This Aint A Scene. It’s An Arms Race. FalloutBoy.
I actively searched for a friend’s blog today to see if I can snag one of her cover songs from our summer together at music ministry, as I have intentionally deleted my own song and may have incidentally and regretfully deleted her song and her beautiful, beautiful voice. No such luck in my search, but I did stumble upon her marvelous writing instead, marvelous in that she used quirky words like “aghast” and “begone” and that her entries plainly displayed her superior use of language surely crafted from four years of journalism at Boston University. Man, I am jealous. This sounds like her talking:
Listen, this is very rare for me since I, if you haven’t noticed, have a slight phobia of commitment that indeed includes committing to appointments and meetings. What eases this a little for me is that the outing came up spontaneously. - http://aicarson.wordpress.com/
Love it! Anyway, what I had set out to write about was on today’s horrid swimming session. I had managed to pull my two piece race suit over my badly bulging body, made worse by today’s wienerschnitzel lunch of two (salty) chili cheese burgers and two (salty) chili cheese fries and the ensuing water intake to make sure I was nice and bloated before I swam. It has been about six hours and I still have water stuck in my left ear and at the pool, two miles, or 80 laps, had taken me almost an hour to complete. Tommy asked, “Were you walking?” “That’s slower than walking!” I let him know. Then I challenged him to a race this Saturday so I can practice in the meantime. He reminds me not to walk during my next swim session.
The pool is also where all the swimmers and water polo players congregate, which makes a lot of sense. Eric told me that he goes to the JL gym, where the other non-water athletes go and where there are no treadmills so I would never go. Then it makes sense that only the amateur bodybuilders go to the Baun fitness center where I go because the athletes have their own habitat to attend to. All of this just means I will be visiting the pool more often - I even memorized the odd opening times.
My dad told me to stop running and go swim. Said I think too much when I run. When your head goes underwater you’ll stop thinking, he said. And it’s true - like amnesia every time I go under and all I can think of is my next breath of air. When I’m not thinking about how much this feels like suffocating I’m going over the lap count in my head 17 17 17 17 17 17, all of 25 yards before I repeat 18 18 18 18 across the length of the pool again. There’s no room to think, and I turn into a purely visual creature without the ability to process what I am seeing. If I thought my memory was bad when I am running, I am a few times worse when I am swimming. Maybe I’m not so good at it that I feel like I’m drowning every time I kick off the ledge and maybe when I’m better I will be able to think again.
Inevitable. Anberlin.
Underwhelming. That was graduation summed up in one word.
Amidst the “this is so surreal” and the “we made it” exclamations, I couldn’t seem to conjure up any kind of feeling. It’s been too long and too long overdue and any kind of excitement I might have had once is now stale with anticipation. I’ve had people start asking me whether I was excited about graduation since I started rotations a year ago and I may have said at one point that I was, I was excited at what my future could hold and the potential I had.
Or I could have just been too tired.
I tell you I went over with the purest of intentions because I had fallen for this image he had set up, the one where he is a geeky nerd who reads in bed at night, and I am guilty for not leaving when he opened the door in just his boxer briefs. I had been so excited when he said he was reading too. “We should read together!” and I chose one of my favorites to bring over - catch 22 - perhaps to discuss the jargon if he was interested, or just to read in silence in his company and whenever I got to a part that made me laugh out loud I would borrow his attention from his book and we would laugh together.
It turns out he was reading a textbook for his class, full of typical sentence structures and boring adjectives describing boring things I couldn’t care less about.
You have graduation in a few hours, he had said. And I caught his drift because I was wondering the same thing. Yeah, I’m going to go back now, I said. He told me, “Have a good graduation.” and I knew he wasn’t coming and this bookworm I had crushed on wasn’t at all who I thought he was. We must have felt the same way, disappointed and out of sync, because we’ve both had better and we knew and we knew the other person knew, so that our goodbye was quick and impersonal, with none of the sweet farewell pecks I was accustomed to.
Underwhelming was the word of the day.
(Source: polkabots)
Dude when you sleep. No fucks are given. Like a rock.
I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own. I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience?Why can’t you write burning letters and let your nocturnal self smolder with desire for one who is not there? Why not let the days before you see her be excruciating and ferment in your mind so on the day you go to the airport to pick her up, you’re nearly sick with anticipation? And then when desire shows the first sign of contentment, throw it back it its cage and let it slowly build itself back into a state of starved fury. Then when you are together, it all matters. So that when you look into her eyes, you lose your balance, so that when she touches you, it feels like you have never been touched before. When she says your name, you think it was she who named you. When she has gone, you bury your face in the pillow to smell her hair and you lie awake at night remembering your face in her neck, her breathing and the amazing smell of her skin. Your eyes go wet because you want her so bad and miss her so much. Now that is worth the miles and the time. That matches the inferno of life. Otherwise you poison each other with your presence day after day as you drag each other through the inevitable mundane aspects of your lives. That is the slow death that I see slapped on faces everywhere I go. It’s part of the world’s sadness that’s more empty than cold, poorly lit rooms in cities of the American night.
(Source: prozacrock)
Chasing Shadows. David Nevue.
Does it make me seem quaint if instead of drinking tonight I would rather stay in and read and write? I suppose it does and I suppose I don’t care. I haven’t felt this kind of contentment in a while - letting my fingers glide across the keyboard and letting the words type themselves as if springing from encasement and finding freedom in forming into tangible. I surprise myself sometimes, the things I think about and put into words, sentences, the punctuations and syntax of each prose easing together, juxtaposing, and overusing the commas, always overusing commas like how some overuse pauses and ums and uhs and hesitations, in writing and in life, lagging in getting on with their day and their routines. The introvert in me is smiling quietly without noise, without company, the neighbors finally realizing I am no fun - not the kind of fun they’re looking for. Not tonight, anyway.
I think I have more composure now. My actions more calculated and meaningful, thought put into the words I say. Yes, I do mean the words I say, and I take them back immediately if somehow the words form sentences that don’t seem to capture the emotions and what I mean to say. “It’s a killjoy,” I told fish. “Not killjoy,” I correct immediately, continuing on my sentence without hesitation, because that word doesn’t capture the meaning of what I’m trying to convey and I’m not entirely sure I understand the definition of the word and the nuance it brings to my tone and why I even decided to use the word. Subconsciously I must feel that way.
To say that I am infatuated with him is an understatement. To say that I’m in love is a lie. Now to say that I absolutely adore his last name: that is a fact. “I’m with her,” he said, pointing at me, and I have taken this out of context, because when I peruse this post in fifty years I will have no idea the context, just the feeling, and the feeling is all I want to capture because words are too small to capture the smile on my face and the possibly untrue sentiment that he is interested and we are perfect for each other and doesn’t change the fact that he makes me laugh so happily and I think he is so cool even if he is trying very hard. Boo says he is, but it just makes him even more endearing. He had changed his seat to sit with us during the meeting and I told her I was so jealous that he was coming over because they were so close; she said I should be flattered because he had come over because he liked me.
Well, that’s interesting and I’m interested and I think we should be together.
Say Yes. Something Radical.
UUUUAAAAHHHHH
What was that?
She didn’t lock the bathroom door. She’s supposed to lock it!
You’re supposed to knock!
It’s like I can’t ever catch you
Help me respond!
You can say something like “Trying to catch me if half the fun, the other half comes after, when I’m tied up.”
TOO DIRTY!!! I can’t do it!
Don’t give it to her! She’ll do this! (*Throw water balloon on the floor*)
But she’s so cute!
He has rashes on his palm and on his chest and feels terrible and then he touched my pen!
You have to burn it
And he gave me a dollar. Do I have to burn that too now?
Jerline? The intern? You say she’s been trying to get with your husband?
What the heck?
She was smiling at him? And winking you say ?
Who is that??
Jerline, you better talk to the customer and resolve this.
Adam on the phone: Hello
Jer: Now I’m not going to smile for the rest of the day
Adam: Good, you’ll look like the rest of retail
Harvey cracking up on the side, and talking about it for the next six hours.
Adam: She’s not going to buy it
Harv: She’s buying it right now
(eight hours later) She’s too … gullible. Wait.. I can’t use that word anymore. She …. believes things too easily.
Are you serious right now.
He looks like he never blinks
It’s botox
They were paying for the hotel and the CE probably cost like 400 dollars
Why didn’t you go?!
Cause it’s not the weekend I wanted!
Have you heard the hot wok one? Really good deal! Really good deal!
I got a speeding ticket coming out of my house. I said, “This is wrong!” They said, “I don’t care.”
Look at this mess! It’s all your people!
They weren’t even here last night! This is your people’s mess!
And look at this chocolate syrup shit! What is this?
It’s!!….. Actually, I don’t know what that is.
ACE inhibitor, the cough side effect - how long does it take to get that?
It can happen any time!
….God help me!
Jer: Stephen you’re not going to be there on Saturday! :(
Stephen: I’m not! :(
Kellan: Well, I’ll be there… if it means anything… …. just throwing that out there
Dude we’re so lame we celebrate cows
Stockton celebrate cows too. We also celebrate asparagus.
Wanna see a picture of a ridiculously good looking guy?
Does he look like zoolander?
Man he was so green, we call him a greengo.
This is Jerline… or Switchblade.
Switchblade sounds nothing like Jerline!
The key to happiness isn’t love, friends or sex. It’s compliments.
Can’t you get all four if you have sex with a friend?
Can I borrow your blender?
I’ll trade you guitar practice time on hey soul sister
I think you were going to practice it anyways :p so I guess that’s an ok trade (oh gosh, but you can only play it 5x a day?)
Hurt and the Healer. Mercy Me.
I suppose I looked heartbroken, my eyes watering up and mou th open in hurt, because the nurse changed the subject and commented on - no, gushed about - the latest news on zithromax instead. She seemed so excited about it. I don’t know why I took it so personally when she had told me why the pharmacist decided to become a cardiologist. “The money,” she had explained emphatically, as if stating the obvious, “there’s a lot of money to be made in cardiology.” But earlier when I asked Dr. B why he think the doctor did it, he said simply without hesitation, “to save lives.” He had given a shrug as if it were no big deal. That resonated with me, pulled something inside me that screamed yes yes yes yes yes and kindled the dying fire I had abandoned in my pursuit of appeasing my parents, my reputation, and I had convinced myself, in pursuit of my dreams to teach.
I question myself sometimes, a dangerous thing to do when the world is moving so fast and I have to keep up or I’ll fall off. I’ll be the girl who everybody thought had such a bright future but ended up making nothing of herself. But I won’t because I want to be like Dr. B. I want to save lives.
Luke 22:42
They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.
See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
Maybe we were too much alike.
I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
____________ _________ _________ _________
To Whomever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.
Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”
He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.
And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.
I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.
Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
loved me.
If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
Thank you,
Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.
The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
“C’mere boy.”
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.
His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
face into his scruff and hugged him.
“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.
“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.
“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”
Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”
(Source: stephaniekilbury)
You’ve become a story I can tell people but I would rather not share, at least not right now when my scars have yet to be healed completely and my sorrow yet gone. I wrote some of my best pieces about you, about us but I never considered it a skill- I sought it to be the passion stripped from my skin to bones because that’s what we were. And it feels so new and frightening to be writing in past-tense. I can no longer be raw and poetic because there’s still a little bit of anger in the way you left me to fend for myself. But then again, that’s what we were, too. Selfish and completely absorbed in the poison we sipped on; I’m surprised we are alive.
I could have sworn that the way we met would have been the perfect beginning of a fairy tale to tell the kids we planned to have. And better yet, to tell them that their names had been set in stone when their mother was still nineteen and their father twenty-one. They would have had your hair and my eyes, we would tell them. It would have been perfect that way, wouldn’t it? If we were able to tell them that we had over came all of our flaws and mistakes, all of our arguments and fights- quiet and loud. We fought in such a routine that it was almost as if we fought to make up, the harrowing in our voices, the pitch that made our lungs dry and our hearts stale. But it was the after-math that we turned to for sanctuary; the tight-clenched wrists when we made love; the quiet apologies muttered in clandestine; the “I’m so sorry baby”s that we over-used and over-looked; it’s everything we took for granted after an over-due reality check.
And I guess somewhere along the way, we allowed all of the madness and craze fill the spaces between the walls that engulfed us at night. And sometimes when it thundered, we’d both be wide awake thinking the other was asleep. Maybe that’s where we went wrong. It wasn’t a quick process though I wish it had been. Instead, it was a slow drawn out prolonging of “should have”s and “why didn’t you”s that led to the assumption that the fire had simply died out. But it never really died, no. It couldn’t have, for us. We were about the “fire”, the passion, the magic- the overwhelming love that drove us to be destructive, manipulative and cruel. I don’t really know what happened to be honest.. but one thing is for sure: we still loved the living hell out of each other even after we were done. We are done, though.
I remember our first date that failed because the line was too long and neither of us were really hungry. So in improvisation, we sat in the space of your car, parked on the curbside of a park, talking until the windows fogged. We got along right away. There was no awkward tension or inhibition. There were a lot of “me too”s and “I always felt that way”s. We got each other so well that I had the wrong impression that maybe we’d become the best of friends after that night. But instead, we became lovers, too.
If magic had existed, it was with him. Our first kiss was a Disney princess kiss, the kind of kiss that “makes blue cartoon birds chip and swirl in the sky, their beaks holding garlands”. Even car rides felt exhilarating. I had never known what feeling “infinity” meant but I could swear I did with him.
We shared too much together. Our need for each other, our sorry scars. Somehow we made sense no matter how unconfirmed or crazy our connection seemed. And our story should have ended there, with the ending credits rolling as the audience assumes we lived happily ever after. This is the part where people would applaud and go on to believe that first love can last and the place where we see ourselves where we planned; me in my white dress and you walking up the way while Shania Twain sings, “You Are Still the One”.
And maybe that’s why I hung on so dearly. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t let go for so long, why I acted out of my character and became somebody I promised myself I would never be. Maybe that’s why I embarrassed myself the way young girls sometimes do, maybe that’s why I wanted so badly for it to work out long after the truth was so apparent.
Our last fights had been a continuous battle of who was right and wrong; until the both of us had realized that the fight we had for each other had been replaced with nothing but aimless blaming and criticism. And towards the end, he finally said to go, to leave, that it wasn’t working.. and the 16 year old in me, that still believes in fairy tales, shook my head violently, “No, it isn’t perfect”. But I had known he was right. He knew that I knew, too.
I really don’t doubt that I still know him better than anybody else and I don’t doubt that he still knows me like the back of his hand. But I can feel my transformation, as an individual now without him and as a woman. Things change fast and change can be good, as long as you allow it to be. I can feel it in my bones that I am becoming somebody I recognize again, somebody I can love. And that was one of the biggest downfalls for us; we loved each other but had forgotten to love ourselves. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to know him; with every day, I can feel the distance grow and the both of us growing up, apart. We needed to grow up, someday. It would have hurt the same, regardless of how or when or why. We had always believed in the statement, “everything happens for a reason” and wondered why our paths had crossed and we had met. I’m starting to understand the reason, now.
He taught me so much about life and love, so much about myself and about others. We shared, with each other, things that we had never spoken out loud. And that feeling will never change even after we do. He helped mold me into a better person for the next time love comes around again- I know what to do, what not to do and how much of myself I should really give. And I guess I’m writing this all out in hopes that people will understand that life doesn’t stop for you to wait around hoping for things to stay the same because frankly, they won’t. And people you can’t imagine living without, sometimes, will leave. People will give up on you. People do change. But you can’t let it destroy you or hurt you so much that you forget about your worth and value. It hurts like hell right now but I promise you the feeling after the process of healing is worth it. And you have to let yourself love again, like you’ve never been hurt.
Collide. Leona Lewis & Avicii.
I caught him oblivious at the checkout counter turning away,
restrained myself from calling out too eagerly his name
Caught his eyes, gaze held steady in those big brown eyes
And he smiled, his eyes turning into moon shape crescents
A quick wave and I aboutface, quickly, to hide the obvious excitement spreading my smile too wide
And I am reminded of how adorable I think bears are
and how much he reminds me of one
Wild One. Flo Rida.
Your cheeks are red
My cheeks are always red. Diagnose me with something.
How about redcheektitis?
They didn’t bring him in until he is essentially unresponsive. They would ask him “Is today your birthday poppy?” And he would say no and they would that know he’s okay. And I said, that’s not a conversation…
Teacher’s pet, how come you get to stand up?
You can stand up if you want!
She didn’t ask me to!
Look at his status: Cooking for 50 people. I never want to see beef again.
Why is he cooking for 50 people?? Why why why why why?
I’m sick again. This is the second time I’m sick this year. I’m always sick!
I was planning on going to sleep at 2am and wake up in 2 hours to finish my homework due to 8am.
Ohhh that’s dangerous. Don’t sleep.
Will you call me at 4?
No, but I’ll walk you out to your car.
You thought I was the one meowing?
Yeah I was going to walk past you cause that’s awkward.
I’m a bit more perceptive than you think - I know you want to be with me.
He doesn’t drink?! He’s not half black, he’s short! But ugh it’s okay, he’s a doctor!
I bring cheer, I spoil and I encourage. I am a grandparent.
What quality would make you want to buy me in the auction?
Tight….
Oh okay, cool.
He means that in a dirty way!!
He runs around on each floor looking for you thinking you are lost
Samer’s in charge of graduation dinner, he’s he’s ordering the food, each plate is 50$, everyone is screaming but he doesn’t care
To get the 5000 bonus points you have to send me an email and it has to go through.
Ok everyone Jerline was right the Giemsa stain can be used for Chlamydia. Jerline gets 1000 bonus points! But don’t despair there are still bonus points available!
So the thing about bonus points is that they don’t mean anything.
My friends just want to let you know that they’re really attractive and you’re more than welcome to come over tonight and make some bad decisions that you won’t regret. But they want to let you know that they’re all white.
Hi! Are you home? I’m coming over to help clean up after the party.
No, I’m not home yet but I’ll be home in like five minutes (laugh) and I’ll be there to help you clean up.
You’re going to be the one to call her tomorrow. I call it.
Daniel trolling for 9 turns in beer pong as my partner.
Did you see the Yahoo news? You did see the post about how they’re taking the word gullible out of the dictionary?
What! Why!
Because people were using it too much.
How can they do that! Who’s they??!?!
Do not interview me this week, I am sick and I will kill you.
Jerline better be worth $120 dollars!
I’m going to make a list of things we’re going to do and you’re going to hang out with me for the next six weeks!
I only got bought for 65 dollars… …. ….
I think he’s jealous of you mommy
Anything you want us to bring?
Our happy pants and positive hats!
It was great! Except for some people who were kinda ugly and that made me sad.
Weren’t you at the volleyball party? How was that?
We went to a lot of places and they were all alright, but the best part of the night was when you guys came over.
They must have had a really lame night then
I thought you would realize that the texture was different and the rice was different!
I noticed the rice was rearranged differently
That’s cause it wasn’t yours!
Oh, I thought it was cause you took some.
