graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Maybe there should be a powerpoint for Life I left you. Or my only reader. I used to have so many readers when I was someone else on here. So much has happened. I fell for that guy who visited and he didn't fall for me. I thought I could be cool, that my crush would pass, it would have to because he didn't crush me back. It didn't pass and then one day he told me how excited he was that this other girl asked him out and it made me feel sick. Physically ill. I knew I could continue in this passive way that I've lived my whole life because what I felt for him, I had only felt once before and I let that go because of my paralyzation to express myself. So I told him. I told him that I had this giant crush on him and that I knew he didn't feel the same way, but just the same, I had these feelings and I was going to have to remove him from my life to regroup and move past him. He was great about it because he's this amazing guy. This great guy who is just not into me. That was pretty horrendous. I felt a little bit like a burnt out light bulb. You know how when you look at them, you aren't sure if it's burnt out or functioning - it appears intact - until you shake it and you hear the insides rattling and you know it's broken. I had to leave work early and pull myself together. Since then I've felt pretty good. I miss him, he is my confidente. Not having him is like going back to who I was 3 years ago, before I met him, keeping everything to myself. Thinking. Being who I am but not sharing that with anyone. Keeping my cards close to the vest. I've been going out though. I went to the Beastie Boys concert this weekend, at which I got incredibly drunk and ended up slipping in the hall of MSG in a puddle of beer and dumping a giant cup of beer over my head head as my legs shot out from under me and I landed with a thud on the concrete. That hurt. Later my friends had this great idea for me to sit in an office chair on rollers as they raced me down 8th Avenue toward the bar. It was great, I was screaming like a rollar coaster until the wheels caught on an uneven ramp leading from the street back up onto the sidewalk and I pitched forward out of the chair, landing on the cement sidewalk, in a cut off jean miniskirt and white stillettos on my knees like some dark Gucci ad gone wrong. Terribly terribly wrong. I got up and into the chair and we did it again. Maybe two more times with me flying out of the chair and onto the sidewalk. Again and again. Drunk and laughing and just not caring. At the bar, someone bought us shots. I think it was the owner. We were all drunk. The other girls wanted to go, but it was only midnight and I was just getting started, so I insisted on staying by myself and the two men we had met. Somehow I lost the men and as I came out of the restroom, a woman stopped me and told me that one of the men had been waiting for me and left thinking that I had left. I looked around and realized that I knew no one. I started to make my way out and felt something in my shoe so I stopped and slipped my foot out, holding onto a bar ledge to topple the shoe, right it and slid back into it, and I felt the bar owner come up behind me and put his hand on my waist to steady me. "Oh, I'm ok," I said. "Something in my shoe." I must not have looked ok - who would after a massive spill dousing themselves in beer at MSG and then 2 to 3 falls via a traveling office chair down 8th Avenue? - because he tried to walk to walk me out. The lights on the street hit my eyes and as I adjusted to this new brightness, I squinted. I looked next to me and saw a homeless woman. I spoke with her, "You take care of yourself, you hear me," and I gave her what I can assume is a stern look. She had just told me that the guy she had been camping out with had beaten her and then died. I think that's what she said. She had a split lip. She was probably on 34? I kept staring at her for emphasis as I walked away and I saw a tear fall down her cheek and I couldn't look away. I wanted that tear. I wanted a tear to run down my cheek for all of the pain I've felt in this lifetime, but that tear was hers, not mine, and for a moment, just a moment, I thought to myself, she's the lucky one. I stepped onto 9th avenue to hail a taxi and some preppy dude who had been standing outside making the moves on a girl said to me, "Miss? You need a taxi? Let me get you a taxi. No Irish girl should hail her own taxi in this town." I looked up at him, skeptically. I had never seen him before but he looked like every guy I went to college with. Handsome, clean cut, plaid shirt, white, blue eyed. "Half Irish," I said. "Half Irish and Half German." "Close enough," he said to me. I must have looked doubtfully at him because he added, "don't worry, I won't try to jump in with you or anything. I'm just going to see you in a taxi. You shouldn't be out here alone at night by yourself trying to get home. Anything could happen." Anything could happen. That phrase bounced around my head. Once, Twice. Ping, Pong, that phrase was like a game of handball in my brain. "Everything" already has happened, Johnny, but good looking out. Half of "everything" happened to me before I even reached the ripe age of 18, how else would I have arrived here? This isn't a place for the sane, Johnny. It's a place to burrow or reinvent. For his own sanity, I let him put me in a taxi. As the girl who had been with him went inside the bar in irritation at her conquest's good deed for another woman. I went out to another bar. I didn't want to go home. I found some people I knew and sat there with them for a few rounds and then I stumbled out. I'm not even sure I said goodbye. I've been thinking a lot about relationships. How it's not the things that men do but the things they don't do that are the tell tale signs that they are not interested. I've wondered why it is that we spend so much time thinking about dying but never about actively living. Living seems to something that happens because we don't know what else to do. And I'm not exactly sure why it doesn't get more attention. Why there aren't more thoughts going toward living rather than the planning and processes and premediation toward dying. Someone should create a powerpoint presentation for living. 7:45 p.m. - 2004-10-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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