How to be the better person, part 12 November 6, 2009

One eye on the prize, one eye on the eject button. Ear lifted to the sound of an escape hatch. Smelling…me. The only person I want to smell right now. Touching the door knob, tasting a life that may be within reach.

Sensing that satan may have gotten behind me. But I guess it took reading the devil’s email.

True love, true love…it’s the devil’s crowbar.

I’m just disappointed I wasted 5 years of my life. That I was sad for so many years. That…that was that.

But I’m not going to shift blame. That’s only going to land me on “Intervention,” and I’d rather watch that than participate. My own personal intervention will take place when I nap down on my mom’s sofa over Christmas break. Or, perhaps I already had one when I decided that I would be angry instead of devastated.

It’s not like my castle crumbled, or my Andy Wood overdosed. Rather, I guess that I’m going to have to purge, and get rid of some old shoes, and keep burning cigarette holes in pictures, and figure out what really matters in this world, and remember that Eddie Vedder was always right: I’m still alive.

I may have scratches, all over my arms, one from each day since I fell apart, BUT, I’m still alive.

And, dear reader, so are you.

I’m not the only one, part two September 26, 2009

I wish I just could write you directly.

I can’t, though. It would be harmful…I guess to us both.

Hey. I still love you. Hey. I am still in love with you. Does it matter? Does it matter?

What good is it to have a blog if you can’t ask questions and rue the mistakes you’ve made?

So many…so many that I’ve made.

Just to name a few. Never move for a guy. Should NEVER have moved to Riverside. Who lives in Riverside? Only desperate people. Like me and Paul. Desperate we were.

Why did I leave Seattle? It was MY CHOICE to move to Seattle. Seattle was MINE. It always was. Before it was Paul’s, it was mine. And maybe Brandi brought Dave to Seattle, and maybe Brady and Shannon moved to Seattle, but before all that, someone called Eddie to Seattle. And I don’t care if it was someone connected to Kurt. Cause I really never cared all that much. It’s Eddie’s lyrics that are tattooed on my arms. Eddie. I will always follow you. I will NEVER follow some bullshit guy again. And you, reading my blog, make me some sort of promise, please. Don’t ever follow a guy. I promise you, it’s not worth it. You don’t want to find yourself locked out of a 1-bedroom in Riverside, or alone in Bellingham. Or anything else. You never want to find yourself alone and bored in San Jose. Please…live your own life.

Of course…I am still addicted, my voice is still not heard. My being is still lost between here and there. For someone that drank her twenties away, I am still cogniscent and, well…sad.

In my  biography, there is the Upland Library, that has nothing to do with anything, except that when I remember it, I wish I could take you there. But I can’t. Because you left me before I left you, and I’m left with this stupid big old rock that nobody understands but me and other Upland rejects.

I’m not the only one that loves you. I made my family love you, and they probably still do. Love doesn’t end that easily, although we all wish it would.