Undone

I stopped calling.

It hurt to hear your voice, but to not really hear you speak. That you never returned your calls. I keep placing all my money on you to go against the odds, but I guess I should learn, the odds are never in my favor. It’s not a fifty/fifty chance when you’re guaranteed to lose every time.  Things rile and surge inside me. Another crack in a facade. it’s ok.

I finally made a decision.

 
The whole “it’s not you it’s me” bs that people pass around. Some of it must be true. I know it’s me. I suppose it always has been. Now it’s highlighted. Glaring at me. Obvious and exposed. It’s harder to ignore then. The small irritating niggling things about people you don’t see until someone points them out. I see them all in me. Polished and shining. Blinding. Until you can see nothing else, the image burned into your eyes. Like an old broken monitor, an old outdated image burned into it’s screen.

Don’t worry.

I thought things were good. They played at being well. I was just a place holder and you were my chance to pretend things were different. You moved on, happier now, and I remain. How it always seems to be. That I remain. People walk on, move on, excel, fail. I’m still here. Right where I’ll always be. Stagnating. Which sounds filthy, to be frank. Like a dirty word your mother washed your mouth out for. I miss your mother. She was kind, and warm. Feels like a place that is cold and slate grey in my memory now. The place where you were.

I’ll be better.

I stay home now. I play at being normal. Still. Healthy even. Drowning and bobbing in the flood of my days. Too much to do, but no will to do it. In an effort to stop hurting myself. I stopped calling. I don’t think about the fun things we used to do. I just get by. I want to miss you less, so I think of you less. I reach out to you less. stay inside my head more.

It’ll be better this way.

Sure this is a day early, but tomorrow I will be so busy de-catifying and cleaning and fixing and bustling and hustling– that I won’t have time to write an entry.

But shouldn’t you be thankful you’re getting one at all? That’s right you should be 😉

I’m thankful for my family. Both near and far. 🙂 I’m grateful for the view I have from my window (even if it is just for one more week) I’m happy and thankful for my house, it’s nice to say that we’re having thanksgiving with the H family in my house 🙂 Yay! I’m grateful for my husband who doesn’t get upset at my whining, listens and respects me, loves me, supports me. He does such an amazing job with Katie who— BTW is the sweetest girl and we love her so much. I’m grateful that our family is expanding (in more ways than one 😉 Which is to say marriage in addition to pregnancy!) I’m grateful for the awesome past I have, and the totally wonderful sibs I have too.  I am thankful for my new ward. They are welcoming and sweet. They are nice but not overbearing. It makes me feel good. I’m thankful for our jobs (both Scott and i’s) that they are able to provide for us, and our family. I feel very fortunate that in this time of uncertainty that we are able to continue to have our jobs and the income they provide for us. I’m very happy and appreciative of the time and place that we live. Things are hard, but in perspective, things are often hard  and in reality — will not magically get better by wishing things were different, or blaming someone else for the problem. That won’t solve anything– So work in the now.

I was thinking earlier about my writing. it’s not… common that i write. I write when I feel something and then I try my best to express the feeling that I have.  The image in my head. I don’t often successfully paint a picture with words. I feel like i have all these awesome images in my head that If I could just find a way I could express them and show them to someone. it’s very frustrating to have something like that trapped in your head. Smeyer said that Bella and Edward were there until she wrote and wrote and got rid of them. For me, it’s like the pictures, are never satisfied with what I write. They just want more and more. There isn’t ever a story, just vivid images. I suppose that’s where the problem is, that the images don’t translate into the story. it’s like knowing what you want to say, but feeling absolutely too tongue tied to say it. have you ever had the experience where someone wakes you up and asks you a question and you know the answer, so you tell them what you think is the right answer, and they just stare at you like you’re insane (because you’re telling them gibberish) and then you get angrier and angrier because they don’t understand what you’re telling them? (Scott know’s what I’m talking about.) I feel like that sometimes fully awake. I try and try to show people. I feel like inside my head are some of the most heartbreaking, earth shattering, heart melting stories– and I just can’t– I can’t tell anyone. I can’t get them out. It’s unnerving.

—-

A young woman sits in a rocking chair next to a window. She wears a long dressing gown, her hair braided loosely draped over her shoulder. She’s waiting.

The chair squeaks as she lolls back. It seems to protest.  Her slippers scuff against the floor, making a muted noise.  She lets a heavy sigh escape her lips. Her hands worry the wooden armrests on the chair. She’s waiting for him.

She pulls an afghan over her legs. She’s not sure what time it is. She curls into the chair, trying to remember when she was young. The chair seems to pull her in as she pulls her knees to her chest. A deep breath. The smell of cedar reminds her of her grandmother. The chair groans in protest. Almost seeming to say “Sit properly” like her grandmother would. She ignores it all the same. She doesn’t want to sit like a proper lady. She doesn’t want to be an adult.

She just wants him to come home.

Time seems to stop. With No light outside, it’s hard to tell if much is changing at all. The sun had set hours ago. At least it seemed like hours. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and hummed. “Soon.” She said, “He’ll be home Soon.”

—-

Derringer Meryl [Vignette] Out

I know that during my pregnancy my moods are, while sometimes stable, also they are very unpredictible. I like to think of it as a controlled sort of insanity.

Sometimes I think more literarily while i’m pregnant– and sometimes it’s just more… well crazy…

I imagine…

A beautiful woman sits in front of a modest vanity. She is practicing her nightly rituals, unpinning her hair wiping off her lipstick, and applying a smooth veneer of cold cream under her eyes. As tradition dictates she will only leave the cold cream there for 10 minutes as she finishes unpinning the stylish rolls in her hair.  She sighs as her mind begins to wander.

It runs through the same day that it always does, she woke up, got dressed, made breakfast, cleaned the house, cooked lunch, did the laundry, made dinner, and sat awkwardly across the table from her husband as they both chewed in silence. It wasn’t that life was boring. She glanced in the mirror. Her skin was like porcelin, her dark hair framed her face with a slight wave. She was boring. Wasn’t this face the same face he had woken to day after day for years? She heaved another sigh. No, she wasn’t boring. Someone else was more interesting. As per tradition after dinner, he excused himself to go to the bar. She wasn’t sure if that was really where he went, he did usually come back drunk though,  which was evidence enough.  She sighed as she wiped the cold cream off. She turned to face her bed. Perfectly made after this morning. In her perfect house with it’s perfect decor. A beautiful yard, and new car in the garage. She wondered complacently if anything could really be perfect. Her heart turned cold for a moment. Could she really live this way, forever?

She forced a smile as she turned down the sheets on her bed. Yes. She could live this way forever– but she would never be beautiful again.

—–

Derringer Meryl [sheesh where do I get this?] out

You know those moments in romantic movies where you swoon just a little and think “why doesn’t that ever happen to me?” it’s because it just … doesn’t happen like that.

For example….

It’s prom (or equally fancy schmancy dance), and the “destined” couple are dancing, and it’s beautiful. Her dress is beautiful, the music is beautiful…. everything is perfect. He starts to sing, as they slowly make their way around the floor, she blushes, embarassed.

See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait for you

She looks over the city scape out the large window. A glitter and glow. Sparkling like a million diamonds the sun set casting it’s last rays of glow over the dim mountains on the horizon.

My hands are tied
My body bruised, shes got me with
Nothing to win and
Nothing left to lose

The girl appears to be thinking about the moments to follow — the things she shouldn’t say that are welling within her. The perfectly scripted words trill from her lips in her sweet and endearing voice. Meek and lovable. She peers up through her lashes to her date.

And you give yourself away
And you give yourself away
And you give
And you give
And you give yourself away

“thank you.” she says tears welling in her eyes. The perfect end to the perfect date.  she stands on her tip toes just a little to give him a kiss, building into a deeper more passionate one.

I cant live
With or without you

The song ends beautifully, the room drains slowly, as people know the night has ended. Our couple delays, waiting, trying  to extend the evening. They stand by the large windows, spanning the ceiling to the floor. Holding each other closely, the evening ends, the sun has set, the room is empty but themselves and a few stragglers.

“I’ll Never Forget you.” he whispers huskily.  Tears run down her face freely. Her dress is beautiful, the night is perfect.

and the day is done.

——————

I find it amazing that as a culture we are so obsessed with happy endings. I know that overall we wish things would work out better. we aim for it. But happiness comes with a price. The price of being happy is sadness. You wouldn’t know how great it is to be where you are, unless you’d been somewhere else that was worse.

it’s hard to imagine needing sadness. To need the downs. No one likes the sad endings when the come, but– it’s all part of a cycle. You get out of life what you put into it– but if that was to stand to reason– that nothing bad would ever happen to someone who only does good things. Right? The never ending quandry of “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

We aren’t good people. We aren’t bad people. We are people. our actions and behaviours– will be judged by a higher being at another time.  I contend, by my prior statement– bad things happen to people.  Doesn’t that make more sense? I’m sure that wouldn’t sate or comfort someone in their time of need– I would in fact further contend that things are not bad or good (death, money troubles, marriage, divorce, childbirth, etc)  that these are just things. Events I would say.  So Things happen to people.  There’s  your answer. Why do bad things happen to good people. Because THINGS happen to PEOPLE. Sometimes they are good or bad, and honestly, things cannot discriminate amid good and bad people. Things just happen the way they do.

Sometimes… things happen to people. And you can fight it, and you can hide in your basement and become a hermit– but things happen.

People will get mad, sad, angry, happy, glad, joyus, determined, and a world of other emotions. Time marches on. Time heals most wounds, and some it doesn’t. And people will, most usually if they are determined to, get over it.  Time will erode memories, bodies, passion, all things physical. It will wash you clean.

Derringer Meryl [Feeling a bit… out there today] Out

Well, i’ve just finished watching the first two Matrix Movies. Edited of course. *smiles* See I have this thing… where I get excessively guilty if I break a rule. It’s a rule not to watch Rated R movies. So there ya go.

Can I say i’m so stressed out. I have a psychology paper due tuesday, a chapter i should be reading, 12 lines of blank verse I should be writing….

and honestly, i don’t know how to count iambic pentameter. I’m horrid at it. Blah. Not to mention I can’t tell where an accent is or isnt’ for the life of me. Maybe I can find something to help me online? Hey, if you find one, you should tell me!

Have you ever seen Ally McBeal? Ya know, in the beginning before it got too… tangenty? She’d always go off into these little dream worlds where something she wished would happen, did. I had a moment like that today. One of my mom’s friends (acquaintance, whatever.) was talking, and i heard a car door slam, and that’s all it took for me to be propelled into a dream-like state.

I heard faint stomping outside as someone cleaned off their shoes, I assumed it to be my brother, since he was outside cleaning the sidewalks off, but the doorbell rang, which is something someone who lives in the house doesn’t do unless it’s locked. So I excused myself from the dull conversation and crossed the room. I turned the door to see an incredibly hansome man looking at me. He gave me a stoney glare. I shrugged it off as I exited outside to talk to him. There was the faint sound of shoveling in the background, but I wasn’t paying attention to it. “What do you want?” I asked Jarringly. I seem irritated, my arms folded across my chest, half in anger, half in a sincere attempt to keep myself warm. His eyes soften. “I’m sorry.” He whispers momentarily, and takes a step towards me. “But I can’t take all this time away from you. What I said….” he looks me in the eye. “It was wrong. I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t want this to be a once in a while thing. I want to be with you.” By this time his hands have settled on my hips, pulling me towards him. I rest my head on his chest, inhaling the scent i associate with him. “I can’t live without you anymore.” He whispers in my ear. I’m breathless. Every moment is right. He’s the right guy, i’m the right girl (he just said so, finally!) and he leans in, and I stand on my tip toes (just a little) and i’m swept into the most romantic kiss known to man….

but them i’m jarred back into reality with the question if i’m dating anyone. I say no. That’s really my choice, as well as my private business, isn’t it?

Derringer Meryl [Crazy Confused] Out