...these are my musings

I used to write. A lot. Like....obsessively. I had journals in high school that I wrote 5 or 6 pages front and back in every day. In fact, I had several journals. Different subject matter. With respect to tradition, I still purchase Journals from time to time. However, I have given way to "time" and seem to have lost the commitment level it takes set aside the appropriate time it takes to Journal properly. So I have piles of empty journals that I refuse to throw away, give away, or use- apparently.

This is a journal of sorts. A web journal. However, I don't particularly like to refer to it as that, only because it doesn't allow for my own hand-writing, and well, I don't care if anyone reads it. This is contrary with a real book-style journal. No one is allowed.

There is a luxury here though. I do not need to worry about messing up my words. I can fix any errors with a quick tap of the backspace. Also, it doesn't take as long to type as it does to write. So my 'journaling' is finished in a fraction of the time. And while this is good in many ways, I'm certain it contributes to my inability to properly journal.

What's my point here? Well, I guess its simple. My hand written journals always feel more genuine than my typed journal. Not that I'm lying here... its just more "secret"... so in an attempt to be more vulnerable here... A confession:

I am on a quest to match Shakespeare in the number of Sonnets he wrote.

Because I'm utterly inept when it comes to Roman Numerals. I will simply number my sonnet's with spelled out Numbers.

And to lay bare my soul, here is sonnet "One"



A glance across the many years untold
With thickened skins and battered minds undue
Behold! Embers of love kept burning bold
Igniting sparks and flames love never knew.
Two hands across the void of space and time
Unearthing all the deep unsettled past
Like flitting doves with feathers intertwined
Evolving passion, drunk with lust at last.
In Dreams it seemed the time stood ever still
And space replete where lips and flesh embraced
Stretched out just like a valley between hills
Then pulled in tight and ecstasy replaced
Erotic thoughts and memories thereof
Drip with beads of sweet, insatiable love

I wrote a thing that was cruel. It was anonymously addressed, and yet obvious to the intended that their eyes were the target. Magically, it was read and now remorse pumps through my body instead of blood.

There are certain things which remain true. Disappointment being among them. Not in any one person, but in the situation. And I still trust that Karma will take care of the mishandlings of one another properly. It was never right of me to dole out suggestions for karma though.

My true sentiments are as follows:

As promised, a public apology. I'm sorry, You, for the venomous words. What I wish for you is the peace in your heart to be single and enjoy it. To truly appreciate the chance to be independant and to grow into who you are meant to be without the pressures of a relationship. I wish for time to be kind with you in this matter. And I hope that the deep slow ache you feel in your heart that comes when you least expect it does not dampen your spirit, but instead makes more room for self-awareness and empathy. I wish for all your broken misplaced pieces to find their ways back to where they belong, so that you can be a happy and whole soul...secure and ready for love when the time is right. I wish for just enough stuggles to keep you humble, but the courage to always rise up and face them. When the pressure of joy builds in your glass heart, when it shatters because you're blissfully over capacity in every way, then I will smile.

These are my true wishes. And you can believe them with all your might.

P.s. you're still a crazy bitch! :) all chicks are!

Today I watched someone walking on a painted line. I started to get annoyed at their obvious lack of concern about staying exactly on the line. I kept imagining the end of the line... a place I often wish I could get to...and how this person would NEVER get there walking the line the way they were. I watched her feet turn outward, and after a few steps, she was completely diverted and off course. She was oblivious to my scrutiny of course, but perhaps she felt the slaps upside her proverbial head that I was giving her. "god! PAY ATTENTION!" I kept wanting to tell her. "You're gunna look up at some point and realize that there is no guideline." Then it hit me. I don't have a fucking guideline.

Mine used to be religion... Christianity. And not that I miss it... AT ALL, but I've been procuring my advances in life sporadically. I just stumble forward... Never really have I gotten my balance since then. Its like the terrible Paula Abdul lyric "Two steps forward, two steps back"... I don't get anywhere! I'm this girl who darts off the line not really aware of any goddamn thing.

But is this even bad? I mean, now that I think about it. Isn't not having a guideline and winging it, a "way" of sorts.... If I land at the "end of the line" on my head with 90 broken bones and drunk... didn't I get there! Isn't that what matters anyway?

Yeah... i don't know either.

"The times which define us, and the people we encounter in those times, never leave us. We'll rejoin them again, when time no longer binds any of us." - K.MacDougall

I'm never certain. About anything really. I consider myself to be very perceptive and insightful. More than most people, I can see things which are either hidden or yet to exist. Compared to the innocuous backdrop I imagine everyone else lives their lives in front of, what presents to me is a psychotropic tornado of possibility. I'm so often caught up in it.

There are moments where I feel time does not hold me. Its walls seem to bend and even vanish in certain circumstances. I don't always make the right choices in those moments. And when I can't breathe because the weight of uncertainty becomes unbearable, I hope desperately for Time's ability to contain the flickering fracas in my life to suspend me.

He never left me. I was never wrong. It just was a lack of understanding the times. Wrongly perceiving each other. But, somehow, we've moved through the years, still heading the same direction. The space between us is closing.

"Do you believe in fate?" - I believe in the ability to surrender to a predestined order. But I think mistakes can be made. You can choose Fate's journey, or you can choose your own path. I'm ready, so so ready to surrender...and be free once and for all from the desire for time to string things together for me.

Its weird, the memories you keep. All the small fragments of life that seem to drift away into the recesses of my mind have only managed to accumulate in the space where dreams are born. In haunting persistence, a time in my life swarms my dreams in an ostentatious fashion. There are faces and moment and laughter I thought I'd long since forgotten. Somehow your mind keeps things quite hidden until a time when you might need it. And it does this without consent, or even knowledge.

I found my kindergarten crush on facebook. I would have never even thought of him were it not for the keepsake my mind opted to share with me while I slept. And even still, I didn't see a face or hear a voice. It was just a glimmer of the past shining on the present. Seeing his picture...I wouldn't have recognized him if he were to stand in front of me. I can't even remember what he looked like as a child.

What memories are being stored secretly now? What kind of thing does my mind find worth keeping? Will I one day out of the blue, recall the balloon that now hovers lazily just inches off the floor? - Is it the mundane? In 20 years, will I dream of the beautiful face that I lost my good friend to? - Is it the heart-wrenchingly tragic?

Its weird, the memories you keep... and how they can lead you, inspire you, and break you.

There are so many different ways to be connected to people. I find myself in a cosmic tailspin over people I cannot connect with. Its like the vortex of impossibility has somehow latched onto my better judgment and swallowed my soul.

There is one person in this world who I've tried too hard to connect with. We'll call him Matt. That is his name afterall. Matt has been like an addiction for the better part of 13 years. What our "connection" lacks in pleasantries, it makes up for in abhorrence. It is as if we were each born to incessantly drive the other to our worst behavior. Absolutely nothing comes of it. We aren't friends, we aren't foe's, we are simply prison-mates in a purgatory of disconnect. It's maddening, but our separation is also our connection.

But with Matt, it came along as I suspected it would...the purposeful leap off of the nauseating merry-go-round of ineffective relating. We equal nothing more than predictable silent conflict and temporary kindness. Nevertheless, in one way or another, there was a grief in the termination. I suppose we both wanted some sort of thanks or apology. Neither of us got it. As for me, I won't scramble after him… Not this time. I will sit still and wait for the spinning sky to come to a stop and think of all the strange memories that make me both smile and feel deeply ill. And when the spiraling ceases, I'll blow kisses into the wind, cross my fingers and grow. That's Matt.

Girlfriends are different. I'm generally not that good at cultivating relationships with girls. I don't have the patience or the stomach for the wishy washy emotional bullshit that girls drag around with them. I can barely deal with my own. Its a genetic allergy I have. I've given up the aggravating attempt to surround myself with girls with whom I can relate. You can't force a girlfriend-friendship. They either happen or they don't. If they don't, its best to let a sleeping dog lie.

I've had a small handful of girlfriends in my lifetime. That's been enough for me. I appreciate the girlfriends I have. Death stole one away from me. The best one. And I often wonder how different my life would have been if our connection had remained tangible; if I had been able to continue from that age, being myself; if part of who I was hadn't died with her. I'm fortunate to have been given another friend who has become my best one. And I'm thankful to feel the love of the friend I've lost around me all the time.

I've been commissioned to "be friends" with some people. It appeared that I failed. Miserably. It wasn't necessarily a matter of lack of commonality. It was lack of cohesion. Polar energy that kept me from connecting. There is no fault in this. The connection wouldn't be worth the effort.

Some people are just delightfully easy to connect with. There seems to be a clearly marked path, right into each others lives and even differences of opinion manage to deepen the bond. This is rare, but I believe every person has a magnetic pull to a soul friend, whether you find one another or not. If you don't, you won't know the difference. If you do, a light will shine in your life that will change you forever. In this life, and the next.

The bottom line is, the best way to connect is organically.

I say this a lot. I'm not trying to be vulgar. I hate that. When people think I'm just trying to be a potty mouth. I say it because I want to, and because it fits into my sentence the right way. Its a filler. Or an exclamation. A declaration. ...Like "Fuck! a fuckin' wasp fucked up my fucking arm."

It just sounds better than, "ouchie, I got stung by a wasp." I don't see what the big deal is about. Sometimes I choose not to say it. But I usually will. It just comes out without thinking about it.

So sue me.

Fuck!

I woke up this morning around 3am with this thought in my head: "I am my own worst enemy." At that hour, its hard to make sense of anything, let alone something so infinitely broad. I thought about what could possibly be true about that statement, which would cause me to think it. There are a few things that I do that annoy me. But I wouldn't go so far as to say, I'm making an enemy of myself.

In fact, it takes a special will-power for me to entertain the idea of having enemies. I've maneuvered through life effectively enough to not have any of my own, and find a certain pride knowing that I've never been one. Even still, I'm affected by the concept of this... afraid actually.

Even the title sounds dangerous: Enemy. It sounds like a shadow hangs over it and venom runs through it. It feels cold and sharp and determined to inflict unsuspected harm. If I have an enemy, I think I'd prefer not to know, especially if it turns out that I'm my worst one.

I become indescribably dependent on music to get me through things. All the thoughts blazing through my head, makes thinking things through ergonomically impossible. Until I find the song that reduces my mental fatigue and organizes my thoughts for me, I'm numb and despondent. Its a bittersweet thing... Upon becoming once again mentally attune, I then have to deal with my regrets. For which music then becomes my dearest friend, once again.

I'm not good at dealing with other people's regrets. There is no song for that. I don't like when other people's regrets stonewall the peaceful nature of my life. Especially when they exhibit their regrets violently and accusatory. If you regret something, isn't it something you wish YOU didn't do. I mean, I can't regret what someone else did. I wish there were a song that said "Hey buddy, it's your regret!" That would be my song for today. And I'd play it on repeat.

I have secrets. I think everyone does. I'm of the mindset that secrets are kept to prevent pain, to escape guilt, or to be mysterious. Today i learned that it's your own damn fault if you let someone in on a secret and they blast you. It just means you're retarded for trusting them with your secret.

Now I have to go deal with it.

Tonight, in my contorted emotional state, I excused myself for a walk – hoping the fresh air would clear the junk thoughts from my head. We live on a little peninsula that jets out into the marina and it’s perfect for taking walks where you end up precisely where you started – like a giant circle… Well, the weather can vary from one side of the peninsula to the other, especially at night. On this night it was overall pleasant except for the area that is exposed to the mouth of the marina… It was windy as all hell. My recently discovered malevolence for wind irked me. “However,” I pondered, “so does life in general sometimes.” So I plopped my big, pregnant, irritated and tearful self down in what seemed to be the point of convergence for all things windy, bound and determined to find something good about it… about something… anything.

The tethered ropes on the masts of every boat flapped furiously, bells and clips clamored, buoys whined as the boats leaned into them. The sound was like an orchestra of abstract sound, warming up before the grand performance. I watched the seagulls flap their wings with determination against the current. It was impossible to just coast on the breeze…not that some didn’t try. It was just awkwardly futile…nothing more than idly sitting in one place while looking purposeful. All of the overcompensation required for trying to take the easy way was almost painful to watch… the teetering and tobbling and being thrown off course- out of current… whipped upward or downward. I saw myself there. Letting the winds of life get the best of me all the time. Trying to coast my way through my obstacles haphazardly…without intention. I realized the difference between the seagulls that were successfully maneuvering through the wind and those who weren’t plainly laid in their intention… their destination. The victorious ones knew where they wanted to land… and they were doing everything in their power to get there. They were biting the bullet, facing their obstacles head on, changing course as needed, but always a relentless pursuant of their destination.

I didn’t arrive at a resolution for my own struggles… But I did find another avenue to acknowledge them on. Who really knows where I will finally land, but I do know that sometimes finding the start of your path is just as important, and the journey can change you forever.

Thanks for being part of my journey…

I'm a dreamer. You'll learn this about me, if you stick with me... Once I had a dream that someone I care about fell from a really high cliff. I was at the bottom and I knew that I was meant to catch the person. I tried and I failed. I woke up gasping for air because of the grief and the panic and I burst into tears in the face of my worst enemy: Failure.

Failing and the fear of failing is where all my insecurities come from. Its why I've made poor choices. Its why I'm so hard on myself. It's why it hurts so deeply when someone is mad at me or even disappointed. I've never really thought about it on purpose before today.

I know people who have failed, and it still is somehow beautiful. Its like they screw up royally and the whole world bends to restore them, making it seem wonderful and acceptable to mess up. I don't fail beautifully. Its like a train wreck. People just stare and then look away in horror and I have to fight through layers and layers of wreckage just to feel acceptable again.

This happens even with seemingly unimportant mistakes. It happens on the inside of me, where no one else can see whats happening. And I don't know how to explain it. It sounds so dramatic... I mean, afterall, its just a mistake, right? So I just internalize it, and outwardly become anxious.

Its been like this since I was a child. Its the reason I've been a people pleaser. Its the reason I hate conflict. Its the reason I try so hard to fix things. Its the reason I do everything I can to keep things from needing to be fixed. I'm waiting for the day it will shrink away just like other fears have.

I've spent most of my days resisting the ever changing factors which shape my life. I think this is more common than people might think. For in all of us, is an instinct to try to keep control over the things that matter most. To protect what is valuable. To keep it close and out of harms way.

Recently for me, an unraveling has occurred. Like a ball of yarn thrown down a stairwell kind of unraveling. Bouncing to and fro, too quick for me to catch it. And now, the mess is all that's left. There is no neat and tidy ball. Just a tangled up, knotted mess, with no beginning or end in sight.

There is a peculiar sense of awe in the things of life. Even in the things which seem to matter the least in the grand scheme of things. There is a lesson to be learned everywhere, in everything, if you have the eyes that can see it. In my resistance and nonacceptance of what simply IS, I've lost the wonder and excitement of growing through heartache and despair. I've been robbed of happiness and peace. And have stared blankly into a lost abyss, clinging to my fear of change.

Well, change is upon me... and i will embrace it... Life is my Muse.