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 |   My 2nd blog. My spot for sharing my life, music, and writing with my friends. |
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Hello, Hello. Fancy seeing you here. I'll work on making this nice and pretty later. *  I also have a poetry blog, for those who dig poetry:
AND I have a mental health group with a monthly challenge:
[Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Lay my hands on Heaven and the sun and the moon and the stars While the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car ♡ * I will never make this pretty. |
Sup ya'll? I'm tagging my poetry blog in here today because I added twelve poems yesterday and I'm desperate for feedback.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The day before you're set to move, Jen shows up at the front door of your brothers' apartment. You half-expect to see Emmy when you open the door, and the finding out it isn't her is more than a little disappointing. You dated Jen at your first job, if dating is the same as sleeping together for a few weeks and then never again. "Can I come in?" she asks, and you look behind you at your brothers watching a movie on the living room couch. "No." You step outside instead, shutting the door quietly behind you. They wouldn't appreciate a scene the night before you leave. Instead, you use the time to clean out the van you signed over to Mikey in lieu of whatever back rent you owed. Jen follows you over to the car and you start tossing things on the ground to take over to the dumpster. "Need something?" You ask her finally. "Look, I don't want to fight. I just need to get my nephew's carseat back. My sister is coming down and she wants it back." You try to remember the carseat she's referring to, a navy blue convertible that you sold on Craigslist for 10 bucks one day. "Oh, that... yeah, I don't have that." "What do you mean you don't have it? I need it back. Why wouldn't you have it?" "Do I look like a fucking storage unit to you?" You snap, and then realize how ironic it sounds because your van has pretty much turned into a storage unit, as evidenced by all the random shit in it. Jen sighs loudly, swinging her keychain around one of her fingers and then talks more slowly like that will change the location of her carseat. "Charlie, I.need.that.carseat. My sister is going to be here tomorrow and she expects me to have it. I told her I had it." You laugh and hop up on the hood of the van to have a smoke because you haven't seen her in a long time and it's weird when your past pops up right before you head out. "Well, that was stupid of you, wasn't it? Maybe you shouldn't tell people that you have things that aren't in your possession." She throws her hands up and leans against the hood of her own car parked next to yours. "Where is it then? You just threw it away?" "Nah, I sold it." Her eyes look shocked for some reason. "What? You sold my carseat? For how much?" "Ten bucks." "Charlie, I need that carseat. You have to get it back." "How the fuck am I supposed to get it back? It's gone. I can't just make it appear." You watch as her incredulous face tries to process the apparently incomprehensible conversation and then suggest, "Maybe you should just buy another one." "I can't buy another one for multiple reasons. First of all-" "Oh, wow! There's a list?" She glares at your sarcastic interruption and then continues. "First of all, I don't have the money for another one. Do you have any idea how expensive carseats are? That one was like two hundred dollars. Second of all, they don't even make that model anymore." "Maybe I did you a favor then, yeah?" "Huh?" You hop off the hood and start gathering things off the curb to throw away, mostly notebooks and empty bottles. You've had the van less than a month, but you've slept in it several times in that span, so the clutter is understandable. "I mean, if they don't make that model anymore, maybe it's for a reason. Maybe it's dangerous, defective. Maybe I just saved your nephew's life. You should be thanking me." You start walking toward the apartment dumpster and Jen follows, eyes burning through you. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? How about you grow up and get me my carseat back?" "Listen to yourself," you say, ashes falling from your still lit cigarette. "Telling me to grow up while you cry about getting something back that's already gone. I can't just get it back. You can't just make something be that isn't." "Fuck you. I'm going to have my boyfriend come over here and kick your ass!" Jen shouts as you reach the dumpster and throw everything inside. "Aw, man. Don't do that to him." "Do what?" "Get him hurt over something so trivial." You want to continue on your little tirade, only because she makes it so easy, but then you notice that she actually is about to start crying about it and you suddenly feel like a huge douche. "Aw, come on. I can get it back for you. The person I sold it to relisted it for 20 bucks a few days ago. Fucking Craigslist flippers." "They did?" "Yeah. I don't have the cash for it though. If you give me the 20 dollars, I'll drive out to pick it up. It's in a shit area, but you can come pick it up tomorrow, if you want. What time is your sister going to be here?" Jen's face completely relaxes, but her eyes are still slightly red-rimmed and stressed. "Um, I think five or something. Can I come pick it up from you after work tomorrow? I get off at three." "Yeah, that's fine." You watch her dig through her purse and pull out a folded 20 dollar bill. "3:30 tomorrow. Okay?" "Yeah," you tell her, slipping the cash between your fingers and then pocketing it. "See you then." $30 profit off a carseat that was never yours? Good pay day. So we carried all the groceries in while hauling out the trash And if this doesn't make us motionless I do not know what can What a rotten thing to say such an awful thing to say I didn't mean to bite you, sorry |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** They say that home is what you make it, so when you wake up in a room with windows too high to see out of and carpet imprints on your cheek, you try not to blur the lines. When the tips of your fingers claw at a formica countertop, when you stub out your cigarettes in a time code, and let the silence blare through your mind- it's best to ignore the flash of certain words, "home", "love", "comfort", "family". Fluorescent lights and 2 a.m. diners haunt your memory- waitresses in carolina blue aprons, white frills in all the wrong places, who splash stale coffee on the table and then sigh as if it's your fault. Truckers with a hundred thousand miles on their tab who eye the waitresses up and down, every inch of their sagging youth, beneath the calloused hands of their mind. Graffitied bathrooms with flashing bulbs and piss-covered floors, smoker coughs and pay-as-you-go love. As long as you end up back on the floor of an empty apartment, cheek pressed against the rough, cut-pile carpet, what goes on between is just that- between. When ma comes bearing gifts of bottled water and soft promises that this isn't permanent, you know by now that these words are temporary, fleeting at best. The shrillness of winter wind gave way to spring storms, hail slamming against those windows, so high. Summer threatened to descend and every month that passed, every rent check written, pushed you further away. Her words sound so nice, packaged with neat little ribbons, but every visit draws to an end without resolution. It's best to ignore the flash of certain words, "soon", "abandoned", "forgotten", "home". Even as your mind is read and pretty words form sentences you so desperately need to hear. You know that as soon as they're delivered, they're gone, doors shut and locks clicking from the outside. When the cabin fever eats away the part of your sanity that hasn't been taken away, you find yourself wandering aimlessly down the street, unlit cigarette hanging from your mouth. When you're lost, you always end up watching waitresses in carolina blue aprons, wound tighter than your fists, spilling coffee on formica countertops while your fingertips claw at the empty air. I laid back down and wrapped myself up in the sheet And I must have looked like a ghost 'cause something frightened me And since then I've been so good at vanishing |
Artist: Eddie Vedder Song: Society (from the "Into The Wild" soundtrack) [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Lyrics ▼ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Soon before you're kicked out of your house, a friend takes you to see "Into The Wild" in theater for two reasons. First, he knows that you have a little thing for Emile Hirsch. He found this out one drunken night when you made him go on an Emile Hirsch movie marathon with you. After watching The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys, The Girl Next Door, Imaginary Heroes, and Lords of Dogtown, he taps out for the night. The second reason he takes you is that the soundtrack was done by Eddie Vedder, and who doesn't love Eddie Vedder? In a cramped theater that reeks of mold and dust, you settle into one of the back rows and end up sitting behind some of your friends from high school. These friends are dubbed 'boring' friends by this point, but it's still nice to see them, especially because you've already skipped enough days in the month since school started to get a truancy warrant. The movie is good and fairly easy to relate to, given how badly you'd like to run away from your home life. In a few months, you won't be given a choice, but you don't know that yet. Still, you can't help but think the real guy kind of royally fucked up, but he fucked up in the way he wanted to fuck up.. Luckily, you're too much of a princess to ever be willing to venture off into the wilderness and die of starvation, but you couldn't understand his need to leave more than you do in that moment. The following year, the soundtrack to the movie comforts you many times, when the nights are long and uncertain. You've entered a concrete-jungle version of Into The Wild and with no money, no friends, no family to help, Vedder's voice is your only company. I think I need to find a bigger place Cause when you have more than you think, you need more space |
Artist: Waldorf Song: You're My Disco (from the "Party Monster" soundtrack) [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Lyrics ▼ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Emmy says the rave scene is way better than the punk scene, and even though you vehemently disagree, you don't say as much. The rundown of rules is pretty basic and the only important one is always - this rave is not happening. There aren't flyers and Facebook posts about these parties. The problem is that this scene is too organized for you. The whole PLUR thing and kandi swapping- it's sweet, but it isn't your style. But, let's be honest, the biggest problem is the drugs. Your thing is downers and these bright pills, imprinted with butterflies, hearts, birds, short words- 'sky', a sun... they're only going to last a few hours. You're more concerned with the comedown. Emmy holds out her hand, smiling under the flashing lights, "Go ahead, pick." "Dealer's choice," you tell her. She obliges and then leans forward and says into your ear, "Goey." You step back. "Nah, I'm good." She grabs both of your hands and bounces up and down. "Yessss, goey. Come on." The battle is already lost and a girl comes up to you wearing neon everything, way too much kandi, a pink wig, neon green fishnets... You think you see pony beads falling off of her as she approaches. If it weren't for the e, you wouldn't be able to stay at a rave for more than half an hour. It's just not your scene and you had to miss a show for this. Just when you start thinking it was a bunk pill, it kicks in and everything else rolls out. Emmy drags you outside and starts talking to you excitedly about going somewhere or something. All you notice is the way she's chewing her inner cheek and your fingers tingle as you grab the pacifier around her throat. "You need this," you tell her. She ignores you. "But do you want to go?" "Go where?" "Charlie!" she laughs and leans against your chest. The brick of the building is cold against your back, vibrating from the bass. You hold her there, memorizing the way her hair smells and feels between your fingers. "Will you go with me?" she asks softly. "Of course I will," you lie to her. Where, what, why, how- these things don't matter. It'll all fade away on the comedown. Saturday is calling me - Baby, baby, can't you see? |
Artist: Lou Reed Song: Perfect Day (from the "Trainspotting" soundtrack) [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Lyrics ▼ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You're sick." You hear Adam's voice somewhere nearby, but you're too nauseous to move your head around to find him. "I'm not." "You're the worst addict I've ever seen. The supply versus demand is just awful." You feel the bed move as he sits down and it gives you vertigo. You squeeze the silk gray sheets to avoid sliding off the edge of earth. "Let me cook you something to eat." You groan, recoiling at the thought of smelling bacon or something equally gross. "You can cook me up something alright," you shoot back sarcastically. The bed shifts again as he stands up and you grab for the bars of the headboard. "Sorry, needles make me lightheaded." It takes everything you can muster to turn and look at him. "I need an advance on my check, man. Please." He's wearing his bathrobe, coffee cup in hand. You use his outfits as cues for what time of day it is. Coffee + bathrobe = early. Early when you're a nightclub manager = before 3 p.m. Adam laughs in his obnoxious way. "An advance on what check!? You haven't even worked. You don't have a check coming to you." This hadn't occurred to you. "Oh... Can I get an advance on-" "Wait, let me guess. Can you get an advance on working AND on the paycheck for future work?" There's no good response to that and he knows you won't try, so he tries something else. "Tell you what, if you get up and have breakfast with me, I'll give you a little bit of cash." Because you'll do anything for that last part, you find yourself propped against a chair in the open dining room, a perfect Mexican omelette garnished with sour cream, salsa, and sliced olives sitting in front of you. Doing your best to ignore the food, you fixate your bloodshot eyes on Adam as he drinks his coffee and answers emails on his laptop, taking a bite every couple minutes. "Eat," he says finally, without looking up. This is something you know so well, power play, a control thing. Everyone likes to play god when they get a chance. The question isn't whether or not you'll get what you want, it's what you'll have to do to get it. A few hours later, you're sitting against the floor to ceiling windows, your favorite place to mainline with a view of the city below like dollhouse toys. "Do you really have to do that right here?" Adam snaps, arms crossed, stress tight in his forehead. You start to ask if it bothers him, but it's too late. You're just.fucking.gone. And everything in the world is gone with you- the sickness, the disappointments, the fights and expectations. Every person you've ever hated, and more importantly, every person you've ever loved. The sound of stereo static and late night horror movie marathons, the childhood dog your dad killed, the beeping EKG machine, the bruised knuckles, ripped up floorboards, the droning hum of the refrigerator, 3 a.m. calls, the squeak of chalk, the bell of her laugh, the lump in your throat, red-rimmed eyes, crickets, the smell of mud, winter's spike, folded newspapers, the crackling fire, haunted gasps, realization, acceptance, cracked tiles like shark teeth, the honking horns, mass transit, rooftop gardens, too-short skirts, claw marks, sugar cookies, sunday school lessons, fleece blankets, hands on knees, porcelain dolls, pinned eyes, herbal tea, burning lungs, desperate smiles, ringing tills, the firework display, lake reflections, sterile counters, latex gloves, screaming brains, alley hustles, trampolines, muscle aches, sidewalk chalk, matching shirts, headcounts, empty fields, cemeteries, the told-you-so's, exposed brick, the splintered casket, whimpering mouths. Every fucking depleted resource. It's all gone. Oh, it's such a perfect day I'm glad I spent it with you Oh, such a perfect day You just keep me hanging on |
Artist: Jim Carroll Song: Catholic Boy (from "The Basketball Diaries" soundtrack) [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Lyrics ▼ (P.S. you can click this, Nixie  . I made it a dropnote. ) ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Prompt: T.S. Eliot said~ "Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." Have you ever taken a big chance and watched it pay off? Inquiring minds want to know. I've taken a lot of risks in my life. If I'm running my calculations correctly, there's about a 50/50 chance of payoff. One of the biggest chances I've taken was getting married, but I don't know how much of a 'chance' that is, I guess. I know I'm the only one of my siblings willing to do it though. My brother's been engaged to his girl for, like, quite a while now and he won't even talk about setting a date.  I guess I took a bigger risk than most people with Kira though, because I also moved over a thousand miles away from anyone I knew to live with her when we barely knew each other. I mean, it's not as big of a risk as it sounds because I didn't really have a home at the time, per se, but it's still riskier than a lot of people would do. It's just easier when you're not leaving anything behind. That's paying off so far though, I suppose. I mean, we've been together like 5... 6 years? I don't like using the word 'payoff' for that though because it implies that I have expectations, and I sort of don't. I take things a day at a time and count my blessings. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Sixth grade starts off in public school, a big change from private Catholic schools. You'd like to think it was your superior debating skills that got you the chance to try out public school, but it probably had a lot more to do with your grandparents' very strong suggestion that you should go to school with your friends, who were in public school. The countless arguments of why you had to go to Mass and why you had to go to a Catholic school probably only worked in your favor though. It never made sense to be sent off to Mass while your parents stayed home. The arguments typically went like this: Catholic Boy: Why do I have to wake up and go to Mass? You never do. I'm tired. etc... Catholic (?) Parent: I went to church for 40 years. I KNOW EVERYTHING. Catholic Boy: I want to go to school with my friends. Catholic (?) Parent: School isn't about friends. Catholic Boy: Can I skip Mass today? Catholic (?) Parent: No. Catholic Boy: This isn't fair. Catholic (?) Parent: Life isn't fair. And so it commenced, through most of your childhood- theology classes, mass, adoration, youth ministry, mass, sacrament of reconciliation, sacrament of confirmation, mass, more reconciliation (that's a fancy word for confessions!), and the best of all... Holy Days of Obligation. Those are the best because 1) your parents have to go to them, and 2) it has the fucking word 'OBLIGATION' in the name. Basically, "I really don't want to do this, but I am Catholic (?) so I have to go to fucking church on these specific days. Dammit." Christmas Mass is out the door. Seriously, people you've never seen before in your life are standing along the walls because they're obliged to. It's sick. To your horror, you quickly find out that you know absolutely nothing about science. During your first science class, all the stupid shit you were told sort of falls through the floor... like gravity, for example. Your 4th grade 'science' teacher didn't believe in gravity. Just... flat out didn't believe in it. "You can't just give something a name and say it's so." This was a joke between between you and your classmates and became a 'thing' to joke about in the halls. "Hey, did you do your planets project yet?" "Nah, I was going to, but then I realized that I can't just call it Jupiter and have it be that way." What had been a joke for years- sure, it isn't gravity, it's God keeping us down until he's ready to lift us up- became a serious concern when your public school friends knew all the laws of motion by heart (and what they meant). They knew a lot of things actually, like why the sky was blue and how the moon affected waves. All the cute religious things you'd been told, "Nighttime is dark because God is throwing a black trash bag over the world so we can sleep. The stars are just holes in the bag" were coming back to haunt you. No one passed these things off as fact. Obviously, everyone knew this wasn't the case, but just a sweet (and sightly horrifying) saying that made kids stop asking questions. Not because the religion wanted to hide the answer, but because no one cared to go through the process of explaining things like this to a kid. You're even more horrified when you realize that learning science is extremely difficult for you. For some reason, it doesn't click at all and you have to write the precipitation cycle over and over and over just to memorize the first part of it. Your friends laugh it off and tell you, "Aw, it's cool, you just don't have a scientific mind." After finding out that the earth is over 4 billion years old as opposed to the 6000 years old, which you were explicitly told at some point, a new kind of argument starts: Catholic Boy: You made me stupid! Catholic (?) Parent: You're not stupid, Charles, stop it. Catholic Boy: You sent me to a school system of trailers! Now I don't have a scientific mind! Catholic (?) Parent: If you want to learn more about science, why don't you read more about science? Catholic Boy: I do read about science. That's the whole point. I'm too stupid to understand it because you guys made me stupid. Catholic (?) Parent: You're upsetting your mother. Go clean your room. Your dad comes in a little while later and tells you that you if you bring it up again, he'll make you permanently stupid and shakes a fist at you jokingly, but the next week you come home from school to find a giant book of science facts on your bed. Attached is a post-it note: Here, now you can not be stupid. - Dad I make a contribution, I get absolution I make a resolution to purify my soul I'm a Catholic boy Redeemed through pain Not through joy |
Artist: Elliott Smith Song: Miss Misery (from the "Good Will Hunting" soundtrack) [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Lyrics  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** It's difficult at best to put something back together once it falls apart. After moving to the city, seeing your friends back home is like chasing the ghost of a good thing. Everyone knows you can't make something live once it's dead. Coming home is like trying to fit pieces together that belong to different puzzles, but you try anyway. It gets easier after the initial shock of how skinny and strung out you are. By the third or fourth visit, people are comfortable enough to joke about it. "Dude's gone all 'My Own Private Idaho' on us," Jimmy says, drinking wine from the bottle even though it's not even quite afternoon yet. You lean against the windowsill as they sit around the room and stare at you. You're a spectacle, something that makes them stop and look, a reminder that a lot can change in half a year. "How's the street hustle treating you?" Danny asks. You aren't sure how you should take that, so you don't say anything. Street hustle could mean two very different things and you don't want him to get the wrong idea if you say it's 'good', but you also don't want to go the other direction in case their mind isn't even in the same world as yours. It's best not to bring things to attention. You opt for, "I'm doing fine" instead. Not long ago, no one even noticed when you walked in the door. Now you were like an adventurer coming in from months at sea with wild tales, completely foreign to their ears. You don't take advantage though, playing everything down except the music scene, which you've gotten heavily involved in. This was something you consciously resolved to do- leave out all the bad parts in favor of club crawl tales and gifts of mixtapes from local bands they'd never meet. There was a lot of big talk though. "I think I'll head down there next month. Stay with you for a bit, yeah? You got room?" And you'd tell Noah 'yes', not only because he was your best friend, but because you knew he'd never see it through. It's easy to offer the world to someone who'll never take it. To vanish into oblivion, It's easy to do And I tried to leave but you know me I come back when you want me to. |
Artist: Sigur Rós Song: Untitled 3 (From the "Mysterious Skin" soundtrack) [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The nightmares come in waves and are the primary reason for your first therapy session. In the kitchen, you can hear your mother, exasperated on the phone with your soon-to-be therapist, emotion high in her voice. "He won't sleep. He paces back and forth all night so he won't fall asleep. He doesn't want to have the nightmares." A short pause followed by, "No, I don't know where this came from. We never had an issue with him before. He never had night terrors." Another pause and you know you should make your way back to your room. "Isn't he too old to develop night terrors? Why now?" You catch a glimpse of her, free hand nervously playing with her cross necklace. It's crazy to think that over a decade later, you could still have the same problem, as if the thousands of dollars toward therapy, hours of time, months lost to an array of medications... they've meant nothing at all. Ma can't stand to listen in on your therapy session. When you start talking about the nightmares, she panics and accuses you of giving her nightmares with your nightmares. The therapist politely asks her to wait in the waiting room while he continues his barrage of questioning. "Do you know the people in your nightmares?" he asks over the rim of his glasses. You're pretty sure he asked this question at least once already and you aren't sure if he's trying to trip you up or if you're so tired that you're just imagining repeated questions. "Yeah, family members, especially ones I haven't seen in a long time... Ones that live far away and couldn't possibly be there." "And... and... and in these nightmares, would you say that you know you're dreaming?" You laugh. "Oh, I have no idea when I'm dreaming and when I'm not. For all I know, I'm dreaming right now." He writes something down. "I'm left-handed too," you tell him and he raises one eyebrow in your direction. "So, in these nightmares... I'm trying to figure out exactly what is happening that makes them nightmares as opposed to just dreams." "Well, they're scared." "Who is scared?" "The people in my dreams. My family. It's the same dream all the time. My bedroom door flies open and someone... my aunt who lives in Chicago, my cousin from Mesa who I haven't seen since I was 8, whoever... they come in, half running, half falling. You know, like, stumbling. They stumble into my room and go straight into my closet and slam the door shut." He leans back in his chair and cleans his eyeglasses. "So.. they don't say anything to you?" "No." "And then what happens?" "Well, I just sit there in the dark staring at my bedroom closet. I'm not sure if they're in there or not. I can't tell if I'm awake or not. Sometimes it happens when I'm wide awake, it's not a dream at all." He rubs his eyes before putting his glasses back on. "I'm just trying to figure out why this dream is scaring you to the extent that it is. Why are you forcing yourself to stay awake? You know that isn't healthy. Sleep might be exactly what you need." You walk out with a couple of scripts, one for anxiety and one for sleep. At night, your parents give it to you, watch you put it in your mouth and sip some water. You pocket it under your tongue and they trust you enough that when you open your mouth and say 'ah', they don't ask you to lift it. That will change soon and there will be many heated fights about how they're trying to poison you. So many years later, the nightmares lie in wait, patiently, to capture you the second your eyelids get a little too heavy to hold, blinking out morse code against the shadows. Well, hello there. I'll be your entertainment for the evening. May I suggest turning the shadows on the floorboards into people you love, military crawling, writhing facedown in complete silence? On tap tonight we have that person you haven't thought about since elementary school staring at you from across the room. Will that be a problem? Here, let's give him some weird, jerky movements for absolutely no reason. You bolt upright, your chest tight with anxiety, out of breath and searching the shadows for your dreams. That's when you look over and see your uncle lying on the floor next to your bed. Oh shit, dude, you thought you were awake? Ha ha. Nah, man, still sleeping. You're awake now though, right? Are you awake? Night sweats turn into cold chills, soaked through your shirt. Whoa, watch out, someone's opening the bedroom door, ever so slowly. Is it... Oh, I think it is- Yep, it's your dead grandfather. Oh, what a lovely decay! You're so creative. Nightmares taunt you so you're reverted back to your eleven year-old self, forcing yourself to stay awake through the night. When the fifth person in a day says with that mock sympathy, "Awww, you look so tired! Are you tired??" You just want to shrug and say, "Well, I've induced insomnia for the last couple days and I'm starting to hallucinate, thanks for asking! ツ" |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Prompt: It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Do you believe this to be true? Other than people, what is something you have done without for an extended period of time...for so long that it felt like it was beginning to hurt? I think that absence makes the heart grow fonder to an extent. After a certain amount of time though, absence just makes the absence grow wider. At some point, you're going to stop think about the person on a regular basis, even if you think it could never happen, it just does. I noticed this a lot when I didn't see my family for a few years. At first, it was really weird to not see my brothers because I was so used to seeing them almost every day. After a few months though, I was down to only thinking about them a couple times a week to call/text them. After a year, it was like, once every couple weeks and I felt very far removed from them and their lives. Also, it should be noted that at a certain point of absence, you can't go back to the way it was pre-absence. I've been living in the same vicinity as my brothers for a few years again now and there's still a giant void left from the few years I didn't see them at all. They grew closer while I was away, naturally, and you can't make room where there just isn't any. I only see them every couple months, so like, 6 times a year, even though I live only 20 minutes from one of them. We do talk more about 'everyday' things now though, for some reason. I usually talk to Mikey every day again. Other than people though, I guess I'm kind of this way with writing. I start feeling sick when I don't write for a long time. Like, I start kind of obsessing about it... "It's been X months since I've written a poem, what the fuck is happening to me?" I wouldn't say that it physically begins to hurt, but it definitely doesn't do me any favors mentally. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "This movie sucks and I hate it," Kira announces next to you. You can't help but laugh at her declaration as if she has been mulling it over for the last hour and has now officially decided that she needs to make a formal statement. You sort of knew she would hate it ever since the campy scene in the kitchen where the lead actor did some weird ass slow motion karate moves. It's a total 80s throwback, and the soundtrack is no different. Love and Rockets? Clan of Xymox? You'd keep watching it just for the soundtrack. "God, that girl is gorgeous." "Maika Monroe? She was the chick in 'It Follows' too," Kira says, finishing half of her beer in one drink. "She's one of those girls that's only pretty when they don't wear makeup." Kira laughs at that. "You want another?" She shakes the empty bottle. She comes back with two more and tosses one in your direction. "The only reason I'm still watching this movie is dude's eyes." "They're so blue," you agree. "I wonder if they're real." She grabs the phone and starts googling. "They're crazy." She turns the phone so you can see a picture of him at some red carpet event. "I would." Kira scoffs. "Of course you would." By the time you get to the last chase scene, Kira has her legs crossed over yours and is talking on the phone to her friend, Lauren. "Oh, dude, it's that song," you tell her. "Oh shit, it is. The one from that Norwedish lady." "Norwedish?" She waves you off and goes back to talking to Lauren. Fucking Norwedish. Oh Anthonio My Anthonio Was I ever more than just a face in the crowd? Did you even know my name? Did you ever really care? |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** In between the function of x and the dashed asymptotes, there is Christian. Biting his lip in utter confusion as the professor lectures, giving up eventually and throwing his pencil down. He still smiles when he looks over at you and then picks up his pencil again and jots something down on his scribbled up paper. He tears it out of his notebook and folds it delicately before sliding it over to you. You're 12 years old again, passing notes in class. Hang out after class? You expect to see 'check yes or no' boxes. You nod when you catch his eye again and watch him smile to himself as he turns back to the lecture. You don't respond on paper because you secretly want to keep the paper, little memory hoarder that you are. During break, most people leave the room for a piss break, but the two of you stay there and he excitedly talks about some art exhibit he wants to see. "We should go after class. You want to?" You can't match his enthusiasm. You could be on fire and still be less enthusiastic, but you agree the best you can. As you're waiting for the room to fill back up, he starts singing under his breath. "Tell me why, ain't nothin but a heartache. Tell me why, ain't nothin but a mistake..." "Dude, are you singing... the Backstreet Boys??" He looks up from his phone sheepishly. "Catchiest band ever." A few seconds later, he catches you humming the chorus and screams, "Oh my god! You're doing it too." "You started it." Two girls sitting in front of you glare back as you both start singing, "I never wanna hear you saaay, I want it that way." You ignore them until the professor waddles in and says, "Boys, no. Stop," which just reduces you both to uncontrollable laughter. "Why are you all pretending you don't love that song. I know you do," Christian accuses obnoxiously loud. The kid sitting on the other side of you jumps in, "The Backstreet Boys were fucking awesome." "Excuse me. Language!" Mrs. Burton sighs and glares at you. "See now what you started." "Me?? I didn't do anything. He started it!" "Me?" Christian says in mock shock. "I would never." The professor shakes her head, but probably isn't really annoyed because you've managed to get both you and Christian to an 'A' in her class... rare for College Algebra. "Alright, everyone back? Let's jump back into this. What I want you to understand about the change of base formula is that..." You go back to taking notes, only to look over and see Christian doodling a dinosaur on a new sheet of paper. You shake your head, trying to remember why you're bothering with tutoring him, but you know you won't stop. You are my fire The one desire Believe when I say I want it that way |
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I'm still so confused. How did they get to senior-level finance with so little know-how. I don't get it. 
You should definitely write a personal finance book!
It's great to see you back around. I'm sorry you've been having life issues. I hope you're doing much better now? You know I have a foul mouth. 
People definitely tend to jump straight to the worst conclusion when any problem arises, which is why you so frequently hear, "My computer is broken!" when there's really a simple fix. 
Just why. It's so gross. We need to get you some personal finance help! This is only tangentially related and not a statement on you, but one of the nonprofits I work with consists of me making budget plans for people who were recently homeless and have just gotten back on their feet. A lot of the people I work with have only been at their job for less than a month or been in an apartment for a week or two. My role is to gather all of their financial information and then consult with them on their bills, disposable income, purchases, and stuff like that. It's shocking to see the financial decisions people make after just being homeless. I'm like, dude, you were just homeless 2 weeks ago. 
I have seen so much of the disasters it has caused with some people. I have in the past been unconsciously roped into financial situations that were most unpleasant and having to make sensible plans to unravel them.