No Wonder I Was Sweating
I asked for it, of course.
I could have gone for it harder
or pumped up the fantasy
ten fold
but we were not
wearing the right faces.
I could have placed a gloved hand
on the small of his back
and whispered
five dirty words into his brain
I could have split
my
heart
in two
and poured my love
into our memories
of tribe called quest
and a cappella parties
and balcony smoking.
The best was Ray Charles with the
ceiling fan on
and his shirt off
and the kissing
on the couch
right before I left.
but we knew.
It was the end of the four year
farce.
There is no real joy in realizing fantasies.
I should have left it alone. We should have.
His nineteen year old face and my
long hair
forever joined in
an embrace.
But the worst dicomfort I know
has always come from the should haves and the could haves
and of all the fucked up things I do
saying "what might have been"
is not one of them
because the what might have beens are
undeniably tempting
VIVA LOS SUENOS
as disappointing as they are sometimes.
I am a moment of calm now.
Flat and beige
but raised in parts
a relief map of
the real death of hopeless situations.
He and I will never be as close as we were yesterday.
because today we slayed that Idealistic Nuisance.
We are free of
all that we
and we were heavy
and injured
solace seekers blind and quiet.
I will speak to him, now:
Look, your swallow can limp away now
and my songbird will nurse her
vocal chords for a little while
(she found them in an age-old pile of dreams and nightmares)
Because what dreams can possibly come
in the middle of the day,
92 degrees and
sweating
while you flip
between ESPN and our relationship discussion?
and then
I turn you
on?
We were electricity once.
Now, channels of movement.
It is okay that we are moving
in
different directions.
slight sinus pressure (better than yesterday)
nice tan
wet hair
email from an old flame
(he reminded me that the novel is important. he expressed faith in me. smiles, smiles)
on my way to 19 second graders
I got to sleep in
I haven't touched myself with my dastardly fingernails in over a month
so I painted them last night
Listen, army:
rifles high
Get to stepping.
I'm ready.
Just a few days until the reinvention of the supernova.
In other news, Emily and I went to San Francisco last night to see Rilo Kiley, and though I've always been a fan, I really didn't realize how rocking they are... honestly hardcore. I was expecting a little indie band show, and was highly impressed. Jenny Lewis... wtf. And in addition, HELLO. Your new favorite band is The Brunettes from New Zealand. Just go to www.thebrunettes.co.nz and discover the love. So amazing.
My romantic fanny pack has been empty for so long, but I'm pulling the straps tighter for the upcoming weekend. He's been hiding in that crazy zipper pocket that's the closest to your body, you know what I mean? The one that you put your 20's and 50's in so nobody else knows they're there.
Gonna be a good week, gonna be a good weekend; but let's start with today.
I'm going to be a teacher someday. The thing that keeps running through my mind about teaching is that it's so selfless. All other options in my life would point to selfish ends; if I were a singer, it would be for the money, for the acclaim, for the fame; a graphic designer, for the same reasons; writer, perhaps a little less for the money, but still for the acclaim and the fame. I know that I will forever be an artist, it's not something I get to choose, but really, I find that jobs based on that kind of feedback are both flighty and unsatisfying unless the feedback is exactly what you're looking for. So the whole teaching thing makes sense to me on a long term level because it's based on the needs of others, and based on what I can bring to them, rather than what I can prove to people about myself and my abilities.
I can't be let down if I'm a teacher. Cindy Loo-who's legs swinging in happiness over a game on Mavis Beacon means more to me than fifty thousand screaming fans, a bestseller and award-winning webdesign. And that's not something I can foresee changing about myself. It's going to be forever challenging, forever selfless, and never, ever about the money. The fit is mildly ridiculous.
When I see him, the thing I'm most excited about is being able to grab his face and kiss him the minute I touch him- no worries about anyone around us being able to see, because even if they did, they can't tell me not to. Not this time.
The one that got away? Ha. I've been secretly chasing him ever since.
>wink, wink<<
Sometimes we get too wrapped up, like wrinkles around a belly button, squirming and fighting for a spot inside somewhere dark and knotted. I was so sure of moving back to LA, but for what? For the people there, only. To hear Gabe play and hang out with Melanie and Lizzy. Those people are so dear to me, so close to my heart. They are my heart, you know? But Los Angeles is full of greed and fake boobs and mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. It seems so dirty and like I would be moving backwards to go there.
I have to move forward, and I didn't give Portland the chance it deserved. I know that I will love wherever I move because that's the way I roll, but I want to be somewhere with live music, with nature, with clean air and people who listen. Portland has that, and more, more that I haven't seen yet. I could move here and learn about the city. I could move here and go to school and be a teacher here. I could do that so easily. I want to do that. I want to live where I want to live, not where the people are. I need to move forward.
I never thought I would be in such a transitional, autonomous spot in my life. I always thought things would be a little more worked out by this point. I don't mind it. It's just different.
And in other abstract news, birth news and death news within minutes of each other spin my brain into spaghetti.
