it is hidden beneath a thick, bulky sweater
because I need something you to hold on to, to physically feel.
I feel this inane need to protect it from the gaze of strangers
who wouldn't even know it was yours,
who wouldn't know your shirt
from my shirt
from any old shirt anywhere
and who wouldn't care.
it is hot today,
unseasonably so,
and I am buried in this mammoth sweater,
sweating, for
no
fucking
reason,
waiting in a frenzied haze of shallow breathing
and racing thoughts
for a response, any response,
to the fragile, pathetic little message my fingers sent before my brain could intervene that asked
quietly,
meagerly,
pitifully
are you going to break up with me?
Showing posts with label Panic on the streets of London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Panic on the streets of London. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Grazed Knees
They warn you not to go to bed angry,
but I've found it usually works:
time and sleep and silence cure my ailments.
But this morning I opened my eyes
with my fists still clenched and my heart still compressed
and ugly inside things
clawing at my rib cage
and climbing my throat,
trying to push themselves out of my mouth and,
finding my jaw unwilling to loosen,
they settle for second best and burn my tongue.
I sit boiling, rigid, and hell-bent on containment,
and finally see why you tell me
anger is a wasted emotion.
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Longer I Lay Here
Two posts in one day? Talk about narcissism! But seriously people, shit's about to get real.
I just had a long conversation with Johnny, who you may or may not remember and are welcome to catch up on here. He and I have fallen out of touch with each other, due to time, distance and the awkward stiff exchanges that have developed in their wake. It's often easier to let things fall by the wayside, to succumb to the seeming inevitability of drifting. Until today, when he pissed me off.
I posted a dreamy facebook status about the romance of youth and letting the world break your heart, and he responded with a snarky psychoanalysis, claiming I was projecting frustration I felt with my own apathy onto the rest of the world. I responded with a sarcastic thank you for his insights, and forced myself not to send him a text message demanding that he never dare psychoanalyze me ever again, for fear of death or whatever.
Tonight I saw him on facebook chat and decided to make a joke of it, asking very sarcastically when his interest in psychoanalysis had developed. He responded sincerely, the bitter undercurrent evidently (and fortunately) having been swallowed whole by the internet, explaining that it was an ongoing process, "sparked by the fire of self-discovery." Driven by his sincerity, I told him I was in the process of redefining my own identity and trying to overcome my fears of intimacy and communication through breaking down my mental barriers, but that it was still in its infancy and I wasn't sure "which barriers were appropriate." He responded with: "You are awesome. Honestly. I'm so glad we can talk like this and I want to support you any way I can." This led to an hour and a half of confessional honesty, a baring of egos and self-inflicted obstacles on relationships and the construction of self-images and the limits of our very similarly contained selves.
The conversation ended with an agreement for another later in the week. Whether it will happen or not- your guess is as good as mine. Either way, I'm happy and nervous that I overcame a little bit of myself tonight. And that's one of the best things I've been able to say to myself in months.
I just had a long conversation with Johnny, who you may or may not remember and are welcome to catch up on here. He and I have fallen out of touch with each other, due to time, distance and the awkward stiff exchanges that have developed in their wake. It's often easier to let things fall by the wayside, to succumb to the seeming inevitability of drifting. Until today, when he pissed me off.
I posted a dreamy facebook status about the romance of youth and letting the world break your heart, and he responded with a snarky psychoanalysis, claiming I was projecting frustration I felt with my own apathy onto the rest of the world. I responded with a sarcastic thank you for his insights, and forced myself not to send him a text message demanding that he never dare psychoanalyze me ever again, for fear of death or whatever.
Tonight I saw him on facebook chat and decided to make a joke of it, asking very sarcastically when his interest in psychoanalysis had developed. He responded sincerely, the bitter undercurrent evidently (and fortunately) having been swallowed whole by the internet, explaining that it was an ongoing process, "sparked by the fire of self-discovery." Driven by his sincerity, I told him I was in the process of redefining my own identity and trying to overcome my fears of intimacy and communication through breaking down my mental barriers, but that it was still in its infancy and I wasn't sure "which barriers were appropriate." He responded with: "You are awesome. Honestly. I'm so glad we can talk like this and I want to support you any way I can." This led to an hour and a half of confessional honesty, a baring of egos and self-inflicted obstacles on relationships and the construction of self-images and the limits of our very similarly contained selves.
The conversation ended with an agreement for another later in the week. Whether it will happen or not- your guess is as good as mine. Either way, I'm happy and nervous that I overcame a little bit of myself tonight. And that's one of the best things I've been able to say to myself in months.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wish You the Worst
Can I write a seething post about how bitter I am over the fact that I spent four fucking years in a dead end, terrible relationship with a selfish, lying asshole who came and went as he pleased with no regard to how I felt about it, then suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth to reappear blissfully ENGAGED to the least attractive girl I have ever seen in my entire life?
I'm trying to dismiss it and concentrate on other things, but it's always in the back of my mind. I have anxiety-inducing premonitions of myself publicly drunkenly sobbing and insisting how much prettier I am than she is, and I've been hiding from alcohol to avoid them coming true.
I need more self-control. I'm still masochistically stalking his facebook, hands shaking with anger, frustration and jealousy at their idyllic romance. (I almost said picturesque but, you guys, seriously, there is nothing picturesque about this bitch. She's a total ugg-o.)
Sorry I'm whining. This post is a catastrophic waste of your time.
I'm trying to dismiss it and concentrate on other things, but it's always in the back of my mind. I have anxiety-inducing premonitions of myself publicly drunkenly sobbing and insisting how much prettier I am than she is, and I've been hiding from alcohol to avoid them coming true.
I need more self-control. I'm still masochistically stalking his facebook, hands shaking with anger, frustration and jealousy at their idyllic romance. (I almost said picturesque but, you guys, seriously, there is nothing picturesque about this bitch. She's a total ugg-o.)
Sorry I'm whining. This post is a catastrophic waste of your time.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
99 Problems
Today started at 4:58am. I woke up suddenly, noticed the clock and thought to myself "Man, there are those crazy people who wake up at times like this and then somehow don't fall asleep! What stupid assholes! Ha ha ha! What's wrong with them? They need to get it together! Thank God I am the master of slumber! I make dreams my bitch! If sleeping was a super power, I'd be the hero of the land! Of ALL lands! Ha ha ha stupid assholes with insomnia!"
Then I, of course, lay awake for about five hours.
Now, perhaps there are those of you out there wondering why the hell I didn't get up after, say, the first half hour, and that is because I am really, really, really stubborn. I was in severe denial about being one of those people I had laughed at derisively and was determined to fall back to sleep. It didn't happen.
I got up at 9:42, made some breakfast, then sat at the computer until 10:06. Then I plucked my eyebrows and gazed lovingly at my own reflection until- oh shit! 10:12! I'm supposed to be out of the house in 3 minutes! And I have no makeup on and I'm not dressed and my hair is disgusting!
It turned out to be a messy ponytail, blush and mascara kind of day.
I got to school at 10:59 for my 11:00 class and decided to go to the library first to print out a paper for my 12:30 class. My first professor doesn't even take attendance, and my second one is pretty uptight, so this seemed like the right order.
I went to a computer and took my sweater off as it turned on. Then I looked down and realized there was an extremely inappropriate amount of cleavage happening and had to put it back on. Annoyed, I made a mental note not to wear this shirt to school anymore.
When I opened the e-mail I had sent myself with the homework files attached, I wanted to slap myself. I had saved them in .wps and the school's computer only opens .rtf which I am 100% aware of.
I then remembered it's the 14th which, aside from being my parents' 36th wedding anniversary (Congrats guys!), is also the first day I need my iClicker for class.
Cue mild panic attack.
I realized then I was not going to make my first class. I hate missing classes. A lot. A whole whole lot.
I eventually resigned myself to this and decided to make the best of it. I started calling people to see who could open the files on a different computer, convert the format and send them back. Finally finding a willing sister, I asked a librarian where to find the stupid iClicker. After telling me it was going to set me back 50 bucks, she gave me directions to the University Bookstore, which I didn't understand a word of.
I left and called Johnny, hoping for some clearer directions. He didn't answer. I wandered in a sort of frenzied haze until I heard from the distance: If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a bitch aint one!
"Whaa?" I found myself wondering.
Then I noticed it seemed to be coming from my pocket. Curiously, I removed my cell phone which was vibrating and, yes, supplying the sweet sounds of Jay-Z. Apparently that's my ringtone? This had escaped my notice for God only knows how long because my phone is constantly on vibrate. Johnny was calling me back. He gave me directions that made sense and I found the bookstore.
By 12:30, I was in class, with the required assignments. I should mention that this is Writing 102. For some reason my English credits didn't transfer and I'm being required to take WRITING 102. It's mortifying. Except there's this one bearded, nature-y kid who I think is named Mark (who is totally 17) and he's extremely hot. Anyway, he came in a bit late and started to walk towards me. I got excited that he was going to sit next to me, and then he broke my heart by instead sitting in the open seat in front of me.
In the middle of silently reassuring my bruised ego that he was just making the studious decision and not avoiding the creepy older chick who always has dirty hair, I looked to the front of the room and saw another bearded, nature-y guy. Confused, I looked at Mark sitting in front of me and realized it wasn't Mark. It was some kid named Matt. Mark was sitting in his usual seat. I spent the rest of class trying to decide which one was hotter until the kid who sits next to me (who is ALSO 17- I'm surrounded in them) looked at my paper, pointed at my name at the top, smirked and said "You have two first names!" I smiled and said "Yeah," (I'm a first-name-last-name... as in, my last name is also a first name) and then I got creeped out by myself for having to remind myself I could literally get arrested.
Walking between classes, I kept noticing men very openly staring at me as I passed by them. I kept rushing to the bathroom to make sure I didn't have anything weird happening, because I really didn't look so cute. Glasses, dirty hair in a pony tail and almost no makeup? Seriously guys, have some standards. And I was still wearing my sweater, so they really have no excuse.
During my third class, I suddenly noticed a remarkably strong smell of urine. I wrinkled my nose and wondered where it was coming from, looking around me condescendingly and judging everyone for being so gross. Then suddenly I got nervous and was like "Oh my God, what if it's ME? DO I SMELL LIKE PEE RIGHT NOW? DOES EVERYONE AROUND ME SMELL PEE AND IT'S ME AND I STINK LIKE PEE AND EVERYONE KNOWS? OH MY GOD!"
I spent most of the next hour having that conversation with myself until class ended and I got out of the room and realized I, in fact, did not reek of urine. My sweater smelled kind of bad though, I'm not sure what was happening with that. I guess I don't remember the last time I washed it. I'll have to do that. Hopefully before I wear it out in public next.
Then I, of course, lay awake for about five hours.
Now, perhaps there are those of you out there wondering why the hell I didn't get up after, say, the first half hour, and that is because I am really, really, really stubborn. I was in severe denial about being one of those people I had laughed at derisively and was determined to fall back to sleep. It didn't happen.
I got up at 9:42, made some breakfast, then sat at the computer until 10:06. Then I plucked my eyebrows and gazed lovingly at my own reflection until- oh shit! 10:12! I'm supposed to be out of the house in 3 minutes! And I have no makeup on and I'm not dressed and my hair is disgusting!
It turned out to be a messy ponytail, blush and mascara kind of day.
I got to school at 10:59 for my 11:00 class and decided to go to the library first to print out a paper for my 12:30 class. My first professor doesn't even take attendance, and my second one is pretty uptight, so this seemed like the right order.
I went to a computer and took my sweater off as it turned on. Then I looked down and realized there was an extremely inappropriate amount of cleavage happening and had to put it back on. Annoyed, I made a mental note not to wear this shirt to school anymore.
When I opened the e-mail I had sent myself with the homework files attached, I wanted to slap myself. I had saved them in .wps and the school's computer only opens .rtf which I am 100% aware of.
I then remembered it's the 14th which, aside from being my parents' 36th wedding anniversary (Congrats guys!), is also the first day I need my iClicker for class.
Cue mild panic attack.
I realized then I was not going to make my first class. I hate missing classes. A lot. A whole whole lot.
I eventually resigned myself to this and decided to make the best of it. I started calling people to see who could open the files on a different computer, convert the format and send them back. Finally finding a willing sister, I asked a librarian where to find the stupid iClicker. After telling me it was going to set me back 50 bucks, she gave me directions to the University Bookstore, which I didn't understand a word of.
I left and called Johnny, hoping for some clearer directions. He didn't answer. I wandered in a sort of frenzied haze until I heard from the distance: If you're having girl problems, I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a bitch aint one!
"Whaa?" I found myself wondering.
Then I noticed it seemed to be coming from my pocket. Curiously, I removed my cell phone which was vibrating and, yes, supplying the sweet sounds of Jay-Z. Apparently that's my ringtone? This had escaped my notice for God only knows how long because my phone is constantly on vibrate. Johnny was calling me back. He gave me directions that made sense and I found the bookstore.
By 12:30, I was in class, with the required assignments. I should mention that this is Writing 102. For some reason my English credits didn't transfer and I'm being required to take WRITING 102. It's mortifying. Except there's this one bearded, nature-y kid who I think is named Mark (who is totally 17) and he's extremely hot. Anyway, he came in a bit late and started to walk towards me. I got excited that he was going to sit next to me, and then he broke my heart by instead sitting in the open seat in front of me.
In the middle of silently reassuring my bruised ego that he was just making the studious decision and not avoiding the creepy older chick who always has dirty hair, I looked to the front of the room and saw another bearded, nature-y guy. Confused, I looked at Mark sitting in front of me and realized it wasn't Mark. It was some kid named Matt. Mark was sitting in his usual seat. I spent the rest of class trying to decide which one was hotter until the kid who sits next to me (who is ALSO 17- I'm surrounded in them) looked at my paper, pointed at my name at the top, smirked and said "You have two first names!" I smiled and said "Yeah," (I'm a first-name-last-name... as in, my last name is also a first name) and then I got creeped out by myself for having to remind myself I could literally get arrested.
Walking between classes, I kept noticing men very openly staring at me as I passed by them. I kept rushing to the bathroom to make sure I didn't have anything weird happening, because I really didn't look so cute. Glasses, dirty hair in a pony tail and almost no makeup? Seriously guys, have some standards. And I was still wearing my sweater, so they really have no excuse.
During my third class, I suddenly noticed a remarkably strong smell of urine. I wrinkled my nose and wondered where it was coming from, looking around me condescendingly and judging everyone for being so gross. Then suddenly I got nervous and was like "Oh my God, what if it's ME? DO I SMELL LIKE PEE RIGHT NOW? DOES EVERYONE AROUND ME SMELL PEE AND IT'S ME AND I STINK LIKE PEE AND EVERYONE KNOWS? OH MY GOD!"
I spent most of the next hour having that conversation with myself until class ended and I got out of the room and realized I, in fact, did not reek of urine. My sweater smelled kind of bad though, I'm not sure what was happening with that. I guess I don't remember the last time I washed it. I'll have to do that. Hopefully before I wear it out in public next.
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