Turn into something.

Goddamnt.

I do this all the time. It's so annoying. You're so annoying. I just want what you've got to give so badly, that I make excuses for your short comings. So when you fuck up and leave me, all I've got to remember you by are these bizarre, concocted, half truth's of whatever we had.

I'll never remember things for what they were because that'd hurt too much. I'll think of you as this beautiful saint, a wonderful lover, someone who cared about me more than you cared about yourself. Probably because I feel empowered to tell those who inquire that I was someone who was truly loved and cared about by a man. Something that would look appealing. Not someone who was carelessly discarded after you decided NOW would be an good time for you to move onto the next.

So FUCK YOU. Fuck you to all of you stupid boys. Guess what? I'm not "fine" with the fact that you left me in the dust, even though I try to play it cool....I always play it so fucking cool. My shit is not together sometimes. I'm so overwhelmed with this current feeling I don't even know what to say while I have a perfectly open platform to be open on.

As scary as it is, this is not me being bitter. It's not bitterness, it's actually the first time I've been honest with myself about anything in a long time. I'm so hell bent on making sure I always seem okay. Even my cries for help, which usually start as manic and honest, always end with me cleaning up my tears and saying I feel better and I'm fine.


This isn't even about boys is it? I don't even know what I am writing. I just watched this blog progress from my rant on men to what shall be my declaration of honesty. Well everyone, here it is, my big motherfucking banner. Maybe I'm not doing everything that I want to be doing right now. Maybe I'm doing a lot of things wrong. Loving people incorrectly, doing things i'm not supposed to do, eating shitty food, smoking too many Marlboros, gossiping, spending to much money of frivelous bullshit that will won't even matter in a week. But I'm working on these things. I may be doing all of said activities but not without thought. I am only human, and I am making mistakes on the daily.

But I ask of you people, be patient with me and my shortcomings. I know I've got to be.

So let me try and make this totally incoherent rant into a lesson, shall I? I must learn to be patient, more kind, more aware of how people treat me so as to not get hurt unecessarily, I must learn to budget my money, make better decisions and think before I jump, I must learn not to let laziness overpower my creative being so I don't become another nobody doing nothing. I must learn to practice what I preach.

Friends, take this for what it is. Not a cry for help of any means, just me....finally being honest. Be it through a keyboard, and whether or not anyone will read this, my first step to becoming a better human being, was to admit that I am not perfect and I will not always be fine.

Game on.

Onto the next...

“Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I’ll never see him again like this… well yes, I’ll bump into him, we’ll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we’ll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There’s a moment in life where you can’t recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else’s kisses.”

"Yeah, I'm fine. You? You're great?" ....Great...

It was so cold that night. Too cold for only being the beginning of fall. You were so excited for this time of year. You said that all you wanted was to see the leaves change colors. And you did. We even brought in a small pile from outside so we could look at it for reassurance before we fell asleep...making sure that the fall's hypnotic colors weren't anything less than reality.

That night was supposed to be the best of them all. Getting into what became our routine...looking at photo albums, followed by a glass or two of Black Opal Cabernet with your parents and then watching The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Afterwards we slowly and silently tip toed to bed. I was so goddamn cold it was hard for you to hold me at first because I felt like an icicle. But you warmed me up quick, and it felt so so good.

We drifted in and out of sleep, reassuring eachother of our presence every time we shifted our bodies. It was going to be such a nice end to this all.

It was until it happened. Waking up to the feeling like someone sucked all of the air out of my lungs as something else was grabbing my whole torso and putting it in between vice. I couldn't breath, I couldn't think. It was all I could do to throw my clothes on and collapse on the porch with only enough strength to light my ciggarette.

I sat there, freezing cold. Who knows which one of my current crisis' set this panic attack off. All I knew was that was all it took to get myself on the porch, chain smoking, and feeling just as alone as I was before you came to visit.

I had moved too quickly and quietly to rouse you from your sleep, so I sat there by myself, head in my hands, contemplating what was going to happen when you would no longer be my side to soothe my anxious mind and rub my back and quietly whisper that everything would be okay, that I would be okay.

After my fourth cigarette I returned to bed to find him rubbing his eyes, asking me what had happened, where had I gone, was I alright? I still couldn't breath, so he told me to lay on my back as he stroked my hair and put his face next to mine and told me to just be.

So I did. And when I went to ask him what I was to do when he left, I hesitated and just closed my eyes and did as he had told me to, because it was then that I realized how important it would be for me to learn how to just "be" when he left.

The next day after we took a walk, I regretfully drove you to the airport. I didn't cry in front of you, but it took every bone in my body to keep those tears back. You kissed me and promised me that it would all be okay. That I would be okay.

His life is far away from here. We've been friends for many years, and I have no doubt that we will be friends until death. But I miss him every day. And when I call, it's not quite the same. But he makes sure I know that he's there for me, and I for him.

It was an odd experience at the end of it all. So many emotions for such a short period of time. It's hard to know that I don't have exactly that, now that he's gone. But what he left behind was more important. The lesson of being able to just "be". To feel so weak and have someone come and go so quickly, and give you just a little boost of inner strength meant so much.

So dear, I hope you're well. I hope it's sunny where you are and she's beautiful, and that you're reading a good book. I hope the flu's gone and you're keeping your house clean. I hope the bar was fun on Friday night and you made yourself a great Halloween costume. I hope you miss me a little. And if you wonder about me, I hope you know that I'm alright. I just am.

Thank you.

i dont know how i feel.

so i tell myself this.

sometimes..

I Feel It All.

Your heart felt good it was drippin pitch and made of wood.

And your hands and knees felt cold and wet on the grass to me.

I found a reason.

Middle of nowhere.

Cutoff shorts from highschool keeping my legs cool while my favorite red and black flannel keeps the top bits warmed up.

Walking through the mud I can feel my brown suede boots getting stuck and making noises. I turn to see if she's right behind me. It's pitch black outside. So dark and quiet it feels like we've walked to the edge of the universe.

I know she's there because I can hear her cursing. Looks like her shoes have sunk into the muck as well. She chalks the cleanliness of her feet up as a loss because she ends up catching up with me, moccasins in hand. I ditch my boots too. The second my feet hit the dirt a sense of relief washes over me.

We walk until the only sound we hear are the PBR's clanking around in my backpack and the cicadas that line the grass in the field. We both silently deem this the proper spot. We sit down on a blanket we've brought and crack open our beers. We sit for awhile not saying anything because we don't know where to start.

When the talking finally commences it comes out with such force that to stop it would be impossible. We talk about every trouble we've come across for the past few years. Why we're sad. What makes us happy. Why we're confused that we can't feel happy every day. We tell eachother to chin up, only to realize that sometimes doing so is impossible. We talk about our different coping mechanisms and try and explain to eachother that without hope there's no future for either one of us. All of this happens through tears and sometimes laughter and sometimes nothing at all.

We end this night of therapy with the act in which we came here to do.
We came here to edge of the universe to scream.
And that's just what we did.
We screamed so loud. We screamed out our cares, our fears, our insecurites.
Gone were the thoughts of lost loves, parental disputes, traumatizing childhood moments, if only for a moment.


Together, that night on the edge of the universe, we sat and watched our screams rise above us and be pushed away, up and towards the sky, so far away from us and the lives we wanted to live.

We slowly made our way through the dark, back to our blanket and things. We gathered our belongings and as we reached our car and the first bit of man made light we'd seen in hours we looked at each other and smiled.

Smiled for the hope of a better, less anxious, more loving future.
Two friends, going through the hard times only to reach the other side and experience the good.
Best friends. Getting by, not by themselves, but with the help of eachother.

How My Heart Behaves.

I'm crawling through landmines
I know cause I planted them
Under cover of night I put my heart in the ground

Oh, Diane Birch, how I love thee..

Oh, stupid pride it just can't hide the holes inside my heart
'Cause I need you here with me
Oh, I wish that I could take it back, I'd go back to the start
And tell you all the things that I feel

'Cause everything is different now
I'd really like to tell you how

How I wanted you here by my side
I know what I said but I lied
It looked like a laugh but I cried
'Cause I wish I could push rewind

five months

Five months.

That's a mighty long time to not touch this sonofablog.

But I'm back. Back to writing down things that hardly anyone will read, but things that will mean something to me, the writer of this never ending stream of consciousness.

Tonight I did what I never want to do. Visit the local watering hole where all the other guests wear their scarlet C emblazoned on their chest, announcing to the others their history.

I hate that place. But I went anyway. Because I needed a friend... and a shot of Jameson and a pint of IPA didn't hurt either.

I sat there. Didn't feel like I was running away from anything because I don't feel that driving 4 minutes down the road constitutes as running away. But I sat there. And I watched. I even played darts. But mostly I watched.

I saw people who's hair has grown ten inches since the last time I had seen them, yet had the same old story to tell..."I'm fine. Just working" , they say.
I saw a potential date gone awry. Knew the guy. Almost felt bad.
Saw people drinking their summer brew's and talk about things that were just things.
Saw bartenders pass drinks and yell "Last Call!!" as if the only thought in their mind was leaving this stupid bar and returning their head to there pillow, only to wake up and do it again tomorrow.
Saw the girl who drank to much and embarrassed her, what i assume to be, significant other.

And I saw myself.
Leave this place.
With only the thought of whether or not I was gonna make it out of everything that had been happening to me that past few weeks, alive.

Jade drove us home, blaring No Doubt, to wash out the sounds I couldn't stop repeating in my head. It helped a little, but not enough.

I'm ready for my escape now. Four days of respite from what I call my home.
Au Revoir!

That's what she said.

good drinks, bad decisions.

Walked into the bar. That bar. It's dimly lit and filled with familiar faces. The only thing on my mind for the moment is that I'm thirsty for booze and I've got a really good pair of heels on. I shoot the shit with some friends and give wifey a big giant hug and celebrate my legalness with a few shots of Jameson. The decision is made a half an hour later that a party down the block is where we need to be.

We walk in as some friends walk out. Loud music coming from inside, that can be heard on the street is a sign that there are good things to come. We walk in and are greeted by hugs, hellos, swigs, chugs, and high fives. I find myself entering a conversation with a nice guy named DJ about the failing economy and the success of McDonalds. Dj's great but I'm itching to dance and drink more booze. Good booze. Which, lucky for me, seemed to be a trend for that party on that night.

We dance to some really great shit, make valentines proclaiming our love to our best friends, meet new people, get drunk and talk in bathrooms, make fun of those passed out on the kitchen floor, boogie on top of dressers, eat snacks, and feel infinite.

People will say it was just a party. Because they always say that. But it only takes some good jams, and good people, and some good ruckus to make you feel alive when you've gotten caught up in the monotony of work and school and work and school and some bullshit and the latter. That's it. That's all it takes.

So happy post- valentines day, and happy Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday as well as happy weekend days. Hopefully this year will be filled with more spontaneity and happiness than stress and sadness for myself and for others.

So here's for wishing,
N.

Let me go back...

It was Brooklyn. At Levee's. No more than ten days ago.

We walked in the bar. My fur vest keeping everything but my arms nice and cozy. They were serving bottomless bowls of cheese puffs so I knew I liked this particular bar more than the others I had been to. We met up with friends of friends who had large wallets and big hearts and a need to buy my friends and I some booze. It was a good feeling to sit in an unfamiliar place with mildly familiar people and get such warm fuzzies. Time went by. I lost at Sorry! I conquered at connect four until I had one too many $3 shots of Jameson and got overly excited and lost four games in a row. I enjoyed some free suckers and Ali and I watched some drunk guy order a beer he didn't need and pour half of it on an unsuspecting patron of the bar... unfortunately, without any consequences.

Got tired and decided it was time to call it a night. Took the L to the Q. Got a little nervous when I noticed the only other person in the station was a bum who took it upon himself to pour a bottle of Snapple all over the benches people weren't sitting on. I felt less nervous when I noticed a good looking man getting on the same subway as I was. He approached me. Said he liked my style. I noticed his French accent and dope kicks. He appointed himself as my Brooklyn gaurdian and walked me to the brownstone I was staying at in Park Slope. We talked about why he was here and why I was there and maybe one of these days we'll bump into eachother again. I gave him a "Merci Beaucoup!" as we approached my destination. He chuckled, we exchanged friendly hugs. I waved goodbye and unsuccessfully tried to unlock the front door. I rubbed my weary, whiskey eyes, put on my glasses and realized I was using the wrong key. Damnt.

Got inside. Haphazardly kicked off my new rainboots and threw my furry vest on top of the dog. Tumbled into bed thinking how nice it was of the Frenchman to have walked me home. He was cute but I had someone else on my mind big time. Went to sleep with the warmth of booze wrapped tightly around me and let thoughts of a certain someone lull me to sleep.

What a night it was.
What a night
it was.