So I was going to do one of two things tonight:
1.) Post a blog about how important love is and use a bunch of lovey-dovey quotes that I've spent years collecting along with a bunch of pretty pictures about people's shadows holding hands and rant about how I still believe in love and that I'm not jaded or bitter about the fact that I'm single.
or...
2.) Post a blog about how stupid this Hallmark Holiday is and how it's stupid to focus on showing how much you love someone on one day as opposed to every other day of the year and how this is a scam on the part of greeting card companies, florists, and candymakers designed to make millions of dollars and make single people miserable.
BUT
Instead I'm knitting and reading fanfiction and eating Cheez-Its and letting myself be okay with my alone-ness. Because even without the over-use of hearts in the world today, this day really sucked. So I'll blog tomorrow.
Cheers,
Willow
Showing posts with label lust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lust. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Monday, October 17, 2011
"Promise"
I went home this weekend and - of course - my mother asked about the usual people, how they're doing, where their lives are headed, etc. I gave the standard answers, and in some instances (when she asks about people I no longer talk to, for example) just glared at her. In a good-natured way, of course. If that makes sense. Anyway.
On Saturday, I stopped by the house and we were doing laundry and talking about miscellaneous things (I know how to spell that without using spell-check: what now!?), and she turns to me and says,
"So Mark asked about you the other day."
Me: *Mark? Mark... Who the fuck is Mark? Mark, Mark, Mark....* "Who?"
Mom: "You know, the cutie at the bank."
Me: *Oh, GOD, stop! I don't want another relationship! Make it stop! ... He is super cute, though...* "Oh, really? Did he 'lose my number' again or is he just a chicken shit?"
Mom: "No! Well, I think he did actually lose your number and is just too shy to ask for it again -"
Me: "*snort*"
Mom" -- but I was telling him how you're back at school, and he commented on what a pretty campus it is and how he'd like to meet you there sometime for coffee or something."
Me: "What, does he want to transfer so he can ignore me at close range?"
Mom: "No, but I think it's worth a shot. Why not go curl your hair and put makeup on and come to the bank with me this afternoon?"
Me: "No. Because we both know he probably has a girlfriend and just wants a 'back-up plan.'"
Mom: "You might be right; he's way too cute to not have a girlfriend..."
Me: "Thanks, Mom."
Mom: "But he could be a good friend! God knows you're in desperate need of that. He could just be a nice person to get coffee with. He's such a nice boy, give it a try."
Me: "Mom. I don't want a boyfriend or any kind of "boy" "friend". I just want somebody to make-out with!"
Mom: "Well. I can't help you there."
Me; "Of course."
These kinds of moments always strike me. I mean, it's been over a year since R----- and I broke up. Okay, so I technically broke-up with him, but it was all his idea: I didn't have a choice. Since then, though, there've been so, so many moments like the one with my mother you just read. The very first was Brian. Oh, Brian... He basically looked like an angel - sang like one, too - but (as usual) he never called me back. After him was my first encounter with this Mark character by way of my mother's lovable meddling. Then there was Darren who came into the shop ALL the time and then disappeared one day... (I had nothing to do with that, in all honesty. No murderers here.) Then there was Riley at the Governor's Cup, David at my aunt's cottage, and now Mark again.
What I'm trying to say is that in the year or so that I've been in the shell-shocking state of singleness, I've been reminded more and more that I'm not "damaged goods." I'm young, (somewhat) pretty, (used to be) vivacious, (still) passionate, and (completely) driven. Nevermind that I've got one hell of a mental disease and all the social complexes that go with it, but what I mean is that I've still got life in me. It's like that song by The Rocket Summer:
On Saturday, I stopped by the house and we were doing laundry and talking about miscellaneous things (I know how to spell that without using spell-check: what now!?), and she turns to me and says,
"So Mark asked about you the other day."
Me: *Mark? Mark... Who the fuck is Mark? Mark, Mark, Mark....* "Who?"
Mom: "You know, the cutie at the bank."
Me: *Oh, GOD, stop! I don't want another relationship! Make it stop! ... He is super cute, though...* "Oh, really? Did he 'lose my number' again or is he just a chicken shit?"
Mom: "No! Well, I think he did actually lose your number and is just too shy to ask for it again -"
Me: "*snort*"
Mom" -- but I was telling him how you're back at school, and he commented on what a pretty campus it is and how he'd like to meet you there sometime for coffee or something."
Me: "What, does he want to transfer so he can ignore me at close range?"
Mom: "No, but I think it's worth a shot. Why not go curl your hair and put makeup on and come to the bank with me this afternoon?"
Me: "No. Because we both know he probably has a girlfriend and just wants a 'back-up plan.'"
Mom: "You might be right; he's way too cute to not have a girlfriend..."
Me: "Thanks, Mom."
Mom: "But he could be a good friend! God knows you're in desperate need of that. He could just be a nice person to get coffee with. He's such a nice boy, give it a try."
Me: "Mom. I don't want a boyfriend or any kind of "boy" "friend". I just want somebody to make-out with!"
Mom: "Well. I can't help you there."
Me; "Of course."
These kinds of moments always strike me. I mean, it's been over a year since R----- and I broke up. Okay, so I technically broke-up with him, but it was all his idea: I didn't have a choice. Since then, though, there've been so, so many moments like the one with my mother you just read. The very first was Brian. Oh, Brian... He basically looked like an angel - sang like one, too - but (as usual) he never called me back. After him was my first encounter with this Mark character by way of my mother's lovable meddling. Then there was Darren who came into the shop ALL the time and then disappeared one day... (I had nothing to do with that, in all honesty. No murderers here.) Then there was Riley at the Governor's Cup, David at my aunt's cottage, and now Mark again.
What I'm trying to say is that in the year or so that I've been in the shell-shocking state of singleness, I've been reminded more and more that I'm not "damaged goods." I'm young, (somewhat) pretty, (used to be) vivacious, (still) passionate, and (completely) driven. Nevermind that I've got one hell of a mental disease and all the social complexes that go with it, but what I mean is that I've still got life in me. It's like that song by The Rocket Summer:
"You've got so much love in you,
you've got so much love in you.
I'm amazed that I'm talking to you -
you look like the songs
that I've heard my whole life
coming true.
You've got so much love in you."
you've got so much love in you.
I'm amazed that I'm talking to you -
you look like the songs
that I've heard my whole life
coming true.
You've got so much love in you."
Right!? I've still got all this life and passion inside of me that one person didn't appreciate or deserve toward the end. So I need to start paying attention to the potentials that have... Promise. Like Mark. Maybe next weekend I'll curl my hair, put on my favorite dress and some red lipstick (which was finally returned to me by my aunt by way of my grandmother - thank you, Leslie!!!) and see if he'll live up to his promise. All of these situations birthed the beginning of a song (as yet unfinished) that kind of reminds me of every girl I've ever met.
We all daydream and wonder and fantasize about every guy we meet that has any kind of potential. We all wonder about the promise of what may or may not come next. I guess I should open myself up to it.
We all daydream and wonder and fantasize about every guy we meet that has any kind of potential. We all wonder about the promise of what may or may not come next. I guess I should open myself up to it.
"So baby how can't I want want want this?
When we've got so much promise..."
When we've got so much promise..."
I guess that's all for now. I should probably head to the library and get some work done.
Peace,
Willow
Peace,
Willow
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
That Old, Familiar Pain
C-------'s getting married a week from yesterday. I'll be there, front row, center, crying because I'll be so, so happy that she finally found someone who makes her as happy as she deserves to be - which is so, so happy. As someone who went through the ups and downs of relationships simultaneously and shared in her joys and heartaches, it is so refreshing and thrilling to see her with the one man who could ever come close to deserving her. I've seen how happy she's been in the last year; the change from how things used to be is beyond dramatic.
I know I blogged about this a while back, but my thought has been confirmed: everyone was betting that I'd be the first to tie the knot. Obviously it was still a few years down the road, but it was on a lot of people's minds that R------ and I would be heading down the aisle relatively soon. Instead, it's C-------. I promise I'm not bitter, truly. I'm just... A little bruised? Feeling foolish that I'm going to my dear friend's wedding not only unmarried but single and alone? I know I should be focusing on the fact that my dear friend has found true love at last and that I get to party with some of my besties in the party-est town in the country and we're gonna get trashed and have a blast and I am, really, I am. It's just sinking in that my life plan is still stubbornly stuck to the drawing board with nothing but dirty eraser marks on it while hers is beginning to fill with color and beautiful pictures my broken pencil doesn't even dream of drawing. That's an odd metaphor but it's exactly what it looks like at this point.
But I'm going to get on a train on Thursday afternoon and party with her for the last time on Friday night and we are all going to Vegas on Sunday and she's getting married on Monday and we are going to drink and dance and celebrate that two completely random people by total chance found each other and found their soul's true self in the other. And I couldn't be happier.
“Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being “in love”, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.”~ Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli's Mandolin
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Dreaming Infidelities
Of the many changes I've observed in myself since I left school and came home, the changes in my sleep have been the most disturbing. Not the fact that I sleep regularly, wake up regularly, or sleep at all even. What bothers me is the changes to my dreams.
It used to be that I would dream wild fantasy adventures for myself and my friends - running through forests with a band of rebels intent on seizing power, working for the CIA in a Hunger Games style competition, and so on in similar fashions. Every night, I was used to these adventures. And then I started taking the tiny white pills they insisted I take every morning, and thick round pills they insisted I take every night. My dreams have changed dramatically.
Now my dreams manifest my anxieties. The things I try not to worry about in the day haunt me at night, and I've found myself waking up in fear, only to breathe a heavy sigh of relief and crash once again onto my pillows, reminding myself that dreams are only dreams. I've dreamt before of a man I love walking with me down a street, then turning and leaving me behind while I stand in my perfect, white dress - my fear of abandonment.
I dreamt last night that after a one-night-stand, I feared I was pregnant, took three pregnancy tests and went to the doctor - all the results were positive. By the end of the dream I was running from the world, intent on hiding out and dying somewhere, alone. I'm not quite sure what the fear here is, aside from the obvious.
Most chilling of all, I dream quite frequently of going back to school, and being lost in what used to be my own home. Worse, I go back and no one remembers me, not my name, not who I was, not even that I even went there. This is fueled by my anxiety over going back to school at all.
On top of all this, it seems like almost every movie I watch involves a suicide. I wish Hollywood would stop making every single one look like an easy, spur of the moment decision, though. It always involves a plan. We always have a plan.
So think about that, Hollywood, next time you make a stupid movie about desperate adolescents.
It used to be that I would dream wild fantasy adventures for myself and my friends - running through forests with a band of rebels intent on seizing power, working for the CIA in a Hunger Games style competition, and so on in similar fashions. Every night, I was used to these adventures. And then I started taking the tiny white pills they insisted I take every morning, and thick round pills they insisted I take every night. My dreams have changed dramatically.
Now my dreams manifest my anxieties. The things I try not to worry about in the day haunt me at night, and I've found myself waking up in fear, only to breathe a heavy sigh of relief and crash once again onto my pillows, reminding myself that dreams are only dreams. I've dreamt before of a man I love walking with me down a street, then turning and leaving me behind while I stand in my perfect, white dress - my fear of abandonment.
I dreamt last night that after a one-night-stand, I feared I was pregnant, took three pregnancy tests and went to the doctor - all the results were positive. By the end of the dream I was running from the world, intent on hiding out and dying somewhere, alone. I'm not quite sure what the fear here is, aside from the obvious.
Most chilling of all, I dream quite frequently of going back to school, and being lost in what used to be my own home. Worse, I go back and no one remembers me, not my name, not who I was, not even that I even went there. This is fueled by my anxiety over going back to school at all.
On top of all this, it seems like almost every movie I watch involves a suicide. I wish Hollywood would stop making every single one look like an easy, spur of the moment decision, though. It always involves a plan. We always have a plan.
So think about that, Hollywood, next time you make a stupid movie about desperate adolescents.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Write One Leaf: "Lace & Chiffon"
I wrote this after walking past a Victoria's Secret and wondering what chiffon felt like. This is what happened...."Lace & Chiffon"
The fabric draped her body so delicately that it barely touched her skin and certainly didn't hide anything. She wore a silk dressing gown to keep her shoulders warm but did not bother with covering herself. She knew why I had come.
"Charlotte," I said. I knew it wasn't her real name, but it was the only one I knew. It tasted thick and heavy on my tongue.
"You must be Jane." She looked up at me from her crowded vanity table and rose to shake my hand. I ignored her in favor of wonder at the shiver of her nightclothes. They shifted and whispered against her soft, white skin so gently as she moved. It was in that moment that I came to hate her.
"So he told you my name, did he?" I tried to laugh but choked instead. "It's amazing you two ever even spoke at all. God, look at you." I gestured to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass and lithe limbs half-covered in the early light.
"Yes, he spoke of you often," she said, softly, as if I were a wounded animal. I suppose I was. "He told me so much I feel we could be - might be - great friends if you knew me as well." She smiled. I felt sick.
"Friends!?" I spluttered. "How could we be friends? You stole from me, you destroyed my life and everything I cherished. Everyone knows and I'm ashamed to show my face in public." I breathed in, swallowing the scent of her perfume and (surprisingly) clean sheets. The oxygen cleared my head so I could continue. "But you should be the ashamed one." I reached a hand into my purse.
"Jane," she began. "Jane, I'm so sorry. He should have told you sooner and had no right to let you find out the way he did. I never meant for you to get hurt, he said - "
"I don't want to hear what he said!" I screamed and pointed the gun at her perfect, shocked mouth. "Now, Charlotte," I said calmly. "I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't do the women of the world a service and kill you right now."
She walked to her nightstand and pulled a cigarette case from a drawer, then lit one with shaky hands. She looked at me for a moment, then let her robe cascade to the floor in a silken puddle leaving her dressed only in lace and chiffon.
"Because," she said, taking a drag, "if was just business between Dan and me and you know that; because he really loves you as much as you love him; and because if you kill me, you won't have anyone to hate but yourself for feeling the way that you do." Charlotte took two, fateful steps toward me, drifting in a cloud of smoke. "Because you're intoxicated by me, Jane, no matter how sick it makes you feel."
I dropped the gun and felt the shivery whisper and gentle brush of lace and chiffon drift past my skin, and I cried.
"Charlotte," I said. I knew it wasn't her real name, but it was the only one I knew. It tasted thick and heavy on my tongue.
"You must be Jane." She looked up at me from her crowded vanity table and rose to shake my hand. I ignored her in favor of wonder at the shiver of her nightclothes. They shifted and whispered against her soft, white skin so gently as she moved. It was in that moment that I came to hate her.
"So he told you my name, did he?" I tried to laugh but choked instead. "It's amazing you two ever even spoke at all. God, look at you." I gestured to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass and lithe limbs half-covered in the early light.
"Yes, he spoke of you often," she said, softly, as if I were a wounded animal. I suppose I was. "He told me so much I feel we could be - might be - great friends if you knew me as well." She smiled. I felt sick.
"Friends!?" I spluttered. "How could we be friends? You stole from me, you destroyed my life and everything I cherished. Everyone knows and I'm ashamed to show my face in public." I breathed in, swallowing the scent of her perfume and (surprisingly) clean sheets. The oxygen cleared my head so I could continue. "But you should be the ashamed one." I reached a hand into my purse.
"Jane," she began. "Jane, I'm so sorry. He should have told you sooner and had no right to let you find out the way he did. I never meant for you to get hurt, he said - "
"I don't want to hear what he said!" I screamed and pointed the gun at her perfect, shocked mouth. "Now, Charlotte," I said calmly. "I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't do the women of the world a service and kill you right now."
She walked to her nightstand and pulled a cigarette case from a drawer, then lit one with shaky hands. She looked at me for a moment, then let her robe cascade to the floor in a silken puddle leaving her dressed only in lace and chiffon.
"Because," she said, taking a drag, "if was just business between Dan and me and you know that; because he really loves you as much as you love him; and because if you kill me, you won't have anyone to hate but yourself for feeling the way that you do." Charlotte took two, fateful steps toward me, drifting in a cloud of smoke. "Because you're intoxicated by me, Jane, no matter how sick it makes you feel."
I dropped the gun and felt the shivery whisper and gentle brush of lace and chiffon drift past my skin, and I cried.
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