Half written posts clog up a section of Wordpress - the “manage” section. This probably doesn’t mean a damn thing to you, but I save some sites there, or story ideas and whatnot. The problem is, there are a lot of half-finished posts just sitting in digital purgatory. Some are rants. Others, just incomplete thoughts. Some are specifically addressed to one person or another. A few are alternate drafts of something I posted. But, I’m tired of holding them in that manage spot, so for your amusement, here are the shreds of this blog
the edges and pieces missing from the whole
the scraps,
the mistakes,
the abbreviated ideas,
the places I didn’t want to go,
the truths that changed with perspective and time.
But these aren’t in order, and if you think something specifically applies to you, it probably doesn’t.
Enjoy.
What Monday Looks Like
I don’t know if that little dig was towards me. Kind of vain if I assume it was, but if it was directed towards me, we need to have a little chat you and I. Shit. We should chat anyway. See, things seem to have changed. Priorities shifted. Where there was once a bridge rests a gap of such magnitude that I believe there isn’t a discourse in the world that can gap it.
You do this often, this silent thing. While I understood it for a while, being that I have the same flaw I think it’s time to grow up. Either I am welcome in your home or I’m not. There really isn’t any other way. I’m very black and white.
And I will say one more thing. The world doesn’t owe you anything. The best advice I ever received was that the world didn’t revolve around me. You should take a look at that phrase. I thought I could find decency and understanding in you and all I get is the silent treatment and “I’ll make it if I can” crap. Don’t do me any favors hon.
Moodswing
I rode the giggly high of mania last night, and crashed as I stood in front of Bravissimo’s.
The limits of my sanity stretch themselves to the breaking point at times. Yesterday I laughed. Today I want to punch someone. No reason, beyond annoyance. It’s so frustrating getting this way. The urge to violate someone’s safety rushes through me and if someone were to invade the sanctity of my desk-space I would be liable to hit them.
This is not sane, people. This does not feel good. It is scary.
Illumination
I work in a pretty building.
My building doesn’t instill wonder from the outside. Encased in shiny, mirrored windows, the front is a rolling slide turned on its side.
Consecration Isolation
My desk, hell my life, sometimes feels off the beaten path.
But how far is too far? Never doubt that D fills most of the niches that need busy clutter, but there are those spots not even he can’t fill. When they grow empty, dusty with long neglect, I feel isolated.
This is not a plea for an endless stream of visitors to the porch, or invitations offered in the hand of pity. It’s just a statement like many more I shall make. Perhaps it is being out of school for a few weeks that sets me into this tailspin. Or maybe I am still suffering the ill effects of a shitty holiday season. What ever the case, my need for social interaction, some kind of fucking attention
Scene
The door closed, but I expected that. Collecting the shards of his shattered wine glass, I contemplated the moments slowly. Dinner for two, alone. I could feel myself warming in his presence, warming steadily. Eyes scattered about the room. Silence, for the first time uncomfortable. Warmth cools. Dinner abandoned on shiny plates, he gulps the wine between blows in the form of stuttered comments, rolling the liquid around the bowl’s flushing my feelings down the toilet. Moments later, it all breaks apart.
A week later, he brings the reason for our demise to my house. I lived there with his best friend, his best friend who introduced the two of them. She smiled prettily. I refused to come out of my room after the introductions. I wanted to pull him into the darkness with me, hypnotize him with promises and compromises. Instead, I did lines and smoked in silence.
Just Pile it On
Seems I am everyone’s shitcan today.
First, the finances decide to take a big bounce.
Then I come into work to find out that I apparently know nothing about computers, but people who can’t use the “save-as” function understand the inner workings of a network.
And the icing on the fucking cake was an accusation from someone who should have known better. But, I digress, let me address this in the order it was received.
Bouncy. Well, we celebrated too much. Didn’t take into account bills that like to show up randomly. We are going to use quick books and budget our funds. Together, our household salary is impressive. Almost more impressive are the bills we pay. But this is the kind of life we choose to lead, so that’s what comes with it.
Morons. “But I can save to the K drive in the field”
“No, you can’t. You aren’t connected to the network in the field.”
“I do it all the time” Accusatory glance.
“I have no idea what you are doing but you are not saving directly to the K drive.”
“Yeah, what ever.”
What was he doing? He had a folder named “K Drive” on his desktop which would sync with the drive when he got back into the office. But you try to explain that to obstinate rednecks with just enough knowledge to be argumentative.
Hung Up.
I think this was just the cake topper, for me at least. But you officially chapped my ass with your little obtuse commentary. First, the phone works both ways. I have tried to call you numerous times, got the machine, and no return call. That is a subtle hint if I ever got one. But it continued with being blown off time after time. And when I did see you, it was because you were already out, and hammered with one your “best friend”. Beyond that? Nadda. I understand the new job thing.
Stories from the other side
We love Babbo’s at dusk. The Ravioli Formaggi and a good bottle of wine allows for a peaceful evening. Last Friday’s visit was no different. Dusk settled and the sky glowed with puffy pink clouds and streaks of stubborn lavender. Our server (I wish I remembered his name) welcomed us like and old friend and as we sat, I noticed the diverse diners. The well-to-do sat next to a couple of older women talking about their grandkids (yes, I eavesdrop!). I smiled as a couple sat at the table next to us. They shared an appetizer and long, loving looks.
One Year Ago - Today
We prepared for the unkown. After the power went out at 9:30, I spent the evening huddled in the hallway with the creatures. A storm blew furiously. I felt the ground rumble as great oaks fell. I listened with great fear to the wind tearing my neighborhood apart. Darkness fell. It fell hard. And just after midnight D and I, accompanied by our trusty canines (who had to pee) ventured out to see the damage. It was year ago today that Hurricane Charley blew through our lives.
I have to thank that damnable storm for a lot of things. I learned to fully appreciate air conditioning. I didn’t care much about the lights, as candlelight is quite becoming. But the infernal, sticky, overbearing heat of a summer night brought love for blessed cool air. I also came to appreciate how old homes are built. The idea of covering 27 windows (I counted them all) in preperation scared the shit out of me. But those windows brought such comfort when they were opened to their fullest, allowing the sticky, but clean air to move through the house for a time. The best thing about the storm was a whole and complete understanding of how much I loved my man. It’s strange to think that a storm can clean the cobwebs in a mind such as mine, but as the ferocious wind tore through the brances, it also tore through my heart. I didn’t honestly think that we would die. But I did think that we had a chance of losing this home we loved so. And when the winds quieted, a thought came to me. I loved D. I didn’t want to be without him. And so from the storm came the full understanding that we should marry. I know it seems odd, or off, to think that a hurricane can bring completion, but it did for me.
I still miss the canopies that sheltered some of my favorite streets. And it was not the lives lost that I mourned, it was the corpses of fallen trees and torn vegitation. If you know me at all, you know that the natural cost would hit me hardest. I felt for those that lost loved ones, homes, and whole lives. But I also mourned the destruction of the land I love. I do love it here. I admit that much. For the natural chaos that blossoms from every garden, from every cobblestone street (you’ve seen the grass that grows between them, I know you have), from every sidewalk, it fills me with green.
So, the hurricane allowed some to rebuild with a clean, if painful slate. For me, it clarified what was important. I hope that you don’t have to hear the winds tearing at your door to realize what means most to you. Today, I kiss my husband, and tell all of you who bore witness to that brutal night to remember what you lost, and all that you’ve gained since.
Buying Wine at the Edge of a Circle
D and I often go to Taste. I am addicted to their grilled asparagus and decor. D fondness for their mashed potatoes and tater tots cannot be ignored. Yes, I said tater tots, but it’s okay. They serve them with a little pot of horseradish ketchup and another pot of Dijon mustard. Good stuff.
Stomach at 95%
I’ve been kind of under the weather for most of the week. It’s a stomach thing. You don’t need the details, but I am glad to say that it’s almost over. I feel better today. I’m tired, but better.
I ended up with a C on my Editing Essentials midterm. At first I was horrified, then, grateful. Many people failed, and some ended up with A’s. I panicked when I took the test. Instead of moving through the answers I knew were 100% correct, I ran around in circles, doubting every answer. We went over the test on Wednesday, and I felt like such a fool. I didn’t answer three questions. Three! No answer, just a blank line. How could I have missed that? And then there were errors that just defied reason. But it’s done. I have the final in 4 weeks. 4 weeks. Oh god.
I have a class called Cuisine/in/art (sound it out) and near the end of the semester, we put on this little party called Art Feast. Everyone in class picks a topic about food and sets up a presentation. I am doing a presentation on my missed opportunity to eat my wedding cupcakes. “The Wedding Cupcakes - the Sequel” will include a better version of my cupcakes, and a little re-enactment of the cake exchange that never happened. It should be fun. I will take lots of pictures.
So, I finally pushed my luck too far. On Wednesday, I got a parking ticket at Rollins
Picknick Killer
I had this whole romantic picknick thing planned for tonight. A date! A romantic date! And god hates me and is going to wash out my date. I fucking hate Florida and it’s fucking rain. I’m going to go off and pout, then I will have a temper tantrum. And then I think I shall pout some more.
**Edit**
The reason this pisses me off so much is that I am the most unromantic woman on the face of the planet. So, this whole date thing was a big deal. I was even going to bake. I bought a picknick basket just for the occasion. And for the record…I still hate Florida. It’s thundering. @$%#(&%#&%($%$(#&!!!!!!!!!!!!
You can’t feed them in the park!
This is a heated issue, I guess. It seems that everyone who lives near a shelter or where the homeless congregate want them to do it elsewhere. There are a lot of sympathetic people who claim to want to help and to allow these groups to do what they can to help those in need. But people generally want them to be helped elsewhere. What’s wrong with the homeless at Lake Eola? It’s shaded, with nice bathrooms and has a tacky, illuminated fountain. Is it their body odor that offends? Or the hungry look in their eye
1.
I want to hurt you all, to rake your face with ragged nails, and then to rip my arms up with razorblades and glass. I don’t want anyone to die, you least of all. But I want you all to hurt, like I hurt. Like this.
What do you do when the meds don’t work? When you get a bill from the shrink you can’t afford. When it’s all wrong? I want to destroy, that’s what this is about. I want to destroy, rip it all down like a 5′3″ Godzilla. Stomping, smashing, killing the pain.
My family hasn’t spoken to me in a month. I’ve pushed them all away, and I am left struggling with what to do next. If it was that easy, then all of the relationships I’ve built with them are bullshit. So easily disposed of. So easy.
David’s feelings are hurt from things I can’t help from saying. I think I’m making sense when the cruel things come to pass, but it’s not nice sense. Not nice at all. I don’t want to hurt him, him most of all. But I do it every time I cut (which I did again this morning), every time I give up, every time I speak it seems.
I’ve cried at some point every day for the past week. It’s the hormones, I keep telling myself. It’s just the hormones. I don’t want my uterus anymore. I’ll keep my phone off to save you all from this. Keep my blog down to keep you all from this. It’s the fifth of May, and I will keep this hidden. Because right now I hate you all. All of you. But I know it won’t last, and I will have to rebuild with the rubble I’ve created. And eventually people won’t come in anymore for fear of violence, and the rooms will be empty. I know it will happen. It always does.
Always.
Sheer Will
Given footsteps and
the beat of a hidden tune
she willed her feet to listen
and tread across the room
But her heart be began to falter
And her body seemed to stop her.
**unfinished?**
Going on a Date
I don’t think people (at least people in long term relationships) understand how important “dates” are. My house endlessly spins with things to do… laundry, poop-patrol, dishes (well, D does those!), dusting, and endless mounds of homework. These dates put a stop to the spinning, the endless motion, so we can enjoy the moment. Watching my parents stumble through relationship problems scares me. Will I repeat their mistakes? Will it ever get to the point where healing is impossible because the distance is too vast? I don’t think they have dated in years. I know that she was overwhelmingly in love with him, but my parents are not friends. Not like D and I are.
Soggy Gray
This gray reminds me of hematite. Shiny. Dark. Wild. Storms keep us rooted to our dryness, bathed in butterscotch light. My couch called to me, singing sweet songs of peace. But homework, and procrastination compelled me to remain in my office. I tried to focus. She who is dead to me distracted me. I called her and the banner installation began.
I love this weather, though it makes me sleepy at this hour. I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with my creatures. They are resting at home right now, probably squishing the couch pillows in ways that irritate me.
Hidden Dragons
You don’t see her, unless I want you to.
She is gray, swirling on my ribcage in a sea of white flesh.
From Something to Nothing and back again.—- this is the last and most recent remnant
The holidays went from nothing to almost too many engagements. D and I don’t celebrate Christmas, don’t buy gifts, and it’s only recently that I’ve sent cards. Okay, I’ve intended to the send cards, which are buried beneath paperwork, Tokidoki and Kid Robot toys, and pens…lots of pens. Every year we hang out with D’s family for Christmas. Four brothers, with spouses and children, and his mother and grandmother. Sometimes his father comes with his four daughters, but they are all growing up and moving on. So, if you are counting, David has four full-blood brothers and I think three sisters? Maybe four. I feel like an asshole. I should know this, but D’s close to his brothers and pretty much as no relationship with his sisters and his Dad. Such is divorce. His parents divorced when he was still in the womb. All of the Christmas plans for this holidaze season fell through, or so we thought. His mother and grandmother are coming over on Christmas day for some dinner. I am trying to resist the urge to serve tofurkey. Perhaps enchiladas will work. And then we were invited to his brother’s house on Saturday. It’s at 6:00. I wish it was earlier. They will serve dinner, I’m sure, and there won’t be a damn thing we can eat except potatoes. One cannot exist on mashed potatoes alone, although David would try. Then Sunday, it’s Al’s house. Albert is kind of an adopted brother, a close family friend, and surrogate son. He’s funny and I like him a lot. Then on Monday, I make the Xxxxx-mas dinner. So………… shit. Lots of stuff to do. And there’s also a dessert thingy @ Amanda’s on Flyday, and Anne’s momma’s house on Thursday (but I have to work late…so that’s iffy).
All I want…is a nap.
——–
And now, all is clean. My bits posted, I feel relieved. Think of it as I do, Winter Cleaning or making space for the mistakes that the new calender year will bring. Regardless, I feel lighter.
Have spiffy Friday.
Meow | 
10 22nd, 2008| 
