Little Constellation Face

"If I connected the beauty marks on your face, I bet I could make Cassiopeia." Chad stated out of the blue, his words cutting into my ramble about lunch ideas.

"What?" I was having trouble shifting subject gears.

"You have a lot of beauty marks on your face. If I took your eyeliner and connected the dots, I'm pretty sure there's a constellation there."

"I just asked you if you wanted Thai food, where did Cassiopeia come from?" I asked as the questioning lines began to form on the space between my eyebrows. "And I don't have that many beauty marks on my face."

"I'm not saying you have the Big Dipper going on over there. It's more like one of the little ones, where all the stars are mostly clustered together with one out-stretched star, to make a tail of sorts." His index finger trailed across the prominent beauty marks forming a triangle under my eye and the one lonely one below my lip.

I stood silent and hungry, still trying to follow his A.D.D. moment.

"It's adorable. I think I'll call you my little constellation face. Whattya think?"

"Yea uhm... that's cute. So, does this mean that you don't want Thai food?"

Awake and Dreaming

At night I lay with my limbs intertwined with his. I can feel him breathing hot minty air on my neck and cheek. His face is so close to mine that I can feel the tips of his long eyelashes resting against my skin. It seems so peaceful where he is. Asleep.

"I want to be where you are baby. I miss it there."

I could fall into you
the affectionate inviting heart of you
cradled snug in the levels of your existence
cuddled up with quiet longing persistence
I could fall, but you wouldn't catch me
I could fall, but you turn from me, passively

I miss everything regarding what you do
still trying to fall into you
but I can't even imagine where you are
running out of sheep and counting stars
and as I lay me down, awake and dreaming of sleeping
the insomniac hours are mine for the keeping

Sleeping pills contemptuously resting on the shelf
I reach for the container to save me from myself
I close my eyes for a minute
I'm lucid but slowly fading in it
back through the folds and my mind is free
I'm falling -sleep, come rescue me

Monsters and Angels

My mind can bend reality as you know it, shifting into cross existing dimensions. I'm important because of this. That's how it was explained to me, stated bluntly as fact. Which was really hard to take given that the person I was talking to, according to my doctor, didn't exist.

Let me back up.

My parents found me in the throws of becoming another teenage statistic. I tried to end my life with some easily accessible muscle relaxants, prescribed to my mother and a bottle of something that smelled like paint thinner, from my dads liquor cabinet. While hospitalized, I made the mistake of telling the physicians that I was tired of the strange people telling me what to do. With some probing, they assessed that when I said "strange people," I wasn't talking about my parents.

Who knew that it wasn't normal to have people that no one else can see, telling you that you have a higher importance. It's all I've known. In fact, I wasn't aware that no one else could see them, until right before the incident.

My best friend Travis happened to be with me when I began to panic that I couldn't find my way home. He tried to reassure me that I was already home, but when I told him that there were other people in the room and they were telling me to stay away from scientist Donnor Starbord, he fell silent. He stayed with me until my world shifted back into reality, which is quite a task for a seventeen year old boy. For anyone.

It's happened before, but never with anyone around. Never before did I have someone explain to me that it wasn't normal. How can a reality that I've always known, not be normal. It wasn't always that bad, but it had been noticeably increasing since last year.

And all of this I chose to explain to the doctors, while very well medicated. I was mentally numb, and I feel that I said more than I should have, but couldn't stop.

"We'd like to keep your daughter, Paige, under our care for some extensive research. Her case of schizophrenia is very uncommon, in that, she's the youngest we've seen showing active symptoms."

... unfinished story. More to come later.

Haunted By a Thought

(a repost from my myspace)

I complained today, as I sat at the edge of my bed, waiting for the numbers on the alarm clock to sober up and straighten out. It was a blurry 5:12 in the morning on Saturday. I rubbed my eyes and cursed under my breath. I complained about having to wake up, about having to work early on a Saturday morning and about my life in general.

I complained while at work, as I sat and listened to my co-worker behind me express himself with words that would make your mother blush. I complained about his complaining.

When my shift was over, I complained about the traffic that was standing in the way of me getting to my pizza. I should have been happy that work was over, I should have been happy that I was on my way to get pizza, I should have been happy just to feel the sunshine on my face and the cold breeze blowing through a typically hot town.

I rolled my car into the gas station next to Straw Hat pizza, when I realized that the police had roped off the entrance of Straw Hat with yellow tape.

The man that took my order over the phone never mentioned that there was an issue and the restaurant was closed, so I approached one of the police officers outside.

"I ordered a pizza, is it ok to go inside?"

"Yes, but we are asking everyone to exit through the back door. We had a gentleman pass away in the parking lot and we're trying to handle this in a way to allow him some dignity." He responded as he lifted the yellow tape to allow me passage.

I could see the outline of a body laying underneath the police blanket and I instantly felt my heart sink. I complained today. I complained all morning about nothing. I was complaining about my life, while this man was losing his.

This man appeared to be at the restaurant by himself. There was no other person in the parking lot, crying over the loss of this mans life. I had wondered if he was reassured that he was loved today before leaving the house. If he was happy or sad. Was he content with life? Or had he complained all morning about dumb stuff ?

It's hard to appreciate every hour or minute of your life, until you realize that you can lose it. I complained today, I complained about nothing at all and the idea that it could end unexpectedly with not having really enjoyed any part of the morning, bothered me. I would hate for everything to come to an end after being unnecessarily irritated that I arrived at my destination two seconds later than I wanted to because some " idiot," in a green Honda cut me off and drove 2 mph slower than I wanted him to.

I don't want this to sound like some insincere lecture, about how you should be grateful for every minute of your life; like some kind of cliche, presented as "profound wisdom," forwarded via e-mail with some chain-mail type of note on the bottom instructing you to pass this on or you'll have a year of bad luck. Shit gets tough and it's hard to love every thing about what goes on in your world every day.

Really, I just can't seem to let it go. I've had lingering anxiety about this and I can't figure out why. What I do know is, I was consumed with the idea that this man left his house, just to get pizza without any idea that he was coming to the end of his minutes. I was bothered by that thought, but talked myself out of posting this. Then hours later I saw this section from the novel I started reading:

"It's a stark thought that when we die most of us will leave behind uneaten biscuits, unused coffee, half toilet rolls, half cartons of milk in the fridge to go sour; that everyday functional things will outlive us and prove that we weren't ready to go; that we weren't smart or knowing or heroic; that we were just animals whose animal bodies stopped working without any sort of schedule or any consent from us."

~Steven Hall The Raw Shark Texts~

Greeting Card Obsession

Squibknocket Cards: Brilliantly simple, wonderfully cute and memorably funny, but unfortunately no longer being made.

Another card, under Apologies, reads like this:

You Can't Squeeze The Toothpaste...

back into the tube.

What's said was said, and I deeply regret many of the things that came out of my mouth. Especially the part where I said you were only the second generation in your family to walk upright. Or wait, maybe that was another argument. Anyway, the point is that I was wrong. And I do apologize. I really don't much like being at odds with you.

This is a strange little thing to dwell on and I know this, but I think it might be because I thought I could easily get more and when I couldn't... well, obsess much? At first, I figured I couldn't find them because I wasn't trying hard enough. You can find anything on the web nowadays, right?

Surprisingly, I did find a few and a nice little update from the maker himself.

10/25/2007 Lane F. says: Sincere apologies for the winnowing supply of Squibnocket Cards. I've been a bit occupied over the past two years with a couple kids and an unexpected return to the advertising/design world. However, I'm not one to stand in the way of those who are Holy Grailing after a particular card. So if you were to let me know what card(s) you wanted, I suspect I could help you out. Send me an email at: lane.foard@mac.com. Oh, and thanks for doing your part to help further the Squibnocket Revolution there in your part of the world. -LANE FOARD, Squibnocket

The Seven Deadly Virginia Slims

The Seven Deadly Virginia Slims

1.
“He who angers you conquers you.”

~ Elizabeth Kenny ~

I reached for my pack of cigarettes because when someone says, "we need to talk," you know it's going to be rough. Shane Holiday took my hand and dramatically led me out onto his balcony; the clatter of partiers humming inside was shushed by the closing of the sliding glass door. And then he dropped the news as I was inhaling.

"Your boyfriend Tate, is nailing Renee?" He stated bluntly and I coughed a cloud of smoke.

It was early in the party and I didn't want to be dealing with this.

"Renee Mallory? Chad’s ex?" I inquired and my face was getting hot. I could feel the intense rhythm of my heartbeat rattling through my veins and pounding in my chest.

Shane was motioning yes, in slow exaggerated nods.

"That bitch!" I continued. Cigarette still in hand, I turned on my heals and headed straight through the party. My target, Renee.

I abrasively grabbed her arm and jerked her towards me, not hard enough to really move her, but enough to throw her balance off and gain her attention. I unleashed my wrath, like gunfire and her face said she was guilty before her mouth did.

"I'm so sorry," she said in a calming tone, in a way that was more aimed at soothing me rather than out of genuine regret. "-But this isn't the time or place to discuss this. Perhaps we should take this to a more private location."

"I could care less if this conversation is private or not. I can give a fuck if you're embarrassed or not. You're a tramp, everyone knows it so I don't care how this conversation makes you look or feel."

The room fell silent and heads turned.

"Look, I said I was sorry." She repeated.

"Oh, ok... you apologized. Well, I guess that makes it all better then?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything." My voice was becoming more intense as the minutes rolled on. "I know you're not sorry and you saying it, just pisses me off more. If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't keep nailing all the guys in our school and fucking up every relationship."

"Stop yelling at me! I'm not your boyfriend, I'm not the one that's committed anything to you, and I don't owe you anything." Her face was red and her words came out in a flustered, face-paced tone, "Why don't you go yell at him?"

Renee gave a smirk and shrugged as if to say, "I can't help it if the men prefer me to their girlfriends." She didn't have to say it; it was all over her face.

"Yea, keep smiling Renee. You think you have one over on every girl, but I know the real deal; you're not good enough to have a guy longer than one night. You are nothing."

She stopped smiling.

I wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt me, so I continued to verbally hit below the belt.

"Keep whoring yourself around to make yourself feel needed, Renee -" and with that she balled up her fist and aimed it right at my face.

I guess being the victim in this situation becomes null and void, when you become the aggressor. When you verbally take an aim-shot at someone's ego and self worth, you shouldn’t be surprised when the fight becomes physical, but I was surprised.

2.

“There are some circles in America

where it seems to be more socially acceptable to carry a hand-gun

than a packet of cigarettes.”

~ Katharine Whitehorn ~

It happened so fast that I couldn't remember the details. The next thing I remembered was sitting in the bathroom with Shane holding a bag of frozen vegetables over one eye and Rude Boy, dressing a cigarette burn on my forehead.

"Honey, you really should learn to keep the cigarettes away from your face when someone’s about to punch you." Shane suggested.

"I forgot I even had the damned thing in my hand and I didn't know that bitch was going to start swinging."

"She knocked you out in one punch, ran through the party and started whaling on Tate. I guess she thought he was the one that told you. She was so bent out about you confronting her in front of... well, damned near the whole school. Three people had to pull her off of him. It was the best fight I've seen since those two cheerleaders went at it a year ago."

Chad stopped talking to let his mind replay that cheerleader visual for a minute and then focused his attention back onto me.

"Lets go get something to take the edge off, something a little stronger than the Miller Lite they have here." And when Chad says "something a little stronger," he means whiskey.

"Hey!" Shane scoffed, body stance switching flamboyantly to the I'm a little Tea Pot, position. "And what's wrong with Miller Lite Mister?"

"Nothing Shane, Miller is fuckin' fabulous." Chad scoffed shaking his head.

"Ok that sounds great, Mr. Jobless, but I'm low on the cash flow and can't afford stronger, right now."

"I've got it covered." Chad assured.

"What does that mean?"

"Lets just say that people don't pay attention to their purses when fists are being thrown, especially if they're the ones throwing them. Some greedy little fucker helped himself to something that wasn't his." He said, pulling a wad of money out of his pocket and then reached back in his back pocket for more, "And whattya' know, she also smokes Virginia Slims." He continued, waiving the slender box of cigarettes.

"You're bad... but far be it from me to judge others for their wrong doings. Besides, that cow nailed my boyfriend and made me burn my face, she owes me a drink." I finished, lighting up one of Renee's cigarettes.

"Hey," Shane grabbed the lit cigarette out of my mouth and flicked it into the toilet. "No smoking in my bathroom!"

3.
“The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.”
~William Penn ~

We surfaced out of the bathroom and walked through the party, in search of the stealthiest exit. My gaze lingered across the room and caught a glimpse of Renee, being calmed by a crowd of men. Even though she was my target for the evening, I wasn't as mad at her as I was at Tate.

She was right, she didn't owe me anything; she wasn't the one in the relationship with me. I was more envious than anything. Jealous that she seems to get the attention from men, that I wished I could have. Jealous of the fact that she could break through the bond that I thought Tate and I had, even if it was just on a physical level instead of a mental level. I guess boys aren't really capable of such connections, especially when being presented with such tempting, lustful offers.

4.
“Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds.”
~ George Santayana ~

The next morning I awoke with anxiety already consuming me. And it wasn't just because of the news, it was everything; my public display of hate and humiliation, my gluttonous consumption of cigarettes and whiskey, my regrets.

By the time Chad pealed himself off of the spot where he had passed out (the kitchen floor), I had reached the lowest point. I was slothfully sitting Indian style in the middle of the living room, crying with an unlit cigarette dangling between my lips. Not just any cry, the kind you had when you were a child. Deep heavy sobs that causes your body to jerk back when you inhale and every now and again, you choke on your own spit. The kind that reduces your ability to talk down to a broken one - word - per - deep - breath type of speech.

Unsure of what to do with me, Chad stepped lightly, sat quietly next to me, pat me on my back and eventually gave me a confused "there, there, now."

I sucked up my tears and swallowed my sorrows away, enough to try and hold a conversation. No one wants an audience to their pity-party.

"I just feel heavy and regretful." I slurred through deep breaths as Chad removed the soggy cigarette that had set up camp between my lips. He reached for a new one from the pack and scrambled around for a lighter.

"You've just reached Dante's fifth circle, girl. You're under water."

"Drowning." and when I finally composed myself, I continued. "I can do the math. Shouldn't Karma have kept me from getting my ass handed to me by that heifer?"

"I think your attack negates due Karma."

Just as Chad found a lighter to light the cigarette with, we were interrupted by the sound of a car rolling up to the front of our house. Chad and I glanced at each other and simultaneously stood up to view the world outside of the living room window. That car looked familiar. It looked like the real confrontation was about to happen and an inevitable end of a relationship.

"I guess it's time for the talk, whether I'm ready for it or not" I stated to Chad with a sigh as I watched Tate's car door swing open.

"Hey," Chad called my attention back as he popped the cigarette in his mouth. He lit his and tossed me the pack and the lighter. "Don't take his shit, you don't need him. You're better than both of them, remember that."

Chad drew an imaginary heart in the air with his index fingers, framing my face in it.

I smiled a weak smile and nodded.

5.
“We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
~ Anaïs Nin ~

Out on the front porch, I told it like it was. There was no buying of his bullshit, no acceptance of his apologies, no taking him back.

"I just want to explain. I don't think you realize how much you mean to me. It was a mistake and the situation is not like you think it is -" Tate tried to explain, words stumbling over his thoughts. I can only presume that he was hoping to talk his way out of this one.

"You hooked up with some other girl while I was wearing your promise ring. The situation is exactly like I think it is. That's all the details I need to know. There's nothing more to explain and there's nothing that you can say that will make this ok."

"I just want to, uhm -" There was an eternity of silence as I stood and watched him struggle to find some other words to rectify the situation. " I'm sorry."

"You are sorry. Sorry and stupid." I removed his ring and tossed it on the ground in front of him. "You'll be even more sorry when you realize that you just fucked up the best thing you'll ever have."

And with that I turned, lit my last cigarette from the pack and walked back into the house. Even though I didn't fully believe it myself, I didn't want him to leave thinking that he got the better of me. It was the only piece of pride I had left.

Shattered in my hands

I'm a clumsy girl. On a normal day, you may find me stumbling over my own feet and then promptly scanning every direction to make sure no one saw me. I also may trip over words, drop items or slam unsuspecting body parts into doors. My fingers, hands, arms or feet carry the purplish blue battle wounds often.

This past week was rough and gravity was testing me. A few stumbles here and there, some dropped trinkets, followed by a miss aim of the doorway. I'm pretty sure the tall glass window next to the sliding glass door still has my face print on it.

Now mind you, the majority of these are sober moments. I don't fall this much when I'm intoxicated. Odd, I know.

So, the climax of the week was Sunday, when I was trying to take some dainty wine glasses back to their home on the wine shelf. Again, I was sober when this took place. Really, It's a short walk from the sink to the wine shelf and about two steps in, a glass begins to slip from my hand. I tried to make a quick gesture to prevent a tumble and when I did, the bulbous ends of the glasses met and shattered. They shattered in my hands.

It was a few cuts and stabs, nothing a couple of glow-in-the-dark Casper band-aids couldn't handle. Nothing to really complain about, but I'm excellent at complaining, even about minor boo-boos.