It seems that the can of worms that I have considered closed for years now has been pried open by the other owner of all of the memories, emotions, and f-ed up sentiment that I have been trying to stuff back inside of it since it's creation when I was years younger. My conventional method of sealing the lid on said can of worms forever, i.e. ignoring it's squirmy, burrowing, dank, dark presence and going about my daily business, doesn't seem to be binding anymore and the lid on all of this drama has for all intensive purposes popped right back off in my face because he is insistent upon allowing the mealy mouths of each individual worm see the light of day.

Curses.

My ex-fiance. Wants closure from me. The same man who dissappeared with no explanation while we were still engaged, tried for a second chance, watched me walk away, accepted my decision to not speak with him anymore, was without any knowledge at all of me for six years, during which time HE GOT MARRIED, and then randomly, TWO YEARS AGO, ran into me on the streets of the most unlikely city in the world to cross my path, and all of a sudden his world is in turmoil, his marriage goes defunct, and he feels the need to make amends with me...to get closure. From me. It's like an un-redneck version of My Name is Earl and not nearly as funny. I mean, I am not even close to being as searingly funny as Jaime Pressly is...

W.
T.
F.

Why must we "bomb" the moon?

 
 
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/11/13/moon-ice-nasa-lcross-disc_n_356926.html
 
What has the moon ever done to us, except be hauntingly beautiful and make people a little crazy now and again.  Man, we humans really can't leave anything alone.  Sheesh.

I exist in two small places...my shoebox and my cube.  So much for "out of the box" thinking...cliche, anyone?

If you are going to say that you don't care what people think...you really have to not care.  For real.  Otherwise you are just going to end up making yourself feel bad.
 
Trust me I know.

Ahhh...the inevitable "shoulda's": shoulda called more, shoulda asked more, shoulda visited more, shoulda tried harder...
 
I was wondering when these were going to set-in.
 
Shoulda's are useless to me and Grandma and my family right now.  Gotta concentrate on prayer and hope.

It feels different. It feels like a bunch of different things...it feels sad, and stoic, and wise, and slower. It feels like the kid in me might kick up a fuss when she realizes that I'm growing up. And it feels different because that usually makes me wonder what kind of mess I'm going to get into; now, instead, I just wonder what means of knowing and taking care of myself I will utilize to make myself learn, feel stronger, and move on.

When did this happen?

This hurt my heart...


Best for Last
by Adele

Wait
Do you see my heart on my sleeve
It's been there for days on end and it's been waiting for you to open up
Just you baby
Come on now
I'm trying to tell you
Just how I'd like to hear the words roll out of your mouth finally
Say that it's always been me

That's made you feel a way you've never felt before
And I'm all you need and that you never want more
Then you'd say all of the right things without a clue
But you'd save the best for last like I'm the one for you

You should know that you're just a temporary fix
This isn't a routine
With you it don't mean that much to me
You're just a filler in the space that happened to be free
How dare you think you'd get away with trying to play me
Yeah

Why is it everytime I think I've tried my hardest it turns out it ain't enough
'Cause you're still not mentioning love
What am I supposed to do to make you want me properly
I'm taking these chances and getting nowhere
And though I'm trying my hardest you go back to her
And I think that I know things may never change
I'm still hoping one day I might hear you say

I make you feel a way you've never felt before
And I'm all you need and you never want more
Then you'd say all of the right things without a clue
But you'd save the best for last like I'm the one for you

You should know that you're just a temporary fix
This isn't a routine
With you it don't mean that much to me
You're just a filler in the space that happened to be free
How dare you think you'd get away with trying to play me
Yeah
Ey
Yeah
Ey

Yeah
Ey
Yeah
Ey

But despite the truth that I know I find it hard to let go and give up on you
Seems I love the things you do
Like the meaner you treat me the more eager I am
To persist with this heartbreak and running around
And I think that I know things may never change
I'm still hoping one day I might hear you say

I make you feel a way you've never felt before
And I'm all you need and that you never want more
Then you'd say all of the right things without a clue
And you'll be the one for me and me the one for you
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh

I have no idea what I am doing anymore.
 
I think that was the goal.
 
This could end one of two ways...I hope that it doesn't end the way it always does, 'cause I am bored with that.

And I need a neck massage. 

Night owls that also enjoy the morning-time are constantly on the verge of existing in a parallel universe called Madness.

An interesting thing is that I don't consider myself a writer. I write, everyday. It's not in the cookie-cutter way that I imagine that it should be, but I do. Little bits, pieces and diatribes here and there, a dialouge, a rant, a thought process that I cannot work out until I put pen to paper or fingers to computer keys. Maybe it's because it comes so naturally, I don't consider it a skill; a talent. But interesting all the same that I seem to discount something that so clearly is a part of who I am.

ugliness has a comforting quality.

It's familiar.

It sits around her shoulders like a cloak...a shroud. Ugliness is what she clings to when everything goes wrong. It's there, a well worn I told you so...I told you that you would be back. It's only ever a matter of time. I told you your thoughts would come here, then your feelings. I told you so.

Ugliness says that she could set her heart to burning and spread the flames of talent and passion like wildfire from sea to shining sea. That she could clean up her act and sell it as a whole show, off-broadway. Oh, and she can triumph over all those demons, brandishing the sword of success and pride. Yes, she can do all that.

But it won't be good enough.

Because she would prefer to sit within the solitude of darkness. She would prefer to throw the pieces of her dreams crashing to the floor, as fragile and ostentatiously smashed as dinner plates thrown at a Greek wedding. "Opa!"

Ugliness is strong and common and it can win. It seeps in and takes hold, like black mold in the wall. Sometimes she thinks that the only way to “Fix” “Everything” is to knock down the damn walls, the fortress consumed by mold, and build it all again.

Starting over is the only damn thing she knows how to do without a doubt in her head.

This article, from the Washington Times:
http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2009/oct/15/troop-funds-diverted-to-pet-projects/

...sparked the following rant:

Hi, US Armed Forces? We're gonna need you to go “defend our freedom” in countries where we likely started most of these "fires" that we're "trying to put out" in the first place. We (US Senate) will give you a half a nun-chuck, some rainbow sprinkles and some duct tape to defend yourselves with; you'll pretty much need to make it up as you go because we don't have the funds to train you properly. Why, you ask? Well, because we (US Senate) will use the money that should have gone to properly fund your mission to make us (me and my overpaid over-empowered colleagues) look better. Here’s a gold star (in the form of a sticker, not a medal, we used THAT money to build a pretty fountain in Kansas that commemorates the growing of grass) for your valiant service on behalf of your country.

I don’t mean to make light, it’s not funny, but it does at times feel like this crap is one big sick joke…bring them home, or give them every resource that they need. There is no grey area here. Politics aside (which would be nice considering b.s. politics are the reason our brave men and women are dying daily for what we're not sure of anymore) I believe that every SINGLE military person fighting these battles for these fat politicians is doing so because they feel that protecting our freedom is the right thing to do, NOT because they feel that there is an tangible enemy or goal. IF they must be there, YOU (US Senate and anyone else involved in these decisions) must see that making sure, making DAMN sure, that our military gets what it needs takes precedence over Memorials and Institutions and the like. Both have their place and are commendable gestures, but gestures aren't saving any lives.

STOP WASTING THE LIVES OF THESE HONORABLE PEOPLE.

I am afraid that if you don't, we won't have any left. And it's slim pickins as is.

And then I found that I really didn't care.

I let it roll around in my brain a little bit, to see if any of its sharp edges would catch and sting as they cut into my grey matter.

I kept waiting for the gasp, the realization that it did hurt, I was bothered, and maybe I did feel a bit more than just a passing infatuation towards you.

I'm still waiting.

I thought the realization would be a revelation of sorts...a load off, a bright light, a click in my conscience...but in the end I think that I liked the thought of you. And if I really look deeply, it seems that it's always been that way; I liked the image of a man, which has always stood in the footsteps of a real one at my door.

Clarity was much more grim than I thought it would be.

She couldn't resist…she leaned back to get a full view of the other room to make sure there was no danger of being immediately observed (and therefore stopped) before she planted all five fingertips of her left hand in a different shade of watercolor paint, then brushed the palm of her right hand with a coat of black.

 

Then, after looking over her shoulder again, she ran to one of the blank walls ("minimalist is what we're going for…those photos would create too much clutter") and smacked her right palm against the wall, while marching the fingers of her left hand around it.  The rainbow colors were transparent, the consistency of a flimsy silk slip.  The black transferred to the wall as grey and made a pleasing suctioning sound when she peeled her palm away.  She knew it was slightly destructive, absolutely vindictive and would inevitably lead to a polite fight over her apathy towards making a nice home.  She knew, but she didn't care; the release that followed her little trick engulfed her entire body head to toe and towards her soul.

 

She had tried to talk.  She had tried to scream.  She had tried it all in her head while he was none the wiser,

It's funny when you know how late you are in the morning by who you see on the 6 train.

"Tall slightly Latin looking 40 something guy with curly hair that gets off at 33rd st...ok, I'm only a few minutes late."
"Tall-ish, very attractive black man who looks to be about my age and has no ring on his finger who gets on at Grand Central and off after me...yeah, I'm pretty late."

I have been avoiding writing I have been avoiding feeling I have been stuffing it all back down...I have been curling up in the cocoon of blankets on the oasis of my bed and canceling out all of my opposing thoughts. I have been staring glassy-eyed at the TV I have been turning my phone off I have realized that I need to speak and then I remember that I already have and it didn't mean a thing. I wonder and wonder and wonder why I am here but know at the same time that I am not ready to leave. There have been moments when I've thought of different cities and if it's not St. Augustine or NY these feel like cheating thoughts. I feel this raw gnawing inside all the time, nothing seems to take it away anymore.

I judge myself inadequate and can tell you all of the reasons why I fall short in the light of the world that I live in. I know in my brain what I am worth but it won't translate to anything real. No paper no conversation no work no success...nothing real that has meaning. I ramble and ramble and pause...

I had my ipod on way too loud this morning – the bass in all of the songs was pounding away at my eardrums. But I didn’t care. I needed all of that throbbing noise to cancel out my gushing, tangled thoughts. I stood at the door of the subway and looked out as we passed the platform into the tunnel, when the view became dark I closed my eyes and willed my brain to completely absorb the music and just live off of that emotional sustenance for awhile.

I WANT the intensity of that bass – I want it to be my heartbeat.

God. Everything looks better in the sun.

I am AMAZED.

And for the first time in a long time...perfectly happy with being content.

Wow, indeed.

Inspiration, sent in '05 just after I moved to NYC...

you kelly, are quite the writer. 
 
i was going through some of my old bookmarks and cam
across your blizzle. kind of a coincidence that you
have not posted since july of 04 and then you post a
little before i find you. nice.

your stuff still holds my attention and you write
somewhat differently than other women (i don't mean
that in a sexist way. really the truth is, i don't
really know a lot of women who write shit that holds
me there like you stuff does). i like it.

your oct. 3rd post was awesome. never be like the
rest....please i beg you. please keep that honesty
with you. i wish the world had more kellies (plural
for kelly?) in it. rad.

i take it you are still working as a server? if so, i
have to ask you if you have a low self esteem problem?
is there some fetish with waitressing that makes you
stay? you shold be working for the national endowment
for the arts or something. wouldnt that be fun. move
to nyc for a year and do it for peanuts. you can still
serve there too. many many men.

i hope i don't piss you off cuz i want you to write me
back. later gator.