Please heed my call.
Tag Archives: love
Someone made us a Valentine card! <3
I debated putting this up. It’s not poorly drawn ha ha.
I am in Love (A journal entry).
I don’t know exactly how long I have been here but I was perfectly content with continuing to stay . . .
It all started on a rainy Saturday afternoon when I met her. And that’s when I realized that I was there. I was in Love. She wasn’t a very good barista, the coffee wasn’t hot enough and neither was the decor in the place. Love is a pretty mediocre cafe overall I’d say.
Tell her something nice.
New Year’s Resolutions. How did they become a thing?
As many of us curse ourselves for continuing to write down ‘2012’ on various forms for the next few weeks many more of us will break promises that we have made to ourselves in wake of the new year. Personally I’m going to dread going to the gym since the next six weeks is pretty much the worst time to go ever if you’re already a regular. But I digress.
Then there are those who feel that the concept of New Year’s Resolutions are silly. Why pick that particular time to plan a life change? Shouldn’t you try to improve yourself year-round? Until earlier today I was in that mindset myself.
But then I thought about the things I would like to change in my life. I thought about how I spend too much time on Reddit/other pointless timekillers and less time doing things like socializing or even finishing my massive back log of games/books/albums I’ve yet to listen to. That led into me thinking about how I could probably be a better significant other at times, and from there I started to think about things I could change about myself.
In the shower just now it hit me. New Year’s Resolutions are important because it’s a reminder to sit down and think about our problems rationally and come up with solutions. Even if we generally fail at said solutions many people wouldn’t even attempt them had they not been forced to think about what it is they would want to change in the first place. I felt a little stupid because this way of thinking is exactly the type of thing I was taught is extremely important when I was in therapy for my Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and as such I feel like I should’ve figured this out long, long ago.
So with that said I’m going to attempt to get off the temp train this year (For those who aren’t in the know, I’ve been working a variety of temporary jobs for quite awhile now), try to be more proactive with my hobbies (And spend less time looking at badly captioned photos and live streams of games I don’t even care about [Except for you Jay, there’s always time to hassle you ha ha]), put some effort into making bees interesting again (Instead of copping out and using MS Paint all the time) and stop telling my girlfriend that she’s a poopface all the time.
Or at least do it less frequently. ❤
Speaking of her, she went out last night but left me this little note. She’s kind of the best.
Man, it’s been a weird week with my girlfriend halfway across the country.
Like, the first couple days the place was overrun by hamsters.
They were everywhere. The floor was practically made out of them at one point. When I was leaving for work one day they covered my upper body and I wound up having to go through my day with a living, furry hamster hoodie.
In an attempt to engage them in conversation I decided to talk to them about their existence. I looked at one in the eye and said “Before we get started, I just wanted to you let you know that I’m not here to discuss me being real but you being aware.” It worked. Not only were they confused, but hamsters tend to have trouble when it comes to becoming aware of their existence. They all disappeared with a gentle splash of Febreze being released into the air. That didn’t make me stop wanting to be a hamster on some level, but I had to move on.
After that I had to deal with a severe lack of things to carry other things with. I couldn’t find a bag for the life of me. The grocery store didn’t have any either (At least any they were willing to give away.). So I had to carry my lunches for the entire week entirely by hand. Carrying three thousand Snickers Bars around each day by hand is pretty tough.
Hopefully when she comes home tomorrow everything will be all sorted out by then. I do keep finding drumsticks in the most odd of places though. We don’t even play any musical instruments . . .
So I decided to drink to spur the writing process. This is the result:
I press on. With one hand under my robe I firmly grasp the neck of a priceless violin. The other I use to hold the robe in a desperate grip, the kind you use to hold a lover for that final moment knowing you won’t see them again for a time that is always too long. I had forgotten why I needed to leave so badly, but it needed to be done.
The dusty trail is all that I have known for quite some time now. I wander and I wonder as I wonder and I wander. Man I love that sentence. The trail seems never-ending. Of course it hasn’t been the same trail for all of this time but that makes no difference in my mind.
Maybe it’s time to stop deluding myself. I know damn well why I had left, and it wasn’t because of the romantic travelling fantasies that I’ve had my entire life. I was running. Running away from things that anyone else could handle with little effort. Or so I’ve been lead to believe anyway. My flair for the dramatic had laid its roots far too deep though, to the point that it was the primary cause of many major life choices.
It was the same old tale you’ve surely heard over and over. Yes, there was a woman. Memories of lying on an open hill watching clouds while my hand found hers for the first time, urging her to play me a song on her bass until she finally caved in and shyly played a jazz solo she wrote, making love while covered only by the light of the moon . . . These things constantly push their way to the forefront of my mind. Sometimes with my consent, sometimes without. Like a passionate kiss from an angry god they always leave me confused and hurt regardless.
Why things fell apart so quickly was beyond me. But alas they did. Disagreements turned into arguments, arguments turned into confrontations and confrontations turned into fights. Then I abandoned it all. Leaving only a spiteful note for her and an apologetic note full of vague explanations for my roommate with enough money to pay for a month’s rent I ran away from my problems. Given my approach it was probably safe to assume that everything was my fault. With that said though that’s my thought pattern towards most things in life.
Pawning off my expensive goods for some quick cash and leaving most of the rest behind out of convenience I departed for nowhere. Aside from clothing all I took with me was a cheap violin. Priceless not because of its monetary value, but because it was my first. You never forget your first love. I did sign the bottom of it though. If that act ever made it more valuable than any instrument made with a high level of craftsmanship . . . Well, it’s a fantasy I have. A common one I’m sure.
Years later and I find myself on a desert cliff somewhere in the great southwest. What makes it so great I’ve yet to experience. This is as good a place as any though. I survey the scenery in front of me. Still can’t decide if these things are better experienced alone or with the company of . . .
A tear forms as I remind myself yet again that the answer to that one is obvious.
With my right hand I cast off the robe behind me in a dramatic fashion. I pull the bow from a sheath I wear on my back over the shoulder. It feels like I’m an archer who just pulled out the arrow that will pierce the target of my desire. Which is excellent because that’s the precise reason I designed the sheath to begin with. Hesitating for a few seconds I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I position the violin on my shoulder . . .
The song I play is a song of my own concoction. A concoction of hope, love, sorrow and regret. I play to an audience of nobody. Even in my craft I strive to hide my innermost feelings from the world in fear of judgement.
After I finish I loosen my arms and let them hang by my sides. My violin gently taps my left calf as tears begin to stream more freely now. I stay like that for what seems like forever before sheathing my bow and re-donning my robe. I leave to go find shelter for the rest of the night.
I will continue doing this until everything makes sense. But by then my old life will be completely gone if it isn’t already. Maybe the only reason I keep this up is because familiarity breeds comfort. I await the day this cycle ends . . .
(Editor’s Note: After finishing this I didn’t feel like sketching a picture, so here’s something I pinned to a poster board on Barrington Street.)
Poorly Drawn Bees 