Books

     

     I have a friend who is a year or so younger than me. She is the sweetest human you will ever encounter, and challenges me to make wiser life choices.    She was dating a guy for a long time, but she finally broke it off when she realized it was foolish to try to make a relationship work that obviously wasn't going to go anywhere. She went to college a few hours away, and he is home. Not really sure what he's doing. But he could possibly be gay.

   But that's irrelevant.    This friend of mine reads books in a manner that makes me want to change the way I look at life. She reads books like they're new friends and lovers she wants to get to know more about. She learns their every action, their unique ways and dirty secrets. I want to read like that.  

    I have a terrible habit of always judging a book by its cover.  I know, shameful, right?  But I cannot help it.  If it doesn't look interesting to me I assume I won't enjoy it, so I never get it a chance.  Fortunately I do not do this with people. They are different.  Usually it's the ones that don't look all that interesting that have the wildest stories and the deepest pains. Maybe that is because you don't expect them to, so when you find out all their crazy stories your mind cannot handle it, and it makes the whole situation into something wayyyy bigger than it really is....  Hmmmm....

    

    This summer I have read more books voluntarily than I have in probably 5 years. It feels amazing.

  So, people, don't stop reading. And read with passion! Get to know the story, fall in love with the characters.  All characters are a part of someones mind.   The human mind cannot think up anything impossible, because nothing is impossible! So every attribute of a character is a part of another person on this planet, so get to know them. You will recognize those attributes in other people, and you will live a more imaginative life.  It will be grand!

At least, that is what I believe.   Lets try it.

Stevie Wonder

There are two kinds of people I have found.

The kind that observe me, understand that I am incredibly strange, decide if they can handle it or not, and they either stick around or get out fast.

Then there is the kind that mistakes my weirdness for coolness.

What do you even see??  I am the kind of person who hangs out in their pj's until three in the afternoon (even when I'm expecting company) and eats spaghetti and potato chips while listening to Stevie Wonder.

Yes, that is what I am currently doing.  Sometimes I can be passionate and think deeply while sipping a homemade latte, leaving dark lipstick stains on the rim of my pottery mug. Other times I lay on the floor and weep over my laptop while I stalk endless amounts of Benedict Cumberbatch photos in my bathrobe and mismatched socks, loathing myself for not pursuing a career in British telly. 

That man.  Good God, what a man.

But the point I am trying to make is this:

I am not a sexy person.  I enjoy Stevie Wonder and potato chips any given day of the week, and I have accepted the fact that I will probably never meet any of the men that I find attractive, and that's okay. But I am thankful for the people who think that I'm an interesting person and still spend time with me.

   Here's to you, Crazy Ones. 

When I'm Alone

I just spent the last 7 hours in an incredibly large, and old, brick building.  I was completely by myself, and it still has not stopped raining today.
In these hours I spent alone, I realized something I had only assumed before it was confirmed...  I cannot be alone.  My mind will not allow me to spend any extended amount of time by myself.  I used to think I could survive solitary confinement, I thought it would be relaxing and I could simply sing to myself and write stories in my head.  No no, I was terribly wrong.  My brain begins to make up scenarios that never happened, but suddenly seem so real.  I hear things, see things, and cry a lot.  

Maybe it's just the rain.  I'm really not sure.  I have to do it again tomorrow, so we shall see.

I really hope it's just the rain...

Rain

This morning I spent a moment of time living a scene from a movie.  But it was nothing like you see in the movies. Standing by the open door gazing at the raindrops on the back deck, clutching my coffee mug and cozy blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders. The rain fell on the leaves of the trees and made a shimmering noise, no other sounds came from the woods, and one would expect to feel at peace with life.
 I didn't feel peaceful. I didn't feel like it was going to be a good day. I felt so very much alone.  Even with my hosts going about their day behind me, cleaning up from breakfast, chatting with each other about their grand kids and the plans they had for the day, I felt like I was in a different time. My stomach tightened and sent a sickening feeling all through my body. It went to my feet and I had to shift my weight from one leg to the other. It's like I was expecting my one true love to come up behind me and nuzzle my neck and say how beautiful I looked in my pj's with my messy hair down around my shoulders. But of course that wasn't going to happen and it made me sick. I don't know why. Why would I expect that?  I am completely single. I've never experienced that, so why did it seem like such a natural thing to have happened in that moment?  An overwhelming sense of loneliness and self-pity came over me when I realized how truly loveless my life was in that moment. My relationships have all been selfish lies and cheap excuses for love, patched together with false commitment driven by insecurities and tied up with motives infused with the fear of being alone.
     I love the rain. Usually it makes me feel hopeful. Like love is on its way.  But not today.
Today it reminds me of my failures, my second chances that I never took because I was too afraid I would do something wrong and it would blow up in my face.  And it reminds me of the times I took those chances, and experienced the explosions. I think of the hearts I hurt, and the times I let my own heart be hurt because I was afraid of letting go.
I don't want to feel this way anymore.
When will the rain stop?

Hi, My Name Is

The chances of anyone ever reading this, or becoming interested in anything I have to say, are quite slim. I know this.  But I'm no good at journalism, and finding an ear to listen is almost impossible anymore.
Some times you just have to have a special place where you can let everything out without fear of being rebuked or despised.

   This is my method. It is madness, but it is mine. 

I want to share my thoughts on life, death, politics, religion, God, love, hate, psychology, emotions, and all the things that make up this thing we call living. If you do stumble upon this patched together piece of my soul, give it a chance. Sometimes we learn from something we never expected to be detailed.