smileyjess

almost 2500 songs and NONE of them fit how i am feeling (or not feeling for that matter) right now.

his wedding band had the worn look of well-aged gold, the faintest trace of a long-ago engraving nearly rubbed off altogether where the skin of his pinky slid against it. his wrinkled expression was one of defeat, his weighty exhalations sank as soon as they hit the air. i swear i could feel the floor shake with their jolted landing, each heavy sigh a mini earthquake or the forcefully intimidating prolonged contact of several lightening bolts in a row with your childhood home. he described a search for tranquility that has so far ended up in nothing but the discovery of an uncomfortably silent stillness that, at best, threatens to shatter, is on the mere brink of its breaking point. i dont think he realizes that only he has control over the achievement of this imagined idyllic peace. he is letting everything else get in his way.

pace your breathing. at the very least, evenly space the mind's never ending stream of demanding thoughts and musings. and especially don't throw in the towel. i think. but i don't say. i press my lips together to see how possibly small i can make them.

i want to breathe for him. in,one,two,three,out,one,two,three. infinitisimal puffs of invisible air molecules disperse sporadically, but evenly. in their proper places. they do not disupt what is already there, instead skirting aside politely, sidestepping steadily, smoothly sliding out of the way, never once losing delicate poise and grace.

and then. it all breaks. his stillness. the sighs have broken it. poked and prodded enough, it does, indeed, shatter. and it shatters loudly. reverberates through the walls, pulses through the entire building in the same way a demolition bomb does.

so long it lie below the surface. finally the crust broke open and he broke down.

divorce. it was a whisper, the same way cancer is always whispered.

the two syllables automatically separate themselves like the matching poles of magnets, they stubbornly refuse to cohabitate, and special measure must be taken to keep them separated and satisfied.

di.
vorce.

for me, the word splits in the center of the v, an arrow pointing in a downward direction. not even spiraling down. straight down.

the sides aren't symmetrical, even, and that has always bothered me. inevitably, one side has less than the other. less of what? their self. they have lost a piece of their self. but it has not just crumbled and broken off. still worse, it was really voluntarily given away, in a manner of speaking. it has been received, unappreciated, and - unfortunately - unreturned. whereas the separate parts initially started out as equal halves, the scales have since been tipped.

the way his eyes fill with tears, the way he looks at the salt and pepper threads of the carpeted floor, the way his sighs are laden with lead, i know exactly which side he's on.

i cried because his band adamantly refused to slide over the knuckle of his left hand ring finger. the rough skin would not permit it.

decades lost and gone forever. as hopless and as sunken as the exhalations that escaped from the confines of his wistful words.

as lost as his self.

1. Allow events to change you. You have to be willing to grow. Growth is different from something that happens to you. You produce it. You live it. The prerequisites for growth: the openness to experience events and the willingness to be changed by them.

2. Forget about good. Good is a known quantity. Good is what we all agree on. Growth is not necessarily good. Growth is an exploration of unlit recesses that may or may not yield to our research. As long as you stick to good you'll never have real growth.

26. Don’t enter awards competitions. Just don’t. It’s not good for you.

super excellent advice for proper living: an incomplete manifesto

exam week is upon us.

tuesday civ
thursday calc
saturday chem
tuesday bio

and then i still have yet another calc exam to take before june because i missed one whilst wasting away in the hospital.

i'm writing everyday because everyday i am finding things that need to be written. good things.

once everything settles down i promise i'll be posting daily.

things are getting better. one day at a time.

i am getting better. one foot in front of the other. two steps forward, one step backward: doesn't matter to me - i'm still moving forward.

i am smiling everyday because everyday i am finding things about which to smile.

When you thought that it was over
You could feel it all around
And everybody's out to get you
Don't you let it drag you down

Because if you ever feel neglected
And if you think that all is lost
I'll be counting up my demons
Hoping everything's not lost

The Chris Farley Show

.....Chris Farley
.....Paul McCartney

Chris Farley: Um, hi. Welcome to The Chris Farley Show. I'm.. Chris Farley.. and, my guest tonight is.. one of the.. greatest musicians.. uh, rock musicians. I guess, songwriter, ever. [ Smacks himself ] GOD! That sounds stupid! God, I'm an idiot! I never know how to start these things!

Paul McCartney: You're doing great, Chris.

Chris Farley: [ hopeful ] Really? No, I'm not. [ hyperventilating ] Anyway.. I guess.. I didn't have, have to say, who you were, because.. man, I mean.. everyone knows who you are. Mmm.. you're Paul McCartney.

Paul McCartney: Well, it's great to be here.

Chris Farley: [ uncomfortable ] You.. you.. you remember when you were with The Beatles?

Paul McCartney: Yeah, sure.

Chris Farley: That was awesome!

Paul McCartney: Yeah, it was.

Chris Farley: O-kay.. Oh! You.. you remember when you went to Japan.. and, uh, and at the airport they arrested you 'cause you had some pot, and.. it made all the papers, and everything..?

Paul McCartney: Well, to be honest, Chris, I'd kind of like to forget all of that.

Chris Farley: [ smacks himself harder ] IDIOT!! That's so stupid! What a dumb question!!

Paul McCartney: No, no, no, Chris. I get asked that all the time in interviews. Maria Shriver asked the same question last week.

Chris Farley: Really? [ pause ] Did you know that she's married to Arnold Schwartzenegger?

Paul McCartney: Yeah. I've heard that.

Chris Farley: Did you see "Terminator"?

Paul McCartney: No, I missed that one.

Chris Farley: That was a pretty awesome flick. [ pause ] O-kay.. remember.. you remember when you were with The Beatles, and you were supposed to be dead, and, uh, there was all these clues, that, like, uh, you played some song backwards, and it'd say, like, "Paul Is Dead", and, uh, everyone thought that you were dead? That was, um, a hoax, right?

Paul McCartney: Yeah. I wasn't really dead.

Chris Farley: Right. I think we.. I think we got time for one more question. Uh.. remember when you were in The Beatles? And, um, you did that album Abbey Road, and at the very end of the song, it would.. the song goes, "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make"? You.. you remember that?

Paul McCartney: Yes.

Chris Farley: Uh.. is that true?

Paul McCartney: Yes, Chris. In my experience, it is. I find, the more you give, the more you get.

Chris Farley [ ecstatic, starts to point at Paul and mouth "AWESOME!" ] Well, that's it for this week's show. Thank you, Paul McCartney, thank you, for being one of the greatest.. of rock.. I mean, a living legend. And uh, a legend of rock and roll.. and.. just thanks for being on the show, and.. [ smacks himself even harder ] GOD DANGIT! That sounded stupid! I knew I'd screw up!

Paul McCartney: You did fine, you did fine, Chris.

Chris Farley: Really? Thanks, man. Thanks. Thank you. [ Outro music comes on, Chris continues to talk to Paul ] Remember.. remember when I was talking to you about "The Terminator"? You.. you should see that movie, it's pretty cool..

[ Paul nods his head ]

i want to pull on pink and white polkadotted rainboots and go for a stroll in the woods when it rains. i want to jump in puddles and splash so that my favourite pair of broken in boyfriend cut (circa 2004) pale yellow paint splattered jeans from the habitat for humanity trip become jackson-pollock-esque pockmarked with muddy droplets that dry. even multiple washes later - when no one else will be able to see them - i will spot them as i cross my ankles and instantly become self conscious. like always.

when i was younger, i hated getting dirty. i was four. i was shipped off to preschool with a canvas l.l. bean bag packed with at least one change of clothes for the day, just in case i spilled some apple juice or maybe in case i fell in the dirt when we were playing ... whatever game it is that you play when you're four. i'd cry silently at the imperfections, want desperately to hide.

it didn't matter that i was four and four year olds spill things because they're mastering the art of the sippy cup and they trip because they're still getting used to legs. i didn't care that the other kids were just as, if not more, tussled and tattered and torn. rips and tears galore, how did their moms let them out of the house like that? don't get me started on the unbrushed hair!

freshly stained shirts and sweaters and oshkosh overalls found their way into my pink plastic ballerina trash can.

today i wanted to run in the rain and let my not-so-waterproof mascara run in tiny black polluted streams down my cheeks and risk slipping in the thick, all-consuming damp spring earth and nearly lose my balance and my breath.

i'd love to sit under a tree with a good book - my worn paperback copy of han nolan's dancing on the edge, preferably - and not worry about the pages wrinkling with rainwater or the back pockets of my pants fading from the roots.

i'd lean against the bark and breathe in that crisp scent of fresh rainfall - i wish i could bottle that up and take it with me. that's the only good part about rain.

tendrils of hair would curl on my neck with moisture and i'd watch intently as anthills experienced miniature tsunamis and families lost loved one and squirrels scurried in branches, snapping one accidentally once in a while, birds frantically chirping while seeking shelter in backyard garden gazebos and greenhouses. distant cars' tires on pavement whisper as they approach and trail off like unfinished sentences and incomplete thoughts as they depart seconds after arriving.

i'd hug my knees close to my chest and rest my chin on them, eye level with the rain-spattered text of my book, drops sliding down and absorbing the inked garamond font, smudging lines together incoherently. but i already know how the story ends.

instead i'm in my room, under three layers of covers with the shades drawn and today's outfit not in the garbage, but the hamper. the capris were painted with specks of mud from the soaked green-ribboned flip-flops and the imperfection of everything was so tiresome/overwhelming.

my mascara runs, but i was only outside for the time it took to go from the driver's side cardoor to my garage.

looking at the floor (why are we always looking at the floor like it's going to magically spring to life and give us the answers? why does it attract our eyes as though they were magnetized?), he spoke with voice inflection at all the right points.

he told me about years of preparation and dazed days for a bunch of fake people (that didn't even fucking matter in the end) who constantly tried to bring down an ego that was already level with a pile of shit.

he spoke to the floor (but to me) and told it (me) about dashed dreams and lost hopes and scary car accidents and bridges with white capped waters underneath.

his collar was endearingly bunched up in the back and i wanted to reach around and straighten it out for him like i imagine his girlfriend probably does everyday just before he leaves their beautiful apartment reeking of her success (enough for the both of them. the success, i mean).

i listened to his voice (heavy with falsely inferred failures), barely above a whisper now (i wondered if the floor could hear him still), and i thought, "are you me?"

and then i loved him. because i knew he could not love himself. would not ever allow himself to love his self.

it would be the perfect relationship, if only we weren't there in the first place and everything was entirely different.

i know this one is your favourite everclear song. i think of you every time i hear it. especially this part:

I think it's getting better for the two of us
Yes I think it's getting better almost everyday
I could give a damn for what those people say
All I want to do is lose myself in your room

p.s. to madeleine - every other everclear song makes me think of you. simply because that is how we became friends in introcomp with larocheeeeee ohsomany years ago now. i love you, too, babe!

what's the worst part about a blackout?
you can't remember anything.

what's the best part about a blackout?
you can't remember anything.

i was accused of being parasitic. feeding off of everyone else's emotions rather than experiencing my own.

i don't know which is worse: the insult itself or the fact i refuse to do a fucking thing about it.

him: no, really. i don't see it as a very big deal.
another person: are you kidding?! it's a huge deal!
another person: you're a celebrity!!
me: i told all my friends!

dumbass.
sometimes i am so smooth i cannot stand myself.
other times i just plain old tolerate me.

had my bio exam today. definitely made up a definition, but that's okay. according to me, ecotone is the surrounding negative or positive karma of an ecosystem. maybe paaaaatrick will laugh and give me a point or something. he looked so adorable in his little hat today. i'm going to miss him so much. hooray for being my advisor, though!

wasted time beforehand very much not studying with allie and later wasted time with a very hungover fro and ordered him to start packing butfirstcouldyoupleaseburn the garden state cd for me? thanks. we laughed over quilted pattern toilet paper obsessions and rehydrated his poor h2o deprived brain.

i got caught in a monsoon. that was fun.

also, i couldn't stop smiling because i kept the 'deaf girl who got hit by a train / regis and kelly ripa' blue slip of paper from drunk charades with matt, becca, rob, and katie. oh, life. grins.

summer is here. jeremy and i are beaching it. i can't be sad. and i'm not. the sun broke through today, finally.

i'm letting go and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. practically an anvil or something.

"Let the mind be warned that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious." - Jack Kerouac

happy summer, beautifuls.

Dear Dan Brown,

I hate you and your stupid fucking books. And I don't really have any respect for anyone that likes them. Especially the Da Vinci Code, but I have an extremely INTENSE dislike for Angels and Demons as well. You write meaningless drivel and twist facts into psuedo-science and psuedo-history so that people who read your books think they know all about the world, when in fact they know nothing, and are proving so by having any interest in your crap books. I swear to God, the next time I see one more "The Da Vinci Code Uncoded" book, I'm going to punch someone in the face. Do your history people, it's not even close to true! I saw Tom Hanks on the Tonight Show last night and I wanted to smash the TV in. IT'S SO FUCKING LAME. The movie will be National Treasure, in Europe. AND I really really HATE your glamorization of history, because it's so fake. I'm real glad that your historian in your book knows everything he knows by gathering the work of other historians, BECAUSE THATS REALLY HOW YOU LEARN HISTORY. NOT by studying actual documents, or anything like that. And I love that your dumbass protagonists immediately trusted an academic, without even blinking, at a time when you couldn't trust anyone, because he's an academic, he must know everything, I'm going to keep putting things in parentheticals cause I hate you so much, they deserved to lose that game. The only thing good that ever came out of that book was the Da Colbert Code*, which may be the most genius thing ever. Okay and I'll admit you did one thing right--I really liked the detective and how you thought he was gonna be a big asshole and then he did the right moral thing, but THAT WAS THE ONE CURVE YOU THREW ME. FUCKING LAME, Dan Brown, FUCKING LAME.

Love,
Madeleine

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIot4A2fMeU

goodbyes terrify me. i shy away from them as i would from someone with the black plague. well, not so much shy away as do a 180 turn on my heels and sprint without looking back.

i'm just so bad at them.

it's not my fault, i swear. when you get down to the nitty-gritty of it all, there is some gene responsible for it. my uncle in california has never been able to take me to the airport on the day of my departure. i'd wake up to an entirely empty house - he and my aunt and cousins having already been gone for hours without my knowing - and a quickly-scribbled note with paperclipped cash explaining how they had mistakenly 'forgotten a prior engagement' and would i mind just calling a cab for myself, thanksokayloveyou.

no goodbye. the first time i was crushed, but now it is an expected ritual. we don't even say goodbye the night before or anything. everyone plays a role and pretends as though i'm not leaving. try it!! it makes things a million times easier!

i don't want to say goodbye. i'm not any 'good' at them. there is nothing 'good' about them.

recently i've realized how much of my energy goes into not doing things that i don't want to do. (read that a few times, i swear it makes sense in that twisted jess way of mine.) skirting, tiptoeing, avoiding those things that make me unhappy.

and now, i just can't bring myself to say a formal goodbye because that implies we're not going to say hello for awhile. or forever, even, if that's what the other person wants. and this is what positively wrings my heart and empties it entirely of all emotion, like droopy bubbles and tainted water drained from a sponge with a firm clutch of the fist.

i want to take off in the other direction. we all know i've never been good at confronting my fears.

things lack finality when there's no open and shut goodbye, no bookending of time. i much prefer for time to just keep going in the same direction. without looking back. pretending.

it's so much easier than starting over again.

just so everyone knows, my recently deleted entries are the results of a server overload or bandwith problem or some other techie thing i don't understand and therefore can't properly explain.

i did not, i repeat, DID NOT delete them (as i am sometimes wont to do).

and once again i'm left with all these regrets. i hate that i can often be read like an open book, but at the same time never really let someone in for fear of getting wounded. (i mean, hello, the fact that i need this journal in and of itself illustrates just how much i can never really communicate by word of mouth.) and now it's too late because my chance has passed and the moment is gone.

just as i was starting to get used to everything the way it was. so comfortable and very much in its right place.

now i'm off balance, off my guard, out of place.

i just hope i'm not out of sight, out of mind.

"He told E that he needed to ... know that when I am "down," it isn’t because I am lazy and don’t want to fix it myself." -jessica

i want him to say this very thing to every single person i've ever met - and every person i've yet to meet. verbatim.

or is this whole bullshit journal just my prolonged three year plus attempt to tell you myself?

on second thought it's probably a good thing that some of my entries from last week were so sporadically deleted. i said what i needed to, i didn't allow myself to be consumed by guilt, and i purged myself of an emotion that was tearing me to shreds.

now all that is left to do is heal.

i'm so sorry if i appeared to be a selfish bitch to anyone. please forgive me if i did. it's just i hardly ever do anything for myself and for once, i did something for no one else but me.

it wont ever happen again, i promise, sorry again guys.

dave matthews at fenway (view image)

section 6-92, row h.

no big deal. oh wait! yes it is!!!!

she was an alcoholic. no, excuse me, i stand corrected.

is an alcoholic.

i would always use past tense when referencing this former crippling disease, this old way of being (for it was truly an all-encompassing way of life, a form of being without which she was literally incapable of functioning "normally" [whatever the fuck that means anyways]) because that was exactly how i - an outsider - viewed it from a safe distance.

the thing gold strands that i am convinced are responsible for connecting everything were most definitely linking those days with these days; yes, no doubt about that. but they weren't so big that they got in the way (any more, at least). you could barely seem them shimmer and glint in the warm glow of the sun's endearing essence.

is an alcoholic. it is an identity from which she will never be able to escape.

"no matter where you go, there you are."

today, not even the new thom yorke album will depress me, that's how fucking happy i am right now.

(credit to fro for the link.)