nights make the day dull

societal expectations are out of control. it's almost illegal to say you don't care about a sucessful career in the corporate world. because what other type of occupation is acceptable? perhaps it's the WASP family background I come from; example:
why in the hell would you get an MA if you could get an MBA?
because i have no desire to be a CEO or the like.
why the hell not?

seriously, these two perspectives don't really conicide. and any disscussion around them leads to a roadblock.

i like the idea that societal ideal needs to change to become a place where people feel comfortable and supported succeeding in whatever they're most passionate about and talented in. weather that's being the best stripper you can be, the best politician you can be (lots of comparisons between those two occupations, but that's for another post), the best teacher you can be, the best artist you can be, or whatever.

what's the point if you do well at it and you don't give two shits? you're living in a shell where you function in the expected way, but you're removed from yourself. When talent and ambition coincide you find a place where you not only do well, but you want to do well and it makes you happy. I don't know if that place exists for everyone in our current society. I think many people like to beleive it does, and believe that they're in that place. But I think it's probably a fantasy. Because dreams live at night and vanish during the day. Stifled by our product driven, time crunched society, dreams have no place to flourish during the day.

save your shoes! use a condom!

Watching octomom on Entertainment Tonight last night (I know, I know, not exactly the most intellectual endeavor). But, driving to work this morning, and noticing how my fifties-esque dress made me look---shall we say, slightly pregnant--- I had a horrifying thought. What if I did accidentally have some type of extreme lapse of judgement and let some guy's spermazoid attach to one of my eggs? With my budget, paying for diapers, cribs, daycare, etc... would mean I would have to stop buying shoes. Sacré bleu! Thank the lord for modern contraception. Let's see what the catholic church has to say about using visualization as birth control. I bet they'd like it.

Just think, you're in the heat of the moment, and nobody has a condom. Then you think "Do I risk it? Do I risk losing it all? Those snakeskin booties, hot pink heels, thigh high patent boots, pewter croc platforms?" I think not. Is it worth the time he takes to get off (most guys average 3 minutes max), for a lifetime of fabulous shoes? Hells no. I'll take shoes over diapers any day.

a world of memories

I live in the world that I create. Does reality touch this world? It depends how you see it. What is reality? If the world I live in is real to me, real in that, the way I see it, it becomes my reality. So the old cliche "things are what you make of them" would be true. I can't control what people do to me, but I can control my reaction, my personal response to these things. More and more, I just let things go. I forgo lucid, vivid living for a dreamlike existence that sets me apart. Unengaged, aloof, I appear bored. Because, the day to day---that bores me. Worrying about the cost of gas. Who's writing the report, etc.. I don't really care. Worrying less amplifies the world I want to live in. The world I choose to live in. I know it's not real though. Things happen to me, but not really to me. My blank eyes take it in, and it's like a memory already. I live in memories, when more I want to live in the present. But when you live in your own reality, the present is what you want to see, and for me they are instant memories. Like dreams. It happens so fast, I don't know if it really did happen, and it's an instant memory. The way my mind has shaped reality, becomes what the present was. And the memory is something i can mould. I can choose when to remember, choose if it's important to me, choose to hold on or lose it.

the pariah and the butterfly

Marked by a look of sadness and loss, her dead eyes always seem to be staring into nothing. The thin veneer of optimism and sensitivity for others wears thin and the anger bubbling below becomes visible. Anger for the void she feels all of the time, waiting for something, someone to spark the flint that she believes is dead. Angry that nobody seems to want to or try to love her the way she needs---and angry that she needs this, that it eats at her and wears down the paint. The gloss is gone and the color is fading and it won’t be long until she fades into the background or burns to the ground.

Approach with caution, the pariah is volatile. One extreme to the other, she can’t seem to find her bearings, her emotions taking her further and further from herself.

In stark opposition: The butterfly. A beautiful creature, nothing seems to scar her, mark her as affected. She flits over the world, in reality, but it doesn’t seem to weigh on her as heavily as it does on the pariah. Memories last forever in the vault that the pariah has created in her head. The butterfly has the ability to forget, move on. The green monster grows as the pariah wishes to fly, but the vault weighs her down. She turns red, angry and wants to crush the beauty, the assuredness, the pure freedom that seems to bless the butterfly. And when she does; shows the butterfly her ugly face; scares her away for good, she instantly regrets it. Living without beauty, she no longer has any reprieve from the joy that the butterfly gave her. Just to watch her, so sure of herself, so free—should have been enough. But for the pariah, as much as she tries to avoid it, the void engulfs her, and nothing is ever enough.

scheduling spontaneity

"I'd do anything for you"
"I'm there for you, whatever, whenever"

Romantic statements. I believe my loved ones when they say this to me.

But what about those other times? You know, when you're sitting around and you just want someone to sit next to you, even if it's to comment on the ludicrousness of some reality TV show. Or to sit outside of a coffee shop with you and people watch, imagining the back story of every couple and family who passes by. Or to ramble around the city on a nice day, no destination in mind, stopping for a drink on a nice patio.

Our world is so scheduled and organized. We have to allot time for people, pencil them in. It leaves no room for that sunny day when you realize you just want your friend to hang out with you, or someone to just sit with you when you feel the world encroaching and you want someone to share it with.

Because the days are long, but the years are short. And looking back at some of my favorite moments, they were never penciled in my calendar.

mistaken heart

no longer young and naive, I try to keep it tucked in tight. inherently honest and trusting, I give a lot away. i mistook your words for the truth. i gave more than i should have.

we were there, in that place where everything looks like it fits just right. i imagined you fit right in, and projected the same was true for me in your life.

i feel foolish, like i was dancing around in my underwear, not a care in the world. sudden pain, bleeding feet, i hobble back. i see the scene with fresh eyes, and I still can't understand how the glass got there.

mistaken heart?

not on my part.

pause.

i work my leg around your torso and rest my arm over your shoulder. pause. i feel you around me. pause. i nuzzle your ear with my nose, licking it with my tongue. happiness doesn't feel like this. dreams do. slowly it's right. pause. your jaw line presents the path, i follow. slowly making your way to your mouth, I wonder if I'll get there, but it doesn't really matter. pause. i'm too happy to make up my mind about the next move. i'm intoxicated by the path. pause. your lips feel like i was never gone and never there at the same time. new but so comfortable. pause. if only the pause could last forever. but time slips. slowly but not. i pause. and know.