opposite

I've been so tired lately. Everything I do exhausts me, wrenching the energy from my fists and robbing me of desire to indulge in anything worthwhile. The paint fumes are making me feel woozy; they're clouding my brain. I want to go home.

My hands and hair are speckled with white primer and half-hearted effort. My belly demands a change of habit. Please spit out your mouthful of sin, belly. Unwanted. Shoo.

I am lazily craving a sober cigarette for the first time in a long while. Something to attack my body, something that won't leave me feeling like a huge, sad animal, perhaps from the pachyderm family. A mammoth, maybe.

I am drenched in lack-of-purpose.

breathe

I had my first yoga class today; what an incredible experience. When we began, the first calming exercises and the feelings I got from them were so beautiful they brought tears to my eyes.

I am exhausted. There are silent fingers tugging at my eyelids and impatient toes burrowing into my skull. However, I feel happy and pleased with this exhaustion because it sprouted from something productive and cleansing. The dingy edges of my mood have been scrubbed until another episode of mud sprays.

I am thankful to have met and fell in love with a person who changed my life, I am thankful for my two best friends and their beautiful souls.

Mmmm.

him

I do not deserve you.
Your love is delicate and fragile; I can't treat it haphazardly.
I am so grateful.
I miss you the most when it's cold.
Your presence is a mug of something warm, kissing my frozen palms.

<^>

I ache for something different, but when I am fed a scrap of change I am not satisfied. That's humanity for me I suppose.
I am happier. I'm not the happiest, but I am happier. This is good. Thank you, whoever you are, the cold weather, the sunshine, the warmth.

I don't think God made everything, I think that God is everything. Everything is God. Maybe? Perhaps not. Exploration dominates.

- - - - -

Frustration, indecision and tingling impulsiveness. Pressure. Concern.

stale

I wrote this last semester for an english assignment where I was asked to describe everything around me for a few minutes.

The ceiling fan, the air conditioner, and another fan are spitting their measly attempts at cool air in my face. My body is sticky, my hair is stringy and the backs of my knees are glistening. Sister’s music whines while her fingers clack fiercely on the keyboard. They pause. She is thinking.

The two dogs sprawl on the carpet; their black, furry tummies that are slowly heaving up and down are the only reassurances that they’ve survived the vicious heat.

Various cellophane wrappers and lone papers flutter with each spin of the fan’s blades. This room is a sad attempt to retain any scrap of this family’s existence. See this clay-molded elephant, with the red and gold paint? Oh, it has been around forever. Even before our identities floated away, disappearing into the heat waves.

I take this pen and comb it through my hair. The air flips the pages of this notebook. Today is a lazy day. I feel no need or desire to leave here, busy myself with something, or indulge myself with friendship. I will sit here on this moldy blue couch, pondering lunch possibilities that won’t end up throwing itself from my stiff, cold lips into the toilet or on the floor.

I wish I were encased in ice, a sculpture commuting around the world, slowly melting so I can lick and sip the water leaking from my fingers. I wouldn’t hear anything but my thoughts bantering back and forth.

I look up. The music has stopped.

""

There is a painting that I feel compelled to finish but I have no inspiration for. A yellow windowpane floats among a blueish-green gradient and my original plan for it seems too complicated to even think about. Listening to Peter Bjorn and John, however, numbs the frustration. Good lads.

I am alone and plagued with worry because those I am closest with are each going through struggles that I can't seem to even begin to assist with. I feel helpless. Please give me some of your pain; please let me harbor it for you so you can take a deep, cleansing breath.


The weather is finally cooling. I love cold weather, it's not harsh or sharp; it's mellow and soothing and easy to hide in. Cold weather brings the scent of comfort and successful change and playful spontaneity. Sweaters and blankets and warm cuddling love. Hues of calm teals and blues and soft, kind red enveloping me in cozy security.

I think I might paint now.

spread your legs and fly

Lately, people have been ignoring me when I wave to them.



I feel impetuous.

>>

Some of my really good friends aren't really good at being friends.

Today I saw the most beautiful little girl in the world. She was about two years old. Her eyes are what struck me, golden-green and hooded by long dark lashes; these eyes flashed with wisdom. She had an aura of knowledge and experience, more so then even her mother, whose presence reminded of the word "bustling". Or nervous. Her mother was a twittering bird, busily trying to overcome her monsters by sweeping them under the rug. Transparent.

:::

I don't know how long I can go about fooling myself. I'm not fooling anyone else.
I suppose I complain because I want you to care. I can't continue like this, it's pathetic. It's time to stop, and to battle with reality.
I have so much passion and so much energy to fling myself into art and creativity and an outgoing attitude, but that same passion and energy is also used to hurl myself into deep, genuine, fiery hatred directed towards my very core, burning and twisting it into unhappy deformation. Is it worth it? Sometimes I don't know.


I miss those days.

()0()0

Ugh. I wonder what you eat for breakfast.

==

I just burned my hand on our dilapidated toaster oven trying to heat up soy sauce for my triumphantly plump pot stickers. The burn is the shape of a backwards Idaho, or a rather deformed boner. It hurts.

I feel empty, but too tired and hazy to feel bad about it. I'm listening to Ani Difranco and it's reminding me of my sister, who has begun her adventurous college journey. Just call me shameless. I miss her. I miss playing dress-up when we were younger and arguing over who was the pioneer and who was the indian. Do you remember Operation Neptune? Do you remember the huge, empty cardboard refrigerator box that we constructed as a tunnel between our two rooms? Do you remember sneaking in there at night with magic markers and flashlights and drawing inside of our cave until Mom heard our uncontrollable giggles? I miss that old picture of us eating bell peppers fresh from the garden, me wearing my favorite Thumbelina dress, shadowing you and your charming smile.
She was my beautician and sexual education professor. She taught me how to wear discreet makeup that Mom wouldn't notice, and decorated my face whenever I asked her to. She drew me diagrams of erect male reproductive organs when I was little and didn't understand all the hype.
When my heart was broken for the first time she wrote a song for me on the piano and sang it to me when I was sad and mopey and lingering over confusion.
I miss walking home with you and singing The Proclaimers. This college education better be worth it....

+-

I have this familiar, twisting feeling in my stomach that used to plague me every day when I was younger. A long time ago, my conscience was so huge and heavy that it would drip into my belly cavities and create an uncomfortable knot that felt similar to several hungry snakes. I was burdened with every mistake I made, every misfraction, and I cried because I wasn't perfect. I cried because every small imperfection that plagued me stayed, slowly gnawing at me until I confessed my petty sin to someone who would tell me that it was okay. As I grew older, what I called the Knot in my stomach slowly eroded away and disappeared, smothered beneath rebellion.

One of the things I despise about being a female is the jealousy that so often bothers me. It clings to me, it's like a purple monster that won't go away and won't stop whispering in my ear the constant reminders of things I want to, need to, forget. These things will destroy me. I linger on them, I pick them apart to the bone, devouring the meat and throwing it up to devour again. I continue the cycle, which morphs into self-hatred because that's only way I am capable of dealing with things. The jealousy makes a knot in my belly, it's so similar to the Knot that had existed when I was younger. The snakes spit and hiss hateful things that scrape away at my flakes of confidence. Bitterness follows close behind, a faithful companion, repulsive to me and that much more difficult to deal with considering my everlasting attempts at respect and forgiveness. This plethora of complications causes the days to prove more difficult. The most I can do is try.

//

Last night my parents and I got in an explosive argument that escalated to physical frustration. I felt disrespected and taken advantage of, they felt hurt and I deciphered it as being "anal". I yelled Fuck you! at my father, and he responded with angry impulsiveness. I tried to slap him on the arm in a piteous attempt at revenge and self-defense and froze on the mattress on the ground in dumbfounded realization that I had just made more mistakes then hours in a day. As usual. I recognized again that this anger that is embedded inside of me is unhealthy and terrifying. I never have dealt with it healthily... Time for some serious numbing action.