything will happen the way it does, longing in the meantime for wisdom to go with the knowledge, and love that isn't just being nice to the people who are nice to me or the ones I enjoy, but love for the ones I can't stand.
I try not to be anxious, I try to de-tense, because it's nights like these that become dark nights of the soul by default, walking alone back to my car in the darkness glancing behind me, nearly running red lights because it's red light district hour and I get jumpy when I see so many people in the street on that corner, wishing that I could make everything ok when I see so much hurt around me deeper than my own, trying not to think about back-stabbing wannabe overlords, continual dreams deferred, or my lack of inspiration, knowing that sleep is needed and elusive. I always get like this when I don't sleep.
Monday, April 4, 2011
under the grey
Fitful dreams that seem so real yet make no sense, soundtracked to songs I can't turn off, wondering what it was all about when the alarm goes off on my phone in the other room. I wake up not feeling like I've slept because my brain just never stops working. I can't even zone out in my sleep.
The warmth was tangible and thick when I left this morning, coming here in awe of gathering storms and darkness where the sun should be, and now it looks the way it usually does, the untextured white of cloudcover, the rain that looks so cold, echoes of thunder in the distance.
Five more minutes and I will be alive again, able to release the tension, unwind in the absorption of perfecting a craft. I know it's an escape, but I have something to show for it. It defers those feelings of irrational melancholia that come over me on days like these, what I feel and what is true are often so different.
The warmth was tangible and thick when I left this morning, coming here in awe of gathering storms and darkness where the sun should be, and now it looks the way it usually does, the untextured white of cloudcover, the rain that looks so cold, echoes of thunder in the distance.
Five more minutes and I will be alive again, able to release the tension, unwind in the absorption of perfecting a craft. I know it's an escape, but I have something to show for it. It defers those feelings of irrational melancholia that come over me on days like these, what I feel and what is true are often so different.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
eve of the eve
With a Christmas vacation pending for the first time since my high school graduation, I am so ready to go home even though I'm watching a friend's dog and haven't totally finished shopping as my plans for DIY gifts for almost everyone are still sitting in a kiln and unfinished on shelves.
And I can't wait until I don't have to hear any holiday cheer sung by Wham!, Billy Squier, We Are The World, or Wings. I do find a pleasing poetic justice in that Bob Geldof will have to hear his creation sung by snarky carolers at his house til the end of time.
I need to get some more coffee for certain individuals, wrap some things in brown paper (possibly will put the lino print blocks to good use), maybe make some candy or something. My grunge buddy's band is playing out on the east side, but I don't know if I'll make it out there tonight even if I'd love to hear a Mudhoney cover or two.
With all this to do, I don't want to deal with any kind of bar scene and anytime he's dating someone it's awkward because me and him have been chummy on a totally platonic we-like-sports-and-music level for the last decade or so which makes things awkward especially when said girl usually could care less about obscure 80's Pacific Northwest sludge and usually prefers country.
Speaking of obscure Pacific Northwest sludge, if all goes well I'll be guest-DJ-ing with my fellow english major/rap battler/punk rocker extraordinaire partner in crime on New Year's Eve from 11-12:30 in the afternoon playing all sorts of 90's grunge also-rans. Expect to hear some Green River, Seaweed, the Gits, Love Battery, Mudhoney, and Melvins. I'm sure those expecting more class of '77 sounds won't be thrilled, but it should be fun.
And I can't wait until I don't have to hear any holiday cheer sung by Wham!, Billy Squier, We Are The World, or Wings. I do find a pleasing poetic justice in that Bob Geldof will have to hear his creation sung by snarky carolers at his house til the end of time.
I need to get some more coffee for certain individuals, wrap some things in brown paper (possibly will put the lino print blocks to good use), maybe make some candy or something. My grunge buddy's band is playing out on the east side, but I don't know if I'll make it out there tonight even if I'd love to hear a Mudhoney cover or two.
With all this to do, I don't want to deal with any kind of bar scene and anytime he's dating someone it's awkward because me and him have been chummy on a totally platonic we-like-sports-and-music level for the last decade or so which makes things awkward especially when said girl usually could care less about obscure 80's Pacific Northwest sludge and usually prefers country.
Speaking of obscure Pacific Northwest sludge, if all goes well I'll be guest-DJ-ing with my fellow english major/rap battler/punk rocker extraordinaire partner in crime on New Year's Eve from 11-12:30 in the afternoon playing all sorts of 90's grunge also-rans. Expect to hear some Green River, Seaweed, the Gits, Love Battery, Mudhoney, and Melvins. I'm sure those expecting more class of '77 sounds won't be thrilled, but it should be fun.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
in which we become our parents someday...
When we were young, we knew we were born too late, grew our hair long because we didn't bother cutting it, borrowed our dads' flannel shirts, dyed our hair, grew up on the ever-present classic rock which gave us a love of total 70's unhipness.
We tried to find meaning in the last gasps of the alternative era, realizing that Bush and Creed and Staind really weren't all that good and worked our way backwards through labels like SST and Dischord and Sub Pop wishing we could have been around back in the day when you could see good bands cheap at the Euclid Tavern and we had to content ourselves with reunion shows with replacement singers and new bassists and watching clips on Youtube.
We mourned when Layne Staley died, got each other obscure 80's punk band shirts and Squirrel Bait records for Christmas, and when my friend touched Mark Arm's hand at a Mudhoney show it was like he touched the hand of God. We created our own scene, which was one elaborate inside joke that nobody else got involving jokes about Ross Perot and Stabbing Westward.
We'd argue over our favorite Led Zeppelin albums and whether or not Rush was awesome, and give each other a hard time for our guilty pleasures and were obsessed with the documentary Hype! whose soundtrack we rocked out to on the way to prom because nothing sounds more romantic than the Melvins or songs like Mudhoney's "Touch Me I'm Sick."
We wanted to be DIY and start our own record labels, wanted to do what we saw on the east and west coast here in our dying rust belt town as the towers fell on 9/11 but everything here had already tanked as it was. We were nostalgic for an era that had its own share of disposable pop music and generic rock bands, but we ignored them.
Our bands weren't anything special, our shows at school gyms didn't happen because the guy in charge of getting keys got busted for weed, and some of us went on to become scenesters and substance abusers, some of us moved away, some of us grew up and quit music, and others of us only sing at church or on karaoke night.
Now we're the same age as our fallen heroes. Those of my friends who joked about being dead by 27 are now heading towards 30. If we can't be Kurt Cobain, we can be Eddie Vedder. The thing that's hard about this age is that we've got enough life behind us that mistakes we made in our youth will follow us for the next four decades and yet we're still young and dumb in a lot of ways in a culture that makes it easy. We've branched out too, finding out that there are other amazing and undiscovered sounds that came out pre-1967 and weren't created by suburban white guys with guitars.
I get the feeling that Generation X is going to inflict our cultural consciousness with Tupac, Nirvana and "indie rock" the way that their parents beat us over the head with Woodstock and the Beatles, but it looks like my younger cousins don't know who these people are and think Green Day is this cool new band, and some of my little sister's friends have jumped into the straight-edge scene so it'll be interesting to see how all this plays out. The classic rock station is playing "Enter Sandman" now so I'm assuming Jane's Addiction won't be too far behind.
Dying young is far too boring these days...
We tried to find meaning in the last gasps of the alternative era, realizing that Bush and Creed and Staind really weren't all that good and worked our way backwards through labels like SST and Dischord and Sub Pop wishing we could have been around back in the day when you could see good bands cheap at the Euclid Tavern and we had to content ourselves with reunion shows with replacement singers and new bassists and watching clips on Youtube.
We mourned when Layne Staley died, got each other obscure 80's punk band shirts and Squirrel Bait records for Christmas, and when my friend touched Mark Arm's hand at a Mudhoney show it was like he touched the hand of God. We created our own scene, which was one elaborate inside joke that nobody else got involving jokes about Ross Perot and Stabbing Westward.
We'd argue over our favorite Led Zeppelin albums and whether or not Rush was awesome, and give each other a hard time for our guilty pleasures and were obsessed with the documentary Hype! whose soundtrack we rocked out to on the way to prom because nothing sounds more romantic than the Melvins or songs like Mudhoney's "Touch Me I'm Sick."
We wanted to be DIY and start our own record labels, wanted to do what we saw on the east and west coast here in our dying rust belt town as the towers fell on 9/11 but everything here had already tanked as it was. We were nostalgic for an era that had its own share of disposable pop music and generic rock bands, but we ignored them.
Our bands weren't anything special, our shows at school gyms didn't happen because the guy in charge of getting keys got busted for weed, and some of us went on to become scenesters and substance abusers, some of us moved away, some of us grew up and quit music, and others of us only sing at church or on karaoke night.
Now we're the same age as our fallen heroes. Those of my friends who joked about being dead by 27 are now heading towards 30. If we can't be Kurt Cobain, we can be Eddie Vedder. The thing that's hard about this age is that we've got enough life behind us that mistakes we made in our youth will follow us for the next four decades and yet we're still young and dumb in a lot of ways in a culture that makes it easy. We've branched out too, finding out that there are other amazing and undiscovered sounds that came out pre-1967 and weren't created by suburban white guys with guitars.
I get the feeling that Generation X is going to inflict our cultural consciousness with Tupac, Nirvana and "indie rock" the way that their parents beat us over the head with Woodstock and the Beatles, but it looks like my younger cousins don't know who these people are and think Green Day is this cool new band, and some of my little sister's friends have jumped into the straight-edge scene so it'll be interesting to see how all this plays out. The classic rock station is playing "Enter Sandman" now so I'm assuming Jane's Addiction won't be too far behind.
Dying young is far too boring these days...
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
grey
The wind was hot and the talk of tornado warnings and high winds made me want to skip out of work early and run down to the lake and take pictures of blowing sands, bending trees, and roaring waves.
But I'm at my desk getting stuff done and realizing that my camera may not survive that onslaught, knowing that I only have a few more minutes here. I look out at the grayness of the sky, the sheets of rain, and I long for my apartment full of warm light, a cup of tea, some good music, and one of my dad's frayed flannel shirts, missing the conversation of roommates but hoping to find some inspiration in the peace and maybe start painting again. As much as I enjoy the company of other arty types, I do my best work alone.
For some reason I've been really wanting to hear some Ani Difranco, and the pallor of the day brought this song roaring back to me. I tend to be more ideologically square than my musical taste alludes to, and there's no album of hers that I can listen to all the way through but the way she plays a guitar and grabs some of those emotions hits me.
"regretfully
i guess i've only got three
simple things to say:
why me?
why this now?
why this way?
with overtones ringing
and undertows pulling away
under a sky that is grey
on sand that is grey
by an ocean that's grey"
"what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i've got everything i want
and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore..."
But I'm at my desk getting stuff done and realizing that my camera may not survive that onslaught, knowing that I only have a few more minutes here. I look out at the grayness of the sky, the sheets of rain, and I long for my apartment full of warm light, a cup of tea, some good music, and one of my dad's frayed flannel shirts, missing the conversation of roommates but hoping to find some inspiration in the peace and maybe start painting again. As much as I enjoy the company of other arty types, I do my best work alone.
For some reason I've been really wanting to hear some Ani Difranco, and the pallor of the day brought this song roaring back to me. I tend to be more ideologically square than my musical taste alludes to, and there's no album of hers that I can listen to all the way through but the way she plays a guitar and grabs some of those emotions hits me.
"regretfully
i guess i've only got three
simple things to say:
why me?
why this now?
why this way?
with overtones ringing
and undertows pulling away
under a sky that is grey
on sand that is grey
by an ocean that's grey"
"what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i've got everything i want
and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore..."
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
entropy
My playlist this morning might not look like it makes sense on paper, but it was where I was this morning, reeling from the accumulation of hurt and frustration that's been the story of this past year and especially the past few weeks.
I swayed in the studio, tired from another sleepless night, unable to totally wake up, letting the sounds wash over me of others' sadness and broken hearts... the way that these sounds resonate so much to know that I am not alone in the pain.
I used to think that once I got out of middle school or maybe high school that the drama would dissipate, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Kids might not be making fun of your haircut or your glasses but grown adults still act like children and it's almost worse because you think they'd know better by now.
"We're grown adults and look what we do," one of my friends says, but I mean the "real grownups" who have kids my age and are often grandparents now, but still exist in these us-vs-them paradigms that should have faded long ago. Maybe I'm wrong to think that age and experience really mean anything.
And I hope I don't end up like that, playing people off each other, using and manipulating and wondering why it scares everyone away. I don't want to be always expecting something and never giving, feeling like I'm entitled to anything.
I hate the loneliness that comes when there was once closeness and now there is none, yet your lives are so tangled up with mutual friends and social venues and dynamics that you can't completely extricate yourselves or take a break and wait for the dust to settle. All the shattered families and soured friendships and romances that crashed and burned. I guess it's just the way it is, and the pain and inevitability is to be expected.
playlist 9/14/10
neil young - down by the river
jimi hendrix - bleeding heart
the bellrays - tell the lie
sharon jones & the dap-kings - something's changed
funkadelic - you & your folks
afghan whigs - crazy
morphine - scratch
blonde redhead - misery is a butterfly
john frusciante - a song to sing when I'm lonely
U2 - ultraviolet
soulsavers - kingdom of rain
bonobo - stay the same
morcheeba - posthumous / tape loop
lamb - stronger
portishead - wandering stars
lupe fiasco - intruder alert
me'shell ndegeocello - solomon
massive attack - unfinished sympathy
nneka - heartbeat
stephen marley - you're gonna leave
outkast - liberation
mad season - long gone day
johnny cash - God's gonna cut you down
autolux - turnstile blues
radiohead - i might be wrong
twilight singers - papillon
I swayed in the studio, tired from another sleepless night, unable to totally wake up, letting the sounds wash over me of others' sadness and broken hearts... the way that these sounds resonate so much to know that I am not alone in the pain.
I used to think that once I got out of middle school or maybe high school that the drama would dissipate, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Kids might not be making fun of your haircut or your glasses but grown adults still act like children and it's almost worse because you think they'd know better by now.
"We're grown adults and look what we do," one of my friends says, but I mean the "real grownups" who have kids my age and are often grandparents now, but still exist in these us-vs-them paradigms that should have faded long ago. Maybe I'm wrong to think that age and experience really mean anything.
And I hope I don't end up like that, playing people off each other, using and manipulating and wondering why it scares everyone away. I don't want to be always expecting something and never giving, feeling like I'm entitled to anything.
I hate the loneliness that comes when there was once closeness and now there is none, yet your lives are so tangled up with mutual friends and social venues and dynamics that you can't completely extricate yourselves or take a break and wait for the dust to settle. All the shattered families and soured friendships and romances that crashed and burned. I guess it's just the way it is, and the pain and inevitability is to be expected.
playlist 9/14/10
neil young - down by the river
jimi hendrix - bleeding heart
the bellrays - tell the lie
sharon jones & the dap-kings - something's changed
funkadelic - you & your folks
afghan whigs - crazy
morphine - scratch
blonde redhead - misery is a butterfly
john frusciante - a song to sing when I'm lonely
U2 - ultraviolet
soulsavers - kingdom of rain
bonobo - stay the same
morcheeba - posthumous / tape loop
lamb - stronger
portishead - wandering stars
lupe fiasco - intruder alert
me'shell ndegeocello - solomon
massive attack - unfinished sympathy
nneka - heartbeat
stephen marley - you're gonna leave
outkast - liberation
mad season - long gone day
johnny cash - God's gonna cut you down
autolux - turnstile blues
radiohead - i might be wrong
twilight singers - papillon
Friday, September 10, 2010
can we rewind it just once more?
I used to say I didn't have a favorite band, but honestly that favorite band is probably U2 because so many of these songs speak to where I'm at more than I could ever articulate on my own.
Jesus, Jesus help me
I'm alone in this world
And a fucked up world it is too
Tell me, tell me the story
The one about eternity
And the way it's all gonna be
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Jesus, I'm waiting here boss
I know you're looking out for us
But maybe your hands aren't free
Your father, He made the world in seven
He's in charge of heaven
Will you put in a word in for me
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Listen to your words they'll tell you what to do
Listen over the rhythm that's confusing you
Listen to the reed in the saxophone
Listen over the hum of the radio
Listen over sounds of blades in rotation
Listen through the traffic and circulation
Listen as hope and peace try to rhyme
Listen over marching bands playing out of time
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Jesus, were you just around the corner
Did You think to try and warn her
Or are you working on something new
If there's an order in all of this disorder
Is it like a tape recorder
Can we rewind it just once more
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Jesus, Jesus help me
I'm alone in this world
And a fucked up world it is too
Tell me, tell me the story
The one about eternity
And the way it's all gonna be
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Jesus, I'm waiting here boss
I know you're looking out for us
But maybe your hands aren't free
Your father, He made the world in seven
He's in charge of heaven
Will you put in a word in for me
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Listen to your words they'll tell you what to do
Listen over the rhythm that's confusing you
Listen to the reed in the saxophone
Listen over the hum of the radio
Listen over sounds of blades in rotation
Listen through the traffic and circulation
Listen as hope and peace try to rhyme
Listen over marching bands playing out of time
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Jesus, were you just around the corner
Did You think to try and warn her
Or are you working on something new
If there's an order in all of this disorder
Is it like a tape recorder
Can we rewind it just once more
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Wake up, wake up dead man
Thursday, September 9, 2010
the walking wounded
Pain and heartache are such a part of life, and it reminds us that we are alive, that our nerves function and our heart beats, and we still are conscious and responding to all around us.
And we all have our own, while some of us have more and many different kinds, our pain is our own burden to carry and our struggle to deal with it in life. We each carry our own, and often it is so easy to look at this person or that one and say "well their life is pretty charmed, look at how things work out for them," not realizing the stories that lurk underneath even the most clean and perfect of surfaces.
"You don't know what we have to deal with" I'm told.
And I say "I don't know completely but I know you're dealing with a lot and so am I and so is everyone else. You might not see it, it might not be the same thing but it's there. It might look like nothing ever goes wrong for me, but that's not true." And there's that look of shock when I say what the last year has been like.
If you get behind anyone's "how are you I'm fines," there's so many tales of loss, betrayal, and hard things. Getting burned, getting snubbed, being left alone and confused and wondering how to pick the pieces up.
That girl over there who's beautiful and cute and seems so bubbly happy all the time? Her brother died of a drug overdose. That guy who likes to party all the time watched two of his sisters die fleeing genocide. That woman's fiance died a month before the wedding. That man's brother got hooked on crack and disappeared. That girl who smiles all the time? She's haunted by the living and dead ghosts of the past, the wounds from others that have only begun to heal, the friends lost to murder, alcohol, depression, and drugs.
And it's not even the lost ones, it's the living and the way that people hurt each other not even realizing what they do half the time... an offhand tactless comment here, a "don't tell anyone this" there, the banal cruelty of coworkers, relatives, and friends, the sins of omission when a good thing could have been done but wasn't.
And I don't know what to say, because even if we feel empathy, there's no way we can understand a lot of things unless we go through them. I've never been divorced or falsely accused or grabbed off the street and beat up because I looked like someone else. But there are other things I do know that you wouldn't expect. And we're deluding ourselves to think that we're the only ones who struggle.
And we all have our own, while some of us have more and many different kinds, our pain is our own burden to carry and our struggle to deal with it in life. We each carry our own, and often it is so easy to look at this person or that one and say "well their life is pretty charmed, look at how things work out for them," not realizing the stories that lurk underneath even the most clean and perfect of surfaces.
"You don't know what we have to deal with" I'm told.
And I say "I don't know completely but I know you're dealing with a lot and so am I and so is everyone else. You might not see it, it might not be the same thing but it's there. It might look like nothing ever goes wrong for me, but that's not true." And there's that look of shock when I say what the last year has been like.
If you get behind anyone's "how are you I'm fines," there's so many tales of loss, betrayal, and hard things. Getting burned, getting snubbed, being left alone and confused and wondering how to pick the pieces up.
That girl over there who's beautiful and cute and seems so bubbly happy all the time? Her brother died of a drug overdose. That guy who likes to party all the time watched two of his sisters die fleeing genocide. That woman's fiance died a month before the wedding. That man's brother got hooked on crack and disappeared. That girl who smiles all the time? She's haunted by the living and dead ghosts of the past, the wounds from others that have only begun to heal, the friends lost to murder, alcohol, depression, and drugs.
And it's not even the lost ones, it's the living and the way that people hurt each other not even realizing what they do half the time... an offhand tactless comment here, a "don't tell anyone this" there, the banal cruelty of coworkers, relatives, and friends, the sins of omission when a good thing could have been done but wasn't.
And I don't know what to say, because even if we feel empathy, there's no way we can understand a lot of things unless we go through them. I've never been divorced or falsely accused or grabbed off the street and beat up because I looked like someone else. But there are other things I do know that you wouldn't expect. And we're deluding ourselves to think that we're the only ones who struggle.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I'm a dying breed who still believes...
"How are you?"
"I'm ok."
Ok meaning, "I really don't want to tell you that I'm exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, discouraged, burned out, in need of a vacation but there's nowhere to go and no one to go with and because I feel like a bother to everyone."
"You're always smiling."
Smiling because despite the depths of despair I find myself in, I know that God is good. But it's easy and takes less face muscles to do and goes a lot further when dealing with others, especially feeling precarious in this unfriendly world. Don't look at my eyes which would show that I may or may not have been crying about 10 minutes ago. Thankful for glasses to hide that fact.
"Nothing seems to faze you. You're so chill."
Depends on what it is. But there are things that do keep me up at night.
It's easy to keep myself running and running so I can just fall asleep and not spend too much time getting tangled in my own thoughts and things that make me nervy, that my dad isn't doing as well as we thought, the stress of dealing with arrogant people who think they're better than you because they have letters after their names, the whole messiness that is writer's block when I need my creativity to thrive and survive.
Then there's the whole messiness of my own human frailty and that of others, which always generates friction, knowing that I'm going to have to go through the new roommate process all over again when my amazing current housemate finally gets to pursue what she truly loves to do in a country very far away. The concept of flying solo scares me, especially living in a first floor apartment in a sometimes sketchy neighborhood. I have options, that's not the thing, there are so many others in my position trying to get by. It's the always running, always moving, always feeling so vulnerable, learning not to cling to anything too tightly.
I know things always seem to work out, but everything all at once is too much.
"I'm ok."
Ok meaning, "I really don't want to tell you that I'm exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, discouraged, burned out, in need of a vacation but there's nowhere to go and no one to go with and because I feel like a bother to everyone."
"You're always smiling."
Smiling because despite the depths of despair I find myself in, I know that God is good. But it's easy and takes less face muscles to do and goes a lot further when dealing with others, especially feeling precarious in this unfriendly world. Don't look at my eyes which would show that I may or may not have been crying about 10 minutes ago. Thankful for glasses to hide that fact.
"Nothing seems to faze you. You're so chill."
Depends on what it is. But there are things that do keep me up at night.
It's easy to keep myself running and running so I can just fall asleep and not spend too much time getting tangled in my own thoughts and things that make me nervy, that my dad isn't doing as well as we thought, the stress of dealing with arrogant people who think they're better than you because they have letters after their names, the whole messiness that is writer's block when I need my creativity to thrive and survive.
Then there's the whole messiness of my own human frailty and that of others, which always generates friction, knowing that I'm going to have to go through the new roommate process all over again when my amazing current housemate finally gets to pursue what she truly loves to do in a country very far away. The concept of flying solo scares me, especially living in a first floor apartment in a sometimes sketchy neighborhood. I have options, that's not the thing, there are so many others in my position trying to get by. It's the always running, always moving, always feeling so vulnerable, learning not to cling to anything too tightly.
I know things always seem to work out, but everything all at once is too much.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
how the end always is...
This is the longest I've been in the same position ever in my life. It's been over two years of general stability even as all sorts of weird interludes have taken place. I have held down a job for three years and counting, I have had the same roommate for almost two, and I've found that the roots I've put down are becoming more firm, and spreading out.
I haven't been still long enough in the same place to get a feel for how things really are, to see the dynamics, the balances of power, the intricacies of human nature play out. I'll probably be working here for another decade or two if the bottom doesn't totally drop out and I wonder what will change as people retire, as others jockey for position, as the inevitable changes occur and I need to learn how to deal and interact with those who think so incredibly different from me.
And then there's the whole business of careening wildly towards the end of the 20s ever closer to the 30s feeling maybe a little older and wiser but not enough to really feel like anything's figured out.I am still more or less the way I've always been, uninterested in "moving up" or romantic games, more inclined to spend my cash on late night coffee and art supplies, still in college student mode, living on rice and beans, getting excited about free food and still using milk crates as chairs and storage.
I'm still preferring platonic friendships that ultimately go nowhere to dating, still liking small gatherings better than large crowds, still intimidated by the beautiful ones, by the ones who put a lot of energy into projecting a certain image. Too oddball for most, and too square for the rest, comfortable yet always wondering when the chair will get pulled out from underneath.
It used to be that when things got rough, I waited it out, because I knew it'd be all over in a few months, that it had a set date of termination. Awkward high school experiences? Crazy roommates? Temporary jobs? I could leave and start all over again and again.
And it gets harder to do that, and harder still to see how things change. How it gets so awkward when your friends fall out of love and want you to pick up the pieces, those who were once in my life want to start over and rebound and you know too much about how they are to do that, how familiarity may not breed contempt but occasionally bring out frustration and long-repressed feelings.
And I fear loss more and more because it seems more real. I know we're not all going to be around forever. In the meantime, I'm afraid of ruining the beauty that's been evident around me. Afraid I'll say the wrong thing, make some mistake that's unforgivable because the concept of forgiveness is still new to me. It's not something I'm used to, and sometimes I wonder what the limit is.
It's so easy to tear down in moments what years took to build up. Disintegration and entropy, order to disorder, and I become more and more conscious of how fragile we are, and how imminent mortality is, and how transient our lives and emotions are. I've never had my heart broken, but it's bled too many times to count.
"So it's all come back round to breaking apart again
Breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again
Making it up behind my back again
Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again
Holding it up behind my head again
Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again
Round and round and round
And it's coming apart again
Over and over and over..."
I haven't been still long enough in the same place to get a feel for how things really are, to see the dynamics, the balances of power, the intricacies of human nature play out. I'll probably be working here for another decade or two if the bottom doesn't totally drop out and I wonder what will change as people retire, as others jockey for position, as the inevitable changes occur and I need to learn how to deal and interact with those who think so incredibly different from me.
And then there's the whole business of careening wildly towards the end of the 20s ever closer to the 30s feeling maybe a little older and wiser but not enough to really feel like anything's figured out.I am still more or less the way I've always been, uninterested in "moving up" or romantic games, more inclined to spend my cash on late night coffee and art supplies, still in college student mode, living on rice and beans, getting excited about free food and still using milk crates as chairs and storage.
I'm still preferring platonic friendships that ultimately go nowhere to dating, still liking small gatherings better than large crowds, still intimidated by the beautiful ones, by the ones who put a lot of energy into projecting a certain image. Too oddball for most, and too square for the rest, comfortable yet always wondering when the chair will get pulled out from underneath.
It used to be that when things got rough, I waited it out, because I knew it'd be all over in a few months, that it had a set date of termination. Awkward high school experiences? Crazy roommates? Temporary jobs? I could leave and start all over again and again.
And it gets harder to do that, and harder still to see how things change. How it gets so awkward when your friends fall out of love and want you to pick up the pieces, those who were once in my life want to start over and rebound and you know too much about how they are to do that, how familiarity may not breed contempt but occasionally bring out frustration and long-repressed feelings.
And I fear loss more and more because it seems more real. I know we're not all going to be around forever. In the meantime, I'm afraid of ruining the beauty that's been evident around me. Afraid I'll say the wrong thing, make some mistake that's unforgivable because the concept of forgiveness is still new to me. It's not something I'm used to, and sometimes I wonder what the limit is.
It's so easy to tear down in moments what years took to build up. Disintegration and entropy, order to disorder, and I become more and more conscious of how fragile we are, and how imminent mortality is, and how transient our lives and emotions are. I've never had my heart broken, but it's bled too many times to count.
"So it's all come back round to breaking apart again
Breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again
Making it up behind my back again
Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again
Holding it up behind my head again
Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again
Round and round and round
And it's coming apart again
Over and over and over..."
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
No letter today, not even a call on my telephone...
I don't know what to do with myself on long weekends, made no plans, took things as they came...
Attempted to transplant wisteria and honeysuckle from my parents' house, found myself feeling lonely as anything on Saturday night, walked to Edgewater, went to a birthday party where a spontaneous salsa party commenced, finished up my two weeks of dog sitting, entertained unexpected visitors last night, met my next-door neighbors, and watched the storm come in.
One of my coworkers hooked me up with that 'unreleased' Jimi material and it's been fighting with Janelle Monae for dominance of my CD player. This was where I was Saturday night, feeling lonely as hell for no good reason when I've got so much all around me.
And 2010 is evidently the year of the breakup with everyone around me struggling with aftermaths and emotions and those of us who've never had our hearts broken sometimes still feel like they're bleeding nonetheless.
Attempted to transplant wisteria and honeysuckle from my parents' house, found myself feeling lonely as anything on Saturday night, walked to Edgewater, went to a birthday party where a spontaneous salsa party commenced, finished up my two weeks of dog sitting, entertained unexpected visitors last night, met my next-door neighbors, and watched the storm come in.
One of my coworkers hooked me up with that 'unreleased' Jimi material and it's been fighting with Janelle Monae for dominance of my CD player. This was where I was Saturday night, feeling lonely as hell for no good reason when I've got so much all around me.
And 2010 is evidently the year of the breakup with everyone around me struggling with aftermaths and emotions and those of us who've never had our hearts broken sometimes still feel like they're bleeding nonetheless.
Monday, April 19, 2010
where did the love go?
I went to a wedding shower yesterday, something that in a previous time would have freaked me out because I have a hard time with high levels of estrogen, large groups of women, and having to dress up. But, it was for someone who's pretty much family, and I do think the guy she's marrying is good and worthy of being an almost in-law.
Wedding season has officially begun, as April-September are full of lavish invitations and awkward social situations. I avoid the spiked punch and drink coffee, thankful that I feel invisible in this sea of mostly strangers. And I'm really happy for them, but then I think about most of the other weddings I've been to in the past couple years where it just seems like things went south so fast. Not that this will be one of them, but one of those realities of adulthood is starting to set in.
I used to wonder how half of all marriages end, and now I'm starting to see it more and more. It seems like all over, everyone's separating, splitting, breaking up, and it gets hard when you see people that you love not love each other anymore or at least not enough to try.
There's the ones whose wedding you were waiting for who aren't talking to each other now, and then the ones who are settling because "they're not getting any younger." And then there's the ones who stick together just because it's too much of a hassle to split. Or the people I aspired to be when I was younger, who were just so awesome and seemingly so perfect for each other and doing all these great things, and then you find out and so-and-so was cheating or so-and-so was drinking and drugging and faking this thing that wasn't, and it's hard not to get cynical after awhile.
And I'm skittish about relationships because I know my imperfections and when I get to know this guy or that, I realize that I don't like them very much, someone will say something ignorant or they either are controlling or want a babysitter. Usually I don't even get to the point of dating because when I find that when I get to know someone as "just friends," dating is out of the question because I see things that I just know I couldn't live with.
I don't want to deal with the types who are always talking about how hot someone else is, or who wonder why I can't be more feminine, or the two extremes of caring way too much to the point they can't laugh, or not caring at all or having any sense of compassion because having fun is what's important.
That being said, I'm not sure I really care about "finding that special person," so to speak. Not because I feel unworthy or don't think that good people exist. It's just that it seems like there's so much heartache that's much easier to avoid, and it's not what's been given to me right now.
I was talking about that this week with a friend of mine, and realized that I don't care so much about a spouse, house, or kids, but knowing that I can't live with roommates forever, and what bothers me more is the thought of eating dinner by myself every night, of being left out of the social circle when everyone else is married, or not having another companion for my adventures. I guess that's what it really comes down to for me. Maybe I'm in denial, or maybe that will change, and I'm probably not trusting God with this as much as I should be but right now, that's where it's at.
Wedding season has officially begun, as April-September are full of lavish invitations and awkward social situations. I avoid the spiked punch and drink coffee, thankful that I feel invisible in this sea of mostly strangers. And I'm really happy for them, but then I think about most of the other weddings I've been to in the past couple years where it just seems like things went south so fast. Not that this will be one of them, but one of those realities of adulthood is starting to set in.
I used to wonder how half of all marriages end, and now I'm starting to see it more and more. It seems like all over, everyone's separating, splitting, breaking up, and it gets hard when you see people that you love not love each other anymore or at least not enough to try.
There's the ones whose wedding you were waiting for who aren't talking to each other now, and then the ones who are settling because "they're not getting any younger." And then there's the ones who stick together just because it's too much of a hassle to split. Or the people I aspired to be when I was younger, who were just so awesome and seemingly so perfect for each other and doing all these great things, and then you find out and so-and-so was cheating or so-and-so was drinking and drugging and faking this thing that wasn't, and it's hard not to get cynical after awhile.
And I'm skittish about relationships because I know my imperfections and when I get to know this guy or that, I realize that I don't like them very much, someone will say something ignorant or they either are controlling or want a babysitter. Usually I don't even get to the point of dating because when I find that when I get to know someone as "just friends," dating is out of the question because I see things that I just know I couldn't live with.
I don't want to deal with the types who are always talking about how hot someone else is, or who wonder why I can't be more feminine, or the two extremes of caring way too much to the point they can't laugh, or not caring at all or having any sense of compassion because having fun is what's important.
That being said, I'm not sure I really care about "finding that special person," so to speak. Not because I feel unworthy or don't think that good people exist. It's just that it seems like there's so much heartache that's much easier to avoid, and it's not what's been given to me right now.
I was talking about that this week with a friend of mine, and realized that I don't care so much about a spouse, house, or kids, but knowing that I can't live with roommates forever, and what bothers me more is the thought of eating dinner by myself every night, of being left out of the social circle when everyone else is married, or not having another companion for my adventures. I guess that's what it really comes down to for me. Maybe I'm in denial, or maybe that will change, and I'm probably not trusting God with this as much as I should be but right now, that's where it's at.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
solitude.
I'm working late tonight and I've just been feeling so tired and bitchy recently that I needed that morning to sleep in guilt-free. My roommate's out of town so the cat has taken it upon herself to be friendly, waking me up with sandpapery kisses, hinting that I should be feeding her.
I don't mean to be like this, it's just sometimes all those little things pile up, the minor frustrations, ghosts of relationships past and current unwanted attention coming back to haunt me in the form of facebook messages and voicemails. It's nothing that bad, but also nothing I want anything to do with.
The emptiness of the apartment doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. Hearing the sounds of the dog and the baby on the other side of the wall, the thump of car stereo systems pulsing down the street, the sirens fading into a texture that becomes white noise. I've found that absolute quiet doesn't exist. There is always something humming.
I don't mean to be like this, it's just sometimes all those little things pile up, the minor frustrations, ghosts of relationships past and current unwanted attention coming back to haunt me in the form of facebook messages and voicemails. It's nothing that bad, but also nothing I want anything to do with.
The emptiness of the apartment doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. Hearing the sounds of the dog and the baby on the other side of the wall, the thump of car stereo systems pulsing down the street, the sirens fading into a texture that becomes white noise. I've found that absolute quiet doesn't exist. There is always something humming.
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