I am no writer.

It’s been six months or more since I last heard from Ken, and longer than that since I’ve seen him.  Yet every so often I have a nightmare about him.  These nightmares they’re all the same, he tries to reënter my life, and I tell him no.  Not last night, last night I was showing an enlightened two-year old how to operate a newfangled jukebox which had all of my favorite songs programmed on it.
It’s been a year since I changed churches, and that long since the last time I spoke with that other guy with no name.
What have I done in a year?
I’ve spent money, and I’ve spent time.
I have stepped outside of my comfort zone and found I’m comfortable nowhere, and everywhere at the same time.
I like another new guy, who cannot and will not make me happy.  I like him anyway, of course, at least for now.
I’ve read books, too few to suit me, but that’s my fault.  I’ve discovered “good books” are incredibly hard to find.  Either that or I have become a book snob.

There are parts of myself that I miss terribly.  Yet, greater still are the parts of myself that I do not take any joy in and cannot for the life of me figure out how to change.

Perhaps blogging about it will help…

I brought this on myself, I know.

Ken is out of jail.  I just sent him a letter and I don’t know if the jail will forward it on.  Oh, I only know Ken is out of jail because he sent me this email:

 

Hey what up chick,

I am out and been in the half way house for a week. wanted to say what up ! hey got a few things to say about truth. listen fuck what other peoplr say it is rumors, and the only way to get the truth is to ask me say you want the truth ask and then check with everyone else or take it for what it is because it is what it is. i dont need lie to kick it and im dont care what people think since im say to others what they want to hear. LOL

 

I honestly can’t tell you what he’s trying to say to me.  All I feel is this overwhelming disappointment.  I mean, I suppose I can figure out some of what he’s saying here, and it makes more sense knowing that he hasn’t received my latest letter. 

 

Furthermore, am I supposed to respond to this?

 

Shit, I don’t want him in my life.

How does one forget how to smile?

There’s this guy in my life, and I would rather he not be.

I have never in my life ever asked for such a thing. 

This guy, I met him through the church, he plays an important role in the one activity that I’m still involved in.  At first I thought he might need my help because I’ve been volunteering for so long.  Quickly I was remedied of that misconception, and soon after I realized how little I had to contribute.  Steadily I’ve grown more and more wary of being around him because honestly, I don’t need help being down. 

Here’s the thing that bothers me, alright?  I understand myself just fine.  I know why I do what I do, I know what I do to try and fix it, alright, I know me.  And yet, this guy insists on asking me questions about myself, which I suppose I wouldn’t take as a bad thing if he showed any interest in my answer/explanation, but he doesn’t.  He rushes straight into how I should think differently.  He thinks he’s helping me have a deeper understanding of myself, or maybe it’s that if I knew how to fix me I’d have a richer life, something like that, but it’s bullshit.  Why would I take advice from someone who doesn’t even wait to hear what’s wrong with me?  (If you don’t understand the problem why do you think you can fix it?) To top it all off, Why do I need fixing in the first place?  Hello, why don’t you like me for who I am?  And that’s where I’m at, I’m trying to figure out why this guy is spending any time with me when he doesn’t like me.  

Okay, so what makes me think he doesn’t like me?  Do I really have to state it again?  He doesn’t listen to me, he never laughs when I’m being funny, and he never ever touches me.  Oh and when I’m actually letting my guard down and telling him the most recent mental breakdown or breakthrough he cuts me off and generalizes what I’m saying.  More than the humans’ natural urge to be understood is the urge to be considered unique.  And when he does this, when he generalizes me he’s usually wrong.  Just one more example of why I know he’s not listening.  Fine, whatever, he’s not interested in me, then why is he still in my life?   

Yet, I know, the real question is why am I letting it bother me so much?  Why do I allow it to eat me up inside as if I’m the one doing wrong. 

I’m pretty sure I’m looking at the situation wrong; I’m reading into it too much.  He doesn’t try to be mean by knowing something about everything I never even cared to know about.  I’m not stupid and I’m sure he’s not trying to prove that I am, it’s just my feelings and my feelings are not necessarily correct.

But, right now, because I can’t stand the way I feel everyday, and even more so how much worse it gets after I’ve been around this guy, I just would rather him not be in my life nor me in his.  As of tonight, I can’t imagine he doesn’t feel the same.

Something I do…

I keep folders of crushes.  In the folder I have letters/notes I’ve written or recieved from said crush, poems, stories, song lyrics that remind me of the person, ect.  I have some saved emails from “el Jackass” that I keep telling myself I can delete once I’ve printed them out to put in the folder.  This morning I decided I did not need to print these emails.  This morning I decided the best thing was for me to rid my in and out box of him.  So, I did.  I trashed it all.  Suddenly, I feel clean.

Have we learned anything today?

Someone said I should blog more.

 

Liar!

 

So, I’ve been trying to help a friend of mine study and he needed to prepare something of an argument on immigration.  That’s a bit of a broad topic, and yet it’s all I have to go on.  We talked about it once before and it also has to do with America’s responsibility as one of the more technologically advanced, smarter, not so rich anymore, nations to help our less fortunate neighbors.  Or, I guess, neighbors that would like to join us?  He says he needs help and I say, “Well, (ha ha) I guess I can do my best. (Under my breath I continue) I haven’t done research since junior year of High School, a good 7-8 years ago!”  So, here I am on the internets googling “immigration” and reading articles, I went onto some myspace forum to read arguments that other people have had.  What have I come up with, you ask?  A whole bunch of nadda! 

 

It seems to me that America/Americans don’t have an issue with immigrants as long as they embrace the culture… well, as long as they are willing to become citizens.  It’s the illegal immigrants everybody is all up in arms about.  (Up in arms, that’s not a term I use, I’m not even sure it applies.)  The problem is that illegals are receiving benefits that are being paid for by taxpayers.  The illegals work and get paid under the table, meaning they don’t pay any taxes, yet their children receive an education?  Many find ways of owning a car yet they don’t have insurance which makes the premiums of those of us with insurance go up?  (I keep putting question marks because this is a subject I’ve never had a real opinion about so I’m not going to claim I have a real handle on the facts.) 

 

So, I started to look at this issue from more of a Christian perspective, as if I can get away from it.  Americans put in place welfare benefits to help our neighbor.  Helping our neighbor helps us, we become a stronger nation.  It seems like there are too many cases where welfare is not being kept in check.  There are too many who take what ever they can and too few who really want to work.  Too few who work for a “greater good”, that is the betterment of our country. 

 

Story time: Once upon a time people helped other people because they liked being helpful.  It wasn’t out of greed or with the idea of getting something in return. 

 

I’m going to bring this to my friend, and he’s going to look at me and finally agree with me that I do not belong in college.  He will say, you were right, you’re not smart enough.  And then he’ll say, Maybe we should stick to flash cards.

I think this is a finished poem, let me know though

Your Heart,
filthy with rejection,
darkens the consuming warmth of truth. 
The obsession of you rides me into the hard rain
which pounds the empty casing I’ve become. 
Thirsty to rid myself of trite impurities left me belly up,
mouth open,
seeking nurishment from your opaque
pleasure. 
Hence,
I attempt to sheild myself with false smiles and marred laughter. 
I thought you were better than me. 
I thought your importance succeeded mine. 
I forced my eyes to see rightousness surround you. 
I was wrong.

I’m calling it Monster.

It’s been a while since I’ve really been able to produce a poem, so seriously, what do you think?

What are we teaching here?

There’s an ad currently running for one of the many cell phone companies, I don’t even pay attention anymore to which company it is… just go with me here.  An older gentleman, high up in a company, goes to his assistant’s desk to see what’s on his agenda.  She goes through his day which is him texting everyone he knows until 4 when he has a meeting to go to.  They look at each other until she tells him she can try to have the meeting moved to another day. 

From the first time I saw this commercial I hated it.  (Yes, I still use the word “hate” far too often, but there it is!)  I was with another person when I finally vocalized why I hate this ad so vehemently; it teaches the youth of our nation that they can have a well paying job by goofing off all day long.

I work with youth, teenagers, and am disgusted by how often I see their cell phone.  Their world revolves around text messages.  The other thing I’ve noticed is the lack of parental guidance.  I can be wrong here, that’s okay…
I guess, I’m just concerned.  I care about these kids; I want them to understand that the real world, the world they will be forced to function in, is not so easy.  I understand it’s just a commercial, but it’s also what they see.  What I see is it’s not getting better.  The concept of saving and striving has gotten lost.  Very few want to work anymore; they just want everything done for them. 

Shit, maybe I’m only seeing myself…  

I have got to stop saying I so often.

Dear Ken,

You once asked me if I’d still be your friend if you went to prison, if I’d writer you letters while you were there.  I said yes.  The condition to this promise was, of course, you going to prison.  The reason I’m telling you this is because every promise has at least one condition.  The promise of a friendship is usually only kept if both people continue to be true friends.  I broke my promise to you, as your friend, only because I no longer had any respect… because the contingency was already broken.  I am sorry for that, but that is a false apology because I’m sorry for something you did and I am not sorry for anything I did. – That’s not exactly true.  You see, now I understand how much I forgot myself and for that I truly am sorry.  I sometimes wonder where you and I would be today if I had held onto my own self a little better.  And I know I’ll never know.

 

To me it’s important for you to know that I don’t blame you for everything and that I don’t hate you, for the most part.  I wonder if you’d believe me if I told you that I’m still your friend; I don’t have to wonder long, I already know you wouldn’t. To hold faith in people is a very silly thing, I only know myself and you only know who you are and why should we ever believe anyone is not the worst of us?  What I think I meant to say there is that I understand why you don’t trust me, it’s because you know yourself to be untrustworthy.  I’m sure I wanted to make that sound less harsh, but alas, it is what it is.  Suddenly, your voice in my head, “It is what you make it.”  Already, I wish I could have pointed it out then, but then again perhaps it was too late, you stole the credit from God.  Yes, you did, stop arguing with me and just open your eyes.  Let me say it again, you are not the only one at fault, and yes, you made some mistakes.  You focus only on one of those statements, but both are true; I won’t ask why you do that but I am asking you to see it.  See yourself clearly!

 

You became annoyed with me once when I told you I was writing you a letter.  You told me it was a thing Elise did a lot.  You asked me to just talk to you and not write a letter.  That was a letter I never finished and I never started another (until now).  That was one of my mistakes because writing is a part of who I am and to stop means giving up a portion of what God made me.  That’s why I’m here, this moment, three months too late, far too late to make a difference; with too many ideas about what it is I’m trying to say. 

 

For me, it’s not about the words; it’s about the pen on paper movement and this letter it really is for me and not for you so I guess the words don’t matter. 

His name?

I met a guy.  Sort-of.

 

He has his bachelors in Psychology, which means every single time I talk to him I make myself seem even more like a psychopath.  He’s the new youth coordinator for the church I attend and I am… I think I’m an assistant(?) 

I’ve been helping out with the youth group for so long and still to this day I have no idea what my role is supposed to be.  I’m trying to let him do this thing but I don’t want to come across distant and unhelpful either.  I don’t want him to feel like he has to include me in the planning but I want him to use me if he needs any help. 

 

Yep, should have just let him call me.

Last night I called him, left a message too.  I just said, I won’t be around after church on Sunday, if you want to get together with me to plan for this week, that’s fine, if you…  …   Oh Fuck!  I’m telling you, I hung up the phone, shook my head, and whispered Psychopath! 

 

He’s the first thing to come around since Ken and I don’t want him to be my new obsession, but I know how I work and I’m not happy about it.      

Anyway, don’t you think we should give him a nick name? 
I’m going over to his place tonight, maybe by the end of the day I’ll have come up with something clever.

So, Here I go?

How is it that I’m nervous?  I’m starting a blog on a blogging site to amuse one friend, one person will read this and sign and say my name and laugh.  But, I suppose, it feels too much like I’m showing myself to a new world, and what if I’m not as good as my one friend believes I am.  And, so what? 

I’m tired of talking about myself.  That’s the real reason I stopped blogging.  Ken hated the fact that I blogged, but he thought everything was about him, he’s still like that, he can’t understand anyone or anything no being all about him.  But, no, I write about myself.  Just about all of my sentences start out with “I”.  I’m tired of I.  I’m not that cool and my opinions don’t mean that much, even to me.  So even if I’m writing about a book or a movie I just saw it’s still all about me.  I saw a movie that had every reason to scare the crap out of me, but I can’t get scared anymore.  I read a book.  I thought stuff.  But it’s still all me, and I can’t make myself seem important to me anymore.