Seems like a long time but I know that it will fly by.
I am prepared.
I am smart and I am focused.
I'm going to do this.
All of it.
And finish it.
No funny business.
No fuckin' around.
You gotta get over it to get movin'.
You're golden, mama.
Don't let negativity get you down. I know someone is reading this. Male or female, eighteen or twenty-one. Black, white or something in between. DON'T LET THEM GET YOU DOWN. Stay focused and stay strong. Set the bar high and DON'T COMPROMISE. Compromising is what gets people into bad situations with bad people.
You don't ask a plumber to build you a new home. You contract engineers and electricians and carpenters. Don't settle, ask an expert.
Become an expert. Don't let 'em see you sweat, don't let 'em see you cry.
Always a lady.
Confidence is key. Be bold.
Smart > sexy.
Furthermore, real sexiness is effortless if you're smart.
You're dreams are worth it and so are you!
Happy fall, babies.
xx
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
I miss the airport.
You tell me.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Revolutionary road
Nothing makes sense anymore. I dig through books and movie scripts looking for reasons to smile, to hope. It doesn't work. It's hard to slip back into reality when you realize what you thought was the truth was really a big, steaming pile of bullshit.
Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe there was some happiness at the bottom of that grungy bucket -- underneath that big, steaming pile of bullshit.
Because we did laugh and we did hold hands and we did what every other couple was doing and maybe a little more. And I remember even a few weeks ago, a few months ago, last year -- us laughing and going everywhere, "explording". But more than that I remember last night and the night before that and the night before that. And December. And feeling so trapped and distrusted and desperate. Crying over nothing over and over again. But it had to be something because I felt like shit. I just wasn't listening.
I wanted so badly for us to work, to work forever. How foolish and naive of me. My mom always told me when two people come together (whether in a friendship or a relationship) they either grow together or they grow apart. I remember so many times telling others that that was exactly what I wanted. To grow up with you. To grow with you, learn with you. It didn't seem like such a bad idea, you were best friend after all.
I remember going to school and reading and learning and finding connections between every character I met and you. 1984. But those are just books, and these lives I delved so deep into were (and still remain) fiction. They have lived their lives and met their ends all throughout a myriad of numbered pages. Real life isn't like that and you know it. We all do.
We aren't a series of books, at least not in my mind. We aren't encyclopedias. You can't pick up volume "L" and read about "life" and "love" and "light" and pretend that volume "W" with the word "war" doesn't exist. Because war exists and so does famine and desperation and infidelity and lying. And they rage and they bomb and they fight between these pages. Whether we open the volume or not.
They exist. We just don't confront them.
Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe there was some happiness at the bottom of that grungy bucket -- underneath that big, steaming pile of bullshit.
Because we did laugh and we did hold hands and we did what every other couple was doing and maybe a little more. And I remember even a few weeks ago, a few months ago, last year -- us laughing and going everywhere, "explording". But more than that I remember last night and the night before that and the night before that. And December. And feeling so trapped and distrusted and desperate. Crying over nothing over and over again. But it had to be something because I felt like shit. I just wasn't listening.
I wanted so badly for us to work, to work forever. How foolish and naive of me. My mom always told me when two people come together (whether in a friendship or a relationship) they either grow together or they grow apart. I remember so many times telling others that that was exactly what I wanted. To grow up with you. To grow with you, learn with you. It didn't seem like such a bad idea, you were best friend after all.
I remember going to school and reading and learning and finding connections between every character I met and you. 1984. But those are just books, and these lives I delved so deep into were (and still remain) fiction. They have lived their lives and met their ends all throughout a myriad of numbered pages. Real life isn't like that and you know it. We all do.
We aren't a series of books, at least not in my mind. We aren't encyclopedias. You can't pick up volume "L" and read about "life" and "love" and "light" and pretend that volume "W" with the word "war" doesn't exist. Because war exists and so does famine and desperation and infidelity and lying. And they rage and they bomb and they fight between these pages. Whether we open the volume or not.
They exist. We just don't confront them.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
TU
And that's were the real beauty in life lies. I don't feel so behind anymore. I don't feel old or used up. I'm happy today. Proud, eager to move on and get to where it is I'd really like to be.
So thank you. Thank you for your use and abuse because all the anger I had pent up inside has channeled itself into a river of motivation.
I'm ready!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Summer's over.
Probably now more than ever.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I know now.
That romance doesn't exist. At least not in real life. That real, true undying love we read about and flock to films to get glimpses of doesn't exist. And I'm ashamed I ever thought anything different. Life is hard. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. Half the time because I don't even recognize myself anymore and the other half because I can see the shame behind my eyes. For playing into such an unrealistic fantasy. Where sacrifices actually meant something and nobody was selfish. Truth is, and I've said this all week -- this is a selfish ass world. Full of selfish people, selfish motives and selfish thoughts. I gave everything to you. Everything I had spiritually, physically, and emotionally.
And now you're not here.
I want to be brief but that's not an option. Not yet.
I've gotten used to sitting in the dark in my room and now, as I do, I think and I think and I think. I think about what happened and how I let you get away with so much shit.
I'm not going to hide how I feel. That's why my MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter are all public. I'm not going to change who I am. I'm not going to cling to alcohol or cigarettes or other young men to make me feel better. I'm going to me feel better and that's the end of it.
I'm going to write and be honest. Because that's who I am. I have nothing to hide. As ashamed as I am in myself, I have enough pride left to sit here and think and analyze and figure out how I am never going to let this happen again.
"Keeping it real" and being honest are two different things.
The truth is, nobody I know knows a goddamned thing about love. No one. We are all equally fucked when it comes to trying to be in relationship with someone. We run and we fight and we tug and we push. And for what?
For this? For a few months of happiness and then "The Fall" -- that deep, dark period that newspapers and journalists say takes double the time than the happy period did.
No thank you, I refuse. I don't want to do that.
I don't want to believe.
Ever again.
(Or at least not right now.)
And now you're not here.
I want to be brief but that's not an option. Not yet.
I've gotten used to sitting in the dark in my room and now, as I do, I think and I think and I think. I think about what happened and how I let you get away with so much shit.
I'm not going to hide how I feel. That's why my MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter are all public. I'm not going to change who I am. I'm not going to cling to alcohol or cigarettes or other young men to make me feel better. I'm going to me feel better and that's the end of it.
I'm going to write and be honest. Because that's who I am. I have nothing to hide. As ashamed as I am in myself, I have enough pride left to sit here and think and analyze and figure out how I am never going to let this happen again.
"Keeping it real" and being honest are two different things.
The truth is, nobody I know knows a goddamned thing about love. No one. We are all equally fucked when it comes to trying to be in relationship with someone. We run and we fight and we tug and we push. And for what?
For this? For a few months of happiness and then "The Fall" -- that deep, dark period that newspapers and journalists say takes double the time than the happy period did.
No thank you, I refuse. I don't want to do that.
I don't want to believe.
Ever again.
(Or at least not right now.)
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