Freedom is such a double-edged sword. It’s so deceiving. It allows you to think that the world is open to you. But it’s not. It’s just available to you to open. And that doesn't come without a price. I have always been one of those people who’d walk through a door if I found a doorway. Never one who went around carving out doorways. I let that fall to those smarter than myself, which, as far as I was concerned, meant just about everybody. So I’ve always been content to take what is given and live without the dream that something more could exist. It’s all a part of my anti-risk taking personality.
Looking for a new relationship was infinitely harder than looking for a new job—which I decided I needed to do since I didn’t enjoy working with Charlie anymore. It was fine when I had Chad to throw in his indifferent face. But now that I was Chad-less the thrill was gone. Plus, there’s got to be something better out there than slinging hash. But finding it was nearly impossible in this tiny two-bit town. Not too many jobs to choose from when you’ve got three restaurants and under a dozen stores.
And I felt way too visible for comfort right now. Despite my newfound emotional independence I was a little on the vulnerable side. Why is it when a relationship falls flat on its face—or several relationships in a row—you suddenly feel more noticeable. Like there’s a sign hanging from your neck: Date At Your Own Risk. Then Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda...
Sometimes, I get so caught up in the what-could-have-beens that I ignore the realities. This was the case with Charlie. In my daydreams we were perfect for each other, but in truth if we were perfect for each other we would be together. It was really just that simple.
And finally, finally, I had accepted that. A weight was lifted off my shoulders. For a moment there was the bewildering lightness about me. I felt that I might float up, off, and away. But then I was just... fine. Just me. It was like I was finally taking off my blinders and seeing the world for what it was: big, full, and waiting for me- if only I would reach beyond my safe little view of the world, where the only risks I took weren't risks at all. It's not a risk if you know the outcome before hand. I knew Charlie would never change, no matter what chances I took on him he would never reach out and because I knew that, he could never break my heart.
Charlie had been my excuse. My reason to not risk myself. So I was taking a chance, breaking away from the familar, and I was terrified... and I was free. Free of anger, towards him and myself. At myself for caring too much, at him for not caring at all.
I was in my apartment, sitting on the worn couch the night I realized all of this (which was ironic
because that was the place that Charlie had instigated The Talk). A movie was blaring from the TV, but I can't recall what it was for the life of me. It was as if the room had fallen away, and I was open and exposed. Bared to myself. And I ran. Outside into the wet, cold night. Away to an old abandoned swing set where I sat, shivering, swinging slowly, long into the night.
The sun came up eventually, as the sun always does. As it will do tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. My hair was stringy around my face, my shirt was soaked through, and I was in severe danger of coming down with a cold- but I was better. I was moving on. And with that thought I shoved my feet down into the wet dirt, my hands clenching over the cold chain links, and I was flying. I was free.
And finally, finally, I had accepted that. A weight was lifted off my shoulders. For a moment there was the bewildering lightness about me. I felt that I might float up, off, and away. But then I was just... fine. Just me. It was like I was finally taking off my blinders and seeing the world for what it was: big, full, and waiting for me- if only I would reach beyond my safe little view of the world, where the only risks I took weren't risks at all. It's not a risk if you know the outcome before hand. I knew Charlie would never change, no matter what chances I took on him he would never reach out and because I knew that, he could never break my heart.
Charlie had been my excuse. My reason to not risk myself. So I was taking a chance, breaking away from the familar, and I was terrified... and I was free. Free of anger, towards him and myself. At myself for caring too much, at him for not caring at all.
I was in my apartment, sitting on the worn couch the night I realized all of this (which was ironic
because that was the place that Charlie had instigated The Talk). A movie was blaring from the TV, but I can't recall what it was for the life of me. It was as if the room had fallen away, and I was open and exposed. Bared to myself. And I ran. Outside into the wet, cold night. Away to an old abandoned swing set where I sat, shivering, swinging slowly, long into the night.
The sun came up eventually, as the sun always does. As it will do tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. My hair was stringy around my face, my shirt was soaked through, and I was in severe danger of coming down with a cold- but I was better. I was moving on. And with that thought I shoved my feet down into the wet dirt, my hands clenching over the cold chain links, and I was flying. I was free.
Out of the Blue and Into the Light
Regret is a funny thing. One always immediately regrets anything that causes one pain. And I am no exception to that rule.
Charlie was a regret in a lot of ways. Not just the obvious ones. He was someone I had hung all my hopes on. He started out so good. His overwhelming confidence won me over immediately, but what I didn’t know was it was a complete cover-up for the desperate inadequacies he was trying to hide. All that playful banter that I mistook for swagger was really just a deflector shield. He was actually quite ordinary. Pathetically ordinary. Underneath his highly polished exterior existed a miserably non-descript little boy who only created interesting theatrics when it brought the right kind of attention his way. When he didn’t need it, he shunned it—especially when it came from others—and pretended he hated it. His bravado was a misleading infomercial that was designed to catch and release. He never intended to reel anyone in.
Yet here I was wasting my time regretting him. HIM.
Regret is something reserved for actions you willfully committed. It’s something to be used only in emergencies, when something of great value is at stake. There was no reason to waste my regret on him. He wasn’t that great a catch. Not after I realized he was all an act. When I realized that he was just a simple man with a simple plan: get what you can and get the hell outta Dodge—then blame it on her (his flavor of the week) it was easier to let go. But not without the anger.
I don’t know why or how I fell so hard. Maybe it wasn’t the fall that got me but the falling. I loved the idea of being in love with someone and he was the closest prospect at the time.
Maybe that’s how Chad felt about me. Maybe I was just the easiest one to love at the moment and none of it was even personal. I was beginning to think that that was the case with Charlie. Maybe it wasn’t Charlie I loved, but Love I loved. Then why couldn’t I simply transfer it to Chad, if that’s all there was?
There’s something about naked need that requires my pity. And where there is pity there cannot be attraction. Is that how Charlie saw me?
But I hadn’t seen pity in his eyes when he made his announcement. And I took solace in that. I’d rather be alone than pitied.
I’m not sure Chad felt the same way. I suspect he’d take my pity as long as I came with it. But that would rob him. No one should have to settle for mercy.
School droned on and different guys here and there showed an interest in me. Usually just a passing one. And once in a while, I could detect that familiar rise of testosterone catch Charlie by surprise and make him appear to be scanning my horizons for ships he was planning to battle. But those instances were few and far between and I eventually gave up.
The great thing about letting go is when you actually get to that point, you are able to see things you were blind to while you were keeping a white-knuckled grasp on them. My surrender allowed me a lot of freedom. I got to see a lot of things from the vantage point of a million miles away—the best distance to be from Charlie when he’s in the room. Because of my surrender, I was privileged to watch him snare a couple more girls in his web and witness what it all looks like from the outside.
One in particular caught my attention. It couldn’t help but catch my attention since Libby was paraded in front of me on a daily basis when he would bring her into the group and allow us the privilege of watching her fawn all over him. Her simple-mindedness was aggravating enough that I felt she deserved whatever she got from him. And it became a game—a daily ritual, really—to watch how far she’d go to please him, not knowing yet he was unpleaseable.
Unless you’re a million miles away, you can’t see Charlie for what he is.
He hung onto her longer than anyone before her—even longer than his precious Sara—simply because, I think, she was stupider than the rest. She’d wash his clothes, rub his shoulders, fetch him food on command—anything he asked her to do she’d do. Willingly. Expecting nothing in return, except a shot at the Bigtime one of these days. She, like the rest of us, thought if she tolerated him long enough, he’d finally let her in and she could prove to all his ex-fans that he wasn’t uncrackable, that you just had to have the right combination and he’d open up like a bank vault. And that we were the stupid ones. What delight I took in watching the whole thing, her whole life’s work, come to fruition the day I heard him give her the speech he’d given all of us.
I wonder if she took solace in learning that she had just misunderstood his intentions; that he never liked her like that; that she had read far more into his actions than he ever meant. And I wonder if it came to her the way it came to me: like a lightning bolt out of the clear, blue sky.
Charlie was a regret in a lot of ways. Not just the obvious ones. He was someone I had hung all my hopes on. He started out so good. His overwhelming confidence won me over immediately, but what I didn’t know was it was a complete cover-up for the desperate inadequacies he was trying to hide. All that playful banter that I mistook for swagger was really just a deflector shield. He was actually quite ordinary. Pathetically ordinary. Underneath his highly polished exterior existed a miserably non-descript little boy who only created interesting theatrics when it brought the right kind of attention his way. When he didn’t need it, he shunned it—especially when it came from others—and pretended he hated it. His bravado was a misleading infomercial that was designed to catch and release. He never intended to reel anyone in.
Yet here I was wasting my time regretting him. HIM.
Regret is something reserved for actions you willfully committed. It’s something to be used only in emergencies, when something of great value is at stake. There was no reason to waste my regret on him. He wasn’t that great a catch. Not after I realized he was all an act. When I realized that he was just a simple man with a simple plan: get what you can and get the hell outta Dodge—then blame it on her (his flavor of the week) it was easier to let go. But not without the anger.
I don’t know why or how I fell so hard. Maybe it wasn’t the fall that got me but the falling. I loved the idea of being in love with someone and he was the closest prospect at the time.
Maybe that’s how Chad felt about me. Maybe I was just the easiest one to love at the moment and none of it was even personal. I was beginning to think that that was the case with Charlie. Maybe it wasn’t Charlie I loved, but Love I loved. Then why couldn’t I simply transfer it to Chad, if that’s all there was?
There’s something about naked need that requires my pity. And where there is pity there cannot be attraction. Is that how Charlie saw me?
But I hadn’t seen pity in his eyes when he made his announcement. And I took solace in that. I’d rather be alone than pitied.
I’m not sure Chad felt the same way. I suspect he’d take my pity as long as I came with it. But that would rob him. No one should have to settle for mercy.
School droned on and different guys here and there showed an interest in me. Usually just a passing one. And once in a while, I could detect that familiar rise of testosterone catch Charlie by surprise and make him appear to be scanning my horizons for ships he was planning to battle. But those instances were few and far between and I eventually gave up.
The great thing about letting go is when you actually get to that point, you are able to see things you were blind to while you were keeping a white-knuckled grasp on them. My surrender allowed me a lot of freedom. I got to see a lot of things from the vantage point of a million miles away—the best distance to be from Charlie when he’s in the room. Because of my surrender, I was privileged to watch him snare a couple more girls in his web and witness what it all looks like from the outside.
One in particular caught my attention. It couldn’t help but catch my attention since Libby was paraded in front of me on a daily basis when he would bring her into the group and allow us the privilege of watching her fawn all over him. Her simple-mindedness was aggravating enough that I felt she deserved whatever she got from him. And it became a game—a daily ritual, really—to watch how far she’d go to please him, not knowing yet he was unpleaseable.
Unless you’re a million miles away, you can’t see Charlie for what he is.
He hung onto her longer than anyone before her—even longer than his precious Sara—simply because, I think, she was stupider than the rest. She’d wash his clothes, rub his shoulders, fetch him food on command—anything he asked her to do she’d do. Willingly. Expecting nothing in return, except a shot at the Bigtime one of these days. She, like the rest of us, thought if she tolerated him long enough, he’d finally let her in and she could prove to all his ex-fans that he wasn’t uncrackable, that you just had to have the right combination and he’d open up like a bank vault. And that we were the stupid ones. What delight I took in watching the whole thing, her whole life’s work, come to fruition the day I heard him give her the speech he’d given all of us.
I wonder if she took solace in learning that she had just misunderstood his intentions; that he never liked her like that; that she had read far more into his actions than he ever meant. And I wonder if it came to her the way it came to me: like a lightning bolt out of the clear, blue sky.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Days Pass...
The days passed. Charlie and I didn't speak, it was simpler for him that way. He could pretend we hadn't changed. In the end maybe it was better for me as well, I could be angry at him in silence. God knew, if he had been kind to me it would have broken down that anger and left me to feel all the hurt that I wasn't ready to deal with.
I saw him frequently in those first few days. We were friends with same people. We went to the the same school. If I had avoided him, it would have been obvious how much he still affected me.
So, I pretended that he hadn't hurt me, that I was okay with how we were. That I was better off without him. And it helped. I started to believe in my dream world, but every so often he'd throw a casual word in my direction, a familiar glance my way, and I would be caught in our past dynamic. And in those moments, I missed him. But then one of us would pull back. Move away. Where it was safe.
Charlie was better at this than I was. He could pull himself into his head in a single second. But my heart was written on my face at times, and all I could do was hope he didn't see before I got myself together.
The days passed...
Charlie and I were friends again, in a tentative way. Neither pushing far into the others world. What both changed things was that I was seeing someone. Chad; a sweet boy who cared for me. Charlie was angry at first, I could see it in his posture, his pose when he was around the two of us. Some part of him still cared. But I didn't let this excite me. I didn't let myself follow that dreadful road of, "He cares for me a little... Soon he'll love me and he'll want to be with me." No. If anything, it was a slight upsurgence of testosterone. And I had Chad, who I thought that someday, maybe, I might fall in love with. And in the end, my relationship with Chad made me completely unavailable. Completely off limits, and Charlie knew that I was not the sort who would cheat. I didn't, not even in my thoughts. And so, I was no longer dateable. I was friend-girl. I was a safe bet, as far as we both knew, my feelings for Charles were gone.
So, I pulled myself close to Chad, and he in turn moved himself closer to me. And, one night, at the best of our time together, as we watched movies and talked late into the night, I fell asleep in his arms. I was so happy to wake up there to find him smiling sleepily down at me. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face, and kissed me in spite of my breath... and told me he loved me.
I couldn't honestly say it back, and he understood. But I told him I cared for him. And we held each other for a long, quiet moment.
But that was the best of times, and in the end I could never love him the way he needed me too. I broke up with him one night, and I cried while I did. And then I let him go with the promise that someday, we could be friends.
And as he walked out my front door into the snow, I realized that I still had feelings for Charlie.
It left me aching, wondering why I could feel so much for someone who felt nothing for me, and I couldn't return the love of a sweet caring boy who meant so much to me.
But the days will pass, and things will change. I have to believe that even this will change, fade, and die away until Charlie is nothing but a piece of my past. A piece that I won't regret.
I saw him frequently in those first few days. We were friends with same people. We went to the the same school. If I had avoided him, it would have been obvious how much he still affected me.
So, I pretended that he hadn't hurt me, that I was okay with how we were. That I was better off without him. And it helped. I started to believe in my dream world, but every so often he'd throw a casual word in my direction, a familiar glance my way, and I would be caught in our past dynamic. And in those moments, I missed him. But then one of us would pull back. Move away. Where it was safe.
Charlie was better at this than I was. He could pull himself into his head in a single second. But my heart was written on my face at times, and all I could do was hope he didn't see before I got myself together.
The days passed...
Charlie and I were friends again, in a tentative way. Neither pushing far into the others world. What both changed things was that I was seeing someone. Chad; a sweet boy who cared for me. Charlie was angry at first, I could see it in his posture, his pose when he was around the two of us. Some part of him still cared. But I didn't let this excite me. I didn't let myself follow that dreadful road of, "He cares for me a little... Soon he'll love me and he'll want to be with me." No. If anything, it was a slight upsurgence of testosterone. And I had Chad, who I thought that someday, maybe, I might fall in love with. And in the end, my relationship with Chad made me completely unavailable. Completely off limits, and Charlie knew that I was not the sort who would cheat. I didn't, not even in my thoughts. And so, I was no longer dateable. I was friend-girl. I was a safe bet, as far as we both knew, my feelings for Charles were gone.
So, I pulled myself close to Chad, and he in turn moved himself closer to me. And, one night, at the best of our time together, as we watched movies and talked late into the night, I fell asleep in his arms. I was so happy to wake up there to find him smiling sleepily down at me. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face, and kissed me in spite of my breath... and told me he loved me.
I couldn't honestly say it back, and he understood. But I told him I cared for him. And we held each other for a long, quiet moment.
But that was the best of times, and in the end I could never love him the way he needed me too. I broke up with him one night, and I cried while I did. And then I let him go with the promise that someday, we could be friends.
And as he walked out my front door into the snow, I realized that I still had feelings for Charlie.
It left me aching, wondering why I could feel so much for someone who felt nothing for me, and I couldn't return the love of a sweet caring boy who meant so much to me.
But the days will pass, and things will change. I have to believe that even this will change, fade, and die away until Charlie is nothing but a piece of my past. A piece that I won't regret.
Head of the Class
The problem with Charlie was he wasn't charming. He wasn't funny. He wasn't audacious. He was just Charlie. Unpretentious and immoveable.
He didn't need to be charming; there was nothing fake about him. He was what he was and that's all that he was. He made no apologies. I'm such a sucker for a man who offers no excuses.
Funny? No, he wasn't clever enough to be funny. He was funny in ways that were purely accidental. Like the time he poured his hot chocolate on his shoes when someone asked him for the time. Angelically oblivious. It was the most attractive thing about him.
There was nothing bold about Charlie, either. He was someone who could easily fade into the background. We were a lot alike. We both preferred the background, the wallpaper, the backseat of Life. Like myself, Charlie was bereft of the courage it takes for audacity to settle into the cracks. He was far too timid to be brave. He was simply Charlie. Take him or leave him.
That's what makes it such a loss.
When he told me it was over--when he was done with this--I knew there was to be no discussion; it was simply over. Charlie was not dramatic enough to draw it out into a fight or a barter. He was done and I had no choice but to move on. And intellectually I understood that at the time. When our eyes met, he let his linger--which surprised me, he hardly ever lingered anywhere--but he had no compulsion to pull back when he saw my tears, which came despite my resolve to never let anyone hurt me again. And in those lingering eyes I saw nothing that resembled remorse.
Or even pity.
Just a simple decision made by a simple man for a simple reason I simply didn't understand.
But now, I'm past not understanding. I've passed confusion and moved all the way to the head of the class--where anger sits. Anger's always in the front. Facing the teacher head on. Daring. Taunting. Biding his time.
What the heck, Charlie? Why couldn't you be happy with me? You acted happy. You never sulked or pouted or whined. Why'd you have to take your toys and go home?
I wasted some of my best stuff on you. And you just took it. Shoved it in your back pocket like it was a grocery list. All those vulnerabilities--I handed them to you on a silver platter and you took them; put the platter in a cupboard and slammed it shut. Hard enough it shattered some of your crystal wine glasses--you know, the ones Sara gave you.
And I'm glad.
He didn't need to be charming; there was nothing fake about him. He was what he was and that's all that he was. He made no apologies. I'm such a sucker for a man who offers no excuses.
Funny? No, he wasn't clever enough to be funny. He was funny in ways that were purely accidental. Like the time he poured his hot chocolate on his shoes when someone asked him for the time. Angelically oblivious. It was the most attractive thing about him.
There was nothing bold about Charlie, either. He was someone who could easily fade into the background. We were a lot alike. We both preferred the background, the wallpaper, the backseat of Life. Like myself, Charlie was bereft of the courage it takes for audacity to settle into the cracks. He was far too timid to be brave. He was simply Charlie. Take him or leave him.
That's what makes it such a loss.
When he told me it was over--when he was done with this--I knew there was to be no discussion; it was simply over. Charlie was not dramatic enough to draw it out into a fight or a barter. He was done and I had no choice but to move on. And intellectually I understood that at the time. When our eyes met, he let his linger--which surprised me, he hardly ever lingered anywhere--but he had no compulsion to pull back when he saw my tears, which came despite my resolve to never let anyone hurt me again. And in those lingering eyes I saw nothing that resembled remorse.
Or even pity.
Just a simple decision made by a simple man for a simple reason I simply didn't understand.
But now, I'm past not understanding. I've passed confusion and moved all the way to the head of the class--where anger sits. Anger's always in the front. Facing the teacher head on. Daring. Taunting. Biding his time.
What the heck, Charlie? Why couldn't you be happy with me? You acted happy. You never sulked or pouted or whined. Why'd you have to take your toys and go home?
I wasted some of my best stuff on you. And you just took it. Shoved it in your back pocket like it was a grocery list. All those vulnerabilities--I handed them to you on a silver platter and you took them; put the platter in a cupboard and slammed it shut. Hard enough it shattered some of your crystal wine glasses--you know, the ones Sara gave you.
And I'm glad.
Monday, February 16, 2009
You Won't Understand Until Tomorrow
Was it only a few, short months ago that I took those first, figurative steps towards Charles? You have to understand, I thought we were taking steps together...
It was so new, so completely new, this thing between us. There was a spark in the air when his hand brushed my arm. Electricity when our eyes met. I felt different when he looked at me. Like I was something more than myself. There was a look in his eyes... I couldn't understand it, I doubt I ever will, but it pulled me in and sucked me under, and by the time I realized what was happening I couldn't remember why I had once been so scared to let him in. He was in, and I rather liked it that way.
He shouldn't have been my type. Too much swagger, too much confidence, too much... Just plain too much. But he was. Oh, he so was my type. Charlie had a sort of little boy charm ready hold out a hand and pull you into him. He had such silly, simple delight in the littlest of things. Sometimes, the best times, it was me that could bring that out of him. I never felt more amazing than those times I did something silly, something simple that made him light up from the inside.
I just wish I'd seen his goodbye when it came, in the form of an enveloping, all encompassing embrace. But it came out of the blue. It was unexpected. Silent. Heartbreaking- and I wouldn't see it for what it was until he was long gone. He was too far away from me to reach him. I was too hurt to ever really take a chance on caring that way for him again.
The person I know now and the person was falling for then are separate in my mind. Perhaps one day they will reshape into a single distinct form. Into the real Charlie... Whoever that is.
But for now I am left to attempt to forget him, the look in his eyes, and the feeling of his arm around my shoulder. All I can hope is that I'll understand tomorrow.
It was so new, so completely new, this thing between us. There was a spark in the air when his hand brushed my arm. Electricity when our eyes met. I felt different when he looked at me. Like I was something more than myself. There was a look in his eyes... I couldn't understand it, I doubt I ever will, but it pulled me in and sucked me under, and by the time I realized what was happening I couldn't remember why I had once been so scared to let him in. He was in, and I rather liked it that way.
He shouldn't have been my type. Too much swagger, too much confidence, too much... Just plain too much. But he was. Oh, he so was my type. Charlie had a sort of little boy charm ready hold out a hand and pull you into him. He had such silly, simple delight in the littlest of things. Sometimes, the best times, it was me that could bring that out of him. I never felt more amazing than those times I did something silly, something simple that made him light up from the inside.
I just wish I'd seen his goodbye when it came, in the form of an enveloping, all encompassing embrace. But it came out of the blue. It was unexpected. Silent. Heartbreaking- and I wouldn't see it for what it was until he was long gone. He was too far away from me to reach him. I was too hurt to ever really take a chance on caring that way for him again.
The person I know now and the person was falling for then are separate in my mind. Perhaps one day they will reshape into a single distinct form. Into the real Charlie... Whoever that is.
But for now I am left to attempt to forget him, the look in his eyes, and the feeling of his arm around my shoulder. All I can hope is that I'll understand tomorrow.
Monday, February 9, 2009
A Collection Of Words
1. Jan 20th 09
And I knew it would be your song before the words were sung,
But I knew it couldn't be our song as the chords were strummed.
We played each other so well that we are still ringing with the sound.
Just look what we've found here at the end of our beginning,
Here at the end of expectations
Just look what we've found here at the end of the idea of "us":
The notes fade
As voices crack
-Just like you and I.
We broke ourselves apart and now we're trying to find a new shape
A new way,
A safe way,
Or perhaps simply a silent way
To be.
2. Jan 21st 09
We said we would laugh at the story we were writing
Even if the ending wasn't very funny.
And we said we couldn't cry, no matter how sad the beginning-
But the middle was fair game and we scaled the span through the
Seconds, minutes, and hours,
Ink, letters and -finally- words.
No one knew how to pen the last paragraph,
How to structure the last sentence,
Or how to bear the final aching word.
3. Jan 21st o9 #2
You strung the bow
Aimed the arrow at my heart
But forgot to loose the string.
We're suspended in the moment,
Waiting for you to break or bend,
But in the end
I think I'll walk away
Instead.
From you,
From all of this Don't think I'm judging you
Just know that I'm blaming you
and there aren't words left in my head to build us up
only to break us down.
So I'll leave you alone
Until your arm falls,
Until my guard drops-
Until we're ready to be nothing.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Will The Circle Be Unbroken?
Standing on the corner of 3rd and Vine it hit me out of the blue. This feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something was changing between Chad and me and it gripped me like the flu. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't feel anything, least of all the asphalt under my feet. I'd been walking on air since we'd met up again.
We'd known each other a long time ago, but I never paid any attention to him. He was the silently brooding type--the type I'm always drawn to but scared to death of. You never know what's going on under those pensive brows. And you don't know that it wasn't you that caused them to meet up at the nose, so you walk a wide circle around something you desperately want to throw your arms around, hoping he will invite you in. Somehow. Magically. Through no fault of your own.
I'm the kind of person who sits back and waits for life to happen to me. Hoping when it does it'll be good. So afraid of disappointment I am, I'd rather keep it all to myself than put it out there. At least I know what to expect when I expect nothing.
But Chad. Something was different this time. His hair was a little shorter. He'd buffed up a bit. Seemed a little more outgoing. Not incredibly so, but enough that I felt brave enough to shrink my circle and walk just a little closer to him.
We'd known each other a long time ago, but I never paid any attention to him. He was the silently brooding type--the type I'm always drawn to but scared to death of. You never know what's going on under those pensive brows. And you don't know that it wasn't you that caused them to meet up at the nose, so you walk a wide circle around something you desperately want to throw your arms around, hoping he will invite you in. Somehow. Magically. Through no fault of your own.
I'm the kind of person who sits back and waits for life to happen to me. Hoping when it does it'll be good. So afraid of disappointment I am, I'd rather keep it all to myself than put it out there. At least I know what to expect when I expect nothing.
But Chad. Something was different this time. His hair was a little shorter. He'd buffed up a bit. Seemed a little more outgoing. Not incredibly so, but enough that I felt brave enough to shrink my circle and walk just a little closer to him.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Writers Block
The first word is always the worst. It's never the right one. Ever. But at least now that the first word is written (and even, amazingly, the dreaded first sentence) the words will work together with at least some semblance of order.
My lovely compatriate and I are now setting off on into this new venture together. The start of this project has taught me a lesson in my own ability to procrastinate. I have found that I am quite talented in the overused art of laziness. If I could only make a living by the sheer force of laziness... *sighs* ... Well, a girl can dream.
From this point on I hope to chanel my urge to procrastinate into other far more interesting things. Such as this blog. A rather apt phrase comes to mind, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." But then, I am neither a mouse nor a man, so hopefully I will have some luck in this plan of mine.
If you are daring enough to read, than surely I can be motivated enough to write. And now the final word:
Adieu.
My lovely compatriate and I are now setting off on into this new venture together. The start of this project has taught me a lesson in my own ability to procrastinate. I have found that I am quite talented in the overused art of laziness. If I could only make a living by the sheer force of laziness... *sighs* ... Well, a girl can dream.
From this point on I hope to chanel my urge to procrastinate into other far more interesting things. Such as this blog. A rather apt phrase comes to mind, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." But then, I am neither a mouse nor a man, so hopefully I will have some luck in this plan of mine.
If you are daring enough to read, than surely I can be motivated enough to write. And now the final word:
Adieu.
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