It’s a certain season and time of day that leads me to have unwholesome thoughts, and it is my car that gives validation to my impulsivity. Alone I fall victim to my thoughts, my only company apart the music – and sometimes not even that. Were it not for practicality doing its best to ground me, I would travel without end and with no destination in mind.
You see, it’s not a consequence of any consideration or planning, but rather an arrow on a brilliant sign set high above a highway on ramp that makes empty promises.
“Pick me – pick me!” screams the silent metal, horrendously loud, ringing in my ears.
Perhaps I have spoken about this topic before – I can’t recall – but I will again. And you can’t stop me. I mean, I suppose you could just click past my post, but then that wouldn’t be very nice now would it, hm?
When I was a child, I always thought I was most beautiful when I cried. I mean, yes, there is nothing like a child’s smile (I can see that now), but there is also something so beautifully compelling about a melancholic femme who so obviously bares the weight of many sorrows. At least to me, that is the sort of person whom I would like to get to know more about, to understand, and to analyze.
There’s nothing intriguing
about a cheerleader;
Now, I’m not insinuating that I had a bad childhood – actually, quite the contrary. The life that I was privy to was marvelous – don’t get me wrong. But inside of me there was always something wrong. I was always different. At a much younger age than my peers I thought about love, about mysterious adventure, about many things that a youngster should not comprehend.
I cannot recall
ever being innocent;
Depression is a funny creature. Just when you think you are in the clear, She sneaks up behind you and pulls you back in.
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot
Have you ever sat on a bench at the park or waiting for the bus or in any number of public places? Whether or not you speak to the people around you (or even actively observe them), you do tend to notice something about the way they are or what they are doing.
Maybe the boy sitting beside you is rolling a joint. Or that girl over there has on heels that are too high and a skirt that is too short. Did those two in the corner just exchange something under the guise of a handshake? And I wonder if that girl is old enough to be with the man she’s walking with!
Now you’ve seen it. You can’t unsee it. You can’t pretend that they’re not there and that it didn’t happen.
But do you take the time
to pass judgment?
When you have a #dirtywindshield at your fingertips?
I have to be strong so that he can be weak. Well, at least that’s the long and short of it. He’d rather not be here either. But we’ve just done the back and forth so many times. Had it ever worked out, we would have stayed. Honestly, had he never asked me to go with him to Tenerife in 2009, we still would probably be in Italy. Well, I would. Maybe it would all be different…
This is an excerpt from my last (rather long, rather verbose) post. I thought why bad boys have such appeal was a concept that deserved more specific discussion:
My best friend from childhood, the one I always speak about, calls me for relationship advice. Or, rather, a decision between two “boys.” She is my age and just as smart, but she is wholly inexperienced in exploring herself and in relationships. I have been married nearing 5 years, so I can understand her seeking me out for advice. Especially on such an appropriate query:
M: One of them is so smart and so respectful; he wants to treat me so well, but I just don’t feel it. The other? Such a bad boy. Felonies and DUI’s galore. A drop-out, a possible drug-dealer – no future, really. But he’s just so exciting.
I happen to have lots of problems. I don’t know if it’s because of this or in lieu of this, but I seem to gather about me women with just as many issues. Whereas my problems are continuous – and generally kept under wraps – it seems like their lives, on sporadic occasion, blow up in their faces.
All at the same time.
I found a secret place
where it’s easy to rewind;
I found a secret space
where I can clear my mind —
In the back of my apartment building, there’s a laundry room. Its stark white cement and cold, sterile tile (I use the term “sterile” lightly as it’s really in need of a good scrubbing) soak in blue light from the large window and sliding glass doors that make up the back wall.
Today I woke up and wanted to be a lawyer. Okay, so, no, I don’t really want to be a lawyer. It’s something I’ve considered all my life, something I’ve been told I’d be good at for as long as I can remember – it probably has something to do with my penchant to argue things into the ground. My earliest recollection is from lower-school defending a classmate’s liberty to wear a school-monikered sweatshirt during gym class when the PE teacher was trying to force her to take it back. The teacher got snarky with me, and I will always remember her words:
Take it up with me
when you’re in Georgetown law —