Today, I woke up, and I checked my email, facebook, and twitter.
Then, I smoked a cigarette. I made an onion bagel with some cheese and ate that and drank some coffee. I brushed my teeth.
Then, I watched two episodes of Weeds. I love that show. When my MegaVideo time ran out, I got up and went to Rite Aid. I bought some toothpaste, deodorant, paper towels, and a folder to put my resume in when I go on interviews. It is green, because green is my favorite color.
Then I came back, I applied for some jobs, and I watched tv. I ate some soup for lunch. It tasted good and Sarah said it smelled good.
I smoked another cigarette and it was nice.
I complained about how it's hot in my apartment and we tried to make our air conditioner work more efficiently. Now, I am writing this blog post and chatting with Zac. I plan to finish a resume and take it to the city later. I might also do the dishes. I will take a shower.
Oh, it's very hot outside today.
There you go, zero emotion. Much easier to read. Hardly any big words. Hope you enjoyed!
xxM
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Boredom is Palpable
Maybe I have a much more boring life than I originally thought... or maybe originally hoped.
I have yet to find a job. I feel like I should be getting paid to go on interviews, as it seems that I have at least one every day. Of course, I guess, in a way, I am getting paid just to breathe, as I am reaping the benefits of government generosity. I digress. Over and over again, I hear back:
"We thank you for coming in, but we've decided to go a different route. Good luck in your job search."
I actually had a guy call me today, instead of send the conventional e-mail.
Andrew, why did you call? Did you want to hear my voice drop? My stomach twist and turn and my heart fall to the floor, once again, as I wonder (and usually aloud) what, exactly, I'm going to do? Andrew, do you enjoy being a part of my pain? I imagine you probably do. You seemed like such a nice guy this morning... And I'm going to be honest, Andrew, I'd rather hear that I suck and I'm not going to get the job, instead of hearing you tell me that you will call me back to schedule a second interview, then call me back telling me I'm not what you're looking for. Man up, Andrew. Grow some balls, then let's talk project management.
Ah, the frustration has set in, I suppose. I apologize, Andrew. I'm sure you're a nice dude. Excuse me while I over-react.
I think... no, I fear... mostly, that the problem is simple: I'm just bored. The words "bored", "bore", "boring" or "boredom" are all terribly unappealing to me. The thought of being a boring person-- having nothing interesting or useful to contribute to conversation, relationships, someone else's life-- it's honestly a pretty appalling trait to me. The thought that I'm bored in one of the greatest cities in the world really sends me into spins... there's no way this is New York's fault.
Boring people are bored. I remember hearing that phrase relentlessly when I was growing up. Of course, I grew up in small-town Mississippi, where children really do become bored out of their minds during summer break. So much so, that they resort to disastrous children's games, such as racing to see who can kill the most fire ants using only a magnifying glass and the heat of the sun in the middle of July. Ant annihilation does not equal boredom. The point is, we inevitably found ways to entertain ourselves, usually at the expense of the babysitter, and we persevered... isn't there a lesson to be learned here?
I've strayed from my initial subject, which, if you can't tell by this point, I tend to do often... and that can be applied to every aspect of my life, by the way.
I want a job terribly, and I'm not really sure what I'm doing wrong that is preventing me from becoming employed, considering I was offered two jobs within two weeks of moving here one year ago... but I'm scared that my frustration, desperation, boredom is all shining through in my interviews... where's that strong-willed, positive and motivated person I speak of in my cover letter? I might resort to begging tomorrow... at least by the second one.
If I don't get out of this rut soon, I'm destined for disaster.
I apologize to my readers who expect an epic post each time I write. Unfortunately, my life has taken an arid turn, and I can barely scrounge enough emotion out to write a boring post about boredom.
Hang in there, I'll be back soon.
xxM
I have yet to find a job. I feel like I should be getting paid to go on interviews, as it seems that I have at least one every day. Of course, I guess, in a way, I am getting paid just to breathe, as I am reaping the benefits of government generosity. I digress. Over and over again, I hear back:
"We thank you for coming in, but we've decided to go a different route. Good luck in your job search."
I actually had a guy call me today, instead of send the conventional e-mail.
Andrew, why did you call? Did you want to hear my voice drop? My stomach twist and turn and my heart fall to the floor, once again, as I wonder (and usually aloud) what, exactly, I'm going to do? Andrew, do you enjoy being a part of my pain? I imagine you probably do. You seemed like such a nice guy this morning... And I'm going to be honest, Andrew, I'd rather hear that I suck and I'm not going to get the job, instead of hearing you tell me that you will call me back to schedule a second interview, then call me back telling me I'm not what you're looking for. Man up, Andrew. Grow some balls, then let's talk project management.
Ah, the frustration has set in, I suppose. I apologize, Andrew. I'm sure you're a nice dude. Excuse me while I over-react.
I think... no, I fear... mostly, that the problem is simple: I'm just bored. The words "bored", "bore", "boring" or "boredom" are all terribly unappealing to me. The thought of being a boring person-- having nothing interesting or useful to contribute to conversation, relationships, someone else's life-- it's honestly a pretty appalling trait to me. The thought that I'm bored in one of the greatest cities in the world really sends me into spins... there's no way this is New York's fault.
Boring people are bored. I remember hearing that phrase relentlessly when I was growing up. Of course, I grew up in small-town Mississippi, where children really do become bored out of their minds during summer break. So much so, that they resort to disastrous children's games, such as racing to see who can kill the most fire ants using only a magnifying glass and the heat of the sun in the middle of July. Ant annihilation does not equal boredom. The point is, we inevitably found ways to entertain ourselves, usually at the expense of the babysitter, and we persevered... isn't there a lesson to be learned here?
I've strayed from my initial subject, which, if you can't tell by this point, I tend to do often... and that can be applied to every aspect of my life, by the way.
I want a job terribly, and I'm not really sure what I'm doing wrong that is preventing me from becoming employed, considering I was offered two jobs within two weeks of moving here one year ago... but I'm scared that my frustration, desperation, boredom is all shining through in my interviews... where's that strong-willed, positive and motivated person I speak of in my cover letter? I might resort to begging tomorrow... at least by the second one.
If I don't get out of this rut soon, I'm destined for disaster.
I apologize to my readers who expect an epic post each time I write. Unfortunately, my life has taken an arid turn, and I can barely scrounge enough emotion out to write a boring post about boredom.
Hang in there, I'll be back soon.
xxM
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Lack of Adulthood
Recently, I've found myself getting terribly anxious at the most inopportune times.
Tonight, while enjoying a lovely, queso-filled dinner with Zachnomary, Meghanom, and Jenny Andersonom, I received a truly hurtful and upsetting phone call, which jilted me and removed me from my happiness, which these days can be very short-lived. The purpose of this phone call was to cut me down, break me apart, and hit me below-the-belt. It was intentional and undeserved. Congratulations, you succeeded. In set my anxiety-- my stomach started turning, twisting itself into a writhing ball. My chest tightened, and as my heart began racing, I started thinking of all the bad in my life, and the good was suddenly blocked out, not to return until tomorrow, if I'm lucky.
I was told that I need to "grow up."
So here is my response to you, person who will remain anonymous, only to protect feelings, I suppose. Although, there comes a point when you aren't sure why you're trying to protect feelings anymore, as it has become apparent that your feelings are never protected...
I am 23 years old. No, I am 23 years young. I have a college degree, I am well-read, focused and smart. I am motivated and talented in my own respects. I do not give myself away too easily (in more ways than one), I do not hold any substance dependencies that could potentially harm my future. Yes, I am a smoker. Yes, I drink, but I drink for fun, not necessity. I steer-clear of drugs and my mind is in the right place.
I am unemployed and doing the best I can in an economy and a world that is harsh and unforgiving. I am trying my best, and my best is all I can give.
I followed my dream and got the fuck out of Dodge. I moved to a mysterious and intimidating city, scared out of my mind, and I didn't give up. I won't give up. I strayed away from the "norm" of small-town America-- go to college, find a boyfriend, marry him, have kids, work a job that you hate because you're trapped. Live in a home that you hate because you're a prisoner. Live a life that you are unhappy with because it's all you know, and all you care to know.
So I am thankful that I am not a teacher, since that was not the path I was supposed to take right now. I am thankful I am not married. I am thankful I am not tied-down to anything or anyone. I am thankful that I live a life that is never boring in a city where opportunities and possibilities are endless.
I've recently learned that it doesn't matter how other people see you. It matters how you see yourself. If I can find positivity within me, and not let others dictate and judge who I am, that will radiate into security and confidence to others. I find that people are incredibly drawn to those who are comfortable with themselves.
Tonight when I was walking back to the train, feeling broken and bummed, and being guided by Bon Iver's beautiful yet daunting voice, it suddenly hit me-- everything really, truly will work itself out. So maybe this doesn't seem like much of a realization to you, but it's so easy to get down in this city. It's so easy to let this city take you in and spit you out. Sometimes it feels as though you're swimming downstream when everyone else is making their way up. Angst and hatred and despair sets in... why is it that everyone else is climbing the proverbial ladder, and you're getting left behind? This wasn't how it was supposed to be... this isn't where life was supposed to lead you.
And then, for a second, everything stops moving. The cabs cease in their place. The suits in the Financial District pause their Heinekeins, the scenesters in Williamsburg stop dancing, and the socialites in the Upper East Side halt the clack-clack-clack of their heels on marble, penthouse apartment floors. And just before you lose control, and just before you fall to pieces, by yourself, alone, on 2nd and 15th, you look to your left, and see a man playing the guitar. A "Hallelujah" cover streams past your ear buds, and you stop and listen. And when you do, he looks up, and he smiles as he sings, as he strums the guitar, and he catches your eye. He stares at you. He doesn't stop staring as he sings. He doesn't stop smiling. He doesn't skip a beat, and at that moment, you remember why you are here.
I woke up this morning, and my room mate wished me luck as she fixed her hair for her audition today. She doesn't usually expect to get the part, but she tries anyway. Over and over again, she keeps her spirit strong. Maybe it's the support she receives, no matter what. Maybe it's the positivity in her life that she holds on to tightly. Maybe it's her strong-will. Regardless, many people could learn a lesson from her, if they'd look a little further.
I left my apartment this morning, and I went to my 2nd interview, which I was called back for because I charmed them in the first round. By myself. Without help. Without guidance. And even if that job doesn't work out, then something else will, eventually. The CEO of the company told me she liked my earrings, and commented that they compliment my face well. The company I was interviewing with is a high-end jewlery showroom.
I walked to the train this morning, and a guy about my age, wearing a plaid shirt and cut-off jean shorts stopped me on the street just to tell me he thinks I'm pretty. He apologized if it sounded strange to say, and I smiled and thanked him. He gave me a friendly wink, and we both continued on our ways.
I walked through SoHo after the interview, and a man tried to sell me a "great deal" to a hair salon in the east side. He said he thought I was beautiful, and my smile captivated him. After I told him I was unemployed and could not afford a haircut right now, he said he didn't want my money, and handed me two free tickets to his comedy show next week in the Lower East Side. He told me there was a two-drink minimum, but to ask for him when I got there, and he'd take care of it. He also warned me not to come on Tuesday or Wednesday, because those are the amateur nights, and he didn't want me to waste my time.
Today, I walked into H&M to find a new pair of leggings, fingers-crossed they were on sale. I was captured on camera, and asked if I wanted to sign a waiver for an MTV reality television show, so that my face could appear on the screen. I told them it was fine and I wouldn't take legal action against them if I wasn't blurred out. The camera man and producer both laughed and told me to "take care" and "have a great evening."
As the R train arrived today, a man stopped to let me on before him. Then another man gave me his seat. A girl complimented my shoes in Union Square, and a cavasser talked to me for 15 minutes about Lollapalooza (after educating me on the children I should be saving), and he gave me his phone number and a hug before I walked away. He told me that most people are so mean to him, and that he hoped for good things in my future. His name is Sam. I like him.
Then I sat down in the park, I took out The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I happily read while listening to a Jazz band play behind me. I met up with RJ, who never fails to put a smile on my face, even if just for a moment. He gave his normal greeting, followed by, "You look very pretty today." I ran into my friend Jocelyn, who I haven't seen in weeks, at the cafe RJ chose, since the one next door was a bit too crowded.
We enjoyed our beers, commented on people walking by and why living in this city is so different than visiting this city. It's a bond that only we can understand, and maybe this is why people hate New Yorkers. You don't know New York until you truly experience the highs and lows that give New York and the people a bad name. Maybe we are hardened by experiences. Maybe we are proud of where we live, what we have done, the things we have accomplished... why is that such a terrible thing? New York is a challenge. This is why I will struggle and complain and moan and loathe and question myself innumerable times. But this is why I love this city. This is why I'm supposed to be here.
Today, life really wasn't so bad.
So in response to the statement, "you need to grow up." I have this to say, and I will say it one time. I might be unemployed. I might be without a seemingly healthy relationship. I might be poor and struggling. I might make ill-fated decisions and spend too much time bothering with situations that will take me nowhere. People who mean nothing. Ideas and thoughts and dreams that will never come true.
But I have done more growing in the past year than you can possibly fathom, and maybe if you'd look a little deeper than material things and realize that money is not my definition of happiness even if it is yours, you would realize how grown I actually am, and how much growing I will continue to do. I thank you for all you've done, but I will not forgive you for what you've said.
Excuse me, I have to go enjoy my life and cherish my experiences now.
xxM
Tonight, while enjoying a lovely, queso-filled dinner with Zachnomary, Meghanom, and Jenny Andersonom, I received a truly hurtful and upsetting phone call, which jilted me and removed me from my happiness, which these days can be very short-lived. The purpose of this phone call was to cut me down, break me apart, and hit me below-the-belt. It was intentional and undeserved. Congratulations, you succeeded. In set my anxiety-- my stomach started turning, twisting itself into a writhing ball. My chest tightened, and as my heart began racing, I started thinking of all the bad in my life, and the good was suddenly blocked out, not to return until tomorrow, if I'm lucky.
I was told that I need to "grow up."
So here is my response to you, person who will remain anonymous, only to protect feelings, I suppose. Although, there comes a point when you aren't sure why you're trying to protect feelings anymore, as it has become apparent that your feelings are never protected...
I am 23 years old. No, I am 23 years young. I have a college degree, I am well-read, focused and smart. I am motivated and talented in my own respects. I do not give myself away too easily (in more ways than one), I do not hold any substance dependencies that could potentially harm my future. Yes, I am a smoker. Yes, I drink, but I drink for fun, not necessity. I steer-clear of drugs and my mind is in the right place.
I am unemployed and doing the best I can in an economy and a world that is harsh and unforgiving. I am trying my best, and my best is all I can give.
I followed my dream and got the fuck out of Dodge. I moved to a mysterious and intimidating city, scared out of my mind, and I didn't give up. I won't give up. I strayed away from the "norm" of small-town America-- go to college, find a boyfriend, marry him, have kids, work a job that you hate because you're trapped. Live in a home that you hate because you're a prisoner. Live a life that you are unhappy with because it's all you know, and all you care to know.
So I am thankful that I am not a teacher, since that was not the path I was supposed to take right now. I am thankful I am not married. I am thankful I am not tied-down to anything or anyone. I am thankful that I live a life that is never boring in a city where opportunities and possibilities are endless.
I've recently learned that it doesn't matter how other people see you. It matters how you see yourself. If I can find positivity within me, and not let others dictate and judge who I am, that will radiate into security and confidence to others. I find that people are incredibly drawn to those who are comfortable with themselves.
Tonight when I was walking back to the train, feeling broken and bummed, and being guided by Bon Iver's beautiful yet daunting voice, it suddenly hit me-- everything really, truly will work itself out. So maybe this doesn't seem like much of a realization to you, but it's so easy to get down in this city. It's so easy to let this city take you in and spit you out. Sometimes it feels as though you're swimming downstream when everyone else is making their way up. Angst and hatred and despair sets in... why is it that everyone else is climbing the proverbial ladder, and you're getting left behind? This wasn't how it was supposed to be... this isn't where life was supposed to lead you.
And then, for a second, everything stops moving. The cabs cease in their place. The suits in the Financial District pause their Heinekeins, the scenesters in Williamsburg stop dancing, and the socialites in the Upper East Side halt the clack-clack-clack of their heels on marble, penthouse apartment floors. And just before you lose control, and just before you fall to pieces, by yourself, alone, on 2nd and 15th, you look to your left, and see a man playing the guitar. A "Hallelujah" cover streams past your ear buds, and you stop and listen. And when you do, he looks up, and he smiles as he sings, as he strums the guitar, and he catches your eye. He stares at you. He doesn't stop staring as he sings. He doesn't stop smiling. He doesn't skip a beat, and at that moment, you remember why you are here.
I woke up this morning, and my room mate wished me luck as she fixed her hair for her audition today. She doesn't usually expect to get the part, but she tries anyway. Over and over again, she keeps her spirit strong. Maybe it's the support she receives, no matter what. Maybe it's the positivity in her life that she holds on to tightly. Maybe it's her strong-will. Regardless, many people could learn a lesson from her, if they'd look a little further.
I left my apartment this morning, and I went to my 2nd interview, which I was called back for because I charmed them in the first round. By myself. Without help. Without guidance. And even if that job doesn't work out, then something else will, eventually. The CEO of the company told me she liked my earrings, and commented that they compliment my face well. The company I was interviewing with is a high-end jewlery showroom.
I walked to the train this morning, and a guy about my age, wearing a plaid shirt and cut-off jean shorts stopped me on the street just to tell me he thinks I'm pretty. He apologized if it sounded strange to say, and I smiled and thanked him. He gave me a friendly wink, and we both continued on our ways.
I walked through SoHo after the interview, and a man tried to sell me a "great deal" to a hair salon in the east side. He said he thought I was beautiful, and my smile captivated him. After I told him I was unemployed and could not afford a haircut right now, he said he didn't want my money, and handed me two free tickets to his comedy show next week in the Lower East Side. He told me there was a two-drink minimum, but to ask for him when I got there, and he'd take care of it. He also warned me not to come on Tuesday or Wednesday, because those are the amateur nights, and he didn't want me to waste my time.
Today, I walked into H&M to find a new pair of leggings, fingers-crossed they were on sale. I was captured on camera, and asked if I wanted to sign a waiver for an MTV reality television show, so that my face could appear on the screen. I told them it was fine and I wouldn't take legal action against them if I wasn't blurred out. The camera man and producer both laughed and told me to "take care" and "have a great evening."
As the R train arrived today, a man stopped to let me on before him. Then another man gave me his seat. A girl complimented my shoes in Union Square, and a cavasser talked to me for 15 minutes about Lollapalooza (after educating me on the children I should be saving), and he gave me his phone number and a hug before I walked away. He told me that most people are so mean to him, and that he hoped for good things in my future. His name is Sam. I like him.
Then I sat down in the park, I took out The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I happily read while listening to a Jazz band play behind me. I met up with RJ, who never fails to put a smile on my face, even if just for a moment. He gave his normal greeting, followed by, "You look very pretty today." I ran into my friend Jocelyn, who I haven't seen in weeks, at the cafe RJ chose, since the one next door was a bit too crowded.
We enjoyed our beers, commented on people walking by and why living in this city is so different than visiting this city. It's a bond that only we can understand, and maybe this is why people hate New Yorkers. You don't know New York until you truly experience the highs and lows that give New York and the people a bad name. Maybe we are hardened by experiences. Maybe we are proud of where we live, what we have done, the things we have accomplished... why is that such a terrible thing? New York is a challenge. This is why I will struggle and complain and moan and loathe and question myself innumerable times. But this is why I love this city. This is why I'm supposed to be here.
Today, life really wasn't so bad.
So in response to the statement, "you need to grow up." I have this to say, and I will say it one time. I might be unemployed. I might be without a seemingly healthy relationship. I might be poor and struggling. I might make ill-fated decisions and spend too much time bothering with situations that will take me nowhere. People who mean nothing. Ideas and thoughts and dreams that will never come true.
But I have done more growing in the past year than you can possibly fathom, and maybe if you'd look a little deeper than material things and realize that money is not my definition of happiness even if it is yours, you would realize how grown I actually am, and how much growing I will continue to do. I thank you for all you've done, but I will not forgive you for what you've said.
Excuse me, I have to go enjoy my life and cherish my experiences now.
xxM
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Unrequited, yes?
It's funny how we think we're finished with people when we're not. It seems this happens repeatedly, with every ending relationship, with every ending serial-dater, every boy at the bar, every boy in the office... with every person we meet who makes us smile, who makes our nerves a wreck and our hearts beat furiously... it starts to become a humorous trend.
It's funny how we promise ourselves this chapter has been closed, but then it is re-written about 40 pages later. It might be in a different tone, but it's by the same author, nonetheless.
Often times, we meet someone, they somehow manage to sweep us away within a matter of minutes, and we can't escape the thoughts of them, no matter how long the conversation lasted, no matter how much they felt the connection with us (or didn't), no matter us much we hurt them or they hurt us...
I think my thoughts right now can best be understood in a letter. I will name this letter, An Ode to BSD.
Dear BSD,
What the hell is wrong with you?
No, no. I understand you got a little hurt. I hit your ego a little hard, and since you're a dude, it felt like the biggest blow to your manhood that you could've ever received, and I'm sorry. Really, I am. But seriously, BSD, what is going through your little peanut head right now?
I understand what you're saying. There's a lot of drama going on in your life, you're spread really thin right now (is it possible for you to be any thinner? Let's be honest...), you don't want me to be mad at you. And I'm not mad, BSD. But I think I officially realize how much I don't need your attention, since your attention is the most inconsistent thing I've had to deal with since... well you know. Okay, you don't, but I do... just grasp that he was and still is the most inconsistent human I've ever had to deal with. You are slowly stealing the title. Maybe I should have medals made? You could stand on a pedestal and both wave to your adoring fans who would rather listen to you play guitar and swoon than listen to what you're saying or care about your actions.
Is that what you're looking for, Mr. Musician? Because that is just not my style. Every other boy walking down Bedford can play the guitar... plus I'd prefer a drummer anyway. Yes, I know you can play any instrument put in front of you, and yes, I recognize you're humble about it and I find that... well, extremely tantalizing. However, your band sucks. And I don't like musicians anyway.
Let's get one thing straight, BSD. I don't have time for the flakiness. Alright, I do have time for the flakiness, being unemployed and everything. But I will not make time for the flakiness. It is beginning to interfere with my drinking-buddy hour(s) with Reej every day, and this is becoming a problem. Could you get out of my mind please?
BSD, would you mind not stringing me along this week? Because I'm going to put my foot down and say, I've had enough... I think.
You do have your perks. You're funny. I like that about you. You told me that story about living in South Bronx, and it makes me laugh, repeatedly. You make fun of your mother's Jersey accent... but it's rude to make fun of your mother, BSD. I'm throwing a penalty flag on that one. She raised you, dammit. Also, the simple fact that you're from Jersey is funny enough. It makes me smirk when you refer to your homeland as the "Asshole of America", as opposed to the popular, "Armpit of America."
It's also pretty cute when you make fun of my accent. When you add harsher tones to my vowel sounds than I actually make... when you say "y'all" and ask me if I named all of our family chickens.
I like it when you say you're old, even though you're not.
You should know, you've got nothin' on ole JT. He is, actually, getting old. So I guess you get a one-up on him in that area, but, he is your competition right now, and I should recommend that you step up your game, because you're falling way behind after last weekend.
It's really nice how you made a point to introduce yourself to all of my friends. How you shook their hands and looked them in the eye when you exchanged names. You asked them questions when you had a chance, and seemed genuinely interested in them. Let me tell you something, BSD, these are not people who are easily impressed.
You impressed them.
I don't like how, for some reason, I can't shake you from my thoughts. I don't like how you haunt me, and even if you don't mean to linger, you do. I don't like how when I saw you, and you saw me, I avoided you. I literally ran away from having a conversation with you, in fear that you would, once again, entice me with free drinks, then let me leave and let me down through your lack of actions and words. Do you ever intend to follow through?
I don't like how you didn't chase me down... I don't like how unrealistic I am when it comes to you.
What are you so scared of, BSD?
Don't do this, BSD. Please do not be another guy who is unhealthy for me, who doesn't care about me, who doesn't even really like me. Please don't be mean to me, because I don't think I can handle that again. Please take me out, and hold my hand, and make me laugh. But call me later, let me know you're thinking about me. Let me be as important to you as you could potentially be to me. I can't stand not-knowing with you, just like you can't stand it when I leave. And don't say it doesn't matter, because I know it does. I can tell when I look at you, every time I walk away.
I've never been able to read someones eyes the way I can read yours.
You could have had me, BSD, had you really wanted me. But now, I'm not so sure you were being honest, and all I'm asking for is truth. Truth in every aspect of my life, and right now, specifically you.
So I'm telling you the truth now-- figure out what you want, let me know, or leave me be. Do not tell me three days later what your intentions were... say it then or don't say it at all. Stop trying to work it out, because at this point, you're not helping the situation, you're just hurting it.
Here's the truth from me: I can't stop thinking about you, even when I'm with someone else. Even when you aren't responsive, even when I think I hate you.
Also, I really like musicians. That was a blatant lie.
So, go ahead and shoot me a text when you're done recording today... hopefully we can hang out tonight.
Best,
Meggie
End, an Ode to BSD.
Also, I'd like to end on today on a Buddha thought, via tinybuddha on Twitter...
"If you light a lamp for somebody else it will also brighten your path."
xxM
It's funny how we promise ourselves this chapter has been closed, but then it is re-written about 40 pages later. It might be in a different tone, but it's by the same author, nonetheless.
Often times, we meet someone, they somehow manage to sweep us away within a matter of minutes, and we can't escape the thoughts of them, no matter how long the conversation lasted, no matter how much they felt the connection with us (or didn't), no matter us much we hurt them or they hurt us...
I think my thoughts right now can best be understood in a letter. I will name this letter, An Ode to BSD.
Dear BSD,
What the hell is wrong with you?
No, no. I understand you got a little hurt. I hit your ego a little hard, and since you're a dude, it felt like the biggest blow to your manhood that you could've ever received, and I'm sorry. Really, I am. But seriously, BSD, what is going through your little peanut head right now?
I understand what you're saying. There's a lot of drama going on in your life, you're spread really thin right now (is it possible for you to be any thinner? Let's be honest...), you don't want me to be mad at you. And I'm not mad, BSD. But I think I officially realize how much I don't need your attention, since your attention is the most inconsistent thing I've had to deal with since... well you know. Okay, you don't, but I do... just grasp that he was and still is the most inconsistent human I've ever had to deal with. You are slowly stealing the title. Maybe I should have medals made? You could stand on a pedestal and both wave to your adoring fans who would rather listen to you play guitar and swoon than listen to what you're saying or care about your actions.
Is that what you're looking for, Mr. Musician? Because that is just not my style. Every other boy walking down Bedford can play the guitar... plus I'd prefer a drummer anyway. Yes, I know you can play any instrument put in front of you, and yes, I recognize you're humble about it and I find that... well, extremely tantalizing. However, your band sucks. And I don't like musicians anyway.
Let's get one thing straight, BSD. I don't have time for the flakiness. Alright, I do have time for the flakiness, being unemployed and everything. But I will not make time for the flakiness. It is beginning to interfere with my drinking-buddy hour(s) with Reej every day, and this is becoming a problem. Could you get out of my mind please?
BSD, would you mind not stringing me along this week? Because I'm going to put my foot down and say, I've had enough... I think.
You do have your perks. You're funny. I like that about you. You told me that story about living in South Bronx, and it makes me laugh, repeatedly. You make fun of your mother's Jersey accent... but it's rude to make fun of your mother, BSD. I'm throwing a penalty flag on that one. She raised you, dammit. Also, the simple fact that you're from Jersey is funny enough. It makes me smirk when you refer to your homeland as the "Asshole of America", as opposed to the popular, "Armpit of America."
It's also pretty cute when you make fun of my accent. When you add harsher tones to my vowel sounds than I actually make... when you say "y'all" and ask me if I named all of our family chickens.
I like it when you say you're old, even though you're not.
You should know, you've got nothin' on ole JT. He is, actually, getting old. So I guess you get a one-up on him in that area, but, he is your competition right now, and I should recommend that you step up your game, because you're falling way behind after last weekend.
It's really nice how you made a point to introduce yourself to all of my friends. How you shook their hands and looked them in the eye when you exchanged names. You asked them questions when you had a chance, and seemed genuinely interested in them. Let me tell you something, BSD, these are not people who are easily impressed.
You impressed them.
I don't like how, for some reason, I can't shake you from my thoughts. I don't like how you haunt me, and even if you don't mean to linger, you do. I don't like how when I saw you, and you saw me, I avoided you. I literally ran away from having a conversation with you, in fear that you would, once again, entice me with free drinks, then let me leave and let me down through your lack of actions and words. Do you ever intend to follow through?
I don't like how you didn't chase me down... I don't like how unrealistic I am when it comes to you.
What are you so scared of, BSD?
Don't do this, BSD. Please do not be another guy who is unhealthy for me, who doesn't care about me, who doesn't even really like me. Please don't be mean to me, because I don't think I can handle that again. Please take me out, and hold my hand, and make me laugh. But call me later, let me know you're thinking about me. Let me be as important to you as you could potentially be to me. I can't stand not-knowing with you, just like you can't stand it when I leave. And don't say it doesn't matter, because I know it does. I can tell when I look at you, every time I walk away.
I've never been able to read someones eyes the way I can read yours.
You could have had me, BSD, had you really wanted me. But now, I'm not so sure you were being honest, and all I'm asking for is truth. Truth in every aspect of my life, and right now, specifically you.
So I'm telling you the truth now-- figure out what you want, let me know, or leave me be. Do not tell me three days later what your intentions were... say it then or don't say it at all. Stop trying to work it out, because at this point, you're not helping the situation, you're just hurting it.
Here's the truth from me: I can't stop thinking about you, even when I'm with someone else. Even when you aren't responsive, even when I think I hate you.
Also, I really like musicians. That was a blatant lie.
So, go ahead and shoot me a text when you're done recording today... hopefully we can hang out tonight.
Best,
Meggie
End, an Ode to BSD.
Also, I'd like to end on today on a Buddha thought, via tinybuddha on Twitter...
"If you light a lamp for somebody else it will also brighten your path."
xxM
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