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.