The Happy Stuff.

I was staring into the blue eyes of his Australian Shepard, scratching behind her ears just the way Splinter likes when he asked, "have you lost weight?" I don't even know what kind of question that is, but it managed to break my spell of puppy-love. "I don't know. Maybe," I answered. He's a frequent customer, and I can't take my eyes of his dog Lola.

Home phone numbers. I could stay up all night under the covers with the receiver held to my ear. Every time I become optimistic about my time spent here, I find myself reminded of my roomates, or in this case, on the phone with them. A part of their antics again. Every thing is changing and I'm invisible on the sidelines. There was a puppy who chewed the keychain I wear by my side. There were a million bands, a million girls who slept in my bed, a million snowy nights, and I wasn't there for any of it. Even if they put the phone down and just let me listen to the laughter in the other room.

The night before his birthday, my brother reminded me of the realities that we create for ourselves. I am a perpetual state of, "I was happier here..." or "I was happier when..."

I wasn't. I never was. I've never been content a day in my life. My happiness has stemmed from plotting, from running, or from pretending. A new persona every 8 months that developed out of a rebellion for my old persona. When I ran away, I wasn't following my dreams. I couldn't face Tyler, I couldn't stand how hard school was for me, or how much I hated the jobs I was working. There was romance in the idea of a clean plate. No one was mad at me here. I hadn't let anyone down here. I could do it better here. You can't put miles between your body and your soul. I tore through it, strained my relationships, and sabotaged what I really cared about.

People might live their entire lives feeling lonely, but we used to sit 3 people to a couch, crammed into that living room. I'd fall asleep with my feet by Nick's head before stumbling sleepily into my room, putting on an Owen record, and smiling myself to sleep. I refuse to remember anything else.

If there is anything to learn, it's that I have my entire life to claim. Two years in South Carolina is nothing. I have to see something through to the end and live with the consequences of my actions. Each day is a punishment, for those who think I haven't gotten what I deserve. Seven days is nothing, but it's all I have to look forward to. That, and no more regrets, just cherished memories.

Maybe we could dress in our gowns and stand in front of your fireplace one more time.

Things that are due, or self-reliance

Chris does not blame any trivial issues on overconfidence. If someone transposes a number, he supposes that they were rushing, or doubting themselves, or trying to leave the building before the clock hit 9:30. Never that they were too sure to recheck their numbers.

Truth is, that night, it wasn't a bolstered ego. It was sweaty palms, a nervous stomach ache that started low and worked its way up, like a knot of air through a plastic straw. It gets small in that office, like a blanket, where no one can see your thoughts or feelings. A place where you can count coupons to the beat of your pulse. Yellow walls, the press of your finger prints against the safe lock, or the sound of dollar bills rubbing against one another as you count: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Truth is, everywhere you go, there will be people that hold you back, don't understand you, or whatever it may be. Fighting off those feelings of insignificance, or misconception is a life-long battle that ends in self-reliance.

I'm searching for a better way nestled between two Great Lakes, like the gap between my thumb and pointer-finger. It's not punching the clock, or walking unnoticed across a quad; it's the chase, and the escape. It's longing for the open road, a bus ride North, and finding empowerment through empowering others. I've learned what my hands can do but never seen them unshackled, unconstrained.

The beginning of April, warmth pressed against your cheek. Maybe things could have been different, but I had to fall down and break my arm first.

Lies.

Yeah you fucked up, but it's okay.
And I promise you, the sun will shine today.
But if you find you're out of time,
take a second to remember you're always mine.

Silence after Company (It's just you and me, Billie Holiday)

I was inches away from his neck, watching his jugular pulse, when I found myself aching for the strange relationship I shared with my Endocrine System not long ago. I've been waking up everyday with my game face on, but have no found a reason to exist here. There are probably people trained to deal with that, but I still haven't sought them out. No one needs to tell me what I know best.

This is it, staring across from a couch where I hardly exist. I'm watching kids have fun, the same way I used to have fun at the Artspace. They're dancing, pushing each other, laughing, and exploring extroversion. I keep telling myself I've been a part of this, even though I know I haven't been. Maybe, just like Shep, I helped create a place for them. Except, I always believed that I would always have fun with it. I never imagined myself as an adult.

Him and I, we're not friends. We're not anything but some untied loose ends trying to bury memories under new albums, new girlfriends, or, in my case, 2,000 miles. Somehow, I've managed to only see the best parts, but I'm sure he's reminded constantly of my abuse. I'll never forgive myself.

I gave up. I failed a class, quit my jobs, split town, and headed towards the Blue Ridge. When I thought about it, I dug a soft grave of incapacitation. I sold off every part of myself to avoid my pain, the daemon crawling below my skin, and watched myself turn into a pile of ashes. I wonder all the time if I'm strong enough to change. My life is like a cycle, and I'll never stay close to anyone for long. I ran away before I tore through more friendships like a wrecking ball.

This is the conflict, Intimacy VS Isolation.

I couldn't take the silence when everyone left.

GMTFO Haiku

Why wont someone help?
Why is home so far away?
Please help me go home.

Sunflower Seeds (or why I hate cops)

You're probably an anarchist because the law has been unfair to you the way it's unfair to anyone without a hefty checkbook.

I thought about her as an anxious-avoidant baby with dimples. That's probably why I have an A in Psychology AND a meeting with the Dean of Students to discuss conduct issues.

After 8 months, I've reached an end where I no longer have patience for the insincerity of the Upstate. I've stopped trying to make friends, or just be pleasant. There is no room here for individuality. This is everything Ayn Rand feared.

In New England, I was happy, accepted, and surrounded by people who nurtured me. The Upstate is a toxic pool where I am swimming with every daemon, every fault, and every issue I ever tried to wash away. There in no life guard on duty, I am out in the waves all alone, and the sun is almost disappeared below the horizon.

This is the outlaw land to all my childhood rules and lessons.