mental ticker tape

Just once I would like to hear "Yes, I want you here, please come." rather than "It's all up to you, you can come, or you can not, makes no difference to me." Without the reason being some dire drama filled crying phone call. Why is it so easy to be desperate? But you can't say what you want on any normal fucking day?

I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of people who I let make me cry. Doesn't matter the reason, hurt, pain, happiness, a commercial. I want it all to stop.

I either want to be a mind reader, or I want people to stop expecting me to be one.

I'm tired of second hand information. I'd like to hear things from you. I'd like to know that the silences are not you telling someone else, what you could be telling me.

I'd like to know what to say. All the time. I'd like to stop the gut wrenching worrying that I'm going to say the wrong thing. Be the wrong person. Not be sympathetic enough, caring enough, involved enough. I'd like to not know that I'm entirely self-involved. Or better yet, I'd like to not be entirely self-involved.

I'm tired of stipulations on all my relationships. I'm tired of: well you'll only get this far, unless you do this. I don't want any more fucking ultimatums, unspoken or not. I'll compromise as much as the next person. I'll work just as much as you will to keep this connection going. But stop toying with me.

I'm tired of distance. Real miles as well as metaphysical. Probably more metaphsyical, since I can change locations at any given time, but I don't always know how to reach you when you're right next to me.

I'm tired of double standards. I no longer want to be an open book. I don't think I ever wanted to be one.

I'm tired of pink elephants. I'm tired of secrets. I'm tired of having things to confess. I'm tired of duality.

I'm tired of jealousy. Extremely tired of this merry go round of emotions.

I'm tired of wanting. Of all kinds.


I don't know why I never take the time to write the things in my head that make me happy. The things that bring me joy. Probably because when I am happy I want to be furthest I can be from words, from pens and paper, and this machine for the purpose of writing. These are just the build up of things, from every day, things that have refused to go away, or be addressed. Things that pop into my head, that popped into my head when I looked at this page.

perpetuating the chain

So three questions. If anyone is actually reading this (yes I know two of you are) and you have some questions you're just dying to ask me, here's your chance. Though I would wonder why you didn't just ask me in the first place.

Any question, and you'll get a truthful answer. Send an email, post them here, smoke signals, morse code, hell, you could even dig up a marconi if you wanted.

words that say it better than I could

Rage

In me there is a rage to defy
the order of the stars
despite their pretty patterns.
To see if Gods who hold forth now
on human thrones
can will away my lust
to dare
and press to order the anarchy
I would serve.

The silence between your words
rams into me
like a sword.
--------------------------------
Will

It does not impress me that I have
a mind.
Chance amuses me.
Coincidence makes me laugh
out loud.
Fate weighs me down
too heavy.

When I can't bear not seeing
you another second,
I send out my
will;
when it brings us face to
face,
there's an invisible power
I respect!



-Alice Walker

you assume I have a point...silly you

I believe in any relationship you reach a point where you begin to wonder why you love this person. Maybe things are hard, frustrations pile up, and the work that it takes to keep things going just seems like too much. In relationships that have lasted a long time, you reach this point more than most. Generally, when I come to find myself anguishing over this question, I fade away. I come to the conclusion that loving them is too hard. Well, no, that isn’t accurate, not that loving them is too hard, because I still do that. I haven’t gotten to the point where I know how to stop loving someone. I’m not sure anybody ever does. But I come to conclusion that I don’t fit in their lives, or they don’t fit in mine, and it’s better to quit chafing to make it seem so. All you do is rub away the parts that made you love each other in the first place.

It has taken me a long time and a lot of lessons to understand that love is work. Any kind of love, any kind of relationship is work. And balance. Allowing the other person to grow, making sure that while you grow you keep them in the loop. Listening, really hearing what they tell you. Supporting their decisions. Millions of other little tidbits. And even with the great strides I have made, I still know that I have so much left to learn. I’m ok with that. In some ways, I look forward to it.

Lately all I’ve been doing is asking myself if it’s worth it. Everything is beginning to seem too hard. Or pointless. And I’m beginning to look at people with questions rather than the answers I already know. I’ve been coming close to giving up. But I woke up today to something that reminded me why I love. My sleep had been filled with dreams of some of the people that have been giving me the most cause to question and I had decided to stop, decided that really maybe it wasn’t worth it. But eight little insignificant words, left for me on a whim, for no real purpose, made me laugh. God, did I laugh. And a little bit of the weight the rests on my heart lifted. All the reasons I’ve worked so hard, refused to let them drift away from me, came rushing back.

It’s really the little things. The things you do without motive, without greater purpose that count the most for me. Calling because you wanted to, not because there was something you needed to tell me. Letters hand written just to say I am missed. Emails filled with nothing but ramblings just because you wanted to connect with me. The pebble you picked up on a walk that you gave me because you thought I might like it. Messages left on a whim, just to make me laugh. Those count, oftentimes more than people realize. I’m going to make damn sure that they know those eight words were very much needed.

So I’m firmly grabbing hold again. The white towel has been put away. I know I’ll come to the point where things are hard again, and the questions are coming one on top of the other. I’ll look at the combined history and only see the problems. But I know something will come along to knock some sense in me.

I'm hoping I can return the favor, for someone else. Remind them without even knowing, why they love me, or why they love something. Make them smile, and laugh, and look at things in not quite so dire a fashion.

to just about everyone I know...

Somebody asked me, wouldn’t it be nice to have a rewind button for life? And initially I would say yes. There are tons of things that I could have done differently, better, or not at all. But after having sat here, confronted with some of my decisions, I say no. I would not want a rewind button. I have done the things I have done. Made the decisions I have made. Said the things I have said. Because that was who I was then, I did what I did as best as I was capable of. It’s quite often not pretty, or likeable, or even admirable. But it was all me, without the supposed magical gift of hindsight. So I claim my regrets gladly, knowingly and will continue on.

Acceptance, however, does not preclude wishing things had been different. That is the nature of regret. Idly, at least once a day, I envision a world that is not shrouded in secrecy and intrigue, and varying levels of trust. I can indulge in such nonsense in my head, because while the reality of such a thing would frighten me beyond belief, the idea is theoretically perfect. I would not have to wonder when I was treading too heavily, I would not have to worry about the things you are saying to other people, that you feel you cannot say to me. I would not have to carefully pick over my actions bit by bit to piece together which one caused which problem. Ideally…perfect. But in reality, no one is strong enough for that kind of disclosure. Not even me, even though I want it. I want it despite the hurt, because, perhaps mistakenly, I figure it has got to be better than the wondering.

I can sit here and say all the things I have been holding back. I can sit here and say that I want to listen to you, no matter what is in your head. I can sit here and say that I am sorry for hurting you. And none of it matters, if you are not listening. If you are not willing to believe me.

Now. If I could just take these words to heart, just as much as I would urge you too. Everything would be ideal.