Keep Your Memories Safe

We only met once, 3 years ago at the shittiest bar in Houston, Texas. Andrew sat at a table with the rest of his family and his new sister-in-law, my dear friend Rebecca. I sat and quickly introduced myself, not feeling for a moment self-conscious because they were the most inviting group of people I have ever encountered, and maybe that’s because they were british, but I digress. I sat next to Andrew, and soon we were enveloped in conversation; I attempted a weak English accent and we talked about the differences of life in the states vs life in England.

We were quick friends.

Andrew went home to England and I stayed stateside but it never mattered because in the thick of it all we corresponded. We’d catch up on occasion and he often waxed poetic about the fact that he never kissed me the first time we met. Oceans apart, I cared for Andrew the way I care for the people I see daily. 

Three days ago Andrew was killed in an auto-pedestrian accident on his way home from watching a football game. 

Today I am crushed, I am crying, and I am thinking about him. There are great injustices in this world and the loss of a person like Andrew is one of them. To the friends who knew him, his extended family, they lost someone who radiated joy and made life a blast, to his immediate family they lost a brother and a son and condolences seem like barely enough.

We are going to miss you, Andrew, all of us, everyone you ever spoke to and anyone who had the incredible fortune of meeting you. I’m sorry that I never gave you that kiss, and it seems that fate in all her cruelty will have us wait just a bit longer for it to happen, but I assure you that you are first on the list.

Sleep well, sweet Griff, at least you have your father to keep you company, I’ll see you soon enough.

xx 

Choose Your Own Adventure

9 months ago Tim broke up with me, and I reflect on that and think about what has changed since that day in March. I'm feeling vulnerable lately, not something I particularly favor feeling but something I cannot change; it's quite cold today.

I was awakened by building inspectors this morning, they knocked on my door with authority as I shot up out of bed and scrambled to find the nearest article of clothing that one could conceivably pass off as "pants". I answered the door with eyes still blurry making their best attempt at adjusting to the daylight that breached my patio doors "Hi! We're building inspectors, did you know we were coming?!" what in the literal fuck is happening right now? "No, sorry, please give me a few minutes to get my shit together, you can come in when I come to" said I to the Inspector. Hurried I picked up things from the floor, tied up trash bags and consolidated what mess I could gather, "good Lord, I'm not ready for this shit but hey, fuck it, whatever" and with that the Inspector entered.

He made his way around, flipping switches, checking the stove, judging me. "I'm just making sure everything is in working order" he said to which I could only reply "well, my AC is broken so if you don't mind mentioning that to my landlord that would be doing me a solid" he assured me that he'd mention it but added that it probably would not provoke my landlord into actually fixing it. The inspector checked the heater "does it ever really get warm in here?"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA...is that a real question?

 I looked at him and with a straight face I told him that between the huge gaps in the patio doors and high as fuck ceilings I was lucky if I could keep the temperature between 69-70 degrees. He used this little ray gun type device to check the temperature of the air blowing from the ducts "well, the heater only blows air that is about 70 degrees so there's no way it gets too warm in here".

No fucking shit.

Alas came the end of his tour and before his exit he opened the oven to reveal the fucking plastic cake plate that was in my oven, melting because he turned on the god damned oven before he walked all over my fucking apartment. "Uhhh. is that plastic?" he muttered "Don't touch that right now, it's hot as hell." Seriously, dude? For fucks sake, not only did you wake me up and proceed to jostle my life around but you melted my fucking cake plate and almost started a chemical fire?

Okay, cool.

I stepped outside and spoke to my landlord for like, a millisecond "hey, did you happen to leave me a copy of the new lease agreement?" you'v really done it now, Elle. "I'll bring it tomorrow; will you have the rent?" deafening 30 second pause "Yup, just need to go to the bank"


I don't have rent because I'm poor and can't really afford to live here anymore, so you know, your rent is always late.

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

happy new year I am losing my mind. 

If you're up there, Lord, please I could use a break right about now. Anything. Real estate market crash? New fabulous job that includes a benefits package and 65k a year? Armageddon? I'll take it all, man.


Also, if you're listening still, I'd like to fall in love again, you know, maybe for real this time? Or whatever, no big deal.

Okay, well, KIT, see you at temple. <3 p="">

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.