L O S T C ON Q U E S T

He stood with his back to the bar watching patrons drink and talk about subjects submerged under sober uneasiness and pride. The clinking of glasses irritated him, but also excited him in a familiar way. The sounds of nighttime always allayed his loneliness. Knowing others came to the bar to escape the unrelenting fate of solitude, he sighed with relief and scanned the room for the next person he would escape with. When he first started his job he was reluctant to introduce himself to pretty girls, sure that behind their kind eyes lurked only the inscrutable desire for attention and a free shot. Quickly learning that they were eager to offer more than their attention, he felt no harm in indulging in fleshy validation. Growing numb with every encounter and regretful with every number tossed away he began to fall into a blissful nothingness.

Music echoed loudly through the speakers. Girls danced provocatively only to get guys' attention, shaking and gyrating unspeakable wants. Guys salivated over the knowing motions and clumsily attempting to get attention by laughing too loudly and pushing each other. He watched with amusement this weekly charade in which he never partook. Then he saw her. She had been watching him from across the room, patiently waiting for him to notice her. He did. A panic came over him, paralyzing him. It was her. A girl. The girl? He had been with so many he could not be sure.

It was a night like any other when he met her. Immediately writing her off as an easy target, a notch in his bedpost, a girl to conquer and leave abandoned. Though she was different from the rest, uneasy in her approach, unsure of her fingertips that lightly brushed his arm. An unrecognizable timidity crossed her face when she laughed at his awful jokes and smiled innocently at his mundane, cliched compliments. Her eyes penetrated him when they exchanged anecdotes, she peered into a place he was so far removed from he knew it didn't exist. Yet he went through with the selfish, debilitating act. She woke up next to him in the morning and her presence startled him. Usually he opened his eyes to an empty room and a warm spot where a nameless victim previously laid. Demurely pulling up his sheets to her glowing body, she grinned at him with unknowing- purity. He felt sick. Telling her he had to be somewhere soon he feigned agitation as he glanced at the clock by his bed that read 10 AM. Without saying much, she moved quickly, repeatedly apologizing to him, dressed and left, but not before giving him the warmest, most sincere kiss he'd ever received since he moved to the city from his small town. In that single kiss he remembered who he had been and what he had become. She left. He looked in the mirror, trying to see that place she saw. He had been withdrawn for so long he forgot who he was. His face looked haggard and old. Dark circles ringed his eyes- black pools of malcontent and horror. He almost screamed. What had he done? What had he been doing? All these girls. All these people. He began washing his face, gently at first then feverishly, rubbing his face raw, trying to scrub away himself. In his search for affirmation he abandoned thought, feelings, reason. These girls were nothing but meaningless shells in which to hide his vulnerability. With every girl he marginalized he lost a piece of his humanity, a multitude of self-respect. He began to resent them, the girls. They never gave him want he wanted, what he needed. They were instant gratification, fleeting validation, false hope. But in one kiss he saw what he had been suppressing for as long as he could remember, but made a great effort to forget. And until tonight he thought he had.

The music all of a sudden got too loud. The charade on the dance floor turned into a frantic, impassioned fight amongst the sexes, then a mindless, erratic orgy. He felt dizzy. Nauseated. The room spun and he ran to the bathroom past eager faces clutching dollar bills, anxious for another drink, past lusting eyes, past apathy, past fear, past loathing, past everything and everyone that reminded him of himself. He let go of all the guilt, the pain, the anger, the bitterness, staring at it mildly, swirling around in a bowl of indifference. He felt better. Much better.
He sauntered back to the bar, holding himself gently. She stood in front him yet seemed so distant. He looked at her. She looked at him pitifully. He was pathetic, she thought, yet felt a pang of what she didn't know. Maybe it was understanding- or affection. Shuddering nervously, embarrassed by the thought of their passionless night together, she finally broke the awkward silence.

"Hi. How've you been." She had to lean over the bar so he could hear her speak.
"Fine." He lied. She knew he was lying. He looked down at his feet. She smelled how she smelled the night they first met.
"Um," she paused, he looked up imploringly, "Can I get a whiskey ginger?" He stared at her unable to comprehend what she said then finally replied,
"Sure. Yeah," he gave it to her, "It's on me." He said those words, pleading for her forgiveness. She refused his charity and his apology. She finished her drink at the bar, staring into his eyes as she gulped, the whiskey and carbonation burning her throat sweetly. She put the glass down. Waiting a moment, she pierced him again with her eyes. She kissed him. He could taste the whiskey and ginger on her cool lips. His eyes closed, she pulled away, put her money on the bar and left. He stood awe-struck. The music played. He never saw her again.




I'm out.

LITERARY DEATH

I was seriously contemplating dedicating an entire entry to the recent events in which my purse was greedily, excuse me, psychotically ripped away from my tender possession. Wow. It sounds like I was mugged. I wasn't. It was taken out of my friend's apartment. It's a long story (which is why I was gonna blog about it ha). This is an experience I swear I have about every 6-8 months. Something terrible MUST happen to me within that time frame or else the world will end- no, really, I'm convinced my perpetual misfortune is what keeps this earth spinning peacefully on its axis. YOU'RE WELCOME.
--SIDE NOTE--
I typed in "earth off axis" for google images and this came up

-compliments of momontherocks.com
--SIDE NOTE END--
I will refrain from writing about "the unfortunate event" as I do not want to -ahem- "blow up anyone's spot." But to the guy who felt the need to take things that didn't belong to him: F--- YOU. Yes, F--- YOU. I usually never use such colorful language in my blog, but your actions stir up emotions within me that cannot possibly be contained. Also, I hope something unimaginably terrible happens to you. A permanent splinter between your toes perhaps, or many tiny paper cuts between your fingers and on your FACE! I would describe more horrible, graphic scenarios, but just in case karma does exist I don't want to get too crazy and get hit by a car or something- OH WAIT.
Anyway...
I am posting at this abominable hour because I have been thinking about how much I have been neglecting my dream of becoming an astoundingly brilliant woman writer like Mary Higgins Clark or Nora Roberts. I hope you caught that seething sarcasm (and that awesome alliteration). Seriously though, I feel like my old roommate was right. He had a great point about "getting lost in the city" and would always tell me, don't let the thrill of the city get in the way of your dream. GAH!!! I HAVE. I swore to myself that after I moved here from NoVA I would honestly look for writing jobs or for something involving creativity and intellectual stimulation, but I haven't. Instead I have been wrapped up in, well, other things. Things that aren't necessarily bad, but not conducive to what it is I came here to do. I came here to write, and though I love blogging I never meant for this to be the primary platform for my writing. It's been a realization I have been slowly, shamefully coming to for quite some time. Though, recently I have been writing more, like I promised myself I would, I have not been trying to continue growing as a writer/person. No museums, no galleries, no shows, no NOTHING, at least, I haven't been to any for a while. I mean I went to a really nice restaurant during Restaurant Week which was amazing, but that's only because one of my friends asked me to go with her! I was suppose to go to a show I REALLY WANTED TO GO TO on Sunday (FREAKING CHROMEO) but due to extenuating circumstances that was out of the question. I haven't gone off on my own to do anything fun... BOOOOOO BAD, CHRIS! Sigh.
This is the most self-centered post EVER. Apologies. I know people are itching for me to post an entire entry about my problems and hear all about meeeeeee BLAH BLAH BLAH... I think I'm done.
I mean, I can't be the only person who feels this way! I JUST CAN'T BE!!
Sigh. I'm feeling so disgustingly emo haha. Alright. I should probably go to bed...






Don't walk the plank like I did
You will be dispensed with
When you've become inconvenient








I'm out.

To Regret Or Not To Regret? That Is The Question.

I've learned over the years that regrets are as useful as a credit card in a bodega. Soooo I regret nothing. However, I do wonder what the hell goes through my head sometimes when I find myself in wildly inappropriate situations. Then, I succumb to the idea of fate and escape any blame for my actions. haha that's terrible. I've actually never done that, but it sounds like a good idea. hmmmm... Anyway, the week just started and so far so good. I had an excellent weekend with some even more excellent people and learned some things about myself in the process. Yay! Self-discovery can be fun... orrr grossly depressing. My discovery? I am a lover of honesty and forwardness. That's pretty self-explanatory, yes? Gooooood. I'm sure I'm not the only one who doesn't like to be involved in cloudy, misguided events that lead to confusion and ultimately a nauseating realization.
So as not to fall completely into a downtrodden abyss, hating all of humanity and its stupidity, I am going to do some more- gasp- reading and -gasp- writing. I realize I haven't done that for me in a while. The writing, not the reading.
I'm reading a book by Sartre right now called, funnily enough, Nausea, and I think I picked it up at the perfect time in my life. I mean, I was suppose to read it in college... buuuuut.... anyway. Sigh. I didn't okay?! I didn't read it! I dunno how I passed that class, with a B no less! But I did (pats self on back). haha

So this week I will not be going out at all, but staying in my dark room staring at the bright screen of my computer. The light washing over my morose expression as I jot down my ambivalent feelings about life, pressing my memory for words I have been suppressing, avidly digging around my subconscious for serenity. My fingers moving across the keyboard with a fury that is reminiscent of the feelings violently swirling around in my head, without reason or direction. Crying intermittently, tears seeping into my computer, where mechanics meet organics. Ignoring concerned inquiries from friends and family wondering where I've been for days, I will continue to create a shadow of myself through words that only I can see and understand...
JUST KIDDING!!!

I'm actually going to the PIT tomorrow with a bunch of people to see Oscar perform. I can't imagine locking myself in a room like that. I'm no Emily Dickinson (on a variety of levels- she is gawd), I like people. But I will make time to write for myself more often this week, just not at the expense of my sanity. Sometimes though, it is nice to just be alone, relish in solitude. I have absolutely NOTHING against that. There have been times I have found myself cradling my computer rocking back and forth cursing the mercilessness of the world. I mean who hasn't?  Right... right... right...right...

Oh boy.



I'm out.