I’m sitting outside in my old chair, the chair I used to sit in when I smoked cigarettes.
It’s dark, quiet, and chilly, and I can hear the low hum of the highway in the distance. Things are peaceful out here, away from people, away from the TV, away from political conversations. I’m spending the night at my parents house, and while I love them with all of my heart, I’m a bit tired of hearing about this election. I just want to get it over with.
Life has taken a positive, growth-oriented turn in the last few months. I’ve talked some of the changes here; I’m taking my medications, cutting out recreational substances, and throwing myself into projects that I’m passionate about. I’ve given dating and fucking a much needed break in favor of focusing on myself.
That shit gets lonely, though. I miss components of relationships: the hand holding, the feelings of intimacy, and, well, sex.
I can’t be bothered to do the “dating” part. I don’t have the energy to participate in the song and dance involved in getting to know someone. Not only is it exhausting, it’s just disingenuous. The first few dates require a fair amount of self-marketing; you basically have to trump up your best qualities and most interesting interests in hopes that you’ve said all the right things to warrant another date.
So being single will have to do for the time being. And that’s quite alright by me.
I’m going to take a bath, unwind, and rest up. Tomorrow is going to be crazy.
It has been a long day.
You sell a few boxes of contacts over the course of your shift, but that’s not enough to make the time go by any faster. The clock ticks away, inching closer and closer to quitting time. You sit at your desk, almost draped over it, exasperated and waiting for the day to end.
A familiar face enters and she looks just as you remember her. You once regarded each other as sisters, and those feelings of affection quickly rise to the surface upon her reentry into your workplace and into your life. There’s a hug, long and comfortable. You ask each other questions about what the other has been up to. Before you know it, it’s time to close up shop and head home. She asks you to accompany her to the bar you used to frequent. You agree.
Continue reading “Reality.”
“It’s unnerving how I can read your post and feel as if I am speaking… I am in no way trying to take away from your experiences nor your writing… it is as if you can put words to accurately express how I feel about things I have done or experienced in the past… they are just really relatable.
I just respect what you’re doing.
I love you.
And no matter what you think about yourself at the moment or things you’ve done in the past… I just want you to remember how much you mean to me and how amazing of a sister quasi mom you were to me (and still are).
You are pretty much a big deal in my life.”
Kind of speechless, letting it all soak in.
[This is part 5 in a series about shitty things I’ve done to people. You can read the original post here. This post accompanies the one before it, so if you haven’t read that, you might be lost. In the interest of protecting the anonymity of all parties involved, all names have been changed.]
When I was living abroad, my Discman and my headphones were my best friends. Too broke to afford an iPod at the time, I burned mix CD after mix CD and carried at least five of them in my messenger bag at a time, not only to have variation, but to be able to have a song that reflected my mood. Happy, sad, contemplative, I believed then and still believe to this day that there is a song for every single identifiable emotion. And when May told me that I “didn’t know what love [was],” the only songs I could listen to were of heartbreak and longing.
My obligations became less and less important in the days following that conversation. I ignored calls from family members and skipped a lot of my classes, opting to grab a taxi to the city center, just to walk around and listen to music. I had recently discovered Broken Social Scene’s album “Feel Good Lost,” having purchased it on a whim at the Virgin Megastore downtown. After the first listen, I carried it wherever I went. I roamed the city trying to convince myself that I wasn’t hurting, but my music selection proved otherwise.
Continue reading “[5.] Insult to Injury”
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I’ve had a thought.
In an attempt to release some of the guilt I’ve held on to (as mentioned in last night’s post), I’ve decided I’m going to write about the significant things I have done to others. A lot of time has passed, and I’ve gained some amount of clarity, so I’m viewing this as an attempt to forgive myself and let go of some of the baggage I carry. And maybe, in time, I can ask for forgiveness from others.
The Brain Twin is supportive of this exercise. She’s the yin to my yang. The Brain Twin doesn’t cosign an action of mine unless she thinks it’ll do me some good or have a positive outcome. I trust her judgment, so with that, here we go.
Words aren’t flowing as easily as they used to.
See, when I was getting high or drinking, I could churn out page after page of great thought or nonsense, depending on my mood. Nothing was premeditated; every thought that I put to paper or typed out was of the moment. It felt spontaneous and exciting. My creativity was free to manifest itself as it saw fit.
Continue reading “Writer’s Block”