Shooting myself in the foot with someone else's gun

I roll around in my queen sized bed alone. I just finished a book of poems given to me when I moved to Chicago. That was almost three years ago. I read the first half of the book sitting in a white lawn chair. It was a consecutive Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday two years ago. The valley, the new valley, was trying to melt me. I had no money; we had no money. I sat in that chair and watched the love of my life swim laps in the pool at the center of our little apartment complex. I was looking for work, she was looking for work, and swimming and reading kept us occupied until we filled out another application, took another wrong turn, got turned away. I almost worked as a dry cleaner. We screamed at each other. When we weren't fighting we smoked cigarettes and drank malt liquor. The cat ran around the apartment and people dove into their pool in China. Discontinued "chicken" patties were lunch and dinner. People called to check on me. My phone got turned off and we borrowed money. She swam and swam and swam. Some days I swam too. Others I just read. A series of events happened: fires, weddings, dances, fights, vacations, accidents and illnesses. Now there is this new room, with this new bed. It is too big. It could fit three lonely people in it comfortably. It chews people up and spits them out. If I didn't own it it would do the same to me. So I finish reading the poems, alone, in my way too fucking big bed. I might be losing more loves of my life. It feels like I am. People sit on the couch facing my bed and their eyes tell me things the rest of their bodies wont. I paint for them. I write for them. I get out of bed for them. They change. They go to work. They go to school. They move. They go to weddings. They go to funerals. And I have my own in this goddamn huge bed. I wonder how they spend their time when they aren't here. I wonder if they know my mind finds them in new cities and states, truly happy for the first time. I will be a stepping stone to greater things. Some of them will read this, most of them won't. There is no closure. There is no options. There is no choose your own adventure. There is nothing but this bed and some songs and jewelry and lessons and shit that gets left behind.

Hearts, Bones, Nooses, Promises and the other things I break or are broken

Valentines Day is first my mother's birthday. It is everything else second. I like making lists, so I have a list today and a story tomorrow, for Zane's birthday.

• Girls who may or may not have been my valentine during school: Miyoko, Lisa, Ashley, Raquel, Kimi, Christine, Tami and Jessica. I am wrong on some of those.
• Places I have spent Valentines day: Lancaster, Palmdale, Chicago, Riverside, Hume Lake, Northridge, Canoga Park, Maxdons, and Blarney Cove
• All Alkaline Trio songs are about today, especially when I listen to them on Valentines Day
• This list is shitty.
  

whiskey is soon again my friend

Things had gotten bad around these parts. I had started to have recurring disagreements with a friend of mine. Whiskey. He didn't want to stay inside anymore. He wanted to go out and mingle with the lawn, or the concrete, or the asphalt, or the sand, or the water.

Basically, Whiskey was making me puke.

But not the last few days. We have reunited and continue to enjoy eachother's company.

The last time we fought was sunday. And it wasn't even about us, it was about the Bears playing football like a crew of assholes, well, at least one of them was being an asshole.

Things should be fine this sunday, things should turn around (my friends and family hope so, I'm sure).

I love flying...

...and my favorite thing about flying is turbulence.

Turbulence makes me feel alive! The knot in my stomach, the racing of my heart, my mind thinking of what people will say at my funeral if the plane goes down. I love turbulence alone, I love it sitting with family, I love it holding the hand of someone I wouldn't mind dying with. I want to get a job that has me travel by plane for business. I want to feel the jumping/hoping/shaking of the plane once a week, every week, for the rest of my life.

I get to fly from Burbank to Seattle to Redmond, OR a week from monday. I can't wait for the shaking to start.

An update to yesterday: I actually had a really good time with all the craziness. I think taking the second nap really made things turn around. That and the shot of whiskey that made me throw up. Those two things made my night end well.

I guess tomorrow I will do the 5 things I dig about Jessie MeMe Island Girl tagged me with. She keeps this up and I'll have to tag her.

I got an email last night about the one that got away, or, more accurately, the one that if I had ever had the chance to, she would be the one that got away. That's a bit confusing.

Have a good rest of the day.

a lonely liver suspended in liquid

Why, Hello. How have you been? I've been all right. Feels like I haven't seen you in a while. Oh, I've just been doing shit, nothing exciting at all.

I've been jonesing for some blog action, but I haven't really been able to get around to it. But this morning, I have some time, so we'll do a sort of fly by bombing, like the ones that were on cnn in the early 90's, while Whitney Houston sang the Star Spangled Banner, and we made sure all those evil hospitals, medicine factories and playgrounds were out of our way. I'll be back later to do some thorough insurgent killing, but only the women and children, gotta keep t real.

I wrote that and it said "Star Bangled Banner". It sounded way right, but not completely. I had to google the national anthem. I am either dumb, drunk, or my politics finally seeped into my subconscious enough that I think the US national anthem is about Susanna Hoffs.

Yeah, the war metaphor is a little crazy, but, why not?

I went to Santa Barbara with Gabe, tried to pick up one of our waitresses who had been single for like 8 hours, and threw up on myself.

We had an impromptu girly drink night, Daiquiri's, but because their girlyness has been debated we didn't call it Girly Drink Night. Those fuckers were strong too.

I think I have an update on the Second Chance blog. I think I jinxed it by talking about it.

I got tagged by IslandGirl for a Meme. It's gonna be ridiculous.

More coming soon, I promise.

p.s. - can you believe I didn't already have a tag for vomit, I am so disappointed in myself.