The Weirdness

Just feelin' weird....



I'm out.

Block It.

Feeling very much like this for the past few weeks.

What, Where, Who Am I?

I'm getting old. Not the sexy, wise cougar old. The senile, drooling babbling kind of old. For a week I've been patiently observing my rapid deterioration and for a week I have slumped into a deeper and deeper state of depression and hopelessness. No! Nay! Don't try and stop this spiraling crazy (yes, I am referring to myself), just let it happen.

You Have Got To Be Kidding Me

Over the past few days I have encountered numerous strange people and gone through some awkward occurrences. Let's list a few things that I have unfortunately experienced, greatly affecting my already jaded perception of reality:

1. This isn't so odd but by golly it's frustrating to see job posts with more misspellings than a dyslexic five year old's spelling test. If you don't know the difference between your and you're then why the hell should I?! And if I see one more scam job I think I might explode.

2. I was eating brunch and out of the corner of my eye I see this guy yapping away to himself with a haphazard, willy-nilly contraption on his back that had a rod that dangled a camera in front of his face. AWKWARD. I asked the friend I was with if this dude was crazy and he said no, he's just filming himself. I on the other hand am a little apprehensive to proclaim his sanity.

3. I had an interview at a place and was asked why I haven't worked in my field yet and thankfully before exploding with anger I calmly said I don't know instead of HAVE YOU BEEN LIVING IN THE SAME AMERICA I'VE BEEN LIVING IN?! YOU KNOW THAT THING CALLED THE ECONOMY?! IT's REALLY NOT DOING TO HOT WHICH IS CRAZILY ENOUGH HAVING AN ADVERSE AFFECT ON EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES!!! AHHHHHH!!! But I didn't say that. I should've, but I didn't.

4. There's this homeless guy that has set up shop near strand who I've been meaning to write about not because I think he's crazy or strange, but I have this weird admiration for him. Every time I see him he's reading something. Be it a novel, a newspaper, a magazine. He's always entranced by the words, ignoring the bustling world around him. He has a little, nonobtrusive piece of cardboard that politely asks to show some kindness and spare some change. I have a kind of disgusting, romanticized admiration for him, but I still haven't given him money yet. Errr....


If I remember more things I'll be sure to add them!







I'm out.

Fiction: part 1

She thinks about the decision she made. Mulling over the pros and cons as she sips her hot chocolate staring out her window onto the street. She smiles, realizing that this is what she wanted all along, accepting that this is what needs to be. The sweet, warm drink soothes her throat. After crying for days it is a welcoming sensation. Cars drive by noisily, honking their horns, the drivers yelling profanities. It's music to her ears, a melodious intermingling of mechanical voices and urban salutations. She looks back at the computer screen at listings wondering who wrote them and what the circumstances were that lead to particular job openings. That company lost their marketing manager to a drug habit and an existential crisis, or this company's art director left after realizing his passion for music and nonconformity. The world is constantly changing, a fluidity reminiscent of spilled milk flowing over counter tops and splashing onto the floor, spreading freely, thickly, without calculation, but with purpose. She shifts in her chair. Trying desperately to focus on her task at hand. She closes the classifieds window and opens the page she's been trying to avoid since she sat down. New York State Psychiatric Institute. She looks over the website with terror and contempt, but also understanding and longing. The voices haven't stopped in weeks and her sanity seems to be flickering on and off in her head like fireworks, a burst of clarity and then a slow fade into the unknown. For weeks she's tried to function like everything was okay, going to dinner, going to work, going out, but all with a pang of regret. Happiness was now a distant memory she thought she could recreate by ignoring her incomprehensible feelings and embracing the simplicity of complacency, but her quick-fix emotion betrayed her. Ignorance was most certainly not bliss. She clicked on Looking For Treatment, her hands shook as she scrolled through the information. Filling out the form for clinical studies, she prayed there would be one to fit her needs. She briefly thought about just calling the hospital and checking herself in without telling anyone...



to be continued...


I'm out.

I Think It's Time To

Mix it up.

^-^


I'm out.

Family Affair

So I had a huge dose of family this weekend and needless to say- it was an experience to remember. Never have I been so tense and annoyed in such effortmless succession as I was this weekend. Nary a day went by when I was with my mother that I didn't want, at some point, to tweeze my eye brows out one hair at a time, then move on to my eye lashes. This weekend helped me realize a few things about myself, 1. I have a strange a strange interest in kids shows (not in a gross way- promise), 2. I'm so lucky to have the best big sister anyone can ask for, and 3.- the most depressing of all- No matter how hard I fight the reality it's true that I am I different person around my mother. I'm a shell of myself, an echo, and afterthought. Anyway, it was an unfortunate discovery, but I've always felt that way, it's just now it's becoming a problem. I'll figure it out. I won't bore you with sappy details.

On a lighter note! I feel as though I have finally turned over a new leaf and have been writing more consistently for myself! Yay! Now it's time to go to shows and start reviewing the bageezus out of bands, going to bars and blabbing about my experience on here, and possibly reading books to review. The last one probably won't happen too often because I'm not really a fan of reviewing books, plus I hate reading. Oh I keed. I'm reading Hitchhiker's Guide right now and never realized how heavily that book has influenced pop culture. It really is tremendous. READ IT. 42.





I'm out.

"I don't know about my dreams. I don't know about my dreamin anymore."

It's been a while, but I finally have some down time to update this thing. A lot has happened in the last few months what with my lease ending, starting a new job and rearranging my dreams, future... hm, maybe that last part is a bit of a stretch. I have been mulling over different possibilities but a clear cut plan has yet to come into fruition. I have hope though! Hope. What a word. It's been a distant thought for a while. Doubt had such a stronghold on everything in my life and now, well Hope knocked down the door and kicked doubt's ass so everything's cool.

I've moved into a brand new place and it has opened up endless possibilities. Side note- MOVING SUCKS. Ok. Done.
I know you should never depend so much on your environment that you let it dictate what you want and/or who you are, but as I'm writing this it just sounds wrong... also impossible, so maybe my stagnant inclinations were inevitable. Well no more laziness, no more complaining, no more wishing. This summer is going to be an experience, I've already decided. All I have to do is write more. It's so simple yet so insanely hard to do. I was speaking with someone about having a "passion" in the city and how difficult it is to be successful or even work on your "passion" if you don't focus. This conversation is by no means new or surprising, but it is very, very applicable to so many twenty-somethings. Just yesterday I was perusing okcupid (don't judge me) and so many profiles had the phrase "existential crisis" tucked comfortably away in "About Me" or "What I'm Doing With My Life," and it's not hard to see why. Grappling with where you thought you'd be and where you are now is something that can be hard to come to terms with. It helps though, that there are so many people having the same depressing thoughts. Maybe I should join some kind sort of collective. Also probably find some will power somewhere. I could probably get that off e-bay, right?

Let's talk about friends. I've found that in this year and a half I've been here friendship has been one of not the most significant concepts I've had to reconfigure. When we were younger it was so easy to make them. Go up to someone and offer them a pog or a marble, hell a leaf and ask coyly, "Friends?" And the answer would always be yes. Now making friends is a lot like dating. You have to sift through a lot of trash to find that treasure haha oh okc... (don't judge me.) Finding the right friends has an impact and if you have a crazy one, well then lord help you. Having a circle of people around you who genuinely care about your well-being is something that can be really tough to find so if you have those people you should never take them for granted. The beauty of friendship truly rests in each individual you allow into a very private part of your life and yourself. Oh lawd, I'm starting to sound like a self help book again. All I wanted to say is that I am so grateful for everyone in my life and have learned so much through all my relationships and experiences with so many amazing people. This city can easily eat you alive, so it helps to have some people in your corner. A crew if you will. Ha.

It's time to be more consistent again. I wonder how many times I've said that in this thing. A LOT. I know that.


LOVE HIM.



I'm out.

Creatively Challenged

I have such talented friends. Painters, Sculptors, Photographers, Editors, Designers, Actors, Musicians, Drag Queens... the list goes on... into tiny micromanaged categories. However, when I think of me and what I do I hardly consider myself an artist or even creative. I've been beating myself up recently for being unable to find enjoyment in anything creative- save writing. This contradiction has not gone overlooked. Writing is creating, I suppose. I don't understand my ambivalent reality at all, and I don't like it and I'm always trying to refute its unstable implications. I rarely draw except when I doodle which I haven't done in months. I don't make things unless that counts putting together a sandwich. My hands are tools I stare at in dismay wondering where in my life they surrendered to a life of banality. I don't own a camera but use Instagram like it's no body's business, but I would hardly call myself a photographer. I've been feeling less enthused with the idea of being called a "writer," for the simple, narcissistic fact that it just doesn't seem cool anymore. When the age of the internet began so did the fall of the writer. Bloggers took over the internet and made actual writers redefine themselves and what it was to be a writer. They are now all unemployed... or working terrible retail jobs... Jk. I have no idea (but probably). Then again, what is a blogger? A writer. As defined in the dictionary a writer is: writ·er/ˈrītər/Noun
1. A person who has written a particular text. In that case there is no difference between a blogger and a writer. Oh, but there is... there has to be or my efforts have all been in vain. Is blogging going to be my life? Should I succumb to the inevitability that sharing my ridiculous thoughts on the internet will eventually be my career. I can't. Oh, but I can. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? This whole argument is a plethora of insane discrepancies and unfair assumptions.

I used to relish in all types of peoples' indulgences in the internet. I used to take in all the wonderful excitement that buzzed heavily around twitter and facebook, and friendster (is that even real?), and the list goes on. Now, I feel like the internet took something away from me. A solid voice.
In this constantly changing environment with the amount of turn-over in trends and the decreasing attention span of the nation it's terrifying to think of where I'll fit in. If I'll fit in. How I'll fit in.

I'm rambling again. It's becoming a horrible habit.

Apologies.




I'm out.

Just Do It

Battling for months with this ongoing uneasiness with life and where I want to be and who I want to be and all that existential garbage prone to a paranoid, absurdly self-aware, judgmental being, I have finally concluded that I need to "Just Do It."* Not only does this apply to my career, but to everything in life. For too long I've been scared to just leap into something without knowing exactly what the outcome will be and not fearing it wholeheartedly with the nerves of a tadpole. So in my continuous attempts to better my situation I shall try a different approach. No more excuses, no more talking, no more half-assed attempts, it's game time. I got my helmet on, and I look ridiculous but I don't care. Complaining about things is starting to wear on my nerves, and I'm sure my friends would not be completely opposed to never hearing me say, "I need to get outta there," ever again. Sorry guys. Also, I really need to focus time on creativity. I haven't written anything decent in months... Infuriating writer's block is to blame for this horrid dry spell. However, so is laziness and apathy, two emotions I've been all to found of for the last few weeks. It's so easy to just not care. It's so easy to just let things happen and not focus on goals. Goals. What a scary word. It has so many weird, complex connotations. It means so much, but can also be so fleeting. Anyway, I need to dedicate time to doing something I've grown to love beyond words haha get it... cuz it's writing. Sigh. Clinging to that ounce of passion I know is floating around in me somewhere I've got to get my drive back. I also think I need to get out of the city for a little bit to help me put things in perspective. I feel like with the constant motion of Brooklyn and Manhattan it's definitely easy to loose a little bit of yourself amongst all the flashing lights, all the moody people, all the sounds. I need to go somewhere not so... loud- all that racket- yes, I'm 85.
Well thanks for reading everyone, I really do appreciate you taking the time out to read my narcissistic indulgences.


Story of my life.

***Let it be known I denounce any affiliation with Nike, for obvious political/moral reasons. Damn them for creating such a relevant tag line.***

I'm out.

Questions, Questions, Questions

Do you ever wonder what drives people to build relationships with certain people? And I don't just mean romantically. Actually, I don't mean romantically at all. What goes through a person's mind when they see someone and immediately know they have to form a bound with them. What unspeakable force draws us to the people we find ourselves surrounded by? It has to be more than just common interests because then everybody in Williamsburg would be skipping through McCarren holding hands and singing that Bobby McFerrin song, eating vegan ice cream and downing whiskey. There's an X factor, I guess. That incomprehensible knowing. That potential.
A more interesting question, since we humans love dwelling on negativity, is the opposite, what makes people write others off without so much as a "hello." You know the people I'm talking about. You see them and immediately you make a snap judgment. There's just something "off" about them.
And don't get me started about the whole, "boys can't be just friends with girls" foolishness, because that plain drives me crazy. Many times I have questioned this statement and wondered what ninny came up with it and all the idiots that repeat it. By the way, they totally can.
I dunno. I just woke up this morning with lots of questions about...life. About people. About events that turn out just to be another page in my diary. Sigh. Anyway, relationships are weird. I don't think I'll ever completely understand how they come into fruition, but that's not necessarily a bad thing... so...


This song makes me happy. haha



I'm out.

She Is Who She Is

Essence of crushed dreams sprinkle her aura like twinkling stars against a sheet of black hopelessness. She sits back on the bench in the bar, eyes closed, you could almost hear the thoughts wildly spinning in her head. There's an energy that emerges from her person, whipping you in the face- warm... too warm. Her eyes open and she speaks. She says things in rapid succession, you cannot follow everything. The nonsensical becomes a wavering, incoherent medley of sounds that you cannot enjoy or control. Berating listening ears with negativity wrapped tightly in insecurity. Pouring from her lips like liquid fire, her words burned in ways that no one could completely understand. A clusterfuck of self-destruction and malevolent intentions will her to a place unknown to some, relished by others, loathed by the rest. It's a place devoid of reason or reality, a diabolically personal manifestation of horror and disdain. Rapidly overtaking her body, threatening to unleash a fury of inexplicable, unsuspected proportions, alcohol coaxes this volatility with sweet mocking. Encouraging outrageous, perplexing behavior, the molten beverage succeeds in unleashing this incongruous person. Reeking of self-loathing and severe distress, the pungent odor of defeat stings the nostrils and burns as it enters your lungs and screams through your body. Being so close to such a strong energy depletes everyone around her. She is a walking vacuum, sucking positivity out of the air until it becomes stale and stagnant. She has been this way for as long as she can remember. With severe certainty she begins to lash out. She shrieks about her terrible life and her lack of love. She wails about the unfairness of humanity and colossal mistakes that riddle her life, inducing perpetual sadness. Then she begins projecting her insecurities onto others, images of morbid indecency lightly place themselves over the faces of others, altering their true selves, a distorted falsity that has become oh too real for her. Again she speaks with violent conviction, retorting coldly, rambling angrily, name-calling, accusing, belittling all in hopes of deceiving the pain and numbing herself. Of course, this never works and instead forces people to flee. Run away from her innumerable complexities that are divulged with overwhelming intensity when the liquor consumes her. She is someone we all know... maybe ourselves? Continuously struggling in this heartless, selfish society. She is who she is.


I'm out.

Missed Connections w4m, BLB

I'm about to admit something no sane person should admit. However, it's because of this inexplicable partiality I feel for this writer who has been serial-spamming craigslist with his writing. It hit me like a lightening bolt, tingling through me like electricity. Painful and illogical, but beautiful and precise. I'm not sure if it's sleep deprivation or this total stranger reawakened something within me I've almost forgotten- love, love for words, love for thought, love for the intangible, the ridiculous, the absurd.
Alright, here's my secret: I scroll through "missed connections" sometimes when I'm bored. It's become a habit born out of sheer curiosity and the hope that some guys could be true romantics. This leads right into why I wanted to write this post. There's a guy out there that puts up missed connections on craigslist, but instead of "looking for a blonde wearing a red jacket and black boots," he's writing profoundly insightful, heart wrenching poetry that has left me in a state of shock and awe. For months I have been terrified to write poetry on my blog. For weeks I have been putting off updating in hopes of discovering a topic I can write about freely, and then I find this guy's blog. He's like everything I aspire to be as a writer, fearless and unwavering. He writes in a way devoid of commercial, patronizing rhetoric. Instead he uses words with a biting, uncensored ferociousness. It's like he's fighting, constantly fighting. Fighting himself, fighting the words, fighting format and style, fighting conformity, fighting for his place, his rightful place in a world full of doubt and hopelessness, disrespect and sorrow. He shows no remorse in his words, his thoughts forming violent serenity, if you can call it that. That description makes sense when you read him, maybe it doesn't, but that's what is so appealing about writing, it's (in)comprehension. His writing is so poignant because he doesn't throw his intelligence mockingly in your face, but slips it into lines and phrases with stealth and careful thought. His name is Frankie Leone and he is Williamsburg, Borough of Lost Boys... or more affectionately, the "missed connections writer."

This is my very first post about another writer... It's fitting because of the New Year and all. A lot of firsts have been happening in these last few days, many interesting occurrences. This year really is going to be fantastic, I really can feel it.

I'm out.

2011: It's Gonna Be Wild

Due to the influx of hours being put in at the-place-that-will-not-be-named I have been unable to sit down, devoid of exhaustion and frustration to just write. Hence, I have not written in over two weeks which is appalling to say the least.
Life has been throwing me some hard balls recently (I'll pause for laughter). With the impending new year, though, I have decided that rather than wallow in self-pity and curse the universe for taking a personal vendetta against me in the name of some unspeakable necessity making my life a comedic-tragedy, I am going to power through it. 2010 was a year of growth, a year of surprises and downfalls, triumphs and questions. It was the year I made some amazing friends and lost some crazy ones- The year I truly began to understand what it was to be an adult and flee full speed away from its morbid, depressing implications- The year I began to discover myself (in a non sexual way... perverts)- The year of new experiences and the end of wistful beginnings- The year of clarity and absurd disillusionment. All in all, as are the years before and will be the years coming, 2010 has offered yet another modicum of knowledge and has brought me that much closer to inevitable death. Let's be real people. Every year that ball drops is another year chipped off of your lifeline. Oh, plus 2012 is like right around the corner. I'm just a bundle of sunshine today, aren't I?!
Anyway, I'm excited for the amazing possibilities in store for 2011 (plus, I get to wear these awesome sequined shorts, all in the name of the new year). Next year is going to be amazing. I can feel it. Can you feel it?


I'm out.

Wait!

Some fun facts about 2011...

-The United Nations has dubbed it as International Year of Forests.... hm, although with the current climate change may have to be changed to The Year of The Ever Encroaching Inevitable Wasteland If We Don't Start Really Loving The Three Rs... although, that may be a bit long. Maybe just Year of The Wasteland would suffice. It has a Cummings ring to it I enjoy. And it's also the Year of Chemistry... hm, maybe change that to The Year of The Science We Need In Order To Survive The Year of The Wasteland... that has a lovely apocalyptic overtone.

-Estonia is finally going to adopt the Euro, those stubborn bastards (I know nothing about this, please consider my insurmountable ignorance on the topic of foreign currency... or any currency really), note my current predicament: broke college graduate. I have joined the ranks of the cliched story of old. Sigh. I should've been a lawyer.

-Men's World Ice Hockey Championships will be held in Slovakia... and no one will care.

-The hottest, most eligible bachelor will be roped into a stifling, endless relationship with some chick (Prince William is getting married to some floozy)

-The International Olympic Committee will decide where the 2018 Winter Olympics will be held. And, again, no one will care except for the poor (eeysh,probably literally), freezing country it will be held in. They will quickly realize that housing a whole bunch of crazy athletes probably wasn't the best idea. They eat a lot. They're demanding. They probably drink a lot. Wait. Who are they? Me?

-And most importantly, in 2011 I will quite possibly turn on the heat in my apartment and not freeze to near-death every night.

For more fun facts about the upcoming year visit this site where you can also see fantastic photos of Jimmy Wales. I swear there's a new picture of him everyday. It's unnerving.

(/) wrting (/)

I've been wondering exactly what it is that has been preventing me from achieving my dreams and the simple answer has been: Me... and the millions of others who have the same passion as I do... and the ever-depleting job opportunities in the bleak writing industry... and the rise of the "blogging age." After graduating from college I had higher hopes for myself as a writer. I was hoping to make a career out of something I love, not be thrust into a mediocre job with little to no gratification and long hours dealing with selfish, needy people and a laughable salary.
Now, don't get me wrong, I love my blog. That is also not to say that I am displeased with the enthusiasm in which people are starting new blogs and getting across their ideas to an audience. However, I am envious (almost to the point of violence: note, flailing and cussing in disbelief) of blogs that have made names for themselves and in turn (stupidly) trademarks, such as : stuff white people like and shit my dad says. My annoyance has no bounds simply because well, Why the hell didn't I think of that?! So, in hopes of somehow making a break into the industry because-let's face it- that's what I want, I will be here on out whoring myself to the public. JUST KIDDING! Ugh, who do you think I am? This kid?

somebody tell him to stop making videos. Ok! I'll do it! STOP IT!! PLEASE. YOU ARE SINGLE-HANDEDLY CATAPULTING THE MINDS OF AMERICAN CHILDREN INTO A BRAINCELL-SHATTERING ABYSS.

Anyway, instead of becoming an attention grabbing parasite, I'm just going to keep writing. Here. In my notebook. On my computer. In my head...huh?
The industry is tough, and there are a lot of great writers out there, and the odds of me landing anything remotely interesting right now is inconceivable. This city eats people like me for breakfast, it doesn't sit me down at a nice fine restaraunt to dine... hm, like Daniel or Masa... I mean LOOK AT THEIR WEBSITES! So sexy. No, this city will eat me raw and crush my bones into the foundation of the statue of liberty, laughing mockingly. I will not give up, however, my desire is too strong. Besides, I can't stop writing if I tried...
Sigh. I'm just feeling pretty defeated today.

I need a drink.









I'm out.

More About The Future

Ok. So, I'm still unsure of what will come out of this little project I want to start, but I do know I want it to involve me filming parts of my life and possibly interviewing people. There are a lot of technicalities I have to consider and I'm very unsure of how much or how little I want people to divulge on camera. All I need is a camera haha.

In other news, as is the inevitability of my highly complicated, traumatic life, my luck has been that of a small animal thrust in a shark tank. I feel like I'm being eaten alive. Although, as I've mentioned in a previous post I've succumbed to the reality that it is but a necessity in the universal order of things that I consistently get screwed over. Well, again, you're welcome.

=p




I'm out.

RADIOHEAD

I'm not going to write a conventional music post about how they are undeniably one of the most colossal bands that have perpetually created affective compositions in an industry that consistently promotes vapid, shallow music. I'm not going to write about how they've completely changed my view on the capabilities music possesses. I'm not going to write about the inexplicable feeling I get when I hear their music. I'm not going to write about how their music transcends tangible ideas and beliefs, customs and thoughts, religion and culture. I simply can't write about them because I plainly don't have the words. There's something about them, though that stirs something inside me that I forget exists and I just wanted to dedicate a post to them. I don't know where I'd be as a writer or even as a person without their music. Intense. I ♥ you, Radiohead.




I'm out.

You Got The Love, Writing.

I was going to go to bed, but this one, indelible thought is keeping me from resting my weary eyes and dreaming once again about the Jonas Brothers (I really did dream about them, and yes it was weird). I NEED TO WRITE MORE.
Last night, sitting at a bar in Brooklyn, a friend and I had a conversation that accelerated my otherwise slow, painful spiral into oblivion. For months I have been allowing myself to become content in this state of blinding apathy, allowing it to take hold of my entire self and render me a senseless imbecile. I mean, I'm happy (I really am happy, it totally comes off as some fleeting, empty statement), but I don't feel fulfilled. I feel like I'm wasting away. Never have I felt so...lame. I don't know how to describe it. Devoid of intensity, passion, substance... lame. A walking shell. A rock, dense, contributing nothing of value. It's like I've forgotten that I actually have opinions and ideas. I need to get out of this funk. I was thinking about writing some essays or something. I haven't done that since college. I always felt so accomplished after completing an essay.

I dedicate this song to the love of my life: Writing. It's always been you.(Though, I think this song is really about Jesus... eh, oh well).



"Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you..."



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.