Monday, May 12, 2008
Wow
I don't even know what to say, except I feel like I should say something. I'm doing so well right now, I can't even believe it.
I haven't really talked about it on here much, but on my more private blogs and in little pieces. But life has gone up and down for me so much in the last few years. Particularly, in the last four years, as I just celebrated the anniversary of this blog last month. I meant to write a commemorative post -- maybe this is the time.
I've hit bottom, I suppose, twice, since this all started.
The first time was in 2004, when in retrospect I believe I suffered a nervous breakdown. I've got the diaries and songs to prove it. This blog isn't even near the whole picture. The blog didn't talk about completely isolating myself, contemplating suicide nightly, feeling as if much of what I did was for no point. Other than my family and friends, and knowing deep down there were people who really loved me. Even when I felt like I didn't have much to live for I wanted to live for them. I wanted to not put the people closest to me through more shit because of my shit.
And so I left town. I packed my bags and left a bunch of frayed ends and put myself in debt. Through running I did gain a better sense of self, but all I really learned was that if I ever wanted to run, I could.
Sometimes I think taking off for Seattle was the best thing I ever did; other times I think it was the most selfish and immature thing I could've done.
Well, live and learn.
I still had deep-seeded issues I needed to work out. Huge emotional problems. Not knowing how to deal with being human. Not knowing how to deal with the past. Not knowing how in the least to plan a future.
Not having a healthy but more lopsided worldview than I really knew. Back to Seattle: it seemed so momentous at the time, and it was. And I learned I could survive, but never imagined what I would have to survive.
When I came back I still could not face reality in so many ways. I still ignored some bills, pretended to be 21 while not recognizing I was well into my 20s. I didn't know what I was capable of, and put off finding out. And when I would feel bogged down with anxiety, depression, or emptiness, I would drink. And the few times when I was manic and happy and giddy for whatever reason, well, that was all the more reason to drink.
I didn't think ahead. I didn't think about my actions as much. I'm not saying this to be hard on myself. I guess I'm saying because I'm sorry, but I know deep down I would not be where I am, if two other things had not happened, horrible things. My car accident where I realized I was not immortal, and that I was too old to be making mistakes on purpose. And my mother, although she is getting better. Having to be strong for my mother has made me want to be strong. Period. Just like my dad did after my accident. Just like my dad, after everything that happened, would slow down once in awhile and see past his anger and recognize that I was hurting, and talk to me about life afterwards. The life I was going to have, if I could see past my tears and picture it for a moment.
So, there's the present. Here I am. It's not what I envisioned; granted, if it hadn't been for the accident I might have continued to go to school full-time like I had. Or maybe I'd still be driving that Cadillac, one of few things that were ever handed to me in life that I thought I was so grateful for, and then gave it right back, in an instant.
But I've got goals coming out of my ears. And I've found a way to be content with the present, because I work damn hard.
And workwise and schoolwise, I'm founding out how much is in me. And I challenge myself like I never used to, because I've realized that in any given situation you can only be as good as you try to be, expect yourself to be, push yourself to be.
No one is ever given everything; the ones who have, they might not see it the same, and I'm not in their class, so it's a different life.
But I know I can have what I want, if I'm true to myself and to hard work. It's not about getting somewhere, I realize that, too. But it doesn't matter, because for me, I'm going. I'm just going because when you're not dead that's all you really can hope to do.
I don't even know what to say, except I feel like I should say something. I'm doing so well right now, I can't even believe it.
I haven't really talked about it on here much, but on my more private blogs and in little pieces. But life has gone up and down for me so much in the last few years. Particularly, in the last four years, as I just celebrated the anniversary of this blog last month. I meant to write a commemorative post -- maybe this is the time.
I've hit bottom, I suppose, twice, since this all started.
The first time was in 2004, when in retrospect I believe I suffered a nervous breakdown. I've got the diaries and songs to prove it. This blog isn't even near the whole picture. The blog didn't talk about completely isolating myself, contemplating suicide nightly, feeling as if much of what I did was for no point. Other than my family and friends, and knowing deep down there were people who really loved me. Even when I felt like I didn't have much to live for I wanted to live for them. I wanted to not put the people closest to me through more shit because of my shit.
And so I left town. I packed my bags and left a bunch of frayed ends and put myself in debt. Through running I did gain a better sense of self, but all I really learned was that if I ever wanted to run, I could.
Sometimes I think taking off for Seattle was the best thing I ever did; other times I think it was the most selfish and immature thing I could've done.
Well, live and learn.
I still had deep-seeded issues I needed to work out. Huge emotional problems. Not knowing how to deal with being human. Not knowing how to deal with the past. Not knowing how in the least to plan a future.
Not having a healthy but more lopsided worldview than I really knew. Back to Seattle: it seemed so momentous at the time, and it was. And I learned I could survive, but never imagined what I would have to survive.
When I came back I still could not face reality in so many ways. I still ignored some bills, pretended to be 21 while not recognizing I was well into my 20s. I didn't know what I was capable of, and put off finding out. And when I would feel bogged down with anxiety, depression, or emptiness, I would drink. And the few times when I was manic and happy and giddy for whatever reason, well, that was all the more reason to drink.
I didn't think ahead. I didn't think about my actions as much. I'm not saying this to be hard on myself. I guess I'm saying because I'm sorry, but I know deep down I would not be where I am, if two other things had not happened, horrible things. My car accident where I realized I was not immortal, and that I was too old to be making mistakes on purpose. And my mother, although she is getting better. Having to be strong for my mother has made me want to be strong. Period. Just like my dad did after my accident. Just like my dad, after everything that happened, would slow down once in awhile and see past his anger and recognize that I was hurting, and talk to me about life afterwards. The life I was going to have, if I could see past my tears and picture it for a moment.
So, there's the present. Here I am. It's not what I envisioned; granted, if it hadn't been for the accident I might have continued to go to school full-time like I had. Or maybe I'd still be driving that Cadillac, one of few things that were ever handed to me in life that I thought I was so grateful for, and then gave it right back, in an instant.
But I've got goals coming out of my ears. And I've found a way to be content with the present, because I work damn hard.
And workwise and schoolwise, I'm founding out how much is in me. And I challenge myself like I never used to, because I've realized that in any given situation you can only be as good as you try to be, expect yourself to be, push yourself to be.
No one is ever given everything; the ones who have, they might not see it the same, and I'm not in their class, so it's a different life.
But I know I can have what I want, if I'm true to myself and to hard work. It's not about getting somewhere, I realize that, too. But it doesn't matter, because for me, I'm going. I'm just going because when you're not dead that's all you really can hope to do.
Labels: Goals, Living, Seattle
Friday, August 24, 2007
Sooo ... short and sweet
Something I've been thinking about: change. When I became vegetarian more than five years ago, a friend of mine told me it would help to think about all the new foods I was going to try instead of what I'd be "giving up." That way it would stay exciting and new and interesting, and the transition would be easier.
A few years later, one day I was in tears before I left for Seattle, and one thing that helped was when someone dear to me told me I wasn't leaving anything. Instead, I was only adding to my life. I would only add new people and places to my life. And she was right. I had only to add to my experience beautiful, lovely times I would remember forever. And people who would touch me forever, and the things they said to me also, long after they were gone.
I quit smoking several years ago, and then started again a couple of years later. But I quit again, nearly three months ago. And I am a nonsmoker. I know this now, because I have added to my life. I bike and run miles. I want to do long distance running, or a triathlon. Or be able to run without getting tired any time I want. To be able to keep up with puppies at the park and children at camp. To have energy to do the things I need to do and the things I love to do.
I also eat healthier. So I guess I've made a lot of positive changes. And physically, mentally, and spiritually it feels good. The difference is not what's been lost. Not you know, not smoking in itself, but waking up and going running, for example.
I think I would like from now on to look at all changes in this way. In a ... what is this going to add? way. Because then all change could be good, if you let it. All things lost would actually be creating space for something to be gained, rather than limiting it.
This just makes me so happy. It really does.
Newness is liberating. Learning and doing can keep you so young and curious. It's a wonderful feeling.
Something I've been thinking about: change. When I became vegetarian more than five years ago, a friend of mine told me it would help to think about all the new foods I was going to try instead of what I'd be "giving up." That way it would stay exciting and new and interesting, and the transition would be easier.
A few years later, one day I was in tears before I left for Seattle, and one thing that helped was when someone dear to me told me I wasn't leaving anything. Instead, I was only adding to my life. I would only add new people and places to my life. And she was right. I had only to add to my experience beautiful, lovely times I would remember forever. And people who would touch me forever, and the things they said to me also, long after they were gone.
I quit smoking several years ago, and then started again a couple of years later. But I quit again, nearly three months ago. And I am a nonsmoker. I know this now, because I have added to my life. I bike and run miles. I want to do long distance running, or a triathlon. Or be able to run without getting tired any time I want. To be able to keep up with puppies at the park and children at camp. To have energy to do the things I need to do and the things I love to do.
I also eat healthier. So I guess I've made a lot of positive changes. And physically, mentally, and spiritually it feels good. The difference is not what's been lost. Not you know, not smoking in itself, but waking up and going running, for example.
I think I would like from now on to look at all changes in this way. In a ... what is this going to add? way. Because then all change could be good, if you let it. All things lost would actually be creating space for something to be gained, rather than limiting it.
This just makes me so happy. It really does.
Newness is liberating. Learning and doing can keep you so young and curious. It's a wonderful feeling.
Labels: Change, Quitting Smoking, Seattle, Spirituality
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Recycled Air
I'm at the teashouse and it's cold, and the caffeine's giving me the shakes and there are a million things I want to read and write, or maybe I could just sit here and do a sudoku puzzle. I dunno ...
I do want to tell you something i learned this summer. One of the so many things, and that is to never be afraid of your own success. When I grow up, I want to be a writer, a teacher, a photographer, a philosopher, an athlete, and a musician ... but when I grow up is false. It implies some far away time. Like when you're a kid. Like the kids at camp. Like how the kids come on Sunday and cry sometimes because they can't imagine the weeklong lifetime they are about to experience without sometimes the dearest ones present -- their parents, or grandparents, or big brother, or dog, or the teddy bear they forgot at home even.
A week goes by, with all the time in between spent learning, doing new things, doing favorite things, making things, meeting people, or dancing when they never have before, or getting to play with food or shaving cream without getting in trouble, or being able to pick up an adult and dunk them underwater, or climbing a ladder to go down a slide that lasts forever ... until you reach the pool and want to get out and do it again.
And this says something about time. Something we've said before about time, but in a different way ... the part where the future is not far off from the present. That is exactly right. But it is something that, given the right perspective, can become a point of celebration.
I love you, ____. I still think you are beautiful, and intelligent, and articulate, and talented, and amazing. Please do not be afraid of your own success.
Sometimes i think in idealistic cliches, but then I wonder where they come from. I wonder where all these movies, like Dream for an Insomniac or Akeelah and the Bee come from. Are they based on fictional, irrational, theories for dreamers? Or are they based on the possibilities that lie inside every living thing in their potential for greatness as being of god, as beings formed by energy that moves with a will that is part of a greater, universal will.
I'm sorry to get cerebral here. I'm just as emotional. I've found it doesn't have to be hard to go between the two anymore. I have found that emotion and logic do indeed work together. I have found that as I suspected science and romance are the same thing (listen to Rilo Kiley's "Science vs. Romance" if you get a chance. That song is fucking amazing.)
It wasn't just Camp. It wasn't just new friends. It wasn't just therapy. I wish I could explain it better, but when words fall short, or become too much, I am reminded to simplify. And just as in meditation, sometimes the best thing to do is to clear your mind completely, blocking out memory, music, and the metaphorical weather of whatever is going on in the world, and feel deep down to your soul, spirit, will, inner child, whatever you want to call it because these words are only symbols, which is the point ... and listen to your intention, because rationalism does not always explain things the way they can be assumed. And in this case, my intention is to acknowledge something that was beautiful, and fun, and that had moments of inspiration, but something that has reached ... I don't know what ... I suddenly have this image in my mind of a ferry reaching the seattle skyline ... I guess in other words, and for lack of an original thought necessarily ... We've gotten where we needed to go.
And if you can conclude all of these things, and sincerely mean them, then I pray you will hold onto them dearly, in the face of whatever negativity you are digesting, and encountering, because the lessons, the feelings you are resurrecting from the depths of your mind and heart are the most important things that could ever come out of this entire experience, and having these things to hold, whether with me, near me, remembering me, talking to me, or just reading a book or mixing or not thinking at all ...
I've said it before, I'll say it again,
I believe in you. I love you. And I hope you, in time, will continue to remember the good parts, and that you will also be aware that no apologies are necessary ... that all this had a purpose, as this present moment does.
I will be here for you if you need me, always. At the moment this is hard, but it will get easier, because one of the things I have learned is that I am stronger than I have ever known. That any number of things, as you observed, could have broken me long ago. And so in being strong, as this does hurt even if I appear cold, I am comforted by my faith in myself and in you and the universe. And I wish you the best in finding out what that strength is for you -- because you have it too. Everyone does.
Believe me, because just as you can find proof for the theories that cause you to sink, or want to give up, or to shut down under the pressure ... you can, with the same eyes, the right pair of eyes (Hunter s. Thompson said) find proof to support a theory of something better and beautiful and comforting ...
I have to go.
But for what it's worth i know exactly what you have meant in everything you've said, and I want you to know that it is not too late to experience this or learn these things so long as you remember them and act on them.
It's like the part on Waking Life when the four guys are walking down the street, and they are talking about theory vs. action.
It's like addiction, whether to chocolate, or advil, or a way of thinking as habit. There's this model my shrink gave me. I don't know if I told you about it, but it had the steps of how to overcome ... whatever ... I honestly think it applies to everything ... but there's this part, this line, this stage I sat in for what seems like forever. It was the contemplation stage. The next stage was action.
I was so afraid of failing that I couldn't act. I've always felt like that. It's because of how I grew up. Not an excuse, just an unhealthy way of existing. So anyway, after the action phase, and a couple other steps, the last step was relapse, otherwise known as failure in my eyes ... but my shrink said, if you get to that one, you're not done for ... you just start at the beginning again.
And that's what life is about anyway. Robert fulghum said that long ago, and I read it in one of his books before i left for Seattle ... order to disorder to order again ...
Regardless, acknowledging this cycle gives me the perspective I need to keep things in line so I can handle less than perfect times ...
But the steps ... btw, it's not 12 steps. It's some theory in psychology ... but anyway, if you get to the end, and you look at how much and little, depending on your perspective, it took to get from the theory part to the action part, you start to believe in yourself, and the process, and you decide that it is amazing, and worthwhile, but not necessarily something you want to do again just to start at the beginning.
Now i suddenly wonder if you will understand. I see a slight contradiction in what I'm saying, but I don't. I guess it is all true ... Contradictions don't always disprove truths, but nevertheless, I will say that with these contemplations and actions and relapses, whatever the case, there are so many choices in between.
I feel i have made a very large tangent, but on the other hand, I have said exactly what is necessary, because thinking of things in these terms is just one facet of the jewel the Sandman gave to Daniel, and i know, though, because I believe in you, that seeing this one side may be enough to show you them all.
Okay, i have to go now, but thank you very much for everything. I do appreciate it. I really do. You taught me some things early on. Remember that when you think you need someone to tell you the things you already know.
Have a good day, sweetheart,
Love,
I'm at the teashouse and it's cold, and the caffeine's giving me the shakes and there are a million things I want to read and write, or maybe I could just sit here and do a sudoku puzzle. I dunno ...
I do want to tell you something i learned this summer. One of the so many things, and that is to never be afraid of your own success. When I grow up, I want to be a writer, a teacher, a photographer, a philosopher, an athlete, and a musician ... but when I grow up is false. It implies some far away time. Like when you're a kid. Like the kids at camp. Like how the kids come on Sunday and cry sometimes because they can't imagine the weeklong lifetime they are about to experience without sometimes the dearest ones present -- their parents, or grandparents, or big brother, or dog, or the teddy bear they forgot at home even.
A week goes by, with all the time in between spent learning, doing new things, doing favorite things, making things, meeting people, or dancing when they never have before, or getting to play with food or shaving cream without getting in trouble, or being able to pick up an adult and dunk them underwater, or climbing a ladder to go down a slide that lasts forever ... until you reach the pool and want to get out and do it again.
And this says something about time. Something we've said before about time, but in a different way ... the part where the future is not far off from the present. That is exactly right. But it is something that, given the right perspective, can become a point of celebration.
I love you, ____. I still think you are beautiful, and intelligent, and articulate, and talented, and amazing. Please do not be afraid of your own success.
Sometimes i think in idealistic cliches, but then I wonder where they come from. I wonder where all these movies, like Dream for an Insomniac or Akeelah and the Bee come from. Are they based on fictional, irrational, theories for dreamers? Or are they based on the possibilities that lie inside every living thing in their potential for greatness as being of god, as beings formed by energy that moves with a will that is part of a greater, universal will.
I'm sorry to get cerebral here. I'm just as emotional. I've found it doesn't have to be hard to go between the two anymore. I have found that emotion and logic do indeed work together. I have found that as I suspected science and romance are the same thing (listen to Rilo Kiley's "Science vs. Romance" if you get a chance. That song is fucking amazing.)
It wasn't just Camp. It wasn't just new friends. It wasn't just therapy. I wish I could explain it better, but when words fall short, or become too much, I am reminded to simplify. And just as in meditation, sometimes the best thing to do is to clear your mind completely, blocking out memory, music, and the metaphorical weather of whatever is going on in the world, and feel deep down to your soul, spirit, will, inner child, whatever you want to call it because these words are only symbols, which is the point ... and listen to your intention, because rationalism does not always explain things the way they can be assumed. And in this case, my intention is to acknowledge something that was beautiful, and fun, and that had moments of inspiration, but something that has reached ... I don't know what ... I suddenly have this image in my mind of a ferry reaching the seattle skyline ... I guess in other words, and for lack of an original thought necessarily ... We've gotten where we needed to go.
And if you can conclude all of these things, and sincerely mean them, then I pray you will hold onto them dearly, in the face of whatever negativity you are digesting, and encountering, because the lessons, the feelings you are resurrecting from the depths of your mind and heart are the most important things that could ever come out of this entire experience, and having these things to hold, whether with me, near me, remembering me, talking to me, or just reading a book or mixing or not thinking at all ...
I've said it before, I'll say it again,
I believe in you. I love you. And I hope you, in time, will continue to remember the good parts, and that you will also be aware that no apologies are necessary ... that all this had a purpose, as this present moment does.
I will be here for you if you need me, always. At the moment this is hard, but it will get easier, because one of the things I have learned is that I am stronger than I have ever known. That any number of things, as you observed, could have broken me long ago. And so in being strong, as this does hurt even if I appear cold, I am comforted by my faith in myself and in you and the universe. And I wish you the best in finding out what that strength is for you -- because you have it too. Everyone does.
Believe me, because just as you can find proof for the theories that cause you to sink, or want to give up, or to shut down under the pressure ... you can, with the same eyes, the right pair of eyes (Hunter s. Thompson said) find proof to support a theory of something better and beautiful and comforting ...
I have to go.
But for what it's worth i know exactly what you have meant in everything you've said, and I want you to know that it is not too late to experience this or learn these things so long as you remember them and act on them.
It's like the part on Waking Life when the four guys are walking down the street, and they are talking about theory vs. action.
It's like addiction, whether to chocolate, or advil, or a way of thinking as habit. There's this model my shrink gave me. I don't know if I told you about it, but it had the steps of how to overcome ... whatever ... I honestly think it applies to everything ... but there's this part, this line, this stage I sat in for what seems like forever. It was the contemplation stage. The next stage was action.
I was so afraid of failing that I couldn't act. I've always felt like that. It's because of how I grew up. Not an excuse, just an unhealthy way of existing. So anyway, after the action phase, and a couple other steps, the last step was relapse, otherwise known as failure in my eyes ... but my shrink said, if you get to that one, you're not done for ... you just start at the beginning again.
And that's what life is about anyway. Robert fulghum said that long ago, and I read it in one of his books before i left for Seattle ... order to disorder to order again ...
Regardless, acknowledging this cycle gives me the perspective I need to keep things in line so I can handle less than perfect times ...
But the steps ... btw, it's not 12 steps. It's some theory in psychology ... but anyway, if you get to the end, and you look at how much and little, depending on your perspective, it took to get from the theory part to the action part, you start to believe in yourself, and the process, and you decide that it is amazing, and worthwhile, but not necessarily something you want to do again just to start at the beginning.
Now i suddenly wonder if you will understand. I see a slight contradiction in what I'm saying, but I don't. I guess it is all true ... Contradictions don't always disprove truths, but nevertheless, I will say that with these contemplations and actions and relapses, whatever the case, there are so many choices in between.
I feel i have made a very large tangent, but on the other hand, I have said exactly what is necessary, because thinking of things in these terms is just one facet of the jewel the Sandman gave to Daniel, and i know, though, because I believe in you, that seeing this one side may be enough to show you them all.
Okay, i have to go now, but thank you very much for everything. I do appreciate it. I really do. You taught me some things early on. Remember that when you think you need someone to tell you the things you already know.
Have a good day, sweetheart,
Love,
Labels: Addiction, Camp, Career, Goals, Movies, Rilo Kiley, Seattle, Spirituality, Therapy, Work
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Mixtapes
(12/21/06)
I love making mixtapes. And I love being given mixtapes. I used to make so many, I guess mostly, in the months before I left for Seattle:
Rock Out With Your Cock Out Mix
Calm the Fuck Down Mix
Happy Music Mix
Regina's Mix
Not So Ordinary Mornings Mix ...
Whatever.
When Chris and I first got together, actually, way before we ever got together, when we first started dating, I made him a tape.
I'd been spending some time with him a lot. I'd work at the bar and he'd wait for me to get off, and then Edgar and I would play Sinatra songs on the jukebox and Chris would help us do stuff so we could all get out and go to Katz' er something.
Sometimes we'd all go together, sometimes Chris and I would tell 'em we were going solo.
Sometimes we'd drink coffee and talk for so many hours; other times, we'd drive.
It was one of those nights when we were driving and talking that he kissed me the first time: at a stop light. I don't know why, but I always sort of liked the idea of couples kissing at stop lights.
I think it was that night we hung out for so long and I came home in this happy daze and wasn't ready to sleep yet; cause it was the opposite of not wanting to wake from a dream -- not wanting to go to sleep.
So, I stayed up and made this tape while the sunlight came and worked its way into the day and my living room.
I was methodical about it, but not. I wasn't trying to express any sort of feelings with the tapes. I was trying to pick music he may not have heard, and mixed with some he had, and mix those with a few things I thought were like the greatest shit in the world.
And in a way, with that tape, I was being myself, the same way you try to be when you are hanging out with someone in person.
I don't know how to explain it except that a few years ago or so I really started working on this idea about knowing who I am at least for that moment and trying to say what I mean and mean what I say, and try to be upfront about things like how many different types of things I read, and how many kinds of music I like, because after a few rodeos you realize that those sort of things either are important, or can be important, or can become important, depending on the persons in the situation, um, at hand.
So I sort of let this tape flow, thinking about him and not thinking about him, and then it went from that to totally just me putting on that tape what I wanted to listen to at that precise moment.
I love the progression of that tape; it's like a story. It rocks out. It moves from The JAMC to the Decemberists to Autolux to Blue Sparrow to Azure Ray to Desaparecidos to Of Montreal to the '89 Cubs to Bloc Party and back to the '89 Cubs; then somewhere in there it takes this weird, but nice transitional turn to All-Time Quarterback and Portishead and Dntel and Her Space Holiday.
I don't know, man. I liked that tape so much I wrote down the track listing and made an extra copy for me, except I felt kinda weird doing that for some reason, because mixtapes are gifts, in the same way that you're not supposed to read your own Tarot cards, so I made another copy with the exception of the Azure Ray song. I put a different one so that the tapes would be the same but slightly different, and so therefore original.
I still listen to that tape all the time. 'Cause it's a bad-ass tape. Fuckin A. Like today, I cleaned the house for my folks and I thought I could use some tunes ... there you go.
But the weird thing about mixtapes, or any music or sounds or smells or anything, I guess, is the way they access your memories like taking toys out of a box and playing with them.
Fortunately, with Chris's Mix, 'cause that's what it's called, I love the songs so much and they're so personal to me, that I can listen to it anyway -- listen to it in that, I can listen to it and not necessarily think about him.
But today I was listening to it, and I was thinking about something else too. Like the word love. Or the feeling, rather, because I don't know about you, but I am very good at remembering detailed moments when I realized I was in love, with past loves. The same way I knew in certain moments that I was loved, and the funny thing is that these moments do not coincide necessarily with the verbal use of the word love.
It's more an unspoken language in the eyes or the smile. Or it's in the air, and I don't care if that's corny, it's in the electricity of the air formed by the coupling and interaction of two distinctive personal energies colliding.
But I was thinking today even about how that moment isn't necessarily quite right either. Because the moment you realize you're in love is not the moment you are falling in love. They are two separate pieces of whatever space-time continuum this shit exists in; and I'm not sure it's bound by natural time.
The point is, I listened to that tape today, and I wasn't listening hard. I'd heard it a million times. It was just music I cleaned the house to. And I thought to myself, while I was half-listening and half-allowing it to just be background noise while half-thinking and half-cleaning, and taking smoke breaks, that I was in love with him way before I ever knew. I was in love with him when I made that tape. Deeply subconsciously, but nonetheless, I was.
So knowing that now it's amazing to me that I can listen to that tape at all.
I was in love with someone else, years before I ever met Chris, and he moved away. He made me some CDs as a parting gift, when I was moving away, which was before he moved away.
Those CDs got a lot of airplay in my discman for a little while, but I stopped listening to them somewhere along the way.
They were really great songs, and they were put together to say something. I understood the message perfectly. It was the same as the ones I've made I guess, old bands he put on there I would know, and some shit that was new to me but from bands that were either unsigned or had broken up.
Some'a the greatest songs I ever heard, on those CDs, but whenever I listen to them, I cry. I know right. Fucking emo. But seriously, I do. I've tried giving it a rest. I'll keep 'em tucked away and wait six months, and take 'em out, just wanting to hear something different, or something old, and then, first or second song, without fail, I cry.
This might be about mixtapes. This might be about being in love, or being alive long after love, or the fact that love can leave you feeling differently, in the same way that different persons can make you feel differently.
I don't know. Guess right now I'm just glad I can still listen to that tape 'cause it rules.
(12/21/06)
I love making mixtapes. And I love being given mixtapes. I used to make so many, I guess mostly, in the months before I left for Seattle:
Rock Out With Your Cock Out Mix
Calm the Fuck Down Mix
Happy Music Mix
Regina's Mix
Not So Ordinary Mornings Mix ...
Whatever.
When Chris and I first got together, actually, way before we ever got together, when we first started dating, I made him a tape.
I'd been spending some time with him a lot. I'd work at the bar and he'd wait for me to get off, and then Edgar and I would play Sinatra songs on the jukebox and Chris would help us do stuff so we could all get out and go to Katz' er something.
Sometimes we'd all go together, sometimes Chris and I would tell 'em we were going solo.
Sometimes we'd drink coffee and talk for so many hours; other times, we'd drive.
It was one of those nights when we were driving and talking that he kissed me the first time: at a stop light. I don't know why, but I always sort of liked the idea of couples kissing at stop lights.
I think it was that night we hung out for so long and I came home in this happy daze and wasn't ready to sleep yet; cause it was the opposite of not wanting to wake from a dream -- not wanting to go to sleep.
So, I stayed up and made this tape while the sunlight came and worked its way into the day and my living room.
I was methodical about it, but not. I wasn't trying to express any sort of feelings with the tapes. I was trying to pick music he may not have heard, and mixed with some he had, and mix those with a few things I thought were like the greatest shit in the world.
And in a way, with that tape, I was being myself, the same way you try to be when you are hanging out with someone in person.
I don't know how to explain it except that a few years ago or so I really started working on this idea about knowing who I am at least for that moment and trying to say what I mean and mean what I say, and try to be upfront about things like how many different types of things I read, and how many kinds of music I like, because after a few rodeos you realize that those sort of things either are important, or can be important, or can become important, depending on the persons in the situation, um, at hand.
So I sort of let this tape flow, thinking about him and not thinking about him, and then it went from that to totally just me putting on that tape what I wanted to listen to at that precise moment.
I love the progression of that tape; it's like a story. It rocks out. It moves from The JAMC to the Decemberists to Autolux to Blue Sparrow to Azure Ray to Desaparecidos to Of Montreal to the '89 Cubs to Bloc Party and back to the '89 Cubs; then somewhere in there it takes this weird, but nice transitional turn to All-Time Quarterback and Portishead and Dntel and Her Space Holiday.
I don't know, man. I liked that tape so much I wrote down the track listing and made an extra copy for me, except I felt kinda weird doing that for some reason, because mixtapes are gifts, in the same way that you're not supposed to read your own Tarot cards, so I made another copy with the exception of the Azure Ray song. I put a different one so that the tapes would be the same but slightly different, and so therefore original.
I still listen to that tape all the time. 'Cause it's a bad-ass tape. Fuckin A. Like today, I cleaned the house for my folks and I thought I could use some tunes ... there you go.
But the weird thing about mixtapes, or any music or sounds or smells or anything, I guess, is the way they access your memories like taking toys out of a box and playing with them.
Fortunately, with Chris's Mix, 'cause that's what it's called, I love the songs so much and they're so personal to me, that I can listen to it anyway -- listen to it in that, I can listen to it and not necessarily think about him.
But today I was listening to it, and I was thinking about something else too. Like the word love. Or the feeling, rather, because I don't know about you, but I am very good at remembering detailed moments when I realized I was in love, with past loves. The same way I knew in certain moments that I was loved, and the funny thing is that these moments do not coincide necessarily with the verbal use of the word love.
It's more an unspoken language in the eyes or the smile. Or it's in the air, and I don't care if that's corny, it's in the electricity of the air formed by the coupling and interaction of two distinctive personal energies colliding.
But I was thinking today even about how that moment isn't necessarily quite right either. Because the moment you realize you're in love is not the moment you are falling in love. They are two separate pieces of whatever space-time continuum this shit exists in; and I'm not sure it's bound by natural time.
The point is, I listened to that tape today, and I wasn't listening hard. I'd heard it a million times. It was just music I cleaned the house to. And I thought to myself, while I was half-listening and half-allowing it to just be background noise while half-thinking and half-cleaning, and taking smoke breaks, that I was in love with him way before I ever knew. I was in love with him when I made that tape. Deeply subconsciously, but nonetheless, I was.
So knowing that now it's amazing to me that I can listen to that tape at all.
I was in love with someone else, years before I ever met Chris, and he moved away. He made me some CDs as a parting gift, when I was moving away, which was before he moved away.
Those CDs got a lot of airplay in my discman for a little while, but I stopped listening to them somewhere along the way.
They were really great songs, and they were put together to say something. I understood the message perfectly. It was the same as the ones I've made I guess, old bands he put on there I would know, and some shit that was new to me but from bands that were either unsigned or had broken up.
Some'a the greatest songs I ever heard, on those CDs, but whenever I listen to them, I cry. I know right. Fucking emo. But seriously, I do. I've tried giving it a rest. I'll keep 'em tucked away and wait six months, and take 'em out, just wanting to hear something different, or something old, and then, first or second song, without fail, I cry.
This might be about mixtapes. This might be about being in love, or being alive long after love, or the fact that love can leave you feeling differently, in the same way that different persons can make you feel differently.
I don't know. Guess right now I'm just glad I can still listen to that tape 'cause it rules.
Labels: Breaking Up, Love, Music, Seattle, Work
Monday, August 21, 2006
Ho-Hum.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
Labels: Anxiety, Breaking Up, College, Seattle, Work
