music

i find music to be so intoxicating. i become lost with headphones in my ears, my body moves involuntarily, my heart beats accordingly. i can't help but to sing, it sets me free. the music plays to the beat of my heart, and in return my heart plays to the beat of the music. that feeling changed who i was, and defined who i am today. when i felt lost in the world, i found myself in lyrics.

there wasn't a thing i couldn't do when music was playing. and when the music stopped, my motivation seemed to come to a complete halt. i've found that i have't been feeling like myself this year. no matter how happy i was i still remained hollow. it took me weeks to realize it was the dust growing on my cd player. it hardly made a sound anymore; lover doesn't listen to music while he sleeps, and background noise to him has always been the television. i began resenting him for not loving music like i do. the music would play loudly in the car, and i seemed to be the only one singing, or really noticing the music at all.

i can't expect his heart to beat to the same tunes as mine. it's petty to wish that he would sing with me.

when i was a baby my parents would visit a family friend at his recording studio, and they would set me in front of the speakers to sleep. all the while the music flowed through the speakers, i slept through the sounds. my parents were musical. my grandfather was a musician, and my dad followed suit and became a very talented guitarist. to this day, my mom sings and dances consistently throughout her day, and sometimes i'm unsure she even notices she's doing it. as a teenager, i spent most of my time with two boys who practically slept with a guitar in their hand. it seemed fitting to have them so close to me, because when my parents divorced, the sounds of my dad's guitar no longer filled our home. i continued to immerse myself in music whenever i possibly could. i spent most of my time at band practices of local bands, or driving to los angeles with friends to stand in a crowded, sweaty room just to hear music that my cd player had played relentlessly on repeat. i used to close my eyes while the bands played; i could feel the music better.

i remember when i was in 6th grade, i was in love with christian bands. they pulled at my heart strings. they made me happy, and i was surrounded by positive messages. but the moment i hit 14, something was changing inside of me, the christian songs became unreal to me. there were things inside of me that i didn't understand, and those songs never mentioned the existence of. i then fell in love with a band that was the polar opposite of the pop punk christian music i adored. this band screamed loudly, they sang of love and pain bluntly, uncensored. i played the sounds of Bert McCracken's voice until the cd no longer worked. i've burned it so many times throughout the years because i would play the cd until they failed. naturally (and unintentionally) my parents disliked the band i fell in love with and probably grew quite concerned because i don't think they ever heard music like that anytime, much less when it was blaring out from under the door of their daughters bedroom.

i don't know who i would be without that cd and others. i cannot imagine my existence with the absence of music. i know at the end of the day, plenty of people can proudly state that they love music, but i sometimes wonder if they truly fall in love with a pair of headphones on. i can't describe the feeling it gives me. i could only imagine that it is a feeling of ecstasy that some can only manage to find at the bottom of a bottle, in the form of a pill, or maybe in the arms of a lover.

everyone has their vice, and this has always been mine.

"she has never seen the sunshine, yet she's getting along just fine."

everything is moving so slowly today. the whirring of the fan seems calmer, quieter. even the water in the shower seemed to fall slowly at my feet. i'm not tired, i'm not awake. i'm neither bored nor busy. i'm just here today, in the strangest way. i feel no peace, no chaos.

yesterday was chaos; everyone working so hard to be among the first to spread the news of death. i have no passion for bad news, i just edit it. i collapsed into bed after midnight. in the midst of running around the newsroom, all i could think about was being in his arms, in our bed. i worked so hard yesterday just to make it home, but i crawled into bed, let out a sigh of release, and felt no reward for what i had done.

when i do my job well your television will show you images of planes falling out of the sky, natural disasters consuming lives, trains colliding, gunshots fired into a crowd of people simply searching for peace.

when viewers call, i'm sometimes tempted to ask what makes them turn on the television every morning. is it routine? is it truly just to be informed? i believe some become so enamored with the news, as if it was a movie. the graphic images make their heart race. some out of fear, some out of intrigue. i imagine their faces watching in disbelief, as reporters flock to the scene to bring you back images of the world nearly coming apart.

i want to edit documentaries, films... images that make people travel and dream from under their own roofs. i want to inspire. i want to edit something that appears on television that i had enough time to truly create.

yesterday and today i'm covering the shift of another editor, and instead of working 2:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m., i'm working an exact 12 hours difference: 2:30 p.m. to 11:30 p.m. you'd think i'd be so glad to see the sunshine, to sleep through the night. instead it made me thankful for the shift i have, and the people i'm surrounded by in the early mornings. even on the busiest morning there are just so few of us there so it feels as though we are all in it together.

i never thought i would say this, but i miss my old shift, and am entirely at peace with the idea of waking up at 2 in the morning this monday.

tough ghost.

i stayed home from work yesterday to lie around on my couch, feeling less than my best. it started the night before, i woke up around 9:30 feeling awful. i had fallen asleep at 8:00, prepared to wake at 2:00 a.m, but instead woke at 9:30 with a unpleasantly warm stomach. the odd feeling of sea-sickness would have made sense if my sheets had begun to set sail, and my bed had suddenly taken to the ocean. in all actuality, i suppose it was the funnel cake and lemonade that had subsituted my plans for a ravioli dinner.

otherwise, i enjoyed my unintentional long weekend. it was a good balance of being completely productive, yet doing nothing at all.

i'm hating this writer's block. i'm sure by about this time, most would resort to speaking of things that happened before, and for a second i was almost tempted to write about my father on father's day. i just don't think i can touch the tip of that iceberg without writing a novel. now, when i write about struggles in my past i feel like i'm digging up skeletons in my closet, and that they should be left in the dust and darkness. i'm not in denial, i just feel like other things are more significant in my life now. granted, those things made me what i am today, but i coming to realize most occurences in my past should stay there.

i've begun to mentally box away memories and put them away. there is a reason why they remain memories, and nothing more.

i suppose i'm doing alright. i do my best to find inspiration to write, and evaluate my current state of mind, but at times i feel i'm on autopilot. i look up, and suddenly it's 5 hours later than i last recalled. i know how melancholy this sounds, but i think it's because this is a rare time in my life where i'm neither relentlessly sad, or intensely happy. being content is a strange stage in life for me. it's the welcome reprieve, but it also causes writers block. i lose inspiration to write because i'm neither overflowing with joy, or being consumed by pain. i'm just quietly, happily content. life just seems to be going on around me this month and days pass so quickly now. now that i have my own home, i always seem to have something to do, create, explore, or clean. i have errands to run and a lover that i kiss goodbye far too often. everyday i've done something that's made me happy, even if it's small. i've sat out on the balcony, watched foreign films, made snowcones, and began planting a small herb garden.

i've just been lacking stunning, colorful, important things to say.

i was spacing out (as i seem to do various times throughout the day) and i came to the realization that any problems or complications in my life are caused by others. that sounds pretentious and delusional, i'm sure. but if i think of times where i struggle, or have doubts, it is purely influenced by the actions of someone else. someone else making me feel inferior, burdening me with their problems, someone manipulating, mistreating, misguiding me. alone, i am strong and productive, seemingly free of personal struggles. i fall victim to the hidden agenda of others.

some of my best days are spent eating ice cream on the couch, driving with the sun in my eyes, or just playing video games! at times i'm thankful when the phone doesn't ring.

i am listening to hear where you are

i thought sitting out on the balcony to write would make me more inspired to write, but i've already begun pausing in between words and sentences, watching the sunset. i'm in such a strange mood tonight, i don't know whether i need someone to talk to, or if i just need to be left alone.

i'm not sure where my time had disappeared to today, but it's already nearly past my bed time, and all i can remember is eating a snow cone with the sun in my eyes, and reading my book. i've been trying to write more often, but i often open the window to write in my blog, and i stare at the empty box for ages. i think i miss having heart-to-heart conversations. i feel as though i have so many ideas and questions about life, and they become so plentiful that although i put my fingers on the keys and feel that that i have nothing to say at all, it's truly that i have far too much to say. i had two friends whom i could speak any words to. i could call and have the most important discussion of my life, or speak of nothing at all. there has been a void since their phone calls have nearly stopped. i may have the company of others, but if anything that is when i begin to feel alone. i could speak to them for hours on a topic that started by me simply asking them "what are you really thinking of?". something so small could provoke so many ideas inside of both of us. there is something about catching the eye of someone staring out the window, and knowing that there is something inside of their mind that seemed to not matter at all until it would be spoken out loud.

i think lover feels that i talk too much and feel the need to over-discuss life, but somehow i just want to know that he feels the same as i do, about how life seems to be simultaneously dragging on and flying by, and how strange it feels to sleep alone, or how it feels when you favorite
song is played at a concert, and the beating of the song seems to match the beating in your chest.

sometimes i don't want to speak about living. i just want to hear how it feels to be alive.

feisty.

i was so grouchy this morning. i mumbled grouchy things while waking up to my grouchy alarm clock, walking down my grouchy stairs, at grouch o' clock this morning.

simply because i'm anxious that this weekend will be my birthday weekend, and i requested PTO for monday so i don't have to tumble into bed at 7:00 p.m on my birthday. the strangest thing is that i can't fathom making extensive birthday plans this year, or having an elaborate party. but i'm awfully excited to be turning 20 this year, which seems to be way past due anyway.

i get mixed signals when i announce i'm only 19. for the most part, people assume i'm much older (although i look young) because of my personality and my maturity, but i am literally the youngest employee at my job at the news station. on the other hand, a realtor came into my room at by surprise a few weeks ago (i forgot she was coming) to view and appraise the house i used to live in. she flung open my door, and bluntly asked "what are you doing in here? shouldn't you be in school? what are you anyway, 12? 13?" that was a stunning number. i'd like to pretend that i'm not feisty, but i must admit that i wanted to punch her in the face and bluntly state right back to her that contrary to her belief that i should be on a school bus somewhere, instead, while she was sleeping in her permanent makeup and rollers, i was editing the morning news she had watched on television while drinking her starbucks that morning.

i need to go home and eat some cereal, and recompose myself.

(a stolen moment to write while at work!)

yesterday was one of the nights where i've gotten the least amount of sleep in months, and although i just want to rendezvous with my pillow, that's not what i want to say this morning.

for as long as i can remember, i've experienced this feeling i can't describe. it is the most consuming feeling i have ever experienced. i haven't felt it in so long. i've grown numb and distant from myself. we had been encased in a small bedroom together for nearly two years; our bed became our kitchen table, our couch, our place to love, wrestle, sleep. at night i stood on my balcony, staring at the view outside my new home. i'm not sure how long i stood there. it seemed it was only seconds, but it was clearly more. i watched the lights reflect off of the pool and stared at an infinite number of stars that hung above palm trees embedded into the grass. i felt alive. exhausted. awake. overwhelmed. complete. that night we made love that seemed to continue until i had made him breakfast the next morning. afterwards we tangled ourselves on the couch, watching discovery channel, letting the morning sunlight in.

i suppose i've fallen in love with my apartment, and i think i felt my apartment fall in love with me.