| From your Waitress ;D |
[25 Mar 2008|01:06pm] |
Hi. I'm your waitress. Can we talk?
This is a codependent relationship, and if it's going to work out, we need to get a few things straight. I really want this relationship to work because we both know we need each other. You want to eat in a place that makes you feel welcome, and I want to make a living and meet nice people. If we both move on to other restaurants, we'll encounter the same issues with other people, so there's no point in breaking up. But if you want to keep coming to my restaurant, I need to lay out my boundaries:
1) Yes, I am here to serve you. I even want to like you. Really, I do. So if we are having a bad day, let's not take it out on each other, OK? I won't snarl at you for ordering one of those skinny-decaf-soy lattes-with-not-a-speck-of-foam if you won't growl at me for forgetting you ordered water with no ice. Let's start out on the right foot and smile at each other.
2) I am a good waitress, but I am not super-human. If there are 100 other people in the restaurant clamoring for attention, I can't run errands endlessly just for you. Sweetener for your coffee? You got it. Skim milk instead of the half-and-half on the table? Ok. Another napkin? No problem. A to-go box? A slice of lemon? Fine. More hot water? Side of sour cream? Yup. Directions to the zoo? Crayons for your daughter? ALL RIGHT. Just try and ask for as many things at once as you can at once, rather than have me scamper back and forth from your table like a golden retriever who never tires of the ball. Please.
3) There are some folks out there who object to the tipping system, and actively protest by not tipping their servers. This is like starving your cat because you object to the cost of pet food. Write your congressman, start a petition, or run for office on a "no tipping" platform that will revolutionize the industry. Be my guest - it's a weird system, and a change wouldn't hurt. But depriving us of our livelihood isn't going to do anything constructive.
4) Guys. Do you know how many of you come in and make eyes at me? Ever wondered why you have a "thing" for waitresses? I'll tell you why: I always smile at you, and I bring you everything you ask for. You're probably not getting THAT in your personal life. Who is, come to think of it?
You idealize me because I do everything to serve your needs and I never complain. Just bear in mind that in my personal life, the apron comes off, and I have needs and issues, just like everyone else. And by the way, staring at my boobs while asking me out is not a good tactic for getting a date. Waitresses keep telling you this fact on CL forums and in magazine articles and whatnot, and yet you keep staring at our boobs and asking us on dates. It's the darnedest thing.
5) Girls. It's not my fault your boyfriend is staring at my boobs while I serve the two of you. Please don't tip 5 percent to get back at me. I'm just as disgusted as you are, sister.
6) Parents. Listen. A restaurant is full of hot things, pointy things, and slippery things that might hurt little Jimmy. Pinchy things, and big things that fall from above.
Please keep an eye on the wee ones. Some kids are absolutely delightful and well-behaved, so I know it's possible to keep them in line, but some parents just pump their kids full of sugar and let them loose like rabid little pygmies. It's rather alarming to find Jimmy in the kitchen trying to empty a soup pot over his sister's head. For a start, he should at least have a Food Handler's permit.
7) Yes, you can split the bill, but splitting it eight ways with eight cards is a bit much. Four is stretching it, even. If you're meeting seven friends for dinner, perhaps you could all bring cash and just throw it all into the pot. Just a suggestion. It works really well and saves you waiting extra time while your bills gets sorted.
Not only does splitting the bill and running all those cards take up a ton of time and concentration, I usually don't have eight pens on my person so you can all sign at once. I've usually given all my pens out to the kids by then, and getting them back can be tricky.
8) I realize this is Earth, and we're all proud that we do our bit to make the planet a more sustainable place. We recycle, we buy local, and we pour leftover water on the plants outside. But it's awfully hard to run a restaurant without violating a few environmental precepts, so I'm sorry, but the Splenda is NOT biodynamic. The ten-minute lecture on sustainability (while I'm busy trying to split a bill with 8 credit cards) is not going to change that.
... and you are starting to get "rant spittle" at the corners of your mouth. Here's a napkin.
9) You know what time we close. Please stop coming in with two minutes to spare, then sit there for an hour, dawdling over your lunch and reading the paper from cover to cover. Sure, I enjoy talking with you after everyone's gone, but this is not your house, and I have to be somewhere. I've been here for ten hours and I'm tired. Please finish your meal and leave.
10) Oh, and a last one for the guys again: PLEASE do not take a magazine into the only bathroom in the place and stay there for ten minutes. That's just gross.
Big hugs,
Your waitress
xxbecca
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| This is a long drive for someone with nothing to think about......... |
[05 Feb 2008|12:52am] |
The longer I sit here staring at my screen without writing anything, the more we drove all the way out here for nothing.
And by here, I mean - - never mind I put down the computer, we’re driving again, and by we I mean, it’s none of your business. I don’t write anymore because I have too much to say and I’m afraid that if I start, all of your brains would just run right out your noses. And that’s not good because, see, you’re the only people I talk to. You need your brains because that’s why we’re friends. That’s why I love you all, because of the things that go on in your beautiful heads. You crazy ass artists make it seem okay that every time I look at something mechanical, I see it detonate in my imagination.
93% Remaining.
I want you to know that I don’t think I’ve fallen out of love with you. I want you to know but I don’t know if I want you to say anything because I think that might completely throw me off my axis. [Backspacelikefuckingcrazy] I even stopped listening to music for a while because so many fucking songs remind me of you. And right now, when it’s almost as cold as it can get in South Florida, it almost feels like New York in March, when I jumped into your arms outside the Virgin Record Store in Times Square. And how I don’t think I’ve ever told you this before, but that’s possibly one of my most favorite moments…ever. In my life.
85% Remaining.
Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I feel a little bit suicidal. Don’t think I’m trying to be morbid or anything, I’m honestly not. I’m just saying that …sometimes…I don’t really want to get out of bed. But then I’m like, shit, there’s no way in hell I’m making my little brothers and sisters clean up my fucking mess, so I get the hell up and I go to work, and I barely make ends meet. But I do, and I’m not in debt, and I’m not retarded, and I have all my appendages, and I have a beautiful daughter and a wonderful family and God damn it I have potential, or at least I’d like to think I still do…Sometimes, I laugh to myself right after I seriously consider dealing drugs or selling my body to some sick freak and then I stop once I realize I was actually seriously considering it.
80% Remaining.
I cry a lot. Seriously, I do. I’d like to think that I’m all bad-ass-independent-cold-emotionless go-getter; I’m not. I’m more like fight-like-hell-independent, no matter how much it breaks my heart, and it does. It tears me up so much because every day I deal with people that are so close-minded it hurts. It literally makes my stomach turn how some people can be so boxed in. There’s just so much more…
Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I see nothing but white space and then I wonder why I’m with you. And why you’re with me for that matter, because I certainly can’t understand the shit that comes out of your mouth most of the time. It’s like I hang around, as sad as this sounds, hoping that one day you’ll let me into that little world of yours. And you never do, you just tell me all the things i want to hear with words so far from your eyes its not even funny.
76% Remaining.
And then. There’s you, still you, always you, it’s always going to –be- you and I really think I need to stop kidding myself about that. It’s always been you. It was you when it wasn’t supposed to be. It was you when it was freezing and I wasn’t dressed appropriately and then wasn’t dressed at all. It was you and it was me and it was us and adultery and hurting people who were home waiting for us to come back from outer space. I’m not even mad about our crazy histories and the state you left me in anymore, I’m more-or-less flattered and sickened but not mad. Anything is better than mad. Something tells me this tirade is just going to keep leading back to you but here I go again, attempting to divert the subject. I think I’ll talk about…
72% Remaining.
Bullets.
….
One time, in high school, I saw some douche bag with a belt made of bullets and he thought he was so cool. Him and his bullet belt, God, I always wished someone would punch him in the face. It turned out, his name was Josh and he rode my bus in ninth grade when I was much more of everything than I am now. A more exaggerated version of myself. And he sat next to me one afternoon, and he offered me his other headphone. I looked at him, decided he had the only pair of brown eyes I’d ever not liked, and put it on. He was watching me watch the numbers on his Walkman change from 1:24 to 1:47, and he said, “Well, what do you think?”
And I glanced up at him and told him his punk rock bullshit was for ten year olds.
And then he asked me out.
68% Remaining.
Sid, for crying out loud, I hope you’re watching the gas tank because it’s been over an hour and we only had a quarter of a tank to begin with. This is working though. Maybe this is why I like being in the car with the music blaring so much. This all just runs circles through my head but never gets out or goes anywhere. …I should have jumped on that bus when I had the chance three and half years ago.
59% Remaining.
One of the most inspirational people in my life probably has no idea who they are, or that they have that effect on me. It’s not even in the “Oh my God, I’m head over heels in love with this person” way, it’s more or less in the sense of utmost, pure, untainted, admiration and nothing more way. Sometimes I think I even have a crush on him, but then I realize that that’s very silly and run myself into a couple brick walls and straighten myself out. That’s really what it is though. Admiration. And I can’t even explain why because it almost makes no sense. But you know what, fuck it, I’ve never talked about it before and this person probably deserves to know what they mean to me, because I certainly have never said anything about it. Dave Birnbaum, I’ve adored the hell out of you since seventh grade. Seventh grade. Admittedly, sometimes more than I should. And sometimes yes, I have possibly cared…too much? But. I think it’s safe to say, now, that this has fallen into a nontoxic place. And I just wanted you to know.
Yay. That felt good.
48% Remaining.
I really am in love with you.
[Deletedeletedeletedelete]
45%.
…I wonder if anyone is actually going to show up at Mrs. Scharlau’s funeral besides her immediate family.
She came into my restaurant the other day and I refused to serve her. And after that, her waiter was outside smoking when her food was done. I wouldn’t run it. She asked me for water and I pretended to not hear her.
Safe to say I’m still bitter.
My name’s not Rachel, bitch, get it right; remember whom you fail for no reason. Remember who’s family didn't get to see their grand-daughter walk across the stage and get her well deserved diploma last year because she was a HALF CREDIT short, thus forcing me to dish out another $500 dollars to earn my missing half-fucking-credit. Yeah. Don’t talk to me.
P.S everyone hates you.
30% Remaining.
( This has been a lovely car ride. We should do this more often. )
**Rebecca
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| I just bought every Chuck Klosterman novel known to man. Except one. |
[20 Sep 2007|12:49pm] |
|
According to my rather twisted, slightly unusual, mind-calendar of sorts...autumn is almost here! The pumpkin spice latte has returned to the Starbucks menu board, and my level of excitement usually skyrockets abnormally high during this time. It's my favorite beverage in the universe and it only wants to hang out with me during autumn and through the not-so-chilly, Floridian, winter. Even though autumn in Florida isn't really autumn at all and even though the sorry excuse for fall that we do possess does not come around until mid to late November, depending how nice God feels like being to summer-haters this particular year - I'm still completely excited. I have my latte. Go about your business.
I should have purchased five, taken them home in a caddy, and poured one into my star-shaped ice cube tray to be ice-ified, and stuck the others in my eternally damned refrigerator (long, stupid, story, that I refuse to tell at the risk of involuntarily popping a blood vessel in my brain) to be consumed at later times. I could make iced pumpkin spice latte coffee drinks with pumpkin spice star shaped ice cubes! Or perhaps reheat the liquid o' happiness and so it's nice and hot again, just like new. :)
It's very enjoyable to me that Siddy called me from Gainsville after she bought one last night, simply because it was right after I bought mine. We have a nice little track record of doing things like that.
I'm becoming very picky with the music I listen to.
And my cat won't use the bathroom unless I'm home; I think that's weird. (Don't ask how I know, that would be stupid, don't you think?)
She also won't eat or drink unless someone is in the same room of the house with her. Do anyone elses' cats have these strange antics?
I was walking to my Mother's house the other day to spend some time with her because I don't see her very much anymore. In all honesty, it's for the best, because our relationship has gotten so much better. We're just too different to be in the same living-space for too long - we love each other, but it just doesn't work for us to live together. Me being away from home has really brought us closer, it's almost as if we're mother and daughter or something crazy like that. It feels wonderful. Now I'm in a house with plenty of room for democrats and New Yorkers and rational behavior and I like it.
Anyway.
I was walking to my mom's house the other day (this tree looks familiar), and outside my ....housecluster(?)/ home-section(?)/ whatever a group of town homes is called, there stood a semi-circle of women in their late thirties (?)holding up their shirts halfway, comparing belly sizes. They weren't pregnant. There's no excuse. I quickly hoped that that wouldn't be me in 15 years, and that I would always have something more interesting to talk about, and more interesting people to talk to, then continued breathing and coughing my sinus infection into the breeze, for some poor trucker, on his way back from Ohio, with his window down, and his Kenny Chesney up, to breathe in by accident.
Sorry, Bill. Because that's probably his name.
What I'm trying to say is I really need some antibiotics. And my health insurance isn't very good - that I desperately don't want to go to the doctor even though what I'm coughing up isn't half as bad as the fact that there's blood in my snot, I don't think. As long as I don't have necrotizing faciitis. That's what I'll always tell myself when I'm in a bad situation.
It's NOT necrotizing faciitis.
Nyquil and other cough medicines, that are particularly strong, are over the counter. People abuse these medications all the time. Every night, there's some stupid kid, up in his bedroom, tripping on Nyquil, and seeing neon green hippos in skirts, or upside-down wombats.
And they can't make low grade antibiotics over the counter? Why? You can't even overdose on high grade, expensive, antibiotics - all you get is a yeast infection, and that's if you don't eat enough yogurt when you take them.
The only thing my mother (a certified RN), and I (a student fascinated by diseases, drugs, and medical practices) could come up with is that they don't want people abusing antibiotics because they're so easy to become immune to. They can potentially save lives, and have, but they're subjective - they don't work all time. Abuse could lead to a mass resistance problem if they were sold over the counter. That's really all we could come up with.
Let's see... pictures later.... After I get all this busy-ness out of the way.
xxrebecca
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| Nobody broke your heart. You broke your own 'cause you cant finish what you start. |
[02 Jun 2007|01:08am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 confused |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Elliot Smith. |
] |
My feelings of hostility towards the not-so-white, shag rug on the bathroom tile, grow stronger and stronger every time I look at it or have to move it back into place. I hate it possibly more than any other tangible object that I can imagine. Bathroom floors make me generally uneasy, sometimes with slabs of marble so reflective and slick that you can see your sins in them, which is sort of how I think you feel when you look at me sometimes; all of your mistakes staring you in the face. Like how if you hadn’t fucked up so many times, I might believe you when you tell me things like “It’s raining outside,“. I wouldn’t have lost my virginity to some stupid jackass and might be okay with you touching me when my clothes are off. Right now, I am one worded yet somehow overly elaborate; I am your bathroom floor and I am incredibly sick to my stomach over absolutely everything.
When I spilled my guts and said the words, the -TRUTH-, she just started screaming. About me. About God. About losing him and what that would mean for her, for our family, for ME? About how the cops would take me away and I'd never see my brothers and sisters again. How I just made the biggest mistake of my life. Talking louder and louder. Crying harder. Missing all the points. It’s funny what you hear when you listen.
I was only Twelve then, and my mothers insanities and my stepfathers cold eyes were enough to stare down my childhood into submission. Into Defeat.
When the cops showed up, I told them it was a crank. I was deeply sorry. I was a dumb kid. If I had been a little stronger, a little smarter, and not so goddamned naive that morning, the next five years could have been avoided. Being raped- once- is bad enough- but six years of ritualistic torture is .... something else entirely. I can't get over it. I may be strong enough- intense enough- disturbed enough- now- to kill a man with my eyes, but the nightmares don't stop. And it's no wonder my kisses can't hold the one I love. I'm human waste. Damaged goods.
I haven’t spoken for days now, I’m just making sound with my mouth open. He looks at me differently now, anyway, like I’m glass. He said, “I want to give you the world- ...but,”-and there's always a "but", and I just closed my eyes, my head buried in the space between patience and giving up, and I knew he would be sincere, but I couldn't listen to the rest of it. And then he left. It doesn't matter that I have his daughter. I never thought it would. But I guess I was naive enough to think the six years we've been friends and the four that we've been on and off and off and on and off and off and off and Off and yet still somehow always still on would mean something to someone other than myself. But he's gone. I have no way of getting in touch with him, and no idea if or when he's coming back- which is exactly the way he likes and wants it. And I told him I was okay- with all of it-
because I want HIM to be.
I know you can feel me slipping away every time you hear my voice.
You act like you don’t see things sometimes.
And you’ll find me, standing on the edge, shaking the snow globe and wondering if there's anybody out there= when it’s too early to be awake and too late for sleep.
Kind of like now.
But at the end of the day, I have you. And you're all I really need. The irony is that while Daddy's off trying to find the world he wishes he could give me, little does he realize..... He already has.
xxbecca
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| Did you fall for a shooting star? |
[10 May 2007|01:24am] |
| [ |
mood |
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busy |
] |
| [ |
music |
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"Drops of Jupiter" by Train |
] |
Working two jobs, going to school and being a mother is taking its toll on my body, my health, my livelihood and energy level. Of the three, it seems being a mom is by far the craziest and most difficult job I've ever had. It is also the most satisfying, most frustrating, most exposing, and most challenging position I have ever held.
I smell like poop right now.
Or perhaps it's my entire house that smells like that and I can no longer tell the difference. At any rate, I feel poopy and it's not a pleasant feeling. I've washed and dried my hands multiple times, I've sprayed air freshener multiple times, I've washed and dried little hands, feet, and butt cheeks multiple times as well. Yet the lovely odor remains.
I say motherhood is an exposing position because it exposes the truth about me. Part of me wants to hide this truth from people because I'd rather have you all think I'm a perfect mother. Okay, maybe not perfect, but at least one of those strong women who accomplishes (Sad when all your accomplishements come down to is the ability to clean up shit) without complaining. While I aim for Mother Teresa type qualities, I fall far short. I get upset. I yell. I gripe. I feel sorry for myself. I get tired of the demands of this job. I've been a mother from the time I learned to stand on my own two feet and the job has outgrown itself. The struggle for contentedness is ever-present for me. It's true that I am so tired, but I want this. I want this more than anything.
In the middle of the craziness, in the exact moment when I'm dissatisfied with the mess in the house and with the mess in my heart, there is a little voice that speaks up and breaks through the crud. It's not the Holy Spirit and it's not even an angel on my right shoulder -as "God" left me a long time ago. (I left a message on his answering machine. He never called me back. We lost touch.)- but it's Lilia- it's a tiny, cool hand stretching out to grab my own fingers in hers accompanied by her highpitched but soft voice and those senseless little babbling noises she makes. I wonder, how did I get here? Is this child truly mine? How in the world can I be so blessed to be Lilia's mommy? The love in her eyes and the way she is completely dependent on ME- for her every need. I've never felt necessary to.... anyone. It's a beautiful change from being backburner bait.
I'm not a big fan of poop (for the record, the odor still persists…), but there it is, part of my current job.
Rebecca Kinser: The Psychologist.
Rebecca Kinser: The Waitress.
Rebecca Kinser: The Model.
Rebecca Kinsser: The Poop Cleaner.
Rebecca Kinser: The Hassled Housekeeper.
Rebecca Kinser: The Mother.
The last title makes it all worth it.
xxbecca
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| This girl has legs that were meant to run.. |
[11 Apr 2007|01:40pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 restless |
] |
| [ |
music |
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"citrus dreams" by coach said not to |
] |
I'm having a really hard time holding myself together today...
I feel like i've been turned completely inside out.
Last night, I dreamt about you during the three hours of sleep that my mind was trying to get.
There were palms and torsos and lips and everything was tangled.
The color yellow.
The nauseating casualty of unrealistic rationalizations.
The only thing constant with you is how nothing is ever warm. It's always freezing, even with the windows up.
There isn't enough clarity between the gaps and squares on the calendar. There isn't ever enough room anywhere, not even spaces between lips, or words, or lies.
I'm not the type of girl that's cut out for this sort of thing.
(Who -is-? ...really....)
Last night, I dreamt about you for absolutely no reason at all.
( + Three. )
xxbecca
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| Backbeat the word was on the street that the fire in your heart is out. |
[20 Feb 2007|11:53pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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worried |
] |
| [ |
music |
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"Wonderwall" by Oasis |
] |
I'm just going to talk for a while, okay?
My weekend was spent, for the most part, in some sort of worry-frenzy due to my newly aquired attendance record at FAU-H.C. that had me running a 12 hour shift at the Hospital on Friday and 8 hr. shifts at Wholefoods on Saturday and Sunday. The money seems twice as important lately, but I should probably stop skipping school. Though I find that when I -do- skip school, I'm very productive. There's a folder upstairs, filled with papers stapled together. They all have information about two bedroom apartments or townhouses in the NYC/Saugertees area that allow cats. There are things circled, and highlighted, and I've been doing a lot of research on potential living arrangements. Casa de Amor, while the first real place of my own, was bought on impulse because I needed a place ASAP to move myself and my brothers and sisters into an environment lacking our pedophile Stepfather. It was a GREAT deal for the moment but the mortgage is billowing out behind me and it's threatening to chase me away. I didn't think this one through enough. I made a mistake and I'm strong enough to own up to it before it gets out of hand. Little did anyone know until last week when we got an offer, Casa de Amor has been on the market for quite some time now and I've been seeking alternative residency- here in the Stuart area, or New York City where has always been my dream. It makes me a little nervous because...there are so many things in my life that are about to change completely for the better and I don't know how I feel about that. Haha. That sounded rediculous but it's true.
Financially, I'm worried. I'm fully prepared to work my ass off and take out loans...but I know I'm also going to have to take some time off to take care of Lily-Baby. not to mention even now I'm nearly 8 months pregnant and it's slowing down my work- AND not healthy for Me -or- Lily. My mother has blatantly told me she isn't going to have a thing to do with helping me when I'm gone, though it wasn't expected in the first place. Even though I've been taking care of -her- children on my OWN for the past Year-and-a-Half not including the 15 years I spent raising them BEFORE I moved out. But I learned a long time ago not to expect anything from that end. It's good to know that my grandparents are one hundred percent [100%] supportive of the decisions that I'm making right now and that they're a phone call away. Honestly, that's the only form of comfort that I have right now - knowing that I'll sort of have someone to turn to for help if I absolutely need it.
But hey, I'm excited! There's a much bigger part of me that is so thrilled about this...everything about getting my life started. I really am the girl who is going to be exhilarated by daughters first words and steps. And I'm looking foward to cleaning her first dirty diaper and kissing her first 'booboo'. And sipping black coffee on the weekends while she dances around with Danny on our first family excursion to the park. And that moment, sitting down with Dan and Siddie on the couch, and Lili in my arms- in the living room, with the blinds open and the tv still unplugged, where everything is in the place where it's supposed to be in our brand new little home in Stuart or Jensen or Saugertees or New York City and all we can do is laugh for a while, in disbelief. I'm looking foward to that moment.
Randomly Notable Things to Mention:
-Alex (Dan's sister) and I made Rage a birthday cake today. We had to dye the icing green, and he doesn't like chocolate, so we had to actually find black icing because green and black are his favorite colors. The cake wound up looking like a mint chocolate chip cake, even though it was just a funfetti cake with cream cheese icing because all we could do was make dots because I couldn't write anything without the caps you put ontop of the ...frosting thing, you know what I'm talking about? The things that...make frosting look pretty - they didn't fit on the tube. But he loved it. It didn't give him gangrene of the mouth or anything, He was Happy- so I was happy. Happy 18th Birthday Rage!
-I think that for the first time in a very long time I am happy. Sometimes I worry that I'll never be as comfortable with the person that I'm -with-, as I am with my gay best friend. [Well, he's not actually GAY.... but he has a boyfriend and the only person he was ever truly in love with was yet another guy named Ben. So what I mean is that I can't compete.] That thought is kind of scary to me because I want to be comfortable with someone, but I never have been, ever. And I realize that I'm about to compare apples and oranges or whatever, but I hope I'm not going completely off here. When I told him today that I'd never kissed anyone that truly loved me before- but I've always wanted to because I have always wondered what the hell that felt like, which might sound stupid, but I've always been curious - he was literally just like, "Well, here,". And kissed me. I was very... surprised to say the least. At first I pulled away very quickly. It really does feel different. It was facinating. That he loved me, not that he kissed me, actually. Though if you know Dan you'd think the kiss was just as surprising. The point I'm trying to make, horribly, is that here we are about to have a child together and yet I know what we have is way more complicated than anything that has come before. What I realized in the midst of it all is that I want is to reach that level of comfort with someone else, who I'm dating, not someone who I'm very close to but will never be with.
And that kissing someone who loves you (requieted) is pretty much awesome.
I hope everyone had a good day. And good night again.
xxbecca
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| Brittle. |
[15 Jan 2007|11:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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drained |
] |
| [ |
music |
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"You're so Vain" by Carly Simon |
] |
The sky is melting into the ground; the horizon is falling and it's no one's fault but my own.
I know the world's not ending, but I hate the way things are crashing down right now, and the only ones hurting and sorry are the one's that shouldn't be.
-
The pieces were supposed to fit. I didn't and I don't want to be the girl who shuns her family and friends because they don't agree with her or her aspirations. I want, not only to include my family and its new members, but I want to become closer to them.
I don't want to be the girl who grows up, gets a life, and never comes home.
I want to be the girl who grows up, gets a life, and loves coming home.
I'm asking for acceptance.
Also odd as this feels, being that my mother and I haven't been close for years now, I'm hoping that can change with time.
I am so sickeningly tired of hiding my life from her, when there's really no good reason to do so. I hate lying, and that I've been dishonest with her. But I can't stand that she refuses to look at things outside of her own perspective.
It's all about numbers; this has me so nauseated...
I want to bring him home; I don't -bring- anyone home and I want him to be treated like a human.
Normalcy would be nice.
I can't do this on my own and you're not dealing with it the way I am right now; this cannot be a one sided effort to hold things together when they're not falling apart.
I am very detached from things at the moment... because I have to be.
And you? You don't deserve this; you had a girl who was so spun with love she had her heart set on marrying you to begin with- just for the sake of a "happily ever after"- and what the hell did I but let it all blow up in both of our faces; What do I have to offer you, now, other than a whole new breed of problems. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry and this is just stupid. You don't need this at all. I'm not asking you to stick around through this. This can be over right now, and we can both go separate ways and spend the rest of our lives wondering what would have happened if we hadn't.
You know better than anyone- It's all just numbers.
I am so spun with rage, and doubt, and fear. And love.
Things won't be okay until we fix them.
Why can't I just fucking write the way I used to be able to? -Where- did that -go-; it bothers me.
This is so jumbled and broken.
I don't even know what else to say. What -do- I say?
I have been beyond smitten by the same person for years now.
And I have not seen or heard from the likes of him in months.
And as much as I want for the situation to fix itself, I'm almost glad he's stayed away because, like him, I don't want to have to deal with it, either.
I want to disappear into the mountains and remember how to kiss him and what it's like because that's how long it's been.
I want to fall asleep to him at night and wake up to him in the morning.
I'm sick to death of not being able to wake up in eachothers arms the the way we should- the way we always got the best and most restful, refreshing of sleep- as people who are on the level we've reached, somehow, despite the miles, and have been as involved or was it evolved with each other for as long as we have.
It is not fair that all we can do right now is apologize to each other, when in the six or so years we've known eachother this pales in comparison to the Kinser/Fish Argumentative Intensity Richter Scale. We're not even fighting now. But we're apologizing because of a situation brought about by each of our own carelessness, passion, and stupidity.
I am very detached right now.
Things need to be the way they should be.
Now that was just pathetic.
xxbecc
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| Autumn, woo! |
[27 Oct 2006|09:08pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 hopeful |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"All for You" by OLP |
] |
I love it when gas stations and coffee shops start putting out the pumpkin spice flavored coffees.
That's how I know for sure that Autumn is right around the corner.
That is basically how I measure "seasons" around here.
*Eyeroll* Seeing as we have those and all.
xxbec
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| I'm the cardiac escape route to this lack of inspiration: |
[14 Sep 2005|11:13pm] |
I'm the cardiac escape route to his lack of inspiration.
I wrote him a love letter but drew a line through his name. For days, I’ve been procrastinating slapping a stamp onto the face of this envelope. I’m not so graceful when I’m not falling and he’s not so subtle with the curtains pulled. Visualize: The beauty without the vanity. New souls sprouting stubbornly from the cracks in concrete or wishing wells of contraband. The music, the truth, the rooftop I dreamed of - It was an accident; breathing life into places where solitude should be. She’s got herself a modern day Clyde with tape around his mouth. We are only what we always were, except naked now - nothing more. So, I may be writing all the novels but its you, dotting my i's and crossing all of my t’s. I bet he’s still standing there in the mud, under the moon, gawking at the stars, laughing about money and milk, the mystery of morphine for his monsters and why it won’t work because of me.
xx
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| Something borrowed, something blue. |
[18 Aug 2005|01:35am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 tired |
] |
Something borrowed, something blue:
Its driving around backwards with my eyes closed
And the sun setting in the South.
That reminds me how
I’m all turned around and
I haven’t got a prayer.
Eight days since I’ve
Seen my own bed and
I’m braving what I can but
It takes changing surroundings
Overlapping surroundings
Changing surroundings to stomach
What you’re putting me through.
But I can’t come to bearings
With my own personality and I’m not myself
Because I can’t tell you that
I should hate you for this.
A heart transplant couldn’t tell you how I feel.
See, I’d give you everything
If I had anything left but
There’s not a whole lot of hope left in these tired eyes
And I’m
Backtracking over every footprint of
Steps already taken -
I can’t help but not breathe a word in your direction.
Forever seems to be taking
Its precious time and
Tonight …
I could count the only stars left in the sky
On the tips of trembling fingers.
x
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| I can't see New York as I'm circling down. |
[02 Apr 2005|10:27pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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crushed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
tori amos- i cant see new york |
] |
from here no lines are drawn
from here no lands are owned
13,000 and holding
swallowed
in the purring of her engines
tracking the beacon here
"is there a signal there
on the other side"
on the other side?
what do you mean
what side of what things?
and you said
and you did
and you said you could find me here
and you said you would find me even in death
and you said
and you said
you'd find me
( but i can't see new york as i'm circling down through white clouds )
falling out
and i know his lips are warm
but i can't seem to find my way out
my way out i can't see.
of this hunting ground
from here crystal meth
in metres of millions
in the end all we have,
soul blueprint.
did we get lost in it
do we conduct a search
for this "from the other side"
from the other side?
what do they mean
side of what things...
and you said.
you again
it's you again
i can't see
i can't see new york
from the other side
from the other side
i hum from the other side
xxbecc
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