Sunday

I took a long look at the glass in front of me. We were sitting at the bar in a small, dingy, ovecrowded pub. I was about halfway through my second drink. We still hadn't said much. I was still surprised to have run into him, across the continent and in a completely different city, completely unprepared to see someone from my past. I hadn't recognized him at first: his hair was really short, he had gotten rid of his horn-rhymmed glasses and he was clean-shaven. His attire was different, too. Instead of the characteristic ripped skinny jeans and the second-hand leather jacket with patches sewn sloppily on, he was wearing straight-cut blue Levi's and a long sleeved black shirt. He was sitting on a table, his feet resting lightly on the benches. He was leaning forward slightly, holding a sketchpad in his right hand and a charcoal pencil in his left, concentrating on the old brick building in front of him. I gave him a quick glance, smiling. He looked up from his work and smiled back at me. Suddenly, he looked familiar, but I coudn't pinpoint where I knew him from so I just kept walking, trying to remember where I had seen him. I could still feel his eyes in the back of my neck. Ì heard him jump off the table and then running towards me. I quickened my pace.
"Hey! Hey! Wait," he screamed "please wait for me!"
Suddenly I knew exactly who he was. I turned around to see him standing in front of me, his blue eyes shining. He was thinner and taller than I remembered him. His lips curved upwards in a half-smile.
"Nadia."
"Elliot."
"It's been years."
"Yes."
"Four?"
"Five."
"Five."
"Yes."
He swallowed, his smile dissapearing. Then he looked at me again and his expression softened.
"You look terrific. Grown."
"You look like you work for Hollister."
He threw his head back and laughed, his entire body rocking. I allowed myself a smile.
"You're as blunt as ever," he said.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. I like it."
"Oh."
"What are you doing here?"
"Working, you?"
"Same. Let me buy you a drink."
"You can afford that now?"
"Shut up. Let's go."

tbc

Labels: ui

Wednesday

Change. Just do it.

Monday

James It has not been a good couple of weeks. I find it almost awe-inspiring how different life can be from one minute to the other. I thought I knew misery, but I've found that it is true that you can only know misery if you know happiness. I hadn't known happiness. I had known comfortabilty and I had confused it with happiness - but it wasn't, it was just something dormant. It is pathetic that I confuse being "okay" with being happy, but I'm sure that will not happen again.
So, what's the difference between being good and being happy, being alright and being happy? I can't even begin to explain it. It's like comparing purple and orange, it's like comparing grey with grey, it's like comparing something that's perfectly alike and similar separated by millions of differences.
The point I'm trying to make (if there is one) is that without this perfectly clear understanding of happiness, I would not have been able to experience the pain I have the last couple of weeks. I am, however, fully aware that this is entirely my fault and that the pain that's been caused has been caused by me, mostly. I am so angry and dissapointed in myself. I keep going through it in my head, asking myself "yeah, what the hell were you thinking? and then? and THEN?!" and even though I know the answers, they made so much sense then, they've been void of their sense and seem so stupid and insignificant.
There are so many things I'm angry at myself for. Hurting someone so wonderful, so magnificent - well, that's the biggest part of it, especially because I never intended for it to happen. I know he doubts me sometimes. I wish he could get inside my head and see the way I see him, see it and not just hear it from me: a wonderful, incredible, sometimes excitable and emotional boy - man who I want to spend all my time with. Even when I'm angry, whenever I think of him it's like this blanket of pure love, afection for everything, including - perhaps even concentrating on his flaws. I know I'm crippingly insecure - I have visions, sometimes, even when we are just joking and they stab me in the heart. I feel myself falling backwards, biting my tongue, containing words poisonous and that I know are only for myself. I am not unaware of the irrationality of it or of his absence of guilt. I am highly aware of how crippingly insecure I am then and only then do I really come to terms with it, when he's making me laugh, when he's making me feel like I belong - even if I'm crazy. Even if I don't make sense.
He's so extraordinary. He's the only person that's made me feel like I truly belong - and when he says he's proud of me, I don't shrug it off, I don't think of him as an idiot - it's like my heart inflates, my cheeks go red, my eyes start watering. When he's proud of me, I'm proud of me. For making someone so wonderful, so intelligent, so capable proud of me. I don't know why he thinks I don't love him as much when some days, only the image of him, the sound of his voice, the memory of his fingertips or his green (they aren't hazel, no matter what he says, they're a really dark green) eyes are the only thing that makes me get out of bed in the morning and smile at little things, like Disney world commercials, the words "cheese" and "joust".
I was so close to losing him over - over what? I know he loves me. I know that. It is a certainty, I sometimes forget it in my mind but it never leaves my heart. So I've decided to do the wise thing and thank God for my blessings every day. And for letting me have him in my life, even if it's just been a little while. Even if it'd just be a little while.


In other news, where the hell did I put that my chemical romance cd? I need it to read Danielle Steel to.

Friday

Dear Ms. Langley,

A few things concern me a lot about your attitude as of late. I think we need to address those points immediately before you turn yourself into a crazy cat person. Perhaps it is not too late.
Let me start by saying that my appreciation for you has not whithered or diminished in the past month. You've shown, all too grudgingly, that you are independent and strong and I have to say I'm proud of you for your accomplishments. They might not be much in your mind, Ms. Langley, but surely you must realize that when people seem impressed they are not doing it just to "play games with you."

Now, to address the matter at hand. I hear, Ms. Langley, that you're quite taken with a man. Circumstances do not seem to be ideal. From what you have told me, he is quite wonderful, he embodies your definition of hot, he's smart, sweet, amazing and he makes you laugh when no one else could. He is also half-way across the world and he has never actually touched you. Ms. Langley, I know you've considered that you might not be in love with him but might be in love with the idea of him. You've also proven yourself wrong time and time again when you've, quite valiantly, told yourself (and him) that if the current state of affairs was too much for him to handle then you should not talk any longer and meant every word of it. I know you've never quite felt this way about anyone else and that you'd risk anything for him, and I also know that you don't expect him to do the same thing. I know you're scared. That does not give you the right, I repeat, it does not give you the right to completely freak out and go into a massive emotional breakdown when he tells you he's not ready to live with you. So he's not ready to live with you. Or maybe he is, like he's been telling you every day since the moment it happened. Regardless of his feelings, you have absolutely no right to be upset over the way he feels because you've said to yourself, countless, innumerable times, that you would not relay on the way he feels to make your decisions. Whether he comes through or not is another matter entirely, but let me assure you that he would not be going to America for a week just to see you if he did not think you're at least worthy of his time. Stop worrying so much about his ex-girlfriends. You have a past, he has a past. He has a harder time getting over his than you do. Get used to it, Ms. Langley, most people do not laugh off the things you laugh off, most people aren't able to look back at terrible things and think "oh, well", the way you've trained yourself to. You've got to understand that she hurt him and he's still healing and that people are indeed human and not androids, and they do not handle pain the way you do. Jokes aren't acceptable. You need to get used to that.
In the meantime, Ms. Langley, I will please ask you to refrain from freaking out and pushing the man you love away by being silly and insecure. I will ask you to think before you speak and go get a glass of water or buy your lower lip until it bleeds when you have something to say but you know, for a fact, that it is wrong and it will only end in a fight. Also, try to be more supportive. He's trying his best and you're just pushing him away. Also, write some more. You're stressed out because you can't write, but when do you actually sit down to write? Stupid letters to yourself don't count. Also, Ms. Langley, don't let your ego get too big. If you keep believing him when he tells you you're beautiful you might not want to stand in line with all the ugly town people.

Thank you for your attention,

yourself.

Ps. Writing letters to yourself is lame.

Monday

So, this is what I'm reduced to! I write EROTICA. EROTICA FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
I write erotica.
erotica, erotica, erotica.
AND IT'S TERRIBLE.

A few hours ago, somewhere rather close, there was a pretty girl sitting on the bed of her apartment, wearing a sleeveless gray t-shirt and a pretty blue laced thong with sparkles on it and double stripes that did a very bad job at covering her attractive but horrendously fat ass. She had long legs, beautiful brown eyes and a nose she wanted to rip off every time she looked at herself in the mirror. Her nails needed some desperate filing and trimming, but she was happily talking into a microphone and typing in her computer, not really caring about her nails or the way her toes tickled when she heard the voice on the other line (maybe she cared about that a little). Suddenly, she felt the tremendous urge to have someone RAVISH* her.
Unfortunately for our low self-esteemed heroine already lost in a whirlpool of emotions, the third meaning of the word ravish according to answers.com had already come true and she merely wanted to satisfy the sexual side of these turbulent emotions. Not very subtly because she knew she sucked at that and our male protagonist (Should we give them names? Yeah, I didn't think so) was a rather oblivious but appealing** young English man who happened to have the sexiest accent ever (he probably didn't but our heroine was really naive) and was the best looking man she had never seen***, she hit on him by telling him what she was wearing and making herself look foolish by moaning into a stupid microphone while he told her to stop because he felt bad about the situation****.
So nothing happened and our heroine was left feeling very gross and rejected, although the male protagonist assured her it was not like that and she tried to believe him, she was too self-absorbed to really see his point of view and in turn made him feel like shit.
Ladies and gentleman, we have a horny protagonist, a male counterpart with a good moral compass and a sex story that hasn't even started. I think I'll be successfully published real soon.
For fuck's sake, what did I get myself into?

----------

*Ravish: rav·ish (răv'ĭsh)
tr.v., -ished, -ish·ing, -ish·es.

1. To seize and carry away by force.
2. To rape; violate.
3. To overwhelm with emotion; enrapture. See synonyms at enrapture

**ap·peal·ing (ə-pē'lĭng)
adj.

Attractive; inviting: an appealing manner; an appealing idea.

appealingly ap·peal'ing·ly adv.

***This is not actually true, our heroine is a very goony goon.
****sit·u·a·tion (sĭch'ū-ā'shən)
n.

1. 1. The way in which something is positioned vis-à-vis its surroundings.
   2. The place in which something is situated; a location.
2. Position or status with regard to conditions and circumstances.
3. The combination of circumstances at a given moment; a state of affairs. See synonyms at state.
4. A critical, problematic, or striking set of circumstances.
5. A position of employment; a post.

Creative Freedom is strictly forbidden Stream of consciousness is a terrible thing to do to a reader.
Writing
like
this
also
sucks
balls.
Doing this is like mega emo.

Let's talk about New York City. I've never been there, but I bet it smells like pollution and sweat, like crime and multiculturalism. I wish I could see snow again.
Can I stay with you until Christmas?

Sunday

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