Oh, Monday. Are you here already? No one likes Mondays, unless it's special circumstances, like Kings of Leon is playing on a Monday, but that's rare. You know what Mondays are like? The Orange popsicle. No one ever chooses the orange popsicle. They go for the red or green ones and then when all you are left with is a box full of the orange ones, that's when you eat them. Or Mondays are like Ian's bitch cat Meow. Everyone hates Meow, but they feel bad that Meow doesn't have anyone. So they pretend to like him. That's what Monday is like.
That's all I have for now, but I'll probably post another one later:) Love my new blog!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Guide to Becoming Yourself
1. Find at least one song (preferably bunches and bunches of cds of songs!) that makes you smile.
Here's one of mine:
Strawberry Swing
Coldplay
They were sitting
They were sitting on the Strawberry Swing
Every moment was so precious
They were sitting
They were talking under Strawberry Swing
Everybody was for fighting
Wouldn't wanna waste a thing
Cold, cold water bring me 'round
Now my feet won't touch the ground
Cold, cold water what ya say?
When it's such…It's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day
I remember
We were walking up to Strawberry Swing
I can't wait until the morning
Wouldn't wanna change a thing
People moving all the time
Inside a perfectly straight line
Don't you wanna just curve away?
When it's such…It's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day
Ahhh...
Now the sky could be blue
I don't mind
Without you it's a waste of time
Could be blue I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time
Could be blue,
Could be gray
Without you I’m just miles away
Could be blueI don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time
Painting
Lately, I've been feeling like I've been getting myself back, bit by bit. I've been painting and writing again, which are the two singlemost things that make me feel like I'm in tune with myself. It's funny how hard it was for me to get back to what makes me happy. I had to do baby steps: start making lists, cut pictures out of magazines, that kind of thing. I'm so out of practice, it's like I need to stretch my creativity muscle, like I have to warm up before a run.
I wonder why we make it so easy to lose the things that define us, but so hard to get them back?
Last night Moneek and I painted and drank beer. I painted by streaking different colors against the paper and Moneek went wild with silliness, painting song lyrics and dirty jokes. We laughed and drank and in the end, I felt more like myself than I had in a really long time. It reminded me of when Mary (my gorgeous-spontaneous-impratical-gypsy-sister in spirit-ex roomate) and I lived at the beach. We had the second and third story of a duplex situated just mere feet from the ocean. My favorite time was at night, we would sit on the balcony sipping our wine or beer and look out at the blackness the sea and sky made when they blended together so seamlessly. I always thought that it looked like the edge of the world. Like life began or ended right there, where we sat.
Mary and I fell apart so many times during the short seven months we lived together. Most would say that we didn't handle our erratic depression well. We would smoke much more and eat much less, we would do things despite the recklessness, and I would center my life around exercising and boozing because they were the only things that would let me forget, even for a short amount of time, what went wrong. There were times when I would shiver even when it was warm. But we would snap out of eventually, I'm not sure how or when or why, we just would. Mary and I fixed each other and the marker of our recovery was always the action of painting. If I came home and saw her, brush in hand, standing in front of my easel, I knew that Mary was back. And she knew that for me too.
"There is magic in everything, and a little bit of loss mixed in to even it out."
I wonder why we make it so easy to lose the things that define us, but so hard to get them back?
Last night Moneek and I painted and drank beer. I painted by streaking different colors against the paper and Moneek went wild with silliness, painting song lyrics and dirty jokes. We laughed and drank and in the end, I felt more like myself than I had in a really long time. It reminded me of when Mary (my gorgeous-spontaneous-impratical-gypsy-sister in spirit-ex roomate) and I lived at the beach. We had the second and third story of a duplex situated just mere feet from the ocean. My favorite time was at night, we would sit on the balcony sipping our wine or beer and look out at the blackness the sea and sky made when they blended together so seamlessly. I always thought that it looked like the edge of the world. Like life began or ended right there, where we sat.
Mary and I fell apart so many times during the short seven months we lived together. Most would say that we didn't handle our erratic depression well. We would smoke much more and eat much less, we would do things despite the recklessness, and I would center my life around exercising and boozing because they were the only things that would let me forget, even for a short amount of time, what went wrong. There were times when I would shiver even when it was warm. But we would snap out of eventually, I'm not sure how or when or why, we just would. Mary and I fixed each other and the marker of our recovery was always the action of painting. If I came home and saw her, brush in hand, standing in front of my easel, I knew that Mary was back. And she knew that for me too.
"There is magic in everything, and a little bit of loss mixed in to even it out."
Take All Away, But Leave Me Ecstasy
I write this at work, straining my ears like thief, waiting for the sound of footsteps to announce one of my co-workers. I'm stealing time and crossing my fingers that I won't get caught.
Ecstasy. I love that word. The way it rolls off the tongue, the way it can be innocent or dirty. To me, it is the way you live your life. Have you ever noticed that ecstatic is derived from ecstasy? Most think of harlequinn romance scenarios when they think of this word. But in reality it's all the little things that make up your life and how you choose to view them.
I sit at my desk by the window, watching the wind blow the trees and the sky is so bright I can't help but smile. MGMT's "Time To Pretend" permeates the room and I have watermelon waiting for me in the kitchen. All these small things, that's what ecstasy means.
Ecstasy. I love that word. The way it rolls off the tongue, the way it can be innocent or dirty. To me, it is the way you live your life. Have you ever noticed that ecstatic is derived from ecstasy? Most think of harlequinn romance scenarios when they think of this word. But in reality it's all the little things that make up your life and how you choose to view them.
I sit at my desk by the window, watching the wind blow the trees and the sky is so bright I can't help but smile. MGMT's "Time To Pretend" permeates the room and I have watermelon waiting for me in the kitchen. All these small things, that's what ecstasy means.
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