Stasis.

I've been trying to figure out why I don't have anything to say anymore.  I used to turn insignificant life shit into wild, flourishing stories.  (Not so much on this site, but another one.)  I think it's just that life slowed down, err, not exactly slowed down, but is definitely less hectic.  I've got a normal nine-to-fiver (well, a 2230-0730er), a husband, bills, a house, et cetera, et cetera....  And all this means that I don't spend a lot of time trying to dissect every little bit of my life and thought processes because it all works, more or less.  And if it works, why should I poke at it until it's an open, pus-oozing wound?  I'm working on not turning my life into open, pus-oozing wounds.  It's going okay, thus far.

However, this is not an inactive stasis.  I've put all my over-analytic thinking energy into coming up with ideas for future business ventures.  I'm not going to be in WV forever.  I'm too restless to do x-rays forever.  I like to write probable-socially-unacceptable poetry.  I like to pretend that I can play musical instruments well.  I like to write stories that have no endings....maybe I'll put out a collection of short stories that are left open-ended.  What do you want to happen?  Are you in a good mood?  Then they all lived happily ever after.  Are you pissed the fuck off?  Then they all died in a terrible grocery store hold up gone horribly wrong.  Are you sad?  Then make the ending make you happy.

But, seriously, back to the future business ventures.  A bar.  Where people go.  To drink.  And stuff.  The drinking will be grade A, but the 'and stuff' will be lovely.  Music, comedy, poetry, parties, discussions....the possibilities are endless.  (But, did you know business plans are extremely fun until you have to do the graphs?  This is true.)  I can't contain all of the thoughts in my head at the moment; they're all spilling out all over the place.  I'm talking to almost everyone about them whenever I can.  Jason's obviously going to be the other half of this adventure.  It means that I'm going to have someone to help with the shit I'm terrible at.  That's pretty much our relationship--I have 'let's do this and this and this and add more colors, MORE COLORS, and OMG did you see that? let's add some of that too, this is awesome, uncontrolledideavomitGO!'  That's what I bring to the table.  And he helps me sort through everything and make it more concentrated and wonderful.  It's why we're so good together.  Plus, the love thing.

The Mountain Goats' new album, All Eternals Deck, is my new jam.  Please get at that shit.  Also, the new Frank Turner album comes out in June.  WHY CAN'T JUNE BE HERE NOW?  Look up "I Am Disappeared" and "Peggy Sang the Blues" on YouTube.  I'm currently too lazy to link you.  Do it yourself, two readers.

k

P.S. I realized I still do have a lot of things to say.  Thanks.

The answer is life.

Y'know what sucks?  Life.

Y'know what can be beautiful?  Life.

Just thought I'd leave that here.  I'm tired, but relatively happy, despite not getting to go to Katie's wedding and probably not getting to kick off hiking season due to rain this weekend.  The blogs I used to write are starting to come out in letters to people, so I'm kind of spent when I go to blog.  Sorry, five followers.

Somehow, I think you'll live.  Go to singitforjapan.com and watch the video.  Buy the song.  Donate to the Red Cross.  It does the soul good.

Also, don't forget Record Store Day this weekend!  I'm working on a list of records I hope to get.  Might be ordering a couple.  The music recommendation for this blog will be David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.  Just listen to it.  Don't think about his package in that kid's movie.  Enjoy the music.  :)

k

I deleted a bunch of my depressing stuff.

I quit with all that jazz.  Until it gets so bad it's spilling out against my will, I'm going to try to be more positive.

I got to see Murder By Death and Fake Problems on Monday night.  It was glorious.  I met Chris Farren, and he was a cool guy.  The bar was tiny but surprisingly less crowded than most of the concerts I've been to.  We had a really good time.  Jason ended up having to drive home because I drank too much beer.  He was mad.  He had to work the next morning, and I got to sleep all day.  I told him I loved him before I fell asleep.

It was a good night all around.  I think I'm getting better.  I think it'll be okay.  Nights when I'm home are the worst, but even that is getting a little better.

All in all, healing is happening.

k

Oh hey, I'm going to a shrink.

Yup. I guess we'll see how it goes this time. The last few times, I've gone, they've gotten upset when I didn't just pour my problems out on the proverbial table right then, and I've gone home with two or three prescriptions that never got filled.

If I find a therapist I trust, I guess I might try some drugs or something, but until then, I'm not falling into that shit again. Pills and I do not mix well. Or we mix too well. I'm not sure.

Snoop Dogg is on TV shirtless. It's kind of terrifying.

Also, LISTEN TO MOTION CITY SOUNDTRACK'S MY DINOSAUR LIFE!!! DOOOO IT! I'm convinced they know my life. It's uncanny.

Now, it's Bruno Mars on TV. He's talented and adorable. I hope he doesn't actually jump in front of any trains or catch any grenades for any mean bitches. He seems better than that. But, who am I to judge?

k

I know how depressing my blog is, guys.

So, please enjoy this photo of Corgi puppies sharing an invisible sandwich.

Sometimes helplessness can feel worse than any other emotion.

It's truly awful.


k

I'm tired.

I'm at work right now. Blogging. Wrapped in a warm blanket and drinking mint cocoa. Listening to the new My Chemical Romance single, "Na Na Na." Catchy, no? I'm actually more excited for this album upon listening to this single than I was after hearing the whole of The Black Parade. This is still one of my favorite bands. I will never lose my fangirlish-ness for MCR. I don't see it happening. The video.

Anyway, I need to go do work in a few minutes. Morning portables. I am incapable, it seems, of thinking/typing in full sentences tonight.

I was reading through some of my shorts I've posted on here. There are a hundred more where those came from, but I'm not happy with any of them, really. There's maybe four or five of them I would be comfortable letting people I know and trust read, but other than that, I feel that they're all trash. Trash with excellent grammar.

Korn is on MTV. Suddenly it's 2000, and this is what the world of MTV is telling me is cool. I believe them and find it cool as well. Hurm. Well, you live and learn.

As for my musical tastes lately, it's been a rotating loop of Dresden Dolls (getting to see them live next month is going to be one of my favorite nights, I'm sure), MCR, Brand New, La Dispute, Gaslight, and Frank Turner. Seriously, I feel like these people are in my head sometimes. It's scary, but it also lets me know I'm not alone. This work schedule is hard for me and Jason both, but it's something we have to deal with. We're up to the challenge. Music is filling in the gaps when I'm alone. Xbox 360 and Rob is filling in Jason's free time. They're like a couple of old ladies antiquing all the time.

My record collection is growing. The last few additions were a Frank Turner/Tim Barry split, "Try This at Home" 7", High Violet by the National, and Planet of Ice reissue by Minus the Bear. All are being thoroughly enjoyed at 33 RPM. (We're never going home until the sun says we're finished.)

I couldn't help myself.

"Louder than god's revolver and twice as shiny."

k

I am a "hip" kid's mouth spouting "trendy" altered cinematic referential movie lines.

that was probably too vague or used bad grammar or whatever. who cares. i've done it, you've probably done it. it's a good fucking movie; but after awhile, reading, "I am Jack's/insertnamehere insertbodypart here" gets a little old. sorry, off-topic tangent. really, though, it's my blog, so it's actually right on topic, right? ya. that's what i thought.

who knew life wouldn't change all that much after marriage? okay, that's not really true, but i'm currently sitting in my parents' basement doing laundry and using mom's laptop and wireless connection. suddenlink's a bitch and keeps telling us they'll be there at a certain time, ya know, like between 8:00 am and 5:00 pm, and then showing up at 5:45 pm after we've given up and went to the movies or to get something to eat or something. that's why we don't have internet unless our neighbor hooks up their wireless router (very odd times in the day). but you have to have something in your life to keep you humble. whether it's a patient calling you a motherfucker and shooting death threats your way or doing your and your husband's laundry at your parents' house. both work.

the fact that i'm on mom's computer also explains why i'm not using any caps. her shift keys only work when they wanna, so you're lucky to get punctuation requiring the use of a shift.

i think my dog has abandonment issues. i mean, who wouldn't after being taken care of, i'm hoping, for a year or so and then dumped at the animal shelter for a week all alone and stuff? it's probably fucked up that i care about animals more than a lot of people i know, but they're innocent creatures. how many adults do you know who can be titled "innocent?" uh oh, i'm letting my jaded show.

so, i think 911 operators have a fucking hard as hell job. like on those true crime shows where the operator deciphers some person's screams or cries? yeah, i'd be the worst at that. i have a hard time hearing people anyway, so garbled, frantic soon-to-be stabbed or shot souls yelling at me would not work out. well, not for them. i'd have to say, "what? i can't hear you very well...speak up some, please." and they'd be whispering that someone was in the house trying to get them, or screaming that someone had just kidnapped their son, and i'd still be trying to hear their address. then i'd get, "thanks for that, ya dirtbag. i'm dead now because you couldn't understand me."

is sarcasm still a defense mechanism if you use it daily for several different occasions? i should learn which people probably wouldn't get it (the mil [mother-in-law]) or wouldn't appreciate it (cops), but i never do. maybe i do know deep down but like to cause shit anyway. it's the only way i get to be defiant anymore. ha.

so, jason's in a whole lot of pain because he needs a root canal, or now the tooth just needs pulled, and his appointment isn't until friday. i guess it broke all the way through or something? i don't know a lot about teeth. they're bitey and should be white or at least whitish. but that is why we didn't get to see new found glory on sunday night and that's why i'm not seeing fake problems and set your goals and four year strong and alkaline trio at warped tour in cincy right now. i'm also missing out on korean food tonight. it's why i'm not exhausted and sweaty and sunburned. i'm really not that selfish, guys. he's really hurting, and if i could take it for him, i would. i'm pretty sure that's how marriage should be. unless you just married someone to keep them from being deported. that's good, too. i typed 'departed' first, and thought, i would never want to be married to jack nicholson. WONDERFUL ACTOR, but i would look at him and forever see his face coming through the door in the shining. one of my favorite movies because it's creepy as fuck, but still. it's creepy as fuck, and most of that is his fault.

HOWEVER, WE DID BUY TICKETS TO SEE SOCIAL DISTORTION AND FRANK TURNER (and lucero...thoughts?) IN ASHEVILLE IN NOVEMBER!!!!!! THIRTEEN YEAR OLD ME AND PRESENT DAY ME ARE TOTALLY STOKED!!!! CAPS FTW!!!! I'M YELLING!!!!

there was probably something else more important i wanted to talk about today. i'm not really sure what that is, though. i watched kiss kiss bang bang today. it has robert downey jr. and michelle monaghan and shannon sossamon and sarcasm and weirdly haute couture people dancing in glass boxes in it. so it's pretty much my ideal movie.

i have yet to see inception. jason's in pain. i want to take him when he's all high on painkillers and see what happens. i think there will be some ensuing of hilarity.

i need more uniform pants. and a washer/dryer. nothing fancy, but toting my laundry all over the place is getting kind of redonkulous.

late, people. mom needs to do stuffs on the interwebz. and, i've come full circle.

k

There are lots of things I could blog about.

I'm not sure if I will or not. I could talk about how I got married, or how the honeymoon was the best week I'd ever had up to that moment, or how life kicked us in the ass when we got back to reality. Y'know. Not a bad kick in the ass. A necessary and "THIS IS GROWN-UP LIFE" (or as grown-up as we'll get) kick in the ass. So, like, as good one? I'm tired. Day shift has me up early. I live an hour away from where I work now, as does Jason, and day shift starts at 7. Ya.

Which brings me to the point of possibly talking about how I work full-time now at a hospital. Soon, I will be working full-time midnight shift in CT and x-ray. Yup. I'm like an adult now or something. With a sweet apartment. Yup.

But, I'm not really gonna talk about that stuff. That up there is all I really want to say about it. It's good, it's great, it's wonderful. Things are coming together. I'm about to buy Sigur Ros' Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust on vinyl from my Mosh Pit friend, Katie. Unopened. I can now put out my record player and all my records and enjoy them every day. All of my original Gaslight pressings. My Beethoven. I can't wait.

I've found that I can be quite domestic, too. And we can play and make love and walk around indisposed and just generally enjoy life. I'm almost waiting for the other shoe to drop, yeah? Like, you're finally really happy, with everything you wanted, so we're (being fate/life/whatever) going to just fuck things up a little. That's okay, though. Without unhappiness and hard times, the good and great and magnificent just aren't as enjoyable. I know that's totally fucking cliche, but it's true.

And now I must finish my Four Year Strong download and go to bed. Jason's calling. ;)

k

P.S. Warped in Cincy on July 28th right after a night shift that ends at 7:00 A.M. Fucking punk rock. That's what that is.

Soul Mates

This was a ten-minute writing exercise.

I can vividly remember the first day I saw Connor. He was leaning on Preston’s car and smoking. Preston said something and started laughing. Connor’s smile spread up the right side of his face in amusement. His hair was dark and scraggly, but not dirty. Just messy. He was my type incarnate.

These days, he’s my soul mate. Not in the ‘get married and live in a house full of happy children’ way. It’s more like no matter what I’m talking or thinking about, he always understands. It’s uncanny. I can be uncanny right back, though. Like I said—soul mates.

And we also fuck. Not usually when we’re sober, though. When he’s sober, his type is usually missing a vagina.

Tonight, we ate ice cream cones and walked the train tracks while the sun was setting behind us. We walked away from it because we like the dark. Things happen all around you in the dark, and most people miss them. We don’t miss them. We are them.

As the town around us got darker, we grew calmer and reverent. We sat down under a tree off the side of the tracks and watched as the sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon. The few moments between the sun setting and the day’s light diminishing completely were used to unfold a small strip of paper containing two round hits of acid. One of the little circles stuck to Connor’s finger and was dropped onto my tongue. He mimicked the action for himself and crumpled up the little piece of paper and swallowed it. Leaning against him and sighing, I closed my eyes and smiled.

I could see him clearly in my mind. He was smirking and spinning in circles in the middle of the ocean. I was dancing and laughing; it was glorious. We were standing on the water and playing god. He made the waves into shapes and sent them flying over my head. I reshaped them and sent them back.

Tulips, guns, pies, horses—back and forth, back and forth. When I remembered that my eyes were closed, I opened them to find Connor in the tree above me.

“What are you making up there? Did you make that tree?”

“I made this tree. I made the birds and the worms. Sugar, I grew the fucking roots into the soil. We are gods of this world.” I giggled. He was glowing blue. I felt spiritual. This was my religion. My world had no deadbeat mothers or frisky boyfriends. It was just me and Connor. And our world of magical possibilities.

Natalie and Kara

An extremely short story from a while ago:

They sat on the wall in front of her house. The trees shading them were gorgeous shades of rich oranges and reds. Neither one wanted to start the conversation. It was going to be awkward and messy.

Natalie stared at an ant crawling across the sidewalk so intently that everything around the ant went fuzzy. It was carrying a piece of red leaf. Possibly to its anthill. Or perhaps it would just keep the leaf for itself. Nature could be so giving, but it could also be selfish. Nature didn’t give a damn if you were dying or a glutton.

Such is the way of God. Or whoever was floating around up there.

Kara was the one to start talking. She spoke of pianos and purple skies. She mentioned horses and ketchup. Rambling about nonsense was a specialty of hers. Talking about reality was not.

“I dropped the ketchup in the piano while I was tuning it. Now the C above high C sounds odd.”

“Kara, stop.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Things are different now.” The times when Natalie would lie in bed with Kara and listen to her talk about whatever subject floated into her head were in the past. It was saddening because Kara had the sweetest voice. Every word flowed like a concerto. Every syllable seemed to be meticulously chosen, but it wasn’t. That was just Kara. Natalie missed her voice—her songs and words, her moans and cries.

That time was gone. Empty shells and glassy eyes were left, and neither girl knew what could bring life back into the void.

“I can’t take it back. And I don’t want to.”

“I figured that out. I can read you like a book,” Natalie smirked. Kara rarely did things that she regretted later. She was rash and impulsive, but everything she did had an intention behind it—regardless of whether it was conscious or not. Nothing happened without a purpose.

The ant had disappeared into a hole in the sidewalk. His fellow workers were congregating on the little mound surrounding the opening. They all had offerings of sustenance and were diligently working toward winter food reserves.

Natalie hadn’t looked at Kara once. When they first met, Kara’s facial piercings looked foreign to Natalie. After only a few days, though, they were familiar features, just like a little nose or beauty mark. She wanted to know if Kara’s youthful face had grown worry lines or blemishes, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. It would hurt too much.

Besides, she knew that Kara’s lovely face wouldn’t have acquired anything detrimental to her exquisiteness. Someone else was lucky. Someone else could hold her and look at her face and know that she would be there when he awoke.

Natalie wasn’t sure when she would be okay with that knowledge. Maybe never. Maybe tomorrow.

“Your birthday’s next week. You’re gonna be 21. Any plans?” Natalie had forgotten her own birthday.

“I’m probably going to drink a Jack and coke and be done with it.”

“You do that every night.”

“I’m also going to cut off all my hair.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” Where Kara was open and intuitive, Natalie was stubborn.

“I can read you like a book, too, Nat.” Natalie flinched. “You’re not going to cut your hair. You think it’s the only thing that’s pretty about you.”

“Exactly.” The ants were almost all inside now. The sky was turning red and orange to match the trees as the sun left half-circle flashes in Natalie’s eyes when she blinked.

“Do you think we’ll ever come back here?”

“No. This is over.”

“Yeah.” And Natalie knew this little session of closure had ended. It was time for a new period in their lives. One without them together. It was time to find out how to live separately. This was good for them. When one would breathe, the other would exhale. It was like that in bed and life. Now was a new age.

Natalie realized that she was wrong. Maybe she could be okay that night. It wouldn’t take until tomorrow. It certainly wouldn’t take forever.

It's a very, very mad world.

I'm foregoing studying. I quit!.......until morning. I know--I have no backbone. Let's face it, kids, I talk a big game, but the only thing I follow through with is school, bills (most of the time), and listening to music. If I tell you I will check out *insert band or artist here* then I will listen to them. That's all I can guarantee.

I'm listening/semi-watching the Dresden Dolls most recent DVD, Live at the Roundhouse. It has a duet between them and the lead singer of The Red Paintings, Trash McSweeney. Both are revolutionary. I could go on for many days and pages about my love and devotion to the Dresden Dolls and Amanda fucking Palmer (solo), but tonight, I mean to write about the epic-ness of The Red Paintings.

The Red Paintings are a band out of Brisbane, Oz, and will make you laugh, cry and want to touch yourself. Or not really....not the last one, but it sounded good, right? Besides, they might cause that reaction. I don't know about your personal life, loves. Anyway, they successfully mix art, theatrics, costumes and music to create one big amalgam of mind-blowing sensations.

I recommend the Walls EP and Destroy the Robots EP. If you come to fancy those, then dish out the moolah for the LP. All their tracks are for individual sale on their website, which can be found here.

And since I can't keep it in anymore, go listen to "Delilah" by Dresden Dolls. It's amazing-well thought out, well-written, beautiful and simple.

If you're feeling really froggy, then go watch the eight-part video series by Amanda Palmer, lead singer and pianist for the Dresden Dolls. Just follow from this first part on to the second and third and so on.

I'm on a dramatic kick lately, so the next band I choose to blog about will probably be one that wears outrageous costumes and sings about boats and pirates. (I already know who I'm writing about, so I know for a fact that they sing about boats and pirates.) Kudos and a mix cd to anyone that can guess who it is....two words....initials are AP. And, no. It's not Amanda Palmer, who I will from now on abbreviate with AFP.

k

Hopefully this will be a novel one day.

Rita and Fran would make a lovely story. Here's a taste of their friendship. Enjoy and leave con crit only. That means don't be a mean ass.

It had been a tiring day. The rest of the week was going to be hectic, it was only Tuesday, but it would hopefully be a good hectic. Like I-feel-like-I'm-in-a-bubbly-warm-whirlwind hectic.

I'm sure my hair would come out in a better state if I was caught in a whirlwind. For the first time since I was fifteen, I was sent to a professional hairdresser who thought putting multicolored streaks in my blonde hair would look 'edgy.' Because lead singers are supposed to be 'edgy.' Who knew? I guess my bandmates weren't allowed to be edgy. Poor them. They have hair that is not gay friendly. Also, I now have bangs that fall into my face every damn time I move. It's annoying as hell.

"I mean, how is that even a relevant question? 'Does your mother approve of your offensive tattoos?' "

"I don’t know, Fran. Maybe she was jealous of your pinup girl shooting at a man." My hair fell into my face, and I tried to tuck it behind my ear.

"Maybe she didn't appreciate your rad hair. Of course she liked it when you mocked her, who wouldn't, ya know?"

"Shut up, Fran."

"Respect your elder."

"Respect your lead singer."

"I can't respect anyone with hair that's gayer than I am."

"Shut up, Fran."

And all was right again. That's how it went with Fran and I. She was my friend. My accomplice, my sister. We were by blood too, since we both got in a bar fight, with other people, of course, when we were sixteen. It's a much better story than when boys cut their hands and hold them together to become blood brothers. She held her bloody knuckles to my bloody lip and we smiled while standing over the guys we fought.

I was the one that needed to be brought back down to earth most of the time, though. Not because the fame (tiny fame?) had gotten to my head, but because I just got caught up in life and in my head more often than the normal person.

She was the one that needed to take care of everyone because she is our band mother. Unless you count Erik, our manager. He is our band father and is more like a disciplinarian that only cares about making you a better person. 'If you just play some shows where you don't try to use sarcasm with a bunch of kids that won't get it and find it offensive while you find it amusing, I'm just saying that it might be nice to try. Or I could book you at another rich kid's birthday party.'

My bangs fell into my face again and I made a low, growling noise, followed by Fran huffing, grabbing a bobby pin out of the ash tray and tucking my hair out of my face. See? Just like a mommy.

"Hey, Rita?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you hope kids like our new album as much as I do? 'Cause, I'm trying the whole, 'I'm proud of it, so it doesn't matter if anyone else likes it' thing and I still want people to like it."

"I want people to like it too. Like when you make a new friend that you want your old friends to meet, but you get nervous that your old friends won't like them, and they'll get mad at you for it. But, then deep down you know your old friends so well that you know they'll like that new friend. Like…"

"I get it, Rita. Nice analogy, but focus on the traffic, please. You almost side-swiped that blue jeep."

"Yeah, well, yellow jeeps are better."

"Thanks. I miss my yellow jeep."

"Me too. That X-Ray Spex tape you made that got stuck in the tape player was awesome. Hey, do you think bobby pins lying around loose in the car would pose a hazard if we crashed?"

"Probably." She took the other three pins and put them in the glove box.

I miss the magic

I've been trying to finish up the fourth chapter in one of my stories, but the characters are just not cooperating. They suck at life right now, and I think I'm forcing it. I'm not sure how I want to get to the next integral part of the story. I'm not studying like I should be. Studying be damned. I hate academia. On Thursday, I could very well die a scholastic death and be done with it.

Probably not that extreme, but it will probably be bad. I need so much to have a break. Hopefully that will come in the form of Jason and V-day this weekend. Some red wine and lovin' couldn't hurt. Heh.

I'm tired. I just thought it was time to come back to this blog and post something. Maybe next time it will have more depth and less whining. And maybe a character development scene. Who knows.

k

I've realized some things.

First of all, it's 2008 now. Wow. A whole 'nother year gone by. This year has been a lot of things for me. It's been exciting and wonderful, love-filled, tiring, terrifying, fulfilling, and many other words that don't mean a damn thing to anyone but me. That's why I'm writing this blog for me and no one else. I've started to do a lot of things for me and no one else. My writing, for example, has gotten to be a hell of a lot more honest than it's ever been before. Which is odd, considering the protagonist's point of view in which I'm writing is just about as opposite me as she can get. (I am also watching the Fiesta Bowl right now, and to the people that were all "WVU's gonna lose, blah, blah, lalalala..." IN YOUR FACES! WE ARE WINNING 41 TO 28 RIGHT NOW IN THE 4TH YOU JERKS!) I just bled on my computer. Having to check your blood sugar is such a bother when you already know it's low and need to eat something. (Sixty-five yard touchdown by Devine. How amazing. I'm basking in the glow from Arizona.) But, now my finger won't stop bleeding, so my 's' key is a little red.

I've just realized that I get to vote in the presidential election this year for the first time. I guess I need to pay more attention to the candidates now. I think Hillary Clinton is an evil robot. She just freaks me out. I'm a democrat, but I really don't like her. So, I guess I have successfully ruled out one candidate. (I love Schmitt, but his pseudo-hawk is ugly.)

I predict for 2008 that I will have a great year. I will continue to accept that I am drifting and do not know how my life will turn out. I will continue to be okay with that. I will make myself live it the best way I know how and I will kick school in the ass. I will be able to play some song really well on the guitar by this time next year. I will fall more in love with Jason even though that isn't hard for me to do. I fell hard for him from day one, and I never really stopped falling. I will be healthy and hopefully not have to take so many pills. I will FINISH a story. Short stories don't count. I will love and try to be a better person. Sometimes I hate who I am, and I want to make myself someone of whom I can be proud. And I WILL get my phoenix tattoo sometime this year. Maybe I'll get married. Who knows?

I got to see all of the fearsome foursome together today all at once. Even though we had to fight kids and babies and a dog and snow to do it. I hadn't seen Emily since Thanksgiving (wow, I didn't realize how long it had been), and that was awesome. I found someone that shares my love for Rambo movies, and she also happens to be the same one that shares my love for Rocky movies. I love my Babe. She's one of the people that help me to hold on daily, and she'll never notice or accept it.

Well, my lethargy is winning out, and the ball game has 1:56 left on the clock. I'm happy for my team. They couldn't beat Pitt (grrrr), and Rodriguez is an asshole, but they won tonight. Ahh, the simple pleasures of football. I am wrapped in my electric blanket, I took my four pills of the night, and I'm off to chemically-induced la-la land. Goodnight and merry new year. Life is good.

--Madame Twitch

High Stress, High Thoughts...

The word of the week: existentialism. Okay, I know that it's part of the name of a Straylight Run song, and not much more to most people my age, or at least not consciously, but after reading the play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead last week, the wheels in my head started cranking. If you haven't read it, it's a play from the Theatre of the Absurd, and follows along with Hamlet. Me? Not a big fan of Shakespeare....I know, I know. Please don't throw vegetables and other rank objects that will go splat and be generally messy. Call me cynical or sour or what have you, but I hate the whole premise of Romeo and Juliet. One cannot fall in love in a day. It's too unreal to think that a love that strong can grow in such a short amount of time. That's the exact reason that I hate Nicholas Sparks' novels....the notion of unattainable love. I am a hopeless romantic. The candles/tell me sweet things/love me forever/chivalrous et cetera type romance. Not the whole 'In the face of unsurmountable obstacles, they found a way to stay together and have hot, steamy sex everyday, and then something happened and they both died from heartache' love. I see a clear difference, but not many others do....whatever. Wow, quite the little invective, yeah?

Back to my original point, the Theatre of the Absurd is all about dropping characters into situations that are unfamiliar with little to no memory of who or what they are. They have to search within themselves to figure out what their purpose is, what they're meant to do in life. I can relate. I am striving to become a radiographer. But, I don't want to be defined by that. I don't really want to be defined by anything, but it's human nature to label and compartmentalize. If it's not able to be classified, then no one knows what to make of it. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern end up dead in Hamlet, as they do in Ros and Guil are Dead (like my abbreviations?), but they spend a lot of time using word games and misinterpretations to figure things out. Poor Ros gets reprimanded by Guil pretty regularly just for being himself, or figuring out how to be himself as the case may be, but both end up being okay with their fates. Which was frustrating to me. Being beheaded for transporting someone that is clever and misleading is not 'okay.' But if Hamlet was just executed when he's sent to London, I suppose there wouldn't be much of a storyline. I find Hamlet to be whiny, by the way. We covered the whole 'Shakespeare and I don't get along' thing, right? Oh, The Tempest....definitely a funny play, though. Not a damn clue about it, but intriguing nonetheless.

I just want to be multifaceted and hard to nail down when labeling. I have this (unrational?) fear of only doing one thing for the rest of my life. I also don't want to throw away my education when I decide to leave radiology in search of something new. If it was possible to get three majors in only four years, then I would definitely be an English/radiology/business major, but I barely have time to major in radiology with an English minor.

So, the question lingers--For what am I here? The age-old question of man. I don't know, maybe we're just supposed to make the best of what we get, but when we are able to dictate for what we are prepared, who really knows what it is they want to or are capable or reaching? Does anyone? I'm just tired of driving towards one goal, which takes up all of my time, while desperately wishing for time to fulfill other objectives to get to others goals. Like owning a record store. Or simply being a good influence on or mentor to kids (little intelligent mischievious nerdy heathens) like I was. I still need a mentor or someone to keep me from spinning off into oblivion, so that last one might take awhile. Like any of the others will not take awhile.

"Each exit is just an entrance to somewhere else."

Have a delicious breakfast in the morning!

--Madame Twitch

P.S. Listen to Against Me! New Wave is spectacular and capable of multiple, intensely explosive eargasms. Trust me. I'm all about musically-induced eargasms. They're awesome and stuff. Also, the song "Stop" goes along nicely with the theme of this post.

The Decline of Family: An Observation

Open scene: A family of four enter a well-known fast food chain restaurant at six in the evening. The mother is on her cell phone discussing orthodontia for one of her children. The father is perusing the menu choices, ignoring his son's pleas for a "fish fillet." Pronounced the same way a certain Jimmy Buffet pronounces his last name. The mother is now raising her voice about the fact that her son needs braces very badly. "His teeth are as crooked as that Anna Nicole Smith!" Of course, not everyone is able to put down a dead celebrity. She is significantly wittier than most.

The father orders a number seven with regular fries instead of curly ones, and as he is preoccupied watching a rather young brunette that just entered the restaurant, he repeats his son's order to the letter. One "fish fillet," please. The teenaged cashier rolls her eyes and nods. No wonder no one can read correctly anymore. The mother is still on her phone, now speaking to the same poor person about her younger daughter's need for a pediatrician. The father turns to the mother and says, "What do you want?" in a less than friendly manner. She waves at him dismissively, murmuring something to the effect of, "I don't care. I'm not hungry." The man sighs and orders a regular roast beef and a Pepsi.

In the midst of their distractions, they forget to order anything for the young girl that is standing in the back and not making a peep. A future therapy case in the works, I'm sure. The woman, in the middle of a rant about "those quacks that touch children," turns around and gasps. "Greg, you didn't order anything for Clara, you idiot!" This is returned by a hasty, "Don't talk to me like that, Sara!" The little girl is still quiet. The father turns back to the stunned cashier and says, "I'll take a happy meal." He ignores the cashier, who informs him that they don't have happy meals, to watch the young brunette that was in line behind them. "Sir! We don't have happy meals here." "Fine, chicken tenders will work. And a diet pepsi." I guess he only allows his family to have pepsi products.

"Your total is $15.47." The girl skips over the ordinary, "Is that all for you today?" I don't blame her. He hands her some cash and receives his change, all the while sneaking glances over at his dark-headed eye candy. The brunette doesn't notice. She's watching the resident bad-boy at the deep-fryer. You know, tattoos, a couple piercings, a permanent scowl. Embodiment of a 'lifer' at this place--works there for his lifetime. Typical.

Back with our award-winning family, they have received their food and are now clamoring their way to a booth. The boy runs to the bathroom, his parents not batting an eye about it. Not that they really noticed anything around them through the whole eight minutes since they arrived. The little girl grabs her box of chicken tenders and begins to munch quietly on the end of one. The mother is still on her phone; "Sheila's boy got braces when he was nine. Brandon is ten." Notice that "Brandon" has not returned from the bathroom yet.

The father's phone rings, "Pour some sugar on me…" and he answers with a boisterous "Hey, man! What have you been up to?" The little girl has now stopped eating and is just sitting and staring at the table. "Yeah! I'd love to come to a poker night later." "He is just a little ball of energy lately. I can't shut him up for anything, not even his Xbox keeps him still anymore." The boy has still not returned. Miraculously, both hang up their cell phones at the same time. A few seconds pass before the mother looks around and notices that their party of four is now a party of three. "Greg, where's Brandon?" "I thought you were watching him." Back to his sandwich. The woman huffs and looks at her food. "I'm not hungry." "You never eat when we go eat, but you huff and moan about us not eating together. I have to eat when you do, but you never do when I want to. Here we are at a nice sit-down restaurant," which I remind you is part of a well-known chain of fast food joints, "and you are not eating again." A fight ensues quickly thereafter. The little girl is still staring at her half-eaten chicken tender.

The boy runs back to the table, but his arrival is not noticed by either of his parents, for they are still bickering over petty eating habits. The boy runs off once again in search of napkins and straws, which he announces quite loudly to the whole restaurant. His parents take no notice, again. The little girl picks up another chicken tender and proceeds to nibble on a new one. No one has opened her ketchup for her yet, either. She doesn't complain. The boy returns, once again, this time bearing a handful of napkins and straws each, and throws them in the middle of the table. "Brandon! Settle down, boy! You know better than that!" Obviously not. The little girl ceases nibbling and puts her chicken tender back down after two bites. "Clara, eat your dinner. I don't want you to be like your mother." Another bicker-fest proceeds.

The little boy continues to eat his and his sister's food. He is quite plump and she is quite tiny. I wonder why. The happy family finishes and throws their trash and the mother's extra food in the trash and noisily makes their way to the door. A faint voice can be heard from behind the first three. "I'm still hungry." No one notices. They file out and into their mini-van. The father puts the girl in a child seat while the mother answers her cell phone yet again. The little boy jumps over his sister and makes her scream by kicking her mid-jump. Again, no one notices. The van is put in reverse and the scene goes black.

Cycles: A Short Story

I was watching her peripherally while we sat beside each other on the river bank. The water was rushing quickly, pulling our feet to the left and rubbing our cuffed pant legs on the clay and mud that formed our earthy seats. She was scanning the water for fish and other aquatic creatures that could thrive in freshwater.


I adored her for the innocence that she held. No one understood her like I did. The only ones that did understand her, barring me, were Mother Nature's creations. The trees swayed toward her when she passed. Angry and scared strays of all shapes and sizes would nuzzle their snouts on her legs during our daily jaunts down the street. She could catch skittish woodland creatures with ease. Her best friend was a sugar glider that was originally scheduled to die because it got involved in a fight with another sugar glider and lost. It was missing most of its fingers and toes. I wanted to name it Stumpy. She named it Champ.


The best part is that her little nine-year-old heart wasn't being facetious or ill-mannered in the least. She truly thought that he was a champion. He survived, and that made him extraordinary in her gleeful, young eyes. Champ spent most of his latent days clamped onto her shoulder to see a slightly taller world than he was used to. His handicaps left him with limited gliding abilities, which just showed how amazing he really was when he didn't give up life. It was a firm belief of the little girl's that animals could have the same emotions as humans.


A rainbow trout glided between river grasses and weeds, coming to a halt at her toes. Her toes were waving in the current gracefully, like a willow tree undulating and tickling the wind with its long, leaf-lined fingertips. The trout watched her toes in a trance, its mouth opening and closing, a trait I have never understood.


"When it opens its mouth, water goes in, and when its closes its mouth, water passes through the gills and oxygen is picked up and sent into the blood." She reads my mind sometimes. Intuition is what our mother calls it. I think it’s a sensitive sense of perception. There might not be a difference there, but I think there is. Either way, it's likely that she could pass a high-school freshman biology class as a fourth-grader. The kid gets giddy at the thought of nature books and manuals.


She smiled and wiggled her toes a bit, actually bringing the fish closer. If she could ever bring herself to hurt another living organism, she would be one hell of a fisherman. The fish would flock to her and all she would have to do is sit in a boat and be a buoy. She giggled airily as the fish's fins tickled the bottoms of her feet, in turn bringing a smile to my face. There are no laugh lines etched into my face from an overabundance of happiness, but when she's around, I find it easier to feel simple joy. She's a reminder of the things that are decent in the world. Innocence isn't completely lost, and that gives me hope.


The breeze found its way across the freckles on her nose brought out by the summer sun, her auburn waves swaying as if her head was underwater instead of her feet. The elegance and grace for which models would kill was instilled the tiny body sitting to my left. The one that would rather build a fence around a dandelion to protect it from stomping shoes rather than pick it and let it die. The girl was already a vegetarian.


She made me seem like an ogre in comparison, with my meat-eating and weed-crushing ways. Most people paled in contrast to her, though, when standing beside such a tender spirit. It was sad to think that she could become a self-conscious, boy-crazy teen in the coming years. She had such an old soul with naïve eyes as windows of which to peek. A rarely-seen combination. One that resulted in wisdom and maturity. Age didn't matter at all.


The fish swam away, turning its body back once, as if to say a bittersweet goodbye. I picked a daisy that was growing in the grass beside me and placed it in her hair behind her ear. She frowned and pulled it out, twirling it by the stem between her fingers.


"Its life span was already short." She let it plop in the river, even managing to give poise to throwing flowers. "Now, something will eat it and it will turn into fuel."


"It's a cycle, babe. Everything has a cycle."


"Even love."


I looked ahead at the rippling water, eventually closing my eyes and feeling a brush of rough fingertips on my arms. A touch that lingered, lousy with memories. Or maybe it was just the wafting breeze.


I could smell something sweet and familiar. Or maybe it was the honeysuckle reaching around a tree nearby.


I could hear a whisper right against my ear. Or maybe it was the rustling of the leaves in the trees bending to be closer to my pint-sized companion. She was, after all, like the sun. She was warm and possessed a gravity that pulled creatures, both human and animal, towards her. A dragonfly marked in turquoise and bright blue skidded across the surface of the water and flew a ring around her head. The perfect halo for such a girl.


"You're right. Love has a cycle, just like life."


"It pulls you in."


"Just like you do."


"I don't pull. I let things come."


"That doesn't always work."


"It only does when it needs to." She reached out and caught a maple leaf that was flying through the air, handing it to me by the stem. I spun it between my fingers, imitating her with the daisy. I dropped it in the water as well and watched it as is floated away. "Only when it needs to."

In Flames: A Short Story

The fire danced around, both in front of her and in her eyes, igniting memories and evoking sensations throughout her body. The cool breeze could be felt by everyone except the girl that was practically sitting in the fire. She had scooted her log considerably closer, the smoke from the flames licking her tanned legs and the flickers of orange light giving her skin a deep, russet glow.

He watched from behind her, contributing a bit to the conversation surrounding him every few minutes. She was oblivious, but she always was when in the presence of fire.

Scenes flashed through her mind as if it were her last few minutes on the earth. The heat reminded her of her mother's honey green tea. She would always drink hot tea even when the temperature was 95 degrees outside. The girl reminisced on all the things her mother told her.

"Tea is very good for you. It can lengthen your life."

"Meditating can enhance your mind. It will make you age more gracefully."

Her theories weren't based on any merited medical opinions; only her own opinions were used to rationalize the things she did. The things she said would help didn't, though. She was dead by the time she was forty. Heart attack. The woman that lived and preached health food and meditation. The girl was sure it was God's way of saying, "I can take you whenever I want, no matter what." Her mother didn't believe in God, but the girl was sure that people didn't descend from apes.

The woman's daughter hated health food and would rather watch a raging bonfire than meditate. Or a burning match. Or a fireplace filled with apple kindling. It created the sweetest aroma and the fire burned so brightly that sometimes it seemed to come alive and speak to her.

A spark hitting her kneecap brought her back down to earth just in time to hear a discussion behind her that she found oddly compelling. She wasn't always oblivious.

"So, Cole… You've been stealing away with that fiery red head the last several times we've been up here, man."

The girl rolled her eyes. When would men learn that pasting an over-used, bourgeois adjective in front of the color of a girl's hair is not the proper way to address her? Fiery red head. Leggy blonde. Busty brunette. Where did it end?

She supposed that girls wearing shirts with "Brunettes do it better" and "Blondes always have more fun" splayed across their chests didn't help matters at all.

Strangely, however, she wanted to hear where this conversation was going. She abandoned her thoughts and memories long enough to find out what the answer to the ill-stated inquiry would be.

"Yeah, Leanna's cool. I like her enough."

Hah. Enough? She was the only one to catch what he meant when he went on his rants that seemingly lasted forever and ended in intoxicated stupors.

"C'mon. You know that's not what I wanted to hear about."

"A gentleman never kisses and tells."

"That's not how it goes, dude."

"Either way, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to fuel more rumors and leave you hanging." His eyes were burning into her back and she could feel his gaze.

She smiled at the fire, but for the first time that night, it wasn’t because of the fire. She stood and brushed the ashes off of herself before elegantly stalking into the edge of the forest. A large sycamore tree, one that had seen much more and lived much longer than Leanna's great-great-great aunt, who was alive and kicking, a bit low, but still kicking (who never once ate tofu or meditated about eating tofu), became a wonderful place for Leanna to shield her body from the man on a mission to find her.

He reached the set of trees that housed the extremely elderly sycamore and looked around, confusion in his deep brown eyes.


"Leanna? Where'd you go?" He called out to her in a soft voice, knowing she wasn't very far from him. It was their little game. Their ritual. He searched the branches of the large trees for any trace of a feminine figure. She climbed a tree once to hide from him.

This was her game. As much as he wanted her to feel the same sentiment for him as he did for her, he knew she used him for her insatiable lust. He didn't complain.

He spun around with his back to her location and with exceptional grace and stealth she leaped onto his back, not saying a peep. He just laughed and spun around after she had let go and was planted back on the ground.

"So, word on the street is I'm a fiery red head, huh?" She pulled a thinly rolled joint from her jean pocket and handed it to him. He smiled and lit it with his cheap, gas station lighter. It was a tiger that spat a green flame from his gnashing mouth. Laughable. The first inhalation of smoke caused him to close his eyes ever so briefly and sigh in content, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose at the same time.

"Yeah. I'm not sure if that's your attitude or your fascination, though." The joint was plucked from his fingers and placed between her lips before he could hand it to her. The earlier memories proved to be a bit much and a release was needed.

"It's both on a good day." They ended up deeper into the woods in what seemed like no time. Whether it was the company or the marijuana, neither knew nor cared. A large rock seemed like the perfect place to rest and converse about the sky turning amber like the sap in the trees surrounding them or ponder why their meetings had become so frequent and procedural.

The silence that night seemed to give off the latter and they shared a shotgun, first Cole then Leanna, which left their THC-induced minds swimming. Or drowning. The rock was all of a sudden very warm beneath them, the heat even reaching the skin in the small arches of their backs. It seemed that the fire followed them that night, and the lack of moon or stars gave the perfect cover to explore each other's minds and bodies with more than the usual colloquial speech. There was no naiveté to be found that night. Only passion and inebriated debauchery was abounded.

An hour later found them lying on the ground in their bare-minimals. The dirt that clung to their backs was chilly and cooled their warm skin exceptionally. Nothing could be heard except soft breathing and excited yelps from the distant bonfire.

"Do you ever think about God?" Her voice was soft and her eyes were staring into her memory rather than up at the sky like one would assume.

"Sometimes. What about him?"

"What his plans are. If he does care or if we're just his little pets in a cage to play with." Cole turned his head and looked over at her, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. A screech owl cried out above them and landed in the tree under which they were lying.

"I'd like to think he does care. People get tired of pets after awhile. He hasn't yet. Even if we are his little pets, he takes pretty good care of us." He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. Her eyes finally met his and a single tear fell from each eye, one running across the bridge of her nose and mixing with the trail of the other.

"Why doesn't he save us then?"

"We're fragile. Maybe he takes the ones that are too fragile and gives them a better life."

"And the rest of us?"

"I don’t know. Maybe we're strong enough to figure it out for ourselves." She turned back and gazed upward once again, leaving him to scan his eyes over her body. His eyes returned to her face quickly, though. The moon had been unmasked and was now shedding a pastel light on her face. She was glowing in a different way than ever before. She always shone with a deep scarlet or bright orange in the fires she started and was drawn to, but at that one moment, before the moon was again hidden behind another cloud, she looked ghastly beautiful. Like a ghost waiting to move on.

By then, the loud clamors and voices had died down and more people were venturing into the woods to find refuge for their teenage lust. Leanna rose first and pulled her pants on followed by her shirt and rested on the rock they had inhabited initially. Cole sat up and stared at her questioningly. She would always get up and walk away leaving him to put his clothes on alone with his thoughts. He rose and put his clothes back on hastily, not wanting her to leave him again.

She smiled and reached out for him to take hold of her hand. A simple gesture like that made him break out into a large grin.

The emotions swirling around them were almost tangible. One's heart had reopened to life and the other's longing was seemingly not in vain as first predicted.

As they emerged from the edge of the woods hand in hand, they both were on the same page. Same paragraph. Same word. Something had changed in the hour of midnight. Neither could explain verbally, but that was the turning point for two lives.

Before they parted for the last time, he looked at her eyes. They were facing the fire, but her eyes were no longer burning embers, but were smoldering. They were ready to face reality. She had abjured from her old beliefs, but not in a solemn manner. It was letting go in peace.

The two shared one more smile and released their hands when both had their arm straight out. He headed to his jeep and she began her walk home.