Saturday, July 27, 2013

an apology for my mouth

If i could apologize for the things my mouth says, i would. but my mouth gets its orders to speak from my brain, so maybe i should be apologizing for it too.
i don't mean to speak without thinking. I do think, though. but i forget to think about how my words will be received and perceived. I don't mean to hurt people, and half the time when i put myself on the receiving end i find myself quite vile. yes, vile and selfish too.
maybe a metaphoric example would help here.
i made a plan with a friend to meet up later. i had wanted to go to a movie but we i figured out it was much more suitable to both of our schedules if i postponed going to the movie. i would definitely be going to the movie, just not right now. so we made plans to go for a walk instead. in the time before we met up, i browsed the movies that were available. but i am always browsing movies, it didn't mean i had changed our prospective plan. and then i went ahead and booked a movie ticket. okay, i didn't actually book it but i, how do i say this? i started to apply for a movie ticket. this is the part where i need to apologize on behalf of my brain. then before we went for a walk, i told my friend about my possible movie ticket, my friend was shocked, and when my friend was shocked i realized once again what a horrible person i can be. my friend wasn't shocked about the idea of the movie, but the fact that i had been looking into a movie theatre at a completely different location than where i said i would be looking to go. im not horrible for wanting to go to a movie, or even to plan going to one, but to have made my friend feel that our previous plan was replaceable. and that is where i need to apologize for my mouth. it says things and it says them in ways that i do not mean. mine and my friend's plan to go for a walk is not replaceable. and im truly sorry for making it sound like it is. well, at least my mouth is really, very sorry. and at the end of the day, where things stand, today, yesterday, and tomorrow, the location of the movie is not very important. as long as i get to see it with my friend. so for now, i'll focus on going on our walk. and maybe that will clear my head.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

i wish i could lack ambition

I wish i could lack ambition and be one of those girls who just sit there. Im joking, okay im at least half joking. But seriously, i wish our minds didn't need a break because they were always on break. does that make sense?
i wish i didn't always want to do more and change careers and research more and research different topics. I wish i could pick one topic and stick to it and never be curious about anything else. Its not discontent, far from that. It is fatigue from the notion of always working towards something; applying somewhere, submitting something, pitching.
But i don't fully understand how the minds of people who just sit there function. What are they thinking of if not about traveling, writing, studying? What else is there to think about?

Saturday, May 4, 2013

we forget

I want to burn everything. Everything we bought and thought would last. we forget that our most valued possessions are mortal. we say it and repeat it but we forget it.
As i open closets and close them, i love and hate everything inside. All the clothes, some never even worn, hang in there while their owner rests in peace. peace.
we forget that everything we own is rented and that we will leave it behind to be used, given away, stored, or forgotten. 

Thursday, May 2, 2013

As it used to be as it should be

I hadn't spent time in this room for so long. So long. I come in here, sometimes i sleep here, i go through her closet, but it's been very long since i just sat here. As i plugged in my phone i saw magazines on the bottom shelf from May 2010; three years ago. Three years ago i never would have imagined sitting here and now thinking what I'm thinking. Thinking it alone.
Life should be as it used to be. I say that with guilt but that's how i want it.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

being sick

Confession: sometimes i love being sick. I don't love the headaches nor the teary eyes nor the head that weighs a ton, no not all that. But i love the feeling that, right now, nothing is more important than rest. It's not laziness, rather bringing yourself, your body and its wellbeing first. I love that it is okay to just sit there and do nothing because it is what you need to do not what you want. I love the idleness of having no one bother you, of ignoring the phone, the television, the computer, and anything that would take up an extra little piece of your already tired head. I love the fatigue that is not rushed. It is so much easier just to get better slowly, without whining to your body and demanding it pick itself up. Most of all, i love the tea with lemon and honey. Cumin too, if necessary. I am not one of those anti-pill herb advocates. I love the chemicals. I have become somewhat good in mixing cold medication for the best results. Of course i do not dare try out these little wellness experiments on anyone but myself.
I love the bed and its warmth and how it can absorb the symptoms of a virus. That is quite a disgusting picture, i didn't mean for it to sound like that. But, a bed really is the best cold medicine.
I love being taken care of. And i will terribly miss being taken care of. I will miss it so much that i might not like being sick anymore. 

Friday, January 18, 2013

we loved with a love that was more than love

"We loved with a love that was more than love."
-- Edgar Allan Poe

I wish i wrote that. but i didn't. Edgar Allan Poe did

Edgar Allan Poe. 1809–1849
695. Annabel Lee
IT was many and many a year ago, 
    In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 
    By the name of Annabel Lee. 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought         5
    Than to love and be loved by me. 
I was a child and she was a child 
    In this kingdom by the sea: 
But we loved with a love that was more than love— 
    I and my Annabel Lee,  10
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven 
    Coveted her and me. 
And this was the reason that, long ago, 
     In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling  15
    My beautiful Annabel Lee, 
So that her high-born kinsmen came 
    And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 
    In this kingdom by the sea.  20
The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
    Went envying her and me— 
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, 
    In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,  25
    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 
But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
    Of those who were older than we— 
    Of many far wiser than we— 
And neither the angels in heaven above,  30
    Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  35
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, 
    In the sepulchre there by the sea,  40
    In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

Thursday, January 17, 2013

long day

I read something funny this week. Someone made a comment somewhere about how the most appropriate answer to the "long day?" question is that no, they're all the same length.
It was funny then.
But i did have a long day today. Not long in the number of hours but long in events.
I woke up at about 7:00 and received a message about ten minutes into the day that there has been a break down in one of our staff buses and there were now about twenty Canadian expats standing on the side of a Cairo highway waiting for back up transportation to work. After a relay of messages and phone calls, i could start my own day knowing everyone was back where they were supposed to be.
I actually got some work done this morning, which is unusual for a Thursday. But two of our administrative team were missing so that've might've bean the reason behind my busyness. I left work at 1:15 to go to a work lunch across town. We've just signed another expat and it's her first visit to our corner of the world. Nice lady. I could see us working together. She has a daughter that seems like such a perfect little pre-teen, I hope the world doesn't mess her up. In the middle of lunch, i get news that the same problematic bus from this morning has now ben involved in an accident and consequently a fist fight. Took a while, but it was dealt with. Other than that, lunch was chill. I love the outdoors when it's sunny but not hot. After that was over, I picked up the nephews and started the long, slow journey back to Heliopolis. Sometimes traffic can be at a complete standstill, and that's horrible, and other times it goes but very very slowly with all the cars trying to inch and extra inch onto the next lane. And that's even worse. Drive back took over an hour. With three whiny kids. Well, in all honestly, they started out whiny but then the entertainment gadgets came out and each was occupied (read: i had to give up my iPhone to shut one up).
Right at the edge of Heliopolis is our government's statistics building. On in, in huge lit up numbers, is a changing population count. The kids found that extremely interesting and i couldn't believe they'd never noticed it even though they ride on the route every week. I had to answer questions like how does the government know that someone was born or that someone died in order to adjust the population count accordingly. I have become really good at telling kids, "I don't know for sure."
The kids were starving as they hadn't had lunch. I ordered McDonald's for them right away. I think that is the main reason they sleepover on the weekend. We let them eat junk. Once a week, at that age, couldn't possibly be so harmful.
I put them in the next room for now. With the food and Disney channel on. And i can hear them being boys. And i sat down to write this. Then i'll watch one of my shows.
Long day.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013


it is so weird that people expect you to talk about, deal with, and get over things that they can't even being to imagine happening to them.
Fuck that.

Monday, January 14, 2013

old and dirty milk

Old dirty milk. The milk itself is not old nor dirty, but the setting of this story is. I was sent to buy cream today. I was going out anyway and was asked to buy cream on the way back. It is around the neighborhood anyway so it didn't matter. I said i would buy the cream from the specific place i was given directions to. The place is called Khalifa. It's at the end of the car dealership road of Heliopolis, just before the junction of Korba and Roxy. If you're from Heliopolis, you know where I'm trying to describe, if you're not, you probably don't care.
Anyway, after going slow the entire street try to find the place, i found it at the end. It's a very busy street with open stores and lights everywhere and double parked cars. I had to ask only two people before i was correctly pointed. I found parking almost right outside the place. That's so good it's worthy of mention.
Now coming from a busy place like Cairo, i am used to the dirty sidewalks and streets. But having a dairy products store in the middle of all the dirt is just plain unappealing and unflattering. I am sure the products are clean, but the street isn't. And neither is the store. It's a pretty small place, with just enough room for a cashier, two big fridges and a display fridge. There was an area in the back where the products are made and what-not, but i didn't see much of it through my standing spot just past the entrance. I asked for half a kilo of cream (little did i know then, that's a lot of cream). As it was being prepared or the customer before me was being served or whatever, i had my chance to look around. All the products where in clean, individual packages. There were many different kinds of cheese, rice pudding, creme caramel, fresh mild, fresh butter, and basically anything out of a cow. Most were white, cold, and clearly fresh. But the fridges were old. The floor wasn't filthy, but it wasn't clean either. The man at the cashier and the nice man serving from behind the display fridge looked as worn out as the big fridge.
I had to ask for directions to that place not because i had never been there, but because i had not been there in a very long time. I remembered as soon as i walked in that i used to go with my mom when we went shopping together. This was at least ten years ago, when traffic was much better and we could easily drive around Heliopolis picking up things like cream and cheese. All i could think of in those few seconds i had to wait before i was served was that how everything was exactly the same. It was like a memory revival after loss. I could remember when i last went and how the same cheese was in the same spot in the same display fridge, probably with the same man serving it.
To me, that is the good kind of old. Where time can pass and you choose to buy your dairy elsewhere, but somewhere in the neighborhood everything is still the same. And that is the point of this. I don't care that the floor was dirty or the street was crowded or the fridge was ancient; it was all still the same.

Monday, January 7, 2013

i just don't know what to do with myself

sick or very sick
sneakers or heels
to answer the phone or not to answer the phone
The Colbert Report or Mad Men
green or blue nail polish
paracetamol pills or Lemsip drink
chair or bed
thermal or wool
tea with lemon or with honey or with honey and lemon
sleep and wake up in the middle of the night or stay up
drive or ride
more ear piercings or less ear piercings
drop mask or stay put
Pride and Prejudice or Robert Fulghum
tattoo or no tattoo
shoulder tattoo or arm tattoo
red hair or brown hair
black hair or red hair
yoga or kickboxing
Islamic studies or economic development
another Master's or PhD
new gold earrings or no earrings
Diving in Sharm or no diving in Sharm
Forgive or forget or forgive and forget
lights on or off
culinary school or learn by practice
leap of faith or idleness
call back or don't call back
send an email or wait till tomorrow

but seriously, right now, it's about the green nail polish or the blue nail polish

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Wisdomless almost

I went to see my dentist today. i'd taken this appointment over a week ago. i knew he was going to take out one of my two remaining wisdom teeth. I cried like a child. It didn't really hurt, i only slightly felt the anesthesia shots. But for some reason i get terribly nervous and anxious at the dentist's. I've been going to the same one since i was a kid. He's responsible for my very well concealed fake tooth. He was also the one to take out my two bottom wisdom teeth. Those we much worse. Second one, in particular, was a long, irritating process as the little fucker was rooted in sideways. I really do like my dentist. He's the one consistent family doctor we all go to. He even came to visit us in Germany last March. Nice guy. His clinic is immaculate. Really, the cleanest i have ever seen around here and more sterilized that an operating room. Well, it kind of is an operating room. He is German educated, trained, and certified, that explains some. He's got two or three examination and operating rooms in there. It's a small big deal.
It's raining and windy all of the sudden today. It was almost going to be late, and that is not good because his appointments are on the dot, but i wasn't. Only one street had much traffic and i easily found parking. I do not know if this is because of the weird weather or because tomorrow is a holiday. Either reason worked for my benefit. It is so clean that i have to wear those plastic shoes over my trainers. That clinic is the only place in this entire country that i've had to put on those shoes. All the door knobs are covered with a rubbery removable looking plastic. As i said, it's very clean (even though the building it is in is filthy, explains the plastic shoe covers).
The whole process took about twenty minutes. I was surprised when he was done, i thought i would be in there longer. He stuck one of those little square cotton thingies in my mouth and told me to keep pressing on it for two hours. Then change it and press again. It's slightly irritating. I want to have some tea but not through a straw. It's good though because at least i can get away with not talking to anyone for the rest of the day. Because, you know, i have to keep my mouth tightly shut. I do, i have to.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

running shoes

My running shoes are blue, almost electric blue, Nikes. They're really comfortable. I picked them up at a German sports store a few months back. they have a bunch of gray lines going down the sides in some geometric design. the laces are blue too and the soles are white. they were on discount, marked about thirty percent down.
I have a favorite picture of the shoes. I was at a big park in a little German city. I had just finished a short run and found a secluded bench right in front of the lake. There were always people riding little rowing boats in that lake. there were ducks too. All of it was very picturesque. Most of those in the row boats were incredibly cute older couples. I want to be part of that couple that still boats with gray hair. Anyway, that bench was my favorite. It was almost hidden from the rest of the park but had a perfect view of the lake. My legs were too short but i could just barely sit on the park bench and put my feet up on the fence in front of it. The fence was needed as the ground was a good three meters higher than the water in that place.
So i sat there and put my feet up and looked at the old couple who happened to be there rowing. The man was rowing and the woman was reading. It made me think how they lived their life in order to be able to reach such peace. I looked at my shoes and took a picture with my phone. Then i added a filter so now the picture looks really cool. I don't like to look at it these days though. It reminds me of a time when i thought my life was as pleasant as the lake and the rowing boats. The pleasantness and the lake and the boats are now long gone. But my favorite shoes are still here. In fact, I'm staring right at them. 

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Fifi on the inside

Fifi was out of town. Far away from home going down the steps of Knightsbridge metro station in new knee high dark brown leather boots. The boots were just being broken into, worn with thick wool, a black dress and coat and a colorful cashmere scarf. It was cold as it always in in the corner of the world this time of year. She always wore a messenger bag when traveling, partly to keep her hands free and part to keep it attached to her body. Today's was patent gold to lighten up the dark ensemble. There was a lot of makeup on her face but it didn't show. She always used good, expensive makeup that didn't look like makeup. Her hair, freshly dyed, was still messy from the rain earlier.
The metro pulled in just as she got the the platform. She liked it like that, no wasted time in the stuffy underground. It was only a few stops to downtown. She was heading to the Marble Arch this afternoon. She'd planned to spend a few hours walking in and around the stores all the way to Piccadilly Circus. Fifi squeezed her way into a car. Sat down and stared ahead for the entire ride. She was careful not to make contact with her surroundings not really knowing way. As the train pulled up to her stop, she got out just as unnoticeably as she got in. The change in her wallet was weighing down her bag. That bothered her. She made a note to get rid of it. There were dozens in the street begging for it. She climbed out from the station, discreetly transferred the pence coins to her pocket so it'd be easier to disperse, and lit a cigarette. The smoke was fresh oxygen compared to the stuffiness of the metro. Fifi knew she wouldn't really be spending the afternoon walking and going in and out of stores. She had almost three hours to spare before being where she had to be. She'd spend the better part of those in one store. In one department. Doing one thing. She puffed her way to Selfridges, stopping only once for coffee. Well, she'd intended to get coffee but went for a raspberry tea.
Fifi put out her third cigarette in the almost empty tea cup and threw the whole mess away. Pushing the brass handles on the big glass doors, she went in and took her scarf off. She tied that removed scarf to the handle of her bag; another advantage of that style. Past the shoes, bags, sunglasses and various luxury goods that cost small fortunes, Fifi made her way to the other end of the massive store. Makeup.
She was home. Starting with the smaller labels because they were less crowded, Fifi began her ritual. She always started with the lips because it seemed most natural. Glosses first, then colors. She picked a very pale pink from Sisley because she knew it would not match her skin tone. Directly in front of the small, over lit magnifying mirrors, she applied a coat then two and stared at it for thirty seconds. She stuck the tip of her tongue out from the bottom right corner of her mouth and licked the gloss. It came right off. It wasn't cheap, but wasn't expensive enough not to come off. She licked the entire bottom lip off, then the top, all while standing very still in front of the small over lit magnifying mirror. She popped the tested back in its place and moved on. From Sisley to Laura Mercier to Chanel to Nars to Bobbi Brown. She licked pale pink, deep red, plum, sunset orange, electric orange glosses and colors. When her lips were all worn out and all the appealing testers tasted, she moved to eyes.
With eyes she always headed straight to Lancôme. No use wasting time. Eyeliners first. Fifi always used the deep charcoal colors because they were the most striking. She expertly made a thin swoosh over her left eye, coming out at the ends like Cleopatra. Using her pinkie, she quickly rubbed out the little bit outside the eyelid before it dried. Then she stuck her pinkie in her mouth. Just as carefully, she swooshed over her right eye with the liner, rubbed and licked. Mascara was more difficult. She couldn't lick it after applying. It got messy. Picking up a navy shade of the Doll Eyes line, she took a look around the store she had temporarily become oblivious to, and when no one was looking brought up the applicator to her tongue and took a quick lick.
Going back to the non-makeup licking world she glanced at her watch. It was time to start heading to Piccadilly Circus. She didn't like to be the one who was always late. Sometimes was okay, but not always.
As she pushed her way out through the same brass handles on the same glass doors, leaving the smell of leather and perfume behind, Fifi smiled. Everyday, she was slowly getting closer. She was showing that bitch who told her to eat makeup, so she can be pretty on the inside too, just how pretty on the inside she was. She'd licked her fair share of lipsticks to prove it.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

twenty-twelve and great love

In this past year i've aged fifty years.
I was starting to write a long list of things i learned but my mind is blank (mis-typed that as "black" ironically).
Then i went on one of my time wasting websites and read this, "do small things with great love."
And this is what i learned.
Do small things with great love.

Monday, December 31, 2012

nice people

Last Friday i was going to lunch with some friends. Just close by. Driving down a main road and talking on the phone and going through my bag to find lip balm, i did the obvious. I didn't brake in time and i hit the car in front of me, causing it to hit the car in front of it. My inexcusable failure at multitasking caused three cars to be hit. That's not the worst part. The worst part is when i opened my door to assess the damage, my car was completely okay. It had the tiniest scratch. The next two cars were not so, with the one in front being the worst with a big dent in the trunk and all.
I did the right thing to do. I looked at the two other drivers and broke out in apologies taking full responsibility for what just went down. They did the unexpected. They did a combination of subtle head nods and shakes and muttered that it was okay and got back in their cars and drove away. I was stunned. I don't know whether it was my genuine apology or if they were both running late to somewhere, these people were nice. They could've given me hell about it, but they didn't. They let me off the hook when they didn't have to and that is just nice.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

pan roasted spinach

My dream, one of them anyway, at least the one that right here and now i think is my dream, is to open small, tiny restaurant where i am the chef. There is different daily menu made up from food items i feel like cooking everyday. It will have only five or six tables. Staff will only be myself, one helper and one waiter. It will be indoors but with floor to ceiling removable windows. The chairs will all be different but the tables all the same. I don't like restaurants with tables that are different heights. All my tables will be the same. They'll probably be a dark cream with purple tablecloths. Heavy velvet deep purple tablecloths. I know dry cleaning will be a hassle, but they are the kind of tablecloths i want for my restaurant where I'm going to cook. It will be very bright in the morning and very cozy at night, probably played with some clever lighting trick. Most of the chairs will have arms, but not all of them. One wall will be covered, and the rest bare. It'll probably be covered with personal family and friends' pictures and places. I will give the place the feel that it's mine, in every sense. The floors will not be carpeted, of course, it's a restaurant. They'll be a sort of ceramic or porcelain that makes loud sound with clicks of women's heels. There will be many chandeliers. One made exactly like the big one we have at home now with the swinging angel girls. I do not know if they're angel girls but that's what i consider them to be. I'll make natural scents everyday. Probably in mason jars with lots of lemon and basil. It'll have a stone fireplace that is concealed in the summertime. The waiter, or waitress, will not have a uniform. They can wear whatever they want with a large deep purple apron with my restaurant's name on it. Each day's menu will have a little story attached, similar to the posts on this blog but maybe more cheerful than most.
My kitchen will be as big as the seating area. It will be immaculate. All white. Its layout will be similar to the kitchen in the Ratatouille cartoon; an island center with the stove and counters all around and a huge sink in the corner. All the serving plates will be flat. Unless it's a soup or curry of something of that sort, then it will be a bowl. I don't know why i like flat dishes. but i want the food to be almost like a centerpiece of every diner's experience.
I want to cook. to really cook. breakfast items will include everything from a simple omelette wrap to my own inventions of, say, cream cheese with truffles and capers served with thin thyme bread crisps. Lunch will be lots of seafood. Soft sea bass with rosemary roasted potato slices; prawns dipped in lemon mint cream sauce; sea-salted calimari grilled with pan roasted spinach. Even a tuna salad in a bed of lettuce. Dinner will be all the meats, chicken, vegetables, and curries that i can throw together. But then some days all i will make are grilled cheese sandwiches with a choice of salad. Then other days all i will have are chocolate-based foods. Most days a movie will be playing out, projected on one of the bare walls. mostly silent, but maybe not. some days i will go all out and play some silent Ingmar Bergman stuff. These will probably be the vegetarian nights.
My restaurant will be full of light and cheer and appreciation for all things good. And i will name it after my mother.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Tarzan left Africa for Jane

Tarzan left Africa for Jane. He left Africa for her. He left his home for her.
I find myself repeating that in my head over and over as i watch the Disney version.
He hardly knew her. Sure, they'd spent what seemed like a couple of weeks or even months together, but he barely spoke her language. And she didn't speak his at all. And she is not even that beautiful or interesting. Well, maybe to him.
We all know what happens though, he doesn't leave he gets betrayed and pretty much screwed over by Jane's party. Not the point.
Point is, he gave up his home for her. Home in every sense of the word. Not moving houses, neighborhoods, or even countries. But moving a whole habitat. Who does that kind of thing? I really am wondering who would do something like that. I'm not sure if I would. I might, but I am not sure. Do real people even do that? Just give up a whole way of life in order to be with someone? He was used to living with apes, he was ready to make the shift to humans. He was used to walking around half naked, till he put a shirt on. Most striking, he was doing it to be with her. It is understandable that she was the only one of his species he saw, but still. That is a major sacrifice.
I can't help but wonder, is that the kind of transition people who move countries go through? Those who convert religions? It has got to be. Tarzan wouldn't be shifting homes physically, but homes associated with a whole way of life and beliefs and convictions.
In the end, Jane's father makes her turn back to stay with Tarzan with one sentence: "But you love him." Is that all it takes?
In the end, it was Jane who didn't go back to London and stayed in Africa. She gave up her own habitat for Tarzan. Whaddya know.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Nail polish

I've always had a thing with my nails. I'm a biter. When i was very young, toddler-ish, my mother noticed that she had stopped cutting my nails. Apparently my teeth had found their way and baby clippers were no longer needed. I never really grew out of this disgusting but soothing habit. I stop for days and maybe weeks at a time. And during these breaks, nail polish comes in.
I am the best at spending half an hour working on my nails, then as soon as they're wet and shiny, i decide to do something stupid like put a sweatshirt on or search for my keys in the very bottom of my bag. Then i start all over again. There is something greatly soothing about picking a color, removing the color before, washing hands, filing, moisturizing, applying base, applying a coat or two of color. and watching all that dry. It really is very soothing. I think it is the combination of the hand movement and level of concentration. Everything else fades into the background.
The strokes of color and the difference in shades as it dries, it gives the mind something simple to do. The idea of caring of your own hands is in itself soothing. I do not know how men survive without this ritual. I especially love nail polish under water. In a pool during summer. I never get tired of changing colors or worry about messing up and starting over. In fact, the most fun i have is starting over. But then i lose track, forget to change it for even one day or get preoccupied. Then i start biting again. 

"Get found, kid!"

I've just started reading Robert Fulghum's All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Thoroughly enjoying its quirky wisdom.
I came across a passage that made me stop, look up, and thing, "Oh my God Robert Fulghum is in my head!" Seriously. It scared me. But it also reassured me to realize that, if Fulghum wrote it, then I'm definitely not the only one feeling this way. That what is very frightening, is very normal.
On kids who hide really well in the game of Hide and Seek so are rarely found, Fulghum writes:
     "Getting found would have kept him in the game, Hide-and-Seek, grown up style. Wanting to hide. Needing to be sought. Confused about being found. 'I don't want anyone to know.' 'What will people thing?' 'I don't want to bother anyone.'"

Maybe not so much the what will people think part. They can think, not think, scratch their heads or ass for all i care. But confused about being found; wanting to hide; and most of all, needing to be sought.

Catch a Falling Star

Close your eyes and really listen. Do it.

Perry Cuomo- Catch a Falling Star

Curiosity gave the cat insomnia

Thought i was about ready to shut down for the day. But no. Just got an interesting call from my aunt. I didn't actually get the call. I called my cousin this late at night to ask her what went down at her very important doctor's appointment. On television a woman says she's crying but doesn't sound like it. Anyway, i chatted with my cousin for a few minutes and found out that her appointment was postponed so there really wasn't much news.
But then my aunt took the phone. And after the hellos and how are your and the very subtle tone of pity that i've become exceptionally talented at picking up, she hits me with what will keep my up all night. She asked me for an hour to an hour and a half of my time this weekend because she wants to take me somewhere. And she wouldn't say where and wouldn't budge. And she said that everyone whom she tells she will take always keep asking where. But she never gives in and they never guess right.
My brain is turning like the steam engine on a clock, if a clock had a steam engine.
On the one hand, i'm slightly excited. on the other, I'm furious. why would you go telling me something that you don't want me to know three days before you want me to know it? Even in high school this attitude pissed me off, this, "i am going to tell you something later today." If you're going to tell me something, tell me something. Don't tell me you're going to tell me something.
And now my news talk show is ending. And i don't think i will stay up later enough to begin a movie now. And i have no idea where my aunt is taking me this weekend.
And i miss you.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Take me somewhere

Take me away from here. Take me somewhere where love is like breathing
--John Legend

Lyrics used to have such an overwhelming effect on me. They still move me, but just a bit. But John hit a nerve. It sounds beautiful, "take me away from here." Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing? It's not that here is bad, it's not. It's home and it's beautiful. But even home should be escaped every once in a while. I'm talking about a permanent escape this time, to somewhere where love is like breathing. Where everything isn't so damn difficult. Where you don't think twice about the accuracy of a simple answer to an even simpler question. Where crossing the street isn't physically strenuous. Where it's okay to wear running pants down the street without layering to conceal their tightness. Where you can open a window and not hear the sounds of cars honking an out-of-tune disaster. Where you don't wait to watch the news every night just to listen to what different issue is up the country's ass tonight. Where most people, most, don't fall under one of the categories of fake, dull, ignorant, or fed up. Where everyone and everything is not drained.
Drained. I think this is the word I've been searching for here. It's not a about a country or a place being drained, but about a whole lifestyle and phase.
So take me somewhere where love is like breathing. Where i can trust. Where i can ask a question three times and get one answer. That'd be wonderful. Where i can cross the street without remembering dodgeball. Where the air is clearer. Where a fifteen minute drive really takes fifteen minutes, imagine that. Where shoes aren't worn out after a few wears. Where hands stay clean outdoors. Where the beach is simple. Where work is not an infinite loop, and has a start time and an end time. Where everything is simple. Where I have the energy to do something nice for someone. Where people show appreciation. Where I am not expected to answer fifty phone calls a day that really don't say much. Where I am not judged for all that I am and all that I am not. Where everything is simple. Not necessarily easy, but simple. Where there is more love, and where love is not draining.
Take me somewhere where love is like breathing.

Sunday, December 23, 2012


"A woman's loyalty is tested when she has nothing; a man's loyalty is tested when he has everything."
--Some idiot

I disagree. A woman's loyalty is also tested when she has everything. Enough with the cheap prostitution assumptions. Just because a woman has nothing does not mean she will give submit her body to any and everyone. But then as long as that option is there, a woman never really has nothing, doesn't she now? Ha!
But seriously, all respect to feminists, for I am not one of them, it's cheap to think that way. Plain cheap. Yes I'm not feminist. I may believe in equal rights but I do not believe men and women were made equally. Rights, yet. Think about it this way: just because i am short and my sister is tall doesn't mean we cannot go to the same school. It's like that joke, you know the one with women chanting, "Equality, equality!" then "you can't punch me in the face I'm a girl!" That, I agree with. I will ask for a man's help every time i need it. When i need to reach that high shelf, when i don't want to walk to my car alone, when there's a phone number harassing me and i need a stern voice to answer it, and so on and so forth. It's not that we live in the jungle and need some Tarzan firugre for every task that takes a tiny bicep, but admit it, men are useful. They can do things that women can't, they can definitely do things that I can't. And I hate that instead of giving them credit for it, we as a gender, sometimes go off and complain that we are just as strong. We're not. It's not even about strength. It's just a difference in capabilities. And I said difference. they're not more capable, and we aren't less capable. It's just different. Let's see a man get what he wants every single time without raising his voice once. See? We're not so weak.
That quote gets to me though because it portrays women as helpless, and men as gluttonous. And neither are like that. Okay at least not all of them.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Resurrection-ish (and also clean slates)

Resurrection-ish. ish. Because i do not know if this is really resurrection. If i've learned anything in the two years and two months since i've posted on here, it is that nothing can be resurrected. This is by no means hopelessness, but plain and simple growing up and snapping out of whatever one was previously snapped in.
The truth is, I am scared to start writing again. More specifically, I am scared to start posting here. But here goes it.
I am going to have my moment and be wise and all-knowing. Let's talk about clean slates and rebirth and new beginnings and all that.
Clean slates are quite expensive. And rare. But also very high in demand. We've all traveled the road less traveled, only to figure out why it was less traveled. But seriously, who wouldn't want a shot at a clean slate? A chance to do everything over; with the option of knowing what needs to be done and a shot at doing it the right way. An option of knowing yourself, your life with all its surroundings and shaping it the way you think is best. An opportunity, regardless of its cost, to stop, realize everything you've ever wanted, and start over with new, better thought out, goals, means, and ambitions. As you read this, if you read this, you start applying my silly sentences to your life I hope. I've applied them to mine. And i am ready to sell back my very expensive clean slate at a loss. Fuck it, I'm ready to pay someone to buy my clean slate.
I do not want it. Not because I want what i had before the slate was clean, i know i can't have that. But i have no idea what i want. So the clean slate is meaningless to me, it is a burden. It is an impossibility of choices i thought i wanted but now, within reach, i despise. Okay, not despise. But choices i do not want. It is like opening your full fridge and not wanting anything out of it. Even though you might love the leftovers, had been craving the toast and cheese, never say no to cake, or staring at a fun batch of strawberry jello, you close that fridge back up and go back to your unlit room.
This isn't a brat syndrome. Definitely not. It is closer to chit-chat. Closer to talking to the mirror hoping it will give you a different reply than the one coming out of the mouth of your own reflection. It is a realization that you have the option of having the leftovers, the jello, or traveling to Bali for all that matters. But it doesn't matter. None of it does. So take back my clean slate. I do not want it. At least not right now. Okay keep it here. But i do not promise to use it, at least not right now.