…the almost right word

listening to:

on monday, i drank too much at a friend’s bachelorette party. i was uncomfortable and, in response to not feeling in ‘my element,’ i had two and a half glasses of champagne, followed by two small glasses of red wine, and then two large shots of tequila. i think it was just two tequilas. i don’t remember the evening from the first tequila on. i vaguely recall getting more cash at the atm machine and spending it all on tequila (when i had already spent a ridiculous amount at dinner). let’s just call it…an experiment in alcoholism.

i could look at it in a few ways.
for one, i could say, ‘hey, i used to do that all the time a year ago. it’s okay that i did it this one time.’
i could also say, ‘it was a bachelorette party! everyone was drinking.’

i guess i could ignore the reality of the situation — sometimes i just lose control.

it concerns me. it’s not something that will fit in my life, if i continue in the direction i’m in (wherever that is headed). so i spend another $70 on therapy and talk and talk and talk and analyze myself in circles. i attempt to understand where it comes from.
perhaps i have some issues with boundaries. perhaps, because my parents’ have some strange boundaries in their lives, i have not yet learned where my boundaries lie. i know not to feel guilty. i know that the monster that seems to be hiding inside of me doesn’t deserved to be called a monster.

i am beginning to think that, if i continue to sit around and smoke and watch grey’s anatomy, i’m not going to go anywhere. if i continue to work with my father, i’m not going to go anywhere. maybe i should consider ’school’ again. someone suggested that i sit-in on a class in a local master’s program.

i begin research. i click from html to html until i find the words that excite me: rebellion and revolution in southern andean nations; women’s rights in latin america; politics and philosophy; human rights and law. sometimes it feels as though the haze is lifting and i can see where my next foot will step. but then the haze comes right back to blind me again.

i guess i know i’m not lost, but i feel lost nonetheless.
i just know that i need to act, rather than just think.
is acting that difficult for me?

instead of writing, i post pictures.

courtesy of postsecret
and a friend
speaking of which, have i mentioned that i’m going to philadelphia, pa for work?
never been. i’m looking forward to it.
and seeing the frida kahlo exhibit.
i’m looking forward to being in a real, raw city again.
one year after my trip to n.y.c.
sometimes i even miss it — the home that i never made mine.
the subways and foreign languages
the dirt
the excitement.

maybe we spend our whole lives, understanding who we are. suddenly, i realize (even though i’ve realized it before) that my parents are still learning to understand themselves. that’s exactly what they’re doing, each day. over and over and over again. maybe i have a head start. maybe, by the time i’m their age, i will understand. maybe, with all the money that has been spent on therapy and medication, i will figure it out. i’ll grow and move beyond before they were even able to inch forward. it’s not about “beating” them.

i listen to the same song on repeat.
i sip my tequila, and type on my, now sticky from tequila, keyboard.
i hope to process these thoughts, and convey them…digest them. let them simmer and soak. braise them like the duck at il piatto. red wine, shallots, salt, pepper, garlic. they become soft, chewy. i can digest them. they enter my stomach warm and comforting. they sit there, occasionally sending their warmth through my entire being.

it’s either that or the tequila.

cause it’s hot

come home and my guitar
has nothin to say to me
i recoil from all my friends
and then i’m in misery
been so long since i’ve been held
really since i was his
probably just need to be held
that’s probably all it is

course, then i think of my dad
who time travels mostly now
back to when he was free
and holding out hope somehow
who sits all day in a line
of wheelchairs against a wall
inventing ways to play out time
like us all
like us all

to all the people out there tonight
who are comforting themselves
if you should happen to see my light
you can stop and ring my bell
i’m just sittin here in this sty
strewn with half written songs
taking one breath at a time
nothin much going on
nothin much going on

little flashing zero
on my answering machine
rats scratching at my brain
brain shuffling its feet
yes i have my father’s heart
it may or may not keep on trying
can’t really tell you what it is
keeps me this side of that dark line

but i’m not there to take care of him
and i’m not here to take care of me
i’m going outside to watch the house burn down
across the street
i’m going outside to watch the house burn down
across the street

to all the people out there tonight
who are comforting themselves
if you should happen to see my light
you can stop and ring my bell
i’m just sitting here in this sty
strewn with half written songs
taking one breath at a time
nothin much going on
nothin much going on

– ani difranco

sitting at my desk, for work, is like a war zone of uncomfortable, unpredictable and stressful interactions with my father. eventually, we come to a peace. i don’t think i could continue to work with him if we didn’t. sometimes, it even makes me feel ‘lucky’ — he does say ‘i’m sorry,’ or ‘i am wrong,’ or ‘i appreciate you.’ and the stress just disappears.

isn’t amazing, how much time we spend not believing in ourselves?

isn’t it amazing that i’m still learning to think of myself as beautiful?

how long do these things take?

i have always thought i was ‘nurtured’ as a child, that my parents taught me well and i felt loved. are these illusions?, or did this really happen? is my perspective flawed? do i even have any perspective?

i get glimpses, of believing and feeling…powerful. but they’re just glimpses…they don’t last.

listening to ani all day today…i sit at my desk and get stuff done.

i chat with old friends, long lost friends, and catch up with m.l.s. on the phone. i revel in the comfort of people who know me, people who accept me…embrace me. i am full of smiles and quiet giggles. i am eternally nostalgic.

i look forward to dusk, and to pouring myself a glass of prosecco (to be followed by wine or tequila, t.b.d.).

i look forward to relaxing and letting go for the rest of the day…to the best of my ability, that is.

there is always something, isn’t there? something lurking in the back of your mind, preventing the simplicity of life. we always think, ‘once ______ is _____, i will be happy.’ don’t get me wrong, i’m not saying that i’m unhappy. i don’t feel dissatisfied or lonely. i don’t feel all that lost even. yet, somehow, my mind wanders away from the tight leash on which i keep it, and, like a scratch on the bottom of your foot (when you’re wearing two layers of socks and a pair shoes), some anxiety-inspiring thought creeps in. it is a familiar ghost that i welcome. i have to. if i didn’t, i would be truly haunted.

hike to the edge and barely there
slow
to make my move, i’m almost there

– tegan and sara

two nights ago i dreamt that i was waking from a dream. i had slept on the slope of a rocky cliff, and awoke to the fresh, cool, mountain air. there were trees all around me.

i slid a little, from my perch on the rocks. and, as i slid, i noticed movement amongst the trees.

large cats…like lions…were roaming the cliffside.

my nerves jumped and i considered my options.

fear overwhelmed me.

the next thing i remember is my mother approaching my slippery spot and reassuring me that the lions were harmless. we watched, closely, and silently, together. and then we retreated to her house, which sat at the top of the cliff. the french doors were open to the wild behind us.

though i felt more calm with her by my side, i did not feel all together safe…secure.

i could write more.

i could analyze this dream and figure it out, like all the rest. and, in fact, i do…in my head. i do it everyday.

and then suddenly i find myself so full of thoughts that i can’t think straight anymore.

i spent almost two hours chatting online with an old friend today. quite wonderful conversation about what’s real. i am high with excitement and butterflies. i love reconnecting (or just connecting in general) with people who really know me…people who really get me. suddenly i am reminded of miss a_ desperately.

you know, as overwhelming as my head can get, i feel so alive having these thoughts in it. it makes me feel that, even though i often believe i’m not taking advantage of life, i actually am. it is truly revolutionary.

i’ve been haunted by my dreams lately. they all involve my past. and my parents. and good friends. the therapist and i spent the whole hour talking about these dreams. and we will probably spend the next hour doing the same, because they keep coming…the dreams. and i most likely wake up sweating profusely and i anxiously await for my body temperature to decrease which then inevitably leads to the chills. am i still on vicodin?

oh yeah. i had surgery and finally took care of my hernia — it was pretty easy-going and i found the overall experience kind of…interesting. i like medicine, i think. have i mentioned this before? it is so clearly a result of my new obsession, but i think it is a sincere interest.

i remember, vividly, the experience of getting my blood drawn every three months my freshman year. yay genetics. i loved watching the nurse find my vein and pull the blood into the syringe. having the surgery reminded me of that. in a good way. of course there was some pain. and admittedly, some vicodin. but it wasn’t too terrible, and r_ was wonderful.

perhaps i should have gone to medical school?

i certainly wouldn’t be the dead head that i am today!