Bitter

I am, man. Damn. I’m bitter as hell. It’s slowly ebbing away with time, but I can’t deny, I’m a bitter bitch right now. That sucks, because I really wanna be ‘glass-half full’ L’s all the time. Right now, though, it’s just hard. It’s a really gross, unattractive emotion, tastes like old cigarette smoke is pumping through my heart. Yuck.

Beyond that, I’m having the worst writing block today. It’s a weird sensation to really want to just write, to get it all out of your head. I really want to, I can feel something down there struggling to surface, but my brain is like, constipated or something. It’s working like the ‘strong arm’ in Scary Movie. Words barely sputter from my fingers before they sound trite and stupid. I’ve started 3 drafts in the last 20 minutes and can’t seem to make one of them work. ERG. Maybe that’s my responsible side nudging me to work on the stuff with a deadline. UGH, FIIIINE…..

OH! Wait!! This might work: I’m suddenly reminded of a helpful visual aid my friend drew for me on a napkin:

Important, Urgent

In a really sweet way to focus my attentions elsewhere, she broke it down thusly: All the shit in our lives can fall into one of these four categories, and that’s the order we should try to approach our problems. If it’s important and urgent, deal with it now. If it’s urgent, deal with it next. If it’s important but not urgent, deal with it later. If it’s neither, FUCK IT. It doesn’t always work, of course; For example, I tend to spend way too much time worrying about crap that doesn’t matter, aka #4. Maybe that’s where bitterness is born. You concern yourself with too much stuff that’s not worth your energy or time, and frequently it’s crap you have no control over, anyway. So what’s the point? I mean, I really hope there’s one, because if there’s not, well then, dammit! I feel on the verge of a breakthrough, but much like that hidden truth I’m dying to divulge, I can’t place it.

I dunno, I guess I’m regretting a lot of stuff I’ve said lately, things I’ve thought. Things I’ve thought, typed out, changed and still said anyway even though they were still just wrong, not even necessary. That’s not the person I am. I’m better than that. There’s something to be said for speaking your piece, getting it all out there, singing your swan song, but after a while it just turns into screaming obscenities to the ambivalent heavens. There comes a time when you have to just exhale and move on. No use in crying over spilt whiskey, unless you wanna water it down further. Now lick it up, puss!

Bitterness just eats away at you. It transforms you, and if you let it it’ll destroy your lovely core into an angry Oscar the Grouch. There’s a time and a place to be pissed, but those scenarios are fleeting at best. Oscar could use a little namaste for that negativity:

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Theeeere ya go buddy.

*Deep breath….coughcoughhackhack….* Oscar, bro, you’re right. Shit could be worse. I could live in a trashcan. I could have a unibrow. I could own crocs, for chrissake. There’s so much to be happy about in life, why dwell on the stuff you can’t change? I’m sure I’ve sounded like a broken record lately; get over it! – WAIT – NO! That’s fucked up! – WAIT! -CHIIILLL babay! But that’s life, isn’t it? Especially in your younger years, that’s the line you have to navigate. Time for a Haiku!

 

Stop, go; wash, repeat.
It’s progress when you can see
the sky at the end. 

 

Oh!, it just struck me: that thing that’s been nagging me, that confession I need to sort through, I found it… but come to think of it… ain’t quite time yet, gotta hang back. Sorry dudes/dudettes, you’ll just have to wait. It’s important, but not really urgent at the moment.

Current Jam: “Brutal Hearts” Bedouin Soundclash

2014 Came in with a Bang

I’ve raged. I’ve screamed, I’ve wailed. I’ve drank, I’ve smoked. I’m finally limp, energy expended. The tears finally dried, to a weird, almost sticky film on my eyes, turning my eyelashes twisted and stiff.

I’m calm again…for the most part. I think what really fucked with me this relapse around was that I felt as if my whole world perspective was being tested, and I felt like it was failing. I always preach the Golden Rule way of living right? Karma, pure and simple. You treat people nice, you put positive energy into the universe and you’ll reap it in return. My catatonic state, which followed my initial utter freak-out, had me haphazardly cross-legged on the floor of my room. I stared into the middle distance as tears streamed down my face, working through the pseudo-math. Was I that big of a dick that I deserved these feelings? I felt so wronged, and while it initially surfaced as fierce defiance, that empowerment was slowly whittled away to a husk of its former self. I thought long and hard about the course of events. Then I thought about it some more. I still feel that my contribution was not as monumental as his to our break up, but I wasn’t exactly a saint myself. ‘B-b-but’, I thought, ‘I’d already admitted that to myself! I’d admitted it and moved on!’

Then my Self chimed in, ‘No, L’s, you didn’t. You allowed those emotions to swallow you,  and they mutated you a bit, didn’t they? ….L’s? Answer the question.’ Begrudgingly I entertained the Dr. L’s/Ms. Bitch idea: I concede that I was coming over that hill until Monday. Until I got information confirmed that was already in the back of my mind, but I was initially able to ignore it because I refused to just make assumptions. When it was thrust in my face, not by my own insatiable curiosity but by someone else’s, I lost my fucking mind again. My fury flowed from my fingers like vicious, viscous lava. Despite my outrage, I should have waited a day. I should have screamed in my journal instead. Whelp, nobody’s perfect, right? I’ve promised myself to force a step backwards from now on. I think my frustration stems from feeling as though my point of view, while maybe understood now, is not accepted. But I would imagine my ex feels the same way. We just don’t speak the same language, not anymore.

My uncle told me once that his worst breakups were really based in the same set of factors: he wasn’t happy with himself. There was a need he had that was not being fulfilled. When those relationships inevitably ended, he was so hurt because that hole in his heart was no longer taken up. It gaped like a raw wound and he still hadn’t solved how to fill it himself. So maybe that’s why this breakup has been so hard on me. Even just knowing that helps the new sutures stick just a bit more.

This year has been stuffing life lessons down my throat since it started. I’m full ok, 2014? So fucking stuffed, like a goose about to head to the butcher for their tasty liver. Can you please just chill the eff out now and go out with a lil’ whimper? I’m being tested in school enough, can you let up on my personal life? Pretty please? K, thanks. *kisses*

Current Jam: “I don’t wanna be an asshole anymore” Menzingers

Florida Girl

Hey! I live in (not always sunny) FLA. I was born n bred here. I often feel southern and slightly Hispanic all the time. Anywhos, I love where I live… some of the time. So when I do, I gotta give mah girl props! My friend’s fiance runs a brewing company out of Jax called Engine 15, and he made the following cut!: (I’m more of a wine gal myself, but Muscadine grapes are like the only ones that can grow here… and that shit is disgusting). Carress that sexy ass lager with your mouse to check the list 🙂

Around Florida in 11 Beers! - Draft Magazine
Around Florida in 11 Beers! – Draft Magazine

 

Current Jam: “Gates” Menzingers (STILL obsessing.)

 

Obsession

I knew I liked The Menzingers when I heard them live this past FEST. You play good live, I already fuckin’ love you. But lately, and I literally mean in the past few days, I am obsessed with them. A couple of my girlfriends joke that they have band huzbands (Theirs are members from Lucero and The Gaslight Anthem, I believe). It’s official, I’ve found mine: Greg, will you band-marry me? Cool, thanks. I’ll just pretend from now on that “I Don’t Wanna Be an Asshole Anymore” is soooo for me.

See, the thing is…

Elliot Smith's self-titled album, 1995.
Elliot Smith’s self-titled album, 1995.

 

Kidney infections… well, I imagine most bacterial infections, wear you the fuck out. I slept like a dead, sweaty little log this weekend, and after a long, but not particularly strenuous day, I’m still exhausted. Bad timing, unfortunately, because now’s the time to kick it into high gear. FUCK, this semester has exponentially sucked. Just gotta make it to May, and I can finally chill the eff out for a bit…

The pressure feels… immense right now. The pressure to do well in school, to evolve, to not worry about A, B and C. To just be present, to plaster a smile on my face all the time. Regrettably, most of that pressure is placed on me, for me, by me. I recognize it, and I’m slowing pulling the debris away… it’s also made me realize how much energy we put into things that return nothing. Zero. Goose egg. Projects that don’t pan out… people that don’t pan out, really, and it can feel a little overwhelming when you don’t know whether something or someone is worth it. Then there’s the rip chord snap of reality when you realize it (they) aren’t worth your time. Any kind of collaboration, be it romantic, platonic, or simply economical, is about give and take. If you don’t feel like the other party is putting forth as much effort, well it’s time to suss out why. The why can be the hardest question to answer, because sometimes the simple truth is this: you don’t mean as much to them as they mean to you.

Why don't they liiike me???
Why don’t they liiike me???

 

And that sucks, there no silver lining to that cloud. I repeat, it fucking sucks!! Here’s the thing you have to remember: for every person that snubs your beauty, there are many more willing to cherish it. I mean, it means shit when you feel like shit, but this is where some people bring in the notion of …ffff…faith? Faith can seem like a complete, crapola copout, but sometimes it’s all you’ve got. Sometimes, though, it’s all you really need…*Sigh*, and so I have to say farewell to someone I thought I could have a meaningful relationship with. You don’t have, nor will you make, the time for me. It hurts right now, but I’ll be ok. I lived without you for over 2 decades, I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike. In (hopefully) no time at all, I’ll go from clumsily rubbing away my non-waterproof mascara (why do I keep making this mistake? Jeez!) to this:

I once knew a girl / in the years of my youth / with eyes like the summer / all beauty and truth
I once knew a girl / in the years of my youth / with eyes like the summer / all beauty and truth

…sometimes I feel like I’m writing letters to a younger me… time travel goes both ways, ya know….

Current Jam: “You Will be Loved” Death Cab for Cutie

Source of Power

Kendra: Your life is very different dan mine.

Buffy: You mean the part where I occasionally have one? Yeah, I guess it is. (carves at a stake)

Kendra: De tings you do and have, I was taught, distract from my calling. Friends, school… even family.

Buffy: Even family?

Kendra: My parents, dey sent me to my Watcher when I was very young.

Buffy: How young?

Kendra: I don’t remember dem, actually. I’ve seen pictures. But, uh, dat’s how seriously de calling is taken by my people. My modder and fadder gave me to my Watcher because dey believed dat dey were doing de right ting for me, and for de world. (puts down the stake and gets a sympathetic look from Buffy) Please, I don’t feel sorry for meself. Why should you?

Buffy: I don’t know, I… I guess it just sounds very lonely. 

Kendra: Emotions are weakness, Buffy. You shouldn’t entertain dem.

Buffy: Kendra, my emotions give me power. They’re total assets! (emphases mine)

Kendra: (picks up her knife) Maybe. For you. But I prefer to keep an even mind. (wipes the blade)

Buffy: (puts down her knife) Mm. I guess that explains it.

Kendra: Explains what?

Buffy: (plays with the stake) Oh, well, when we were fighting, uh, you’re amazing! Your technique, it’s flawless, it’s, hmm, better than mine.

Kendra: I know.

Buffy: Still, I woulda kicked your butt in the end. And ya know why? No imagination.

Kendra: (rubs her blade more vigorously) Really? Ya tink so? (puts down the rag)

Buffy: Oh, I know so. You’re good, but power alone isn’t enough. A good fighter needs to know how to improvise, to go with the flow. Uh-uh, seriously, don’t get me wrong, y-you really do have potential. (puts away the stake)

Kendra: (holds her knife ready) Potential? I could wipe de floor wit you right now!

Buffy: (looks Kendra in the eye) That would be anger you’re feeling.

Kendra: What?

Buffy: You feel it, right? How the anger gives you fire? A Slayer needs that.

—(Excerpt from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, “What’s My Line? – Part 2”—

It feels so pretentious to try and compare my minute existence with the larger-than-life world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but that’s part of what I love about the show. Joss Whedon has this amazing ability to take everyday conflicts (in this case: the pressures of growing up) and magnify them into grandly dramatic story lines. It seems like his intention is to bring meaning to our otherwise dull reality, because contrary to humble opinion, those experiences are important. They affect our vision of ourselves and the world around us, and we carry them with us for the rest of our lives. They mold us as we grow and change throughout life. They deserve attention.

So…it was… implied to me once that the vitality of my emotions was a weakness; it made me codependent, clingy, at the very least way too sensitive. Apparently I allowed my emotions to rule my life, and as a result I was way too reliant upon external support. I needed to learn to practice resilience in solitude if I was ever to control them and finally become master of my internal domain. My response?

L’s: “Fuck solitude, how about solidarity?”

Loving people doesn’t make me fragile, it reinforces my spirit like steel ribbing. I love to love, but I think what’s scary for many people is the inherent vulnerability of love. Of course, its vulnerability is part of what makes it beautiful. As Paulo Coelho so eloquently puts it, “Love is an act of faith in another person, not an act of surrender.” (Excerpt from Manuscript Found in AccraTo love is courage, not frailty. It takes some balls to push that energy out into the universe. Sometimes it will come back to bite you square in the ass, but most of the time that’ll just be your lover getting a little playful… teehehee. So yeah, it’s scary, but I’d rather try than “protect” my heart beneath layers of emotional barriers… like an onion… or a parfait…

So, from this quote I take away the following: Love is strength, not weakness; and from a larger perspective, the process of growth is never finished, and the very fact that it is ever-evolving should impart the profundity of its magnitude…. POP-POP!

….Yeah, I’m half serious, half ridiculous… enjoy.
Current Jam: “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” Jay Z

Delirious Deliberations

Disclaimer: forgive the inevitable myriad of misspellings and grammatical errors. I’m totes out of it…

It’s official. I’ve succumbed to kidney infection round 2: Electric Boogaloo. I’m supposed to be working on final papers but my fever keeps revolving from 100-104 degrees. Thus, I can’t craft any kind of prose that would be remotely suitable for an academic paper. Besides, my brain feels like it’s cooking inside my skull, a sensation which makes focus all but impossible. I haven’t left my room or my sweat-stained sheets much in the past 48 hours, except to refill water and/or Gatorade, or vainly attempt to wash off the faint odor of sick. I can see why Sheldon is such a baby when he’s under the weather; being in a solitary state when ill just sucks. Truthfully, I’d been ok with it for most of the weekend; After all, it’s hard to concentrate on any one thought train when your eyes continually unfocus, therefore how much would I really be able to entertain a guest?

My level of delirium kept any sadness at bay, until this afternoon. I’ve finally gotten to a level of clarity where I’m capable of rational thought, and where does it lead me? Inexplicably yet not remotely surprisingly, to loneliness. I’ve been a busy little bee for the last few weeks; it’s my one non-detrimental coping mechanism for breakups. I haven’t been drinking as much, and I’ve been forcing myself to get out and socialize or visit family. For some reason, however, I have a proclivity for that negative emotion. Rationally it doesn’t make much sense, I know. I’ve got all the friends and family I could ask for, who are always ready and willing to keep me company. I guess my predilection stems from memories I had as a child and young teenager. I hadn’t yet outgrown my severe level of introversion/low self-esteem, and frankly, I was alone a lot. My parents worked, my sister was always extroverted so she kept herself busy, and I sat in my room listening to angst-y rock and punk, feverishly writing in a journal or staring out of the window, lost in reverie. I used to say that it didn’t bother me much at the time… but the more I think back on it, it really did. I rarely took the initiative to fix it; that’s one of the most frustrating things about depression. The knowledge of how to fix your plight but lacking the energy or drive to do it. Some might call it ‘wallowing’ or ‘just feeling sorry for yourself’, and to them I say, ‘You’ve obviously never experienced depression.’ It’s like an ugly, fat, sad dog that just sits on your chest. No one else can see it but you. You try to push it off but end up just getting lost in its watery eyes. It’s sallow expression convinces you that nothing you do will change your circumstances; you’ll still feel lonely, separated, outside looking in. So just don’t even bother, it says. Just sit there and accept your fate.

Based on the skeletons I’ve managed to unearth from inside and beneath my family’s closet, I’ve realized and accepted that both depression and alcoholism run straight on through our combined genetic codes. I’m susceptible to both, unfortunately. Fortunately, I also know that… and despite my own hangups, my ongoing issues with depression and potential alcoholism, I try to remind myself of the one glimmer of hope: the first step is what? Acknowledging that you have (or could have) a problem. What comes with experience, self-esteem and maturity, is the understanding that you do have control over how you use that knowledge. You can be the victim or you can choose to be stronger than your inner evils. It’s an exercise in discipline. I’m certainly not the most “in-control” person I know, but I try. I really fuckin’ try.

*Sigh* Well I should make use of this possibly short-lived lucidity to get some work done…

Current Jam: “Beeswing” Richard Thompson

Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said “As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay.
And you wouldn’t want me any other way”

Current Netflix: The Returned, aka Les Revenants