Tempestuous Scene

Why are days like today so achingly beautiful to me?

I walked outside and scented the air. It carried the slightest hint of cold & decay, that wonderful fall smell that I love. The cicadas were completely silent in the chill. I glanced above the garage; nothing but clouds as far as the eye could see. It was enough of a cloud cover to lend the world an overcast tint, but not so much as to completely block out the rays of sun that peaked through. Ratatat on the drive to work fit the scene perfectly.

I don't know what it is about the loaded clouds overhead that makes my soul soar and my heart ache from their beauty. Why the cool air lifts my spirits and clears my head escapes me to this day, but these days...I live for these days.

Days like these remind me of London, of Paris, school beginnings and fields of grass crushed by the blowing wind, of terrible beauty, of precipices, beginnings, and endings. They make me yearn, they make me hope, they give me perspective and cut the crap.

I itched for a camera in my hands, and the free time to wander around. I grasped for the words to describe what I was feeling. I attempted to define myself in ways that excluded people and my job.

I remembered college, and tried not to grieve for everything loved and lost there.

I'm going through a really rough time lately, reaffirming old regrets. I needed a day like today to slap away the unnecessary life details, and allow me to take stock.

Perhaps that's why days like today speak to me so much. They put life on pause. The never ending expectation of a sunny, bright day is gone, the crushing oppression of heat and humidity banished but not forever. No, it's gone just long enough for me to stop and breathe.

In time...

Once I had a story to tell. A story of friendship, of growth, of being bound together tightly for a short period of time, knowing that it'll never be more than what it was. A story of lost love, of people's silences & roots, of affects and words not spoken, of knowing, accepting, grace, maturity and moving on. Above all, of beauty, love, beginnings, and their end.

Now, there's a different story brewing. The flip side of the other one. It is how the same situation went horribly wrong. It's one of betrayal, lies and hurt, of deceit and love, of abandonment, the fall and cowardice, of being someone's Happily Ever After, of family and choices & inaction.

They are uniquely separate, occurring in completely different times and places with 2 different sets people. Yet, they are inextricably intertwined.

Coming up: Cole and Kaida.

Fuck it, I don't know

I used to write nearly daily. Basically any time I got bored in class, which frankly, was a daily occurrence. Anything that came to my mind, I'd let my mind wander, and something would eventually come out. My notes are littered with me flipping to about the halfway mark in the notebook and writing furiously. It works out great because the teachers think you're paying remarkable note-taking attention, and it kept me awake.

I thought it was just a way for me to pass the time, now I see what it really was. My sanity. I blogged frequently, but I wrote so much more. *scribble scribble* pages on pages of whatever was most important to me at the moment. I actually processed things as they occurred to me. Rather than months afterward, once my behavior had become erratic enough that I self corrected. Every Friday, I'd go out with my best friend at the time Pete, and we'd just sit and talk. About everything and nothing. I was constantly in communication with someone, whether it was just with myself, or with friends. I had stories, thoughts, ideas, problems, musings, annoyances, rants, everything. Everything just flowed, with no fear.

I could weave a story, make people laugh, make people think. I could understand myself. I had a finger on the pulse of me, and thus, everyone else.

Now, I hear crap like "all we ever talk about is your issues". I feel like I'm constantly burdening my friends with my unburdening. I just realized, it's because I never write any more. So when I open my mouth, all this crap pours out.

I might never understand why I don't get bored with TV.

I've spent such a good portion of my life attempting to be what I people thought I should be.

I'm not entirely convinced that Pete didn't decide to never speak to me again because he was frustrated with my problems.

I'm not entirely convinced I don't blame him.

Nope, convinced, I lied.

I'm really not sure what this is all about, perhaps it's all about nothing. I'm just noticing.

I love how I managed to accidentally have a lot of what I needed to make me happy without even realizing it. Fucking fortunate turn of events, and now, I'm just trying to remember what it was and why it worked. The obnoxious thing is, I wasn't even fully there yet, I was just getting started, ramped up again.

I'm getting ramped up again, figuring out what I like.

This is surface crap, I don't want to get into the rest, it's there, but I'm at work.

I'm 24, I don't have to know what I want to do in my career. Hell, I don't know if I ever have to know. Last I checked the only thing I have to manage is self-sufficiency and to pay my taxes. I'm managing that just fine.

It's odd that my dental insurance won't cover my bruxism guard. It'll prevent further tooth damage, so, let's NOT cover it. It' makes about as much fiscal sense as not covering birth control.

You know you're a grown up when...

It's not when you get a house, nor a car, nor manage to reproduce, nor get your college degree, no. It's when this happens:

Smutt: wooo stimulus
Me: yay!
Smutt: that means lawn mower
Me: man, did you ever think your life as an adult would be this awesome?
Me: "someone just gave you $600 bucks, what're you going to do now?"
"Pay off a loan"
"Buy a lawn mower"
"I'M BUILDING A CANDY CASTLE WITH GUMDROP RAINBOWS AND CHOCOLATE UNICORNS"
Smutt: L O L
Smutt: of the day right there


Look, ma, I'm a gr'up!

...
You probably just noticed that I was having a conversation with someone named Smutt

There is a perfectly logical reason for this.

His name is Matt.

Clears it all up, doesn't it?

No?

Fine, here's the story.

I know many Mat(t)s. This can lead to confusion my aliased buddy list. Hence:
Matt: I'm "smatthew" for smart matthew

Thus, this Matt thus became Smatt.

And because regardless of what that example above proves, my juvenile mind kept reading Smatt as Smut, so ...

I'll leave it to you to connect the dots.



I'm planning on moving this blog to my own domain and shoving something things around. I want to continue with my dabblings in web dev, cooking, writing, photography, biking and traveling, and I think that having one place, with sections dedicated to each of those hobbies will help me keep me kind of focused and motivated.

Plus, I'm trimming down on my crap. This blog has become slightly bloated with it, so I'm going to trim it, like everything else.

I just need a weekend that I'm bored, free from obligations, inspired, and it's raining outside (to keep me indoors).

Lord only knows when that'll happen.

I should probably get a better camera too...

Stupid loans.

We still sing his good-bye songs

One second thought...fuck you, Pete

It's nearly been a year since he's been gone. Goodness knows she should move on, but she just can't let him go. Sorry if I made you wanna cry, you should know ...I just hate bringing you down.*

I know he's going to read this, there's no doubt in my mind that he won't, but that's not going to stop me. I need to get this out, and I'm tired of jumping at shadows, or slapping a mask on out of obligation. I'm going to have me a little heart to heart and reflection with this nice little blogger window that's never had a cross or poorly thought out thing to say.

I'm reading this online story currently, the main character is a very confused half demon-half human hybrid. I can sort of relate to a lot of what she's going through at her first year of college, frankly, I'd be very surprised if there's some one out there that can't. I don't know how sure I would be of this fact if it wasn't for a few of the people I've known over the last couple of years.

I've never really been good with friends. I've had plenty of people express surprise at this, but really, I'm not. I make a clumsy friend. I withdraw a lot, I'm incredibly scatterbrained, and not nearly sweet enough to make up for it. I take a very long time to catch on to the fact that someone actually could like me for me, rather than out of some sense of obligation or pity.

The friends I've made over the last couple of years have shown me I'm not some sort of mutant freak, out there, being all crazy by myself in the dark. I wish I could shake each and every person out there who feels like I used to and make them realize that too.

I already got off the point I was going to make, while simultaneously making another, equally fair and relevant point. I was going to say, that the main character in this story thinks that by vocalizing your emotions you make them more manageable, smaller, easier to deal with.

That's exactly what it does. To put not to fine of a point on it, that's why we do it, to navigate the fucked up, twisted, overly insane landscape of our minds. I, seemingly, do this better than others.

I want everyone to make sense, always. I make sense, to me, and I desperately want to make sense to other people. I hate it when things are illogical, I need to make sense of it, so I can make it right.

Sometimes, I forget though, there's nothing to make right. It just is. It's out of my control, it's out of my hands, and sometimes, just sometimes, you can do everything precisely correct, or even as correct as you can, it still goes horribly wrong, some where, because of nothing you've done.

I am horrible at letting go.

---------------------------

I'm going to try to let go of you, Pete.

Every fiber of my being screams against this, that I'm abandoning you, that I've done something wrong, that I need to make amends, to fix it, that I horribly overburdened you and you're finally tucking tail and running from the crazy lady that you met in college. That this is completely my fault because I'm a horrible person that one one could ever possibly be as close of friends to as you were to me.

It's nonsense. Old ghosts, and silly notions that I've been struggling with for some time to do away with. Don't you dare even consider thinking of changing your mind, you're right.

I'm not surprised. I wouldn't have been constantly asking, constantly checking, constantly reaffirming my stance, if I didn't have some inclination about what was going on between your ears. Perhaps I should've just fucking decided for you, as I thought about doing so many times. Perhaps I was right, and this really was something that you needed to come to on your own. I don't know; I don't know if I ever will.

Part of me really hopes that this is something that we can look back on and laugh about, part of me reasons that's just simply impossible. Whatever it turns out to be, I won't be surprised. Prepared, saddened, but understanding. Really, no different than how I feel now. I'll probably be far less angry about the whole affair.

I'd be lying though, if I said I didn't hope that one day, I'd get a invitation in the mail to your wedding, or be able to meet your kids. You're a good man, and this is a very, incredibly hard first step for you on the path to staying such. Being a good person isn't something that just happens, and you don't have to work at, it's quite the opposite. It takes no thought, no effort outside of being caught, to be a sniveling coward, or a bad person. It's damn near a daily fight to stay a good, moving forward, person.

Friends and family can make it easier.

You made my life easier, better, by being in it. It was easier to beat back silly notions when you were around. No one outside of my family has ever made me laugh as hard as you. As a friend, you will always hold a special place in my heart. I know that even if we do become friends again, it'll never be as it was. Hardly changes that I care about you, that I enjoy the time we spent together, or really, the fact that I want to be your friend.

The irony will never escape me. I gave you the balls to walk away from me. Nurse a wild thing back to health, and it'll leave you.

I respect your decision, and this'll be the last you hear out of me about it. I hope you pull your head out of your ass successfully. I hope you forget me.

----------------------------

I always thought as a child that doing the right thing would get easier with time, but it doesn't. If anything, it just gets harder. It gets harder and harder to love completely, and unquestioningly. It gets harder to pick yourself up when the world makes you land so hard on your ass your teeth rattle, tears well up in your eyes and you just want your mommy. It gets harder to get all the dirt and stains out of your clothes from all the blood, sweat and tears you pour into your life, to brush the dirt of yourself and get moving again. It gets harder and harder to think that you're not to blame for all the bad shit that happens to you, even when it's just a part of life. It gets harder and harder to keep convincing yourself that you can actually look yourself in the eye when every decision you've ever made seems to have led you to falling in the dirt again, and hurting the people you care about.

Perhaps I do take on too much. You'd think I'd have decided on this issue. If three people you're drunk, go home and lie down, right? Not me. Doesn't matter if a billion people do, I never will. I'm belligerent when I shouldn't be. God grant me the ability to shut the hell up and listen when people actually try to help me.

I, frankly, feel like shit. I lost a very good friend, for a very solid reason, but it hardly changes that first part. I lost a very good friend. Not to cancer, a car accident or anything involving a midget, or death, but I lost him all the same. My life won't be the same without him around, and I know his won't be the same with out me around. However, that last bit, that's entirely the point. I wish him well, I really do. It's all I've ever wanted for him - to be able to be happy, healthy, successful, moving forward. It just pains me that it'll be without me.

*Joe Purdy's Can't Get it Right Today from his awesome album You Can Tell Georgia

Your choice, your decision, your fuck up. You deal with the mess, I'm not hanging around for this one. Screw this.

A Preoccupied Rambling Reminder to Myself (and Not You)

You know, if I had to be completely honest, my life is nuts.

"Oh, sure.", you think, "Everyone's is." Eh. I don't have kids, or a husband, or even a boyfriend. I have my parents, my sisters, my friends. Some of my closest friends live at least 2,000 miles away. Sure, I have a social life, I go out at least once a week. It's really not the average trappings that make my life nuts, it's the fact that I don't really seem to know how to not be busy.

Last year, well, last year was last year, chock full of emotional distress, and physical illness. I can't really remember being healthy last year; it's a blur of drugs, tissues, humidifiers, drugs, hospitals, gauze, popsicles, and drugs. This year, I had a cold, and buy the time I felt miserable enough to go to the store and stock up on sick crap, I was starting to feel better. It lasted like...3/4 days. You know, how long a cold is supposed to last.

I've been trying to ride my bike, and I can get in at least 20 minutes without out dying. I can sleep without a humidifier and not wake up with tonsils as big as my fist. Hell, I've even stopped wearing a scarf! It's truly astonishing. My entire office was sick for like 3/4 weeks straight with flus and infections and all I got was the sniffles. Sure, I haven't been healthy for much more than a month at a crack, but, really things seem to be improving health-wise.

I'm cooking more, I'm exercising more, I'm eating healthier, I'm sleeping better, I'm taking better care of me. I'm even beginning to unpack all those boxes of books that have been sitting in my "dining room" since April of last year. Shocking, I know. Every month, I set starter goals, and just kind of push toward them, and I'm actually doing them.

I even have a huge notable, important, life changing goal that I'm working toward that I don't really want to get into until I've completed it.

I also think I'm going to get into robotics and AI. First, I'm going to get a better foundation for my software/web development skill set before jumping off into something else bigger and better. I'm going to start reading and tinkering. I actually kind of want to. You know how they say you can't quit until you want to? It goes for everything. You can't do something until you actually want to. Thinking you should isn't enough. I know I should. I should do a lot of things. I should drink more milk, take my vitamins more regularly, take more time for me, be more productive, exercise way more, actually keep up on my emails, bladdy blah.

We all have a lot we should do, but for the first time in awhile, I find myself actually wanting to do all those things I should do. I relish the feeling. I have the energy, I have the wherewithal. I'm doing it.

I have so much that's been neglected for so long, that I have to do as well as all the new things I'm diving into. I need to remember that. That I have this backlog of crap from at least a year that I need to take care of on top of major life changing goals, lifestyle changes, sleeping, eating well, working, seeing people I care about, and general upkeep.

I guess that's really why I'm so busy. I'm juggling a lot. I've got a year to catch up on, and I'm trying to make big changes all at the same time. Everything is going to take awhile. What's that phrase? We can do it quickly, well or cheaply, choose two. Well is something I do not compromise on, so sometimes, it's cheaply, and sometimes it's quickly. Right now, it's got to be cheaply as my precious car decided to land itself in the shop twice in as many weeks. It's cost me half its loan price to repair it back to seemingly better than where it was beforehand.

I'm kind of broke, and annoyed. Damned car. My tax return was going to go into paying off a loan, instead, it's going into my daily transport. Grumble. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure I won't have to fix it again for awhile, but still, that's just...obnoxious. I get this feeling that because of this, I'm not going to have a working TV in about a year (unless I get the damned converter box, argh).

I need to seriously build up my savings again. I'm living slightly too close to paycheck to paycheck for my likings. Oh, and who isn't in some kind of financial crisis nowadays? Whee federal stimulus package. Brilliant maneuvering on the government's part. Whatever, I can't change it, but I sure can take advantage of it.

You know what I want to know? I want to know what everyone does with their product boxes (cameras, cell phones, headphones, kitchen utensils) when you know full well you're probably going to be moving in a couple/few years and they're going to make transporting things a lot easier. I'm accumulating a lot of boxes in my crawl space, and beginning to wonder if I'm just not slightly pack-rat-ish.

I also think I need an adult jewelry chest for my miscellaneous bracelets, necklaces, watches, etc. I'm severely lacking in viable storage solutions, so I make do with what I have because well, shit costs money. I can't let go of that broke college student mentality. If I don't absolutely need to replace it, it stays. I have a round screen 19" VCR/TV combo, as an example. Live beneath my means? Polite. You want to see my bling, look at my diploma. Man, that smarts. I don't even feel my education was good enough and am looking into getting my masters. At least I have the comfort knowing that if my loans were converted into a car, I couldn't do much better than a sparse Civic. I guess you get what you pay for. Next time, someone's helping me foot the bill.

*blinks*

That will suffice for a mind dump, I suppose. Hopefully, tonight, I'll be able to sleep, without taking an hour to fall asleep, and waking up completely at least once a night.

Oh, this week alone, I've managed to collapse all the boxes I've accumulated since Christmas, clean my living room, clean my kitchen, put away all my new dishes, make pizza, go grocery shopping, go through my mail, and work practically 30 hours. It's Wednesday and I wasn't even in the state this weekend. Thrilling. The awesome thing? It's 11 and I'm reasonably tired. Not even exhausted, just sleepy enough to start thinking about calling it a night. I am busy, but thank god, I can be productive again.

Consternation!

I can feel something knocking around in the ole brain pan, so of course I'm compelled to touch pen to paper; metaphorically or otherwise.

Change is afoot, once again. Things I set in motion months ago are building steam, and I'm nearly at the precipice. All of this scares the crap out of me, not to put too fine of a point on it.

Speaking of fine points, I found my dream pen, with my non-dream nib. What the hell is with that? Screw you montblanc, give me my meisterstuck classique in EF. I was thoroughly impressed that I could walk into the montblanc boutique on Old Bond street in London, in a freaking hoodie, virtually soaked to the skin, just before closing and be treated just as well as if I had walked in wearing the latest Gucci, dry, with an entourage.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. I have vague ideas of what I wish to accomplish, but I'm not entirely sure how exactly to accomplish everything that I aspire toward. I think that's the hardest thing. I know what I want to do in a feeling sort of way; it's hardly definable by words. Ephemeral, the minute I attempt to express what I'm looking for, all the words I can muster fall out of my mouth dull and flat in comparison to the feeling I'm after.

Grandiose schemes to attain undefinable things drives me, at least, to virtual madness. I'm scared of losing my way, as I'm not even sure what my way is - hard to get started on the proper path when they're virtually indistinguishable from each other. You're left with this paltry list of meaningless benchmarks to attempt to distinguish the proper path. The truly infuriating thing is, those benchmarks could herald virtually opposite things. Is that lump of dirt a land mine or buried gold? And in some situations they're possibly worthless, or incredibly meaningful. Just because the first person you fell in love with laughed at the same jokes as you did, doesn't mean that everyone else who does will get along well with you. Fuck trying to date, I'm just attempting to figure out my future.

I suppose I should take solace in the fact that I do, in fact, have a list of criteria, where the last time I ventured out, I had virtually nothing in comparison. However, people lie. I'm good at knowing when, for the most part, but it hardly gives me comfort. Their job is to sell themselves, of course I'm bound to be skeptical. People are prone to play up their good points and downplay what they feel are their poor ones.

*sigh*

I have no clue what I'm doing, and I don't appreciate that feeling. Oh, you're supposed to feel your way. Your first few relationships are jokes, it goes to follow that your first few jobs or even self selected schools are going to be as well. Time is precious, though, you know? The idea of bumbling around when I could be far more focused and productive, just...doesn't appeal. It makes me feel as if I'm failing because I'm not at my full potential, because I don't know where I should be to be at my full potential. I don't know how to find my happy place. Hell, I don't know how to build my happy place really either. "How do you build a house?" "Well, you need 4 outside walls and a roof. I prefer a wood floor instead of a dirt one."

Wonderful.

Sometimes I utterly freak out at all of the above, and then I calm down and remind myself that I'm doing the best I can with what I have. That I'm doing everything in my power, and that'll be enough in the long run. This swinging back and forth is driving me slowly nuts. I guess I'm just going all kinds of quietly crazy.