The Sky is Grey

Between the perfect guy that I can't seem to land, and the man I can't stop loving, and the bestfriend I thought I could trust and was just screw over by....

I never should have kissed mike all those years ago. It was the seemingly innocent  tip of a heteroberg. Good god. Now I know why I felt the way I felt. "why did I just do that?!"

And what else. I finally feel over Andy. secure. Able to believe that someone perfect can fall out of love and that it doesn't mean Im worthless.

*exclamation of some sort.*

Like I told Evan, in the awakward, broken, email I just sent soaring though the tristate on a telephone cable....
Im just one girl.

godfuckingdamnit.

And I love you all.

I don't understand men. And I don't understand why they're attracted to me.

I don't know why Im the only person that seems to have this straight, but here it is:

THUMB OUT = love.
THUMB IN = rock on. / demonic.

Please get it right you crazy hip hoppin kids, you.

<3 Elle

Lately I think it's my fault. It's the only answer I can understand, and the only thing I can't fix.
I would give anything to hear the phone ring.

My blood is the color of my birthstone. it's a color that doesn't match the rest of me. If you bleed in space does it come out blue?

I am horrible at this.

One of my favorite books as a little girl was called Puppy Too Small.

It was about a puppy who struggled to do things he wasn't big enough to do, like turning door knobs and and climbing trees. And each time he got frustrated because he couldn't do something, he realized (with some help from random household pets and neighborhood animals) that there were equally important things that he could do, like hand a mouse a cookie from up on the table, and help s squirrel in a dress swing on a swing and so on. Anyway, the moral of the story was that even if at times there are things you can't manage to do, there are always good things you can do which makes you, like the puppy, "just the right size".

Last night I realized that when it comes to a certain person in my life, I am a lot like the puppy. There are things I really wish I could do, but not being magical, divine, or licensed in Psychotherapy I cannot. However, the things that I am capable of doing for/with this person are pretty cool. And if I'm ever given the chance, I know I'll be a positive element in his life because of it.

friendship is powerful when you're heart is broken.
Love is bright when your life is dark.
hugs are healing.
And peace pasta and bed knobs and broomsticks on dvd is just plain good for the soul.
These are the things I can give.
So does that make me good enough for him? I hope so.

waiting for him to call is like nothing I can compare... but forcing myself to wait is even more difficult. Trying to honor his request for space over my need to be loved.
When my Mom was in the hospital last winter every night felt like the last night I had left in me. Everything evening, driving north along the sunset, my father beyond tired would talk with me at great length about her condition and about what we were going to do. It was like my body gave up on crying before I did. My voice remained the same, while big, rain drop tears streamed down my faces and left blotches on my shirts.
I can't remember when this feeling of hopelessness abandoned me, but today it returned at full force.
There I was, there we were, the four of us. I honestly thought I'd be alright listening to the news I had secretly known was coming... I held myself together though the worst of it, avoiding blinking to let the tears dry in my eyes without falling. But seeing my mom cry is too much for me. It brought me back to those long nights alone in my room or an empty hallway in the hospital wondering how I or anyone was supposed to go on...
I ran off.
to spare my parents, mainly, the sight of my melt down.

Sitting on the porch four stories up, watching the river though the rails. This was the first important thing I had to cry about in weeks besides him... and of course, when sitting there alone, cellphone in hand, he was the only person I wanted to talk to.
I didn't care that I was dumped or that our possibility of reconciliation was looking bleaker every day... I just wanted the boy I love to hold me and listen. That simple.
Because my Mom's sick. Because she isn't gonna get better. Because we're gonna loose the house sometime too soon.
I didn't call and still haven't.
but this damn waiting... I hate.

I wish I knew how to speak french.
life would be easier.

"You're a part of me.
In a deep and clammy place
Where the dots cannot be traced
the love I bare for you
is lazing about
with nothing to do
and I never speak of it
so it is clearly over due
this burden
sticks to me like the sand stuck to my feet
beer and beach
You are a part of me.
you are the lie I never tell
and always always keep
the reason my eyes are green
and the cause of my suffering
please forgive me
my curls have fallen straight
the only living boy from new york
never meant to be so late"

if that poem had a title it would be called 'why'. but it doesn't have a title.

I try not to cry when I hear your favorite song.
Why you fucked me over I never could tell.
The only thing Im sure of,
I hope I never see the ocean again.

I am very unsatisfied with the world around me.


What is this posture
I have to stare at
That's what he said when I'm sittin' up straight
Change the name of the game 'cause he lost
And he knew he was wrong but he knew it too late
But I'm not being fair
'Cause I chose to listen to that filthy mouth
But I'd like to choose right
Take all the things that I've said that he stole
Put 'em in a sack
Swing 'em over my shoulder
Turn on my heels
Step out of this sight
Try to live in a lovelier light


I'll never write that well.

So anyway. The world has aids and I don't know how to be an adult.
On the bright side my mom is starting to walk again.

Looking back I realize that I always tried too hard.

When the full moon comes out I have the worst dreams. I wake up confused and scared, jaw sore, forehead creased, sheets on the floor. it's how you picture it.
And sometimes I grope for him for his chest in the dark, the safest places, and he isn't there. sometimes he is.

I hate that love is starting to feel like a cycle instead of like infinite lines drawn on the chalkboard, the ones you imagine shooting out through the classroom and into space. And I hate when cycles overlap.I hate feeling like Im in the middle of a venndiagram.
what do these two people have in common.
blue eyes, their middle name, music, smoke, and oh yeah...

so why is it so hard for people to heal? why don't I want to?
opting to continue living with out actually moving on isn't the easy way out. I thought it was but it's not. pretending to be at peace is the best I could have done anyway.
And being brave enough to feel how I feel now...

we've made an 'us' and it's a good one.

This is my boyfriend.

This morning I woke next to someone who wasn't really here. All the same I knew that where ever and when ever he was he would do the same. And the idea of him soften the blow of a cold morning.
So this is where I've ended up again. Spellbound by another kind and extraordinary soul. I seem to have regained something I lost in my self.
And with him are mixed ideals of what I really want and really don't.
I don't want to fall in love again, god do I not. I don't want to lean the weight of my failures and misfortunes on him, or forget how to be lonely and self reliant again.
But it seems that I do want to be his. And I would like to be tied to him. And I know it is just in my nature to love and nurture. I don't know what's true and what's just jaded thinking from a heartbroken eighteen year old.
I feel as though I've never fallen out of love. Which may be idiotic, but still true.
Lately my dreams of a new face have been interrupted by that of a blonde haired blue eyed boy frowning. haunting me. my heart clenches in my chest and I've woken up startled.
Emma said I was just nervous about dating again. I think maybe Im nervous about forgetting. Or afraid to not hurt anymore. And this all sounds like a lot of emo bull and Im glad my sister wont read it because she'd beat me up and steal my lunch money again... But if there's one thing I've learned in the past few months, it's that morphine doesn't cure anything even when it seems to be.

he kisses my face like we've been together for ever. Like he'd rather breathe me in than... be a teenaged guy.
I've never met someone so different then me that was so much like me. he'd be the only person that understood.
I love that he wants what I can give, and that he needs what I already am. He wants to be important to someone and to make me happy. He needs to be told how good a person he is,to be shown how valuable he is to the world. I don't understand how I was the first. He cried when i told him I was proud of him. He is selfless and giving. Artist so rarely know the good they are doing for the world.

So here I am again. With someone that fits.

My mom came home last week. She starts chemo soon. Im playing an old woman in the oneact. Ms. Dalbeck I hate you. DIII was wonderful. I miss Emma and want to meet her tall jewish poet. I have someone to have pancake breakfast at slates with again.

My new years resolutions are to avoid men that call me ‘babe’ and factory raise chicken. One is bad for my karma, the other wont call.
I also resolve to spend time each day exploring and appreciating the arts, specifically those that I’ve been given some sort of gift for.

Amos has tripled in size since we brought him home. He’s smelly and drolly and very lovable. My Mother misses him quiet a bit. I hate to see her so sad over what I feel is just the wrong thing to be sad about right now. Today is her sixteenth day in the hospital. We were visiting her this afternoon, her eyes are still bright. It was the first time I’d seen her or talked with her since last night. Since my Dad told us what we weren’t ready to hear.
He said she’s being so amazingly positive, and I asked if it was denial.
I hate it when I take some of the smile off my dad’s face with out meaning to.

For two or three nights in a row I dreamed of waking up on a sunny morning and coming down stairs to see my parents standing in the kitchen together talking and laughing. And in every dream my father turns to me and says “She decided to come home now.”

Im my mind, my life has shattered.

I don’t know if it’s the medicine or all the sadness, but I haven’t written a song, even a phrase in two weeks, nor have I gone outside except to walk to the car or wrangle the puppy. And what’s worse, although I “want to want to” cook myself hearty veggie stews and be single and sexless for a very long time, what I really find myself craving is chicken and the men that say babe, even though none of them will ever be the kind of person I love, nor the kind that is willing to look and my blotchy red cry face under the stairs of the third floor stairwell at Thayer Hospital.

10:52 pm... happy new year, Elle. Happy 13 days till your birthday.