Dog wood

Dog wood blossoms are such a beautiful reminder that life exists in the plainest wrapping. Spindly trees outstretched in acceptance of all the sun has to offer. The sight of them makes me wish I was dressed in a dirndl and milking cows in the Alps. There is something else about them though, something one forgets about until you are already in the middle of the sidewalk on a gorgeous spring morning: their smell. The scent is pervasive, odorous and sharp. I feel my nostrils flare right at the point of inhalation. Such as with many other things we put up with on a daily basis, the dogwood looks pretty on the outside but is just as rotten as the rest of us on the inside. 

I cannot care about him this way. I cannot continue holding my breath hoping the stench of his weakness will pass. I already know it will not unless he does it himself. I made my decision and, just like him, I feel as though I can do whatever I want. My life is happening right now. I won't slow down and I won't speed up unless I want to. What does he want? I never know. The only thing he is sure of are his degraded sexual desires and his uncanny ability to order it up like a fucking pizza in a pair of panties. It's not for me. I don't care enough about him for that...it's easy to let go when you know the other person let you go way back when it actually mattered. He'll do what makes him happy and that's fine. He'll just have to do it without me and not blame anyone but himself. It's pretty damn hard to shit on someone and make it hurt when all they do continuously day  in and out is shit on themselves. Who needs it? I can only speak for me and my behavior. You are like the dogwood sometimes though. No matter how hard you try you can still be beautiful creature on the outside and just as putrid and repulsive on this inside. People know. They can smell it on you. 

Wake up

I laid down for a nap at 5pm with the most pure of intentions...and an alarm set for 6:30. I just needed to rest. I awoke at midnight feeling confused and lost and I'm just going to blame it on the rain. It was also raining in my dream. It was lush and dim and rain soaked. I was going to a friends house where her whole family was there. I went up to a bedroom to change my clothes and Dave from xw was there. He begged me to kiss him and I did and regretted it immediately. He tasted thick and salty and I wanted to spit right after. I had another separate dream where I was at a huge music hall. It was beautiful and lit and gold and just so towering. Evan was there to perform and every seat was full. I sat down in the front lower loge and that Tegan and Sara song i put on his mixtape began to play. My heart was so happy because I thought he had thought about me and that song was for me. I turned to the girl next to me and smiled and sighed. I told her that I thought this song was for me. She started laughing and said "really? You know he has a girlfriend right?" She got the girl sitting next to her to turn around and she also was laughing at me. Just then, Evan came out on stage with this faceless but beautiful figure I can only imagine as "her." It seemed like everyone was looking at me, laughing at me.

 I have a wide awake thought now. I fantasize that I am at Harmon's downtown in one of their industrial chic aisles that are so well lit. I see Evan and I intentionally bump in to him. He turns and as he realizes who I am his face shows all of his emotions: shock, sadness and then pure pleasure. We talk for a minute and then it's time for one of us to walk away. We don't. We embrace for a kiss instead. And it's fucking magical and surprising and just a new feeling washes over me. I cared for you and I didn't even get to know you. Come back to me Evan. Please come back. 

Sliver

Sometimes I just want to love you. Sometimes I just want to hear you say the same. Our lives should parallel not intersect. I want to run next to you forever, not run in, hit and arc away. Hit the bell, is this round two? Round three? Who will get KO'd? No one wins unless we both get what we want. I know how I'd like it to be...our ideas of clear happiness are very different. It's hard loving an akward man. 

Unruly, reckless, wretched

Our weather is strangling. Only tonight, after a fair amount of time has passed, that I'm supremely pissed at you all over again. Would you have reacted differently if I had just looked you dead in the eye and said "yes, all those songs are about love because that is what comes to mind when I think of your face, your shy, unsure mannerisms. How I could tell that you were nervous and I crushed your mojo (or whatever it is that you have) and yet you were the one making me nervous...which rarely happens in such situations. Obviously...obviously...that's all I can say. And you stopped coming in. You fucking wretched asshole. I am one glass of wine away from walking up and down 3rd south clear north to south temple and the east streets in between drunkenly singling all of the songs on YOUR mixtape until you fucking show yourself and tell me why. Tell me why you stopped coming in. I need a funeral for a customer; you made yourself that: a customer. No longer this sweet, calm, shy, handsome man who I know nothing about other than you order a tall coffee and you maybe? went to Stanford based on the lanyard you wear that holds your military ID. I have that choked feeling one gets right before the tears come, right before the snow falls, if it decides to fall. 

Sandollarmillionaire

I'm laying in my parents secret loft nook high above their two story condo and even higher than the condo below them. I can hear cars moving quickly on the 5 Pacific Coast Highway. They have families and homes to go to, or homes and families to get away from. I can close my eyes and imagine that whirring rush is actually the Pacific Ocean lapping against the San Diego bay but it only takes a half second to realize that it's way less romantic than that. My time here has been roughly soothing. I forget how to relax. I forget how to be smooth and free and non committal. I have headaches and cannot sleep at night and then feel lethargic and unhappy during the day. It's hard to be unhappy here though. Southern California feels like the archetypical grandmothers kitchen. Sunny, warm, refreshing and breezy. You know you are so loved, you know there are going to be soft, chewy cookies waiting on the counter for you. There are flowers everywhere and a cool sea breeze kisses your cheeks at just the moment you begin to feel flushed and uneasy. The palm trees tower, the bougainvillea climbs and the crepe myrtle blossom in December. It doesn't feel like Christmas here, people are surfing.  I walked in to downtown Carlsbad today and drank a mimosa and ate a nothing special breakfast. I walked around with the sun on my face and it felt clean. Yesterday my mother and I went to Cockleburre beach to wait for my dad to get off of work. It was an odd low tide and the ocean had peeled its layers from the shore enough to show its treasure. I found a sand dollar. I saw it laying there perfectly poised and waiting for me. I cannot express the surge of pleasure I felt in that moment. During the early 1990's, while my father was away fighting in the Gulf War, my mother, siblings and I lived in crumbling base housing right on the coast of North Carolina. Growing up near a beach was a constant reminder of how I was a mermaid and my legs were not really mine. My one childish desire was to find a sand dollar. I searched every chance that I got but never found one. I am twenty eight years old now and it is Christmas Eve eve and I am walking along the beach before sunset with my beautiful mother and here is this skeleton of a sea creature that I have searched for for years, just laying there glowing gray in the setting sun light. Perfectly perfect. 

I'm having a good time. I'm relaxing, or trying to. I need this. I deserve this. 

Good as Gone

I heard you didn't come in yesterday...and you didn't come in today. The wretched side of me takes secret pleasure in knowing the ache of a broken routine...especially when a delicious hot cup of coffee is involved. 1) I tried to respect your place, you just didn't think about respecting mine. 2) I decided that you were going to be OH SO TYPICAL and it wouldn't matter anymore; you wouldn't have an understanding of this though. 3) Maybe you saw how absolutley pissed/hurt/anger as hell I was when you came in on Black Friday an it hurt you to not be made to feel special. Guess what. I was made to feel un-special too. You did that and you know you did. Is shame keeping you away? "I'll not let hate be the one to make me naked for you." 4) You told your girlfriend and she urged you not to come in to the store anymore? I will probably never get more than a finger lengths clarity on any of these answers. He'll either come in or he won't. He'll either call or don't. So far its been the latter. 

Night Table

Lindved night stand from Ikea

Lace doiley cover from who knows. I thought Aunt Pearl had made it until I found a tiny "made in China" tag while hand washing it. 

Small, strange metal lamp with a glass sphere in the center. It belonged to a woman named Katherine Klingstine. It used to flicker and go out all the time so I took it to a shop and had the entire thing rewired and you know what? It still flickers and goes out sometimes. It has a custom beaded lamp shade that my mother made. The shade was part of a set that decorated a chandelier in our old town home in Maryland. This is the only one left and I can't bare to part with it.

Ihome stereo that charges my iPhone and sometimes plays music (when it feels like it). 

Earplugs that block up to 33 decibels

A 30oz Trenta cup of water from Starbucks

A large container of antacids

Vicks vapor rub

Vaseline Intensive Lotion

Kiss My Face Peaceful Patchouli Lotion

Dior Eyeglasses

Badger Balm Sleep Balm

A box of generic tissues from Smith's

Minteas Lime Mojito Mints

Orthopedic foot massage ball 

$1 Aquarius diary from Michaels Arts and Crafts

Covergirl Outlast Lipstain in Roxberry

Writing utensils 

Five different eye masks 

Haven Air&Linen room spray 

Books, periodicals:

The Outlander by Gil Adamson

Women by Charles Bukowski

NYT Sunday Magazine

Two old diaries

China Girl by Lisa See

A tattered, cover less paperback copy of The Eight by Katherine Neville

Love & Rockets New Stories #1 by The Hernandez Brothers

The Lady and The Unicorn by Tracy Chevalier 

Rookie Yearbook One by Tavi Gevinson

Slug Magazine December 2012

Vosges chocolate catalogue

Listening to "Little Black Sandals" by Sia

"Sleep To Dream" by Fiona Apple

"Shuck" by Purity Ring