call it A.D.D but I call it lack of motivation.

My hiatus from writing was not because I did not have anything to say. Due to the redesign of my template for this blog, I could not find out how to re login. A pathetic blonde moment mixed with my inability to understand technology for more than a few minutes. Call it A.D.D but I call it lack of motivation.

I started my job. With burned fingertips, sweat, and hair sprayed bangs, I have been doing my job as breakfast waitress. Good news is that they have not fired me yet, bad news is that I am not very good at this whole get up every morning and go to work like normal people who want an income. I ride the train downtown each morning before the sun winks behind the mountains. Dressed in a men’s shirt, fish tie, and a black vest, I report for duty. Only one piece of toast has been dropped in the two weeks I have been considered an employee. I have yet to be asked for my number, but I hope my movie moment will appear one day.

The air is incredibly dry today. Gaping like fish without water I sweat and watch as my eyeliner makes it way from my eyes down my cheek. 

count your blessings

It is a quiet, chilled, evening tonight. The sun fell beneath the buildings early today (at least in my opinion) and ever since four o’clock, the city has been draped in a bleak darkness. I am currently writing this while cuddled next to the radiator under the kitchen window. A colorful blanket (that I got for my great deed of graduation, if you remember) is wrapped around my legs like a butterflies cocoon. I have two pairs of socks on to cover my tingling toes. My hands are purple. I know it is from the lack of blood they receive due to my disease, but I like to pretend it is just because they are too cold, like in cartoons.

 

            Looking outside the window, there is no light, except from an apartment window a few rooftops away. The curtains are drawn; open wide, and I can easily see the figures of an older male and female dancing. It is a slow dance, their bodies crippled with memories of a good life, but you can see they are in love. I sit here, imagining their lives. I guess they have housed three kids, two boys and one daughter, who are now all grown up and on their own travels. Maybe they fell in love early and were surprised with a child at a young age, pulling the idea of marriage faster than they thought it would come. The way they are holding each other is frail, beautiful, and supportive. It makes me think of my parents dancing on Friday nights after my Mother has had a stressful week at work.

            My Father used to always put on Macy Gray at five on Friday nights, in anticipation for my Mother to come home. Gabrielle and I, dancing together, watching my Dad nod his head and stir whatever meal he was making, a glass a wine swirling in his hand. He always comes over and grabs me, rocking me side to side, twirling me out. Ever since I was little my parents and I would dance together. I think they are the reason I love it so much and, not to brag, is why I am pretty good dance partner. My mom would do this twist to the floor as soon as she got into more comfortable clothes.  It is her signature move that the two of us always pull out at weddings. We wouldn’t eat until eight or nine, but no one cared because we were too busy in the music and the environment.

            I wonder if this couple does something similar. I hope my parents never stop dancing together and that one day I will stand outside of their house and look through their window and see the same image I see in the apartment a few blocks away.

And of course, it is music monday! Enjoy "Drop Names Not Bombs" by Louise Burns 

xoxo

We accept the love we think we deserve.

I finished the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky, today and it has easily become one of my favorites.  (Yes, the title is from this story. Yes I know I am supposed to put quotation marks around it or else it is called plagiarism.. but it looks funny and presentation is everything. So get over it.) For those who have not read this amazing tale of fiction, I suggest going to the local library and borrowing it. And if you can/ wish- you may go to the book store and actually purchase it. (If you are like me.. I like to write in and highlight my books. I do not know why.) Every page was a new surprise. The story had me afraid, nervous, happy, laughing, crying, hoping, dreaming, wondering, and never gaining boredom from it. 

About the Book: 

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to receive letters from someone you've never met? In the novel, Charlie, a 14 year old boy- just entering high school, writes to a mystery person about life, love, and all the other things involved with growing up. He stands on the outside of life, making beautiful observations about how life doesn't always make sense. The people surrounding him make many efforts to have him "live his life" rather than sit on the sidelines. These attempts, along with the pains of growing up help Charlie to come to shocking realizations about his past. Stephen Chbosky created an amazingly, amazing, accurate picture of an introverted teenager growing up. Charlie is one of those rare charaters who feels like a friend you never want to lose. This novel paints a beautiful picture that everyone should see. So go read it. 

One of my favorite parts was a poem that Charlie read and shared throughout the novel. 

Here it is: 

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
 because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
 and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
 and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
 took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
 with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
 and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
 because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
 and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
 because of its new paint
And the kids told him
 that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
 with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
 when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
 his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
 when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
 because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
 and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
 because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
 of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
 making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
 or even talked
And the girl around the corner
 wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
 but he kissed her anyway
 because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
 his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
 he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
 and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
 because this time he didn't think
 he could reach the kitchen.

"It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. 

And it gets to a point where none of it seems real. 

Well, sometimes, I can do that, but I don't need an hour in front of a mirror. 

It just happens very fast, and things start to slip away. 

And I just open my eyes, and 

I see nothing. 

And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something, 

but I can't. 

It doesn't happen all the time, 

but when it does, 

it scares me." 

- Charlie, The Perk of Being A Wallflower