Buy Vinyl, Immediately

I am newly interested in music again.  What I mean is that I am interested in ALL the music.  I’m branching out, which is enlightening.  Sometimes I feel like the older I get, the more resistant to new music I am.  Not because it’s bad or anything, but because I don’t care enough to take the time to really listen to it. 

I’ve also learned that the people with whom I’m hanging out (specifically, important men in my life), turn me on to different parts of my personality … via music.  

What a beautiful gift.

Two months ago, I was listening to Black Sabbath and Fugazi and other metal.  I had a Z-92 flashback (Omaha) of kick-ass bands from back in the day.   I bought a bunch of albums then:  The Smiths, The Cure, Black Sabbath, Firehose, Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, Husker Du …

And then my son moved back in over Christmas break, and (because I was a fucking emotional mess), he hooked me up with some good music to lift me up and change my perspective.  (God, I love him.)

So yesterday, I went album shopping with HIM, and I bought Kendrick, and Tame impala, and Kanye (yes, I said it), and Nas, and Mac Miller, and Black Flag, and (yes) The Smiths. 

A little bit different on the sound scale, yeah? 

The best part (besides sifting through all those albums in a record store) is bringing them home and pulling off the plastic and setting the needle on the vinyl.  The crackle, and then the power of the Bose speakers inflating the room with sound. 

Digital music is great, don’t get me wrong.  I literally just bought a premium subscription to Spotify today.  But the physicality and the personality of music pressed onto vinyl is never a bad thing. 

Go do it.  What do you have to do right now that’s more interesting?

In The Stars

“Choose the day, and choose the sign of your day:  first thing you see.” -Jim Morrison

NASA mathematicians announced that when ancient Babylonians created the zodiac sign over 3,000 years ago, they wanted dates on the calendar to correspond with star constellations.  But there were 13 constellations, and they were working with a 12 month calendar.  So they ditched Ophiuchus.

NASA also pointed out that the Earth's axis doesn't even point in the same direction as it did when the original constellations were drawn, so all our signs have different date ranges now anyway. They released a statement last week explaining, "Here at NASA, we study astronomy, not astrology. We didn’t change any zodiac signs, we just did the math.”

Here are the new astrological signs.  Check it out.  You might still be the same sign, but more than likely, you’re not.  It’s an interesting way to spend an hour …

Capricorn: Jan. 20 to Feb. 16

Aquarius: Feb. 16 to March 11

Pisces: March 11 to April 18

Aries: April 18 to May 13

Taurus: May 13 to June 21

Gemini: June 21 to July 20

Cancer: July 20 to Aug. 10

Leo: Aug. 10 to Sept. 16

Virgo: Sept. 16 to Oct. 30

Libra: Oct. 30 to Nov. 23

Scorpio: Nov. 23 to Nov. 29

Ophiuchus: Nov. 29 to Dec. 17

Sagittarius: Dec. 17 to Jan. 20

And Now for Some Light Music

I get paper cuts all the time – I don’t even know where they come from.  And sometimes I feel like have a thousand of them on my soul.  How do you get rid of the little, tiny cuts that threaten to merge into one giant tear from which you bleed out?

 Listen to the music play. Dance, even if you feel too tired to move.  Periodically navigate away from Radiohead and Black Sabbath and other emotive shit, and listen to happy music.

---

I am such a fucking hypocrite.  I’m listening to Jane’s Addiction right now, and I have no intention of changing it. 

I’m done. 

The Grand Delusion

I made the final, romantic/friendship grand gesture yesterday.  I decided that I wasn’t going to be ignored anymore.  The silent treatment – the total lack of communication – was killing me.  Making me emotionally and physically ill.  So I put on a dress, and I curled my hair, and I packaged all my unsent letters (and a Christmas present) and drove 75 miles to knock a door. 

I didn’t have terribly high expectations, but I wanted to see and be seen.  I just wanted a moment of recognition, and maybe a handful of words.  I wanted to either be able to let go properly or to know that things might be okay a hundred tomorrows from now.

I knocked on the door.  Someone else answered.  He didn’t have the courtesy to come to the front door.  So I handed the package to someone else, got back in my car, and drove another 75 miles back home. 

There it is.  That was the end.  Totally anticlimactic.  Utterly void of interpersonal connection. 

As I think about it now, me trying so hard so communicate, and him crushing me with apathy, I sound like a stalker.  He told me to leave him alone.  He said he was unavailable.  I just didn’t believe it, because it came like being sentenced to exile for a crime I didn’t commit.  I should have left him alone.  He shouldn’t have broken my heart.  I shouldn’t have tried so hard.  He should have tried harder.

I feel relief, but it’s the kind of relief a person feels when someone stops punching them in face.  The blows aren’t raining down anymore, but my face still hurts. The black eyes will take a while to disappear.  I will never let someone sucker punch me like that again, even if that means I never get to experience romantic love again.  Romance is overrated.  Love should be soul deep, not conditional. 

Down with the Sickness (edited for content & weight)

Can you feel that?
Ah, shit

Drowning deep in my sea of loathing
Broken your servant I kneel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems what's left of my human side
Is slowly changing in me
(Will you give in to me?)

Looking at my own reflection
When suddenly it changes
Violently it changes
There is no turning back now
You've woken up the demon in me

Get up, come on get down with the sickness
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up come on get down with the sickness
Madness is the gift, that has been given to me

I can see inside you, the sickness is rising
Don't try to deny what you feel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems that all that was good has died
And is decaying in me
(Will you give in to me?)

It seems you're having some trouble
In dealing with these changes
Living with these changes (oh no)
The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me

Get up, come on get down with the sickness
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up come on get down with the sickness
Madness is the gift, that has been given to me

Why don't you
Why don't you just fuck off and die
Why can't you just fuck off and die
Why can't you just leave here and die
Never stick your hand in my face again bitch
Fuck you
I don't need this shit
You stupid sadistic abusive fucking whore
How would you like to see how it feels?
Here it comes, get ready to die

Get up, come on get down with the sickness
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Get up, come on get down with the sickness
You mother get up come on get down with the sickness
You fucker get up come on get down with the sickness
Madness has now come over me

Words of Ice

In a cold, winter flurry of words, I will end up dying like the little matchmaker – thinking that if I’m finally okay, because my body doesn’t hurt as much as it did – but what’s really happening is that I’m slowly freezing to death.  I just don’t notice the cold, even though it’s slowly stopping my heart. 

Lay down, Anne Marie.  Let the words warm you up. 

Except the words aren’t warm.  They don’t have flesh.  They’re just excuses – distractions – for actual human interaction.  Because I can’t have who I want, I surround myself with a scratchy, stiff wool blanket of words.  And the worst part is that my words probably pushed that person away.  I tried to surround him with all my verbal nonsense, because it’s the only way I know how to be.  I drowned a man of few words in an ocean of my thoughts.

I fucked that up.

But.  When your best friend is doing something stupid or fucked up or mean or indifferent, you should be able to tell them.  That respect should go both ways.  I want to be told what’s up, otherwise how am I going to fix myself?  How am I going to be a better person, if no one is brave enough to be honest to my face and say, “hey, bitch, stop it”?  I might be mad for a second, but I’ll get it eventually. 

Just love me for ME; don’t cut me off because of what I’m NOT.

A New Chapter

I’m going to skip all the introductory and background comments to get right to the point.  I am a flawed human being, and so are all the people who intrigue me.  I tried to love again recently and failed miserably, but I wouldn’t trade those supernatural highs or the soul-sucking lows for anything.  I spend too much time trying not to feel things, when the real gift of life is experiencing it.  Drinking in the venomous fluid of life and letting the poison induce hallucinations is part of being alive.  In the hallucinations I can find half-moments of clarity to keep me from wading into the river with rocks in my pockets.  (although I’m keeping that option on the table now and forever…)

To love and be loved, even if for a moment, is better than nothing. 

My problem is, and always has been, that I love other people more than I love myself.  I care about people, and I let them consume me like a soul-eating virus.  It’s not all bad.  I have empathy, and if that’s my fatal flaw, then so be it.  I care.  Do I care too much?  Maybe, but qualifying words don’t apply to life.  How do I define “caring too much”?  Why would I even want to define it?  I can say the words “I don’t care” out loud over and over, but it’s almost always a lie.  What I’m really trying to say is “I don’t want to care”.  Two different things. 

So I will take this most recent crushing experience in my life and I will try to turn it into something useful.  Our experiences are like fuel, feeding who we are and how we act.  Fuel sometimes burns with such intensity that the heat warms us, then creates a mirage of waves, then sets us on fire.  I’d rather have a raging bonfire than some smoldering pile of garbage.  I’m going to do what I want and live how I want and stop apologizing for being who I am.  If people don’t accept me for who I am (river-deep flaws and all), then they don’t deserve me. 

No more apologies.  No more martyr sacrifices for other people.  No more wallowing in self-pity because I can’t have exactly what I want.  Because, as it turns out, I have no idea what I really want.  If and when the right people come along, I will see the light.  And if that never happens, or if it only happens in little glimpses, that’s okay too.  At least I know I didn’t give up on myself or try to be someone I am not. 

Why I Write

I wrote a blog post the other day stating exactly how I feel.  My boyfriend had just broken up with me, and I was hanging on by a thread.  Trying not to cry every second at work and at home.  And the next day, I looked out into my classroom, and I saw a girl who looked EXACTLY how I felt.  She looked like she hadn’t slept or eaten, and her eyes were a thousand miles from the classroom.

I know a little bit.  I knew a little background on her.  She doesn’t know mine, of course, but the shocking revelation is:  me – a person in her forties – and her - a teenager – felt exactly the same way.  I could see it her face for days, while I felt it for myself in a different way.  When I talked to her during those days, I saw my confusion reflected in her face.

So I gave her the blog post and watched her read it, and she wasn’t two minutes in when the tears started welling.  She understood.  I gave her my words, and she saw herself. 

That’s what I want to do with writing:  show people that they’re not alone.

Conditional Love

Henry Rollins was in my brain today, talking to me.  He was saying that some people are meant to be alone.  They try to incorporate other people, but when they do those people become a noise disturbance. 

I don’t think I was meant to be alone.  I need someone.  I need to be loved properly.  I always choose the wrong people - people who disappoint me, because they don’t love me enough to know what I need.  I often don’t know what I need until someone breaks me apart enough that I catch a glimpse into myself.  I want to fix people, to help people, but I don’t know how to fix or help myself.

I want to have a glorious affair with a man.  I want to spend several months in a hotel, where the sun shines all the time, or it rains every day, and I want to make love all day.  All morning, all afternoon, and all night.  I want to get out of bed only to eat or to play music or to wander the streets, holding hands.  I want someone who truly WANTS me.  Not someone who just wants to fuck me.  Someone who understands my brain and engages with it and takes up residence in it.  I don’t want a periodic visitor in my life; I want everything, all the time. 

I can’t have that.

 

I am destined to be alone, because no one I love loves me back in the same way.  They fuck with my brain.  They prey on the part of my personality which wants to cater to other people and make them happy.  They don’t want to reciprocate. 

And I’m (apparently) very bad at discerning who is good for me, because people just keep drive-by shooting into my life.  They say words out their mouths which are not true.  They might think what they’re saying is true, but they seem to just want a piece of me.  And after so many people keep taking pieces, what is left? 

I want someone to love me unconditionally.  But what if the love I’m giving is conditional?  What if I want more from people than they are willing to give, and that is my “conditional” love?  What if I am fucking it up from my end?  If only the people I love would talk to me, out loud, then I would know if I’m fucking it up.  But they never do.  I either get a bunch of meaningless words, or heartbreaking silence. 

Nothing wins better than silence, and I am incapable of it.  

Love is the Answer

Don't date people,  Love people, or don't.  Take people in as they are, broken as fuck, and either love them properly or leave them alone.  Don't play games.  Don't pull the "I need a break" card.  Get your shit together and get in that person's face (face-to-face is crucial here), and tell them how you feel.  Tell them why they aren't right for you.  Tell everyone in your life what you need to tell them, because you could step off a sidewalk tomorrow and get nailed by a bus.  You could have an aneurysm and drop dead at any second.  Do you really want to leave things unsaid?  Don't do it.  Don't die with regrets.  Don't die and let other people wonder what was left unsaid.  Don't disappear.  Your words are of great import.

Even the word, "dating", is such bullshit.  The definition of a "date" is "the day or month of the year, as specified by a number"  OR "a social or romantic appointment or engagement".  So ... "DATING" is just another word for periodically having an appointment with someone, on a day.  Unless you're scheduling with a prostitute, "dating" doesn't apply to anything REAL.  It's just a word that comes with bullshit social obligations.

Love knows no boundaries.  When you feel the boundaries (or start getting choked by them), tell your person and move on.  It's important to look in their eyes when you do this.  People need closure.  Don't fucking hang around afterwards, waiting for the other person to love you properly.  Change happens at a glacial pace.  Even when something blindsides you, the way you feel will seem like the pace of watching paint dry in subsequent moments.  The days and weeks afterward crawl like a fucking slug toward nothing.  You might think you're over it, and then you see a fucking Hallmark commercial or something and you're crying over (what seems like) absolutely nothing, but it's unresolved angst.

Embrace it.  Love yourself.  Love other people.  Do it right or not at all.  People are not toys.  Life is not a Hasbro game.  (It totally is, but you get what I'm talking about.)  TOYING with people and their feelings is just mean.  Rationalizing your behavior makes it no better.

I'm tired of watching people get fucking railroaded by other people and feeling sad.  I'm also tired of being that person who either does it or takes it from other people.  We need to be good to each other.  I'm old as shit and still learning how to be a proper human being.  The problem with being a human being is that we all have different agendas and different pressure points.  It's not okay to systematically test those boundaries on other people.

Be honest.  Be true.  Love is the answer.

Empathy, and Other STDs (for Robin)

In a nutshell, people are assholes.  I am an asshole, and so are you.  Your parents and your children are probably assholes too.

So now we can move on to the bigger question:  WHY? 

Why can’t people look in the mirror periodically and then look at other people and see the resemblance?  We are all here on this shitty earth for a while – together – so why is it so hard for people to be kind?  I know I can be a raging bitch sometimes, but I also deeply care about other people.  I care so much, in fact, that I have devoted my life to teaching adolescents, one of society’s most feared and criticized demographics of people.  I love them (most of the time) and I am annoyed by them (occasionally) and I hate them (very rarely).  But I don’t give up on them. 

People should not give up on people they love.  If you don’t love them anymore, that’s a different story, but to tap out because of “feeling words” is cowardly.  Try to understand the people you love. 

But don’t just stop there.  Try to understand people in general.  Everyone has shit going on in their lives.  They might slap on a happy face, but every person on the face on the planet has had a shitty day, or week, or month, or year … just like you.  Just like me.  The people who need empathy the most are those who have a lot of those shitty days and weeks.  Life isn’t shooting rainbows and unicorns out of their asses, and they need someone to take two fucking seconds to acknowledge their suffering.  You don’t need to hug them or invite them to live in your basement, but PAY ATTENTION.  LISTEN.  Listen, even when they aren’t saying anything, because nothing speaks the truth like silence. 

Be good to one another.  Be good to yourself.  Yes, I’m a hypocrite, because I’m terrible to myself … BUT, life is just so terribly long, and I’m tired. And having someone listen to me once in a while saves my life. 

Love, and Other Ghosts

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” -Viktor Frankl

Oh wait, here’s an even better one: “Love is like a snowmobile racing across the frozen tundra.  At night, the ice weasels come.” -Matt Groening

If only I was a cyborg.  No feelings; no bullshit.  Just get the job done and move on. 

I am not a cyborg.  Unfortunately, I am an impatient, empathetic, jealous, loving, irrational, intelligent, nurturing, angry, codependent human female.  I want things, and I want other people to periodically accommodate for me, rather than me circumnavigating everyone else’s lives all the time.  I need to feel loved and appreciated, which I sometimes make difficult for other people because I am a broken human being.  (as most of my favorite human beings are…)

I am too old to be sitting around pining for things that I want, while simultaneously drinking myself to death out of boredom and neurosis. 

When, exactly, did I lose myself in this void of human vapidity? 

I think we lose ourselves when we stop listening to the voice in our head.  Our gut feelings.  Our bodies and brains are telling us something for a reason.  We need to listen more often.  People who don’t question themselves are boring, quite honestly.  Give me a dismantled person, and I’ll listen to their stories all day.  Give me a suburban parent drinking the Kool-Aid of domesticity, and I’ll show them the door.  Boring, mundane shit cannot take over.  Tragedy cannot take over.  Ennui cannot take over.  Depression cannot take over.  Ignorance cannot take over.  The key, I think, is a mixture of all those things - the bitterness of salt followed by the burn of tequila ended with the sweet lime.  Drink it down.

I don’t want to feel sorry for myself or other people.  I just want to live and breathe in the good moments – the ones that make me happy that I am alive.

I still choke on panic every day, but until I’m dead, I’m going to believe in love. Maybe it’s not the love that I always thought was real, but I refuse to believe that love can’t be true and tangible.  Maybe love only happens in certain moments until it disappears and reappears as something different.  That’s okay too.

Bob Marley once told me that every little thing is gonna be alright.  I think what he meant is that life just IS.  We can’t control it; we’re along for the ride.  I already bought the ticket; I might as well take the ride. 

Wtf?

You lay me down in your beautiful garden
And then you rake the soil so that nothing can grow.

You take me to the places that I want to go
And then you leave me there alone.

Flowers start to flirt and blossom
And then the clippers come round to decapitate the bloom.

Is god playing evil tricks on me
Or are you playing a game of early frost with a fragile plant?

The only one I know has come to take me away
And I have no idea where I'm going.

Everyone has burned before
We'll all be burned again.