If You Wanna Be My Lover

Okay, so I sang karaoke to the Spice Girls tonight. This should be an ultimate shocker in some regards. One because I dont sing in public ever, and two because I dont listen to pop music for the most part. However, there was something ultra enticing about the thought about getting up with my possibly not so clear minded friends and singing the spice girls. It wasnt even like there was inhibition. Perhaps their lack of fear was all I need. I think it is safe to say that I now can go to sleep knowing I did one thing that scared me today. And it was awesome. And I really just like the word lover.

Elephant Shoes

I dont know where I heard it. Somewhere along the way to growing up a little bit and learning that words are hard to express. Sometime before I had to come to understand the meaning and impact of words. And yet saying elephant shoe is just so much easier than so many other things. I even think it. Instead of thinking of what I should say or what I could say or the mature appropriate thing I just think of how I prefer a cop out. I prefer to not say everything sometimes because I have a massive fear that things arent as perfect as they seem. And things dont even seem perfect.

I guess it is called adaptation. Survival of the fittest. Its how natural selection works. We adapt or we die. Not always literally, but in some sense we become obsolete and extinct if we do not find ways to adapt. I think some adaptations can be negative, we can desensitize ourself. And in that space between us supposed to be feeling and the space of nonexisting we can just not acknowledge the feeling in any real sense. We accept things as normal that arent. We shouldnt have to. But its how we cope. We deal with the difficult by not dealing with it and normalizing it.

I noticed this on the usual walk this morning. I made an off handed comment in a lighthearted comment about a serious topic and my friend stopped and looked at me. And then she acknowledged that if she didnt know better she would think I was joking as my nonchalance seemed abnormal. Its how I cope. Things are less real and less able to control your life if you dont give them that power.

Back to the important things though. The elephant shoe. I think about it all the time. I let it consume me when it shouldnt. I cant help it. I am so happy that it scares me. I dont want to screw this up but I dont know if I know how to actually let things be when they are good. I hope I can learn fast. I am happy, and mostly its because of a boy.

Let The Rain Fall Down and Wake My Dreams

Hilary Duff sang a song one time. Or maybe many times. Actually lets make it twice because I currently have two songs of hers depicting this moment. I just remember this one specific song though because of the lyrics. The blatant obvioussness of them along with the pure fact and ridculousness just stuck with me. For example "If the light is off then it isnt on".Who sings that? I mean I know that if my light is off then that means it isnt on. Thanks for the reminder. That is not the point though or why I am writing tonight.

Its been a rainy day. One of those evenings where you could just sit and watching the rain pouring down the windows. Like in the music video for come clean. Or at least what I remember the video being like from a decade ago. And I did. I sat at work watching the rain because the power was out and there wasnt much I could do while trying to cancel the afternoons appointments. And as I watched the rain I thought about how refreshing, renewing and cleansing it is. I love being out in the rain, letting it just fall on my face and feeling like everything is a bit purer. I like laying on my bed and listening to the rain falling outside because its soothing. And for some reason every time it is really stormy outside the rain makes me think of that third L word. That thing that is so elusive and yet seems so much deeper when it rains. So I think I will be like Hilary tonight and let the rain wake my dreams.

My lack of rereading my own writing recently is becoming blaringly apparent to me. I know I am only writing to try and release the pressure I feel. The pressure that only I am placing on myself yet I cant lift it. Its like I am allowing myself to be crushed under a boulder I placed on me. The feeling is surreal in a third definition of free dictionary masochistic way. Its as if I wont allow myself to feel peace and joy. The second I want to say how happy I am I let something ruin it. I let myself be enveloped in overwhelming things that should be sitting on shelves. My life feels unsorted. As if there are books and papers and clothes strewn everywhere in representation of objects and life situations. An yet my room is rather neat minus the notes to study. The feeling in unsettling. Its lonely. And yet I only want to be alone. I am avoiding even leaving this slightly rectangular shaped place because inside it there is only a faint sound of rain and the obvious sound of my records. It is a haven. A haven where the only one that can hurt me is myself. And that is possibly my biggest enemy. I need a break from my own head. 

Let me clarify. I have a life that is above adequate. I just feel inadequate and continually find myself in unfortunate or less than ideal situations that become overwhelming and all encompassing. This week has been full of such situations. I think I could use a few weeks where I only have good karma. That would be pleasant. But maybe I am too scared of being happy to let that happen.

The History You Didnt Take Because The History Is Just History

In some lines of work you have to take a history. To find out what has happened to be able to find out how to proceed. To be able to piece together everything. I am efficient at this. I know the order to do so. I can handle open and closed ended questions and responses. I am wary of the time and can do this effectively. However, that is in the form of work. It is not in life.

Life doesnt work that way. You dont take a complete history upon meeting. You have to piece together answers over a long period of time and then look at the picture. And some pieces will be missing, maybe forever, and maybe not. Unless all barriers are broken there will never be an entire picture. So its not the same. So in life sometimes you come across another piece and as you place it in you feel accomplishment, like you are building something. And some pieces are full of history thats dark and tainted, things you didnt want to know but realize you should know. Everyone has history, I just didnt know what yours was and somehow it hurt.

It makes me wonder if I should take a more thorough history of people sooner, prevent the surprises. This week has felt like an emotional roller coaster, but one thats in a nightmare because you cant control it and cant just get off. It doesnt just end after one minute of glorious horror. It just keeps going. I feel out of control. Like there is nothing around that I can just take charge of. Perhaps thats why I keep letting my phone ring without answering. Its something I can actually choose. Sorry if you feel shut out today, I just want to be alone.

I Know I Know I Know

You know when you have something in your head and you're sure it will be real but you actually dont want it to be? And then you get clarity. An answer. That's all you want. Perhaps it will bring closure. It will clear the murky water that appears to be your life. And you get it. You get your answer. And its exactly what you thought. You knew all along. But somehow the thought of it is suffocating. Each inhale is agonizing. Its like something is sucking all of the air out of the atmosphere and you struggle to breathe.

How can you know the answer already, be sure of it, and just be waiting for confirmation and yet when you get that confirmation it's a shock to your system? Aren't you prepared already? Mentally, verbally, you know what will happen. You anticipated it. So why does it feel so foreign? I wish I knew. I think its because I was lying to myself. I lied all along. I said it was okay. It wasn't okay. I am scared, apprehensive and feeling anxious about making everything work out. The future is hard to handle. I need to get back into the now. Into this moment. I need to recentre my thoughts.

Even though I knew in my head all along, today was still not a good day. It was a day full of overwhelmingness. Tomorrow is a new day. At least I wasnt alone today.

I'll Dispose of You Like a Lighter Out of Fuel

The lyrics are morbid and spiteful. I gave you these roses now but I left in the thorns. I would rather hurt someone than myself. And yet they continually dance around my mind. I think of this song and how disposable some things are. How selfish humans are. How we can toss people to the side once they fill their purpose. How tragic. And yet a day full of peace, comfort and blatant honesty brings me to this song.

Perhaps because I have had disposable relationships. I have been the one scared to be hurt so walked away and hurt others in the fear of opening up and being vulnerable. And then I have been the one hurt as someone else has been closed. And then there are times of mutual disposability. But what do you do when one day you wake up and realize the lighter is out of fuel and yet you love it, so you cant let it go. All you can do is put it in a drawer and continue on. To forget about it unless you come across it. Being fuelless it has little purpose. Unless it was refueled. Perhaps this is just another demonstration of my inability to let things go. I do, eventually. But its like owning a camera and then running out of film, you dont toss it, unless they stop making film for it. Then it has no purpose and perhaps will find its way to the trash next to your old ikea lamp.

Disposability is tragic. Yet those people that resist it, the ones that remain in your life, like the thorns on roses, should be treasured. A thorn prick only hurts for a moment. Nothing compared to the beauty of the rose. This reasoning is only my way of justifying to myself why I once chose to love someone that I knew would break my heart. It seems so long ago. Something that occurred in a time when life was different. It feels so unemotional. Like a fact. Its like just looking at a table and reading fractions. I used to love you. You didnt love me and I left. We had potential, a lot of it. But potential isnt and wasnt enough to prevent me from leaving. And you would never have asked. I never once thought that it hurt you when I got on that plane. The fact is it did. And that all is so irrelevant. Except you know all of my secrets and regardless of the thorns and the lack of fuel you are still there. There in the sense that we can unemotionally talk about the facts, the words that should be dramatic and feel nothing. And at the same time you can say the words to me that you dont know why they are coming out, words you dont express, and know that my heart aches for you. Your humaness is endearing. But at the end of the day it doesnt change anything. Perhaps then you knew all along, so the facts were just general conversation in a heavy sense.

I nearly erased this due to its lack of external meaning. Its all from the past. The past isnt now. Its been 9 months since I got on that plane and that was the end. The fact is I am falling in love with someone here. But then again that doesnt change that the indisposability of a past relationship has given me a human that knows my secrets and is finally opening up. I guess I didnt dispose of everyone like a lighters out of fuel when I left. But everyone needs a friend like that sometimes.

I lied, I would rather hurt myself then someone else.

I Can Guarantee That Lickin' The Package Ain't Ever Quite As Good As

Its like when you get a cup of chocolate pudding and you open it up and lick off the lid. Its just a quick tease of how good the pudding is about to be. If you only got that, well. you would be sorely disappointed. It just is a fraction of the exquisiteness that is about to enfold in your mouth.

Life is so much like this sometimes. We get a quick sample of something and are left yearning for more. Or  even left just knowing that the whole thing is so much better. Maybe its abnormal but I feel this way with people sometimes. Its like when all you get is a text or a fb message or an email you are just left feeling like you only got a sample. Such a small piece compared to what it was like to see them or hangout or just be together.

I got the most miraculous mail today. It was part of a package I had ordered from my favourite artist. A young man who's music has been touching my life since high school days. I was psyched to see how his solo album turned out. And then I got a poster that thanked me for launching his solo career (standard poster right) and then for being from Canada, that was funny in and of itself. It should be noted that I actually became friends with him a few years back which was so epically amazing because he is crazy down to earth and a solid guy. And then he sent along a friendly note and random photos of himself. It was hilarious. I like that I know someone that is a tiny bit famous and that he is such a dear because it makes me feel special and remembered.

But to tie it all together, it just reminded me how much better it was when I could just go to his shows and chat with him, and then at his shows I would go with JD and her and I would giggle and be us. And then I think about Provo and other humans that I miss and then my family. And I just realize that skype and facebook and text messages and phone calls are great. But they will never be quite as good as being with those people. Just like how licking the package is never going to be quite as good.

More Than an Accumulation of Labels

Eyes closed. Breath overcoming all over sensation. Your mind is silencing as the foreign music blocks out any other thoughts. You are allowing yourself to let go. Welcome to the end of my classes. This morning I was filling in again at a club I prefer. I have never received so much positive feedback about anything in my life as I do there. After taking all of their classes last week and another one today I feel reminded. Reminded of what I love and why I do it. 

Reminders come with questioning though. I wonder why I am a graduate student. Why I didnt just pursue this full time. I honestly love yoga with a passion thats incomparable in my life. The only other thing that brings me that feeling of satisfaction, purity and accomplishment is writing. And yet neither of these things are my life. How do we get on the paths we are on and when do we know if they are right?

I can undoubtably say that when I teach a solid class and people leave feeling renewed and even come up to thank me I feel honoured. Honoured that I could be a part of their practice and that they would share such a personal and meaningful meditation with me. I regret that I dont spend more time on my own practice. I am really striving to change that.

This week has left me full of doubt. Of questions and waiting. Wishing answers or relief would come sooner and succumbing to the reality that some things are out of my hands. The plausibility of having to leave here temporarily and the thought of the worst option, deferring or leaving the program, have come up. At first I thought I couldnt handle either. That if I had to go home for personal reasons that I would just be letting everyone down, my employers, my students, my housemates, friends, professors, and that one special person. And yet I think I have come to realize that being here doesnt define me. Being a student isnt me, being a yoga teacher isnt me. I am so much more than  just an accumulation of labels and because of this I will handle what happens. I will weigh out the options I am presented with on Wednesday and I will find answers and make an informed decision, and if that means a short trip home I will make it work.

This week has played more mental games with me than I would like. It has pushed me to the limits involving physical pain, emotional exhaustion and physical fatigue and yet I am sitting here feeling refreshed as I finally feel like I am not alone and that I can make it.

This Place Is Far More Inappropriate Than The Appropriate Place

I write things I know are personal, or perhaps shouldnt be wrote on here. Knowing that fact doesnt stop me though. It just is something I know. Although sometimes I  hold back. I think of things I want to say and know that its too much, too overwhelming or just not right for this forum. So finding the appropriate place to share the right things is hard. In knowing this I feel blessed to have found the right place twice.

The first time it was in a setting of safety and honesty. A room where no one would judge and people would ask the hard questions only because they wanted to help. A place where I saw people and loved them due to their flaws, where my heart broke for other people and where I knew they were looking out for me.

The second time was unexpected. It is a group. A group I found through social media none the less. A group I found because I wanted information. I wanted to know I wasnt alone. And then one day I wrote something and realized I was so entirely not alone. That other people knew the exact way I felt, that they had the same frustrations and that they didnt want anyone to feel alone. A place where my heart breaks when I hear of their pain and their  lack of solutions. A place where I can say exactly what I am feeling and not have to explain everything. Where they just know.

I wish there wasnt people that felt the way I feel sometimes. We all think that though I am pretty sure. We never want someone else to experience anything bad. And yet I am so grateful that other people know and understand. That they can make me feel so much less alone when alone is all I know how to feel when it comes to some things. The appropriate place makes the words flow so much easier.

The Only Rabbit Worth Writing About

Twenty years ago a boy was born. Not a rabbit, a boy. However, being the precocious child I was I hated boys. I decided that if said baby was a boy I would call him Spit to represent my disliking of the gender. I did so for nearly twenty years and sometimes still do. However, he is known by many names and some numbers. One name involves a rabbit. So today I am dedicating my words to this rabbit. One that continually changes my life.

I find it is seldom that someones actions shock you in such a way that you could cry out of the disbelief for their love for you. That they do something that seems so outstanding and selfless in the name of protecting you. I used to look at this rabbit as a small young thing, someone I would look out for. Even as he grew and became much taller and stronger I felt the sense to nurture him and look after him. I didnt even realize when the time came and he suddenly was the one protecting me, actually, all of us. His own words expressed how he thought of himself as the lion looking out for the pride. That the felt a sense of responsibility to protect us as the man of the home. His words and concern showed me a glimpse of a man, a man so devoted to his family that he would never back down. I dont know when I went to sleep and he transformed from a little boy,  I really dont.

I still think of when we would play in the trees or when he handcuffed the babysitter to the tramp. Or when we used to play street hockey. I think of him as the little boy that would play lego with me. I sometimes can think of him growing up and playing football, and the anxiousness I would feel each time he got hit. But rarely did I think of him as the man that would one day take us all under his wings and protect us.

I feel blessed to have a little brother that acts as a big brother and would do anything for me. I am honoured to be associated with him and to have someone care so deeply. I often wish I could take away the pain he must feel but he continually puts the girls first and ensures our needs are met. I love you more than anything and would give my life for you Matty Rabbit. Happy Birthday. And thank you for never leaving.

Tension and The Terror

The tension is palpable. Not figuratively. Literally. I can feel the tension. It is a reminder of days long passed. Of days of pain, discouragement and searching for answers. Days that were so long ago it seems like a different life. A time when I was young and nieve and impressionable. The tension brings terror this time. It feels like a forewarning of a road that may approach without any options of exiting.

My lack of coping becomes blatantly obvious. I was asked if I was pretending I was okay, I was. I felt defeated and exhausted and possibly overwhelmed. Who am I kidding, I feel that way still. But I did what I do. I bought dinosaur shaped pasta so my dinner would make me smile and I bought hair dye. I usually just cut my hair when I cant control something in my life but the agony of growing it out is finally lessening so I cant give in and take a massive step back by chopping it. So for the next 6-8 washes the colour may be slightly different. Everyone has to cope somehow. To try and take the reigns of a carriage they arent even close to.

I still feel the tension. I feel the fear that things could spiral. That in seconds I could lose control. Yet I dont feel near as alone as I expected. So maybe it all will be okay because I know that whatever happens I dont have to stand there alone with tears in my eyes.

Foreigners and Health Care Never Mix

I am good at being foreign. I have practiced for quite some time. In fact, when I attempt to fit in and be Aussie I mostly just fail miserably. So being foreign is possibly on my list of skills. And this is something I dont mind. I love travel and experiencing new places. I have chose both of my out of country moves and have been quite satisfied with them. Although I often forget the biggest downside of growing up in a country with impecable health care and then moving elsewhere.

At home you go to the doctor and think nothing of it. A few scans, maybe a hospital stay or two. Not a big deal. Contrasting to the Americans. You need to stay in the hospital for surgery? Oh let me have your first born child as well as all of your family heirlooms. Oh you are having a baby? Well then, I will just take your soul, sign here. Fortunately for me living in the states was so close to Canada that I would just hop a plane or drive home for anything medical. Solved. Unfortunately Australia is proving to remind me of the Americans and this time I cant just pop in my car and appear home. One specialist appointment and the minimum cost will be 160. I feel that this is exorbitant, that its near extortion seeing how I actually do pay for health care. Apparently being foreign is just another way of being screwed if you arent healthy. I do appreciate the doctor telling me that if things arent working out maybe I will just have to go back home. Thank you for those kind words. I was hoping it would be suggested that I could drop out and lose everything I am working towards. Awful idea.

I like being foreign. I hate being foreign and not being impeccably healthy as apparently I will be signing away all of my skillz as well as any future children in the process of seeking good health. Cool.

Dressing Bad is Like Loving You, There's Nothing I Havent Worn

Resonance. Lyrics continue to shape my thoughts, perhaps because I seldom am without music playing, perhaps because they make more sense to me than any other form of expression. Regardless, I have been mulling these ones over for days. Dressing can be stressful for me. I have a lot of clothes and nothing I havent worn. I can toss clothes around the room frantically wishing I could find the right article for the situation. My closet and baskets are in dire straights as they are overflowing the brims. Yet its all in an attempt to not dress poorly. To put on the most accurate image of myself as people see you before they get to know you.

And somehow this brings me back to falling in love. To the times when I look back and see where my emotions were so misplaced and just like me dressing bad. Putting on something that would never work. The times when I misunderstood love and just wanted someone there for the sole purpose of being there. When I would have worn anything.

Time passes. People change. Dressing bad is less frequent. Loving you is becoming more plausible. Time to clean out the closet.

Three Times Ten Plus Two Hundred and Seventy

Prologue. I started writing for no real reason. Just because I could. And now I find it drives me. The ability to release my inner thoughts and not feel pressure or judgement is freeing. I feel like the last three hundred minus one posts have helped me to heal, to recognize love and loss and to learn. My writing has taught me more about myself than I ever realized I need to know.  

Tonight I realized that sometimes you have to say the hardest things, things that may mean nothing to someone else, because they mean everything to you. Opening up to the point where you no longer feel like you are hiding is refreshing. And painful. I wont sit here and type that it isnt hard. That sharing what hurts you most with someone is easy. It is heartwrenchingly difficult. Yet in knowing that I finally am not hiding behind some mask of strength that is really just face painted on and will fade with tears feels rewarding. I dont know at all the real reaction. Perhaps my words were a lot less on the other end. But looking back and realizing that I started writing because I couldnt vocalize words and now have learned how to allow someone in amazes me. 

My writing has saved me. It has brought me out of times of pain, depression, aching, loneliness and it also has helped me grow. I hope that one day something I write will help someone, or mean something to someone else. Three times ten plus two hundred and seventy has saved me from myself.

For TPAB Lovers

For those few people, so maybe like one human, who has been reading this words long enough to know about the TPAB series, well this one is for you. As usual on a Thursday I went to teach. Typical, this has been basically every Thursday for nearly 6 months. I was stoked tonight, mostly because I just really love yoga. So class came and went and it was normal and nice and I felt good. Then TPAB came up. I nearly died and didnt hear what he said at first because I was so shocked. He is Australian! How confusing! HIs accent just stunned me. I didnt ask his name because I secretly dont want him to have a name other then TPAB, but update, he is not American. On to next week when I will look at him in confusion as he walks in wondering if he knows that I thought he was american for 6 months.

The Reality of Mini Donuts

If you feel curious about the analogy I am about to make to mini donuts I am pre-apologizing. There is not analogy. This is actually me posting about how mini donuts are real. After over four long years my beloved JD has come to her senses. I received one of the best messages of my life this arvo as she sent me a picture of a mini donut sign and admitted to their reality. After years and years of pictures, facial expressions, words and animated arguments she believes. I have heard that believing without seeing is faith. Apparently her faith in me and mini donuts was no existant. However, I am excessively happy to report that she knows they are real. The thought of the, brings that sugary coating of bliss into my mouth. Oh how I miss rodeos and 2/$5 mini donuts.

Addendum.

In light of further information I would like to addend yesterdays post. Regardless of the fact that I had to pee so bad that I must have super bladder muscles which prevented any accidents, I have discovered it was not the fact I had to pee. I definitely get butterflies around you. I realized this when you texted me while I was on the train to work. Problem solved. It was butterflies not me having to pee.

Turn Tables Turn and Tables Turn

I have a turn table. It plays music that envelops the room and captivates both my attention and my soul. The music and words fill a space that most people wouldnt even know was empty. Yet those arent even the turning tables most on my mind. My posts over the months or years have often been full of tales of love and heartache and longing and loneliness and growth, some people are indirectly wrote about repeatedly and others just once. There was this one inspiration for quite some time. The words recorded in the past would indicate torn feelings and epicness along with gratefulness and annoyance. Regardless, there are so many words already written on this individual.

And today, one a very rare occasion I found the tables unrighted. Words of affirmation were seeked and for once I felt like he needed me more than I needed him. I saw weakness so cleverly masked and a hint of aching. And for each hidden thought or feeling that was uncovered my heart ached a tiny bit. I just wished I could have been on that side of the world to express how much more amazing he is than most people. How he has things more figured out than the average person and that his insane passion to follow his dreams and to live life doing things that he enjoys is captivating and contagious.

He has picked me up from my lowest points and carried me until I could stand again. He has been that person that knew the most inappropriate thing to say to make me laugh when all I could do was cry. He has been the one to hear everything that I said, didnt want to say and the things I just didnt say and yet never looked down on me. He is someone that everyone would be lucky to truly know. He wont read this, but in those hours today when I had the chance to remind him of his epicness it felt like I was actually stepping up when it was my turn. And I appreciated every second that I could help. And yet even with the unrighted tables he still checked up on our last convo that had kept me awake during hours I should have been asleep.

Some people change your life. Then they leave. And some people change your life and never leave. Regardless of the miles and countries and oceans I hope that we always can be that person for each other. Someone that will listen regardless of the hour or the issue and never judge.  I hope when you grow up you have a robot that will put your pants on for you. Enjoy your lame package, it should arrive in two weeksish.

I Got Butterflies, Or I Just Really Had To Pee

Perhaps I wouldnt post this if I stopped long enough to think of how inappropriate this may be. However, in this current moment I feel in a sharing mood so here it goes. You know how when you really really have to pee but for some reason you cant? Perhaps you have to have a full bladder for a medical exam, or you are in a car and cant stop, or you hate public restrooms, or maybe there just arent any bathrooms or trees around. So imagine that feeling, the one where you are pretty sure you are going to wet yourself any moment, especially if you move or are bumped. Yep, thats how this morning was for me. So prior to finally being able to pee I said a quick thanks hoping out of the car and then it happened. No, I didnt wet myself. i got those insane butterflies that scream how much I like you. And its been a long time since I have felt that. But I had to pee so badly made thats all I was feeling. I am scared to think that you actually elicit that feeling.

A Craving Most Unsatisfied

Do you ever get the insane urge for something? Like you wont be complete unless you get it as soon as possible. I had that tonight. I just wanted candy corn more than anything. And when the Australians nearby didnt know what it was I felt shattered. Regardless, I could have skipped to the shops as I was sure I could find it. That moment mid aisle realizing that it wasnt going to be found felt shattered. It was a moment when you feel tragically sad about something you know is insignificant, yet you are sad nonetheless. Perhaps your arms that found their way around me meant more than anything else could have.

I still am craving them. Probably because I cant have them and I am notorious for wanting what I cant have.

Is This Duct Tape?

I grew up knowing that duct tape was like the force, it has a dark side, a light side and it holds the world together. So as I reanalyze so many words and circles and confusion and emotion I wonder if this is duct tape or if its really just a bandaid trying to mask a massive gash that needs stitches or else it will bleed out. I am unsure. I have felt ecstatic, like I have been locked in a jail and the dog just brought me the keys. And then I have felt unsure, apprehensive and afraid to step out of the cell into the world to see if its real. If your thoughts and words actually are saying what I want them to say.

I have my fingers crossed that this is duct tape for now. I guess I will find out tomorrow.

I'd Be Lying If I Told You, Losing You Was Something I Could Handle

This one is for you. My fingers are crossed that you give in and read this. But if you dont at least its out of my head. So here are a few of the words I wish I was saying to you but cant because my jaw is clenched and my eyes are wide and my head is tilted and neither of us can take that tonight.

I didnt wear my onesie when I knew you were coming over because I got nervous that you wouldnt think I was pretty wearing oversized childrens pajamas. Every sunday when we discussed sunday secrets I knew that I was getting closer to telling you my secrets, the ones that were hard to say. And I did. I started telling you everything. And when I left I was scared that one month would be long enough for you to forget me cuz we were just friends that hung out every saturday night and then lots of other nights. So when you were the first person I saw I was ecstatic. I had missed you. And then I realized that I like liked you but I just thought you didnt look at me that way so then I was awkward and made things awkward and then you fixed it. And then I realized that I got nervous that you would just leave. And I didnt study with you because I didnt want you to think I was dumb because you always seemed to know more than me. I hated when we got to the last episode of misfits because I wondered if we wouldnt have a reason to hangout most nights. And I made you that bracelet cuz I wanted you to think of me when I wasnt there because I didnt know if maybe you just forgot about me when I wasnt around. And then it all didnt matter. Because everything had changed. The moment I realized how perfect it was it was all taken away.

I thought I was too broken for someone to love me or for me to fall in love. I thought that the hole inside of me was too big to be fixed by one person or fixed at all. I just thought that I liked seeing you everyday. That you were the first person I wanted to see when I got back. That you made me smile. That I couldnt help but glance at you during class.  I just thought that you inspired me sometimes and were a good listener. I just thought that you made me  incredibly happy each time you kissed me. I didnt realize that the second you were gone I would feel empty and that it would feel like a deatheater was deatheating me. I didnt think I would feel so alone and tragic and like I had been repeatedly punched in the stomach. I thought this was because we were best friend but now I think this means that I love you.

And if thats true then it explains why everything reminds me of you. Why I cant let it just go. It explains why I get nervous around you and why I am going crazy. I am not ready to resign myself to the fact that one single thing is keeping us apart. I want to find a compromise. Find a way to fix it. Cant we just meet at that line and find a compromise? So I am standing at the line that separates us putting out my hand with my head tilted to the side and my eyes wide open just hoping that you will meet me there and that you wont let me go. Please be worth all of this.

I like you a lot with a strong chance that I more than like you.

The Story of the Demise of Logan Timothy

Logan Timothy isnt a real boy. Logan Timothy will likely never be a real boy now. So I am telling his story so it doesnt go untold. Logan Timothy could have been a real boy maybe in the future, but fate played a cruel hand and Logan Timothy became nothing more than an imagined child with a name. A name inspired by Rachel and Ross choosing baby names. A  name resultant from vetoing and compromise.

Logan Timothy would have had a happy life. A life full of painting and music and wrestling. He probably would have liked pokemon , dinosaurs and creepy animals. He would have liked the outdoors and sports and reading. He would have been the raddest kid around.

Sadly this is not a tale of the happy variety. It is a tale of how he didnt exist. How two people. compared obscurely to Romeo and Juliet, were nearing love and were torn apart. It's about how things dont always work out when they feel like they should. When reconciliation seems so close but impossible.

Logan Timothy could have been the boy I wanted one day, even though I dont particularily like the name Logan. But he wont be. He wont exist. Not unless there is a sacrifice made. Romeo and Juliet both die. Logan Timothy doesnt exist. How tragic is the world we live in.

Two broken hearts dont beat any less.

Every Song Ends, But is That Any Reason Not to Enjoy The Music

I just hit repeat so that I dont have to feel disappointment when the song ends. Or I listen to it anyways because I know for those few minutes the song will shape the moment, that the lyrics will hit me and maybe thats all I need. Maybe all I need is to know that in this moment I am going to make the most of it instead of missing out now in apprehension of the future. So why cant we shape the moment?

I wish I could write how I understand. How it wasnt hard to see you. How I didnt cry the second you left after dropping off my things I had left behind. But I cant. I dont understand. I dont know why you cant want to enjoy every second until there is no hope in it working anymore. Its like I can see the golden snitch just out of reach and would be willing to fight for it. Why dont you feel that way? Why cant I just let go? I just want to enjoy the music until its over, but it seems like you cut the music mid song instead of letting it play out. I would loop the song on replay if it meant that we got to be us.

I cant give in and text you goodnight because I am supposed to let go, so if you find this some way know that I wanted to say goodnight like we did every night.

Heartbeats

Every heartbeat feels a little weaker than they did before. Each one is a little less heartfelt. They felt so much stronger when I could feel yours beating back. But I am alone again. Alone and the heartbeats feel faint as the organ is breaking. Breaking in agony that I didnt anticipate. The moment I knew you felt the same way back was overshadowed by the realizations that it wasnt going to work, that if it hurt this much now than how much harder would it be later. I opened up to you, I told you my secrets in return for yours. I found a way to let the hardest parts of my life out to you because I knew you would treasure them, that you wouldnt ever diminish a precious thought I shared. And I want to write that its okay, that we are okay, because I told you that. But I just said that in hopes that your heart would break a little less than mine was. You said I couldnt blame myself, but even as the tearful words poured out of your lips I was. That broken feeling I tried to explain to you feels so much worse now. It was as if you were the one keeping me in reality, reminding me that I wasnt engulfed in brokenness, and now you are gone, leaving me more broken and alone than ever. I keep wishing that you didnt have to walk out that door, that you would have looked back, that something about my hung head, shaking body and tearstreaked face would scream to you that you couldnt leave. That we could do it. But you didnt look back as I stood in the doorway. I respect you for making the decision I couldnt make. But that doesnt make it hurt any less. My heartbeats will skip when I see your face across the room tomorrow, and I will feel like someone is ripping out my heart with a rusty spoon. All I wanted was to fall in love with you and now I cant. I am sorry. I wish it was different.

Back to square one.

My Lack of Skill

In my head I have a lot more skills than in real life. Or maybe its more like in my head I have more faith that I could do things that I really most likely cant do. Lately my lack of skills has been more obvious than usual. Tonight I learned that I am not very good at pole dancing. Perhaps with more classes I could gain some skills, however, after one intro class my shins are tender and my abs got more of a workout than anything else. I also have realized that my fighting skills are minimal. I can talk it up but when it comes down to it, if its me vs a boy I will lose. Its not for a lack of effort, just a lack of size and skills.  I also have realized that I am not very good at hangman or painting or drawing most of the time. I think its time for me to do things I am skilled at or to obtain new skills so that I dont realize my lack of skills.

Until then I will stick with my ninja, nunchuk and mind reading skills.

I'll Paint Just One Portrait

The therapeutic effect of a canvas and paints never ceases to astound me. I am the first to admit that my skills are low, and by low I mean that I paint with my fingers and my pictures look like a kindergartener painted them. But for some reason I cherish them a bit. Perhaps its because I only seem to paint with people that I like, or maybe its because I crave that feeling of accomplishment. Or maybe I just like getting paint on my face. Or perhaps I like the fact that silence while painting exudes concentration and not awkwardness. All plausible options. Regardless, once the paint is washed away and all that is left is a picture to be placed on someone elses wall I feel content.

You bought a set of paints. And then brushes, ones that I may envy because mine are crap. We painted because I wanted to the first time, now you seem to thrive off of it. Is it okay that I secretly smile about your art knowing I was the one that got you back into it? You impress me. So lets paint one portrait and I'll hang it up.