Slow Down

I always promised myself that I wouldn't do it. I can't even compare it to a promise because it's something that would be so out of character in the first place. When I think of promises, I think of a covenant that's difficult to fulfill. And this isn't supposed to be difficult, whether it be out of fear or with a sprinkle of will power. 

I see it as the scariest, most thrilling roller coaster on the planet. Like Kingda Ka in Six Flags. When that monster was first built, I didn't even know it was a roller coaster. It was so out of character - just straight up and down. Then when I saw what it was capable of, I was immediately repelled. No fuckin' way, not for me. The second time I encountered it, I was tempted. Even little kids were on it. If they can do it, then I can. "Ahh, but they don't know me, I care about living, and that looks like it can kill you." Third time around, I decided to stand in line, ready to leave at any heightened anxiety. By the time I knew it, I was sucked into the seat, ready to be launched. "Holy.... SHIT." I was a rocket in the sky, and before I knew it, my feet where back on Earth. After experiencing the thrill, I definitely knew it was something I would do again in a heartbeat. 

It's like that. The more I'm around the prospect of this certain "thrill," I'm less and less repelled. That fear turns into temptation, and that sprinkle of will power turns into handfuls. But this thrill is definitely more risky, like a fork in the road with no return.

It's bad, but I want to. 

October 18, 2005

I'm alone.  and this silence reminds me of something I miss dearly. 

Get ready for another one of my ramblings.

I recall the time when my father and I took those evening walks through New York streets to get to a local video store. We used to borrow videos and such. I remember being incredibly afriad of walking those nights. Although I was just a young girl, I was aware of the reputation of the streets at night. Especially in the Bronx. I tend to start talking too much to avoid my fear of a muggler coming up and robbing us blind..  However with my father,  it was completely different.

I knew, and he knew that it was very important for his well-being of being away from home, just for a while,  just to contemplate,  just to listen to the hustling of the streets, just to have some down-time. Even if it meant being out in the dark. And I knew he took me along so my mom wouldn't be worried about him out their alone. Even if I was just a 6 year-old fragile girl. 

And my own presence,  was fully indispensible to his well-being. He understood that each of us knew of the other's well-being, and for the reasons for it, and knew how each depended on the other.. how each of us meant more to the other, in this most important of all ways, than anyone or anything else in the world. And that the best of this well-being lay in this mutual knowledge, which was never really concealed nor revealed. There were no words, or even ideas, or formed emotions, of the kind that bave been suggested here,  no more in my father than in me.

These realizations moved clearly through the senses, the memory, the entire feeling of  being next to each other in a place known as 'bad'.. but it felt so peaceful and safe. Sometimes on these evenings,  my dad would whistle some oldies tune and then perhaps we'd start talking a word or two,  but my father would never finish part of that tune. For some reason,  silence seemed much more pleasurable, and we would never seek to say much,  or to listen for a replay, or to even finish what we were saying.

And then when we pass KFC we'd walk slower.. I suppose to smell the chicken. But I must say,  it smelled pretty darn good. And its really unusual how at times, all I hear is us. Even if we didn't say much, and the cars may get a bit noisy.


It was times like these where silence means everything.

Warning Signs

It's nights like these that lead me to believe that something has got to give in. It's four in the morning and my body just won't let me rest. I have a belief that despite what life throws at you, something inside you nudges hints at you to do what you have to do. A lot of people don't even realize this. It could be something as simple as having had too much to drink last night and feeling like shit the next morning; so when you're confronted with the prospect of a party tonight, you throw up a little in your mouth (ding ding, that's the hint). Or perhaps a better example is how a person reacts with the cycles thrown at them. Ohh, the infamous cycles. They're like hurricanes, but what really matters is if people are prepared for them. I have a friend who always falls for the same douchebag, low-life, pervert dudes, I mean ALWAYS falls for them. Like a hurricane, they rip her apart, from the roof to the foundation, and once the cold winter hits, she rebuilds herself the same rickety-dink way as before. The other night, I almost had a breakthrough with her. She openly admitted that she sees the cycle, but can't seem to break from it. "No," I said, "no way. With every guy that breaks you, the more and more your heart aches. But one day it's gonna go numb, you won't even feel it, anything. A major part of growing and becoming a better person is listening, if it's not listening to people that care for you, it's listening to yourself. If you can't do that, then life serves no purpose for you."

Back to the fact that I can't sleep, well, it's a very familiar feeling. It has become something that I've settled into. And it's not just the insomnia. It's knowing that I'm already fifteen minutes late for work, and I'm still in bed. It's the five extra minutes I spend in the car before I enter my house just so I can sit there. It's not picking up my phone because I just don't feel like talking about whatever concern there is to talk about. But it's not just a seasonal thing, this comes on a daily basis, and it's too much a part of my life. This numbness is disturbing (ding ding, that's the hint). So at least I know that something has to change. I'm grasping for each minute of my life to be for something, but what for? What am I here for?

Believe me, I'm listening real hard, but all I get is a murmur that I can't decipher. Everyone has something inside of them that nudges them in attempt to lead them in the right direction. But the biggest blessing that may not come through for many people is when life throws a hint at you. You know, it's like bumping into a guy at the counter who just happens to be buying the same CD as you, which you didn't even know anyone in the whole state of New Jersey listened to. I'm not pleading or anything, I'd like to think that everything will pan out as long as you don't lose yourself with what life deals you. But it'd be real nice to get that sign.

Faulty Camera

This summer, like the last one except less exciting, consists of me working, sleeping, and drinking. Emphasis on working. Work is a mundane glob of bullshit. So as I always try to live by, let's skip the bullshit. There is one bittersweet thing about work, however, that is worth mentioning. Recently, my boss finally started to allow us to listen to music, so now doing bullshit sucks a lot less. That's the "sweet" part. The "bitter" part is that it leaves my mind with eight hours to roam freely. This is no bueno. I believe my brain is wired to try to put my life into a panoramic image. Every single fucking detail, every piece of emotion, every nook and corner, EVERYTHING. Obviously, this is crazy. At this point, we should all know that the mind sees what it wants to see.. You know, the image that our eyes captures actually has a huge chunk missing because of the blind spot in our eyeballs, but the brain colors it in. Ridiculous. Some people may call this "smart," but to me, this is proof of how faulty we are. Yes, I said it, our brain is a faulty camera. How do we really know the green that he sees is the green that I see? How come that kid in the birthday party is amused by Jerry the Clown, while the other kid is pissing himself in fetal position from the sight of him? Well let's delve deeper. Why is it that for three years I looked at my ex-boyfriend and saw the greatest thing that has probably happened to me, and now when I see him, my brain tells me to walk away?

There is a little bipolar syndrome in all of us. You know what I mean. They're the little battles that occur inside us, of what is right and wrong, what is cool or lame, or whether to give a fuck or not. For a long time, I used to wake up saying, "Hey, you're not smoking today, that shit is straight up cancer." An hour later, I'm chain smoking. The point I'm trying to get at is just to question how long can our brain trick us and how long will we allow it to do so. When does a dream lifestyle turn into a routine you settle into? When does something that used to make you happy, make you bored? 

A friend of mine said that it is all perspective. We can control our happiness based on how we choose to look at things. This is very powerful and indubitably true. But how long are we willing to gaze at one side of the cube until we peek at the other five sides?

"And it's hard tryna keep this in yah, so I write it all down so one day maybe when life is all sweet I'll remember."

A friend told me that it's about time that I started a blog again, so here I am. It's seems like forever, but seriously,  this stuff used to help me out a lot. See, I'm a thinker, and like a clock, my brain is forever ticking. Each tick is a thought, each one building upon the next thought until it strikes a certain point where it contradicts the previous ones -- and it starts all over again. It sucks sometimes, but that's why I got this to keep track.

Well, that's all I have to say for now.