Re-Post: That Most Unusual Predicament.

So you may not believe me, but I'm actually working on a new story! First time in what seems like years, ha. But for now, I thought I'd re-post my favorite piece I've written. I don't know why I like it so much--maybe because it's probably the most honest thing I've ever written. It's about the tearing ambivalence we all fear when it comes to love. I hope you enjoy it. I know I enjoyed writing it.


"That Most Unusual Predicament", written November 10th, 2008.

It was his eyes—yes, it had to be. They drew me in. They captured me. They hurt me.

Have you ever noticed that our measurement of love is entirely in the loss? We sit and try to quantify this silly self-imposed emotion and it comes down to an equation of arithmetic: how long we spend together plus the good times and multiplied by the bad ones. We next factor in the special moments and begin to minimize the mundane ones. And from there, we take this number and put it up against every other fiasco we've endured with another lover, and try to compare, as if we can.

And we travel on, disillusioned, barreling effortlessly towards the exchange of the three most unoriginal words ever composed--"I love you". Have you ever realized how pathetic those words are? It's as if we've reduced ourselves to mindless boars on the hunt, and instead of searching for substance to secure our survival, we battle over the most banal, meaningless, forgetful, overused words ever to come across any human language.

But how arresting those words can be. How they can make your heart leap out of your chest. When they tickle your ears, it's like a warm sensation surrounding your body and silently cascading down your skin. Time will stop every time you hear them; and time will shatter when the words come no more. These three basic words have the power to heal, the power to embolden and even the power to destroy. There is no other feeling like it in the world.

And so I fell. Not a mere stumble but a direct and boundless dive into what I thought would be the most magnificent moment of my life. It was as if I were dancing and paid no attention to anyone else in the room. It was as if I were watching the sunrise and embraced the rays of light as they showered upon my face. I walked as if every destination was going to be next greatest encounter with the unexpected. My own smile radiated in a way that was harmfully contagious. When I woke up he was the first thing I thought of; when I went to bed I couldn't fall asleep dare I live a moment without him.

I don't remember him that well. But I remember the pain. I lied in bed for almost three days. The tears somehow felt soothing. I would find myself slamming the radio off for every song somehow brought me back to him. I disappeared from my friends. I watched three straight seasons of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer. It was not that he completed me; it was that life knew no reason outside of him. I’d often have to pull the car over for I was fighting a losing battle between driving and crying. I was an abysmal, pathetic mess, utterly lost in this most unusual predicament called love.


He taught me how to slow-dance. He took me out to dinner. We would lie around for hours talking, staring into each other's eyes. We would walk through the park singing, holding hands. When we would gather with friends the energy would spread rampantly throughout the room. When it was just the two of us, I could feel the Earth slowing down just to give us a few extra minutes before the sun would set.


And yet today all I long for is the pain. I have to pause to think of his last name. I have no idea what he is even doing anymore. But yet that damned pain remains. After all these years the indelible agony still lingers over me reminding me of what I once had—not necessarily what I had shared with him, but what I had allowed myself to experience.
Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if I still lived today so free from inhibitions. I am so far removed from loving another that when I say goodbye to someone, it’s almost as if they were never there in the first place. I live with no concern but for my own. And yet sorrow over an ordinary love affair clings to me stronger than almost any other memory in my vast repertoire of experiences.

His eyes. Oh, it was his eyes for certain. I yearn for the time when eyes alone could love me, mold me, complete me…and destroy me. I yearn for just one more time when I would allow myself that most unusual predicament called love. Just one more time.

A Way to Ruin Valentine's.

Look, I'm all up for romance, but nothing will make it go soft like this piece of work:



"Baby, let's make a really ugly baby together. Or we could just eat this one." ~ Cake Wrecks

A Two-Year Old Post.

So I was going through my old blog and I found this from two years ago...it made me laugh, so I thought I'd share it :-)

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Do you ever have a moment so magical the time just flies by? Do you ever have such a grand time that you are consumed with the moment? Are you ever so filled with joy and excitement for what you are doing that you never want it to end? Yeah, I'm not talking about that. Today, I'm talking about the absolute worst two hours of my life, where I literally was counting the seconds until it was over.

Today, I had my first Comparative Studies class. God was I in for torture. The class is called "Love in World Literature" and we turned in our first assignment, which was a paper on the meanings and manifestations of love (assigned via e-mail since we did not have class last week). Talk about a 9th grade orientation project. I have never in my life considered getting up and leaving a class because I thought I was actually losing knowledge. God was it a waste of time. For nearly two hours we went around the room and everyone chimed in on what they felt love was. I felt like I was in Self-loathers Anonymous. Everyone was like, "Love is a feeling" to which others would literally reply, "That's so deep." I had no idea I had signed up for a special ed circus of hippies, feminists and socialists discussing the "immense power" of four letter words. One girl literally said, "I am a Women's Studies Major, and I think love and girl should be interchangeable words, since love comes from the mother..." Can someone somehow hurt me so I have a medical excuse to NOT to attend this class?

The most mind-stabbing part of the session was when the Professor was discussing the semantics of the "profound statement" that "God is love". Some kid who is studying international studies (read: future Starbucks Barista), was like, "I consider love to be a prayer", to which the Professor squealed with delight at the inspiring revelation. They continued on for five minutes with a conversation similar to this:

"So, prayer is love?"
"Yes, and God is love."
"So then, would that mean that...prayer is God?"
"No, Prayer is communion with God, since a person who loves God will pray."
"I see! So those who love God will pray, since prayer is love and God is love?"
"Ah yes! However, love is an action, and God is a thing. Hence why prayer is not God."
"So then, love is both an action and a thing--but that would mean prayer is both a love and thing!"
"Ah, very true! So prayer is love, God is love, but love are both! Wonderful!"

FIVE FUCKING MINUTES OF THAT SPEWED DRIVEL. I cannot believe I have ten more weeks of this. I seriously have never been less challenged in my life. I think I'd find more challenge in old copy of Highlights Magazine. (Remember that shit? THE BEST). And, since I always sit in the front row, it's not like I could pull out some homework and just ignore the silly words that were being exchanged. "Love is the fuel to propel the world", that is a literal quote. We talked about it for ten minutes.

*pulls hair out in utmost agony*