Usually, I think of something that I want to look up online, but then I think that I should eat first. And then I get stuck wondering what I should eat… and then I drift off and think about something else, until something reminds me that I shouldn’t be in bed but be working but no wait I have to eat first. What should I eat?

Then I finally say to heck with it and get out of bed and open the fridge and open cabinets and drawers in my search for a suitable breakfast. I usually settle on something that needs a little preparation and something to tide me over while I prepare. Usually, the preparation requires another trip through the cabinets and drawers to find something else to add.

Once breakfast is finally ready and I’m at the table, (beginning this week) I watch some TV while I eat. If I’m early enough, it begins with the last bits of Good Morning America. If not, it’s Regis and Kelly then The View.

I go through breakfast slowly… partly because I’m distracted by the tube and partly because I don’t have as big an appetite as I thought I did when I made so much breakfast. So breakfast turns into brunch which turns into lunch and pretty soon I’m wondering why I’m watching Jerry Springer, soaps and court TV.

(Answer: because there’s nothing else on while they’re on commercial break from the live coverage of the police chase in East LA)

My computer is usually having breakfast/brunch/lunch with me. I work a little bit on my website, surf a bit, etc while I eat.

Soon it’s time to scramble to do a few household chores before everyone comes home. Usually it’s just dishes and making rice but a few nights a week, I actually have to make dinner.

The meat is likely to be undercooked because I’m impatient. But the vegetables are likely to be overcooked and mushy because I forget about them. It’s very depressing. Lately, I’ve felt the need to make sweet things too… like I *need* to… like my life and sanity depends on the fudge.

I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on Friday. Except I didn’t have enough oatmeal… only 1/3 of what I needed… and I didn’t have any chocolate chips. So I used only 1/3 the amount of the oatmeal that I was supposed to and melted some Hershey’s dark chocolate in the microwave oven. They came out cake-y.

Anyway so… when dinner’s done, I eat it. Then I get back on my computer…

—

And here I am. Today I am angry because the pork wasn’t done and the sauce didn’t come out like it was supposed to and I suck. But I know that’s really not why I’m angry because I know that I’m angry for no reason.

Initially.

Only initially because now I’m angry that I’m letting myself be angry for no reason.

And then I’m sad because I can’t help being angry and I want to know why. But I’m confused… because I don’t know if I should even wonder why or if I should just stop and how I could just stop. And then I’m just tired.

And I wish I could just stop. Stop thinking about everything that needs to be dealt with because I don’t want to deal with anything. I only like responsibility when I know exactly what to do.

Sometimes when I’m afraid to do something or when there’s something holding me back, I say heck with it and just do it.

—

My dad just came in and said good night. I kissed him and said good night and ‘love you and he sort of grunted… made a “noncommittal sound” as he walked out and pulled the door closed behind him.

And I thought to myself this is so not the time for him to do that. So I cried a little. But then I had to look up “noncommittal” to be sure I had the right term and the tears faded.

I could think about it some more but I don’t want to deal with it.

—

I don’t remember what I was going to say about just doing it.

This wasn’t it but… it seems to be becoming harder to just do it.

Oh I just remembered something that I’d wanted to write about earlier today.

—

Sometimes, when my relationship with God is going well, I think that it would be a nice time to die because I knew that I was on good terms with Him. Doesn’t happen very often but still.

Sometimes I say to myself that I want to die because life seems unbearable but I know I don’t mean it because just as afraid to die as I am of facing my problems.

But this morning, I remembered that my sister was gone and that the only way I’ll ever get to see her again is when I die too. And I thought …

—

from visible thought

Artha shivers. Is this the place? There is the pond, lined with stone just as they told her, and the cherry branches reaching out, just so. But the portal is overgrown; a thick carpet of dead leaves covers the tile, and vines twine through the open ceiling.

She carries the globe tucked beneath her shirt, rounding her belly like she carries a child. If only it were a child, and not this cold, white thing, this thing that has already claimed hundreds of lives. She dares not show its face to the world. Even in the shroud of morning fog, something would see. Some pair of eyes, whether ant or bird or human, would gaze at the globe and then frost over, still and sightless.

Artha pushes aside the heavy vines. Yellowed grape leaves fall to the floor, and the wooden frame of the building creaks. She wants to scream, to cry out to those who built this place to come take the white thing from her, but her voice catches in her throat. It has been too long since she last tasted water or food, since she last spoke to another person.

She clears the leaves from the center of the floor, exposing a circle made from slivers of white tile. In the center, sits a shallow metal bowl. Its edges are caked with rust and dirt, but Artha can see her reflection in the very bottom. White. Her hair, hands, eyes, and even her lips. She whimpers with fear, and lets the globe drop.

Thrum! The whole world shakes. Leaves twist up from their decayed piles on the floor and spiral up, up and out, slapping Artha’s arms and face. Voices come and go in the vortex of wind. Artha hears her name, hears her memories, and hears the globe. She sees nothing but white.

Later they will speak of her with awe and regret. They will build her a statue and clean the muck from the pond and rip away the vines. They will tell their children how Archa carried the plague from the world and destroyed it here, in this place where the cherry branches reach out just so.

from bury your fucking secrets

his name was wanderlust
he told me a story of the ocean
and a girl with shells in her hair
he whispered into my ear
and held me as i shivered.

his hair was choppy,
deep sea blue
and he wore black pearls in his ears.
as he protected me from the chill of the ocean breeze
a warmth grew between us
and a kiss he offered to me.

the brackish taste of his lips
though normally deterrent
entranced me
for he was not a normal boy.
his name was wanderlust.

However, as it is, I don’t have a day job. I have been, for the past month, working intermittently on my website which is nearly the only thing keeping me from sending out my resumé.

I was almost there, on Monday. Only, I had forgotten to do any cross-browser testing. So I did and confirmed my prior suspicions that Windows, Internet Explorer and Safari are in league against me. That is not to mention that fact that I am doubting my overall design, because that is the least of my worries now.

So I decided to approach the CSS in a very different way and change the layout very slightly, hoping to accommodate the errant browsers, and now I am utterly lost. This does not bode well for my career.

CSS doesn’t seem to make sense to me anymore. I used to think that it did, that it was easy; I think it has joined the Axis.

I have a crush on CSS… no, I am in love with it. I pine for us to be together in sweet harmony and create wonderful beautiful website babies together. Because I know that CSS is what I need to make superior babies.

But our future seems bleak because I cannot understand it… or maybe my infatuation is making it difficult to think straight. Or maybe I’m panicking because my weekend is full and I need to get this done now because I still have to do that mock-up for a freelance client and I still have to make dinner and I am forgetting that I need to slow down.

—

I am going uphill, with a backpack full of rocks that I have to get over the hill. If it were easy, these rocks would be things that I could simply say to, “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re important enough to warrant a seat on my back,” and I would be able to do my now-almost-familiar habit of slowing down.

Not so, this time. All of these are things I need to deal with… and there are things coming up that sneak their way into my brain and make things worse.

I don’t know what to do first so I procrastinate, which makes things worse-er.

—

I need to breathe. I think I may need to cry. I need to make dinner. I need to wash the dishes. I don’t even have kids yet. And the things I need to accomplish aren’t really difficult things. And I know this. I know I can do this… but I am in doubt that I will have enough time and that I’ll have the mental resources to do these things.

I feel so drained and tired and I know that it’s because I’m sleeping too much and moving too little. I am upset with myself for procrastinating all week and getting very little done. Then I am frustrated for being upset because it only makes me feel bad and makes it hard to be productive.

—

I think about the things I have to do and I feel so overwhelmed. And it feels so stupid that I keep going in circles, writing about the same thing only using slightly different words… when I could be working, when I could be doing something… but I don’t feel capable. I feel paralyzed. Helpless. Frustrated.

Did I say frustrated?

And even more frustrated (same circle) that I don’t have to be frustrated because this is something I can do. But then I wonder why didn’t I do it all this week?

Then I wonder maybe I should cancel on everything I was supposed to be at this weekend? But I know that’s not an option.

I feel like there are so many things that have piled up but there really aren’t. It’s not a big deal, what I’m going through.

Or maybe I shouldn’t tell myself that.

Sh~t.

I’m dry of words.

from nevergirl

The last time I slept underneath the stars, I remember, I was in love. The moon looked like it had been spun out of stories and silver; and the sky was so clear I felt I could look up, fall into it, and slip unnoticed among the stars. I was young, and happy, and in love, and my world at that moment whirled around the big blue sky above me and the boy I was writing love letters to. Even now, all I have to do is close my eyes and I’d be there again, twenty years old and so certain in my happiness I’m sure my face glowed like the stars above me.

Do you ever notice that you’ve picked up some of their speaking habits, inflections, pet phrases?

At first, I thought it was high school again when I was accused of trying to be someone else, because I was unconsciously emulating my (I thought then) closest friend.

Then I realized what I think is a lovely* thing: I have a bit of every one in me and every one has a bit of me.

I guess, then, that when we find our bits that match, we use those bits to communicate. Only usually, the only way to find it is take cues from the other person.

Today, he’s has to drop something off at his uncle’s and she’s tagging along. They run into some of O’s friends. While O chats with them, C gets a call from J. O is jealous, though she’s really not in the position to be.

—

M broke up with her boyfriend, who happened to be cheating on her. She was afraid that all her relationships will end this way, that there’s no hope of her finding love that will last, because all her other relationships had ended in betrayal.

She’s since realized that all her exes have had so much baggage, and no clue what they really wanted. It’s still tough going but she’s trying to stay positive.

—

L is feeling dry. He doesn’t know where this relationship is going. He’s always believed that this kind of thing is simply a challenge to keep the fire burning, but now he isn’t not so sure.

They have a talk. Things are back in perspective. There’s a lot of work left to do, but now he’s motivated.

—

C really likes this girl. They live on different continents, but they’ve known each other from when they called the same place home.

Valentine’s is coming up and he wants to send her flowers. He has the plan in place to get her address from her sister. It’s all very exciting.

—

N and G are really close. She likes him a lot, but he has a girlfriend. To make matters worse, there’s another girl that they work with who seems to be putting the moves on G.

N finds it hard to confide in women because she feels they don’t get her like her guy friends do. G is her present confidant and though she treasures their friendship as it is, she really wants more.

I used to despair over what other people would think of my mistakes and what they would think of me because of those mistakes, which were usually very small. Now I just laugh.

It’s very strange and new and thinking about it makes me laugh even more. From time to time, I wonder if I’m suppressing something I’m not supposed to, but wondering that makes me smile, almost giddily… that I’m almost positive that this is something positive.

So, just a few minutes ago, I was being the careless klutz that I am and making a mess and laughing at myself yet again. I whispered to the klutz, “There are only two possibilities… that I’ve become so mature that I’ve learned how to deal with diversity… Diversity? Di…. hahahaha… ADversity… how to deal with adversity through laughter! Haha… Either that or I’ve finally gone completely mad.”

I really don’t think it’s the latter. I’m sure most would agree that that’s happened long ago.

It wasn’t with quite as much conviction a few years later when his mom emerged as the dominant half of the couple. His dad would be the childish one, who didn’t take many things seriously, and it frustrated and angered his mom. And so she would scream and yell and because he was his father’s son, he got screamed and yelled at too.

It was probably not either one’s fault. They just didn’t fit together as well as they thought, and maybe they didn’t think it was an option to admit it.

Ten or eleven years old, his dad leaves. He’d found someone new. His mom is shattered, but she struggles to keep him fed and clothed and clean. Still, she’s impatient and frustrated and still she screams and yells.

She may have found some peace as a single parent. Maybe she realized that she didn’t need to scream and yell.

It was almost four years that it had been just the two of them, when she died suddenly.

It was a matter of great deliberation for his maternal relatives as to where he would be brought up… with them or with his dad. He agreed that his mom would not want him to live with his dad because his paternal relatives had a tendency to spoil him, but he said that it couldn’t happen because she’d taught him well.

So now he lives with his paternal grandparents. His dad visits every so often. He hardly ever goes to see his mother’s family. When he does, he is distant and seems to be itching to go home. He seems to have changed in the short span of time he’s lived away from them.

On the day they were to bury his mother’s ashes, he asked to reschedule on account of a rehearsal for some school presentation. It was discovered the following week, that there was no such rehearsal.

At a casual dinner out, in honor of a close family friend, when all but two were done eating, he announced that he’d asked to be picked up by his grandfather. His grandfather was to drive about an hour from the area where he lives, pick him up at the restaurant and drive the hour back to the same area, where he was to play video games with an uncle.

—

They’re afraid he’s too old to learn.

You’re never too old to learn and you’re never too old to find a willingness to learn.

If only he knew to look. If only I knew how to tell him.

Help.

There’s an amazing energy here. I can’t help but smile.

We may not be aware of it, but with all the songs sung together (some that we didn’t even realize we knew every word to) our souls are connected.

Listening to A and E singing a duet. They’ve been together over a year now. They’re both really good singers. It makes you see how much in love they are, watching them have fun with it. The happiness in their voices is unmistakable.

I love seeing couples looking lovingly into each other’s eyes when they’re not even aware of it. Not staring, not being all lovey dovey and sickening just happening to look at each other… you can almost see a cloud around them, binding them together despite its being insubstantial.

The cloud is gone in a second, but you know that the bond is there, you can feel it in the way they share the mic.

Envy. I don’t want to call it that. I am truly happy that they have each other. It’s a beautiful thing to have, that bond.

You know how something really good happens to you, you hope that everyone gets to feel that feeling?

I think that’s how it feels for them. Maybe they don’t even know it right now. They’re probably used to it already. But it’s that kind of feeling, it’s that good.

And I want to feel it.

Envy. That, but not that. Like I said, I don’t want to call it that.

Maybe I’m bitter. But I’m not. I’m happy for them… but.

Maybe it’s thinking again that it’ll make life better, easier to take, if I had someone to sing with.

I hate that it’s seems to be such a thing to me, that it affects me so much, albeit not too often.

It’s a nice thing, I think, to want to have someone you can sing with. But to want it so much that you can’t think straight, that can’t be right.

It should be on a list, but it shouldn’t be the priority.

I think I’m growing more and more bitter about the fact that I’m even thinking about this. This can’t be good.

I think I’m going to go sing.