(untitled)

Lately I've been wondering if when you're moping around the house due to over-thought about a certain someone, if they're doing the same about you. Spelling errors lurk and stare with ashy and irritating eyes: I hate retyping things. Backspace, backspace, backspace.

The rhythm on the keys reminds me of transcribing. Why can't I leave work at work?

Probably because you're the reason I still show up.

Look after you

Wow, it's been a really long work week. In fact, shhhh I'm still at work. We're just testing a new project and I've had very little luck--if you can call it that.

It's been a long week for three reasons:

1. I drink too much which makes work the time in between drunk

2. You're on my mind 9/10ths of the time which makes work hard

3. I don't get paid nearly enough for the hell I endure.

The thought of you wanting to quit makes me hurt. I don't know, I've never felt this kind of pain in a long time, not since I was around 16 and I didn't want someone else to leave. It's hard to believe I'm this attached, it's even harder to believe there's any chance between us.

You may have alluded to it before once or twice, and definitely when you literally told me when we were all drunk/high but does it even mean the same thing? Does it even mean what I want it to mean?

Your anger scares some of the other girls at work. It only makes me worry and fear what I wouldn't know how to deal with. You remind me so much of someone in a lot of ways, and it's so problematic, it was so hard to deal with them and it's not going to be any easier now.

I'd like to think I'd be the one to save you, but in the end, it's always you to be saving me.

Morenighttimepoetry.

Lost in the light of the night, I'm brought back to life

Bring it back to me, this beautiful sight

of spinning and reeling, and crying and sleeping

I'm lost in the curve of your arms, the curve of your body

like hills and mountains, I climb and I fall

just to let you catch me

over and over again

You bring out the light in me, this beautiful lie

of tracing lines across the curve of your bed,

the lines of your face, they linger in my mind still

These are the moments that are keeping me alive

A little nighttime personal poetry

Something missing from this, all caught up in loneliness

Smells of old booze and cigarettes, empty bed and empty sex

I'm filled with boredom, tedium and repetition

Hard to concentrate on the mundane; It's hard to celebrate the lack

of fulfillment, of laughter and of letting go

Because in my mind, you're still around

Something was missing from me that day, and I found it

all caught up in a mess, a mess of you and me and mistakes

all the time, I fly around trying to find the you within everything

trying to find meaning, what can I do to create it

Create it in spirit of you, gone without ever to come back

Twisting, and twirling; Writing and calling out to the night

In spirit of you, all caught up in me.

Update 3!

So yes, it's a lovely golden colour now. In other news. SOUTH PARK IS AWESOME. Spoofing the Royal Wedding, while making fun of traditions? Yes.

Update: Orange and Brown

So the haircolour managed to lift to a delightful orange colour with some brown streaks left in it. Luckily that would look good, cept I needed ASH brown. I dont get it how there could be so much RED in my hair when I only ever dye it ASH and i have ASH freaking roots. Argh.

So, here I go, dying my hair today with a colour that may look terrible. if it does I guess I just have to tough it out (ponytail and cute headband) until I can a) afford to get it fixed or b) come up with an idea. (tone it out or just plain bleach [again])

Wish me luck!

Hair Dye party

So today my friends and I made a trip to the beauty supply store. I had been thinking for awhile of dying my hair a honey blonde colour, but I guess this time shit's got real.

This is the colour I wanted: http://www.sallybeauty.com/wella-haircolor/SBS-800438,default,pd.html

After manic panic flash lightning and a lot of anguish... Kaitlyn's hair looks soooo orange! Lucky because we're dyeing it red :)

Updates to follow

First true Moment of the summer

Walking in Waterloo Park, with an old friend. Not so much old, as just has been there through everything. She's been there, through thick and thin; she's been there through black and blue. But this isn't about her. It's about you.

I know you've been gone some time now, almost 9 months or so. But it really doesn't feel like that long. We talk all the time. And though those feelings have passed, you still retain a special place in my heart. That little bit of retainment has given me hope, especially in the long lonely nights that now seem to be commiserating against me, collaborating and multiplying in the early morning wake-ups, delivered with love by my cat George. (For the record he's not mine, I'm babysitting him for the summer and just am taking care of him for the time being)

Every single time you pull me back in, breathe it in like it's never been more than just a few days since we last ...met. Listening to indie music that somehow aims at what I feel, listening to some songbird swoon over how she was in love once, and then lost it, because of something or other.

It seems we've all been through something like that before. It seems like everyone has felt like this; why is it so unavoidable? Why is it so unbelievable that we never dated, never even talked about this, yet it felt more real than anything I've ever felt before..Why is it so damn hard to let go of that moment. Moments are eternal. They're everything.

And when you can't let go, you relive the moment in every passer-by, every gaze held just long-enough, and every sappy indie song that he sends you. It's all for you.

It's all for you

How I fell in love without ever being in a traditional relationship

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/how-i-fell-in-love-without-ever-being-in-a-traditional-relationship/

By Sara David. (Props, because this is something I wish I had the guts to write. Love and light)

My parents divorced before I could remember—I only know of the aftermath. I remember the loneliness of diaspora, the accelerated rate of my emotional growth, my distrust of anyone trying to get close to me. My parents were young and forced to marry due to an unplanned pregnancy. I do think they were in love once, but it was the kind that involved falling head over heels, and then putting one foot in front of the other until one day, you are somewhere you don’t want to be with someone you don’t really know. I don’t think I believed in love in a tangible way—of course I understood it in theory, wanted it badly for myself—but I had never seen two people in love the way I wanted to be in love. (A combination of deep, tender love that managed to be light-hearted) I had never felt that kind of love close to me.

I lost my virginity when I was twenty years old, to a friend who lived across the hall from me. A little while later, we were being silly after sex and he said something about “all of our love-making.” My face turned bright red at the mention of love and he added quickly, “or whatever this is.”

A month later, he dumped me (it was awkward—was I even his girlfriend?) and I sort of just assumed, worried, dreaded that that’s how my life would be: devoid of “traditional,” long-term, committed love. I experienced an all-consuming depression/existential crisis and decided to drop everything to follow my bliss.

At twenty, I opted to take time off from school, move to Brooklyn on my own, and live a little. I worked hard (three jobs at a time hard) and played hard—met men in any and every way, accepted every date and set-up offer, and eased my problems with some good old-fashioned sleeping around—a la “looking for love in all the wrong places.” I concluded that the best way to avoid the pain of a broken heart was to never stand still long enough to feel it—so I moved, every chance I had. I thought that if life would only offer me sex instead of love, I would take what I could get and figure the rest out later.

And then, one night, I met a man who seemed to have it all figured out.

We met at a bar in Park Slope—he was a handsome, bearded stranger who bought me a gin and tonic. I admired his toothy smile and bright eyes as we talked about life and love for about two hours before I was drunk enough to say what I was really thinking. “Hey, I’ve had a lot to drink and I’m finding you really hard to read right now… are you flirting with me? Do you have any interest in having sex with me?” I asked loudly and unabashedly over the music. He laughed and said, “Yes, do you want to come over?” I declined because I had work the next day and the G train service was really spotty at that hour, but we exchanged numbers and I made him promise that we would see each other again.

A few days later, we ended up at his house after dinner. He convinced me to have sex with the light on, which I typically avoid, and he would do things like thank me between kisses and whisper compliments in my ear as we cuddled up during episodes of The Office. This confused me. I thought, why does he feel the need to play the seduction game with me? Doesn’t he know that he already has me? Don’t I know that he already has many women besides me? Once he called me “pretty” as he moved the hair out of my face and I pulled away. “Don’t play pretend…you don’t have to sweet talk me. I know what this is.” He looked me in the eye and said, “Who’s pretending?” And when we kissed I felt a smile on his mouth.

After everything, I tried to put my clothes on, but he snaked his limbs through mine and fell asleep. And it was there, in a brownstone in Park Slope, tangled up in a man’s sheets and limbs, that I breathed deeper than I had before. And I fell asleep with him—something I hadn’t done with any man since my first boyfriend. For some reason, this innocuous action felt more intimate than anything else we had done between the sheets.

At that point in my life, my states of being were always fleeting. I was very used to things that didn’t last. I didn’t even have dishes in my apartment. I threw everything out after a single use because I was just that kind of person.

I didn’t think things would be any different with him—but they really were. What ensued was a months-long affair with a self-proclaimed “free-spirited lover” who took orders from no one, had sex with many women, and defined his life by the love he made. I tried often to let him know that if he were willing to give me more than sex, I would take it with open arms. I would ask him on dates to movies, or on days when I felt daring, lunch in a public place. He declined all of my offers, but was always willing to make love to me and hold me all night. I would always accept. I just couldn’t get enough of him.

He gave me the kind of sex that one could only dream of—sweet and fun, yet heavy with tenderness. He affirmed me every chance he had, and gave me true affection at a very lonely period of transition in my life. He was this totally zen, crunchy-vegan sex god who spent hours a day hanging out in Prospect Park. It was so easy to love him. Once, during sex, I came everywhere. When we were done, he wrapped his arms around me and I buried my face into his skin, embarrassed as hell. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “I feel like I might have just peed all over your bed.” He asked, “Did it feel good?” I nodded and he added, “Then what does it even matter?”

As beautiful as I remember it, our relationship wasn’t all sweet and easy—I was often insecure about our relationship’s ambiguous nature. There were times when I didn’t feel satisfied with what he had to offer me—I would mention something I really wanted to do with him, maybe watch a movie or go to an event at work, but he would answer saying things like, “Well, good luck with that.” Or sometimes he would start talking about another girl while we were together and I would be left feeling wounded.

And then there were times when I was so happy that I couldn’t even enjoy it because I kept thinking about how sad I would be when it would end. I thought that I had to search for more—in retrospect, I think it’s true. I believe that I always need to keep reaching, stop worrying about the sustainability of my states of bliss, stop worrying about the potential pain I might experience in my pursuit of happiness. And I think I can live with that. All of my openness that leads to feeling foolish or embarrassed, rejected or discouraged: it’s such a small price to pay. At least I could rest easy knowing that I had told him my truths.

I never really knew if I was doing things right (is sending this text appropriate? do I call him my boyfriend when I talk about him to my coworkers?) but I felt sure that we were doing a pretty good job at being happy together, even if it was only for short bouts of time. When the year was up and it was time for me to return to New England for school, we didn’t make a big show of our goodbye. We held each other tenderly, said, “Thank you,” and walked away. I haven’t seen him since.

In ways that I don’t think I can ever explain, he made me feel… loved.

Somehow, in the murky, clouded world of “friends with benefits,” “hook-ups,” and “dating,” I was able to see very clearly. It is here, with the person that you care about, that you can create your own rules, expectations, and definitions, of love. Navigating the vast expanse of sort-of relationships is terrifying—there are no rules, and infinite chances to screw up. But it’s in that sometimes perfect, sometimes miserable, space that we can learn what our wants, needs, and expectations are through trial and error. We learn what it takes to make us happy.

I didn’t fall in love, I didn’t lose myself in someone else—I rose in love and found myself—I made an active decision to let him in despite my bitter nature. In return, he saved me from my jaded introversion by loving me deeply in the context of a non-traditional relationship. He showed me that the love I crave is possible, and that I must cultivate it myself. I know that I want to enter future relationships with an open heart—prepared for play and intimacy, ready to have fun and put in the work it takes to build this from the ground up. Our relationship. Our love. Or whatever this is.

Oh What a Day

So, as I was walking home from work today I had a little bit of a revelation. I haven't had a legitimate date or boyfriend since first year. I'm entering my fourth. Yikes?! Did my biological clock suddenly turn on, did I realize that I'm turning into a crazy cat lady with crazy cat lady friends--- or simply, did I realize that within a few days, it'll be exactly a year.

A year since it all 'went down'. Sure, it seems a little reflective for my liking, but it's been a year since I realized I didn't want to be who I was, and became instead who I am now. I had been a long time coming. All new clothes, unfortunately -- and new shoes. New choices. Am I back to where I was? Lonely and feeling fat?

Is it time again, for that change? Am I going through yet another remodel?

What will I become, if not an improvement upon what I am now.. There's just a lot running through my head. Running in general. I wish I could put foot to pavement instead of hand to keyboard/pen to paper. There's a lot I want to get out, and I don't want to say it.

OH well.

Why am I [so] alone?