My Face on Your Milk Carton: or, how I might disappear;

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.

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Trials and tribulations of an expat stuck in her home country–

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…

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You know, it’s just music —

I’m on Youtube absorbing videos of Woodstock.  Janis’ words, 

Music’s for grooving man;
music’s not for puttin’ yourself through bad changes.
You don’t have to go take anybody’s sh*t, man,
so if you’re gettin’ more sh*t than you deserve,
you know what to do about it, man.
You know, it’s just music;
music’s supposed to be different than that —

just ring so true.  I can’t help hating that I missed out.  The music, the freedom, the love, the party.  We don’t have anything like that anymore. Continue reading

L’Americana —

I would like to talk some about what it means to be an American in the eyes of people I have met around the world and how it differs drastically from the way I feel about my heritage.

First of all, let me just say that while I hate being in the USA, I don’t necessarily hate my country.  I just don’t fit in here.  To put it simply,

I’m just

a crappy American —

I’ve never fit in.  I’ve never really had friends.  I’ve never been “cool.”  I’ve never been like everybody else.  Unfortunately, I come from a beach part of the country, and I am just not made for the beach.  Even when my weight was no longer an issue for me, I just can’t stand the sun.  It’s hot.  It’s uncomfortable.  It’s the sun.  Don’t get me wrong, I am a water sign, and I love the water, but I just can’t stand beach culture.  Or, for that matter, heatstroke…

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