experiment 1

My hearts broken again but differently this time then the times before that we were all so familiar with. Those times there was a build up a continuous pulsing until it gave out and was torn and scarred. This time it feels as if it fell in slow motion right out of my chest like the tiniest delicate tea cup, I watched it fall and crack into tiny pieces like when you pop a Christmas popper and there is a split second of confetti, pieces of my heart as Christmas confetti. I find myself breathing from email to email waiting for nothing in return, I think I miss him but really I am just cursing every blonde with lengthy straight hair, which makes looking in the mirror rather difficult. I wish I had been languishing here all along, then maybe I wouldn’t find myself in a ball of sobs on the floor or lying on my back staring at the ceiling in all my depressing glory. Also if I had kept it up, the writing, then I wouldn’t be calling my mother to have her compare my problems to those of Sheryl crow who was dumped and got cancer in one week. No my problems in all hopes will never reach those proportions however I do believe we don’t possess a broom that I would trust with the job of sweeping my tea cup pieces of a bursted heart off the tile.

You should write about love

He’s fantastic” you know. I find myself doodling his name in hearts. I don’t know when it happened, this falling in love ordeal, probably right away or maybe some kind of a trickling love, a mist that grew into a heavy rain. I find myself smiling in dream, starring longingly at the pillow where he recently came to lay his head. Someone recently said that this distance must keep it interesting and fun. Yes, but it was interesting when we spent months living together, practically attached. Cooking dinner, dancing on the couch, him pinning me to the wall trying to stop my uncontrollable laughter, which only induced more giggles.

During our summer together all those hangover curing meals of Tabasco Mac n Cheese with Hot Dogs or Salami Grilled Cheese (with mayo and mustard of course) had began to put on the pounds, so I decided I would start running, but I don’t run. So I’d tell him, “I’m going to go on a run.” He’d look at me greatly surprised, I’d put on my super cute running outfit get my new video ipod and go out the door, only to jog about 50 yards and walk the remaining two miles that I had decided my route would include. I assume sitting down next to the path and watching some Law and Order: SVU on my ipod would have been time better spent. Anyway he became intrigued by this exercise I was supposedly doing and decided since he was in between baseball seasons he would run with me. Well he quickly became privy to my little white lie or exaggeration as it were. We still “ran” together everyday me walking along to the tune of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” and him laughing and lapping me so that I was getting back to the house about 20 minutes after him.

And yes I write of love; running and salami, hysterics and pillows, love.

Cat Fancy and Funerals

He comes in 10 mintues I don’t know if it’s the excitement, the latte or all that Chinese food but my stomach is doing turns and jumps like ballerinas in the Nutcracker Suite. Things are moving along steadily, I’m drinking infrequently but far too heavily, my grandpa died about two weeks ago and my relationship with my parents is becoming far more like a friendship where they call me to talk about their stressors and such. Its fine I like going to concerts with them in the city. Last week we saw my dad’s favorite rock band, he’s so much cooler then me, and we stood in the very front, him dancing, my mom said “ we’re like a little rock family.” He cried at the funeral in front of everyone, my dad, eventhough it was my mom’s father who passed, he spoke about their trips together and their friendship, it was moving, he looks old, older, it makes me sad. My poor mom is so sad I just read an email that said shes excited to go to counseling. She said she cries easily which in turn makes me get choked up. I was at the local chain bookstore drinking a latte and reading magazines to kill time until the boyfriend arrives, and I passed the cat magazines, my grandmother loved cat magazines and dog shows, she had two cats, one only had one eye and the other she named funny face. I hope I grow up to be just as crazy as all of them.

does he love you?

Its becoming too perfect, my mom was right, she said she fears the worst if he was to never do anything too right or too wrong. And now I feel like I am pushing his actions, making excuses in my mind to make him too perfect but in reality I look to myself I’m craving something, someone, anyone else, a little drama, a little weight. There was a trigger, I mean I was previously trudging along, alone, separated by a country but held together by thin phone lines and then it popped in, popped up. Her awful online profile ran across my screen ending there by flits of a mouse before my mind could stop it. The Holly, the other women of a former lover was in fact living in the very state of my desire, my desired, probably with this former lover. I became lightheaded, asked for consoling through texting my roommate. Most likely I am insane or perhaps I thought that this former lover must be still lusting looking longing after me because I am selfish. It makes me want to wear his necklace, his sweatshirt, it makes me want to call, text, email, it makes me want to move there sooner, now, tomorrow, yesterday. And yet here I wait, an empty neck, in a pink velour sweatshirt of my own, unconnected, uncontacted. And continuing living, driving, crying here on the west coast, lost in long distance perfection and untimely jealousy.

Bo and the first rain

Today was the first rain since about may or so. I had heard it was coming yesterday on the early morning news while I was getting dressed. They said it would come last night but it didn’t. It came today at about 2pm and my roommates exclaimed, “What’s that sound? Is that rain?” And we all went and stood under the skylight and stared upward watching it drip down the sides of the opaque concave window. When the mediocre meteorologist had mentioned to expect rain I wondered where my dollar store umbrella was, probably at my parents house, I’ll need to go there and get some sort of rain gear, boots, jackets with hoods and such. There’s a certain excitement among the channels though as far as the weathermen are concerned, even the reporters find it fantastical to have some kind of truth to the news, something real to report on is novelty. Regardless of all this I have come in contact with a young man who is a waiter where I now hostess. His name is Bo; he has the later shift where his tables are located nearest to my hostess stand. As I am new I am just discovering the personalities of my co-workers and they me I guess. Bo often stops to talk, make small comments about nothing of too much importance but simply to pass the time. He bares a resemblance to Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh’s friend, but with shorter darker hair but has the same happy demeanor. The rain intrigued him to much greatness. He commented that the temperature would make this situation the perfect evening to take a walk in the rain, and later he did go stand outside and upon his return reported it to be “really nice out there”. He was right about the whole taking a walk in the rain, it would be nice, walking along, sharing an umbrella with a friend or lover, laughing slipping down the city sidewalk as it gets washed clean or makes mud of the slick streets. The way the stoplights and crosswalk signals have an aquatic glow about them. Rain is an interesting thing, a season I am looking forward to, a life style of waterproof gear and squeaky shoes.



painting by Joseph La Pierre