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few things are better in life than opening sleepy eyes to find a pretty lady in bed with you.
and when that lady is Apnea...? excuse me while i change my pants.
and when that lady is Apnea...? excuse me while i change my pants.
update and edit your journal...
update and edit your journal...
update and edit your journal...
update and edit your journal...
i slept through my life again today. my life, if you can call it that. my repetition, my routine, my rut...
cant sleep but dont accomplish anything... consciousness burns out as the sun creeps across my bed. uneasy, bad dreams. chased by demons, failed balancing act, disappointment, humiliation, shame.
open my eyes. blink. heart beating lightyears into my chest. head lolls to the side, look at the clock. three. three o' clock. three pm, two hours late already, no need to hurry now i suppose.
close my eyes.
eyes pop open. four o' clock. three hours late. now its time to hurry.
jump in the shower... stand there for hours, no more hot water, feeling lightheaded, sit. water off. steam risen, starts to get cold...
routine. comb hair. clothes... blow dry hair... resentment. every... single... day. make up. paint the eyes shut. gloss the mouth to entice and deny. i chew it off inside of an hour, anyways.
always meticulous, hair in place, face on. no one to impress but i try anyways. tear at my hair today. keep it a mess. not impressing anyone, im late.
its snowing outside. it makes me drive too fast. how i did not think on the way is a miracle.
when i was fifteen and my parents were in the throes of the nastiest divorce to which id been witness, it was made abundantly clear to me by my mother that everything was my fault.
she went so far as to say it, which, though so often implied, is a thing rarely spoken.
i hated her.
she threw me out of the house an infinate number of times; i was the whore daughter, i was on drugs. i was the rift in her relationship with my father and i was the thorn in her side. i was the bitch, the troublemaker, fuck up. useless, stupid little girl, i want you out of my house.
they would yell and argue, she would cry, throw things...
and i would leave.
and i would walk.
one of our largest fights lent a volume to my voice that i thought id never had... each time she attacked me i attacked her right back. i wanted her to cry. i wanted to hurt her like she was hurting me. i wanted to take every single knife she had buried in my back and twist it in her side...
"FUCK YOU!" i screamed at her finally, my face a mess of tears and anger. "IM NEVER FUCKING COMING BACK!"
and i slammed the door and took off walking, no destination in mind, my short gasps of breath eventually slowing but the cold turning my air to fog in front of me...
and i walked like that, not thinking, mind empty but reeling for miles until he pulled up alongside me and opened the door...
and it was my dad, my dad with his kind eyes and soft expression, and i never knew how hed found me or how long hed been driving before he did, but i sat next to him in silence while he consoled me and assured me that things would get better...
as ive so often stated they dont...
and he was the only one i could trust.
there was a moment today where i remembered to breathe, but then i lost it.
update and edit your journal...
update and edit your journal...
update and edit your journal...
i slept through my life again today. my life, if you can call it that. my repetition, my routine, my rut...
cant sleep but dont accomplish anything... consciousness burns out as the sun creeps across my bed. uneasy, bad dreams. chased by demons, failed balancing act, disappointment, humiliation, shame.
open my eyes. blink. heart beating lightyears into my chest. head lolls to the side, look at the clock. three. three o' clock. three pm, two hours late already, no need to hurry now i suppose.
close my eyes.
eyes pop open. four o' clock. three hours late. now its time to hurry.
jump in the shower... stand there for hours, no more hot water, feeling lightheaded, sit. water off. steam risen, starts to get cold...
routine. comb hair. clothes... blow dry hair... resentment. every... single... day. make up. paint the eyes shut. gloss the mouth to entice and deny. i chew it off inside of an hour, anyways.
always meticulous, hair in place, face on. no one to impress but i try anyways. tear at my hair today. keep it a mess. not impressing anyone, im late.
its snowing outside. it makes me drive too fast. how i did not think on the way is a miracle.
when i was fifteen and my parents were in the throes of the nastiest divorce to which id been witness, it was made abundantly clear to me by my mother that everything was my fault.
she went so far as to say it, which, though so often implied, is a thing rarely spoken.
i hated her.
she threw me out of the house an infinate number of times; i was the whore daughter, i was on drugs. i was the rift in her relationship with my father and i was the thorn in her side. i was the bitch, the troublemaker, fuck up. useless, stupid little girl, i want you out of my house.
they would yell and argue, she would cry, throw things...
and i would leave.
and i would walk.
one of our largest fights lent a volume to my voice that i thought id never had... each time she attacked me i attacked her right back. i wanted her to cry. i wanted to hurt her like she was hurting me. i wanted to take every single knife she had buried in my back and twist it in her side...
"FUCK YOU!" i screamed at her finally, my face a mess of tears and anger. "IM NEVER FUCKING COMING BACK!"
and i slammed the door and took off walking, no destination in mind, my short gasps of breath eventually slowing but the cold turning my air to fog in front of me...
and i walked like that, not thinking, mind empty but reeling for miles until he pulled up alongside me and opened the door...
and it was my dad, my dad with his kind eyes and soft expression, and i never knew how hed found me or how long hed been driving before he did, but i sat next to him in silence while he consoled me and assured me that things would get better...
as ive so often stated they dont...
and he was the only one i could trust.
there was a moment today where i remembered to breathe, but then i lost it.
so much to do... so fucking much to do. and i know it. and i know my time limitations. and what do i do? lie in bed for 14 hours, tossing, in a bizarre limbo of sleep awake, dead alive. bad pictures flitting across my eyelids, eyes open, look at the clock, fuck gotta get up... eyes closed.
queen procrastination returns. i will never finish everything i have to finish in time.
and, knowing that, here i sit.
phone... off. cant afford distractions tonight. probably wont help, but makes me feel like im putting forth some sort of effort.
ive been thinking a lot about people i havent seen in ages; friends who have drifted away or intentionally deserted. so many people that i knew who i dont know now...
like we somehow wandered into each others space on our way to somewhere else and then wandered back out again... raindrops in an evaporating puddle...
i hope everyone is still okay.
whatever that means.
thinking of sweet moments... thinking of unimaginable moments of pain that felt like they would never end... everything now distant memory.
i remember running out of my house barefoot, breaking glass... beautiful crystal... shattering it in the street at three a.m. to spite a boy who had broken me that night... shattered in the street into thousands of beautiful broken pieces, reflecting warm streetlight, tiny little glowing mirrors. and i took it all in, the sound as it exploded on the asphalt and the silence of the night except for that wonderful sound my breath coming in short gasps and hot tears blurring the scene to an indescernible one of light and dark and it was so cold...
and then i was bawling, full fledged, on my hands and knees picking up these shards of glass, these beautiful broken crystal shards and carrying them back inside cradled in my cupped hands while blood dripped between my fingers and i left wet red footprints in the grass...
i still have the pieces.
i keep everything.
i am affected by every person ive ever known.
today i miss my skin.
queen procrastination returns. i will never finish everything i have to finish in time.
and, knowing that, here i sit.
phone... off. cant afford distractions tonight. probably wont help, but makes me feel like im putting forth some sort of effort.
ive been thinking a lot about people i havent seen in ages; friends who have drifted away or intentionally deserted. so many people that i knew who i dont know now...
like we somehow wandered into each others space on our way to somewhere else and then wandered back out again... raindrops in an evaporating puddle...
i hope everyone is still okay.
whatever that means.
thinking of sweet moments... thinking of unimaginable moments of pain that felt like they would never end... everything now distant memory.
i remember running out of my house barefoot, breaking glass... beautiful crystal... shattering it in the street at three a.m. to spite a boy who had broken me that night... shattered in the street into thousands of beautiful broken pieces, reflecting warm streetlight, tiny little glowing mirrors. and i took it all in, the sound as it exploded on the asphalt and the silence of the night except for that wonderful sound my breath coming in short gasps and hot tears blurring the scene to an indescernible one of light and dark and it was so cold...
and then i was bawling, full fledged, on my hands and knees picking up these shards of glass, these beautiful broken crystal shards and carrying them back inside cradled in my cupped hands while blood dripped between my fingers and i left wet red footprints in the grass...
i still have the pieces.
i keep everything.
i am affected by every person ive ever known.
today i miss my skin.
the other day i padded into the community garage (its under the building, like a bizarre secret lair that everyone knows about and are totally aware of how to get to), barefoot and rushed. gotta get something out of the vehicle...
there is an exorbitant amount of old ladies in my building, as evidenced by the ratio of how many of them i see and how many other people i DONT see. one of these ladies was wandering aimlessly in the garage area, looking somewhat vague and completely lost. suddenly i was POSITIVE i was in the mall garage scene from the remade dawn of the dead, and i was going to meet my zombie fate being mauled and/or eaten to death by an eighty year old women.
i would have been so embarrassed. thank god she wasnt actually a zombie.
yet.
but seriously...
im so tired. tired of being here (here being used as a completely vague and undefinable term, this has nothing to do with the website people), tired of waking up late every morning and vainly rushing in an attempt to be on time to something im almost always late for...
doesnt matter what it is; odds are, im late.
im tired of people telling me that things are going to be okay, that they're going to even out and everything will be fine.
nothing ever gets better.
but you know what? i can live with that. you know how i know? ive done it for 22 damn years, and even though things never look up, or start to look up and are immediately crushed by something much, much worse, life goes on.
as much as i hate that.
last night you told me that reading it made you hate us both a little more. the tension between us got worse; you stay on your side, and ill stay on mine. i dont talk much; im the queen of failed expression... but--
"you said it made you hate us both more... and if thats true, then you hated me to begin with."
you sighed and to me it sounded like that 'stupid girl' sigh, that sigh like i was so predictable and you knew i was going to say that... which of course, you confirmed.
"i thought that might be a poor choice in words..."
and of course it was; probably the WORST choice in words, feeding my paranoia and self doubt.
one of the few people who know the best and worst parts of me, and there are still some things that i cannot share for fear of judgement and disappointing you...
which i feel i often do.
you told me to start writing again, to log the dreams, to write anything; to keep a journal that was completely open and honest, leaving nothing out and having it for me, to ease MY mind, and to fix ME.
but the truth is, i cant write anything if i know it will never be read. hell, the longest ive ever kept a journal outside of this one was a week. two entries to its name, and i never opened it again.
i guess im writing fiction from now on.
or else im going to have to find a new audience...
i make you unhappy and sometimes you make me unhappy too; but i was unhappy to begin with. youre one of my best friends and for that i almost want to tell you to fuck off, get out, like everyone else tells you to do. not because i dont want or need you; the only thing that KEEPS me from doing that is a selfish need for you. some of the greatest company i know, one of the few people i can (i guess about certain things) be open with... why would i push that away?
because i dont ever want to hear that tone of voice again.
you deserve better than a friend who makes you miserable.
im only me.
and i suck.
there is an exorbitant amount of old ladies in my building, as evidenced by the ratio of how many of them i see and how many other people i DONT see. one of these ladies was wandering aimlessly in the garage area, looking somewhat vague and completely lost. suddenly i was POSITIVE i was in the mall garage scene from the remade dawn of the dead, and i was going to meet my zombie fate being mauled and/or eaten to death by an eighty year old women.
i would have been so embarrassed. thank god she wasnt actually a zombie.
yet.
but seriously...
im so tired. tired of being here (here being used as a completely vague and undefinable term, this has nothing to do with the website people), tired of waking up late every morning and vainly rushing in an attempt to be on time to something im almost always late for...
doesnt matter what it is; odds are, im late.
im tired of people telling me that things are going to be okay, that they're going to even out and everything will be fine.
nothing ever gets better.
but you know what? i can live with that. you know how i know? ive done it for 22 damn years, and even though things never look up, or start to look up and are immediately crushed by something much, much worse, life goes on.
as much as i hate that.
last night you told me that reading it made you hate us both a little more. the tension between us got worse; you stay on your side, and ill stay on mine. i dont talk much; im the queen of failed expression... but--
"you said it made you hate us both more... and if thats true, then you hated me to begin with."
you sighed and to me it sounded like that 'stupid girl' sigh, that sigh like i was so predictable and you knew i was going to say that... which of course, you confirmed.
"i thought that might be a poor choice in words..."
and of course it was; probably the WORST choice in words, feeding my paranoia and self doubt.
one of the few people who know the best and worst parts of me, and there are still some things that i cannot share for fear of judgement and disappointing you...
which i feel i often do.
you told me to start writing again, to log the dreams, to write anything; to keep a journal that was completely open and honest, leaving nothing out and having it for me, to ease MY mind, and to fix ME.
but the truth is, i cant write anything if i know it will never be read. hell, the longest ive ever kept a journal outside of this one was a week. two entries to its name, and i never opened it again.
i guess im writing fiction from now on.
or else im going to have to find a new audience...
i make you unhappy and sometimes you make me unhappy too; but i was unhappy to begin with. youre one of my best friends and for that i almost want to tell you to fuck off, get out, like everyone else tells you to do. not because i dont want or need you; the only thing that KEEPS me from doing that is a selfish need for you. some of the greatest company i know, one of the few people i can (i guess about certain things) be open with... why would i push that away?
because i dont ever want to hear that tone of voice again.
you deserve better than a friend who makes you miserable.
im only me.
and i suck.
enter last night, the birth of the worst dreams i can ever remember...
i woke up bleary eyed and confused, my head pounding and my lips chapped... i threw on a sweater and padded out onto the balcony. i was greeted by a cool, wet morning. once there i crouched down and pulled my knees to my chest, rocking ever so slightly and shaking my head...
hoping those images would tumble out into the day and disappear...
no dice. i guess im stuck with them.
"hey. i need feed for my snake."
"alright... live or frozen?"
"frozen, please."
she pulls the twisted rodents from the freezer, their faces stuck in perpetual grimaces. she asks if they're okay and i nod.
a chuckle from the other side of the counter. "god, i'd hate to be a snake."
i look her up and down.
then, "i think it would be a worse day to be a mouse."
i woke up bleary eyed and confused, my head pounding and my lips chapped... i threw on a sweater and padded out onto the balcony. i was greeted by a cool, wet morning. once there i crouched down and pulled my knees to my chest, rocking ever so slightly and shaking my head...
hoping those images would tumble out into the day and disappear...
no dice. i guess im stuck with them.
"hey. i need feed for my snake."
"alright... live or frozen?"
"frozen, please."
she pulls the twisted rodents from the freezer, their faces stuck in perpetual grimaces. she asks if they're okay and i nod.
a chuckle from the other side of the counter. "god, i'd hate to be a snake."
i look her up and down.
then, "i think it would be a worse day to be a mouse."
tonight was a tedious night, long and marred by my aching head...
and as i sat in the back room with one of the other girls discussing how perfectly useless we felt this particular shift, she took a moment to throw in how pissed she was about the number of women in the crowd... and followed it up with,
"but benni LOVES that dykey shit."
and i opened my mouth to protest, but as i did, i couldnt help but think about all the girls ive danced for in the last week; the necks ive kissed, the hair ive pulled, the ears ive teased and whispered in... my head in their laps, staring up at them with this knowing half smile as i ran my fingertips lightly from that wonderful spot between their collarbones down to their bellies... and then i thought about how just yesterday i decided to print out a photo of me kissing-- with full on tongue-- one of my best girlfriends to post in the back room with a scribbled "benni is gay" on the bottom...
and i shut my mouth.
and as i sat in the back room with one of the other girls discussing how perfectly useless we felt this particular shift, she took a moment to throw in how pissed she was about the number of women in the crowd... and followed it up with,
"but benni LOVES that dykey shit."
and i opened my mouth to protest, but as i did, i couldnt help but think about all the girls ive danced for in the last week; the necks ive kissed, the hair ive pulled, the ears ive teased and whispered in... my head in their laps, staring up at them with this knowing half smile as i ran my fingertips lightly from that wonderful spot between their collarbones down to their bellies... and then i thought about how just yesterday i decided to print out a photo of me kissing-- with full on tongue-- one of my best girlfriends to post in the back room with a scribbled "benni is gay" on the bottom...
and i shut my mouth.
you know, ive gotta tell you... sometimes im a hard act to follow. ive been staring at this screen for some three odd hours, my fingertips hovering just over the keys, completely aware that i have absolutely no idea what i need to say.
not necessarily sure i know what i want to say either, for that matter.
there was a moment tonight where millions of pieces of red and white were bursting upwards from everywhere, and then they were falling and they were in my hair and on my hands and piled at my feet, and i made a conscious decision to live in a snow globe when i grew up...
you could shake me to keep my happy instead of shaking me to chase away my dreams.
i miss you.
im lightheaded from lack of sleep, but im afraid to find my bed... its too soon, and i think last nights dreams are still under my pillow waiting for me...
i dont want them. not yet. maybe just a couple more hours. what should we do until then?
what to do until then...
what to do...
i think this should have everything to do with a slice of pie. and i just so happen to have one left. youre going down, pie...
dont let that mad face fool you; im actually quite in love with that pie.
i wanted to thank all you well wishers... even in my absence, i got more birthday wishes and kind words then ill ever deserve in my life...
i never question why i love this place.
my own little slice of snow globe heaven... and pie... and... pie...
please excuse me. i must eat him.
not necessarily sure i know what i want to say either, for that matter.
there was a moment tonight where millions of pieces of red and white were bursting upwards from everywhere, and then they were falling and they were in my hair and on my hands and piled at my feet, and i made a conscious decision to live in a snow globe when i grew up...
you could shake me to keep my happy instead of shaking me to chase away my dreams.
i miss you.
im lightheaded from lack of sleep, but im afraid to find my bed... its too soon, and i think last nights dreams are still under my pillow waiting for me...
i dont want them. not yet. maybe just a couple more hours. what should we do until then?
what to do until then...
what to do...
i think this should have everything to do with a slice of pie. and i just so happen to have one left. youre going down, pie...
dont let that mad face fool you; im actually quite in love with that pie.
i wanted to thank all you well wishers... even in my absence, i got more birthday wishes and kind words then ill ever deserve in my life...
i never question why i love this place.
my own little slice of snow globe heaven... and pie... and... pie...
please excuse me. i must eat him.
i feel... sick.
sweaty sheets and fever dreams. snakes and car chases... colored hair and urgent care.
it was a long night.
ive been away... sick and sleeping, visiting and dreaming... too poetic (if you can call it that) for my own good. 'round these parts they call me auntie tattoo.
please excuse me, whilst i vomit.
sweaty sheets and fever dreams. snakes and car chases... colored hair and urgent care.
it was a long night.
ive been away... sick and sleeping, visiting and dreaming... too poetic (if you can call it that) for my own good. 'round these parts they call me auntie tattoo.
please excuse me, whilst i vomit.
