I hate these days. Waking up with little to no recollection of last night's hours. I'm not going to do that again. Ever.

I just want to run away. Hide. South Korea isn't for a couple of months, so the next best thing is to vanish into Border's or Barnes and Noble for a couple of hour and disappear into a book. Take me away from reality for a bit. I wish I was home so I could drive up to Grizzly Peak, listen to Death Cab for Cutie, and try to disseminate my actions. As bitter and jaded as I wish I could be, just to not give a FUCK, I can't deny that I do. At least overanalyzation does provide some clarity.

Loneliness is creeping up on me. I know I'm going to get back to that positive place again, I just want to be there now.

Once a Vicky, Always Cristina

"Cristina, on the other hand, expected something very different out of love. She had reluctantly accepted suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion, and was resigned to putting her feelings at risk. If you asked her what it was she was gambling her emotions on to win, she would not have been able to say. She knew what she didn't want, however, and that was exactly what Vicky valued above all else."

The Bridge

I'm in a bedroom. It's very familiar, but I feel a weird disconnect from it as well. The last time I was in this bedroom was four years ago. I was a scared, relatively spineless hopeless romantic, spooning with a girl who wasn't going to be my girlfriend for the last time before she left for college. That moment is still vivid in my mind, as is most of the brief time I spent with her, for reasons that are only clear to me now. At the time, the fact that she was leaving was the end of my world.

It has been a long, long time since then, both in years and otherwise. This room takes me back to that last day, as I haven't seen it since, but the sensation isn't as odd or nostalgic as I might have guessed. It's as if I've stepped back in time, to that last day, but as my current self, rather than the 19-year old from years past, and I can't tell if I've time-traveled as an observer or a participant. I'm in a museum, of sorts, looking at a moment from my past through one of those glass windows built into the wall. I can't help but compare my current mindset to that which I possessed the last time I was here. The differences are immense and immeasurable.

I'm about to get into that bed, four years wiser, with a whole lot of perspective, a stomach full of Cosmo, and a new friend. I'm very curious what emotions, if any, will result from this.

-Seth

My brother and I concluded over dinner tonight that we can't stand artifice, facade, or people's constancy in feeling like they need to fit some image or ideal of what they want to see themselves as, i.e. listening to a particular kind of music, identifying with a certain cultural group, or adopting the style of some archetype.

The true liberation is simply people being who they are. Not forcing themselves into trying on the image like trying on a jacket. As he put it, "I don't understand when people say they want to BE something. You are something because you HAVE to be it."


At least we have something in common.

Retail Therapy

I don't know if it's the comfortable nostalgia of the 70's era couch, but I am seriously considering charging a small fee for the emotional vomit women unload on me every day at work.

Prefaced by the standard, "I don't know why I'm telling you this but," I constantly have total strangers confessing loneliness, despair, last night's sexual trust, and the desperation of finding oneself trapped in a loveless marriage with three rugrats.I probably look unthreatening in jeans, tee-shirt, and sandals, just another salesgirl offering solace in the form of stilettos. I am nameless, faceless, no way the information bequeathed could reach the ears of involved parties.

A prime example:
She walks in looking harried and suntanned. As per the tried and true David's shoes sales method, I compliment her purse as a way of opening up conversation(God I can't believe half the shit that comes out of my mouth. I sound like a badly written fashion editorial for a women's magazine. "Your purse is so bohemian, broken down, very vintage. And that color would go with EVERYTHING"). She breaks into a long story about how she got on sale at Saks Fifth Avenue when some rich lady pitied her and took it off hold, blah blah whatever. This is going to be a good one. Three shoes in, she starts to mention her daughter, her mouth pulled into a tight pout. Saying, "Oh, I'll probably never see you again", she falls into a rant about her alcoholic 24 year-old daughter who got wasted at some birthday party in Long Beach and was picked up for a DUI in a bad part of town. The back story is that her daughter was "very popular in high school" but remained "straight-edge-didn't drink at all" and now as she heads into a quarter life crisis she is getting repeatedly "shit-faced" and has gotten alcohol poisoning at multiple occasions as well as seizures. Oh and I guess she's getting fat? "She gets really shit-faced, then goes and eats crap food late at night. And she claims her weight gain is because of the long commute to work".

Kate told me last night after her friend went to the bathroom that I have a gift for getting people to open up. It's slowly starting to become a curse. Like a sponge, I tend to get emotionally invested and empathetic when people tell me their stories and I have to get away once in awhile to recharge.


So happy to be home.

you are somewhere else. i am still right here

you've been on my mind today.
on Saturday at a party I met a boy
who happened to be from Lafayette
first thing he said to me when we were introduced was
"So did you know Jon Sisto?"
A knife in my stomach.
Need I go over the chronicles of our friendship?
A couple of tidbits for myself so I'll never forget:
-Latin Club was a major bonding activity for us. He called me "Dolus". Means "trick" in Latin. Thanks butthead.
-I would always steal his blue baseball cap and grey sweatshirt. He had the most amazing natural smell-girls would constantly steal his clothing.
-He had the hairiest legs of any guy I've ever met. Seriously needed a weedwacker.
-He was always suffering from a broken leg, arm, etc.
-He and I chose my AOL screen name which I never use anymore. "Pixie", because well I'm a munchkin and "Picara" a spanish word for bohemian.
-We kissed once.
-We had a falling out before his death. We were in the process of making up the day he died. I was recording my demo and we were going to listen to it later.
-I still have your "Songs to Die To" mix. Every time I hear any of the songs out of context, I have to leave the room.

I wish that seeing you in the hospital attaching to a breathing machine wasn't the last image I have preserved in my mind. I still remember looking at your hairy-ass fucking legs, still warm. I promised you I would take care of Halie. I have kept that promise and will continue to. You are constantly in my thoughts. I miss you everyday.



I'm telling my parents on Friday about my plans. Looking more and more like Thailand is a viable option although Peru would be a first time trip.

Reminiscing....

a declaration of independence

This artist whose name I forget did this series of sculptures throughout the years of his relationship with his girlfriend or muse. The furthest left sculpture was created in the first year and so on and so forth. See how delicately he shaped her face in the first couple of years-loving attention to capturing the beauty of his visage. As the relationship sours or perhaps as his perceptions of her change, the sculptures becomes more mangled, twisted, less true to reality and more surreal. I always wonder if the later sculptures are meant to be grotesque, a vilification of his once idealized image, or if they are meant to be more complex, as relationships come to be over the years.

I am truly, blissfully, inexplicably happy. The world is wide, open, free, and ready to be conquered and disseminated. I want to savor every moment of life.
I want to fly.

state of mind currently is very Natalie Portman in Closer. particularly this scene.

















Dan: She was... disarming.
Alice: That's not a euphemism.
Dan: Yes, it is.




Happy Moment of 4/18: I've decided I am going to volunteer abroad for a couple of weeks in the summer. I've narrowed it down to Thailand or Peru-either volunteering at an Orphanage or teaching English. This suspended feeling I have been having for awhile has dissipated-this is the right path for me now. I'm so happy I could scream.
Shhhh don't tell my parents.

the growing sense of liberation

Well here I am
Painted as the bad girl of your lifestory
The Lilith from whose claws you wrenched yourself from and set yourself free
The femme fatale who remains alluring but reeks of danger and manipulation
You can construct this false image, put it together with my limbs, blue eyes, and a mane of blond hair
But it remains your perceptions, nothing more nothing less
My flaws are built within, inherent, that constantly need retuning
I remain constantly vigilant of them
Yet my mistakes cannot tarnish my self-worth

I never came equipped in matters of love with this strength of yours
I graduated from the school of accommodation and diplomacy
Surely no problem we faced couldn't be soothed by the balm of time and makeup sex
Yet you remain stalwart in your convictions
sure and contented in your decision
which contradictingly is one of the things I love most about you.

Not to belabor this manifesto of sorts any longer, but I want to say
I am feeling better. Slowly but surely. Everyday gets easier.




The glass is now filled to the brim.

cadbury eggs and peeps

ahhh easter. or as the delahaye household regards it-the springtime christmas. every morning when my brother and i were little, as soon as the sun hit our driveway, we were up and ready to begin our candy quest, our "easter egg hunt". after waking up an exhausted mom and dad, we would climb and search every nook and cranny for the little milk chocolate eggs that my parents would hide. because of either my precociousness or propelled by the drive for sugar, i always found a majority of the candy while my brother was still perusing one room. tears were shed and tantrums were thrown until i gave up my hard-earned candy stock so that both my brother and i would have equal portions. i look back and see the foreshadowing-my life so easy, a memorized, perfected composition while he is still struggling on the beginning notes. fate or hindrances of the past have caught up to both of us now. we each have equal amounts in our basket.

i spoke to my parents today. they can sense my growing despondence and my mother offers a temporary balm in the form of a new pair of shoes. it's not going to fix it.
nothing can change what i am anymore.

happy moment of 4/11: exercise is cathartic. ran and walked six miles today.

Democratic societies are unfit for the publication of such thunderous revelations as I am in the habit of making.

as i slowly withdraw myself from the constant mental state of a relationship, the consuming love that overtakes the other, i feel my creative side awaking. i need to sing, i need to see and make art, i need to write, i need to be inspired.

these works never fail:



Hieronymus Bosch painted this in 1503, before the whisperings and formation of surrealism began. It reminds me of a dream, riddled with religious iconography, clusters of bodies, shapes, and actions. The brightness and beauty of the first two panels juxtaposed with the haunting darkness of the right panel. I wish I had the talent to transcribe the images I see in my head onto a visual landscape.








cynthia ona innis is a californian artist who i found when exploring art galleries in venice. her art reminds me of marine life, the ocean, rebirth, planetary systems, the stars, the possibilities are endless. she's one of the people who i would invite to my ideal dinner party.


i think i've figured out something about myself. so often i am so focused, so in tune and intense about the complexity of life, give myself so much emotionally to the needs of others, that i have to shut myself off. friends complain about my inability to remain in constant contact. its exhausting always having to be present, there, always able to be in touch with whoever needs me. i need to be alone sometimes, to sit, recharge, whatever it is.


optimistic event of 4/10: http://www.thisisplymouth.co.uk/news/Police-save-ducklings-caught-flap/article-848457-detail/article.html- this little story warmed my heart. i am always up for the protection and preservation of defenseless creatures yet tonight i made myself a steak. such a hypocrite. oh well time for reese's peanut butter cups and watching the da vinci code. paul bettany needs to rethink the lame accent.

o the drudgery of life

they say to fake it until you make it but i can't anymore.
the tipping point happened sophomore year of college.
i was living with three fast, crazy, wild girls and the nights remained blurry and the mornings hazy and hungover.
body parts were exposed, pot was smoked, and furniture ruined beyond repair.
the dark side of this life slowly unleashed itself.
there was the constant morning ritual of one girl
who would agonize over her actions over the night before
berate herself
lament how "guys never took her seriously"
yet that very night, back to her old, comfortable worn-in habits
and the cycle continued.
it was then i decided, no, this isn't for me
wrapped myself in the love and security of my relationship
and searched for and found the friends that wouldn't hesitate to choose my friendship over a bottle of alcohol
who enjoyed good conversation, books, and the occasional bottle of wine

now i wonder, did i make the right choice?
i feel so excluded, so outside this inner realm that these people have created through alcohol, drugs, and the mutual ambition of forgetting the night's events
did i dodge a bullet or am i the person who's locked outside the party in the cold?


because of my current depressive state, the title of this blog is altogether inapplicable
so i will end every post with something good that happened today


happy moment of 4/8: through the somewhat stressful circumstances, i discovered that despite my self-destructive tendencies, my father loves me deeply and will cover the ends of the earth to help me solve my problems

In the dead of night, I awoke and heard the scratching, the turning of the lock. I willed my body to move, tried to wiggle a toe, anything.
It stayed frozen. I was powerless, motionless, and vulnerable.
Turns out it was all in my head. But the awake mind and sleeping body was one of the scariest experiences of my life.

I'm doing better now. I sincerely swear.
I can slowly feel my friends opening up to me, enclosing me in their embrace, their camaraderie.
Protecting me, nurturing me
I've always been one of those affectionate people. I believe Elizabeth Gilbert compared herself to an attention-starved dog.
Well I won't drool on you or ruin your nicest shoes, but I do appreciate a hug once in awhile.

I'm starting to wonder if it's possible for me to have a platonic guy friend.
Excluding a few noteworthy exceptions, something gets lost in translation in the development of a friendship.
Either I feel like they have a hidden agenda or they think I like them.
I just want someone I can be close to, share my thoughts, feelings, whatever, without any sexual pretense. It irritates me that guys presume that the intimacy I desire is entangled with feelings of lust or yearning. But maybe men and women can never be friends. Harry and Sally did get married after all.

Well. Here I am. Here it is.

I am the complete opposite of a cliched heartbreak state.
I can sleep just fine. Food has never been a problem.
The past couple of days I've been able to keep it together, staying busy, staying involved, gotta keep moving, can't stop, won't stop.
When I tell people about the breakup, they look at my curiously and with hesitancy, as if I am going to fall apart in the transmission of information. But I just give them a melancholy look, force a smile and say, "I'm okay."
"What happened?"
I can't answer that question fully yet. How the hell does one decipher the unfolding of a relationship?
I wish I had a simpler explanation.
"He/I cheated on me/him". "He/I fell out of love with me/him".
But I am so very, desperately still in love with him. I think he feels the same way.
So why the separation? Well, it's complicated.