12 posts tagged “watch it bub”
people who take themselves so goddamn seriously that they're impossible to have a conversation with without trying not to send them to a work camp in your head.
people who take themselves too seriously should be sent to volunteer in a cancer ward. they should not be allowed to adhere to any fashion craze/scene/trend that may inhibit their punishment/redemption/heart growth of spending time with people who are allowed to take themselves so seriously but by virtue of the fact that they're awesome... don't.
end scene.
it attacked me in the shower. a normal morning, otherwise, it prevented me from breathing or whimpering in any delicate way, or any way at all. i only had to stand there with my hand on the tile, my other palm on my foreheade, all of me breathing deeply until it stopped.
it beat the air from my lungs and turned my face into an unbelievable mess. i didn't have time to recuperate, move my neck, or brace myself. i didn't see it coming, on this day, for no palpable reason. my memory just kicked my fucking ass.
the days are short, and time is abundant. i never pictured myself as the kind of chick to long for the nine to five, but you just get burned out. you get to feeling like you want to know what to expect.
the big surprises in your life, they hop on you from behind the half-closed doors and give you a fuckin' heart attack. you can't breathe. you stop short in some crooked, question mark pose while your heart skips a beat. eventually, your heart yearns for that even pace.
i used to write. really write.
but it was all when i had so much in my head and so many people to be angry with ... and then there was THEM. the expense on my system was beyond taxing; it was exhausting. i was a shell.
i don't have as much to say anymore, and maybe it's because that passion to fight has left my system; like all good grown-ups, i've learned it just doesn't help. but what i do say, i want it to really rock you. i want you to appreciate the letters within the words and savor every moment of time i spend writing this. i want to be appreciated and loved for the words that come out of my mouth. i want to be published from the mountain tops. i want to be translated into 43 different languages. i want libraries to tick 'yes' in the box next to my name. i want it all, for no fee whatsoever.
is it sad that i think i deserve it?
four years go by, and does anyone remember? has anyone followed me from here to now?
letting the bottom rot through, it eats your brain. when your feet are in the rising water, you just gotta cry out.
while a lot of girls have distinctive hormonal problems/imbalances/bad tidings during pms, mine are kind enough to continue right through ovulation.
in other words? i am one fuckin' moody bitch.
for those of you who just started in on me and my life, my emotions travel through me at great speed and with little care as to the havoc they cause on body and soul. if only my metabolism was as quick and effective, i wouldn't have spent the better part of the week trying to peel the skin from my vessel. after much deliberation, i am allergic to collared greens, and 66% of events make me cry during the second week of the month. those are my conclusions, doubt them if you will but i have the blotchy skin and hiccupped breathing to vouch for it all.
last night, as i asked my husband to talk to me to sleep as i always do. he asked me, where do you think you'll be in two years? and two years, as slight amount of time as it may seem, upon consideration, is actually not only life altering but incredibly healing as well.
in two years, i hope to have a happy husband, a baby, and a house to call our own. also, i want to finish something.
"finish what?"
anything.
there hasn't been room in my head to write for the last year, and i believe i may have lost sight of something as i got caught up in the everlasting and hypnotizing changes that happen when you're my age. there's a sliver of "goal" left in me yet, and i am still a writer, above and beyond any other dream i've ever had. i am a writer, and staying true to that by finishing something, anything, is my focus of the sometimes dimwitted attention span i have to call my own.
on that note, the episode when dr. green dies was on TNT this morning. i stupidly watched it in this delicate condition of being a frikkin' chick. i was crying for the last twenty minutes.
why is it that everytime i meet an average male of non-descript age ... i think his name is danny?
i swear, "oh you know, the internet guy, i think his name was danny."
"the guy i talked to last time said the bill was all set. i think his name was danny."
anytime i go to think of a name for this fellow of passing significance ... danny.
strange how our minds fill in the blanks for us and try to convince us that their not lying.
thanks.
i don't miss it that much, you know ... being new. my feet finding that particular pavement for that first time, or my eyes darting from here to there with a twinge of not only self-doubt but relinquishing the power i had to a new city.
i was new for two years, because as far as that tiny country went and no matter how many people in a pub i knew, i was always the yank, always that american girl, yer wan wit da ink.
unfortunately, now i'm in a sea of same and struggling to seem new to those that matter. or i suppose those i'm told matter because i can't see a difference between my struggles and their own, between the hair that grows on my head and the scalp they scratch while perusing my toe to head indefinitely.
take a long walk to a cul-de-sac and turn around to do it all again but in reverse order as though you're seventeen again, and you couldn't give a fuck if you tried and tried and tried to alphabetize each line that they gave you, each reason to say no.
there's a funny story: this girl that worked for me thought that i made up the word "alphabetize", and she viewed me as though i was the ultimate keeper of this word. i was so damn organized that i, indeed, had spent my most precious moments brainstorming a word to encapsulate not only the alphabet, but the placing of things into said alphabet. i have to say, it was a great day for the part of me that gets off on being a "manager". otherwise, i just laughed near her and wondered what my life would have been like if i had pioneered that particular word.
what was i on about? being new. i'm feeling old, but not in years ... more so in "been there, done that" terms. and i suppose this is a cry for, please color me different in a sky of blue.
because yesterday, i was having a bad day, and the ice cream scoop that i so triumphantly bought for 25 cents at a yard sale was made specifically for right handed people.
left-handed people have thumbs, too, and it would do you all well to remember that.
The extreme outskirts of Chicago, this is the area that is populated solely with confusing access roads and hotels with conference rooms and continental breakfasts. We were staying in a Holiday Inn for the weekend, relishing the indoor courtyard and heated pool.
The hotel was the repetitive design of so many other Holiday Inns scattered across the world. There were seven floors of rooms, stacked identically on top of one another. The rooms lined the perimeter of the rectangular building, allowing you to step out of your room across seven or eight feet of carpet and look down upon the palm-filled, Spanish tiled, indoor courtyard.
It was my boyfriend’s grandfather’s birthday that week. He was turning seventy-five years old, and someone decided to throw him a surprise party. This was the incidental cause for my stay in a suburb of Chicago with my boyfriend, three kids and my boyfriend’s mom and step-father for exactly three days.
Our rooms were side by side on the fifth floor, and the two youngest liked to run ahead of us to fight over who got to push the button to summon the elevator. Ben, being a couple inches taller and a couple years older than little chestnut-haired Julia, usually won out, but she would giggle and run after him just the same. Her pint-sized legs would carry her just swiftly enough to witness Ben pressing the button, again, and she would scream about how it was her turn to push the button. Ellen’s motherly voice would ring out each time, “Ben, let Julia push the button!”
The afternoon of the party, all seven of us were rushing to get out the door and over to the hall to help set up for the main event. While my boyfriend and I were waiting for the elevator, I realized that I had forgotten my camera, and so we doubled back to our room. I popped in, retrieved my camera, and made a comment about how he should get his coat while we were there.
As we were leaving our room, Ellen and the kids were leaving theirs as well. Ben and Julia had run up ahead of their parents as usual, and Julia, trailing behind, stopped to talk to us as we came out of the room. Instead of actually stopping though, she continued a few feet, and in her three-year-old way, stared at us over her shoulder as her feet made dilly-dallying and shuffling sorts of movements. She was fussing around restlessly and trying to get a few words together over her sudden shyness. He and I messed with the card key to get back in to get his coat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement that wasn’t quite right.
I turned around to see that Julia had slipped her tiny toddler frame through the bars of the railing. She was now standing on the half a foot ledge. There was nothing but a breath of air between her and the five-story drop to the courtyard floor.
Just ten feet away, Ellen stood, unable to move, and stared at her baby girl. I saw Ellen’s hands move to her mouth, covering a silent scream. Julia stood on the edge, in no way realizing that one foot-shuffle could be catastrophic.
Slowly and without hesitation, I moved toward Julia. I put my hand down at my side and turned my palm to my boyfriend, telling him silently to stay still and not make a noise. I did not look at Ellen.
Julia watched me with her inquisitive blue eyes from the wrong side of the railing. I approached her cautiously but with the necessary speed. The couple of seconds it took me to reach her stretched out to seem like hours.
When I stepped up to the railing, I reached over the thick hotel-type banister and softly put my hand on her brown curls. My hand led her back through the bars without effort and without a twitch. It was only after she set both of her feet on the carpet that any of us began to breathe again.
I didn’t know Julia well, having only met her once. So, when she looked at me standing next to her, it was with an air of question and hesitance, a why are you doing this? sort of expression.
Ellen finally made a noise; it was somewhere between a screech and a sob, and Julia ran over to her. Crying, Ellen crouched down and hugged her smallest child close to her. “I would have scared her. She would have jumped. I would have gone too quickly.” And if only because mommy was crying, Julia began to cry too.
i think we have actually done it. i think we may have found a dresser that we actually like for a reasonable price.
counting our chickens, we pick it up tomorrow morning.
now, if only we could find jobs.
for your enjoyment, two pictures of me at my old job in galway. i miss working.
