This is your regret, backwards

Exhale.

Turn the key.

Turn some song up about someone else louder than you can bear.

Scratch at your skin.

Get in your car.

Walk outside.

Pound your drink.

Eye fuck gently those blue eyes over there.

Sip.

Practice makes perfect.

Eye fuck the shit out of the painting on the wall.

Sip.

Inhale.

(fuck. you accidentally exhaled. you weren't ready. the room wasn't ready. this isn't how it was supposed to be. it is ok. no one noticed. sneak this one in.)

Laugh. Laugh. Laugh.

Sip.

Fix your bangs.

Scratch your nose.

Sip.

Count ex-lovers on your phone.

Count ex-lovers in the pool.

Sip.

Pick at the shit in your teeth.

Pick apart the man leaning next to the fireplace.

Pick apart the woman in that short dress.

Sip.

Dart your eyes around the room.

Inhale.

Y is for Yesterday...

Yesterday I spent my time in someone's bed. It wasn't mine. It was for sure not yours. And the day before, or maybe the day before, someone, who obviously wasn't you, spent time in my bed. It is supposed to make me feel better, supposed to keep my mind off of you; off of everything. But it doesn't.

Yesterdays pile up. They have names, and titles, and mixes, and fucking blog entries. They all have the same base, the same motivation, the same reason. We all know. We all saw it at the beginning. And that is ok.

I don't worry about yesterday. Not anymore. I've had a ton, a shit-ton if you will. And some of them have been fantastic. But most of them were shit. Don't believe me? Here's some thoughts.

Yesterday I dropped out of school.
Yesterday I got fired.
Yesterday my mom moved out.
Yesterday my dad moved away.
Yesterday my mom moved away.
Yesterday I was left.
Yesterday I left _____.
Yesterday I overdrew my bank account.
Yesterday I couldn't make rent.
Yesterday I ran out of paint.
Yesterday I couldn't write.
Yesterday I lost my voice.
Yesterday I lost a friend.
Yesterday you moved away.
Yesterday you didn't talk to me.
Yesterday I missed you.
Yesterday I loved you.

But then they change.

I write.
I paint.
I love.
I sing.
I dance.
I cry.
I feel.
I miss.
I hope.
I try again.

A very specific part of my life is coming to a close soon. Or at least how I documented it.

I won't ever be able to make sense of it.

I may be seventy years old, cuddling on a couch, reminiscing with you on the piece of furniture some of my friends, and some of your friends, and strangers and day laborers helped us move from place to place, about this letter, or that other letter. There will be memories that got pushed out the back of our minds by pictures of family, vacations, funerals, weddings, births and the type of things that people ask "where were you when..."

Or maybe we ebb and flow over the next few years, never quite lining up, always in the wrong place at the wrong time. A decade later there is a familiar, but strained, if not entirely forced, evening with a cocktail and some small talk. And that night we finally walk out of eachother's lives. Better off, but definitely worse for the wear.

Or maybe in a couple nights you show up again. Breeze into my life. And we see it is wrong. That we lost whatever we had. Or there was never anything at all.

Yesterday everyone was right.
Yesterday I was wrong.
Yesterday, you, you knew all along.

I guess that is the problems with yesterdays. You never really know.

25/26

W is for Weakness...

It used to be different. I used to literally sit by the phone, waiting for calls. Now there is no house phone, just the cell phone that sits in my pocket, waiting for calls.

I regularly loose things down the drain of my shower. Thoughts. Plans. Lovers. Friends. Ideas. Goals. Sympathies. Time. The water takes them with it when it rolls down my skin. Some I let go, freely. Some I fight for. But they all go. Eventually.

I have probably lost more things this way then I realize, or that I care to admit. I come up with ways to counteract the effect. I turn the lights off. I play music what some would consider too loud. I bring lovers in. But they all still go. Eventually.

Today it was music. Loud. Very loud. Music that reminded me of you.

Fuck.

Everything reminds me of you lately. Faces of women I don't know. Songs you have never heard. Maps to places you don't belong. The ding my phone makes when someone who is never you decides to send me a message. The steps I take between the refrigerator and the counter when I pour myself a glass of water. Sweaty punk kids. People kissing in the streets. Sidewalks.

I decided today was your turn. I made a date with you and my drain. It is time. I can't keep up my end of the bargain; I can't burn a candle for you anymore. It is out of sight, out of mind.

Your head is stronger than your heart.

Mine is not.

And in the steam, in the scalding water, in the place where I have had my heart pound harder than most, I let you go.

No ill feelings. No cross words. No regrets.

I heard a ding in the distance.

And for once it was you.

I responded, slowly. Then another ding. Then the phone rang.

You would call.

You would know.

23/26

T is for Time...

The train was full of punks. And Greeks. And heart broken women. And rail weary men. And me. I had the biggest smile on my face.

You've developed this talent lately, of making me smile, the biggest, goofiest smile of my life. It would show up at work, at shows, in bed, driving, and right then. There aren't words for the excitement that was running through my veins. It had only been a week, but it felt like forever.

I saw an old window from the train. It was the one I woke up under the first morning of me being engaged. That house is empty now, or at least not populated by the people who I spent Christmas mornings with. There are a lot of windows like that in my life, looking into houses full of people that I don't know anymore. My stomach dropped as the train went by.

I also saw the hotel where we had our first night together. Back when I was throwing up for no reason. When I was drunk all day. When you were just another woman. Back before I fell for you.

We spent hours on the beach together. We found our own little spot and just let time slip away. I erased it from my head. And I erased location. And I erased my existence. I saw birds and angels and the boldest rays of sun in the sky. The words on my skin rearranged. I reaffirmed my love. I realigned my hate. We didn't talk for hours but every time I kissed you, or our eyes met, you smiled.

The sun burned my skin. I got uncomfortable with some of your friends. A stamp on the ceiling reminded me of an ex. Things got rough in my head. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted you to hold me.

We talked about all of this when we went back to your place. You have a better understanding of yourself. You know to be warm is to be happy. I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned. I couldn't be close enough to you. I couldn't hold you tight enough. I couldn't kiss you hard enough. I couldn't be anywhere else right then. I couldn't let this all go. I couldn't fail again.

But I did. And I am. Failing.

I didn't want it to be different. I didn't want us to change. But we had.

(playing on repeat: House of Cards by Radiohead. It explains even more.)

20/26

10 years ago, oh fuck...

I was inspired by a post Island Girl did about herself 10 years ago. Big ups to her for this one.

10 years ago, this exact week, I had just finished my freshman year of high school. Tomorrow, I would be going to the KROQ Weenie Roast (look at that lineup! WOW!) Summer had just started, I discovered making out, and I loved the shit out of Nirvana. Thinking that the best way to get into my head, or rather, the me of 10 years ago, I pulled out my yearbook. Here's some quotes about me.

• "You are truly someone to take sides with." - Liz Blanchard
  
• "I have really, really enjoyed our time over the past year. You are such a sweetheart, your great hugs (even though you crushed my boobs sometimes), and loving words have been so nice to hear over the past year" - Jessica Pickle I had a HUGE crush on this junior. She moved to Colorado and wrote me a letter once. I had that letter for a long time.
• "I hope you come here all 4 years, so I can watch you grow" - Joy-Carin Rufener

And then a whole bunch of people saying "You're Cool" or "KIT" or "Have a great Summer!". I would like to think that as I got older and more developed as a person the messages in my yearbook would get better, but they are probably mostly the same.

It is pretty strange to look at something like a yearbook 10 years later. I was trying to remember things from then, and I remember some, but it made me remember a lot more. Enough of this reminiscing, I'm going to go for a walk.