In Summation

January: I was dating Tim, we celebrated the new year with a small intimate gathering at my downtown loft and I felt like this would be a great year.

February: I wrote a poem to my boyfriend for valentine's day, we had dinner, and I felt loved.

March: Winter's bitterness stuck around and I felt a rift in time and space.

April: Spring's beauty was all but lost on me, I stayed in bed and let the time pass

May: I bought some plants in hopes of growing something, I vacuumed my apartment, I felt lost.

June: The summer's heat wore on me and my AC ran non stop

July: Electric bill exceeded 200 dollars and I began to wonder what in the fuck I was doing

August: New job, new love, hope regained momentum 

September: Not my favorite, but I met Matt and that was great.

October: Completely over it, but still trying

November: Many beards, not ready for love

December: Sitting in my dirty apartment, hanging with the cats, reminiscing on the high's and low's, shedding a few tears, and hoping for next year's kindness  

What did you do this year?

People are people

A few weeks ago at a meeting held by the committee of people who own Okra Charity Bar the establishment I work at was scrutinized for letting homeless people walk in and use the bathroom and or purchase things.

Its hard to address this ugly topic.

 Homelessness.

So I wont, but I'll tell you the result of the meeting was that we were no longer allowed to serve homeless patrons or let them use the facilities.

Okay.

Today a homeless man wandered into the cafe, looking up at the ceiling, then down at the floor, repeating this several times before he settled into the darkest corner table and sat. He smelled of unwashed clothing and his eyes were glassy and vacant, but neither of those things bothered me as much as what he was wearing.

It rained today, the bottom of the sky fell out and soon the cool winter air was back with a quickness.

I looked at the man, he wore a brilliant red t shirt, dark colored long shorts, and the only thing covering his feet were open-toed sandals; it is cold outside. I ran over to my apartment to grab an old coat returning quickly. I approached the man

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave, but this is a coat for you, it's cold outside so you can keep it, it's yours now"

I handed him the coat and a hot chocolate in a to-go cup and then asked him to leave.

I don't have the things I want, and I don't have the money I'd like to have, but I do have a coat to keep me warm and now so does the homeless man trying to keep warm on a cold and wet winter's night in Houston, Texas.

The Great Revise

Cleaned up my OkCupid profile today:

now I just have to wait for prince charming,

he should be here any minute.

Tonight, tonight

Downtown has a distinct chill about it this evening.  In the wake of things unjust and unfair, it's bustling with warm bodies and first dates...

And I'm at La Carafe like "dbl IPA please."

Style

I'm rereading Murakami's "South of the border,  West of the sun" and it's giving me really weird dreams about Japanese teenagers, it is also, however,  reminding me of why I love his books so much: style.

It's all about style.

I was upset to see that I had all but forgotten the contents of its pages,  but the first couple of pages down and soon I was in rural Japan and omniscient observer of the events unfolding letter by letter. The progression in this novel is quick, and before you know it you've reared a child into an adult bearing witness to first relationships and awkward sexual encounters.  And that's just he first four chapters. Murakami's use of specific diction is captivating,  harboring the perfect climate for forcing readers to engage their imagination.  It's mastery epitomized.

It's more interesting still to see that a book, sentences and ideas penned on paper in 1992, are excepted from age.  You could read this book 20 years from now and it would still (hopefully) evoke the same feelings that someone who read it 20 years prior experienced. Timelessness is not inherent but a skill developed painstakingly over countless revision, the indicative quality of a good writer. But that's my opinion.  While his work is likened more to contemporaries like Palanuik, he is unique in the respect that his narrator's perspective breaks away from motif of the "unreliable" concept of post mordenist authors. His characters are real,  relatable and suffer the human condition honestly.

I hope one day,  as my writing matures and I continue to refine my style and identity as a writer,  that I too will learn to captivate and engage in a similar manner.; I believe that I'm not alone in this respect, either that or I'm suffering from blind sense of unintentional hubris. 

Guess I've got time to figure that one out.

Lunch

Be jealous.

More often than not

There are days when I feel like I could conquer the world, there is no feat too small, no idea too grandiose; I'm unsure of how I feel about today.

Let me tell you about my weekend.

Saturday night was a typical in the best sense, the bar was alive with a familiar faces and I was enjoying being at my home away from home, Grand Prize. Darkwave 80's tracks satiated the crowds need to dance and created a sense of community that was the close-knit family of the upstairs bar; familiar melodies of eighties classics became the lasso that held our members together and time seemed to cease existing. Soon the hour of power approached but the feeling of influenced elation was quickly replaced with that of sirens, flashing lights, and an eerie sense of alarm.

Emergencies are the be all end all of character judgement, truly. Here I was,  Saturday night,  staring at the body of a boy who drew no breath and heart had arrest. The paramedics arrived promptly and without haste compressed and intubated,  feverishly working to revive the boy. 45 minutes into eternity and finally a faint pulse, a glimmer of hope for the angel - faced boy,  without haste he went to the hospital.

I prayed for the boy .

He was a slight 21 and I could tell by the looks of distress awash in a sea faces of inebriation and morbid curiosity that he was loved. Saturday night should have been Saturday night and nothing more. I pondered about the concept of mortal coil, for I had just witnessed it unfurl with the greatest ease. He waltzed through the door and bid for a drink,  unexceptional, but in between the mad dash before last call and the blaring jukebox,  he'd found his way into the photo booth to rest his head and quietly slip away.

I'd seen death before,  and as frantic as the environment became, the only emotion i could conjure was sympathy because i knew that he'd leave us and with his departure there'd be a void in the lives of those who remain. 4 am drew near and we (a fellow bartender and myself) sat in the waiting room of the ICU with his mother,  father,  and boyfriend recalling every detail, providing first hand accounts and phone numbers so that we could facilitate the gathering of information and attempt to piece together a timeline of events.

His poor mother.

I sat with her and while I could sense she was overwhelmed with emotion but inexplicably stoic and calm in her demeanor,  and i found myself in awe of her strength. He looked so much like his mother. I clasped her hand once more and without words I relayed that she need not hesitate to ask anything of us and took my leave.

More often than not we place great emphasis on the why of things but that seems inappropriate now,  perhaps that's a product of our pop culture saturated society, but to his friends and family they considered not why he was there but just that he was there and they wanted him to know that there was no judgement.

In the early hours of Monday he passed, surrounded by people who loved him.

What a week.

I suppose this is a good place to close, see you next week.

Phase 1

Today I got a number and this is what it felt like:

And the planets aligned

Things are looking up

Today, IRL

You guys, I have pneumonia and it fucking sucks, but now I'm really good at spelling "pneumonia" and will never again struggle with "is it 'pne' or 'pen'", it's "pne" stupid. I've been on antibiotics and bed rest for the last four days and its been nothing short of what-did-I-do-to-make-you-hate-me-lord? I also have not showered in what seems like eternity, but who's counting?

Let's get to the real, real, y'all.

As I perused the internets this afternoon I noticed a link from Slate.com; I subscribed to slate.com on facebook when I was dating my exboyfriend Tim, he enjoyed some of the articles on the website and I wanted to be able to talk to him about things I too had read. The headline for this piece read as followed "Dear Prudie: Help! I'm too embarrassed to tell people I go to Harvard!" and then the internet unraveled and fell on the floor and then my poor meatball rolled out of the door...

no wait, nvrm.

I sat there staring at my computer screen trying to make the words in the headline make any kind of sense but alas they did not. I went on to read the article (regrettably) and the gist of this piece was that a Harvard student felt alienated by other non-harvard-going students/peers for being accepted into one of the best schools in the country.

What in the actual fuck?

I must have read this person's sob story about 800 times and every time it became more and more like something you'd read on The Onion.

You are feeling alienated because you got into an amazing school and people around you are curious about how you got in, what you're studying, and their presumption of your intelligence? 

HOW DEBILITATING.

It perhaps would have been a more interesting read had the question been presented:

 "Dear Prudie: I am burdened with the incredible privilege of attending an Ivy league school but carry some inane feelings of guilt because my friends/peers/people in my general vicinity do not go to Harvard. Can you please give me tips on how to still tell people I go to Harvard but get them to leave it at that and create an air of  humility?"

If you do something awesome, like I don't know, go to Harvard, graduate from college, teach your cats to NOT PISS ON YOUR BED, then you should fucking tell the world man, fuck humility***!

Seriously, 9.9 times out of 10 people prod because they're curious and hey, you got accepted and currently attend a school that is notoriously difficult to get into, so yeah, you're 'cool' build a bridge and get the fuck over it, because you're a junior in college and the real world is waiting to eat you alive.

Next fucking question.





***Humility is actually a very important attribute and one should work hard to attain it, but in this instance it is nothing but smoke up a tail pipe. Like, for real.

Cheer up, Buttercup

It's a funny thing depression; I grew up thinking that I'd never struggle with it because I was a happy child and content adolescent. I never anticipated that I'd feel like I've been hit by a bus or drowned and resuscitated in a tortuous never ending loop, but maybe I was too naive to know better or in denial because well adjusted educated adults don't suffer this way, right?

 It's hitting me hard lately, and I've never felt this severe.

My body hurts all over, food is an afterthought, and on the days I don't work I struggle with leaving my bed. Before yesterday I hadn't showered in a week. I don't know what to do here. Admittedly there are so many people who struggle with this very same disease and in that respect I'm just like them, just like the rest, by no means special, but I am lucky in regards to having the friends and family that I do, the ones who can see that I am in "a place" and call to check in, invite me to dinner, give me a hug, and tell me that if I need to talk they're there to listen.

What do you say to someone who has no idea where you're coming from? How do you get them to see that you want to get better, you want to be happy, but you simply don't know how?

I am trying.

I've taken up skating again, although I'm quite critical of myself because my endurance and skills have decreased since my long hiatus, but I push anyway. I've gone to the gym a few times for long durations to try and focus on other things. I am writing more, applying for jobs at publications in hopes that I land my dream job and my life becomes the fairy tale I imagined as a girl. I'm browsing the dating websites, nothing serious, just a video game where I go back to 5th grade and I'm passing an internet note that reads "do you like me circle "yes" or "no". It's too soon to open up again, but I keep the faith.

Listening to a lot of indie rock lately- trying to cheer myself up, regain momentum, clean my fucking apartment because "squalor" is not a good look for anyone.

Brad has become this intrusive entity in my dreams; I can't stop recanting the moments where in between work and play there was a closeness, an intimacy that I found came easy. I'm saddened still that it's over, but I am proud of myself for being more honest this time- I was candid with the fact that I am insecure and that I need things that perhaps present themselves as a task that is not easily tackled, to care for a person who is suffering from an illness that renders them impossibly resigned.

Unfair perhaps.

I know better, I know there is a light at the end of this tunnel, and I know that there is help out there but I'm weary on this journey and I'm loosing speed. Gotta keep the faith, have to pray harder, have to see a therapist, need to get well.

Somethings gotta give, right?

Thanks for listening, smell ya later.

It's always darkest before the dawn

I am unsure of a lot of things, and I'm pretty scared to admit most things, but what I'm most afraid of is falling in love with someone who cannot stand to love me back.
,
Maybe I'm making up stories in my head, and maybe these scenarios don't actually exist, but I'm so out of control lately I can't tell which end is up and I just got pulled under a rapid. I find myself praying more, evoking the Lord, asking for his(her?) help. This is not the place for theological discussion; I'm just a girl who feels in over her head.

I just don't want it to be over yet, okay?

Playing Fast and Loose

I want to fall in love, and I want to do it with you.

Every day I'm floating further and further away, so close to the stratosphere and closer still to the sun and I'm afraid I'm going to get burned. It's a feeling of unbridled joy and impending doom, how is it that the human condition is capable of this, these multifaceted feelings? I'm 200 dollars in at the craps table in a seedy casino and I don't know the rules.

If anything else, I just want to be in your company and share a cheese plate.

I would love nothing more than to share my cheese with you, so let me do it.

And Therein Lies The Problem

I will admit that I am a jealous person, I always have been and I always will be. I am not perfect so I feel like it's okay to have a fault that so many other posses and while I struggle with keeping it under control, I think I do a pretty good job at not letting my jealousy get the best of me in a female-male dynamic.

I have been extremely jealous as of late.

There are a lot of factors playing into this feeling, for one, I haven't established a ground with my casual partner whom for this post and future posts I will refer to as "Mr. Kite", I should do this, I should have that conversation that I really don't want to have, I should come to terms with that fact that ultimately I cannot force him to not see other people, and I should understand that if he can't keep himself from sleeping with other women, no matter how much I like him, he is not the one for me and I'll have to do what's best for me and let it go.

So many grown up decisions.

I am insecure; I haven't skated for a while and that was always what kept my spirits high and made me feel valued and strong. I remember feeling insecure when my ex husband would go to the sports bar down the street from our apartment, and he'd ask me why I hated going there and I'd feel ashamed, sad, and angry all at the same time and reply "because, I don't look like those girls and I never will".  Tim did a lot of things for me, but I never felt was secure, and I know that when it comes down to it, feeling secure in a relationship is really important.

This realization has made me sad, and I cried for like, an hour last night.

Sometimes I see Mr. Kite and I feel great and I get full of a certain feeling, a certain "Je ne sais quoi" if you will; I tell myself to play it cool and pretend that I'm not totally stoked and he's there but then I'm an awkward idiot with two left hands when he's around and its tremendously e
mbarrassing. I looked at him and I knew that he was a ladies man and that if I were going to do this, I'd have to deal with that, what I didn't anticipate was actually enjoying the time we spent together which is really having a strange, adverse effect on my brain. Sometimes (always) he flirts with the cocktail waitresses which like, a month ago was no big deal, but now I have to really concentrate on not turning bright red with fury and she hulking out.

You guys, I'm really freaking out here.


Why, emotions?!

He was drunk the other night and he whispered something like "let's just keep doing what we're doing" which completely mindfucked me and I felt weird and clammy after that.

I've got to get a hold of myself here.

KEEP IT TOGETHER, ELLE.

Before you, after you

I need to remind myself more often that I can do it on my own and while it's nice to have a person there to back me up, I was here before them and I'll be here after them, God willing.

I just have to make it through to the end of this year.

My cat bit the shit out of my arm.

Goodnight.

505

It's 5:05 a.m. and the whole world is sleeping; I however, am desperately searching the inner sanctum of my brain trying to remember the things I learned in college to ensure that the rest of this blog entry is eloquently put.

My feet smell terrible; I either have to start wearing socks or purchase new shoes, also possibly stop working if that could be a thing where I do nothing but also somehow get paid for that.

It's been a while since I've updated so let me give you the rundown of how my trip to NYC went:

-I hung out with my best friend for 4 days straight
-I saw a handful of the best people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing
-I missed some people that I wanted to see, but I'll visit again soon
-We ate some badass food
-We drank from BKLN to LES, East Village to SoHo
-Got lost in Greenpoint at 5 a.m.
-Remembered what it was like to fall in love with a city
-Saw a Broadway show with James Fucking Franco
-Said Goodbye
-Sprinted through a terminal
-Stopped in Chicago
- Flew home to my cats

You guys, YOU GUYS, I really needed that. Leaving your problems behind is not how you fix things, but it helps a shit ton.

I haven't been with Tim in 3.5 months (+/- 2 weeks) and its okay. I sent my cake and I'm okay. I won't say that I don't harbor some real resentment towards him because I do, but I'm just not that big of a person and I never claimed to be.

3 really is the magic number, y'all.

The more I think about my relationship with Tim, the more I realized that our relationship was based on my ertocised vision of this person who possessed what I believed I wanted in a partner. I was looking for the qualities I'd found in men I'd dated before; Tim was my type: tall, thin, and disaffected, and it's funny that you only notice that all of these attributes were a-typical of the failures of relationships past.


 I am a young hispanic female and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. 

I've recovered and I am content.

Now comes the nitty gritty, the thing you'll judge me for, and the reason for your exaggerated sigh:

*I am seeing someone now. 

*if you count weekly casual encounters + lunches/dinners as dating; I'll need his conformation on this one. 

I am often amazed that I've made it this far because when it comes to feelings one-on-one I am bad about sharing them. I find myself currently in this kerfluffle if you will, with this gentleman person because I don't know how to approach uncomfortable topics of conversation without behaving like a love sick 4 year old.

I'VE GOT KINDERGARTEN EMOTIONS AND I'M UNABLE TO SHARE THEM WITH OTHERS IN A MANNER THAT MAKES FUCKING SENSE.

You see the problem here is that I've allowed myself to become involved with a person, a beautiful, exceptional person.

Did you see that?! FEELINGS?!

!!!!!!!!!!!????

I don't know how to have that awkward conversation where you tell your casual partner that you're "batshit crazy" and hope that he can "see passed that and entertain the idea of exclusivity" without "any pressure". I guess I just really kind of like this guy and like, if he fucks someone else I'm gonna be real pissed off.

I might be jumping the gun here, shit, if he still wants to share a bed with me after this week then we'll consider it progress because my cat attacked him and he got cellulitis and it was his birthday.

Ok, here's a picture, I don't know if any of this made sense.

Bye.

Culture Shock

It was 5 a.m. and a sleepy downtown Houston was all but rid of the trash that appears every night at 2 a.m. from the bar's that line Main Street. I walked to El Big Bad; El Big Bad is a "gastrocantina"- it's a tequila bar with a focus on house made infusions and a small but diverse Tex-Mex menu. Dressed in a polkadot sundress and black flats, eyes still red from lack of a good night's rest; we gathered inside the spot we'd only left a few lazy hours before to shoot a promotion for a local t.v. station. A group of 10 lured here in the wee hours on the promise of free food, a bottle of tequila, and a Cocktail Kingdom "starter kit" a $60.00 value, we are apparently a cheap bunch. 

It was May 5th, which doesn't mean a ton to a lot of people, but in the name of alcohol consumption, society will appropriate entire cultures for the sake of a "significant holiday" to "celebrate" that is devise an excuse to drink into oblivion on a weekday . (e.g.: Cinco De Mayo, St. Patricks Day)

There was a Mariachi band hired to play music in the background; they arrived, set up in the corner of the restaurant, and began to warm up, much like an orchestra before a performance.

I sat in a stool at the bar, saying nothing when the violinist began to play Eine Kleine Nachtmusik: Allegro by Mozart. My ears sprinted with delight, anticipating every note that followed, my little heart in synch with his bow; I remembered what the sheet music for the piece looked like, how the fingers should be placed on the strings, vibrating back in forth with quick, sharp movements making the sound rich and heavy. 

He stopped as suddenly as he started and I began to ponder and I became troubled by my thoughts.

Why did I decide that because he was from Mexico that he'd not have an appreciation for classical music? I was completely distraught. I sat and contemplated this well into the morning; is this discreditation of my own people my own fault? Is there something I'm not seeing?

My father attended university in Mexico and earned a degree in Anthropology; he's a music teacher at an inner city elementary school and taught me so much about the art and music I love so much as an adult, still I found myself confounded that history classes taught in the schools I attended failed to teach me anything outside of cinco de mayo when talking specifically about Mexican history or influence. 

I began to study more closely the accomplishments of Mexican or Mexican/American classical musicians; I found myself with this idea that as a Mexican American child growing up in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood the socioeconomic status of my family and the families around me had created this impenetrable bubble where the primary focus wasn't art but family, religion, and hard work; lucky for me my parents were educators and instilled in me early on that there was in fact, a world outside of our homogenous unit. I researched further and expanded my argument, it wasn't just my people, it was everyone who didn't fall under the WASP classification.

I had not until that very moment realized how profound an impact my little neighborhood had on me. There is this slight feeling of resentment toward the school district that allowed this ideology to seep into the school and influence the curriculum. The children we grew up to be were initially afforded two paths; you could aspire to be an artist, to love music or the written word and accept that you'll struggle in poverty for the rest of your life, or you can decide now that you'll leave here, complete the necessary courses and get a job to help your family then start a family of your own like so many of our parents had done. It wasn't until high school that many of us knew that we could go to college, or that those paths presented to us early on weren't the only ones that existed.

I'll preface this with the fact that there is no right or wrong here; we are all instilled with the ideals we were raised with; a strong work ethic and an appreciation for a tight knit family are admirable and desirable qualities so in this there is no fault. I am saying however, that I felt that those very ideas were carried over to the schools we attended and further emphasised, curtailing the length of our educational scope focusing on passing standardize testing and letting liberal arts fall by the wayside, because in the end, you were as smart as your test score dictated and predetermined what you'd do later (Housewife? Mechanic?).

Intelligence is not measured by test scores but by curiosity; if you can add 1 +1 and come to 2 then you're half way right, the instrument of measure here is not  a correct answer but asking "why is it 2?" 

As I made my way through grade school and into high school we moved away from the area that was slowly gentrifying around us and I transferred to a new school in a neighborhood like the one we moved away from, only slightly different. It was at that school that I began to understand that liberal arts was a viable choice, one that I enjoyed and excelled in. Things at this school were different, we were an inner city school located in the heart of a middle class neighborhood whose student demographic ranged from impoverished to upper middle class. I met people who were first generation American's whom had created this unique identity; they were still the kids their parents raised with a focus on family and religion, but they were also people who'd decided that they were going to be artists, lawyers, physicists, for no other reason than being genuinely interested in the subject. Here we were a generation divided.

Here I am now, a girl and a laptop; i suppose then at this point that it isn't just the educational system, or the socioeconomic status of the people around you but rather culture as a whole. Western culture, anglo culture, the best culture in the world; for all their allotments in regards to other culture's achievements has failed to recognize the important accomplishments of those particular people rather acknowledging a select few events that American culture deem relevant. 

I once worried about the future; not so much mine, but the future of us, but I know that the kids I went to school with were the one's who broke free from their cultural restraints to become the minority children who succeeded and joined me in art school and claimed titles such as "valedictorian", "doctor", "professor" and so on. Our parents unknowingly waged a war on art but we proved to have the strength in numbers to claim victory.

Bohemian Like You

I had this dream last night where I was being chased by a group of Dementors and when I finally cast my patronus it was a hot dog; it was really weird and it woke me up.

It was 5:30 a.m. so I decided that I'd start working instead of attempting to fall back asleep. I just started a new job as the beverage director at a popular establishment in midtown Houston and I'm pretty eager to assert myself in this position, so away I typed on my laptop. I wrote 864 words before 6:30 a.m. and I was far from done, but it's nice to have something to focus on aside from my shitty broken heart. I know its getting old and you're tired of reading about it.

I've been going at this whole management position with unbridled fever, so I'm on the upside of anger for the most part. 

A few nights ago I lapsed a bit; after a long hard day I came home and started fucking around on the internet, because every stupid fucking purchase I make happens under the influence of  a whiskey or two on the rocks. Like, a month prior to my breakup I purchased a cake sampler from Momofuku Milk Bar in New York City, because it was my favorite comfort bakery in all of the city and I wanted Tim to have something special for Valentines Day. It arrived to my mothers house and sat in the freezer so that it would be good when I finally had the chance to give it to Tim. It sat and sat, time passing because our lives had become bogged down with work and extracurricular bullshit. Then Tim broke up with me and the world exploded. I ate the cake sampler. All of it. Every morsel consumed between hot tears and episodes of House M.D. I felt like a recovering addict, relapsing on a three day bender. All the lows were felt.

I stared at the website, every neuron firing simultaneously and dancing with the sweet burbon coursing through my blood, riding high on that whiskey horse. I stared a bit more, and then I decided that I'd do what I wanted to do initially and send it to Tim, because rational thinking is not a thing in my life. I input the payment information with care, proofreading the credit card number, the address, the date of delivery. Two more clicks and boom, off to the interwebular tangle of information my order was sent.

That cake sampler is not fucking cheap.

I woke in the morning a bit hazy. I leave for New York in two days and I'm what one would call "strapped for cash". I lay and reflect: what's the worse that can happen? He throws it away? He hates me for sending him cake? Like, please.

I forget what the note said verbatim but I remember including "please never date someone cooler than I am. Love from 1636 miles away"

Back to the present.

Tim went on a river trip- I only know this because I saw some photos he was tagged in by a mutual friend. I saw the photos and my first thought was "where are his glasses?" then "he's wearing shorts." and finally "he's smiling." I thought about it for a minute; in January we'd spent time at Hamilton pool and dreamed up plans for the summer, a summer where everything was good and we were happy.  My heart began to ache. I watched a video where he was standing in the middle of a lake and plopped into the water in a pseudo baptism. I cried for a few minutes.

He'll probably never eat the cake.

Thank God for my job, it keeps me busy and I enjoy it thus far. I'll talk to you guys when I'm done healing up in NYC, and I'll have some fun shit to share with you.

Thanks for listening, stay cool.

Sight For Sore Eyes

I spent this morning on a good note; I woke early, showered, prepared breakfast, and watched a documentary on Netflix. In the history of good starts from 1 to 10, I'd say this was like, I dunno, a strong 8. 
I applied for a job at Gawker today, totally rad. I'm not sure if they'll even take a look at me but I'll share the email I sent them with you:

 Attached is a resume, a photo of a cat, and a link to my current blog where you will find all the writing samples you could ever want. I would love the opportunity to work for a publication in which I could utilize my liberal arts degree and finally confirm that the thousands of dollars spent on formal education was in fact not all for naught. Should you decide to pass on me, no hard feelings, but I pray thee finds me at the very least a serious contender.

Best regards,

Elle Kay

Attached was this photo

Tabby Cat is Tabby

I don't know what'll happen, but I've got to keep trying.

As the day wore on, the air thickened with moisture and the sky greyed, a prototypical omen of omens.

I was on my way to work when I spotted Tim sitting outside the bar he works at smoking a cigarette and talking to a girl I'd recognized for the last time he and I had spoken. I could feel the ball of ice in my stomach reach critical temperature, I was growing increasingly unstable, and my mother rambled on, and on making me beyond nauseous. This girl in the black skirt and the black shirt with brunette hair liked Tim and I could see that he too was at least quasi-interested (mind you this was like, a mere 35 second observation). I want to kill her, and all the other "her's" that might look his way, but especially her.

I tried my best to maintain composure, attempting to subdue the tremendous fire of jealousy and unabashed full on ire, and it worked for approximately 10 minutes. I found my way to work, walked into the backroom, sat on an empty cooler, and began to sob. I shook with fury and the thoughts flooded:

How could he move on so soon? Why does he not love me? What did I do to ruin this? Why did he forget about me? 

I thought about how I'd visit him at work before we dated and I wondered if she was doing what I'd done only 6 months prior. Perhaps this girl and I weren't so different. I proceeded to do the most asinine thing one could do in a situation like this and had a full blown text message breakdown. 

i divulged every emotion as it simultaneously ran through my entire body, I voiced the anger I feel, because to say "felt" would suggest that I am not angry anymore and that just isn't so,  not my finest moment. I finished with this

I guess I'm just not ready

And I know this to be true, but I also know that time heals all wounds, but it just does it excruciatingly slow. 

Whatever, time. 

I'll stop talking about this soon, but I'm still not over it and I need to say the things in my head lest I act foolishly.

God help me see this through.

Ok Stupid

Tonight I went on a date with a guy I met via OkCupid, and while I anticipated something close to the 10th circle of hell, it was actually pretty great.

I ran into Tim, he ignored me, I died a little, and that was the end of that.

We had a few beers, I drank a topo chico.

My date did not get to come upstairs because I can't imagine being close to anyone just yet but at least I know that I can get back on the horse that tried to kill me.

Poor guy was so bummed.

My neighbor is drunk and asleep on the couch in the foyer;

and I still miss Tim and my heart is still broken.

Waning Moon

The First Time I Met You

Our Relationship (I remember you saying you played a show with them and it made me like you like, 100 times more)

Happy Together

Making fun of Everyone Else

In and Out of Love

It's really over, isn't it?

Smell ya later

Crimson Surfing

This post is going to be...graphic-ish.

I started my menstrual cycle today, and while it's not my very first, it is my first in a long time.

I sat in the bathroom this morning and coming to that realization I felt two things: inconceivable joy and unrelenting sadness. I cried. Women menstruate, it's generally unspectacular and life goes on, but then when it's gone- your body is different and it's telling you the only way it ever could; it was the most painful period I've ever had. 

Enough about periods.

I thought about the film "Her" today; I saw it with Tim in theatres a few months ago. I remember feeling like sand and sunshine when the film began, positrons teeming with energy, and as the story progressed I changed from a brilliant star to a red dwarf, a dying star, and before the supernova something spectacular happened and saved the world from being swallowed up by space, yes, this is how the film made me feel. I don't think I stayed with Tim that evening, because I remember him sending me a few texts that made me feel...secure. I couldn't tell you now verbatim what he wrote, but I distinctly remember him saying that the film was an inspiration for us both to be better partners to/for each other. I remember thinking that I only ever wanted to be a good partner for Tim, because for the first time I didn't feel like I was getting the short end of the stick.

I try sometimes to engage him in conversation, even though every website/self help program insists on a 30 days no contact clause that I'm a week short of. I cannot help myself sometimes, because I really miss him. I don't understand why it's so difficult to just be honest with people, why should there be repercussions for telling people the truth? The texting is sporadic and everytime he responds it feels so cold, often mechanic, and it draws me back to all the questions that keep me up. I wonder how he feels?

I have these flashes of austere non reality- unpleasant thing's that haven't happened; I imagine Tim dating someone else. It has been the salt on my wound. Please, don't ever let him date anyone cooler than I am. I cannot handle something like that.

Please make sure she is obese and has weird body hair, and please let every single one of his friends hate her.

Tonight I remembered when he had too much to drink after hours at work, I stayed with him while he closed ; he was wearing his then-new pearl snap shirt he'd purchased at the levi's store. He fervently washed glasses and I sat and watched; he commented on how warm it was inside the building and before I knew it he'd taken off his shirt and continued to wash.

I started a new job recently and tonight was unkind to me; so many lost drinks, so many tickets, so little cocktails learned, I was a complete greenhorn tonight. 

Major sad face :(

I'll leave you with this song, that gives me hope and I'm going to hit the sheets tonight and pray, like I've been praying, and I hope the powers that be hear me. 

Today

Today was great. I had a great day.

The only thing in the entire universe that could make today better is a hug from Tim. I miss Tim's hugs. 

Also, $2,000,000,000. I wish I had $2,000,000,000.

As Tears Go By

It's the last* cold snap of the season which means two things: today is miserable, and April is now a winter month.

*there is no substantiating evidence to back up this claim and I am not a meteorologist 

I really thought that by this time I'd feel better, have more energy, and just be on an upward swing but instead I feel like I'm drowning; I seriously don't know what to do. I had lunch with a friend of mine who I rarely get to spend time with but genuinely enjoy; we talked about what our lives have been like lately, what's changed, our post trauma goals. We finished lunch and I headed to the mall with my best friend and then it started to hit me; I felt this enormous wave of despair overwhelm me.

We sat in the car, joked, talked, laughed but it was hard for me not to sit there and just explode. I just needed to unload, but I knew that this wasn't the time for that and even though she's the only person I can be around that often, I needed to go home. It took everything inside of me to not  immediately begin to cry and tell her that I feel like nothing is getting better and that everything is getting worse.

I know now what genuine depression feels like.


One month ago I had a medical procedure done that left me feeling entirely empty, two weeks later my boyfriend broke up with me without warning, and one week ago I was fired from my job because I was too sad.

I have these dreams where it's not so bad and Tim is there and we're sitting in his living room and he looks up at me from his couch and he sees me the way he used to.

God help me

If anyone is listening, please, please help me because I have never felt this lost before in my entire life. I cry all the time, I sleep as often as I can, and I cannot find relief from this horrible state of being. I am completely lost.

Memory Lane

You guys, I know all of you are super stoked about Game of Thrones and what not but something monumental happened when we were sleeping- Netflix released all the seasons of House. In light of this holiday, I proceeded to watch House at 7 a.m. because my body hates sleeping and by extension my happiness.

Today was exceptionally beautiful, warm air and sweet wind swept through the city and it was the most perfect day in Houston history. All beauty aside, it's hard to acknowledge when you're still nursing a broken heart but I'm keeping my day's busy and it's helping a bit.

In the previous post I talked about my self help program and the homework I was assigned in order to achieve the results I'm seeking. I opened module 6 today and it was nestled in between "take a stark look at yourself" and "think of a fond memory of your previous relationship and try not to cry" so naturally I proceeded to read through the rest of the module and cry like a baby. Even though the tears were steady and warm I believe that as the day wore on and the words mulled though every center of my brain, progress was a'brewin.

In a brief summary the module instructed that I think about my favorite memory of my relationship with Tim. I sat and pondered, running through the list of all the things we'd done together, every detail I could conjure up, and I narrowed it down to the one. So, here we go.

Tim and I traveled to Austin earlier this year because I was participating in a wonderful event called Speed Rack; we stayed with his favorite aunt which in turn made me feel very close to him because I was beginning to understand more of what his family was like and how it made him the person he is. On our second day of vacation we woke early and traveled to Hamilton Pool, it was cool but sunny and as we arrived I felt grateful that I got to share this moment with someone so special.

We walked down the trail, examining different parts of the tributary that fed into the pool, watching small rapids, skipping rocks, looking for fish, pointing out stagnant zones in the otherwise alive river and then we we're welcomed to a place where time didn't matter and mother nature surely vacations. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. I'd never known perfection until that very moment. We ventured under the rock face where the water poured over us but never touching our bodies, making our way around. I thought about summer, and how I was sure that we'd come back when it was warm and swim in the pool that God made just for young lovers like us. I watched Tim traverse the rocks ahead of me in shoes that didn't belong in this terrain but his feet still diligently exploring as the rest of his body followed.

This is the rock Tim slid off of

We arrived at the midpoint on the underside of the rock and then much like a Charlie Chaplin skit where he topples over, Tim lost his footing and slid down the rock beneath him. He looked like a log rolling down a hill, and as he got back to his feet with a "watch out that's really slippery" , I could only laugh.That laugh is my favorite of all the laughs we ever shared.

I sat in bed earlier, prepping for sleep, and then it rushed over me and I cried because I miss him but then after a moment I remembered his little tumble, the way he looked, and that laugh and it made me smile. Even as I write, I'm laughing and maybe it means I'm getting better, maybe that's a sign of progress, whatever it is, it feels nice to forget about how sad I've been.

It's been 14 days since I saw him last but tonight he made me laugh.

Everything was beautiful

April Showers

I can't tell if it's the weather or the fact that I've had 5 hours of sleep in the last 2 days, but today I feel exceptionally shitty. It's a bit cool outside and the rain, although light, has been steady- it's the kind of weather you feel like when you're having a terrible day. Just bottoms.

After Tim broke up with me (like, 2 weeks ago) I entered a self-help program because I felt like a loser and I felt stuck, unable to single out a reason for our break up and then thinking about my relationships before him and why they were failures. As most of you know, I split up with my now ex husband a little more than two years ago (which means this blog is in need of a birthday party!) and it's been a really weird ride, but after a year of drowning my problems in whiskey and food, I feel like I'm finally past the resentment stage of divorce. Don't get me wrong,  I will always remember the hurt that he caused, the mess he made, and how he left me with nothing, but when I think about it now, I don't get angry the way I used to.

Moving forward, I joined this self-help program on the strong recommendation of a friend because I am bad at relationships(?). I always get dumped, like, always, you guys know, just scroll through the archives and examine the evidence; I don't know what it is about me but men like me and then like fucking clockwork they wake up and are like " well, thanks for the ride, it was cool". I. Don't. Fucking. Get. It. Anyway, it's a *30 day program that "forces you to take a good look at the reasons for failed relationships" all the while "training you to appreciate and acknowledge who you are and all the wonderful things about you". I know it sounds, well, pathetic, but you guys, I am grasping at fucking straws here and I'll do just about anything to get me out of "this" whatever "this" is.

2 Sundays and 5 completed program modules later, I'm not 100 percent convinced, but I'm trying to be positive and stick with it. There's a lot of "homework" that comes along with the modules which usually look like worksheets with 3 to 5 questions on them whose questions are designed to make you examine and analyze your recently failed relationship and what role you played in "getting dumped". This is where I'm left looking for the bread trail; events, idiosyncrasies, lack of mutual understanding, bad clothes, dirty hair, body odor, but nothing stands out immediately which is making this all that much more difficult; what now? All I know for sure is that despite everything, all the anger, hurt, and feeling of absolute despair, deep down inside of my fleshy exterior, all red and hot, I really miss Tim.

I'm going to see this program through, because I spent 50 dollars on it and I need a little boost of self-esteem, and I'll hope that somewhere deep down inside of Tim, there is something sandwiched between the day we met and the day he broke up with me that he misses, even if it's just a little, even if it's every now and again.


* I can't tell you the name of the program because I will absolutely die from embarrassment also because I haven't completed it  and if it turns out to be a bunch of hooey I'd hate you to spend 50 dollars on some complete tripe

A Completely Serious Prayer

Dear God,

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please help me out here; I cannot go back to online dating. I don't have any intention of going out on a date just yet, but when it happens, please let it be with someone who is a real person that I've met. I'm not sure if you're privy to the nightmarish reality of online dating, but rest assured, it is the seventh circle of hell. Everytime I reactivate my old OKCupid profile I am reminded that even if I "like" them I genuinely already hate them. I swipe through so many profiles, always to the left, always "no", and it's weird because in the back of my mind I want all of them to be Tim. I don't want to date other people, I want to date Tim. Please help me, O Lord, because I'm really feeling some serious neglect. Furthermore, I'd like to talk to you about these stomach aches I have, they're really awful and they've been a real nuisance lately. I'm almost done, but if you could help me sleep a little better so I'm not always such a grump that would be cool too, but if I have to pick and choose I'd like it way more if you could help me procure that job in  Manhattan so that I can get away from here. Here is painful and sad and I really just want to go back home now. Finally, if you could help me not be so pathetic that would be way rad. Send me a sign that it's going to be alright, because I'm losing steam fast and I could really used a boost.

Amen. <3




Alright I lied, this is the last thing, if you could make breakfast magically appear that would be the ultimate gift. I mean really, just tops.

Of Sailing The Sea and Seeing The Stars

Today was hard and unhappy, and I'm still reeling.

I thought about the first time I met you, it was a Sunday and I was walking around my new neighborhood and happened upon a friend outside your bar. I thought about the first time you kissed me, wedged in between my doorway with the sun out and the street busy. I thought about our first date, and when you kissed me on the roof of the building next door to my apartment. I thought about the last time I saw you, different from any other time I ever looked at you. And tonight, or this morning rather, I'll dream about you, and I'll say all the things I didn't say when I wanted to.One day you'll be just like the others, a pleasant thought, a favorite food, a fragrant flower- an object familiar. I won't dream of you forever, or maybe I will, I don't know for sure, but at least for now I'll make it sweet and when I wake I'll pinch myself.

Down In The Dumps

Yesterday evening my boyfriend of roughly 5 months broke up with me and it was the suckiest Monday in the history of the world.

Today I vowed not to wallow in my sadness, and while it hasn't been the raging success I envisioned, it was .005 percent less horrible than yesterday.

In literary terms its referred to as foreshadowing, but what do you call that ominous feeling that looms over what you're sure to be a dark month? He had changed, he no longer cuddled me when we slept, his touches were less tender, and when he spoke to me his words were colder. It wasn't a clean break, certainly not swift and in the end I'm left with more questions than I feel I can handle, at least right now, but I am trying my best. I feel shafted. He sat at the end of my bed and made small talk:
"Did you get new bed sheets?" , "How was your weekend?" it was as if he'd never met me, some stranger forcing him to engage in conversation. I stayed relatively quiet, because I knew that it was coming to an end, and although I had prepared for it for the last week I was still caught off guard by his simple words.

"I came here today to tell you that I don't think we should see each other anymore" (simultaneously inserting a double serrated edge dagger into my already bleeding heart)

My heart sank, my stomach froze, and my eyes welled. "I haven't been happy for a month"(twisting the dagger, delivering the death blow) he went on "I thought maybe it was just me or something but I don't think that it is" (at this point I was imploding and I no longer could think straight so the last quote is a summation of what I believe he said). I swear I could feel the universe collapsing.

Now, there is a back story here, and while I cannot share it, I will tell you that the preface to the week that lead to this blog post was what one would consider a "doozie". I sat there before him and cried, because when you lose someone you love, crying is completely appropriate. I tried my best to look at him and I began "why did you wait so long?" I was awash in what felt like thick ash and acid rain- my mind raced and just as quickly as I was distraught I was also infuriated. With all the time that we shared I feel as if I was robbed of an ending that suited the story of us. So little was said and in my blindness I let him leave with "Good bye, Julie".

I felt defeated right then and today I feel just as bad, but writing is helping. Maybe it's helping? Last night I left him a message that in so many words told him that I just tried to be a good girlfriend and that he matters to me and that I care for him so profoundly.

I don't know what's going to happen, but for now I'll be sad and I'll post the love letter that I wrote to him but never sent.

On this day before the day before Valentines Day

This is my Valentine's Day gift to my boyfriend, Tim.

Roses are red, Violets are blue
I'm 5'3 and You're 6'2
thanks for the kisses, the hugs, and the holds
thanks for the squeezes you give when I'm cold

Here's to the first Valentine's Day we will share
not on the 14th but the 12th day in Février

Here's to the memories I hope you will keep
so near to your heart, down, inside, deep

And last here's this poem, I penned just for you
 So try to be nice, I struggled straight trough

I stumbled on meter, on rhythm, and prose
but it came from the heart, and I know that it knows
what's said best, on paper or verse
what comes out these lips, all pink with slight purse

Happiest of all women that is to say,
I couldn't be luckier this valentine's day

Petite Narative

I remember the time that I died; I lay prostrate on the pavement in the front of an auto shop on one of the coldest nights of the year. It happened quickly and although the timing was imperfect and the scenario seemed surreal, I remember that it didn't hurt- or perhaps it did but my heightened senses refused to let me experience what I had come to know as pain. I can only recall one other time that I was injured in a manner that others would consider grave but that I was unable to experience the extent of those injuries; I was 18 and had just been hit by a pick up truck on my motorcycle. Life is funny like that.

As I lay there on that cold pavement succumbing to my injuries I felt a wave of fear overcome my conscious, then I began to sympathise with my attacker; he must have been desperate, right? I grew colder, and the fear subsided and was replaced with serenity and then the most bizarre thing happened, I had forgotten I was dying and could only think about the inconvenience of being outside on the coldest night of the year to date. I mean, I was beyond irate that my assailant couldn't have killed me in a more convenient, at least for me, place.  

I swear to God that I must've been dying for over an hour, but time seems to register more slowly as you become one with the universe and slip into the bigger picture of ions and atoms and all things quantum. From the time my boyfriend scurried back to the car to grab his pack of cigarettes to the time I fell to the floor spilling what seemed to be quart after quart of precious hemoglobin, it couldn't have been more than two tangible minutes.

The discovery of my body made by my boyfriend was perplexing; he wore this mask I'd never seen before- it was all the emotions he'd never shared with me, or perhaps, never got the chance to, showing themselves to me and I felt uneasy because I couldn't console him properly. His mouth opened wide and he began to speak, maybe yell, I couldn't really comprehend at this point because I was too involved with what was going on with me to pay mind to him; tears began to roll down his face and it was at this moment that I knew I was going away.

I had recalled a conversation I had with an ex-lover of mine long past, we'd spoken of the moment of death and I'd divulged that the thought of death had frightened me, but his reply resonated with me at this moment "it's nothing to fear because you die and then its over" and he was right.

Drifting still, I returned back to the scene, my death, and noticed that my mate was pleading with me to hold on, to stay, and as he held my hand I remember how irritated I was that he was asking for a lot of me when he knew I couldn't deliver. What a jerk.

I really wanted to sit up. I tried to sit up, but god damnit I just couldn't talk to the rest of my body. It was fucking cold out there and so before I decided to take a nap, I looked up at my boyfriend and I told him, that it was cool, "like, it doesn't hurt or anything" and then he just stopped and so did I.