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

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~

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.

A Fraction of Myself: Beginning from an End

A Fraction of Myself:
I once heard someone ask that if we are reincarnate souls and we have 10x's the population we did centuries ago, where did all these souls come from? Had they just been waiting for their day or is it set up that every time we die only half of ourselves are able to come back, where the other half is recycled into a new human spirit? Am I only a fraction of the person I used to be eons ago... 1/16th of my spiritual possibility, having random encounters with pieces of myself through the eyes of my friends and family?

Beginning from an End:
We've got curves, we've got swerves in all different kinds of places
Like, the curves of our hips or the swerves shadowing our faces
Or how the spaces of my paces, one foot in front of the other
swerves my hips like a tree in the wind, from one side to another.

When . . .
my mother would cover my eyes she'd say,
"Our beauty mirrors the earth,"
from the smile in her sunrise, to the cries of each birth
and the worth of the world is weighed in each and every creation
to recycle life and add exuberance from her imagination

You see . . .
reincarnation, in my interpretation, is a Beginning from an End
and every time you come back your spirit will transcend,
descending history, bending centuries as our dreams links and traces
mind straining for higher gnosis to fill gaps and spaces
each face maps and places souls we've met and where we've been
from the familiar axis of each feature to the symmetry of each grin

Now . . .
within the final moments, as my eyes begin to close
the positions of my lifelines shift and juxtapose
the present day self transposes with the past
the day has seen the dawn of my lessons and I exhale at last.

Wanted: One Spacebaby Shirt and A Few Missing Friends

Some friends of late, I seem to have lost like an old favorite shirt. One day while folding laundry I stopped short and thought, "I haven't worn or even seen my black shirt that has the stylized fetus in space on the front. The one with the word Spacebaby strewn shamelessly across the breasts." Puzzled, I tried to recall the last time I saw the shirt, but my mind returned with blank memories. I lost you just like that.

I was unaware of the transition until it was well into months of silence between us. Two unreturned phone calls and a myspace message later, I realized that you had no desire to talk to me anymore. I thought back and remembered that we shared giggles over some cigarettes and red wine, last I saw you. I thought back and remembered that we had a heart to heart about love gone wrong during a 2 a.m. phone call. I thought back and remembered that I called to tell you that I made it home safely from your house and you promised to call back after your morning shower. That last one was four months ago. Still no phone call. That's a long shower. I lost you all just like that.

It's sad and unfortunate, but the optimist in me, somewhere, thinks that we can find our way back to friendship. It's the same optimist that thinks when I stop looking for my Spacebaby shirt; I'll serendipitously find it during a monthly hunt for my keys. I'm a hypersensitive girl, but I haven't cried, yet. Not yet. I do know, though, that if I get that Reason, Season or Lifetime, e-mail on it's yearly round through cyberspace, the denial will break, the heartache will swell and the tears will run free. I've lost you and I miss you all just like that.

Asking For It

I was heartbroken and almost accidentally drove off a cliff. I had a good friend sitting shotgun and scared as hell. Thelma and Louise ain't got nothing on me. The band Hole was spinning in the CD player, but was coming in low like a whisper in the back seat of my car. Turned down by my companion, Melissa, who urged me to concentrate.

Let me back up a bit. It was the beginning of summer and the day after being dropped by my first love. I was better off; he was an asshole who couldn't keep his eyes from wandering and his hands from traveling. The only problem was, I couldn't get my heart to follow my minds lead. I didn't feel better off. And my friend sitting shot gun, Mel? She had just nailed half of the guys in our circle of friends, trying to screw her memory-slate clean of the love she left back home, many states away. Apparently it wasn't working.

"I feel fine for a while and then all of a sudden, I get anxious and depressed for a full hour. One whole hour of feeling completely jacked up." Mel confesses.

"The hour of Jacked!" I repeated, feeling the twinges of anxiety myself.

"Let's just go for a drive and see where it takes us?" And that's how it began. One suggestion, followed by a winding road up through the back hills of San Juan Bautista, with angry chick music blaring from the car stereo. Two wayward travelers, trying to out-drive our thoughts.

Depression makes you adventurous and somewhat careless with your life. Not purposefully, the risks are just another means to distract yourself from your mind. So, when the opportunity to veer off the main road onto a graveled side road appeared, we took it. It was seemingly the road to a better view of the city lights.

We got halfway up the dirt road when I realized that the road was but merely a path and it narrowed the farther up we went. With the incline, at some point I couldn't see the road at all, just the front hood of my car. That's when the music got turned down. This was serious. I couldn't go forward anymore, because I couldn't even see if there was a forward, and the dust cloud I caused behind us made backing up a bit difficult.

"Ummm... I think I'm going to back-up. At least I'm positive that there's road there." I said, in a wavering, unsure tone.

"Take your time. I'll be here. . . pissing my pants."

Backing up when you can't see what your backing up on is tricky and straight is subjective, when you're on a winding dirt trail. When my back tire lost contact with the ground, I stopped short.

"Ok, new plan! I'm going forward..."

"Uh-huh." Mel's voice was seemingly calm, but her presence was panicked. She gripped onto the 'oh shit,' handle above the passenger side door and sat stiffly as the car began to roll forward.

At the top of the hill we both leaned forward and stretched our upper bodies in hopes of being able to see past the hood. There was a universe of dust surrounding my car now and the front headlights were superfluous. I hit the gas and my car thrust forward, back tires kicking up gravel, both of us clenching and cursing under breath. The car tipped and began rolling, then sliding downhill. With the headlights, highlighting the blanket of darkness in front of us and the speed at which my car jolted forward, it was hard to tell if we were still on a path or just going off the cliff side. I slammed on the brakes, gripped the steering wheel tight and my butt puckered, anticipating the worse. All of a sudden, the dust cleared and we were sitting on a rounded clearing of dirt, just off the main road. The car had made it to the other side.

We both exhaled deeply and when I turned to look at her, she had two cigarettes in her mouth and was rummaging around her purse for a lighter.

"Cut the engine for a minute." She suggested, in a mumble, cigarettes bobbing between her lips as she spoke. I turned the engine off, but left a bit of power running, so the low tunes could still be heard. She turned to me with a lit cigarette and I took it, I needed it.

We rolled the windows down and turned up the stereo to hear "Asking for it," coming in clear. Courtney Love was off-key and singing, " . . . if you live through this with me, I swear that I will die for you and if you live through this with me, I swear that I will die for you . . . "

"Ready to go -" I said, cutting Courtney off. The song following the situation made everything seem too surreal.

"More than ready." Mel was in agreement. "Somehow, I don't feel so jacked anymore."

"I would assume that near-death can do that to you." I mused.

"So, what do you want to do tomorrow?"

Get It Together, Girl

If you want to know what life was like without you,
it felt very drunk.

I spent a lot of mornings apologizing for the night before.
I'm still sorry for the mess I made on that car, in that house,
and the one I made of my life.

Life felt like an empty room in a very big house
like a churning stomach and a sleepless night,
like someone feeling very uncomfortable in her own skin.
The pain was cutting and the scars are deep.
Deep in my heart, in my memory, on my flesh.
I could still see the scars but when the pain was starting to fade,
it was a false recovery that I didn't realize, until now.

This all was due largely to the destructive distraction,
the boy I thought I was trying to save, but didn't need or want my saving.
How can I clean up someone elses mess,
when my very own mess was causing my head to spin.
Together we made one fantastic mess,
two people united by one subconscious downward spiral.

We were reckless . . .
no, wait, he was reckless and I went along for the ride.

He was a car crash into a train wreck
and I walked into his self-destructive behavior, like a bird aimlessly gliding into glass.

All I saw was clear skies -never the impending impact.

Tell me stories,
make promises out of lies,
feed me pills and fill me with false hope,
I was begging for it.

Please, save me from myself.

Sugary sweet hours of blissful zoning,
gave way for me to escape this world, myself,
my wreckless companion
and you.
Enough to make me think I was getting over you,
not just distracting myself from the hurt.

If you want to know what life was like without you,
it felt cheep and abusive.
It felt like I was looking for anyone to hurt me,
because I was tired of hurting myself.

It felt like bottom-shelf whiskey,
a dive-bar jukebox,
stripper dust and filth.
That dive of a place,
was starting to feel like home,
and the hazy drunkenness . . . comfortable,
as comfortable as a Pink Floyd song.
I wasn't thinking about you any more.
I didn't need you anymore, in that place.

If you want to know what life was like without you,
it felt like abandonment.
it felt like my distraction found solace
in the arms of someone with a warm bed and kind eyes.
It felt like alone would feel,
when your friends are tired of your drunken behavior.
It felt like a girl who wasn't even good enough
for a boy who's life is like a car crash into a train wreck.

Life felt like an empty room in a very big house
like a churning stomach and a sleepless night,
like someone feeling very uncomfortable in her own skin.
like a dive bar stool and 2am promises,
like tears in the bottom of a shot glass, crying "get it together girl."
get it together.
Get it together, girl.

If you want to know what life is like without you,
it feels like a cut of the flesh finally healing
and a sober morning.
It feels like a garage sale,
like the purging of all of your things.
It feels like an out of state move and a new apartment.
It feels like a new job and a fresh start.
Like a mess of a girl finally getting it together.