smileyjess

ticketmaster was kind enough to send me an 'event reminder' email about seeing coldplay this tuesday at mohegan sun.

pssssh. as if i can even think about anything else these days!!!!

come on now, dont you want to know
you're a refuge, somewhere i can go
you're air that -- air that i can breathe
you're my golden opportunity

nope, nothing here, shuffle along now, thanks for stopping by.

for a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. but there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. at last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. this perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. happiness is the way. so treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one. happiness is a journey, not a destination.
-souza

you know what i miss? watercolours and boxes of new crayons and freshly sharpened coloured pencils. the way your best friend in preschool through first grade was whoever shared such prized possessions with you. oh! fingerpainting. and lathering a shiny coat of green-red-blue-yellow-pink-orange all over coating your skin - different colours for different fingers if you were up for a challenge. the way the paintbrush tickled as the bristles blindly searched for the tiny join crevices of a 3,4,5 year old's hands. using an old t shirt of dad's as a smock - it came down to your knees and the "short" sleeves were practically past your elbows and still somehow you managed to get paint on your clothes - and inevitably some in your hair. good thing newspaper lined the floor otherwise in your seemingly careless but utterly precise splashing some stray spots may have speckled the woodwork. when the paper cup of brush rinsing water became a murky opaque purplish brown i knew it was time to call it day. hang the pictures on the clothesline for an unintended yet interesting abstract wind effect.

i wish i could say i knew how to draw more than stick figures and sunbeams.

"Chris Martin said the sex was way hot, by the way."
-Katie

and i wouldn't have it any other way

my mom: i'm just disappointed in you, jessica.
me: what the fuck else is new. ::dramatic exit::

i've realized that caring hurts me. i'm just not going to do that anymore.

i sat in a chair, legs double crossed in that way that always just makes it look like i have to pee. i don't. it just seems that way. i need to, have to cross them twice, once at the knees and then another time at the ankles because then i take up less space. also important is knotting my fists snugly in the opposite crooks of each elbow.

jittery and twitchy, i heard conversations all around me but couldn't understand any of them. yes, they were all in english. worse, someone was speaking to me but all i saw were lips moving and eyes scanning my face for the slightest trace of a reaction. numb. completely, utterly, entirely numb. absolute nothingness. except that i remember being scared and anxious and hypersensitive. jesus christ. numb, hypersensitive ----- make up your fucking mind, i thought.

then i stopped. thinking, that is. about myself.

a woman with a lovely painted face, sporting one of those godawful velour tracksuits that only j. lo would ever look halfway decent in, sat guarded with a thick binder in her lap and pain visibly weighing down her eyes. you could see it in the way she just stared at the hideous stained carpet.

another woman, with a too-huge coach bag and too-dyed blonde hair (i know, i'm one to talk, you're saying), passing around a picture of a too-small baby boy with thin wisps of feather light hair and unnaturally blue eyes, sought the approval of everyone. silently i heard her pleas and i nodded acceptance, wanted to voice the okayness of it all, but no words came out. they choked me instead.

hat pulled low, entirely shielding his bloodshot yet tear deprived eyes, long sleeved black harley davidson shirt covering otherwise very visibly tattooed arms, his shoulders hunched so far over that the topmost bone of his spine protruded from his neck, he diconnectedly spoke about the death of his 4 hour old son.

i stopped thinking and for once truly listened. even now i'm surprised that i'm able to find my voice at all.

i want to be soothed, held, cuddled, nurtured; kissed tenderly on my forehead; "shhhh"-ed in a calming tone only slightly above a barely-audible whisper; have near-dried tears be gently swiped away by smooth fingertips; gingerly spoken to using imperfect words for impossibly explicable emotions; rocked, cradled; watched over; loved.

Clementine: i'm not a concept. too many guys think i'm a concept or i complete them or i'm going to make them alive, but i'm just a fucked up girl who is looking for my own peace of mind. don't assign me yours.

Joel: i remember that speech well.

Clementine: i had you pegged, didn't i?

Joel: you had the whole human race pegged.

Clementine: probably.

Joel: i still thought you were going to save me. even after that.

i didn't notice how disturbingly quiet, still the room was until the door shut behind him. green eyes - circular peridots pierced with startlingly black pupils, chiseled cheeks and auburns curls cascading over the edges of his ears. tall, thin, with pinstripe pants and a patent leather belt, paired casually with canvas shoes that tread softly on the greyish-brown carpet stained with slight traces of coffee.

i had stirred when the door unexpectedly opened. a triangle of light from the hallway slowly grew increasingly obtuse, contrastingly golden yellow compared to the slowly streaming dim clouds on the other side of the double paned ninth floor windowframe.

the door's right angle lessened. i thought for sure it would slam, its echo would reverberate, i'd flinch at the loudness shattering the comfort of this cozy space. at the last second he swung a rolex-ed arm around, perfectly timing the velocity, catching the doorknob with a deft flick of the wrist.

in an odd sort of real-life freeze-frame slow motion, i watched the silver lock nonchalantly glide against its smooth companion, comfortably clicking with palpable familiarity right into its place, much like a hand in a worn baseball mitt, an embrace in the arms of a loved one.

the click made me wince. (embraces make me wince.)

a slam would have been better, i realized. more definining, definitive. authoritative. instead the slight noise seemed guestlike, subordinate, certainly not in control. noninvasive. i felt myself unworthy of such thoughtful deference, shocked at the consideration of it all.

if he's not in control, that leaves only me to lead.

my words, instructions were worthy of being recorded. this thought makes me shudder. i don't want to read them. when he took notes, i noticed he was left handed.

"May your day be decorated with sunshine falling down from the sky like streamers."

so it goes, i suppose.

I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority. ~Elwyn Brooks White, Essays of E.B. White, 1977

I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright. ~Henry David Thoreau

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes. ~e.e. cummings

The poetry of the earth is never dead. ~John Keats

To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment. ~Jane Austen

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. ~Lao Tzu

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. ~William Shakespeare

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything. ~William Shakespeare

The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful. ~e.e. cummings

If one way be better than another, that you may be sure is Nature's way. ~Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. ~Albert Einstein

who knows if the moon's
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited,where

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves
-e.e. cummings

moved out of 311 on saturday. it was all i could do to keep from losing some semblance of self-composure. disassembled the wall of jewelry, took down the redbluegreenyellow tibetan prayer flags, gingerly folded rye's watercolours, stacked up a pile of differently sized frames, glass faces clinking against one another in the musty smelling cardboard box that had been labeled, oddly enough, "halloween" in thick black sharpie.

the contents of my entire life since september are now stowed away in similar containers - some in drab faded brown boxes and other in unnaturally chipper bright blue and green and purple plastic tubs.

i came 'home' home and collapsed into an unmade bed. it started to rain slightly. i left everything in the car.

later on i forced my eyes open.

i have yet to do that to any of the boxes - open them. they sit in every corner of my bedroom and clothes pile on my couch. i wear the same handful of pairs of pants and unflattering shirts. what's the point, i figure?

instead of doing laundry today, i went shopping. problem solved, issued successfully avoided.

it was so beautiful out this afternoon, but i walked in a nearly palpable haze, despising myself for not taking advantage of the weather and driving to gansett with a little dave matthews and an open sunroof.

instead, to treat myself, i bought some skittles. i only ate the red ones. want to make sure those new clothes fit.

there is no escape from it. the stifling, still, reactionless, emoty void.

it's ironic because it used to actually be the escape. it was a sanctuary, a sidestepping of reality. it was a secret spot, a thinking spot, a place to go and hide and collect myself. there, nothing was important. there, nothing mattered. there, i felt most real.

when the the stretched out horizon was simply too wide for even the most panoramic of visions, i'd retreat to the edge. dive off, fearlessly ump in, not even granting myself a second for my nerves to catch up with me. i was suddenly rather uncharacteristically unafraid of the great height. "everything looks perfect from far away" and it did. out of touch with life, i's plummet headfirst into the paradoxical artificiality and held my breath until i absolutely couldn't for a nanosecond longer.

the plunge would feel as refreshing as the first summer dip in the pool, the much welcomed waves of clear water rushing through my fingertips, arms and legs pressed firmly by my sides. utterly weightless, perfectly streamlined. eyes shut, but still knowingly navigating with confidence, lashes flirting with the bottom lid, completely powerless and succumbing to even the slightest current's force.

i loved the wonderful floating feeling, the sudden ability to defy gravity, passively allowing myself to be led up, up, up to the rippling surface scattered with distorted reflections of snow tufted mountain peak clouds and flapping butterfly wings.

it used to be the cool escape, the ultimate cleansing, the purifier.

i'd almost silently emerge from my hiding place below, barely noticeable and certainly not drawing any attention to myself. surprise. silky and smooth extra long hair would cascade down my shoulders, each strand seemingly slicked into spot and perfectly styled. drops sliding down, down, down (down, down, down, down) the bridge of my nose.

slapslapslap water on pavement. soaksoaksoak oversized and faded terrycloth towels depicting scenes of old school animated disney films. a catnap in the sun and i was ready to once again face everything.

and now? now what's it like? what the past tense? "was" an escape?

because now i'm floundering and my arms are flailing and i made the mistake of screaming for help and let out all of the air in my lungs.

completely deflated, it doesn't help that i'm being held under by something stronger than me. something drowning me.

i can't sleep underwater and i'm so tired. the delusion has become more frightening that reality, and i'm not sure how to feel about that.

because where do i go now?

“Tree and Stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, an arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.”
-Sylvia Plath

no one's ever just given me flowers for no reason... i feel so indebted. thank you. the luscious hot pink tulips (how'd you know hot pink was my most favouritest colour?) brighten my room and my days. i'm not worthy of such care/attention.

[edit: 29 april - i stand corrected. danny once picked me an entire geranium plant on a fine day in may when he forbade me from seeing... someone. it was crayon red with little leaves and - yes - even came complete with roots and stems. the best part is... i still have a little bit of it. how dare i take such a gesture for granted. in my defense, i gave him one back, so it kind of cancels everything out... this is my all time favourite picture of him, aside from the one where he's three and sporting booty shorts... love you for life.]