There Must Be More Than This Provincial Life

I wish so many things that are rarely voiced because I don't want to sound ungrateful for the things I have been lucky enough to call my own.

But I wish I had the kind of mother who sent me cards in the mail. The kind who never broke promises, at least not to her children, at least not to her only daughter. I wish she knew the name of the man I was in love with, or at least why we weren't together. I wish she paid my phone bill instead of vice versa, or I at least wish she said thank you for raising her sons. 

I wish she had not become her mother, and I wish I was not becoming her. I wish I felt comfortable dating casually because I could tell the difference between using a man, and discovering what worked best for my life, because those two things are very different. I wish men did not notice me as often, or talk to me as much. I wish my whole day was not filled with responding to text messages from boys that I genuinely care about, because I feel like I am two-timing when they are not the only name I adore in my phonebook. I wish my day was filled with fewer "you are so beautiful"s from men I barely know as I serve them coffee, and more from the woman who tells me she is proud only when a celebrity tweets something I wrote. 

I wish my family was not the kind to dwindle. I wish the names of the people in my life had not whittled from many siblings to mostly just two. I wish I had two solid parents, instead of sometimes one, sometimes none. 

I like to say that "it is the little things," but sometimes, it just isn't. Sometimes the little things that I appreciate could be so trumped by the big things: do not think I don't envy people with money, with grand vacation plans, and expensive cameras, and wardrobes worth sharing with the world. I am a relatively humble human being, but I am just that: a human being.

I wish rich white men were not rich white men, and I can only hope this is their first life and in the next one, they will be nicer to other human beings because they will remember that life is dealt unevenly, and it is not always everyone's fault. 

I wish I could imagine myself married with kids, because I think families are cute, and I think I would be a good mother, and a better wife, but I hate those titles, and I hate that women lose themselves in the needs of their berry stained children's faces, and I hate that men get to work and chase their dreams and it is harder for the woman when kids are involved because that "I only want my mother" stage lasts from something like birth to twenty-five years old at least. 

And I wish I wasn't so selfish, but I am, and I want to talk about boys, and drink every night, and go to the bar where everybody knows my name, and have questionable relationships with all of the men in my life. And I want to fall asleep drunk on the couch with my girlfriends who I desperately hope not to lose to a man one day, even though it happens more and more all the time. 

She would NOT do this like I wanted her to do it.

I wish I loved going on dates with boys that muster courage for months upon months to ask me out, but I cannot help that I would rather sit at a table in a familiar place with familiar tequila and warm chips and just-okay-salsa with people who are so easy to talk in front of, openly, without hesitations or potentially hurt feelings because if I say I don't believe in god in front of this Christian, he knows that I am smart, and still a good person, and I know he is too, and I think it is nicer to already know people than to have to get to know them, and I don't know if that makes me weird or socially inept or a prude, but I don't need the potential of a man holding me at night to make me feel good about myself because I have these conversations instead. I love being kissed, but if I don't see myself loving you, your lips will never be near mine and neither will your penis, and I would rather be this girl than the one who falls into the bed or the altar with however-many-men to feel momentary pleasure and acceptance. Patriarchal bullshit. 

I wish I could blame all of the things in my head on either my mommy or daddy issues, but I cannot even keep track of where they come from at this point.

I wish I was simple and could date casually, and could love openly, and I wish I didn't chase complications and I wish I didn't like 'em unattainable and I wish men did not open up to me and rely on me and use me because they know I will let them when I become too involved because I love being the "only person who knows" the thing that fucked them up, and I wish I wasn't such a fucking cliché.

I wish I never worked Sunday mornings, because those are for mimosas and the funny papers. 

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But.

I appreciate my mother's strength, and I am glad she passed it on to me and accidentally multiplied it by like a million. 

I appreciate that I have two brothers that make up my spine and my heart and the few brain cells I have to claim. I appreciate having an older brother so that I have never slept with men who don't care about me, or really slept with men at all because I am too good to be that vulnerable with pretty much anyone I've met because I will always have at least one man who treats me with more respect than any other woman receives in the wide world. 

I am so happy I really do think it is the little things, because when I am having a bad day, sometimes someone brings me flowers, and neither of those young men are my boyfriend, but they are both much more than that stupid title. 

I appreciate the rich white men who fight the stereotype and learn from their surroundings, who push themselves to realize that because someone is Black, or on welfare, or without a home, or all of the above, all of our hearts beat the same, and all of our blood is red when exposed, and all of us have our stories, some are just more comfortable wearing them on their proverbial sleeves. 

I appreciate knowing women who make great mothers, and who still read articles about race and politics and not just recipes to trick their kids into eating beets or whatever kids are supposed to eat these days. 

And I appreciate my girlfriends who have husbands who make time for their girlfriends. 

I appreciate the men who ask me out, because every man has balls, but not every man uses them. Hypothetically speaking.

I love Sunday mornings at my job, even though I dream of trekking out the door to the Ranch Room for bloody marys and conversation instead, but sometimes the backroom of your coffee shop is comparable to lounging on your couch, because sure there is work to be done, but there are also the moments when your dear friend brings in a paleo treat, you greedily try to eat it with an unstable fork to no avail, so your barista soulmate scoops it up off the ground and eats it no hesitations, claiming the "ten second rule," which actually doesn't apply to pudding on a tile floor, and all of that is much funnier than a comic strip in a newspaper. 

Plus, we sell the paper, and mimosas are just as good at noon. 

I Believe

I don't believe in a god, but I believe in the universe: I always say that, and it is always true. The universe has your back.

I believe in meet cutes: kitchen tables, classrooms, snowy nights, bottles of red wine, back rooms of businesses that no longer exist.

I don't believe that home is where the heart is. I don't believe that home is where your mother is, or where you were born. I believe home is where your feet take you when you are not paying attention. I believe home is the thought you have before you fall asleep at night. I believe home is the way my name sounds when he says it.

I believe the best love song of all-time is "God Only Knows," because there are not love songs with quite as much honesty.

"I may not always love you."

I believe in the sound of rain on a windowpane, because I believe in cliches.

I believe colleges crush education. I believe the internet has killed the book. I believe no one reads enough. I believe other peoples' words are the best ones.

“The world will break your heart ten ways to Sunday, thats guaranteed, and I can’t begin to explain that, or the craziness inside myself and everybody else but guess what? Sunday is my favorite day again.”

I believe that nothing goes as far as a hug. I believe that most people are not hugged enough. I believe that it is okay to want to be held. The one who rubs your back until you fall asleep is the one.

I believe I am a curmudgeon.

I believe in the word "rankled," and I believe the one who rankles you the most is the one.

I believe cookies should be eaten in twos.

I believe in eyeglasses, because everyone is sexier with glasses.

I don't believe in realism in my television shows. I believe we are losing the aspect of escapism in entertainment. Everything is far too relatable these days.

"You should be with somebody who is crazy about you, Jess."

I believe the only thing worse than milk chocolate is white chocolate. So I only believe in dark chocolate.

I believe in skirts, and dresses; tights, and leggings. I borderline hate denim.

I believe everyone should embrace the worst parts of themselves, at least just to learn something new.

I believe every woman can wear red lipstick.

I believe in moments. 

I believe the best comfort can be found in an oversized sweater: when you are cold at work, when you are exhausted, and sad. When you are lonely, or busy with your thoughts.

I believe that size doesn't matter, but I also believe there is something different about a working man's hand enveloping your own. There is something bone chilling about your face held between rough and suffering hands.

I believe that I will always love the ones that are a bit worn down. I like trouble.

I believe that summer is fun, but autumn is magic.

"We are never so vulnerable as when we are in love."

I believe that when you come across someone that captures your attention, you should let your attention be captured.

I believe that you should let him sleep on your shoulder even though the movie ended. You will miss the weight of him in a few years.

I believe you should trust what she sees in you.

"Life finds a way."

I believe you should not forget the first one who made you feel loved. It is really hard to be the first person to do anything.

I believe you can just know about a person.

"We've really got each other pegged. That's what makes me so happy about being around you."

I hope my children laugh at everyone's jokes, but from their gut, not from the kindness of their hearts. Like their mother.

"You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

I believe that it ain't over till it's over. 

The Importance of Being in Your 20s

"I could go back in the direction I had come from, or I could go forward in the direction I intended to go." 

When I came back here, I thought I had taken a step backward. No, not taken a step backward--leaped enthusiastically. I eased into an old new life, with the same street names, and job title; the same bar, but in a new location; the same boss who now treated me with much more respect; the same friends, though they had new kids, or boyfriends. Everything was the same, and nothing was.

I thought I had not learned from moving to the big city. I had had a different job, and a real boyfriend, but I had given up. I had quit the new job for the old. I had come home to the small town that never questioned or challenged me. I had let the real boyfriend break my heart in the exact same places I had let him break it the first time. I had even let the same "other man" console my pain as I had before, just with a little more adult content, and a lot more liquor.

My group of friends had dissolved though, and that was different. We did not walk together. Everyone was strangely floating by on their own--with their own pain, their own heartbreak, their own masks worn to not let onto the others that they may have changed. Like everyone else in the world, we turned to sex and alcohol, or usually both, to ease the roughness that is the life of a 20something. Unsure, uncertain, alone, insecure.

I used to think I could not "get" a boyfriend because I was chubby. Because boys make fun of each other for dating heavier girls, girls with hips that could proudly bear the children they don't know they want one day. I had never met a man, so this is what I thought. Growing up in a culture with insecure white man raised by women with scales by their bathroom sinks, with diet plans, and yoga classes, I fell victim to something I did not believe in. I fall victim to something I do not believe in. I was not raised this way--to question cellulite, or count calories. I was raised beautiful, and I am beautiful, and I really believe that all women are beautiful, and I hate letting a man make me feel less than that. And then a man I had been very intimate with told me that he did not want to be with me because I was too insecure, and it came on a laundry list of other reasons, but that was the only one that floored me, because I exude confidence at all times of the day, and I have men and women tell me, consistently, that my confidence intimidates them, so I am left with no good reason as to why I am so undateable.

But I did not move, or leap, backward. I met new people--some that I believe have, or will, change me. I have redefined my relationships with key players, and not all here in my thimble sized town because I have never felt so close to my big brother, and my littlest came home to my mother's so, so angry last month, and I was sitting on the couch with a gin and tonic watching the Academy Awards, and he was kicking stuff, and swearing, and I smiled, and he said, "WHAT?!" and I let him blow steam, because I have people that let me blow steam too, and he came back out, and I advised him like an adult should, and then I said, "want to take a shot?" and he said "sure," and we grabbed old candlestick holders from the glass cabinet that never gets touched, and took shots of gin, which I don't even shoot because it is so gross to do that, but I felt there for him for the first time not as a parent, but as a sister. And I am his sister, and I am not his mother, and he stopped needing me as a parent a long time ago, and I don't think I had ever acknowledged that before. And I said "don't tell mom," and that bonded us like I didn't know we could be bonded at this point.

You can always be closer.

I do not believe in a god, and I haven't for quite some time, but I do believe in heaven, I just believe that it's on Earth. And I believe in fate, and I do believe in karma, and I believe in luck, and I believe that we are not all lucky. I believe in astrology, but even more so in dreams, and not the kind you control, but the kind that come to you in the night, or even in the day, though I also believe in the dreams you can create, and I believe that you should chase them, and I believe in corny song lyrics, too. And poetic ones, and I even believe in haikus, if only to make you laugh. And I believe in Journey, and I believe in journeys, and I never stop believin', and I know that right down the line, it's been you and me.

I believe in heartbreak, and I believe in pushing past bullshit, and I believe they are synonymous.

In the movie Love Actually, that poor man whose real name is Andrew Lincoln finally tells that pretty girl who will never be his that he loves her, and he does it creatively because it's a movie, and she runs after him and kisses him, and he walks away, smiling, but he says, "enough now," and I call that one's "enough point," and I have a lot of them, and I expect even more.

My "enough point" came with my ex-boyfriend only recently, believe it or not, and that is not as romantic as it may seem, but it is the truth. I believed for so long that I could shape him. I had long ago recognized that I could mold him, because he is mutable, because he is no one. Like a bar of soap, he could so easily be sculpted into anything I dreamt up, but like a bar of soap, he slipped away so many times.

And like a bar of soap, he ran out, and I just got another one.

And my "enough point" with the other owner of my lonely heart came from too much gin, open weeping, cruel and unfamiliar honest--we are both so strong: the providers, the rocks, the energy, the shoulders, but with each other, we lessened ourselves. We lessened each other. We depended, we were gravel, we were soul-sucking, we were like...kneecaps, not shoulders. It was not working. It was not going to work.

But I am the lucky one, for I come home to support, and I work forty hours with support, and whenever anyone touches my back, they comment, "you are so tight," but my favorite song speaks on getting colder and colder and cold, from having the world on his shoulders, so I always believed that it is not my poor circulation, but that kindred lyric that makes me cold, that makes my shoulders ache. But it is okay, because I don't believe in god, but I believe in all that other stuff, and I believe that I am only dealt what I can handle, and I love my shoulders, but it's gotta go somewhere.

I receive an astounding amount of mail from women, typically, so I hesitate to say this because in my mind, it is less relatable than the heartbreak served from the other boys, who are just people I once knew. It is less relatable to speak on a man who gets to me on a deeper level, because I want to tell these women to pick up their mascara wands and move on, but I cannot preach what I do not know. I would very rarely call myself "selfless," but recently, I gave up a thing I never wanted to, that I still don't want to--like throwing out the golden ticket when I could potentially have the chocolate factory, but it was less for me than it was for him, and neither of us know anything, yet we both know so much more.

And he is an artist, and he calls me one too, and I always swore I would not get involved with an artist because of course they are troubled, and I should be with a math guy, but he is that too, and everything is an accident, anyway. And at first it was nothing, like he kisses by the book, but I was never interested in more than his lips (and his humor, and his attentiveness to the English language), but he drove me home once, and I told him about my stepdad, and I moved away, and we fought with the passion you cannot muster for just anyone, and he was the only man I was unfaithful with when I was committed to the boy I thought I would marry, and it was an accident, and nothing happened, but he was the first man I felt really connected to. Something was heightened.

When you plant a seed, you have to have the patience to watch it grow, and I am not a gardener, in fact, I am not a planner at all. I am a "what do you want for dinner in an hour" kind of a girl, and don't we all love immediacy, anyway?

I always rolled my eyes at him, at us, but when his friend had me up against a wall, his tongue down my throat, all I could think about was him, and afterward, all I could talk about was him, and I believe in complication in lieu of simplicity, and I believe in art, and I believe in his soul, and I believe the man who calls you on a bad day is a good man, and I believe mistakes are there to be forgiven, and I believe hearts are meant to be broken, and I believe that feelings should be hurt.

I like that women look up to me, and admire what they call strength, and praise what they call honesty, but I have to admit that I am just as weak as everyone else, most of the time. Giving up a person that soothes and comforts me was not ideal, it just seemed most necessary, but what do I know?

I can't "get" a boyfriend because I don't want to have a boyfriend, and I don't want to have a husband, and I don't want to rely on another person, especially a man, and I want to move to New York and I want to write, and I want to be a writer, and I want to get paid for it, and I want people to know my name, and I want people to cry when they read the things I have to say, because I want to relate to humans, and I think I do all of that already, and without these experiences, I would have nothing but a childhood that I am hesitant to air out anyway.

These things are important. Your feelings are important. Your heart is important, and so are a lot of things, but never let anyone make you feel that you should be focusing your energy on anything other than yourself.

I used to do that to myself, and I love writing about politics, and I am honored when my websites ask me to speak on something like body image, or the President, or a race issue, but I am equally as honored when I get to ask myself how my heart feels. I have a few writing heroes, and my number one is Miss Ephron, may she rest in peace. I want to read every word she ever wrote, and by the end of my life, I will. I was on a not-great weekend getaway with my girlfriends and I came across a line of Ephron's in her book Wallflower at the Orgy, and I felt immensely better about my life choices, and I knew I didn't step back, and it made me feel like I was running forward with the enthusiasm that I know I have.

"Well I care that there's a war in Indochina, and I demonstrate against it; and I care that there's a women's liberation movement, and I demonstrate for it. But I also go to the movies incessantly, and have my hair done once a week, and cook dinner every night, and spend hours in front of the mirror trying to make my eyes look symmetrical, and I care about those things, too. Much of my life goes irrelevantly on, in spite of larger events."

So talk about boys and girls, and fall in love, and let it consume you, and focus on yourself, and get to know the person you are, and push yourself, and hibernate, and let yourself be loved, but love yourself first. Because those things are important too.

Not important, but crucial.

"Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed; maybe they need to run free, until they find someone just as wild to run with."

The Week I Hated Men

I wish I could control everything, because I like control. I am glad I cannot, because my mind changes so often, and one time, a man said to me, "what, I'm not allowed to change my mind?" and I said, "no, you are not allowed to change your mind," like I can change my mind, but no one else possibly can. But that is not what I meant, I meant something like I do not make as many definitive statements, so it is more okay for me to change my mind than for him to change his, because I do not make promises that I cannot keep. And he does. And I do not think that you should drag people down into your misery. 

He is like a lost penny, and I love lost pennies. I used to tell my brothers, a penny could be worth a million dollars one day! as they threw them on the ground or into passing trash cans. But they are good luck, and if you stick a coin in vinegar, it'll shine right back up. If you leave it on the ground, it is just an old penny. 

I am vinegar, but maybe I should learn that some pennies belong right on the ground, "tails" side up, so no one ever touches them.

I cannot shine all the pennies in the world, why do I keep trying?
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"I'll always be waiting for you." 
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People always tell me that I am their favorite--coworker, barista, sister, friend, customer.

A girl I know told me she felt jealous of me because "every boy is in love" with me. I laughed, and said yes, look at all of my boyfriends, but she was serious. She asked me how I did it.

I always tell girls the one thing I know I do right: be yourself. No, I know everyone says that, but I am literally myself every single moment of every single day. Now.

My first relationship, which feels a thousand years ago, I was never myself, and I was settling, because you should never allow yourself to be silenced for anyone else in the world. The ironic thing is that he tried harder than any man ever had at that point in my life to get me to open up. He wanted to crack me and talk about everything that had happened in my life because it was so different than his gilded christian upbringing which was all family dinners, and church events, and baseball games. I am a woman of interest to men that have never been through much. They want to fix me, but I feel totally whole. I don't need to be fixed.

And then I started falling in love with boys that were more mysterious, the ones that have secrecy in their eyes, the ones that I can goad into speaking to their mothers on major holidays, the ones who need someone to fall asleep on from time to time. And that isn't settling, but there is no reward in it.

Being the favorite, the most trusted, the most significant, does not always feel great.

I do not date, but I flirt. No one is in love with me, but I am always in love with someone. I listen and hold hands and hearts, but no one knows to push me into a conversation when I need it the most.

So, I told her not to be jealous of me. I love myself, and I love my relationships, but this is not the ideal place to be.

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I hate the website pinterest because it makes me feel like all women are supposed to be Suzy Homemaker, and I thought it was 2013, and I thought we were past that, and if you just want to share your favorite images from movies, get a fucking tumblr and stop regressing in society's eyes.

I hate seeing women pin stupid images of great dinner ideas to make for their husbands, and I hate seeing single women with wedding and baby boards, like that is the ultimate goal for their lives, and I hate seeing all of the fake "motivation" pictures of women with bodies that we think we are supposed to strive to have, even though it would mean never having a child, or eating a cookie, or drinking a milkshake, or skipping your workout to drive spontaneously to the big city.

I don't want to get married, because I don't want to make dinner for my husband every night, and I don't want to read Real Simple and take notes on the good budgeting ideas, and I don't want to be boring, and I am so desperately afraid of becoming boring.

I chase relationships that will never, ever work out so that I can be this girl forever, because it gives me something to talk about, because one month before my ex boyfriend broke up with me, I was at the grocery store with my now roommate and I had a meltdown because I thought no man had flirted with me for months because they could smell the commitment on me and weren't interested if there were no chance of anything happening, and I know it is crazy, but I believe it to be true.

Men are like dogs, in more ways than one.

What if I just want to be single forever?

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Men can have their cake and eat it too, but if a woman tries to do that, she is shamed in like a million ways, most notably that women aren't supposed to eat cake because it doesn't mesh well with their workout and diet schedules.

I say I don't do anything for men, but I was taking my makeup off the other night with one of those overpriced makeup removal face napkins, and I looked down and thought it looked like Krusty the Klown had just washed his face off, and then I thought, I do do this for men, don't I? And I have always sworn up and down that I do not wear makeup for men, but on my days off, when I plan on running and then coming home and not leaving the house, I don't put on makeup, so what is that all about? I put on makeup because it makes me prettier, and I know I am pretty, but I can always be prettier, like I don't wear my hair up in a bun for the same reason, and what am I trying to prove? I am just as dumb as all the women I think are dumb.

And then I looked down and saw my scale next to my foot, and I wanted to throw it out the window because how dare I let a number define me? I thought I was better than that, but I am victim to so many things I wish I wasn't.

"Of course it isn't fair. We're women." 
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I think everyone should lay off of Taylor Swift. She is working through being young, and aren't we all?
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I wish I could freeze time. I wish I could just make it stop. I wish I could make everything in the world irrelevant, besides the jazz that would blare as we sipped champagne straight from the bottle, laughing as it tickled our throats. You would sing perfectly along to the horns, and I would always dance to the drums. My short curls would bounce accurately to the music, and you would find them beautiful, because this is my perfect.

We would share a cigarette out of one of those long fancy holders because cigarettes would not be able to hurt us because nothing can, here. We could kiss recklessly, because your heart is my heart, and she does not exist, because this is my perfect.

And you would still roll your eyes when I exaggerate in the story of my day, and I would still find myself openly irritated when you tried to charm me with an impression of your mother, because it is my perfect, and those are the real things I truly do love.

There would be no more questions and inquiries from everyone around us because there would be no question of us.

Even our heaviest makes me feel light. Even our darkest falls under a cloudless sky. 

Thoughts, and Fleetwood

I was borrowing a friend's car once, and I had driven down to the big city south of my hometown to sign my name over to a new life. I was running late--quite unlike my typically punctual behavior--for an insignificant reason that I no longer remember anyhow. I had someone with me in the car, a man who is typically more rational than I am, a man whose repose benefits me greatly. Though I am not consistently the kind to worry too much about really anything, for I truly hold my faith in "everything works itself out," for I truly believe in the good of the universe, I tense up on occasion. I am only human. He put his hand on my leg as I, yet again, got lost trying to find my new apartment in an unfamiliar area in the depths of a city I was not entirely sure I wanted to move into anyway. He held it there for a second, told me to calm down, told me it was okay. I did not even hear his words, and nothing is worse than being told to calm down, but when his hand rested on my thigh, my tension withered. I told him to put his hand back, he laughed, and called me a man. It wasn't sexual, though. I respond strongly to physical touch, I am an embracer, with my words and my literal body. I can tell when someone is not hugged often, typically men. I try to break them down. There should be warmth between an embrace, never stiff shoulders, or short bursts of life. These are the moments that should linger. You have arms for this reason: to wrap around another, to feel your heart beat against each other's heart beats. Hug your mother, and your wife, and your boss, if she wants to hug you. (She does, if I am your boss.)

Plus, his hands look like my father's; unpolished, and resilient. I used to push the thick veins on my father's hands. It was enthralling to me, and strangely one of my most vivid memories. Not strange, I suppose, since I have so few memories of him.
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I say I am most myself at all times, but I guess that cannot really be true for anyone. I do not have a front that I consciously lean on, though, so what does that mean?

People do not believe me when I say that I am shy, but I am more shy than anyone who knows me from my job--either of them--could understand. Through the written word, I am most myself because I have a lot of thoughts swirling in my mind, and I was given a gift of expressing them easily. Some people say they cannot write, but, as any artist believes, I believe anyone can write. I have had beautiful painters and draw-ers tell me that I could do it, too, but I cannot. I have had gorgeous singers tell me that anyone can sing, but I just don't know if that is true, so I should not tell everyone that they can write. I mean that anyone can write for themselves, at least. I write for myself, it just so happens that people can relate to my feelings, which I love oh-too-much. Relatability is my favorite thing, perhaps.

I used to think of the writers I know that are better than I am: the ones who know bigger words than I do; the ones who can argue their point with stronger eloquence; the ones who are furthering their educations, or the ones who have something more significant to talk about than their Love Lives.

But I do not think of them any longer, for I am not interested in furthering my education. I have little to no respect for the approach of academia in our society, and there is no part of me interested in doing something for image--any longer. I went to college the first time because I wanted to be able to tell people I went to college. I do not regret it, because it brought me to my home, but I do not respect my degree, nor do I respect the department I chose to dedicate my time to while at my university.

I do not think of the ones who broke my heart any longer while I write, though there are words and feelings that derive from them with each stroke of my keyboard. Like a sad song. Twenty years down the road, the sad songs will still make you sad in the same way you were sad when he first told you that he no longer loved you, but isn't that magic? Words, especially through song, are magic. I hope there is never a day that I cannot recall the way I felt the first time my relationship ended.

I was warm, and I was cozy at home, and I did not really expect it, but I kind of did, and I did not cry, and I made a quip about not ruining my mascara because I had just swiped it on so perfectly, and he said, "figures," as if this was the reason we couldn't work it out. As if my vanity were ever an issue, for he knew better than anyone that I know I am beautiful without makeup on.

I am more self-aware than everyone. I am so self-aware that I know on March 3, 2014, I will think to myself, little girl, you knew nothing then. 
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I am the most myself around my brothers, the oldest in particular. No guard. No political correctness. No shame. I wish I could spend every day with him.
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I like a dude, and of all of the things I love about him, I think I most love him because he likes people, and I like people, and I like when people like people.

And because the other day without even realizing it I said, "he likes our kind of music," and I meant Etta James and Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding, and that is more unique to call "our music" than anything else I can think of in 2013.
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There was a poster for a high school acapella group in the backroom at work yesterday morning, five am. I was working with my great friend, and one of the best women I know. A few minutes later, she says, "hey, you should look at that poster in the back, you will totally think all of the boys are cute," and I interrupted her, laughing. "I was literally timing how long it would take you to make that joke."

We were at dinner last night--my older brother, his best friend, and an old, increasingly dearer mutual friend of ours. My brother was complaining that the last time we went to this restaurant, the portion sizes were too small. His best friend clowned him the whole time, joking that he'd take two bites anyway and then pass the food to him. While we were paying up, Fassil asked our server for a to-go box for my brother's food. It wasn't even mentioned, probably not even noticed by anyone, but it was one of the cutest friend moments I had seen in awhile, but you know I like the little stuff.

The knowing thing is huge to me. Knowing your friends is such a gift.
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Sometimes people ask me repeatedly if I am okay because they do not know the difference between my Just Tired, and my Melancholy, and my Fine, But I Don't Want to Talk, and my Emotional, or my Sad.

I am rarely sad, I just think deep, often.

The people who call me "peppy" or "bubbly" are the ones that I know don't know me. I am too real for that.

Happiness is my priority, and I am an extremely happy person, for the company I keep makes me so whole and real that I can be in my emotions, the true height of them, without sacrificing my happiness. I am happy, even if I am having a low day. I am, overall, overly, happy.
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Maybe the hardest thing I can think of is to believe in something that you don't believe in. You have to be open-minded enough to push yourself into believing.

If someone who loves you tells you to believe, you should probably try and believe.
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I was talking to someone (the best someone) I used to very casually date yesterday afternoon and he asked me if I was dating anyone, and I told him I don't really "date." When he asked me why, I told him that I just cannot connect to the men that I meet in bars, or at work because everyone my age seems so aimless, passionless, not driven. I cannot handle aloof. I love a person who can dream, who can have big ol' ideas that may or may not work out, but I cannot handle the kind that says they will do something with absolutely no follow-through.

I am torn. I want to never leave my small town ever. I want to eventually meet someone that I fall in love with and maybe own a little home together and just always know people when I cross the street.

And I want to move to New York City and be a big-shot.

I can do it all, I can do too much, what should I do?
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My oldest brother and I do not argue about much, but he tends to become frustrated at my pessimism.

I have this offensive approach to life at times--like I don't think Dr. King did much. Great speaker, wonderful words, his voice reverberates up and down my spine even when I am not thinking of him. I believe in his intent, but I believe it pushed us towards not being able to have conversations openly. Racism is still alive, we just pretend it is not because of Dr. King. Is that better, or worse? I believe the latter. I believe throwing a blanket over a pile of clothes on your bedroom floor does not mean the clothes are not on your bedroom floor, but fuck. I do that too.

I know this kid who wanders the streets at night. He is good looking like a movie star, like he could be in Teen Beat if he had been discovered, if his parents were the rich show people type and not crack addicts. He is smart like how did you even think of that? smart, like he could be teaching a class at Stanford instead of begging for change, politely, but begging nonetheless. His eyes are the most intense pair I have ever encountered, and I don't even notice eyes very often, but they look not glazed over, just always moist like the tears stopped a long time ago, but the world needs to know they were once there.

He asked me once, a young, Black man who knows nothing about me, if I thought it was all socially constructed, racism and discrimination and injustice. I told him yes, of course, and he sighs, "me too, so we can change it." I told him he sounded like my older brother, and I asked him how a man like him could believe in that kind of big change. He told me that he only had his hopes and dreams, so he might as well believe in them.

I cried when he left. He gives me hope. I buy him a cup of coffee whenever I see him, but I wish I could give him what he really needs.

If I could, baby I'd give him my world--my brother; the homeless, dejected dreamer; the man whose hand reminds me that I am okay.

I always loved the broken ones.