At twenty-five, I'm learning there's no shortage of dreamers, but those who choose to pursue those dreams are few. And those who choose to muddle on in pursuit, even after time and trials fail, are even further between.


The former years.

keep dreamin'...you and me could write a bad romance

the difference between right and wrong

"They have been aware
That it is necessary
His statements ascribe
To ignorance
Malicious propaganda
They have been aware
The absurdity of his restraint
They have been aware
That it is necessary
To bring to an end
The present state of things
For their aims
Are the weapon of reaction"

"I never argue with people, because it's clear that they're not susceptible to reason. They believe what they do because they have a need to believe it." - Theodor Herzi



Beliefs on World War II aside. War doesn't define winners or losers, right or wrong, war merely defines the people who are left.

i'm listening to death cab again....

our youth is fleeting, old age is just around the bend, i can't wait to go gray, i'll sit and wonder of every love that could've been, if i'd only thought of something charming to say ---- this is the sound of settling.

Tough love

8:22:20 PM Lizzybabes163: we've all bee ntrhough it
8:22:24 PM Lizzybabes163: u gonna get use to it or what?
8:22:33 PM Lizzybabes163: thats hwat happens when u step into the real world
8:22:55 PM Lizzybabes163: u dont even need to be sad about boys
8:22:58 PM Lizzybabes163: that was so 2 days ago
8:23:02 PM Kim Ha: HAHAHHA
8:23:16 PM Lizzybabes163: so pack that shit up and move on
8:23:33 PM Kim Ha: thank you for the tough love
8:23:37 PM Kim Ha: COME OVER AND STUDY WITH ME
8:23:39 PM Kim Ha: at 9
8:23:45 PM Lizzybabes163: no
8:23:47 PM Lizzybabes163: you come here
8:23:57 PM Kim Ha: ugh i can't
8:23:57 PM Kim Ha: fine
8:23:59 PM Kim Ha: we'll do it tomorw
8:24:14 PM Lizzybabes163: well i cant either
8:24:18 PM Lizzybabes163: stop being a baby
8:24:22 PM Lizzybabes163: everyone gets rejected
8:24:35 PM Kim Ha: sigh
8:24:37 PM Kim Ha: okay
8:24:38 PM Kim Ha: thank you
8:24:42 PM Kim Ha: you saved me from going out and
8:24:45 PM Kim Ha: getting a tattoo
8:24:50 PM Lizzybabes163: drama queen

Grow up, grow up, grow up.

Ah, but we never really grow up do we? We do, but we still make the same mistakes, just annotated versions. Life doesn't get any easier, it doesn't get any less complicated. Sometimes, the mistakes just get bigger. Yea, you get the tools, the experience to handle them better but.


I long for days gone by.


I long for days gone by.

remember when we were such fools, and so convinced, and just too cool

I guess, sometimes there's nothing more to say. When things get too complicated, too convoluted, words only make things worse. Sometimes you just have to deal with it, move on. Sometimes you have to let go. Sometimes you have to. Because that small window for when they did care is gone. When he'd call you up, that's right call you up and ask what was wrong.

I start things sometimes for sport. It's all for sport, you know. Because, life gets mundane sometimes. And then, it goes too far, and then I have to back track, but by then, it's too late.



I'm still trying to get off the board, considering you got off a long time ago.



I'm tired of these games I keep getting wrapped into.

In the muddle of my aging youth

[Busboys & Poets, Shirlington]

Propriety in the written word

Some things you never write because it's evidence of who you are. Albeit I leave little private.

Upon reading up on news organizations' recent amass of rules and regulations for social media Web sites, such as Facebook, Twitter and online blogs, I'm beginning to wonder what's going to happen if I ever get a job with a major news organization or rather, any news organization. I've logged 180 posts on this blog since I started it in January. I have another 669 entries on LiveJournal dating back to 2001. Not to mention, 889 comments posted and 781 comments received on that account. And, though I don't have active links to that journal anywhere, I don't intend on deleting my account. It'd be like deleting a file of memories.

According to AP's new social media guidelines, in reference to materials posted on Facebook by others they say, "It’s a good idea to monitor your profile page to make sure material posted by others doesn’t violate AP standards; any such material should be deleted." Not only are journalists supposed to mind what they say, but it seems, they are also responsible for the thoughts of others in their online presence. I wonder if these guidelines apply retroactively. These news organizations have come up with these new regulations because of the rise of social networking, but what about materials posted on sites, unregulated, dating back an entire decade?

Are journalists supposed to erase chronicles of their lives for the sake of propriety?

I'm all for unbiased journalism and minding your political stance and stance on other controversial issues online. But there's a fine line between responsibility and an encroachment on a journalists' freedom of speech. In the new era of social media, it's imperative that news organizations remember the foundation upon which they lie: the protection of 1st amendment rights.

so many men.

And none to keep.

missed connections via Roma, we slept in the station on our bags, it smelled like feet

A slew of red-eye flights out of Heathrow that summer. The days were unseasonably hot for London. Clear skies, mild rain. Skipping the tube and making our way home from St. Peter's Cathedral via Trafalger Square, through Piccadilly Circus and down Tottenhamcourt Road in the drizzle of a July night. We picked up strongbow and digestives at Tesco. You would've loved it.



"How big was he?" Because size does matter, unfortunately.

"Where are the decent men?" Because we're seldom satisfied by the selection of men who hang around.

"What's wrong with us?" Because really, what's wrong with us?

Girls nights are about wine and candor. About all things related to the opposite sex. How else are we supposed to figure where the line between normalcy and crazy falls? Therapy through strings of related experiences. Yes, crazy bitch moments are understandable. Yes, there's no such thing as a platonic friendship, no matter what you believe. Yes, she fucked him, again. Yes, she stayed in an abusive relationship. Yes, for her, sex was just sex, but for her, it wasn't. Yes, she hooked up with a man who was taken. Yes, some guys are assholes. No, it doesn't have to be that complicated. Yes, love is blind.




"He ruined sex for me."



The thought occurred to me for the first time tonight.

I don't know what it was.

In retrospect, you mattered a hell of a lot more than I ever admitted.

Ode to Mike Ordonez

For coining "kimchiha". 3rd year, as UVAers called it, when I spent weekends running away to endless beer pong games, late night karaoke, Marco and Luca's, flip cup and lovely morning afters. Their apartment was always a disgusting mess, but in the morning, I always felt like I was waking up by the beach. Odd, I know.

And life has never been the same. I'm glad I met you.




Some people are just meant to be kept.

City love

Spent the afternoon blogging in Busboys & Poets in the U Street corridor. I really should've been working on my paper or mini story. I love the decor. A bookstore, coffee shop, bar and restaurant in the large open spaced filled with couches and tables for relaxing, dining or studying. Free wi-fi though it takes a few minutes to catch with Macs, and my coffee came spiked with baileys.

Had dinner next door at it's sister restaurant Eatonville which boasts southern comfort food, exquisite decor, murals splashed against the walls and chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Eatonville is an ode to the small Florida town in Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God, which I had to read in high school and in college. I'm still not quite sure how I feel about the novel. Hurston's quote covers the wall on the right as you enter. It's a damn good quote.

I had the cajun mushroom loaf. Though I was hesitant about the whole idea of a mushroom meatloaf minus the meat, it was delish.

Love it.

Places like these make me romanticize life in the city.

Weezer performs 'Kids' and 'Pokerface'

the lonely bean

British Claire, digger of baby bones and disher of marvelous wit keeps a vegan food blog. Now I usually equate 'vegan' with bland and boring, but she's real good. Half the time I think I'm eating meat and it's some kind of wonderful substitute that ain't half bad. If I had time to cook, I'd try everything here. One of these days.


[The Lonely Bean]

sweetness never suits me.

"I think i could make an exception this one time."

"How gracious of you."

"I do try sir."

I miss all things Italian. And I don't think it'll ever go away.

Paper planes

You'd asked me to go to the airport with you, and I'd turned you down. It was an hour away, and you were afraid you'd fall asleep. It was 2 a.m. I wasn't jumping at the chance because then, you were you, and it wasn't a big deal.

But really, with my obsession with airports. What was I thinking?

Note to self: Make the mistake first. Fix it later. Action versus inaction.


Photo courtesy of Creative Commons. "100,000 Paper Planes and Melodies Over Monroe" at the 2009 ArtPrize Paper Plane Event in Grand Rapids, MI.

More than 20,000 artists gathered in the crux of the city as Monroe Avenue was shut down on September 27th. 100,000 paper airplanes were released from the rooftops of 6 major buildings as 20,000 musicians of all walks played a single melody. I know this event happened far far away from our fair city, but it was too cool not to write about.

rough draft: so how do you play the game?

Do you want to hang out later? She'd texted him as they were waiting in the car at the airport terminal. She didn't know where she was going with it, but she'd had a few drinks.

Sure, he'd said.

That was how the end began.

She never used to ask, she'd just come over, plop down on his futon and they'd watch movies. He could never watch them alone. She didn't like watching movies alone either. She was easily distracted. She didn't know him well then. But he had a lot of free time that summer and so did she.

Come to the airport with me, he said.

What? It's 2 a.m. Why?

I have to take my mom.

Isn't that going to be awkward?

She secretly loved the idea of meeting his mom. Even though mothers never seemed to take to her. She was better with fathers.

...

She had had a feeling he liked her, and she was hardly ever wrong. So she toyed with the idea, and then she found herself wondering what it'd be like. It was one of those things.


"----

I walked by your room earlier this evening, and I paused. I'd heard your room was still unlocked. You'd left sheets on your bed, some old clothes folded, and your keys laid on your desk. Your keys. I, I had my keys together as I was walking around the city today, and I had them in my hand, and out of nervous habit I started flipping them with my fingers, in my hands, and it was the same sound, the way we always knew who was entering the kitchen, or the stairway because you always had those keys in your hands. You had this ocd habit of locking your door every time you left the room. And now you're gone, and your room, it still smells of you, the door's not locked. You're not there anymore.


....


He was from Edmonton, a small suburb outside Oklahoma City. She found herself toying with the idea of moving to middle America. Living in a town where life was paced, where people had down time, where kids had bonfires, and everyone really knew everyone and weekends were spent boating on the lake or fishing in the middle of the night. It was a nice idea.

....

They were all perfectly wrong. Living embodiments of the idea of perfection in imperfection. They were all a part of the game. A series of overlapping realities, from careless banter to sex that meant more than nothing. Eventually, it was all fucked.

So if I'm merely acquainted with someone or if I've never met them I TRY not to stalk them around the internet because then I form this opinion of them when I don't even really know them. And generally you cannot form a realistic opinion of someone based solely on their online profile. It just doesn't work.

I've signed up for Date Lab on Washington Post.com out of boredom and I've half made match.com profiles that no longer exist. And the other night I fiddled on OKCupid, but got bored real quick.

And then I thought, doesn't anyone form relationships organically anymore?

It's really sad.

Even though my opinion of online dating sites has altered over the years; they're not filled with total weirdos. I think, aside from the fact that match.com makes you pay some absurd amount. I think I will refrain, not because I don't feel that desperate. But because shit, I kind of like it the organic way. Like in real life, over a random passing or who knows. But you know.

Maybe I'm a bit old school here.

And I'm not just ragging on online dating.



As organic food is healthier for you, I think organic relationships may suit me better.

won't stop to surrender

getting off the great mope train.

I went out to Josephine's last night for Ray's birthday despite having a 9 a.m. final exam this morning. I didn't drink, and I still had a damn good time. I think I may cut back on the alcohol. I hate the feeling of getting wasted for the sake of getting wasted. Then having to wake up to nurse a hangover. Nothing about it seems attractive anymore. My former self of 4 months ago would beg to differ, but I guess it's different when you're running through the streets of Florence in the pouring rain, by the most beautiful piazza in the whole damn world. Who has to worry about real life then?

We left at 2 a.m. and I passed out around 3 a.m. Woke up this morning at 8 a.m. and headed back into the city.

And you know, this morning was the first time I've thought, today is marvelous, in awhile. Lackluster has accounted for most of the past few months; men who were around, who were just around because I was that bored.



But maybe this city isn't a lost cause.

Feinberg chronicles the grittier side of dreams

Blaze Starr at the Plaza on New York Avenue & 14th Street, N.W.: Photo by Paul Feinberg, Another Washington

Tuesday mornings are spent in production for the American Observer. In the future, my wrinkles and stress lines will be traced back to this time.

The sound of settling.

One evening

It's an old song, but I heard it for the first time in Claire's UCL dorm last January. It was one of those cold London mornings, and I was getting ready for the day, and it came on shuffle. And it reminded me of one of those evenings, getting ready for a date with a new man, over dinner, or drinks in a pub, dim light, candlelight, one of those stories that just has this great potential to end terribly, but for awhile, in the beginning, it's something worthwhile.

Ode to Claire

11:11:14 PM Claire Metcalfe: i came up with the best halloween costume the other day
11:11:16 PM Claire Metcalfe: so good
11:12:17 PM Kim Ha: CLAIRE
11:12:21 PM Claire Metcalfe: what
11:12:24 PM Kim Ha: you jsut gave me a list of HEALTHY 20 CALORIE THINGS
11:12:26 PM Kim Ha: OLIVES
11:12:29 PM Kim Ha: saLAD
11:12:30 PM Kim Ha: CHESTNUTS
11:12:35 PM Claire Metcalfe: crisps.................
11:12:38 PM Claire Metcalfe: a lot of them
11:12:42 PM Kim Ha: leaves and sticksss
11:12:45 PM Kim Ha: what is the halloween costume
11:12:47 PM Claire Metcalfe: biscuit.. those buttery things
11:12:51 PM Claire Metcalfe: ice cream
11:12:54 PM Claire Metcalfe: but moving on
11:13:06 PM Claire Metcalfe: at least there was no alcohol
11:13:16 PM Claire Metcalfe: the PIED PIPER!!!
11:13:30 PM Claire Metcalfe: im going to attach rats on fishing wire to me
11:13:32 PM Claire Metcalfe: fake rats
11:13:43 PM Claire Metcalfe: so they trail behind me when i walk
11:14:45 PM Claire Metcalfe: and also i was thinking of dessing bosco up as a rat too
and have him follow me



Exactly why our friendship has lasted so long.

New York, I love you

I've tried watching Paris, Je t'aime twice and both times I got distracted. Anyway, I want to see this flick.

And I want to live in NYC or LA for a time after graduation. Though I've never had a desire for either city, in fact I've never even taken to either very much, ever since I got back from Florence, I don't know, something's changed. We'll see where I end up a year from now. I'm just restless here. I've spent my entire life here. That's probably all this city will ever be to me, home.

You know I'm just going to break your heart

I don't know what it is about these days. I'm tired of all things related to the opposite sex. I'm tired of dating, I'm tired of looking, I'm tired of trying to get over it, I'm just over it.

I don't have the energy.

And is it weird that I just want to sit at a bar, or in a cafe over a cup of coffee with an old friend and conversate? I'm not looking for an easy hook up. I'm really not looking for any hook up. I just want to go back to the days when it was simpler. When it was all talk and banter and nothing else ever went into play. Just old friends over coffee.

It seems comforting.

As much as I'm anti-institution of marriage. Weddings make me cry. I'm one of those. And last night we were at this girl's bachelorette party. I don't know her, but I'm figuring she's found someone she's excited to spend the rest of her life with.

Now that's deep. Probably the only deep thing in this world. That's a long time.



And I keep looking at your pictures on your facebook. I don't know what the hell it is. I screwed you over, and here I am wondering. I know it's just the whole idea that I'm so enthralled with. That someone could want to be with me to that degree, and I threw it away. Because I didn't want it. Well, fuck, what if no one ever comes around like that again? And my friends keep telling me my problem is this fear of commitment, running away when anyone gets too close, and though I'll admit to it. On the other end, it's not like I've ever been met on the other side of this string.

Sigh. It's one of those Sundays.

Where you wake up and wonder why you drunk texted the people that you did.


I miss talking with you. That's really it.

And maybe it's because I have no other distraction right now and I'm incredibly bored. or maybe it's because once upon a time, you mattered. And I hate losing touch.

Where everybody knows your name

Twenty years ago, you were my favorite.

You're completely who you are, you're completely crazy and you do what you want.

And I admire you.


You may just be the only other human on this earth that I actually admire in that way.

I don't know what it is about death and accidents that make us slow down our all too busy lives to watch the events as they've unfolded. I mean, when there's a car accident, I'm one of the people along with every single other person on that road that has to slow down and look.

So when I hear about people who've died, sometimes I'll go read their journals or their Facebook pages. That's right, I stalk down complete strangers who are no longer even alive. I don't know why really. And then I read what their loved ones say about them. And then sometimes, weeks, months, even years after the fact, I'll go back and check up to see how their loved ones are faring.

I know it's weird. And of course I don't do this with every single person who's died that awakens my curiosity. But it happens.

maybe we'll make something out of this life

I'm stubborn. You told me that once. I can't remember what we were talking about, but you just said it and I thought, no one's ever really said that to me in that way, except for my mother. And somehow it got you a point in my book.

I don't like being told what to do, and these days I'm cranky to a fault. In our Observer class the other day, the class where we produce our online magazine, the professor asked us if we saw ourselves in positions of leadership. I mean, we all chose to invest our time and money into this program, so it must mean we're setting ourselves up for bigger things, right? And all this time, I had thought, I was just trying to set myself up for a job. But then, I guess it makes sense. All this time I've been freaking out about ending up in a real cardboard box on the street somewhere because all of these degrees hanging in their frames on the walls don't really seem to mean anything in the real world. But then I thought about it, apparently only 26 percent of Americans actually receive a degree higher than high school diploma. Well damn, if I'm only competing against 26 percent of Americans - probably less, since I have even more than that, then why the hell does it seem so impossible?

Anyway, point being, my professor asked me directly and I responded with a hesitant answer. I mean, shit, if I ever get into some position of leadership, it would've been beyond what I ever foresaw. But afterward, I found myself thinking, it may be the only way to go, since I have this thing about control.

And I'm consistently paranoid about miss-perception. Years ago, before the age set in, I was always just this nice girl. And these days, I fear people meet me and think I'm unfriendly, stuck up or hostile. I always wanted to be one of those people that you meet and you instantly get that good feeling about. Sadly, my inward feelings of awkwardness and shyness have had this tendency of giving off a not so friendly vibe.





Sigh.



That's pretty much my one word reply to life at the moment.

Oh yea, I turned 25 last week.

I always wanted to do something big with my life. Write a book or something. Be a part of something big. And dedicate it to my parents.

I'll probably never get there.

You think, you've experienced your highest highs and your lowest lows and then you've got the every day muddle, the way it feels, every day. And you wonder if this is what the rest of your life is just going to feel like?

I'm unhappy.

Really wondering if I'm made for this.





.

I could use a crutch. I'm tired of standing on my own.

Red eye flights across Europe

Beyonce's Halo remind me of flights across eastern Europe. I developed a fear of flying last year, simply because I figured with all the flights I'd been taking, my odds of dying were higher. The only comfort I took was listening to music as the plane would take off.

I can't remember the last time I hated week days so much. And then I thought, this is what it's like. To wait for the weeks to pass so you can reach the weekends and the holidays. And then I thought, life shouldn't be like this. Because when it's good, when it's really good, you don't want any days to pass any faster than they do.


I'm not sure if it's sad or what. I used to romanticize airports. When I was younger, I used to love flying. I even liked airplane food, but then again, the food probably was better in those days. And now though I still love everything that they represent, I equate travel to my fear of losing this life.


Getting older never fared well with me.

Taking only what you need from it

We were sitting outside this coffee shop in Vienna yesterday. Jammin Java has the best cappuccino I've had since Italy.

But we were nonchalantly talking about death. And Angela and I wondered, what if one of us passed, how would we want our friends to mourn. What would we want out of them. And it was odd because it was just as if we were discussing any other topic because of course, we didn't really think that any one of us would pass any time in the near future. But we've also never really had this conversation before.

We're not old, but we are pretty much grown. As much as we'd hate to admit it, as much as our lives beg to differ from a real grown ups. or the usual definition anyway.

And at this time, mortality starts to get realer.

People die. And I will lose a friend or a parent or a relative one of these days, or I may go. And though we'll never be able to prepare ourselves for it, it's terrifying that this is what real life is about.

The crazies have all the fun.

"What if we got everything we ever wanted," she asked.

I'm a walking archive of past conversations, e-mails, photographs, videos. Conversation in fits of anger, photographs in moments of unbearable laughter, videos bringing back heartache.




I'm getting off the board after this last round, accepting defeat.


Thanks for playing.

Terminal.

A Fine Frenzy - "Almost Lover" remix from mgcs518 on Vimeo.

I don't know how long I can last here before I suffocate.

I'm probably going to go to hell for the things I say about people.


But hey, like Justin said the other day, "I don't want my friends to be lonely."

non posso dimenticarvi

Static silouhettes

I returned to the states this past June 29.

My body has hated me ever since.

July saw three weeks late.

August is almost over and again I'm almost three weeks late.

I've spent the past two months trying to get off that high.

That high I had, purely on life.


How do you go back to living a life so ordinary, when it wasn't that way for so long?

And how come, I've spent most of my adolescent and young adult years yearning to be anywhere but here. Yet, I love this city, this city is my home, but I can't quite get to that point of all right here. And I still have never figured out why this is the case.

So another close call. And I guess we never really learn from our mistakes, do we? Or maybe it's just me. Who knows. A lot of things I'm not sure of lately.

Such as graduate school part II.

Last year, I said, all of it had to be for something, and at the end it was. It was more than something.

So I guess round two will produce something different, still of worth, just different.

Had some girl time over at Angela's tonight. We were saying goodbye, sitting around, five of us on her bed, gossiping, laughing, same shit we've been doing for a decade now. And it never gets old, and we're always saying goodbyes, and even now, we've still got things to figure out.



Tuesday marks the one year anniversary since I left this city for Florence.

I hope I don't do anything too drastic.

Autumn in Firenze.

September 12, 2008

"Girls feel emotions strongly," he said.

She said, from reading my blog that my love life, or rather lack thereof, makes hers seem not so bad.

You once said, my writing read so honestly that it didn't come off as pathetic.


But really, I'm aware I do come off somewhat tragic. I like to say it's merely the diction. That we're all pretty much the same. But who knows.

So perhaps, in calling you tragically pathetic the other day, I probably subscribe to the same dosage.

And why is it that the thought of men in this moment makes me want to throw up and or cry.


And why is this happening.

And I've been doing this for so long now.

I've been playing this game for 6 years and counting and I'm so fucking sick of it.

Real life is not sex and the city.



And why is it that it took to this point for you to give me any reply at all?

And when did you lose your respect for me?

And when did it all become just such a bunch of bullshit.

That's what I'd like to know tonight.

I would go along with someone like you

Phoenix, stilettos, Irish car bombs, modern affairs and girls lookin for love were the anthems that summer. The stocks never got high, but it was a damn good time.

Kings of Leon and Phoenix make me feel like I should be living life out west, in the city, by the ocean, in the hills.


Home back east is not quite right for this time of year. Autumn brings goodbyes, but I'm still here.

"FYI: you are epic," he said.

That's a cool line.

As of late I've been reading my yahoo horoscope and although I don't really believe in that stuff today's was awfully smart.

Seek out a person you respect, not just someone you have a fun time flirting with.


Note to self.

Been making a lot of those lately.

difficile dimenticare

empty threats, without candor

I can't go on making these requests, these resolves, and then throwing them all away in an intoxicated stupor over a text or an IM. God, we don't even use the phone anymore. And god you used to respect me, you used to answer me, you used to be my friend, you used to give a fuck.

And I can't say it was all my fault because it wasn't.

But I can say, common culture was right, sex does ruin everything.




I pretty much just need to get over it.


I guess, I expected more out of you. At the end of the day, I expected more out of you. But perhaps, I didn't know you as well as I thought I did at the beginning. Perhaps that was my mistake, my fault.

And I won't make a big deal out of this time. I'll keep your life drama free. I won't defriend you on Facebook.

What have we come to, in an age where things as small, as pointless, as effortless, as meaningless as an IM, a text, or a defriendship have come to matter so much?




I still refuse to believe the entire male species is filled with assholes. But I do believe it's filled with a good number of cowards.

My headband's been cutting off the circulation to my brain. The synapses must not be firing correctly. I'm a day away from disastrously failing.

Written word for the sake of sanity.

Sometimes I wonder where the line between therapy and exploitation falls.

Sometimes I wonder if I take some kind of masochistic pleasure in emotional turmoil.

I'd have no material otherwise.

And then, what about the people I maintain relationships with who accidentally get caught in the diction.




I don't know.

But I'm sorry.

Hands down I'm too proud for love.

It was only an affair

"Are you sure?"
"Yes."

He'd asked her repeatedly.
She couldn't figure why he cared so much.

Now, in retrospect, she really didn't have anyone to blame but herself. Though, blame was perhaps the wrong word. The way things were ceased to exist after that first time. Because well, she should've known better.

But we never learn from our mistakes do we? Sometimes we keep making the same ones over and over, until it works out, until they're not mistakes anymore.

And she never wanted any more than what they had, or that's what she told herself anyway. She wasn't sure if she'd convinced herself of the fact, or in actuality it was just that, fact. And it was only the pure idea of more that bothered her.

She didn't want more, but she drew the line at others. He couldn't very well fuck her and others at the same time. That was where she had to draw the line. Of all the mistakes, she had to draw it there. That was where she could draw it. Because, at that point, she couldn't compromise.

But she wondered still, how could she ask that of him. So she didn't because it wasn't hers to entitle. So she left.

And at the end, she wondered if she left because she couldn't compromise or if she left because she didn't want to accidentally fall for it all.

And we all wonder. What's the big deal? It's not like it was love. After all, it was only an affair. It was only an affair.

There was never any weight, was there.

Their banter was never the same, and was it worth it? Probably not, but she'd probably make the same mistakes again.

Awworthy

"Bros before hos"

So what's the saying for girls? Girls before idiots? I'm too tired to come up with anything clever.

Matters of the Heart Pt. 2

So this is where it starts.



I'm really sick of this.

I met him in college, at a not so random party. He was taking flying lessons and had a thing for Frank Sinatra. He introduced me to Ben Harper and burned me a copy of his CD. We laid in his bed talking about life, and a myriad of things I can no longer recall. I left near dawn. And the innocence of it all. Well, that was a time I no longer seem to subscribe.

Intoxication reduces inhibitions. I'm more prone to doing and saying things I wouldn't ordinarily do in a sober state because I don't care about the consequences. Now, sometimes this leads to good results, sometimes it leads to fmylife mornings. I'm wondering though, if at the end of the day, a lesser dose of inhibitions turns out to be better or worse for everything that is my life. Sometimes it enables me to look at things simpler, instead of my ordinarily state of mind where I'm simply crazy. I don't know. I don't know.


Btw. I find it highly ironic that I'm getting an M.A. in Communications, the one subject I abhorred all through grade school. For the life of me I could never get past that ugly Satisfactory on my report card. The entire report card would be tainted by that one ugly Satisfactory.

And now here I am, choosing to get my second M.A., in Communications. I'm making the choice to get out there and actually talk to people. Bizarre. I never saw that one coming.

It was a time

Santo Spirito the last night I was in Firenze. It was so loud I had to sleep in our floor's living room.



Last night in Firenze.