August 11th, 2015
Life is weird.
I was in a moooood yesterday. I had convinced myself I was gonna die alone.
And in a last ditch effort, mostly sad and mopey defeatism, I logged onto OkCupid. I was sure I'd see a bunch of mutants, get sad again, and that'd be that.
And then there was a dude who liked cool stuff, was funny, witty, and charmed me.
I clicked 'like' and a little gold bar popped up, "You two like each other!"
I sent a message. He responded. He was funny.
I stayed up far past bedtime last night chatting.
Even if nothing comes of it, it was a boost I needed. A reminder that there's hope.
August 10th, 2015
There's an emptiness I'm filling with nostalgia and narcissism.
There's a longing for the figure at the center of my horizon, warped and concealed by distance and the wavy illusion of hot pavement.
The air is thick and my lungs are constricted.
I am filling myself with everything because maybe something will fit.
Sharp gasps. Mouthfuls of stale air.
Hollow silence, echoing loud silence. Like rush of a conch shell cupped over my ear.
May 26th, 2015
I left town the day I graduted high school. It had been a hard few weeks-- and I needed to be anywhere else. I couldn't handle another summer sitting in the park, chain smoking and talking about the same six people.
So I took a job up North. I was going to be a day nanny. I was staying with my aunt and cousins and had true independence for the first time in my life.
My Cousin kept bringing his friend over to the house. You. You were six months younger than me-- and I'd known you most of my life, but you were always just a weird kid who always hung out. But I started to notice you...
My second week in town-- My cousin threw a party. The kind of drunken debauchery i hadn't ever experienced. I'd been drunk. I'd been to parties. But this was different. This was small town drinking. You showed up and sat at the table with us and we played drinking games. A guy across the table kept sliding his unmarked bottle of pink booze to me, and I-- being innocent enough-- kept drinking it right out of the bottle. It was sweet, but it burned going down. I found out later that It was everclear and kool-aid.
It didn't take long for me to be sick and too drunk. But-- so was just about eveyone else, and all I wanted to do was throw up and go to sleep. I got up and wandered to the bathroom, stumbling. I threw up, I swished mouthwash and when I opened the door, you were there. You asked how I was. I was a mess. You took my hand and led me to the living room where it was relitively quiet and sat on the couch. I sat next to you and we watched cartoons. I didn't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up in the morning, you were sleeping siting up with my head on your knee.
I tried to get up quietly, but the leverage change of me lifting off your knee woke you up, and you smiled. I found out later that while I was in the bathroom, the guy with the pink bottle of booze announced to the whole table that he thought he could fuck me becuase I was hammered. You made sure I was safe.
You walked me back to my aunt's house (it was just up the street), and i hugged you goodbye.
As the days went by-- you were around, like always, but you would spend time talking wih me. You offered to pick me up from my nanny job, drive me home, and that's how it went the rest of the summer. We went on simple adventures. To go smoke cigarettes on the rocks at the breakwater, To play Atari and play records in your messy bedroom. Just driving your blue box mobile long into the night, through the country and singing along to the radio.
One night, while laying on the floor of your room, you whispered to me between sides of the record. "Will you go with me to see my son tomorrow?"
I didn't even know you had a son. You were too young to have a son.
But I went. And it was terrible. Your ex cursed me out for being there. But we got through it and we got in your car and drove. I didnt ask where we were going. I just watched you wipe tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand and let the silence swallow us up. We drove for a half hour and you pulled into the breakwater. We sat, facing the bay, bathed in the light of your dashboard, watching boat lights blink in the distance. Still and silent.
And after a few minutes, I reached out and put my hand on your knee. You didint say a word, you just turned to me and buried your face in my shouder and cried. I ran my hands over your long hair. and softly whispred, "Shhhh.. Shhh."
Eventually, you caught your breath and we sat on the grass in front of your car. You told me all of your secrets, and I told you mine. We whspered to each other until it was early-- and we found ourselves covered in the dampness of the dewey morning. The morning smelled tinny and mineral as the waves splashed up over the edge of the breakwater.
Sometimes-- now, the air smells that way after a light rain, or if I'm close enough to catch a lake breeze, and I miss you. You moved to Florida, with your mother, when the ex stopped returning your phonecalls, and stopped letting you visit your son. It hurt to much to be so close and for it to feel so impossible to be the man you wanted to be so badly.
I heard you're getting married and have another son. And All I can do is wish, hope that you found the peace and stability you were looking for. I know you think about the boy who now would be eleven. I think about how much you loved him and how much I loved you for that.
My time with you was brief and intense. You came to visit me a few times that fall in Milwaukee but It just wasn't realistic. We talked online for a while, but it wasn't the same as whispering secrets.
Sometimes I think about if I could have tried harder. What could have been? I learned so much about what it meant to wear your heart on your sleeve from you. You were never afraid to do the right thing, or show how you felt. You were vulnerable and honest and I think it may have ruined me a ittle bit. I get so wrapped up in vulnerability. So drunk on the emotion. I think you were the person I was most intellectually intimate with in my whole life. With you, It was okay to be Raw. Ripped open. But the safest place I had ever been.
I've been searching for something like you ever since.
May 19th, 2015
I have the sads and I don't know why.
April 27th, 2015
I just need someone to fall in love with me so I don't have so many leftovers and can afford to move into a three bedroom apartment.
I'm only sort of kidding.
Of course sex and comfort and happiness are important. (There may be some insight into my brain in the order I just put those things in... )
But I just don't know how to make enough pasta for one person and want a place big enough to have a home office.
I Am feeling so ready to be settled. I am ready to share my life and build a home. A family. I just have no idea how to do it. Where do I meet husband-y types?
January 7th, 2015
Take your time.
Be better at being you.
Cook everything from scratch.
Silence is okay.
September 8th, 2014
Good friends are good.
Good food is good.
Good drinks are good.
Good laughs are good.
August 3rd, 2014
I am one year and four days away from turning thirty years old.
I started this live journal when I was a freshman in college, over a decade ago.
Everything has changed since then, nothing has changed since then. Both things are true.
I'm doing that thing where I ask myself about all of the things I wanted to be by the time I turned thirty.
Thin. Married. Trying for my first baby.
These are all things I was SURE were easy pre-thirty goals.
But here I am. 29 and wondering how much of that I can smash I to twelve months to try and be fair to the aspirations of teenager Mary, just so that when the calendar turns to August 6, 2015, I'm not feeling like I've let myself down.
So much is on the brink of change right now. I've been feeling it for months.
Just get through Tournament and make some plans after.
But now, so much to do. Tournament is over and I'm making project after project happen with a renewed resolve.
I don't want to admit the easy changes for myself that will facilitate everything else falling I to place.
But if I'm gonna be real with myself, in twelve months I can be different and it may just take the artificial goal of that ever looming number. 30.
That beedy eyed monster sitting on the barrier between my twenty a and thirties. It's staring me down.
I always swore I wasn't going to be that superficial girl, all worked up over my age... But I didn't know how it felt to be here empty handed. There's no more pretending that I'm too young to be a REAL adult, because holy shit, guess what...? I am for real an adult, and I have been for a while.
I guess it's time to admit that and figure out what it means.
June 30th, 2014
Laying here, I just had a memory throw itself at me. Thinking about the humidity.
It's a memory of your front porch. You and I, nineteen years old and out for a smoke after hours of being in your bed. No air conditioning. No fans. It was as eighty degrees and it didn't matter. We reveled in the few moments of breeze that came in the open window after dusk while we caught or breath. Our bodies were salted with sweat and my makeup had melted in black circles in the creases of my eyelids. I laughed at you, because Your hair was sticking up in a sideways flat top. Pillow mashed.
It was just us. The street was quiet and we passed a Marlboro between us. You finished the last drag, and stubbed the filter under your hastily put on unlaced motorcycle boot. 'You have never ridden a motorcycle' I thought to myself and smiled as it passed through my mind. You smiled back at me and scooped me up, pressing me against the dirty white siding of your porch. You pinned my arms above my head and gnawed at my ears. 'Ugh. Not here...' I whimpered into your closest ear. The smell of your sweat, your hair, hours old cologne, cigarette smoke. All of it, animal and visceral and it made my knees buckle a little. I literally Swooned.
And just as I started to giggle and protest a little too loudly, we heard the sound of a clearing throat.
We both shot glances all around, and then I saw the orange glow of a cigarette across the yard on your neighbor's porch. A voice came from the darkness.
"Good evening...." we both said with a laugh suppressed while we put ourselves back together, and then we ran into the house.
June 29th, 2014
The air is hot breath on my skin.
Moist and coming in and out, inhale, exhale.
My cigarette smoke hanging thick and clinging.
I feel accomplished and invigorated.
But also like there isn't enough time to hide in myself.
The neighbors are lighting fireworks.
It's mostly just pops and crackles and a short fury of sad sparks falling.
No oohing. No ahhhs.
Just frenzied lighter clicks and hushed giggles.
A storm is on its way, I can feel the electricity in the air.
I want it to come through and wash this heat away.
Big fat June bugs are searching for the light.
They're throwing themselves madly at the patio glass.
Hitting with determined clunks and thuds.
Fruitlessly trying to be close to the brightness.
I'm not sure how I feel about the summer.
I dont feel the same freedom some people seem to find in it.
I feel trapped in the limitations of my body.
My anxiety talks me out of recklessness
and my Scottish/Irish roots make the summer sun poison to my skin.
I'd rather let the sun brew my tea than bake me dry and tired.
I have books to read.
Thoughts to swim through.
Plays to avoid writing.
I have cool mechanical air to breathe.
But for now, I'm clammy warm.
The moon is obscured by the rolling clouds
and the street lights keep the city burning in an orange glow.