That autumn

On the eve of my twenty-ninth birthday and our ten year high school reunion, we were coping with decisions we’d made that got us here.

She said she wasn’t going to go. Maybe if she got her shit together, then she’d go. But otherwise, she wasn’t going to, wasn’t going to have the questions asked, questions for which she didn’t have answers. I said, but what did it matter?

But I knew what she meant. There were moments when I avoided social gatherings with people who weren’t close, those you don’t see often because I didn’t have an answer for their questions. So what are you doing these days? 

My Facebook newsfeed made my life look like a string of vacations and forays into alcoholism. Whether that was a mirror of real life was left to be said, but perception is hard to change.

Something about milestones make us look back and reflect on how we got here. Some days, I would say, marriage was never going to happen, owning a home was never going to happen. But I'm inundated by these announcements on the daily, and some days, they make me feel like I'm failing.

But the latter was never an aspiration and the former was something out of my control.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about you, wondering if I’m a disappointment in your eyes, like how you were in mine for all those years. Are you still trying? Don’t get stuck there, you've been saying.

So here we are

I thought my bi-annual quarter life crisis wasn't going to come around this year. And, it hasn't really. Cause somehow, even with life unplanned 3 months from now (and I always plan 6 months in advance.) I'm okay with where I am, and wherever the hell it takes me. My fortune cookie did say: you are heading in the right direction. And that's gotta be worth something.

But with that said, I still somehow, after a string of unexpected events, that's how they always happen, don't they? managed to deactivate my Facebook. And, if you know me, only under some dramatic circumstance would I go about doing this because, Facebook is my coke, and I'm not even saying that lightly.

But I won't last because I never do, and it's a good thing I've never done coke cause I've found, I'm an easy addict to the things I can't live without. Of course, it's only in the momentary do I believe this to be true.

I could give it up forever, and write a blog about it. Isn't that what we do? But nah, going on 6 hours. Will probably only last 24. Maybe 48, if this is incredibly severe.

I don't know what you want from me, and it's not the kind of thing I want to ask.  Cause although I'm not really sure what I want from you, I also don't want to hear your reply.  Worst case scenario, you lie, worst case scenario, you tell me what I don't want to hear, worst case scenario, you tell me what I do want to hear, but none of this will work, none of this will work.

Maybe you're trying to get over someone.  I don't know, but maybe this is the case.  If so, a part of me thinks, so what's wrong with sticking around, but then the other part of me thinks, I don't want to be the girl that hangs around as you try to get over someone else.  I don't think it's a game I feel like playing.

I don't know any of this to be fact.  But I have this feeling, like something's off.  And I've never been wrong before. 


But the weird thing?  The weird thing is, being around you takes no effort.  As if we've been hanging out for years, as if you're an old friend, you know?  And I'm not quite sure why this is the case, but to me, being around you is comfortable.

And that's hardly ever been the case.

Winter Break: Day 10

I will brave walking miles through a shit ton of snow. And the shoveling, oh the shoveling.


And there's that class I may not have passed. I'm going to have to send a card and some cookies.

I will read books that I want to read (chicklit for the most part):
How to make love like a porn star, Jenna Jameson - Recommend
Just Friends, Robyn Sisman - Bad? Perhaps.
The Other Woman, Jane Green
What Happened (Inside the Bush White House), Scott McClellan
a stranger's short stories

I was born old.



Matters of the heart have always been my vice.

In the muddle of my aging youth

[Busboys & Poets, Shirlington]

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.

Sometime we'll get together and we'll break it down.

So after a minor breakdown in a bathroom of club and an episode of the psychotic and swearing to stop speaking to him. All of this occurring in a span of 24 hours. I decided I'm going to play this game until I can't anymore.

Bad idea? Perhaps, probably. But what else is new? When I want something, I guess I can't help but go after it even if it will lead me nowhere. Even if it eventually makes me a fool.

I call you up after hours. And why? Because I wanted to. I mean, that's really all there is to it.

And honestly, this shit may be hard, but it shouldn't be complicated. Say what you mean, mean what you say.


And did you ever notice how life is either a series of coincidences or chance meeting fate. If you assign meaning to a coincidence then it becomes fate, but if you don't ascribe any meaning, then it's merely a coincidence. But it's all essentially the same thing.

I have trouble writing here sometimes because it doesn't feel so personal. Sometimes I spend more time worrying about the lay out, the font size, the main photograph, then I do about the diction and syntax.

Sometimes I miss when it was just the spiral notebook with pasted photographs, the bic pen. Ink to paper. The only issue I had then was how the specific pen felt on the specific paper. At the cost of less than $0.50 at Walmart. And that was all I needed.


Now I'm attached to Mac and the Internet like I'm a coke addict.