I am a cauldron of rage, despair, strength for all the wrong reasons, and weak where I should be strong. The bones beneath my skin heavy, I can feel their brittleness, yet the skin on my arms feel as taught as strings on an instrument, so tight I fear I will rip apart when touched. How do I convey this shell, that, tears surge at the back of my throat when I want to speak, the pressure in my lungs, a body that is so fraught with tension it pains to be inside of it, that I want to peel myself out of this skin, tear the hair off my head and scream. Yet I can’t scream, the swell of the gale hammers against my throat but there is no sound. I am angry, I am sad, I am angry, I am hateful, I am beyond, I am loathsome of me.
The claustrophobia, the intense stimulus, the captivity, the insolence brought together is a maelstrom, a catalyst to my undoing. I know better, I know my buttons, I know my stressors, I know and yet I fail. I pretend, or perhaps I think I can overcome, but I know. I know. So do I walk, move away from what I know is wrong, wrong for me, or continue on knowing I am a fool, and that I am the only one to blame when the hell surfaces.
To the core of me I despise me, despise me for not being able to make the climb, for the wretched self I become, for my intolerability. I should be able to accept yet I can’t, it eats at me, makes me smaller than small, and then the ugly finds the holes to seep in. For when I hate me, I turn the key and open the door, the door to my nerves, my head, the muscles of my corpse.
I don’t want to be ugly. How can a child make me this way, I don’t have the words to even express the disgust welling in me, how abhorrent I am to be someone that cannot overcome. I can when I keep the boundaries sharp and clear but when it fades to grey, the cacophony beats its drums, there is no reprieve, a prick to a balloon, a shot to the head, and the world begins to fade to black, and what was once human becomes a creature that beats at the temples, so hard I want to scrape the skin from my face to make it go, to shut up, the space becomes a hazy vision of stimulus, where words and sounds do become sticks and stones, where I want to pull my nerves from end to end to make it stop, clap my hands over my ears and eyes and holler soundlessly till the beating ends. But it never ends, it worsens, I become smaller and smaller, the world shrinking to surround me, and I hide because any touch, any sound, any stimulus is needles. I want to take the needles and hurl them back, stop hurting me, stop touching me, can’t you see, you’re making me crazy.
And yet, all it is, is a child, a child I cannot overcome nor walk away, because the fault is to be borne by me, my inability to absorb what I cannot control. I cannot control this wildness, and my responsibility is to walk away. I am the third wheel and the issues are mine, and I need to leave be, remove from the equation, to help me, help them, help ugly.
The longer the conundrum stretches, the worse I feel, and worse is food for the ugly gods that feed within me, for every setback I face, they grow stronger, I feel weaker, they devour, I angst, I shrivel into a shell, arms cradled around me, wanting them all to go away, yet I must go on, weight within, to repeat what I know is wrong, again, yet I know…
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Heavy
theres a heavy heavy sadness that sits right now, like being in the rain where occasionally the sun manages to find its way in, but the clouds seem to always be there and the fog never lifts, you get the occasional rays that warm up the soul and make you continue on, but then the rain socks back in and you pull on the coats and find the shelters, momentary relief till you need to go back out and let reality wash back onto you.
its murky, i feel murky, not necessarily bad but neither good. some good days tempered out by days i wonder why i run this race, is there an end or is this a circular course but no one's actually shared it with me, no matter how fast or how smart i drive that car, there is no checkered flag to herald the end of the race. so why keep racing, why not just stop, sit in the rain and just drown. because, because i say to myself when the sun does shine these days, it shines bright, bright enough to give hope.
am i strong enough and is there enough sun to bouy me through this next lap, because its going to be long and the hits are going to be hard. it makes my heart hurt, pound, constrict, thinking forward, why the fear? the fear of being wrong? the fear of not having what i have always had, the safety of the net. this would be my biggest step away from the nest, to cut the cord, to give up the one person that has always stood by me through thick and thin. and truth is, i dont know if i can do that, to rain down so much hurt when i have lived in that hurt for years, knowing pain and abandonment, knowing what its like to hit the bottom and crawl up, and knowing that what helped me crawl up was that very cord.
so where do i stand in this rain, in the deluge, with my umbrella, a new umbrella, an umbrella i ought to let go because when the winds come, it wont hold and i may break yet another one. because thats what i do, i bring them into my storm, and for a while they weather, storms can be fun, adrenaline, excitement, till the gales start and the world shakes and i need to let them go before they get so hurt they never recover, and so i can hide from the impending disaster.
my new umbrella is sweet, different, reinforced but do i really need one? i watch it lie here, fondly, and think, let it go, give it to someone else, don't watch it break. but what if? what if i give up the one umbrella that does weather the elements, if there is such a thing, and i suppose that is the question, is there such a thing? or is it just me, my coat and my own fortitude and see the umbrellas as passing tools?
its murky, i feel murky, not necessarily bad but neither good. some good days tempered out by days i wonder why i run this race, is there an end or is this a circular course but no one's actually shared it with me, no matter how fast or how smart i drive that car, there is no checkered flag to herald the end of the race. so why keep racing, why not just stop, sit in the rain and just drown. because, because i say to myself when the sun does shine these days, it shines bright, bright enough to give hope.
am i strong enough and is there enough sun to bouy me through this next lap, because its going to be long and the hits are going to be hard. it makes my heart hurt, pound, constrict, thinking forward, why the fear? the fear of being wrong? the fear of not having what i have always had, the safety of the net. this would be my biggest step away from the nest, to cut the cord, to give up the one person that has always stood by me through thick and thin. and truth is, i dont know if i can do that, to rain down so much hurt when i have lived in that hurt for years, knowing pain and abandonment, knowing what its like to hit the bottom and crawl up, and knowing that what helped me crawl up was that very cord.
so where do i stand in this rain, in the deluge, with my umbrella, a new umbrella, an umbrella i ought to let go because when the winds come, it wont hold and i may break yet another one. because thats what i do, i bring them into my storm, and for a while they weather, storms can be fun, adrenaline, excitement, till the gales start and the world shakes and i need to let them go before they get so hurt they never recover, and so i can hide from the impending disaster.
my new umbrella is sweet, different, reinforced but do i really need one? i watch it lie here, fondly, and think, let it go, give it to someone else, don't watch it break. but what if? what if i give up the one umbrella that does weather the elements, if there is such a thing, and i suppose that is the question, is there such a thing? or is it just me, my coat and my own fortitude and see the umbrellas as passing tools?
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Alcatraz Revisisted
Such a tremendous effort to live a life that was mine for years. How can it be that what was once normal, everyday, feels alien, unwelcoming, and painful? I am sinking, back into the quagmire, back down, I don’t want to be here again, I don’t want this, all the deadness rising back up, the constriction, all the walls pushing me in, I am suffocating.
I love my babies, just not here; I don’t want to be here. I want them with me, warm, safe, open, where my world is free, away from all these constraints that lock me down, no where to go, no where to turn, nothing that I want, no solace, no safety, just blocked passages squeezing me at every turn.
I cant love them properly here, my soul is screaming to be let out, why am I here again, I am barely functioning, nothing to give, each step, every thought an effort, every smile forced, every word aches. I hate this life.
I want to be drunk, I want to be sedated, I want to be insane, I want to be in bed where the world stops, I want to be anything but be in hell. I am in hell, my personal hell, who turns around and returns to jail willingly, thinking they will be fine, that the demons wont rise again, that the memories wont pervade, that the suffocation wont rise in the throat, that the fear wont close their chest, who thinks that it would be any different?
Its dark, is gray, there is nothing but a deathly stillness in the air, where did the life go, where did the energy leave me to, I turn in circles, I pace in lengths, I cant escape, nothing feels comfortable, nothing feels safe, where is my haven, I want safety, take the ugly away, its coming back, its coming back, make it leave, I didn’t want to be here, Pandora’s laughing.
Every minute is 30 minutes, the days endless, I strain my eyes at the clock willing night to come, and I pray when I awake that time has passed, that morning could be noon, that noon is evening, that its time to make the day end and the next come and come, but the corridor is so long, the end a dark tunnel I am not sure I can make it to, that the fears will push me back, the obligations stunt my steps, the clock will stop and I will fall before the door opens and the light comes back in.
I don’t want any of this, not one single material thing, I touch them and marvel that any of it meant anything to me, I don’t care, symbols of unhappiness, items bought and held to soothe a troubled soul, my Tylenol for the pain, my useless salves that worked till the next had to be bought.
If there were a God, if I believed there was a God, I would ask her to save me, please save me. Bring me my children and burn this world, eradicate it so it may never cross my path again, never drown me or hurt me as it does so. I didn't choose this, I never chose this, this was a necessity in a time of need, but I never chose this, never wanted this, never loved this, never welcomed this.
I love my babies, just not here; I don’t want to be here. I want them with me, warm, safe, open, where my world is free, away from all these constraints that lock me down, no where to go, no where to turn, nothing that I want, no solace, no safety, just blocked passages squeezing me at every turn.
I cant love them properly here, my soul is screaming to be let out, why am I here again, I am barely functioning, nothing to give, each step, every thought an effort, every smile forced, every word aches. I hate this life.
I want to be drunk, I want to be sedated, I want to be insane, I want to be in bed where the world stops, I want to be anything but be in hell. I am in hell, my personal hell, who turns around and returns to jail willingly, thinking they will be fine, that the demons wont rise again, that the memories wont pervade, that the suffocation wont rise in the throat, that the fear wont close their chest, who thinks that it would be any different?
Its dark, is gray, there is nothing but a deathly stillness in the air, where did the life go, where did the energy leave me to, I turn in circles, I pace in lengths, I cant escape, nothing feels comfortable, nothing feels safe, where is my haven, I want safety, take the ugly away, its coming back, its coming back, make it leave, I didn’t want to be here, Pandora’s laughing.
Every minute is 30 minutes, the days endless, I strain my eyes at the clock willing night to come, and I pray when I awake that time has passed, that morning could be noon, that noon is evening, that its time to make the day end and the next come and come, but the corridor is so long, the end a dark tunnel I am not sure I can make it to, that the fears will push me back, the obligations stunt my steps, the clock will stop and I will fall before the door opens and the light comes back in.
I don’t want any of this, not one single material thing, I touch them and marvel that any of it meant anything to me, I don’t care, symbols of unhappiness, items bought and held to soothe a troubled soul, my Tylenol for the pain, my useless salves that worked till the next had to be bought.
If there were a God, if I believed there was a God, I would ask her to save me, please save me. Bring me my children and burn this world, eradicate it so it may never cross my path again, never drown me or hurt me as it does so. I didn't choose this, I never chose this, this was a necessity in a time of need, but I never chose this, never wanted this, never loved this, never welcomed this.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Oh my, 2 boys, 2 sides... whoops make it 3
Ok, it seems the only way to look at whats ensuing is to put this down on paper. what began as just idle amusement is now beginning to make me wonder if I should stop and think, of course, i probably should have done that before I picked the roses.
ive always been mildly intrigued with moody and very broody north sound bradley, he's always held a curiosity for me with his closed off manner, all burly with hidden eyes. i have known of him forever and vice versa, on an island of 4000 people how not to? We've never spoken much and when we have it's been a few sentences usually involving a boat, so what changed? my new found liberation? a desire to walk on the taboo side of dating on this island or just my need for entertainment.
regardless, this works for me well at work, when i set my mind to something, something will happen, and hence with bradley i turned on my powers of evil ever so slightly, let the phermones out and within a couple of days, magnetism was on and a day prior to his leaving for miami, we kiss at the bar briefly and the stage is set in motion for his return.
one would say i was all set, game locked, i put out my lure, i got a catch and now i just had to finish reeling it in, when walking down the dock a day later, i pass by valley boy, always with that look in his blue eyes, ive always thought him a player on this island, the girls around him, and in my mind, the resident island bad boy, devil may care as it gets . we give each other a look, a hello and i keep on my way. how fate works i dont know but as it goes, allan who works for valley boy, misplaces his fone and i meet him out later in the day and he asks me to call valley boy to leave a msg for him, sure, i do, voice mail.
later that evening i get a text from devil may care himself, would i be interested in a drink. well what do i think of this? really vida, what do you think of this? im perplexed as to where this has come from, we've never so much as exchanged past a few monosyllables over the last 11 years let alone a drink. why the hell not, im in a bit of a devil may care myself. back and forth a couple of days we text, im busy, he's busy we meet for a drink with friends at sunset, im almost a bit apprehensive, he has his son in tow.
well i could just slap myself with the backside of my foot, i actually like this guy, like WTF. i was cautious, more so than with bradley as valley boy's reputation as a player has reached my ears several times, though i caveat this is norm for most of the island. we go from drinks at the dock to later drinks at the bar, platonic, nice, even lovely. next day we come together on my island home for the boys to play, we have dinner as one big rowdy bunch and again, he's tempered, polite, and i could be fit to be gagged.
we are on day 3 now, back over for dinner again and the emotions flood about his marriage, the dissolution, the ansgt, and as he speaks, i realize he needs a friend, he's still hurting and this is not the place for me to go, friends it is. i can see that i look like a calm haven in a storm, though we all know I am the furthest thing from this, but to the un-tutored eye, i look downright together. nothing has happened between us, not even a brush of physicality, we could be eunuchs and im glad, last thing i want is him to come in contact with me, re-bound pyscho girl, id hurt him even more.
however, i am in a bit of a pickle, i have no idea what valley boy's intentions are, i do know where i stand with bradley, and lets not forget tampa boy, all 3, i might add, send me a note on valentine's day which led me to think, oh shit. this is a small island, though bradley and VB are on separate sides, it's small, and somewhere, without sounding pompous, to avoid, strife and war, i need to clue one into the other, minding raging male island egos and the fact that andy returns from miami today. it doesnt matter that nothing but a kiss has transpired with bradley and a hug with VB, expectations and territory are cavemanesque in these parts. with the way i roll, tampa boy will come for a visit too.
so what to do? let nature run its course... who do i play with? Bradley? then what? what of VB who i now harbour a soft spot for? and tampa boy, who is too far away and a florida diversion anyways till he steps foot on this side. but i sense he thinks he may be my one and only as well, bahahahah.
ive always been mildly intrigued with moody and very broody north sound bradley, he's always held a curiosity for me with his closed off manner, all burly with hidden eyes. i have known of him forever and vice versa, on an island of 4000 people how not to? We've never spoken much and when we have it's been a few sentences usually involving a boat, so what changed? my new found liberation? a desire to walk on the taboo side of dating on this island or just my need for entertainment.
regardless, this works for me well at work, when i set my mind to something, something will happen, and hence with bradley i turned on my powers of evil ever so slightly, let the phermones out and within a couple of days, magnetism was on and a day prior to his leaving for miami, we kiss at the bar briefly and the stage is set in motion for his return.
one would say i was all set, game locked, i put out my lure, i got a catch and now i just had to finish reeling it in, when walking down the dock a day later, i pass by valley boy, always with that look in his blue eyes, ive always thought him a player on this island, the girls around him, and in my mind, the resident island bad boy, devil may care as it gets . we give each other a look, a hello and i keep on my way. how fate works i dont know but as it goes, allan who works for valley boy, misplaces his fone and i meet him out later in the day and he asks me to call valley boy to leave a msg for him, sure, i do, voice mail.
later that evening i get a text from devil may care himself, would i be interested in a drink. well what do i think of this? really vida, what do you think of this? im perplexed as to where this has come from, we've never so much as exchanged past a few monosyllables over the last 11 years let alone a drink. why the hell not, im in a bit of a devil may care myself. back and forth a couple of days we text, im busy, he's busy we meet for a drink with friends at sunset, im almost a bit apprehensive, he has his son in tow.
well i could just slap myself with the backside of my foot, i actually like this guy, like WTF. i was cautious, more so than with bradley as valley boy's reputation as a player has reached my ears several times, though i caveat this is norm for most of the island. we go from drinks at the dock to later drinks at the bar, platonic, nice, even lovely. next day we come together on my island home for the boys to play, we have dinner as one big rowdy bunch and again, he's tempered, polite, and i could be fit to be gagged.
we are on day 3 now, back over for dinner again and the emotions flood about his marriage, the dissolution, the ansgt, and as he speaks, i realize he needs a friend, he's still hurting and this is not the place for me to go, friends it is. i can see that i look like a calm haven in a storm, though we all know I am the furthest thing from this, but to the un-tutored eye, i look downright together. nothing has happened between us, not even a brush of physicality, we could be eunuchs and im glad, last thing i want is him to come in contact with me, re-bound pyscho girl, id hurt him even more.
however, i am in a bit of a pickle, i have no idea what valley boy's intentions are, i do know where i stand with bradley, and lets not forget tampa boy, all 3, i might add, send me a note on valentine's day which led me to think, oh shit. this is a small island, though bradley and VB are on separate sides, it's small, and somewhere, without sounding pompous, to avoid, strife and war, i need to clue one into the other, minding raging male island egos and the fact that andy returns from miami today. it doesnt matter that nothing but a kiss has transpired with bradley and a hug with VB, expectations and territory are cavemanesque in these parts. with the way i roll, tampa boy will come for a visit too.
so what to do? let nature run its course... who do i play with? Bradley? then what? what of VB who i now harbour a soft spot for? and tampa boy, who is too far away and a florida diversion anyways till he steps foot on this side. but i sense he thinks he may be my one and only as well, bahahahah.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Greek Haze
If I ever wanted to know what it was like to be in a sorority, which mind you, I have never, ever, ever had the urge to do, but for the sake of cultural experiences and being a team player, yesterday was the day to broaden my horizons into this very American phenomenon.
I’m in Tampa, a city, up till a few months ago I could not have picked out on a map, let alone known anything distinguishing about. I have now learned in my ever expanding world that Tampa is the home of strip malls, strip clubs and white people with big boobs, bleached blonde hair and muscle shirts. Here, I look like a freak of nature and they all look normal. In four days in this city I have seen 5 Asian people, excepting the Asian people in the Thai restaurants, sushi bars, and local Asian groceries which is like going to the zoo to see the natives. Not to say that any of this is negative, but ultimately different after leaving a Caribbean Island of blacks and whites and the melting pot of Vancouver where not seeing an Asian person or mixed race couple would be anomaly. Speaking of which, I have not seen any Amer-Asian couples here either... or black and white...
Back to yesterday, there is town event called Gasparelli, where grown adults in their 20-40s re-live their college Greek days in a haze of alcohol and senseless festivities, bonding mindlessly over copious amounts of alcohol, I say mindlessly because with the level of noise and preoccupation in the quest for inebriation nothing of substance would formulate. I have to say I was immensely curious but with definite forebodings as the preparations for the day’s drinking became the focus point of all planning and I got to know the players in the game. This is all under the guise of a parade to celebrate pirates plundering Tampa Bay, truth is more along the lines of a reason for women to dress like slutty wenches and men to act like boorish unkempt pirates with the slutty wenches. Really a good day to throw out inhibitions and be your inner slut.
I met Celia, Latin, high spirited, luscious lips, single mother of a 23 month old child who had my jaw hanging to my toes as she told me about partying with her baby into the wee hours of the morning as it was her given right as birthing being to extend her baby monitor’s range down to the local bar. Ok, I have to say, I am a liberal mom, I’ll hike my kids across countries, demand they eat foreign foods to broaden their horizons and I have a sink or swim, face your issues teaching style, but, this is for their greater good, not mine, I'm not sure where my 5th tequila shot at the neighbourhood bar enables my toddler the next morning when she is off schedule and screaming at her lack of sleep while I fight off a massive hangover and the need to slit my wrists while holding my head in the toilet. Celia is also with Guido, madly, crazy in love with Guido, who broke up with her 2 weeks ago.
Then there’s Guido, exactly as the name implies, lots of hair gel, skinny, huge smile, but likely a big dick. He’s with Celia, but not really with Celia, because he broke up with her in a drunken haze, but they’re still together, but I can’t diss that as my track record on the break up be friends is a long and involved project. However, it seems, Guido, like myself, has some side projects already in works, but unlike me, the current project is still in the works and no where near ending, so my conclusion will be Guido and Celia will stay together as well as Guido and Leila and Guido and Myra and Guido and Reina and Celia will become bitter and hostile bemoaning her lot as a Latina female but will marry Guido.
Then there’s couple B, who I met at the Alumni lunch, the lunch at which I was not an Alumni, and felt yet again, strangely in a different space, rather like an alien stuck on the wall, observing but not quite clicking. Couple B has issues, they’re newlyweds, with issues. She’s beautiful, Latin (Celia's BFF who hates Guido) delicate features, mocha skin, gorgeous hair and pretty smile (an overbite but if you don’t look too hard you wont see it just like her snippy looks she gives her husband while still trying to stay pretty and charming), but also a very dominant personality when it comes to her husband who I daresay is likely henpecked but thinks his wife is probably prettier than he would ever find in the average white girl so he’s in for the ride. He’s your average white guy, kinda cute in the right light but not quite there. I daresay he is probably a swell guy, but not much came through amidst the 4 other strong personalities in the room, and a hazard a guess his wife would withhold sex for the next year if he let his white boy corniness come out too much (which on half a day of drinking was rearing its white head). I hazard she got an almost cute white boy and he got a pretty dime a dozen Latin girl, and they look good in the social perfect world of America driving their Jetta to their cottage in the soon to be perfect neighbourhood.
So this is the group, my group. Nothing like going out with BFFs that you have nothing in common with, and partying with a bunch of Frat kids re-living a dream who you also have nothing in common with forcing Psycho flashback nightmares of your one and only frat party you attended in 1989 where you stood in a beer and puke soaked corner frozen in horror at the vulgarness of your situation while some boy dressed in khakis and a blue shirt tried to dry hump you with his tiny penis while swigging a beer that came from a barrel in a tub.
I am remiss. The Alumni brunch, nothing like my Alumni brunch, but I did get to eat a moundful of breakfast sausages which made me very happy and perhaps I ate away some of my fears but didn’t have enough time to hurl it back down the toilet so then felt like a fat alien for the rest of the brunch listening to drinking, drunk, wasted, totaled, gooned war stories coupled with the best bars, clubs, holes and pubs to frequent if one ever went back to celebrate the glory days of college. I am dying here but I got game face on and the day is young, can only get better.
I managed to excuse myself to pee at least 5 times so as to breathe in the fumes of the bathroom for relaxation and ponder the meaning of my life as I sat on the porcelain throne eking out a few drops so I wouldn’t actually be lying and the preening peacocks in the bathroom not think I was a lesbian hanging in the stalls for a peek of jiggly thigh flesh.
Let me add its cold in the sunshine state, cold, cold, cold and I am severely under-dressed, and wearing a rain jacket 5 sizes too big for me, making my head look completely disproportionate to my body and just god damn ugly too. If anyone knows me, nothing gets me worse than being cold and unprepared, this lack of crucial control is crippling especially while group dynamics take over with no visible leader taking center stage (this would normally be me but thought best to not let my need to organize take over while on someone's turf) while standing in the parking lot watching people tail gate (why tail gate in the rain in a university parking lot, really why tail gate at all?) and no consensus on where to go. With weeks leading up to this event you'd think someone would have made a plan?
Ends up the smashing plan is to walk 2 blocks to the bar to make another plan. Common sense would have said we should have just walked to the bar to begin with before we began to pontificate on the best places to get drunk in Tampa prior to a parade in the rain.
Bar, typical college looking bar, pretty much a bar, wood floors, smelly toilets and a juke box. Pick it up, put it down in any college town and it wouldn’t be remiss. Purpose of bar is to drink as much as possible to be as smashed as possible and grunt and dance with strangers in mock camaraderie in the singular goal of getting shit faced in as loud a manner as humanly possible, while also checking out the opposite sex. I found this highly entertaining as long as no one actually touched me for too long or fell on top of me. I did try to pursue a few conversations but eventually realized the futility of this as no one was here to talk and I just seemed moronic. I would have been better off to grab a random male and shove my tongue down his throat and it would have seemed perfectly sane. I think they call this local customs. This is also where I felt I had leapt back 13 years in time to my dorm of sex and alcohol crazed freshman more stressed about rushing the best sorority and fraternity houses as opposed to actually studying and learning which I thought was the point of university. I could be wrong, if I went into Politics I would have had no need to study and would still be a brilliant Republican.
So now, grab greasy Italian sausage sandwich outside of the bar, still in the rain, to join 8 other breakfast sausages busily entertaining themselves in my burgeoning belly. It was good though, lip smacking grease, pound gaining pork and all. Next stop, parade route where we pass an amalgamation of sorts from pretty half naked blonde co-eds (note it is raining), muscle head boys running after the co-eds with coolers in tow and abs on display, to I-f*#@ked-my-cousin to look like this in-bred types, your standard issue meatheads, your cougars and panthers in heat, your basic issue muffin top girls and beer bellied boys and the list is endless. Who needs a parade with such a variety of intriguingly disgusting humanity?
Parade was not what I was thinking. Parade in my mind is pretty lined streets, pretty policeman smiling, an assortment of eclectic stalls, parents and children, friendly neighbours, food from around the world, and organization. I complain that Vancouver is Pleasantville, and y'know, for all my bitching, there are merits to Pleasantville, its clean and civilized and people are too well mannered to morph into screaming, sweaty apes. So, swallowing my shock, I decided to best indulge as the locals do. The point of the festivities, is to scream, jump, yell at passing floats in hopes of being hurled bead necklaces, which is the epitome of gold. Note, drunk, screaming grown men and women, throwing all sensibilities and decorum into the passing garbage for the chance to have more beaded necklaces then Joe-Bob who's married to Donna-Sue, his sister, screaming blind drunk, sweating like a freakin' pig, shirtless in all acneic glory, with matted armpit hairs stuck together with globules of deodorant letting his bestiality out beside me. There is some excitement in the process of dismantling and releasing one's inner red neck and the grotesqueness of standing beside a living breathing redneck.
There is also the observance of male behaviour in this city. If you are a blonde woman, young and with ample breasts, you are the Shining Star of David in this city, like bees to honey I watched the men walking the parade catch the sight and blindly bee line to the subject with armful of beads in hopes of touching the shiny object of lust. Curious. Very curious. I suppose this is why there are no ethnic groups in sight because you are pretty much ugly, and if you want any sort of self esteem its best to move North to a different state or South to Miami.
Not sure what the point of the floats were other than to throw beads. Some were cool but not overly remarkable and you were so busy hollering for beads you had no time to look at the floats whilst trying to break a back muscle leaping into the air for that $.01 beaded necklace before the next guy. I am sure, though did not witness, that one a many a fight has broken out over a purple plastic necklace.
Parade comes to close and I had in mind night time street party, lights, fireworks, picnics, concerts, performers... bahahahaha, I am an idiot.
We walk and walk and walk and walk to go eat bad Thai food, at which point I am done, past done, overly done and just done. I could not be more done and could only excuse myself to the bathroom once to celebrate my done-ness and enough material to write this tome. Did not help that everyone loved the awful Thai food and I smilingly nodded while grimacing internally and trying to tactfully avoid any conversation at this juncture for fear of imploding. Was quite the conundrum at the end of dinner, as plans were being made, yet again, outside in the cold, as to which bar to next frequent. Let me note, on long, long, long walk to Thai restaurant, same discussion ensued, whilst passing several bars, but due to inability of group to coalesce instead decided to walk half the town before negating all bars in lieu of bad Thai. So, coming full circle, I prayed that end result would bring me home, but if not, I would have to consume quite a bit of alcohol to masquerade any sense of liveliness. I was not going to be the party killer at such an auspicious local event, regardless of wet, soggy, cold state, aching knee, bloated belly from aforementioned sausages and complete and total mental shut down.
I was saved from the dead thanks to Plane boy, who echoed need to get home, and even with a 2 mile walk on pounding knee this sounded like heaven and I was happy to walk on coals just to get rid of the din of banality.
So this ends my cultural foray. Though my tone is very sarcastic and tends to the negative, this will be remembered, likely not to be repeated without better planning and a differing personality set, but there are stories to be told, and jokes to be made, and a story to commemorate. I did forget to mention my pee in the porta-potty which in a Third World Tsunami ravaged country I am happy to do, but in a First world nation there needs to be something more civilized...
I’m in Tampa, a city, up till a few months ago I could not have picked out on a map, let alone known anything distinguishing about. I have now learned in my ever expanding world that Tampa is the home of strip malls, strip clubs and white people with big boobs, bleached blonde hair and muscle shirts. Here, I look like a freak of nature and they all look normal. In four days in this city I have seen 5 Asian people, excepting the Asian people in the Thai restaurants, sushi bars, and local Asian groceries which is like going to the zoo to see the natives. Not to say that any of this is negative, but ultimately different after leaving a Caribbean Island of blacks and whites and the melting pot of Vancouver where not seeing an Asian person or mixed race couple would be anomaly. Speaking of which, I have not seen any Amer-Asian couples here either... or black and white...
Back to yesterday, there is town event called Gasparelli, where grown adults in their 20-40s re-live their college Greek days in a haze of alcohol and senseless festivities, bonding mindlessly over copious amounts of alcohol, I say mindlessly because with the level of noise and preoccupation in the quest for inebriation nothing of substance would formulate. I have to say I was immensely curious but with definite forebodings as the preparations for the day’s drinking became the focus point of all planning and I got to know the players in the game. This is all under the guise of a parade to celebrate pirates plundering Tampa Bay, truth is more along the lines of a reason for women to dress like slutty wenches and men to act like boorish unkempt pirates with the slutty wenches. Really a good day to throw out inhibitions and be your inner slut.
I met Celia, Latin, high spirited, luscious lips, single mother of a 23 month old child who had my jaw hanging to my toes as she told me about partying with her baby into the wee hours of the morning as it was her given right as birthing being to extend her baby monitor’s range down to the local bar. Ok, I have to say, I am a liberal mom, I’ll hike my kids across countries, demand they eat foreign foods to broaden their horizons and I have a sink or swim, face your issues teaching style, but, this is for their greater good, not mine, I'm not sure where my 5th tequila shot at the neighbourhood bar enables my toddler the next morning when she is off schedule and screaming at her lack of sleep while I fight off a massive hangover and the need to slit my wrists while holding my head in the toilet. Celia is also with Guido, madly, crazy in love with Guido, who broke up with her 2 weeks ago.
Then there’s Guido, exactly as the name implies, lots of hair gel, skinny, huge smile, but likely a big dick. He’s with Celia, but not really with Celia, because he broke up with her in a drunken haze, but they’re still together, but I can’t diss that as my track record on the break up be friends is a long and involved project. However, it seems, Guido, like myself, has some side projects already in works, but unlike me, the current project is still in the works and no where near ending, so my conclusion will be Guido and Celia will stay together as well as Guido and Leila and Guido and Myra and Guido and Reina and Celia will become bitter and hostile bemoaning her lot as a Latina female but will marry Guido.
Then there’s couple B, who I met at the Alumni lunch, the lunch at which I was not an Alumni, and felt yet again, strangely in a different space, rather like an alien stuck on the wall, observing but not quite clicking. Couple B has issues, they’re newlyweds, with issues. She’s beautiful, Latin (Celia's BFF who hates Guido) delicate features, mocha skin, gorgeous hair and pretty smile (an overbite but if you don’t look too hard you wont see it just like her snippy looks she gives her husband while still trying to stay pretty and charming), but also a very dominant personality when it comes to her husband who I daresay is likely henpecked but thinks his wife is probably prettier than he would ever find in the average white girl so he’s in for the ride. He’s your average white guy, kinda cute in the right light but not quite there. I daresay he is probably a swell guy, but not much came through amidst the 4 other strong personalities in the room, and a hazard a guess his wife would withhold sex for the next year if he let his white boy corniness come out too much (which on half a day of drinking was rearing its white head). I hazard she got an almost cute white boy and he got a pretty dime a dozen Latin girl, and they look good in the social perfect world of America driving their Jetta to their cottage in the soon to be perfect neighbourhood.
So this is the group, my group. Nothing like going out with BFFs that you have nothing in common with, and partying with a bunch of Frat kids re-living a dream who you also have nothing in common with forcing Psycho flashback nightmares of your one and only frat party you attended in 1989 where you stood in a beer and puke soaked corner frozen in horror at the vulgarness of your situation while some boy dressed in khakis and a blue shirt tried to dry hump you with his tiny penis while swigging a beer that came from a barrel in a tub.
I am remiss. The Alumni brunch, nothing like my Alumni brunch, but I did get to eat a moundful of breakfast sausages which made me very happy and perhaps I ate away some of my fears but didn’t have enough time to hurl it back down the toilet so then felt like a fat alien for the rest of the brunch listening to drinking, drunk, wasted, totaled, gooned war stories coupled with the best bars, clubs, holes and pubs to frequent if one ever went back to celebrate the glory days of college. I am dying here but I got game face on and the day is young, can only get better.
I managed to excuse myself to pee at least 5 times so as to breathe in the fumes of the bathroom for relaxation and ponder the meaning of my life as I sat on the porcelain throne eking out a few drops so I wouldn’t actually be lying and the preening peacocks in the bathroom not think I was a lesbian hanging in the stalls for a peek of jiggly thigh flesh.
Let me add its cold in the sunshine state, cold, cold, cold and I am severely under-dressed, and wearing a rain jacket 5 sizes too big for me, making my head look completely disproportionate to my body and just god damn ugly too. If anyone knows me, nothing gets me worse than being cold and unprepared, this lack of crucial control is crippling especially while group dynamics take over with no visible leader taking center stage (this would normally be me but thought best to not let my need to organize take over while on someone's turf) while standing in the parking lot watching people tail gate (why tail gate in the rain in a university parking lot, really why tail gate at all?) and no consensus on where to go. With weeks leading up to this event you'd think someone would have made a plan?
Ends up the smashing plan is to walk 2 blocks to the bar to make another plan. Common sense would have said we should have just walked to the bar to begin with before we began to pontificate on the best places to get drunk in Tampa prior to a parade in the rain.
Bar, typical college looking bar, pretty much a bar, wood floors, smelly toilets and a juke box. Pick it up, put it down in any college town and it wouldn’t be remiss. Purpose of bar is to drink as much as possible to be as smashed as possible and grunt and dance with strangers in mock camaraderie in the singular goal of getting shit faced in as loud a manner as humanly possible, while also checking out the opposite sex. I found this highly entertaining as long as no one actually touched me for too long or fell on top of me. I did try to pursue a few conversations but eventually realized the futility of this as no one was here to talk and I just seemed moronic. I would have been better off to grab a random male and shove my tongue down his throat and it would have seemed perfectly sane. I think they call this local customs. This is also where I felt I had leapt back 13 years in time to my dorm of sex and alcohol crazed freshman more stressed about rushing the best sorority and fraternity houses as opposed to actually studying and learning which I thought was the point of university. I could be wrong, if I went into Politics I would have had no need to study and would still be a brilliant Republican.
So now, grab greasy Italian sausage sandwich outside of the bar, still in the rain, to join 8 other breakfast sausages busily entertaining themselves in my burgeoning belly. It was good though, lip smacking grease, pound gaining pork and all. Next stop, parade route where we pass an amalgamation of sorts from pretty half naked blonde co-eds (note it is raining), muscle head boys running after the co-eds with coolers in tow and abs on display, to I-f*#@ked-my-cousin to look like this in-bred types, your standard issue meatheads, your cougars and panthers in heat, your basic issue muffin top girls and beer bellied boys and the list is endless. Who needs a parade with such a variety of intriguingly disgusting humanity?
Parade was not what I was thinking. Parade in my mind is pretty lined streets, pretty policeman smiling, an assortment of eclectic stalls, parents and children, friendly neighbours, food from around the world, and organization. I complain that Vancouver is Pleasantville, and y'know, for all my bitching, there are merits to Pleasantville, its clean and civilized and people are too well mannered to morph into screaming, sweaty apes. So, swallowing my shock, I decided to best indulge as the locals do. The point of the festivities, is to scream, jump, yell at passing floats in hopes of being hurled bead necklaces, which is the epitome of gold. Note, drunk, screaming grown men and women, throwing all sensibilities and decorum into the passing garbage for the chance to have more beaded necklaces then Joe-Bob who's married to Donna-Sue, his sister, screaming blind drunk, sweating like a freakin' pig, shirtless in all acneic glory, with matted armpit hairs stuck together with globules of deodorant letting his bestiality out beside me. There is some excitement in the process of dismantling and releasing one's inner red neck and the grotesqueness of standing beside a living breathing redneck.
There is also the observance of male behaviour in this city. If you are a blonde woman, young and with ample breasts, you are the Shining Star of David in this city, like bees to honey I watched the men walking the parade catch the sight and blindly bee line to the subject with armful of beads in hopes of touching the shiny object of lust. Curious. Very curious. I suppose this is why there are no ethnic groups in sight because you are pretty much ugly, and if you want any sort of self esteem its best to move North to a different state or South to Miami.
Not sure what the point of the floats were other than to throw beads. Some were cool but not overly remarkable and you were so busy hollering for beads you had no time to look at the floats whilst trying to break a back muscle leaping into the air for that $.01 beaded necklace before the next guy. I am sure, though did not witness, that one a many a fight has broken out over a purple plastic necklace.
Parade comes to close and I had in mind night time street party, lights, fireworks, picnics, concerts, performers... bahahahaha, I am an idiot.
We walk and walk and walk and walk to go eat bad Thai food, at which point I am done, past done, overly done and just done. I could not be more done and could only excuse myself to the bathroom once to celebrate my done-ness and enough material to write this tome. Did not help that everyone loved the awful Thai food and I smilingly nodded while grimacing internally and trying to tactfully avoid any conversation at this juncture for fear of imploding. Was quite the conundrum at the end of dinner, as plans were being made, yet again, outside in the cold, as to which bar to next frequent. Let me note, on long, long, long walk to Thai restaurant, same discussion ensued, whilst passing several bars, but due to inability of group to coalesce instead decided to walk half the town before negating all bars in lieu of bad Thai. So, coming full circle, I prayed that end result would bring me home, but if not, I would have to consume quite a bit of alcohol to masquerade any sense of liveliness. I was not going to be the party killer at such an auspicious local event, regardless of wet, soggy, cold state, aching knee, bloated belly from aforementioned sausages and complete and total mental shut down.
I was saved from the dead thanks to Plane boy, who echoed need to get home, and even with a 2 mile walk on pounding knee this sounded like heaven and I was happy to walk on coals just to get rid of the din of banality.
So this ends my cultural foray. Though my tone is very sarcastic and tends to the negative, this will be remembered, likely not to be repeated without better planning and a differing personality set, but there are stories to be told, and jokes to be made, and a story to commemorate. I did forget to mention my pee in the porta-potty which in a Third World Tsunami ravaged country I am happy to do, but in a First world nation there needs to be something more civilized...
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Failure
I saw his face today, across the green murky video camera feed. He somehow looked older than I had ever seen him, the stretch across the lower jaw as you begin to age, the beginnings of age creeping in that I never noticed. But the hardest part was the slackness in the eyes, the emptiness and sadness looking back at me. I wanted to reach into the screen and touch through my sorry, my sorry for everything, my sorry for the hurt, the pain, the broken heart, I am so sorry for the chasm of all that could not be undone. Did I cause the light to go out, for you to lose your spark,
Everything across my screen looked so small and far away, like a tiny fishbowl that I wanted to press my palms onto, to look in, to watch my life without me, how it all could be the same but so different. How unknowing and innocent excepting the knowing in my mind, knowing what I held would change so much and they didn't know, they were all still so happy.
How long do I carry this time bomb of indecision, of fear, of moving forward with no regrets, accepting this as not failure yet feels like the mantle of failure? I know, when I step off that plank there will be no peter pan to swoop in, because heroes only exist in fairy tales, and a mistake in reality is borne by me and me alone.
Why cant I see this as a shining light, as that beacon at the end of tunnel, is it the sacrifice. I read copious amounts that tell me about me, about what I am, about what I do, about what I think, that all of this is normal for me, the instability, the chaos, the impulsiveness, how do you fight against what you are? Where are the words of light, of saviour, that maybe, maybe I can make the right choice, that maybe I don’t have to leave a trail of hurt in my wake. Is it ok, does it make it ok because the books say this is what I do? It’s ok because this is I, this is what I do, this is what I've been given and the children bear the sins of the mother.
There are no answers, just questions and doubts. I am insulated here, hidden, shrouded, but I know I am weak and fragile. Even a tiny sliver of reality jars like a million shards cutting, and I remember, I am not as strong as I wish. It’s good to have the reminder because I get complacent, begin to assume all is well with me, in a vacuum it's easy to be lulled into safety. Reality bit today and I bled.
There are days that I drop tears onto myself...
Everything across my screen looked so small and far away, like a tiny fishbowl that I wanted to press my palms onto, to look in, to watch my life without me, how it all could be the same but so different. How unknowing and innocent excepting the knowing in my mind, knowing what I held would change so much and they didn't know, they were all still so happy.
How long do I carry this time bomb of indecision, of fear, of moving forward with no regrets, accepting this as not failure yet feels like the mantle of failure? I know, when I step off that plank there will be no peter pan to swoop in, because heroes only exist in fairy tales, and a mistake in reality is borne by me and me alone.
Why cant I see this as a shining light, as that beacon at the end of tunnel, is it the sacrifice. I read copious amounts that tell me about me, about what I am, about what I do, about what I think, that all of this is normal for me, the instability, the chaos, the impulsiveness, how do you fight against what you are? Where are the words of light, of saviour, that maybe, maybe I can make the right choice, that maybe I don’t have to leave a trail of hurt in my wake. Is it ok, does it make it ok because the books say this is what I do? It’s ok because this is I, this is what I do, this is what I've been given and the children bear the sins of the mother.
There are no answers, just questions and doubts. I am insulated here, hidden, shrouded, but I know I am weak and fragile. Even a tiny sliver of reality jars like a million shards cutting, and I remember, I am not as strong as I wish. It’s good to have the reminder because I get complacent, begin to assume all is well with me, in a vacuum it's easy to be lulled into safety. Reality bit today and I bled.
There are days that I drop tears onto myself...
Friday, January 15, 2010
Walk Away
I feel like I've lost the upper hand right now and it makes me uneasy. I let down a guard, let a chink through in the wall, just enough to be plugged by a finger but now holding back a torrent. I complain and poke about walls and inhibitions but I know I am full of them myself, I need the ball in my court, firmly in the black and white, once it moves to gray I get unstable and uneasy, as I am now, and not liking it in the least. Am I ready to bolt, maybe I should?
I know I have been reticent to give away emotions or even too much of a sign of affection, what does that mean, it means I am harboring against being held to anything, if I don’t admit, or open to anything vulnerable than nothing can come back to me, no promises means no responsibility, and no responsibility means no guilt.
I'm no Catholic but guilt loves me, I am consumed by guilt and my ability to hurt, I hate hurting people and I absolve myself of this by not, or convince myself that by not committing- I can't commit a crime I never agreed to.
I talk about taking chances and leaps, physically I would do anything for crazy fun; hop a plane to Amsterdam on a whim, ride a motorbike into the nether regions of Vietnam, trek through Panama, meet the strangest of strangers, but the heart and soul, the heart is strongly fortified against risk, some days I can't find it myself, the beating muffled by the layers upon layers of insulation and the soul is just scarred stupid.
I want to say take a chance Vida, you never know, who might be and what might be, but what if it comes to nil and my words are held against me, what if I make a mistake and someone gets hurt? What if I roll full tilt as per norm and again flatten everything like a steam roller, could I live with myself?
I am gutted by indecision, flawed by my impetuousness and doomed by my fears.
I am a horrid person to be with, I am a roller coaster with no end, the turns and twirls exhilarating and tiring all at once, and the ride never ending, I never seem to coast into the final peaceful scenic ride of calm. I personally hate roller coasters, it’s a shame I just analogized myself into one... I personally like the pretty scenic ones with action around me as opposed to sitting in the pit of my stomach as I yet again corkscrew.
So the boy, I feel like I should put a huge "do not cross" yellow sign over me, maybe even wrapped all around me, with a few "danger" signs tacked on for good measure and perhaps crime scene tape as well. Is there a male version of me that somehow could break through my annoying, annoying sense of self-preservation and selfishness? Tame the beast so to speak, make me be alive for someone for a little longer than now, cut through the tape, the insulation, the walls, the hot and cold, the on and off. I quite like the laughs, the smiles, the energy, but what am I doing? I have doubts, I have hesitations, and I am scared of me. The so far beyond me power of me…
Run Forest Run, run away from yourself. I feel that familiar tug in my chest, its uncomfortable, it means there's risk and I am starting to move to close to my fire, care what he does and thinks and I’m fidgeting, I don’t want the uneasiness, I don’t want the unknown and I don’t want to be at the mercy of my thoughts, give it yet another finger hold into me to wring indecision and insecurity. If I cut the cord now, banish the niggling while its still young then maybe I can come away unscathed, and him too... walk away before I know, walk away before I put too much, walk away before I make any mistakes, walk away from risk. Leave the field open, nothing rooted in, nothing sown, just cattle grazing through, and never tilled. Albeit boring and never deep, nothing grows, but nothing to spoil and rot either; nothing to steal, nothing to take, just empty and unfettered.
Excellent Vida, you have now gone from analogizing yourself to a roller coaster, to a roller coaster on an empty, barren field wrapped in police tape with a few cows. Excellent, I feel just smashingly lovely playing in my field of fetid dung.
I know I have been reticent to give away emotions or even too much of a sign of affection, what does that mean, it means I am harboring against being held to anything, if I don’t admit, or open to anything vulnerable than nothing can come back to me, no promises means no responsibility, and no responsibility means no guilt.
I'm no Catholic but guilt loves me, I am consumed by guilt and my ability to hurt, I hate hurting people and I absolve myself of this by not, or convince myself that by not committing- I can't commit a crime I never agreed to.
I talk about taking chances and leaps, physically I would do anything for crazy fun; hop a plane to Amsterdam on a whim, ride a motorbike into the nether regions of Vietnam, trek through Panama, meet the strangest of strangers, but the heart and soul, the heart is strongly fortified against risk, some days I can't find it myself, the beating muffled by the layers upon layers of insulation and the soul is just scarred stupid.
I want to say take a chance Vida, you never know, who might be and what might be, but what if it comes to nil and my words are held against me, what if I make a mistake and someone gets hurt? What if I roll full tilt as per norm and again flatten everything like a steam roller, could I live with myself?
I am gutted by indecision, flawed by my impetuousness and doomed by my fears.
I am a horrid person to be with, I am a roller coaster with no end, the turns and twirls exhilarating and tiring all at once, and the ride never ending, I never seem to coast into the final peaceful scenic ride of calm. I personally hate roller coasters, it’s a shame I just analogized myself into one... I personally like the pretty scenic ones with action around me as opposed to sitting in the pit of my stomach as I yet again corkscrew.
So the boy, I feel like I should put a huge "do not cross" yellow sign over me, maybe even wrapped all around me, with a few "danger" signs tacked on for good measure and perhaps crime scene tape as well. Is there a male version of me that somehow could break through my annoying, annoying sense of self-preservation and selfishness? Tame the beast so to speak, make me be alive for someone for a little longer than now, cut through the tape, the insulation, the walls, the hot and cold, the on and off. I quite like the laughs, the smiles, the energy, but what am I doing? I have doubts, I have hesitations, and I am scared of me. The so far beyond me power of me…
Run Forest Run, run away from yourself. I feel that familiar tug in my chest, its uncomfortable, it means there's risk and I am starting to move to close to my fire, care what he does and thinks and I’m fidgeting, I don’t want the uneasiness, I don’t want the unknown and I don’t want to be at the mercy of my thoughts, give it yet another finger hold into me to wring indecision and insecurity. If I cut the cord now, banish the niggling while its still young then maybe I can come away unscathed, and him too... walk away before I know, walk away before I put too much, walk away before I make any mistakes, walk away from risk. Leave the field open, nothing rooted in, nothing sown, just cattle grazing through, and never tilled. Albeit boring and never deep, nothing grows, but nothing to spoil and rot either; nothing to steal, nothing to take, just empty and unfettered.
Excellent Vida, you have now gone from analogizing yourself to a roller coaster, to a roller coaster on an empty, barren field wrapped in police tape with a few cows. Excellent, I feel just smashingly lovely playing in my field of fetid dung.
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