| now they were all friends @ the time.... |
[02 Apr 2008|03:01am] |
copy & paste of my myspace blog, just b/c i deleted this off of myspace & i feel the need to post somewhere how i feel/felt. how is possible for one to live feeling 100% happy one second and in an instant, 90% entirely differently? not always 90% oppositely, but just differently. maybe i'm just a fucking weirdo. that's probs it.
"
due to the collision of my own inner dialogue and processing of recent experiences and new feelings/realizations, i am very skeptical of my own ability to accurately convey that which i would like. especially due to the overwhelming feeling that, to spare complications and annoyances, i should remain excessively allusive.
imagine driving town a road in the middle of nowhere, expecting absolutely nothing than some spent gas, your primary destination being the end of the road you’re currently on. your main excitement is the fact that you just found orange crush in a bottle and a partner who has little to zero qualms with being a car with you for a questionable amount of time. and then you find the end of the road, and there’s sadly no emerald city at the end. (because i like to believe that the emerald city is secretly the destination everyone wants, despite all denial. I KNOW THE TRUTH, MOTHERFUCKERS.) so you think that it’s time to turn around, but you also have this overwhelming sense that your copilot doesn’t want to return to the city of doom anymore than you do. throw in some "left is heads, right is tails" coin tosses, mexican food, margaritas, several BBQ spellings, my future grad school, and much hilarity, and my monday night is summed up.
and, that vague summation can also pretty much be utilized to express the sheer surprise and joy the last week has contained.
oh, that and:
"All McDonalds commercials end the same way:
’...Prices and participation may vary."
I want to open my own McDonalds and not participate in anything. I want to be a stubborn McDonalds owner:
’Cheeseburgers? Nope. We got spaghetti!...And blankets. We are not affiliated with that clown, he attracts too many children.’"
i only have 3.5 weeks left of school, and i cannot express to anyone how thrilled that makes me. i also cannot express how, once again, another semester of school has astonished me as to how much evolving can occur during said months. for some reason, though very little of it is actually school related, i find that my life changes much more when i’m in school.
i’m sure i could type out an entire timeline (as i have written all that has occurred in my slingshot), but i fear many would get annoyed at the 3 word phrase i opted to utilize to summarize my days.
this is not overly witty, which concerns me because i fear i am losing my ability to be ironic and amuse all around me. sad. however, at least i can still make a serious mix c.d. and clean my room. which i’m pumped about doing in a minute.
i have a bloody knuckle, which would be SO COOL if it wasn’t simply from scraping it on my sink drain while trying to make the drain work better. this is a time for drano, not bloody knucks.
would you rather live 800 more days, roughly 2.19 more years, or 800 more years?"
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| 99 problems |
[08 Dec 2007|12:21pm] |
it’s 8:08 in the morning which is too goddamned early to be awake. especially considering that my head didn’t come into complete contact with the pillow until 2:00. and that i have been awake for a few hours.
this is how my morning has disastrously gone: i woke up on time, showered, finished the ending details of packing, and promptly got in my car, allowing sufficient time to make it from my house to the airport. while backing out of my driveway, i double checked everything to make sure i was fully prepared. suddenly, sheer terror washed over me. a very important conversation from last night runs through my head.
me: morgan. i’m handing you my i.d. so i don’t lose it. now, if i forget it, i can’t get on the airplane tomorrow.
morgan: we’ll remember.
it’s 7:02 in the morning, my flight departs at 8:55, and i’m i.d.-less. i dale earnheart my way over to his house and proceed to obnoxiously and continuously ring the doorbell until he appears in the doorway, disheveled and confused, with my i.d. in his hand.
thinking the morning cannot get any worse (unless i don’t make it to the check-in point by 7:55), i speed down airways blvd., park, and get inside the airport with six minutes to spare. as i’m going through security, i hand the TVA authorities lady my now fully appreciated i.d. she studies it for a minute too long, and informs me that it’s expired. (uh, duh) i now must present her with two more forms of i.d.
two more forms? i obviously have enough difficulty with one.
at this point, i’m completely annoyed with myself and every single human being within a twenty mile vicinity. my mind is swarming with thoughts.
“why didn’t i just go get a u of m student i.d. months ago?”
“what if i can’t make it to my dad’s surprise party?”
“and then i have to explain that i still don’t have a valid driver’s license despite the fact that he got me a new car that i drive everywhere?”
i’m picturing my life coming to a complete and horrid end. i was certain that j.c. was about to come back in complete apocolypse mode and tell me that i was going to have to spend eternity in hell. (which probably, at this juncture, would resemble the lovechild of the memphis international airport and young avenue deli.)
in the end, they let me proceed onto my flight (which i’m now waiting for) in return for a complete search of my bags and myself. (sorry, dudes. there was no nudity involved.)
at this point, i’m going to be extremely surprised if my flight doesn’t end up crashing somewhere between here and cincinnati. if you’re reading this, i’ve reached my destination safely and sleepily.
i thought a weekend away from memphis was going to be less stressful than a weekend in memphis, but fate or whatever is proving me incorrect.
oh, and i hit something with my car last night.
at least, as it turns out, i’m not 100% socially awkward/incapable. at least last night was fun. i wish i was going away for a lot longer than just a weekend so that i could hail last night as a good way to leave memphis. i’m afraid that no one’s ever going to notice i’m gone, no matter how long of a period i’m absent for.
i love that my dad still makes sure to get me seats by the window, despite me no longer being four years old and fascinated with how small everything is when you’re miles away from it. if anything, these days, everything looks much larger when you’re miles away from where you want to be.
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| keep the blood in your head |
[07 Dec 2007|08:40pm] |
have fancy plans in about fourty-five minutes. which exemplifies the fact that i'm one of the most low-maintenance females available. i am sitting in my pajamas with unwashed hair and not an ounce of makeup. i guarantee i can still get ready in fifteen minutes or less. too bad i don't have a clue what to wear. well whatever. i'm sure nudity is socially acceptable.
i am not in the mood to travel so much this weekend. my flight leaves tomorrow morning at 8:55 and returns to memphis at 9:46 on sunday. i can't believe i'm about to see relatives i have not seen since i was in high school. i don't even recall the last time i was in the same room with my grandmother. it shall be quite the experience.
i just wish it could have come at a better time. i am going to have to spend all day saturday at the louisville library cramming for my british literature final so that when i get back to town, i can spend all day monday at the u of m library studying for my french exam.
sorry. venting out loud about nothingness. educational stress. i guess it's better than last night's social/mental/emotional stress rant that was inevitably and shamefully removed.
at least i have some good books and music to help me through the flights. oh, and probably a hangover to nurse. awesome.
(i just typed out an overly-detailed story about the only other time i recall being fucked up on a flight, but realized how inappropriate it is for a public blog. but ask me about it sometime. it's hilarious nonetheless.)
i think this is going to be the first new year's eve where i want to be as far away from "home" as possible, because i don't want my night to turn out in expectations and disappointments, as most memphis related events turn out to be.
it's only $319 for a roundtrip to LA from 12/29/07 - 01/01-07. or $289 if i can get my shift covered for the 1st and return on the 2nd. done & done.
my time here feels like it's closer to being over than it actually is.
i haven't made a mix c.d. in two years. it's high time for some mass-produced mix albums. start emailing those addresses, nashville, chicago, LA, boston, and new york. oh and memphis.
please & thank you.
ps. for those of you who didn't know, i just learned in french that "deju entendu" translates to "already heard".
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| seriously. i got nada. |
[15 Oct 2007|05:04pm] |
today was supposed to be house cleaning day. i was supposed to have accomplished far more than simply mopping my bathroom floor. (a task which has not even been attempted since moving into this home in march.) (a task which i should have completed consisantly throughout the previous seven months, because it was absolutely disgusting.)
i have successfully justified all of my actions of the past few days simply by stating "it's fall break oh seven whooo." (ie. oh? did i spend $40 on booze & forget about an hour of last night? pshh. IT'S FALL BREAK OH SEVEN WHOOOO!) i figure i have yet to make it to cancun or on girls gone wild! during the last ____ springs that i have been a college student. i'm allowed to pick which seasonal school breaks to make a loon of myself. my wallet is beginning to disagree, however.
every phone call between my friends & i as of late has contained at least one of the following:
1. oh my god. last night i got wasted & i...
2. so he/she did ______. what do you think that means?
3. i'm bored.
4. i hate my life/boy(girl)friend/job.
aha! so twenty-two is different than sixteen how?
i just keep typing, hoping that something of significance will stream out. i got nada thus far.
i have recently rediscovered cursive's domestica.
i was supposed to be off of probabtion last month, yet it's looking that my procasinating self is going to end up being a delinquent until at least december. holy hell. i'm sure my parents are proud. i'm also fairly certain that i would not have received a new car for my birthday had my oblivious father realized i still have no license.
i swear i used to be better at conveying my thoughts.
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| because i know i can |
[03 Oct 2007|11:29pm] |
1. world at large ; modest mouse
2. jesse's girl ; rick springfield
3. soda shop ; jay branan
4. king of wishful thinking ; go west
5. stronger ; kanye west
6. don't stop believin' ; journey
7. walk through hell ; say anything
8. beautiful girls ; sean kingston
9. the engine driver ; the decemberists
10. lament of pretty baby ; cursive
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| no rory gilmore |
[24 Sep 2007|04:55pm] |
basically, i will never do anything with my university of memphis english degree.
(though we all know what an esteemed universty that is.)
no accomplishments to come.
though i did make a killer 95% on my logic test.
at least i'm logical, right?
things to keep up that PMA:
oo1. i'm going home on thursday!!
oo2. my birthday is innnnn (counting...) thirteen days!!!!!!
oo3. savannah with beth!
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| september oh one. |
[31 Aug 2007|12:54pm] |
one year ago, to the date, i wrote:
[01 Sep 2006|09:11pm]
a week ago i had everything.
i week later i have nothing.
i got dumped one year ago from today.
as i wrote just days ago:
“life is just the same thing over & over again, only at different times and to different people.”
september 1st is now officially “let’s dump rachel” day.
2 in a row, huhh boys?
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| monotoneous. |
[27 Aug 2007|03:22pm] |
two kids sit in front of me in intro to art today.
one a boy- obviously gay- the other a girl.
both are dressed in pseudo emo clothing; hollister re-vamped if you will.
i think to myself "aw. how cute. that's me when i was a freshman."
then, the clincher, the girl says "thank you for letting me borrow your book" & hands the boy his crisp copy (i even noticed some underlining of important passages) of the perks of being a wallflower.
life is just the same thing over & over again, only at different times and to different people.
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| every post you can heat your faith on |
[06 Aug 2007|02:18pm] |
| [ |
music |
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the shins - wincing the night away |
] |
i don't even know the last time i wrote anything on this place. however, i finally have a computer again (which i have been treating like a lil baby since it was purchased & i nearly wept last night when i noticed it had a small scratch on the top of it). i don't think i even have anything to report on, nor do i even have friends that use this anymore, but it would feel almost unfair to the world of el jay if one of my first endeavors on the new computer wasn't spending quality time on this oh-so-familiar website that is dying a slow death thanks to the other internet moguls.
my life is getting so boring. thank god beth & i have a good report going once again & danny is back in town for a little bit. work work work sleep drink steal fries off people's plates work work love work. (no. not "love work" as in "i love work." "love work" as in "i love. then i work." i hate work.) i remember when i first moved to memphis & i thought working at young ave would be the best job ever.
i was fucking stupid.
it is starting to seem to me that it doesn't really matter what my address is, my friends are always going to be the people & the life that is going to be my home. sometimes i wish we could go back to those two years in murfreesboro. blahhhhhh blah.
it's like you can't even SIGN ON TO livejournal without feeling like an emo kid with a too tight black hoodie and toting a messenger bag. pah thetic.
where is dashboard confessional? i wonder if he's ashamed of the legacy he's going to have;;;
"uh. well. what did i do with my life? pshh. do you even know who i am? i only started the worst fashion trend of the 2000's!! i made kids cry softly to themselves at their most vulnerable times! attacked their little souls by figuring out what hurts them the most & putting it all to the sound of an acoustic guitar!! i started a new generation of weaklings! i made kids go out & buy guitars & have dreams of being the next, well, ME!! i caused an increase in journal sales!! the people who make composition notebooks became rich from me!!! livejournal's servers almost overloaded. i, people of the world, am the new-generation emo king."
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| what is going on with me and the fray? |
[10 Mar 2007|02:49pm] |
its a beautiful day outside; one that is doing well at competeing with the absolute amazingness of yesterdays weather & events. (okay why the fuck wont livejournal let me use apostrophes?) the last few days have been up and down, but im happy to report that this spring break is the best one i have had since i began college. i didnt go to the beach and i didnt get any more than my regular amount of time off work, nor did i party extravagantly, but there was some element of awkward perfection in this week. it was everything i needed.
work is going well as is everything else. im all moved into my new home. daniel will be here in two weeks.
i dont know what to say because no one who even cares reads this anymore.
i just feel like i need to sometimes make up for the the incessant ramblings about how bad things are. because today and this week, things arent so bad.
in fact, theyre quite splendid.
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| love life |
[24 Feb 2007|11:36am] |
my eyes are burning from lack of sleeeeeeep.
none of you would even know me anymore.
gah i failed my drug test because i had alcohol in my system.
i move on thursday.
as it turns out, i don't really like the show big love.
everyone is making lists of people they love and people they miss.
well, well.
danny beth carri jake annelise patrick
& a pethora of people you don't know
plethora
god i don't like the livejournal
or punctuation, apparently
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[23 Dec 2006|01:21pm] |
i'm just really sad.
for the 3rd year in a row, christmas is the same.
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[16 Dec 2006|09:48pm] |
apparently, according to 33.3% of the staff of the Deli, i look like a lesbian. or they thought i was. anyone who knows me should get why this is more of a troublesome issue as opposed to a just kind of funny one. i fucking hate everything about myself these days.
emo.
whatever.
don't cmnt plz.
that's right, i used not one but TWO motherfucking abbreviations.
the gasoline hearts played at the deli tonight. you should go listen to them now.
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| in memory of blue & green bedrooms, pie in the sky, and everything inbetween |
[02 Dec 2006|11:03pm] |
the following i typed because my friends, my real friends that remember last winter or those who have since heard stories of it, should read and comprehend the depth and complexity and realism of the following, which was written by my new hero, stephen king in his book on writing.
team love, this is especially for you.
p.s. excuse and ignore all spelling errors/typos. i'm not going back to correct them.
"By 1985, I had added drug addiction to my alcohol problem, yet I continued to function, as a good many substance abusers do, on a marginally competent level. I was terrified not to; by then I had no idea how to live any other life. I hid the drugs I was taking as well as I could, both out of terror- what would happen to me without dope? I had forgotten the trick of being straight- and out of shame...
...Yet the part of me that writes the stories, the deep part that knew I was an alcoholic as early as 1975, when I wrote The Shinning, wouldn't accept that. Silence isn't what that part is about. It began to scream for help the only way it knew how, through my fiction and my monsters. In late 1985 and early 1986 I wrote Misery (the title quite aptly described my state of mind), in which a writer is held prisoner and tortured by a psychotic nurse. In the spring and summer of 1986 I wrote The Tommyknockers, often working until midnight with my heart running at a hundred and thirty beats a minute and cotton swabs stuck up my nose to stem the coke-induced bleeding...
...Not long after that my wife, finally convinced that I wasn't going to pull out of this ugly downward spiral on my own, stepped in. It couldn't have been easy- by then I was no longer within shouting distance of my right mind- but she did it. She organized an intervention group formed of family and friends, and I was treat to a kind of This It Your Life in hell. Tabby (King's wife) began by dumping a trashbag full of stuff from my office out on my rug: beercans, cigarette butts, cocaine in gram bottles and cocaine in plastic baggies, coke spoons caked with snot and blood, Valium, Xanax, bottles of Robitussin cough syrup and NyQuil cold medicine, even bottles of mouthwash. A year or so before, observing the rapidity with which huge bottles of Listerine were disappearing from the bathroom, Tabby asked me if I drank the stuff. I responded with self-righteous hauter that I most certainly did not. Nor did I. I drank the Scope instead. It was tastier, had that hint of mint.
The point of this intervention, which was certainly as unpleasant for my wife and kids and friends as it was for me, was that I was dying in front of them. Tabby said I had a choice: I could get help at a rehab or I could get the hell out of this house. She said that she and the kids loved me, and for that very reason none of them wanted to witness my suidcide. I bargained, because that's what addicts do. I was charming, because that's what addicts are. In the end I fott two weeks to think about it. In retrospect, this seems to summarize all of the insanity of that time. Guy is standing on top of a burning building. Helicopter arrives, hovers, drops a rope ladder. Climb up! the man leaning out of the helicopter's door shouts. Guy on top of the burning building responds, Give me two weeks to think about it.
I didn think, though- as well as I could in my addled state- and what finally decided me was Annie Wilkes, the psycho nurse from Misery. Annie was coke, Annie was booze, and I decided I was tired of being Annie's pet writer. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to work anymore if I quit drinking and drugging, but I decided (again, so far as I was able to decide anything in my distraught state of mind) that I would trade writing for staying married and watching the kids grow up. If it came to that.
It didn't, of course. The idea that creative endeavor and mind-altering substances are intertwined is one of the great pop-culture myths of out time. The four twentieth-century writers whose work is most responsible for it are probably Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Sherwood Aderson, and poet Dylan Thomas. They are writers who largely formed our vision of existential English-speaking wasteland where people have been cut off from one another and live in an atmosphere of emotional strangulation and despair. These concepts are very familiar to most alcoholics; the common reaction to them is amusement. Substance abusing writers are just substance abusers- common garden-variety drunks and druggies, in other words. Any claims that the drugs and alcohol are necessary to dull a finer sensiblity are just the usual self-serving bullshit. I've heard alcoholic snowplow drivers make the same claim, that they drink to still the demons. It doesn't matter if you're James Jones, John Cheever, or a stewbum snoozing in Penn Station; for an addict, the right to drink or drug of choice must be preserved at all costs. Hemingway and Fitzgerald didn't drink because they were creative, alienated, or morally weak. They drank because that's what alkies are wired up to do. Creative people probably do run a greater risk of alcoholism and addiction than those in some other jobs, but so what? We all look pretty much the same when we're puking in the gutter.
At the end of my adventures I was drinking a case of sixteen-ounce tallboys a nightm and there's one novel, Cujo, that I barely remember writing at all. I don;t say that with pride or shame, only with a vague sense of sorrow and loss. I like that book. I wish I could remember enjoying the good parts as I put them down on the page.
At the worst of it I no longer wanted to drink adn no longer wanted to be sober, either. I felt evicted from life. At the start of the road back I just tried to believe the people who said that things would get better if I gave them the time to do so. And I never stopped writing. Some of the stuff that came out was tentative and flatm but at least it was there. I buried those unhappy, lackluster pages in the bottomj of my drawer of my desk and got on to the next prject. Little by little I could the beat again, and after that I found the joy again. I came ba k to my family with gratitude, and back to my work with relief- I came back to it the way folks come back to a summer cottage after a long winter, checking first to make sure nothing has been broken or stolen during the cold season. Nothing had been. It was all still there, still all whole. Once the pipes were thawed out and the electricity was turned back on, everything worked fine.
The last things I want to tell you in this part is about my desk. For years I dreamed of having the sort of massive oak slabe that would dominate a room- no more child's desk in a trailer laundry-closet, no more cramed kneehold in a rented house. In 1981 I got the one I wanted and place it in the middle of a spacious, skylighted study (it's a converted stable loft at the rear of the house). For six years I sat behind that desk either drunk or wrecked out of my mind, like a ship's captain in charge of a voyage to nowhere.
A year or two after I sobered up, I got rid of that monstrosity and put it in a living-room suite where it had been, picking out the pieces and a nice Turkish rug with my wife's help. In the early nineties, before they moved onto their own lives, my kids sometimes came up in the evening to watch a basketball game or a movie and eat pizza. They usually left a boxful of crusts behind when they moved on, but I didn't care. They came, they seemed to enjoy being with me, and I know I enjoyed beingg with them. I got another desk- it's handmade, beautiful, and half the size of the T. rex desk... I'm sitting (here) now, a fifty-three year-old man with bad eyes, a gimp leg, and no hangover. I'm doing what I know how to do, and as well as I know how to do it. I came through all of the stuff I told you (and plenty more that I didn't), and now I'm going to tell you as much as I can about the job. As I promised, it won't take long.
It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and everytime you start to write, remind yourself why it isn't in the middle of the room. Life isn't a support-system for art. It's the other way around."
-Stephen King
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| CAN YOU DIG IT? |
[04 Nov 2006|02:30pm] |
i think that everyone tries to figure out where home is at the same age in life. i remember when i was seventeen and started my "new & improved" life at MTSU. the entire time, i was trying to find home. it didn't stop at the end of freshman year, either. i am still trying to figure out. i am trying to figure out of home is supposed to be the people you surround yourself with or if it's meant to be the physical surroundings in which you place yourself.
everyone spends time writing entries about missing their old selves & lives.
that's not to say we're not somewhat satisfied with who we are & where we are today.
& it's not to say that i'm any different.
it just breaks my heart to think that we'll never have it back.
it was all so much fun, but we all have to keep on truckin'. we all have to let go.
& none of us want to.
i just miss it.
we're all still trying to find home.
they say home is where the heart is.
they say the past is just practice.
& i want to know what it's practice for.
( because it sure didn't feel like practice at the time. )
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| o.o7o. i made up that number |
[28 Oct 2006|11:44am] |
i don't ever use this because i think that whatever i have to say out loud is better left unsaid. or untyped. half empty/half full. i am starting to learn a lot about everything. everything sans rocket science. i'm still working on that. i like people. i like watching people. actually, i like staring at people that eat at the deli while i sit in my corner of the smoke shop. voyeurism. i like it.
i like you.
and him and her and her and him and i'm just making up imaginary him's and her's.
i like them all.
this means absolutely nothing and no one will read it.
my point is, i have nothing worth your time to say to you.
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[19 Oct 2006|07:32pm] |
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you're all gay
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[30 Sep 2006|07:07pm] |
love
life
i love my friends and my apartment and my amazing roommates and my job and my life.
who would have ever guessed?
you see, we live these moments that others would regret.
me? i just accept my shame, hang my head, get red cheeks, and when i look up, brooke or haley or patrick or etc are laughing with me. or at me. something.
mugged and all.
I TURN TWENTY-ONE IN ONE WEEK.
this is it, boys and girls.
i'm going to get it right this time.
"i'm trying hard to stay awake long enough to see the day where i can finally say i did something right for a change"
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[25 Sep 2006|11:58am] |
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everyone just says the same stuff over and over again.
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