There are things in this life that I have no power over. As much as I like to play back situations and tell myself I could have done this or that in a better way, thinking about the things does not change the way I executed them. I believe this is called 'regret'. Something I tell people I don't have.
Everything in my head plays from a very one sided, very baised, and extremely critical perspective. I'm over analyzing my memories and ideas and words (words I'm not even sure I really said or not, they all seem so unreal) and tearing them apart.
I guess I've accepted that having regrets is a part of life. I mean, there is always two paths to take, we are constantly making choices and suffering the consequences (or enjoying the rewards) of the choices made. I have made my choices, whether educated or spir of the moment, and I have wound up here. This is my life, I am on the road, I am here. That's all I know for sure. And every day there are choices to make, there are things you have to do and things you're able to walk away from.
The past is something you can not change. Something stuck, and yet it's what I chose to dwell upon. I don't think about tomorrow, and hardly do I plan out today, but I chew up everything that has happened in the last few years until I feel sick. Sick with worrying, sick with pain, sick with myself. And there is no remedy.
I believe that you have to allow yourself to cry, to ask 'why me', to feel the pain- that's how you heal. To me, people who chose to pretend, to play a part expected of them, are the ones setting themselves up for failure. For an explosion. Like Hamlet, I envy the players. They can form tears for a story, and yet I have no real emotion for my own life- I take no action for my own life.
And what's more tragic, I still think that going back and saying 'I'm sorry' or even 'I miss you' will change anything. Meaningless text messages that don't change the events of the past, and don't help to advance the things of presnt day. Especially when I ask for forgiveness and get nothing, no acknowledgment, nothing. Does he even care? People are so fleeting, they fall apart right before my eyes. They come in and out of life, some leaving fingerprints others just leaving...
And he walked away, so that leaves me cleaning up the mess our relationship made. Maybe that's why I dwell, why I wish so desperately I had taken my ideas in my head and turned them into words. I wish I had grown up with him, instead of after he left me (and made me realize I really was too immature for him. But that is the past, that is just one of many regrets I have to deal with.
There is a lot on my mind, a lot of things I'd like to say if I were given the chance. But saying the things in my head, the things my past is beating up my throat like word vomit, they wont change anything. He'll still pretend to text when he sees me, he'll still ignore my texts, we'll remain strangers. This is the path I embarked upon with my foolish silence and proud mistakes, so now I have to deal with the consequences.
I have to deal with losing him.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
I like to think.
So I'm sitting in Barnes and Nobles a couple nights ago (when I was blissfully unconcerned with my own life). I have my chewed on blue ball-point pen poised over a clean sheet of paper in a notebook I got specifically for this purpose: failing to write...
I always like sitting in a chair back by the gay and lesbian novel section. It's located somewhere in the back, a little removed from the circle of chairs by the window. For some reason I can never bring myself to sit in the old, worn down yet almost too comfortable chairs. I feel like all the poeple busily walking by are looking in, like it's a zoo or something. So I pull a hard backed wooden chair against the wall and pull my legs up allowing myself to stare at the covers of gay romance novels. Thinking, like always.
One thought, a memory of sorts I'm sure I've over romanticised to the point of fantasy, always plays in my head. There's a sort of viel over it now, however, thanks to my effort to block out the painful "good" things that stab at my brain. I'm much too fragile for all that!
When I come back here, I'm hiding from myself and the world. Sticking to a fake persona, pretending like words are going to appear in this nearly empty notebook poised so precariously on my lap. I introduce myself, if asked by a stranger, with a different name. Something from a song, perhaps (lately I've taken to Nonah from a Bowling for Soup song), and I pretend like I'm something much more functional than I am. It's nice to pretend for a second like I'm okay.
On this particular day, I'm watching a couple sitting a bit removed from the rest of the animals in their jungle of battered chairs and books. I always do so discreetly, making sure they hardly notice the little hidden girl in the gay and lesbian section. It's a blonde woman, maybe late 30's, with a boyfriend or husband or lover next to her. He's looking at her, she looking in some anonymous volume I can't remember.
That was what I chose to write about, because it was so vaguly familiar to me. It struck me as odd, that I could almost feel their relationship from my secluded corner. I could feel them taking each other for granted. As I looked on, I discovered the man with the graying hair was not looking at the woman, but out the window. Wishing he was somewhere else, perhaps? He had a book in his lap, like he had thought about pretending to read, but couldn't bring himself to do the dead.
That memory of this very spot comes back to my mind, and I know there's only one avenue to relieve the vile thing. I look at the blank paper and try drawing a flower in the corner for distraction. Fail. I begin my little paragraph how I always do; "We were..." It feels strange, foriegn almost. To use a plural these days is like recieving a treat for doing something good. The past tense, of course, always snatches the reward away.
I write out my memory, getting it all down in a few pages, glancing up occasionally to observe my little couple across the room. This time I meet the womans eyes, and she smiles in a knowing way. I wonder if she ever brought a boyfriend to a secluded corner in a book store, and made a memory there with him. I wonder if she can read my mind, because she looks at the man across from her and leans across the expanse. With a simple gesture, her hand on his knee, and a smile, they engage in conversation. The conversation only people in love can pull off- they exude brilliance, reminicing or maybe just talking. Using the moment to correct their ill thoughts or their acts of unappreciation.
I doubt I inspired this in the woman. But I smiled all the same and wrote it down. Adding it to my fantastically enhanced memory (putting a few empty lines to seperate them). Soon the couple left, soon all the silent men and women drifted away from their spots, to undoubtedly be replaced by new strangers with new books.
Before I even knew what I was doing, my legs itched to wander away as well. I looked once more at the covers of the romance novels we had once laughed about and replaced my hard wooden chair to it's lonely spot amongst it's more relaxing counterparts, and I left. Humans are creatures of habit. I think about it, and realize I sit in this section every time I go to Barnes and Nobles out of wishing for memories to flood me. However depressing they may come, and however false they seem compared to my present day reality.
I read somewhere it's good karma to swtich up your habits. When I went to the bookstore today, I offered myself up to the spectacle of people walking past the big window. I sat in a big comfy chair that felt as if it was swallowing me whole, and I looked at a magazing I wasn't interested in. I even smiled at a strange boy who was perusing the European History section. However much I love to think about the past, and to write and learn from the events of it, I like to think there's something just as astounding to discover in my present day, and my indecisive future.
I always like sitting in a chair back by the gay and lesbian novel section. It's located somewhere in the back, a little removed from the circle of chairs by the window. For some reason I can never bring myself to sit in the old, worn down yet almost too comfortable chairs. I feel like all the poeple busily walking by are looking in, like it's a zoo or something. So I pull a hard backed wooden chair against the wall and pull my legs up allowing myself to stare at the covers of gay romance novels. Thinking, like always.
One thought, a memory of sorts I'm sure I've over romanticised to the point of fantasy, always plays in my head. There's a sort of viel over it now, however, thanks to my effort to block out the painful "good" things that stab at my brain. I'm much too fragile for all that!
When I come back here, I'm hiding from myself and the world. Sticking to a fake persona, pretending like words are going to appear in this nearly empty notebook poised so precariously on my lap. I introduce myself, if asked by a stranger, with a different name. Something from a song, perhaps (lately I've taken to Nonah from a Bowling for Soup song), and I pretend like I'm something much more functional than I am. It's nice to pretend for a second like I'm okay.
On this particular day, I'm watching a couple sitting a bit removed from the rest of the animals in their jungle of battered chairs and books. I always do so discreetly, making sure they hardly notice the little hidden girl in the gay and lesbian section. It's a blonde woman, maybe late 30's, with a boyfriend or husband or lover next to her. He's looking at her, she looking in some anonymous volume I can't remember.
That was what I chose to write about, because it was so vaguly familiar to me. It struck me as odd, that I could almost feel their relationship from my secluded corner. I could feel them taking each other for granted. As I looked on, I discovered the man with the graying hair was not looking at the woman, but out the window. Wishing he was somewhere else, perhaps? He had a book in his lap, like he had thought about pretending to read, but couldn't bring himself to do the dead.
That memory of this very spot comes back to my mind, and I know there's only one avenue to relieve the vile thing. I look at the blank paper and try drawing a flower in the corner for distraction. Fail. I begin my little paragraph how I always do; "We were..." It feels strange, foriegn almost. To use a plural these days is like recieving a treat for doing something good. The past tense, of course, always snatches the reward away.
I write out my memory, getting it all down in a few pages, glancing up occasionally to observe my little couple across the room. This time I meet the womans eyes, and she smiles in a knowing way. I wonder if she ever brought a boyfriend to a secluded corner in a book store, and made a memory there with him. I wonder if she can read my mind, because she looks at the man across from her and leans across the expanse. With a simple gesture, her hand on his knee, and a smile, they engage in conversation. The conversation only people in love can pull off- they exude brilliance, reminicing or maybe just talking. Using the moment to correct their ill thoughts or their acts of unappreciation.
I doubt I inspired this in the woman. But I smiled all the same and wrote it down. Adding it to my fantastically enhanced memory (putting a few empty lines to seperate them). Soon the couple left, soon all the silent men and women drifted away from their spots, to undoubtedly be replaced by new strangers with new books.
Before I even knew what I was doing, my legs itched to wander away as well. I looked once more at the covers of the romance novels we had once laughed about and replaced my hard wooden chair to it's lonely spot amongst it's more relaxing counterparts, and I left. Humans are creatures of habit. I think about it, and realize I sit in this section every time I go to Barnes and Nobles out of wishing for memories to flood me. However depressing they may come, and however false they seem compared to my present day reality.
I read somewhere it's good karma to swtich up your habits. When I went to the bookstore today, I offered myself up to the spectacle of people walking past the big window. I sat in a big comfy chair that felt as if it was swallowing me whole, and I looked at a magazing I wasn't interested in. I even smiled at a strange boy who was perusing the European History section. However much I love to think about the past, and to write and learn from the events of it, I like to think there's something just as astounding to discover in my present day, and my indecisive future.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Musing: People
I find myself observing people in other cars when I drive. I think to myself about their relationships, which song they're singing so enthusiastically, or where they are going. I don't think that I'm ever going to really meet one of those random drivers I entertain myself with at red lights, and that makes me kind of sad. Maybe not sad, but thoughtful anyways.
Every person I pass by, every person I catch staring at me and look away from, I have to wonder if these people are potential "life changers". I have to wonder if that boy staring at me from across the room could be my soul mate if I only gave him the time of day, or if all the girls around me could be great friends. I have to wonder if I'm missing out by not trying to be "friends" with all of these people.
I have come to find that humans are mostly desposable. I lose friends and gain new ones each weak, and I am constantly changing myself. Some people leave marks, some people inspire the change, some don't mean anything. People are like this, important or completely meaningless. I wonder if I'm too wrapped up in my own life to notice the people around me, and if they are to absorbed in their own stuff to notice me? And if I'm missing out on random car trips with the metal head in the car to my right, how can I fix it?
I know that people make a difference on each other. My grandmother who is probably the worst gossip to ever walk the planet, has made me hyper aware of hypocracy and taught me to be careful who you put your trust in. Even the most terrible people out there hold a life lesson. The great people are few and far between. But even then, they come and go. Bringing at their end a change.
Lately I wonder if I have suffered to many of these changes brought on by the loss of people I thought were detrimental to my life. I mean, some of them hardly matter. Like I said, friends come and go. But there are people like my brother, my grandparents, my ex boyfriend... People who make a mark for better or worse, and then remain stuck in my head like a disease. Unlike the people I contemplate at stop signs or stare at in my rear-view mirror, the people I lose leave fingerprints when they walk (or drive) away.
Am I impacting anyone in that way? If so, scary! But I don't think so, and that rings a bit sad. I mean, I liked having the responsibility of another person on my shoulders, and I loved him (and all those other people who stick with me in my head, leaving fingerprints and memories) and it was great. But endings are hard, and it freaks me out to think I've got the potential to do what has been done to me to other people.
Who could be staring at me in their cars, wondering about my life. Random thoughts like "I wonder what her boyfriend's like" then ammending it when they see the bumper sticker on my car (the gay pride flag with DIVERSITY IS OUR STRENGTH written on it) "I wonder what her girlfriend is like", I wonder if they wish they could talk to me, or hear the song I am no doubt head banging to. And if they wonder about me, and I wonder about them, then we're all not doing enough to take the opportunities of meeting the people around us... right?
Like yesterday, I run out of gas on Fairview (a major street where I live), as I am mid turn into a place close to the gas station... I'm about 110 pounds all alone in my car with no gas can and about five bucks to my name. And these big, tattooed and pierced men pull up in a truck and help me... Secretly, I'm scared of them. I'm wishing they looked more... normal? (cliche stupid idea that has been engraved into my mind. Normal looking doesn't mean safe!) but they're strong and they push my car out of the way and have a gas can and help me out. Then ask me out. I say no, I don't date, eyes go right to my bumper sticker. I have to laugh at the way things play out, and how easily convinced humans are of things society tells them "mean something". But it doesn't trouble me, they can join the bandwagon of uncertainty that hangs all around my head these days. I just use it as an excuse to run away from two actually genuine guys, who stopped to help a complete stranger (who was talking like a sailor on the side of the road).
People scare me! And it's great, I think I should be freaked out of relationships with people, I think that'll make me value them when I have forged good ones. Plus, fear is natural. Fear makes me feel alive. Ha, anyways. I just think that the point of this was to encourage random acts of conversation (: people are good... deep, deep, down. I have to just remember that each encounter is a chance for new relationships. For new love, friendship, or maybe even arch enemies like in the comic books? I'm not going to pretend like I understand any of this life, I just wish that I could be passenger on the journey in other people's cars sometimes. I want to be included sometimes instead of looking on from my own isolated vehicle. Life is better lived together.
Every person I pass by, every person I catch staring at me and look away from, I have to wonder if these people are potential "life changers". I have to wonder if that boy staring at me from across the room could be my soul mate if I only gave him the time of day, or if all the girls around me could be great friends. I have to wonder if I'm missing out by not trying to be "friends" with all of these people.
I have come to find that humans are mostly desposable. I lose friends and gain new ones each weak, and I am constantly changing myself. Some people leave marks, some people inspire the change, some don't mean anything. People are like this, important or completely meaningless. I wonder if I'm too wrapped up in my own life to notice the people around me, and if they are to absorbed in their own stuff to notice me? And if I'm missing out on random car trips with the metal head in the car to my right, how can I fix it?
I know that people make a difference on each other. My grandmother who is probably the worst gossip to ever walk the planet, has made me hyper aware of hypocracy and taught me to be careful who you put your trust in. Even the most terrible people out there hold a life lesson. The great people are few and far between. But even then, they come and go. Bringing at their end a change.
Lately I wonder if I have suffered to many of these changes brought on by the loss of people I thought were detrimental to my life. I mean, some of them hardly matter. Like I said, friends come and go. But there are people like my brother, my grandparents, my ex boyfriend... People who make a mark for better or worse, and then remain stuck in my head like a disease. Unlike the people I contemplate at stop signs or stare at in my rear-view mirror, the people I lose leave fingerprints when they walk (or drive) away.
Am I impacting anyone in that way? If so, scary! But I don't think so, and that rings a bit sad. I mean, I liked having the responsibility of another person on my shoulders, and I loved him (and all those other people who stick with me in my head, leaving fingerprints and memories) and it was great. But endings are hard, and it freaks me out to think I've got the potential to do what has been done to me to other people.
Who could be staring at me in their cars, wondering about my life. Random thoughts like "I wonder what her boyfriend's like" then ammending it when they see the bumper sticker on my car (the gay pride flag with DIVERSITY IS OUR STRENGTH written on it) "I wonder what her girlfriend is like", I wonder if they wish they could talk to me, or hear the song I am no doubt head banging to. And if they wonder about me, and I wonder about them, then we're all not doing enough to take the opportunities of meeting the people around us... right?
Like yesterday, I run out of gas on Fairview (a major street where I live), as I am mid turn into a place close to the gas station... I'm about 110 pounds all alone in my car with no gas can and about five bucks to my name. And these big, tattooed and pierced men pull up in a truck and help me... Secretly, I'm scared of them. I'm wishing they looked more... normal? (cliche stupid idea that has been engraved into my mind. Normal looking doesn't mean safe!) but they're strong and they push my car out of the way and have a gas can and help me out. Then ask me out. I say no, I don't date, eyes go right to my bumper sticker. I have to laugh at the way things play out, and how easily convinced humans are of things society tells them "mean something". But it doesn't trouble me, they can join the bandwagon of uncertainty that hangs all around my head these days. I just use it as an excuse to run away from two actually genuine guys, who stopped to help a complete stranger (who was talking like a sailor on the side of the road).
People scare me! And it's great, I think I should be freaked out of relationships with people, I think that'll make me value them when I have forged good ones. Plus, fear is natural. Fear makes me feel alive. Ha, anyways. I just think that the point of this was to encourage random acts of conversation (: people are good... deep, deep, down. I have to just remember that each encounter is a chance for new relationships. For new love, friendship, or maybe even arch enemies like in the comic books? I'm not going to pretend like I understand any of this life, I just wish that I could be passenger on the journey in other people's cars sometimes. I want to be included sometimes instead of looking on from my own isolated vehicle. Life is better lived together.
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