It’s funny how much pomp and circumstance people prescribe to their lives.
This is how I want to be perceived; this is what I want you to hear when I’m talking etc. blah blah. Not to say I don’t do the same, but lately I feel like I’m more of a passive observer than an active participant. I’m on a different plane. Not in a holier than thou way, but in a people watching kind of way. I don’t mind this at all, sometimes it’s funny to sit beside myself at a party and wonder about everyone’s motivations, and for once not have any of my own. I don’t talk as much as I used to; I suppose I don’t need as much social stimulation. That could very well be a lie, I still need a ton of social stimulation, but I think I’m in a latent period (ha ha PR vocab in a blog?). Or, I just require a different kind of stimulation, one that this town, these people (besides a very very select few), and these professors (again a select few) cannot provide. Right now I'm sponging up as much as I can before I make my departure.
Sponge Sponge Sponge.
STILL SICK Couldn’t really enjoy Thanksgiving food as much as I like, can’t keep much of anything down. I feel fine, but blech nothing agrees with my insides. Today I ate approx. one half a popcorn ball, a fourth of a dry ass baked potato, two fluid ounces of warm sprite, and about three cups of unsweetened coffee.
Popcorn balls. Ha ha. Got me thinking.
He knew I liked Popcorn balls, and I heard his Grandpa made the best. His grandpa was perfect, a retired something or other, with a porkpie hat and a slight German accent. When he smiled you felt really special. He’d always wear checked button ups and v-neck cardigans. One day while boyfriend did yard work with the men, I sat down for a chat.
He said, “Now, darling I heard you like popcorn balls. Well you haven’t tried mine. The best you’ll ever taste. Christmas wrapped up in sticky kernels. Come see me on Saturday. We’ll cook. My balls are an old family secret; I will show you the way.”
I started giggling and he lit his old man pipe. Boyfriend came in, “let’s go let’s go.”
I didn’t get to cook with him that day, but he sent over a pretty red basket full of his “famous balls.” We gorged ourselves that night, and boyfriend confessed in a sickly sugar coma, “I love you girlfriend, I really love you.” I’m sure I turned green; my reaction, “uhhh Thank You? Let’s have another sticky ball.”
THANK YOU!?
What an awful gal. What an awful feeling he must have felt when a proclamation of love was met with a Thank You? Oh I’m still hopeless. Love eludes me. I’m just not very good at it. At least romantic love, I’m getting better at the rest (hopefully). When on again off again boy told me he loved me I sighed, and convinced him otherwise. That could have been worse than a thank you. Of course karma caught up with me, and the only time I’ve wanted to tell someone I love them, I didn’t. Now it’s unrequited. Serves me right I suppose. So now I manifest my love in other ways. Writing, nature, roommates, best friends. I’ve taken to texting my darling old man, sporadic proclamations of familial love. The only male whom I’m quite absolute would step in front of a speeding bus to save my lovelorn soul. He doesn’t receive enough love from his wife, so I am glad to supplement. We are alike in so many ways and it’s quite a revealing experience getting to know him. Someday I suppose LOVE (love love love) will find me, it has seemingly found everyone else (oh boohoo I know), but until then I think I’m mostly okay with loving life, trees, fathers, words, and the occasional popcorn ball.
Talked to an old friend today, it really lit me up. Feels good to know people struggle, wallow, smile, and drink booze for nerves just like you. From now on he will be dubbed wiseone. Visiting in two weeks, can't wait. Progress is better seen over a cup of shitty coffee. I have another reading tomorrow, with my class this time. Less Nervous, but not really. I'm reading something I really dig though, first time I've ever done RED well. Microphone, ew. Published a story and an old poem check em' Or a Writer's Burden and Kinks.
Kinks is an oldie, about ex-lover, still makes me feel happy. Provided the un-happy circumstances these days (oh boo-hoo I know). Didn't think it would get published. Or a Writer's Burden was the first thing I wrote this year. I like it a lot, but since submission it's been bastardized in various forms. I love it, but I'm not sure as a whole. Oh well first steps in a very long journey!
oh and this is so kitschy of me but hell, I've been in a kitschy mood, and it's my blog.
anyway it works with my title. what the hell am I doing up so late?
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
- Albert Einstein
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