Repentful Reminisce

I’ve grown slack in my personal writing. I used to keep a diary most every day.

Although my entries were mostly dull… laments of loneliness and drawn out tales of my dating adventures. I am amazed at how detailed I got about a one night stand… but lacked that similar style in other, probably more important places… “On the way to the car he tackled me in the garage. By the time we arrived at my Sonata he had me pegged to the hood, his finger slipping inside me and I squealed, “Ryan, we’re in public!” but made no real effort to stop him because why the help would I? I’m tipsy, more intoxicated by his touch than the beers we had.”

My mind certainly was poised in one direction.. if not there, then depressively down, “Lately I can’t make myself get up. I know I probably could if I tried harder…”

Then, but now.

Now I’ve had this one diary for almost a year now and its not filled. Usually I do two in a year. What is wrong? Is nothing wrong? I am happier than I was then, though I suppose I haven’t had better luck waking up in the mornings….

That’s just life. Or not life. Illusion. Reality. Dreams.

Now it’s, “floating where the river kisses the coast on rented kayaks. We’re drifting near the beach by a canel, far from shore. We’re paddling. We’re yelling over the splash of water against the boat, over the giant gulping sound it makes. We’re glaring into the sun, but really just glaring. I could stop paddling and just be rocked by the waves. But I don’t, I keep up with his furious pace until we reach a rocky, muddy shore near highway 80 where oyster shells littered the sand and would prove to be hard to walk on. With each stroke I released some anger, but not my hurt. H- was ahead, drifting, arms crossed and paddle up, letting the shore pull him in…”

Now its… complicated…

Today I wrote a nice entry about me and H- we have lovely times together. With him I lose myself. I become like wax when heated. He gives me joy and I feel like this post is not shining him in a good light…

This evening, after writing a nice entry about our nice time together, we got in another argument. I guess it’s idealistic to expect no arguments ever. They occur. Not too often. But when they do, they’re rough. I am highly sensitive, I cry and find it hard to express myself in the moment so I bottle it up. He is emotional, too, and gets angry. Today i told him I wanted to foster the baby kittens beneath our house, domesticate them and find them homes and he just freaked about it. I mean, maybe they will bring in fleas, he has a point, suuure, but why the hell freak out so much? I know you just got off of work, but chill. You’re the one who taught me about being aware and “not being our thoughts and emotions,” so why the hell can’t you do that now and every other time you intensify a situation?

Why can you pick up any little project but I can’t help the kitties, thus helping the stray problem, thereby helping the community? I know I’m freaking out now, but you freaked out first.

And it is just within the female nature to sit back, sob, say I’m sorry.

I’m not writing as often because things are complicated. Much more complicated than one night stands. I’m standing face to face with male ego, mano e mano, and honestly and more importantly, my ego. I am figuring out what it means to be me. I am embracing the sorrow and happiness. The divine and shadow.

It’s in H-, but it’s in me, too. There are so many different sides. So many different emotions and feelings. I have been allowing the complexity to silence me. But I’m not scared… I want to express myself, or at least to try.

Hard To Swallow

Sometimes my boyfriend annoys me. He comes home from work all irritated. And I know he works hard – he does landscaping, works all day in the southern sun with an older guy named Bryan. Bryan eats at his nerves. Like I said he’s an older guy and we’re in the South. I want you to think of a stereotypical white male who owns a fishing boat and a lawn care company. They spend all day with each other. Bryan deflects his irritation on H-. H- says that on the worst days, Bryan reflects himself. What we don’t like in others is what we don’t like in ourself.

And H- is a hard pill to swallow, too. Trust me, I know. I live and am in love with the guy. His very existence challenges your own. He can’t help it, its in his nature. He’s an instigator. His middle name is Gator, I will tell you that. His dad was in the miltiary and his war friends all names their kids something. There’s one with the name “Stump” out there.

H- is vegetarian, he’s also a practicing Hare Krishna, which is a whole other post on its own. I remember when we were first talking we were down on River Street where the Savannah River rips through Georgia and South Carolina, separating it. River Street was the old port back then, now its a tourist trap with bars and restaurants and gift stores. The imported cobblestones remain, now unsteady high heels waver on what’s left.

We were sitting off beside a dock beside a Parking lot before comedy open mic (I consequently went on hiatus from those when we started dating. Typical, you may think, but it’s complicated. Another post some other time perhaps).

I was smoking a cigarette nervously before a set. We were talking. I threw the butt in the river and he reprimanded me. “Why’d you litter like that? A fish could swallow it now.”

We started arguing about awareness and eventually recarination (a subject I was NOT ready to discuss back then. Once again, another post.) I got so upset with him. Why was he so difficult?  We argued all night, unable to let go, long after others would have given up and let go. We kept arguing, by the river, in the alleyway, in the square on a bench.

We argued until we had nothing left to say, nothing left to feel except for relief. So we embraced.

He annoyed me then. He annoys me now. That hasn’t changed. What hasnt changed either is that we can talk. We can argue. We can let it all out rather than keep the poison in.Even if we yell (which we have / are learning not to), we quiet down, we listen, we learn… and that’s, after all, how you learn to love. Annoyances and all.

 

I don’t even like dogs

The neighbor’s dog barks all the time. His name is Sampson and they’ve got him fenced in with a little blue house. We live in trailers. Their front yard is our backyard. Technically, he’s in our backyard, not even in their yard, technically. They have a wooden shed in their front yard. I know there’s not a lot of room. And we don’t even use the small strip of space. They’ve also got a trampoline in their front yard. They got it for their two kids for Christmas. It was a great gift, really, the kids love it. They’re on it all the time. Jumping and screaming.
At first they set it up right outside our back window, so when we had the blinds pulled up for the plants we had a beautiful view of the jumping children. The other two kids from across the street join Macey and Heiman often.
The dog barks like crazy when they’re jumping.
He barks like crazy when they’re not.
The adults joined the kids sometimes too. The kids didn’t notice the window, but eventually the neighbors moved the trampoline from our view. We waved at them once while cooking in our kitchen.
I’ve got headphones in now because it got to the point where I couldn’t stand the kids joyous screams and the dogs desparate barks. I can’t understand their language. I wonder if it’d be more distracting if they were yelling in English.
I hate being annoyed at their joy.

Our living room is up front and our room is in the back. Sampson’s house is right beside our bedroom and when I’m sleeping in he is my alarm clock. He barks and sounds off all the other dogs in the trailer park. I throw the blankets over my head.
There’s this trailer a few lots across from me, they’ve got a few dogs in there, I can’t be sure how many or what they look like. I’ve never seen them outside. They sound like the small yappy ones.

When I was a kid we had a swimming pool in our backyard. It was one of those above ground ones. My parents pushed the eyesore to the back near the forest clearing. We’d spend all day in the summer out there swimming. We could entertain ourselves for hours swimming in a circle. Life was simple back then in the shallow end. We felt like we had a solid foot on things.
We could joyously scream all day and not bother anybody.

Overdue

Things changes, but much stays the same. Seasons cycle, we remain on earth. What has stayed: I am still working at the pub. I’ve been there for 3 years now. I almost got fired last week bc my boss walked up on me pouring well bourbon for myself. When I found out I got mad and cried. My ecstatic emotions have stayed the same too. I’d like to say I have a hold on them, but only on smooth days. Almost getting fired is fine. I get mad because I got caught. Every other person in that place took shots that day – St. Patrick’s Day – the busiest day of the year in our town. You bet your ass I snuck a shot. The shot I poured wasn’t even for me! It was for my barback!

What has changed… (since last we spoke) My relationship status.
I have been with H- for a year and a half now. I am in love with him. I spent a lot of time chasing love, only to caught unexpectedly by him. Granted, I spent most of the prowl late night in bars. The majority of my writings has been about my longing for love and misadventures with men. I wanted love and boy, oh boy, let me tell you that love did not come how I planned that it would. It came as it should. As a surprise. Nothing is known about love except for it is there. Love is lessons. Love is layers.

What has remained: the empty feeling.
I return to this blog because I am lonely. Love is in the back room sleeping. I am wide awake in our trailer texting love letters to the internet.
I still crave connection.
I battle my demons even move now, face to face with them.
I am finally at home every night (what had changed: refer to old posts if you’d like, I used to go out every night after work. Yet here I am at home. Been that way for a while now, my co-workers call me boring.)
I always wanted a boyfriend so bad because it acted as a distraction. Someone’s arms to hold, someone else’s problems to fix.
Not like anyone would stick around before, the chase, the game itself was distracting enough.
This is for real. When you actually get in a relationship, your problems start seeping out like stained sheets. A boyfriend can help with your problems, baby, but he’s for big one of his own. It doesn’t make the load lighter, it just makes the trip easier.
I still feel…. useless a lot. I will be 26 soon and I think to myself, if I keep doing this to myself all my life I will want to die early. There has to be a solution.

What has changed: my faith… again… (I think?)
My solution is God. I have done a full 360 on beliefs here. I don’t know if I’ll continue this cycle and become a hardcore atheist again, then agnostic, then believer… I think maybe so.
My faith has evolved. I was raised Christian, Pentecostal to be precise (which makes a difference). I was very, very devoted. Then… when I was 21 saw all the holes in my faith and denounced God.
Now I’m here, not exactly thumping a Bible, but thumbing through it….
H- had a big part to play in it. He’s a Hare Krishna, that’s something to bring home. Ha! (I did and they love him.)

Has had remained: my love and devotion to writing.
It has not shown here, but do not be dismayed, I have been honing my craft while away.

After I was fired from Block by Block (a year ago now) I got depressed. That’s one of those not so smooth times. I wallowed in my failure. Reveled in my missed opportunity. Cried a whole lot.
And I put the pen down for a while, yes, just a break to listen…. and learn… and I don’t want to wallow anymore.

I want to do good work.

Emotions Flash Fiction

    I saw her coming from across the room in a short dress. Her thighs wrapped tight like a present. I watched her stride so confidently, tossing her long, dark hair. She was stunning. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but I did, literally whipping my body around so I couldn’t see her anymore.

    My first instinct was jealousy. It came like vomit, gushing from a bubbly source with force. It shot straight through me. Honestly, it was the momentum I needed to look away from her—so perfect in her green shimmery dress—I was entranced, and I could of stare at her for eternity and not run out of reasons why she was better than me.  

    Envy wretched, it filled my mouth with filth that I refused to say aloud.

    The words came to me, but I bottled them up, Bitch, cunt, fucking slut… rattled inside my brain like boulders banging on walls. I felt assaulted that they even entered my mind, like I was the one that they were beating. Only when I turned around and saw her—her leaning like an elm tree, arms slender like branches wrapped around him, Chase—did I allow the onslaught of words towards her.

    “Cheat, liar, fucking whore…” under my breath.

    Anger seized me. It was a rushing energy that hit me like a car crash, like getting the breath knocked right out of you. I wanted to knock the breath out of her. I wanted to take Chase by the collar and shake him until everything he’s hidden away from me came falling out his pockets.

    Something in me told me that I should. That I had every right to fucking give him a piece of my mind because he stole a piece of my heart. That he was an asshole who lied to me. He never did love me. He used me. He’s a lying cocksucker, a no good dickbag, and damn it, I wish I could just scream it at him—he deserves to know! I want to shatter his illusion that he’s this good guy.

    There was this feeling rising up in me, like water threatening the ceiling, and soon I would burst. Soon I would explode. I felt like the exhale of a bull.

    I noticed that I was staring. I noticed that I was unnoticed. He had pulled her closer to him by her tiny waist. I wanted to vomit and scream at the same time. I simultaneously wanted to punch and kiss him. I wanted her to feel the way I do, like a tiny, far off figure left behind in the mist.

    There were two whispers in my ear like slithering tongues, “She is so much prettier than you, no wonder he left,” and “Rip their fucking hair out, cause a scene.”

    They were moving, his arm wrapped around her shoulder—he had never walked with me like that—like he was presenting her to the world. He was proud, beaming, he was in love, he was looking around the room to see who was looking at him and then he saw me. He saw me and didn’t acknowledge I was standing there. Like he hadn’t all night, like he hadn’t this whole time. Even though I came to this very spot because I know it’s where he likes to go.

    They were leaving me alone with the thoughts in my head, with the only things that stay in the end.

    Another feeling knocked on my door and let itself in, as it had only left temporarily. It stretched itself, surrounding my mind like a mist, silencing the others, deafening my senses. Sadness lay upon me.

   . . . . . . . . . . 

End. (For now)

Author end note: It’s been literally a year since I’ve posted. I have been in hiding- not just from you- but from everybody.

A lot can be said for low self esteem. For trying and failing. for beating yourself up. I have been in the dirt, but am growing here, poking my head from the soil… it is spring now, after all.

   

Wondering back..

Hi. Oh, it feels so nice to type. My blog! Coming back fills me with the same feeling that makes me want to hold you and nuzzle my face into yours. If I did that…. Tygr…. Hehe. Touch screen phones are sensitive.

It’s been about six months. Nobody cares. But I’m hoping to *ahem* redirect this site. Practice makes perfect and don’t you think that just because I haven’t been blogging means I haven’t been writing.

I want to tell you my story as I’m discovering my stories. I want to record what’s going on around me. It’s not my story at all, really. Just read my words and hopefully you’ll see through my eyes. Experience Life with me. See the green grass below my feet, feel the tips of your toes digging into the earth, and the blades of grass tickling our arch.

Oh, it’s so nice to be back and type whatever I want.

What have I been up to these past few months? Well, I’ve been teaching. 🙂 To be specific, I’m a “Teaching Artist.” To be boastful, I’m getting paid 18 dollars to teach 12 high schoolers creative writing and critical literacy in an after-school program that meets twice a week. We focus on community. I’m able to basically create my own lesson plan (with my partner) following the programs skeleton. It’s really fucking awesome. But really fucking challenging. Expect more posts on this, because reflection is KEY to my success.

Also note, I’m still working as a waitress 4 days a week at my trusty ole pub.

Also, YA GIRL GOT A MAN.  He’s a good catch and a poet. My quest for Love led me here. I put so much energy into dating and boys. Now that I’m here… A new quest begins.

Tighten your seatbelt, y’all. I’m ending this post. I’m coming on my third cigarette and I’ve got to go make revision notes before my shift. This had been my toss. My thumbs feel nice. And I am thoughtful. If you got to this point, thanks for reading. If you didn’t, I’ll get you one day.

Ready…..

I feel tossed.
From here to there, I’m stumbling, carrying all these cares, don’t think I’m going nowhere, and maybe… oh just maybe ill get there.

I’ve changed my mind again.
Technology mocks me. Each day I get a notification reminding me to check Time Hop, this app which allows me to see where I was on this day via social media.
There I was, one year ago, moving into mimis. (My grandmother’s, who would have thought?)
Here I am, a year later, displaced again. What now?

Four years ago I moved out for the first time. Out of a small town, into the “city,” this small southern historical destination I can’t seem to get out of.
Sweet like sugar, sticky sweet treat.

And now, here I am…
Deciding to move… Where? Not out or beyond but BACK
This is my life, saying goodbye and scrambling back because I forgot something…
something important

I left something in this town, small home town deep south. I left a part of me that I’ve discovered, uncovered in the dirt that roots my soul,
Oh sweet sweet Ebenezer.
You are a rock

And now, back to the town I can’t shake off. But I feel it. I told my Mimi and she felt it too. I’m strained, stretched between place to place,
Just need some space
MY space

In the middle.
I’ve been growing. Finally rooted. A Spanish oak twisting to the sky,
Moving back,
I’vee been building for this, preparing myself.

I am ready.

Elaine sat alone at the bar.

Dear Cupid,

Would you take it easy? I’m an open target and clearly in your way. Stop shooting at me. Is that so hard to ask? Although, I know, sometimes I’m knocking on your door. But this time I mean it! Scram! Shoo! I don’t want you around no more, yahear? Take a look at me–I’m punctured! Holes all in me. I think that’s why I have this feeling, like melting, I’m sinking. Would you give me some time to recuperate at least? I’ll need at least a week. Leave me alone for a week, wontcha?

Listen, I know… In a few weeks, once I heal up a bit, I’ll start to miss your ways. I’ll send you mad texts. I’m a bad, bad girl and I want you to hurt me. Put me back in the field, buddy! Here I am! And I’ll get shot! Bit! All over again, like an addict sneaking out to a get a hit….
mmmmmmm, but it feels so good.
mmmmmmm, punctured like veins.

You don’t want to be the cause of my addiction, do ya? Don’t want that on your angelic conscious. Save your arrows for more deserving folk. People all around me seem to be falling in love. You shoot me and it doesn’t stick. The arrow hangs there around then falls limp. Why won’t it stay? (Why don’t they stay?) What is that you’re shooting with? A fucking Nerf gun??

I think it’s your fault. It’s your damn arrows. Maybe you have bad timing. Shooting them when I just so happen to eye a loser. Oh, man… This guy doesn’t have a car. I think he’s perfect.

Truth is, I love you, Cupid. Take your arrow and slap me on the ass with it. I just wanna love Love. But I’m beginning to hate you. I’m writing you to tell you that. I resent you for all the times you’ve hit me. Hit me and told me this time would be different. Oh, I tell myself that, too. But this time I think I’ve learned my lesson. I’m DONE with you. I don’t want any more of it. All these guys, could flip through them by closing my eyes. They come and go, come and go. I’ve noticed how they keep coming. I’m afraid I’ll run out of luck. I pick up a card and say Next! So many choices… So I’m beggin ya! Stop dealing!

Or maybe they’re the ones who are hit. And I’m the one who got in the way.

Maybe that’s what you meant in your letter when you said, “GTFO my way bitch, Im tryna make people fall in love & ur ass keeps ruining it.”

Maybe all these wounds are because I keep tripping. I’m not punctured, I’m bruised. Look at my legs and call me a Georgia Peach!
Chasing love and tripping.
Why do you keep running away from me?

Maybe that’s what you meant when you wrote, “Wait ur turn.”

Maybe it’s not my turn.

-xoxo

I never really realized how weirdly obsessed I am with guys. I’ve been keeping a diary for a couple years now and it’s mostly about dudes. lol My best writing is when I’m talking romance. Like I KNOW I WAS DOING OTHER SHIT WHY WASNT I WRITING ABOUT THAT TOO??

Jesus. Get your shit together, girl.
(Working on it.)

Started the beginning scene of a story idea I’ve been sitting on. This is like the fourth version of the beginning. I can’t get passed it. But I want to tell this story.

I want to focus on my work instead of my relationships. Is that so hard to ask?

Misplaced

I’m outside of my house.

I don’t want to go inside.
(What is this?)

My cat greets me.
Why do I even look for a notification?
It’s never the one I want.
When it is it’s like a treasure and I immediately reply. I throw it back into the ocean like an SOS.
Help.

I don’t want this house. I want his house.

Displaced

They call me Bird at work. It’s the first nickname I’ve liked in a while. The first was Turbo. I got that in high school. I was shy in school, so all my energy went into church activities. My youth group was my social group. These were those I considered my friends, although they barely offered a smile to me in the hallways.
Turbo was given to me by Landon. He was a big, curly haired boy with lots of charisma. Older. I was good friends with his sisters, he had four, two around my age. They were home schooled.
I spent my 16th birthday with them and our other friends, two sisters, Mallory and Cameron. Both older. They surprised me and presented a cake in a dim room singing. Gave me a wooden jewelry box that I hardly used because I hardly wear jewelry.

“Chirp chirp,” my coworkers greet me instead of hey. I’ve taken to it. I write BIRD on my styrofoam cup instead of my name.

I dance around and sing to myself at work. I practice positivity there and it helps with the boredom. I get high behind the dumpster with the cooks and come inside. “Come on down, now, Bird.” They tell my goofy grin. Birds fly high.

I dropped a six pack of corona in the beer cooler. At least it wasn’t craft beer. The bottom of my worn out soles bear shards.

I’m a fucking space cadet. Head in the clouds. I’m looking for a support but there’s nowhere to land.

I’m writing this in segments throughout the night. Free writing whatever comes into my head. I want to find my Voice. I think I can do that here. I’m ready to take my writing more seriously. I’ve been pursuing relationships. Wasting time. Flying from one fantasy to another but there’s no solid ground to land on.

“You’re like Juliette on the balcony.” I text him. I’m walking down Congress and he comes out for a smoke break and sees me. Looks so happy to see me but never texts back.

I’m in the audience and he’s onstage reading his set he scribbled on the back of his EBT bank renewal. “No antics tonight I’m telling the truth.”
I cringe. His life is on display. Each week his set is his life. I have been there along the way, skipping with the weeks and now,
“Since my divorce I’ve slept with 4 beautiful women. 2 crazy. 1 sweet,” he looks me right in the eye. “And 1 I had feelings for.”

No? You didn’t have feelings for me? Just weeks of waste? Sugar that tasted sweet on your tongue then melted and gone?
So on to the next one?

I’ve been called sweet and innocent by everyone. I don’t think I like that name.

Dragged out on stage? Are you kidding me? Everybody knows. It’s the Dawe Show.

Waiting time, sweetheart.
I don’t want to anymore.

I’m working a wedding. It’s their second time each and they just want to get drunk. I happily facilitate.
This is the first time in my life that I have questioned if I will find love.
And if I find, If I’ll keep it.

Space cadet just may lose it.
She loses everything.

Sipping leftover champagne.

Smoking cigarettes behind dumpsters.
I’m the little sparrow that pokes for substances in the trash.

I text him and asked him for dinner. Why do I do that? 
Yes or no.
Either way, I’ll go on my way.
Just need to know.
What’s up with people and wasting my time?

I’m wasting time on the clock. But at least I’m getting paid.
It’s when you clock out. What counts is what you do with your free time.

They’re all drunk now. I’m taking my time on smoke breaks, texting my blog instead of boys. Getting high behind dumpsters then smiling at guests. Come on now, Bird.
You can fly.