NP “I’ll Kill Her” by Soko

I smoke cigarettes because who even am I?

It’s like a weird zen standing out on your back porch and smoking. It’s silent except for the buzz of tobacco rush that flies around in your head like mosquitos or bumble bees. “Jesus Christ” by Brand New plays in my mind, mashed up with Arctic Monkeys’ “Dance Little Liar” and Cracker’s “Low”. 

I feel like I constantly have something I should be doing instead of standing out on the porch.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt one hundred percent accomplished. When it’s not a paper to be written, or a rehearsal I have to remember to go to, it’s the long-term, “real life” things that I feel are constantly hanging over my head like a rain cloud.

Smoking is like an escape – but how do you tell people that without expecting laughs?

“Why DO you smoke?”

Probably for the same reason you get blackout drunk, or sleep with guy after guy, or go to a yoga class, or write in a diary or cut yourself or shoot up. 

I am not the person you know when I smoke. 

Smoking makes me feel raw, straight down to the bone, naked to the soul. For me, it’s like having a guy walk into your bedroom for the first time – they see all of your clutter or OCD, your tacky posters and sticky-note reminders. The way you decorate your bedroom is done in a way to make you feel so comfortable because, in my opinion, your bedroom is YOUR space that no one could ever dare to intrude upon or judge. 

Smoking and having a guy enter my bedroom is like saying,

“This is me dude, take it or leave it.” (with a subtle “bitch” under my breath)

I smoke cigarettes because I don’t feel like myself – or the “myself” that I have given the world. 

I smoke cigarettes because (in the tackiest, most cliché way) I seriously, undoubtedly do not give a single fuck.

 

Because even when I thought I was original I wasn’t

When I was in grade nine I read Catcher in the Rye. 

I didn’t really understand what it was about and to this day whenever asked about that book I say “I just didn’t like it”.

Thinking back on it now I feel like maybe I just didn’t appreciate J.D. Salinger’s subjective, dry, “more then meets the eye” style of writing. Holden really pissed me off. Like, why was this dude going on and on about just sitting in his dorm room? And I felt like he was just telling story on top of story and it became inception for me, which was confusing as fuck.

I don’t know. It was boring, I think. 

I don’t really remember, it was grade nine and I was cool and smoked cigarettes and stole from Ardene’s and skipped class and read books which people thought was lame but now everybody likes a person who reads and everybody likes Star Wars and records and The Stones and because even when I thought I was original I wasn’t. 

No one’s original because once you’ve realized you are you’re not. 

Maybe it was my small town where everybody wore Abercrombie & Fitch and was a cheerleader or played hockey and if you hadn’t kissed a boy by the ripe age of twelve you were shunned. 

*A legit “lol”*

Anyway, I guess the point of this post is that I feel the need to re-read Catcher in the Rye because now I’m all “grown up” and what not. 

 

Shut Up

I tell myself to “shut up” too often.

I feel like if I’m not saying it inside my head, people will say it out loud and I’d rather not put myself through the embarrassment.

Oh, you want me to stop talking? That’s really kind of you. Thanks.

I don’t consider myself annoying but so many other people do that it’s starting to brainwash me like an infomercial. 

“Gubs! Stop it! No one thinks you’re annoying. We all love you.”

Cut the crap this isn’t high school. If you think I suck stop putting up with me so I can find people to moss with that appreciate my terrible sense of humour or the way I ramble on too much. 

Maybe I’m just hanging around with the wrong crowd. Maybe I just hang out with them because they make me feel sane.

They make me feel sane in a way that society wants you to feel sane. 

(Sane = “cool”?) 

The only thing that really makes me feel sane is when I’m watching my bunny hop around on my bed or lighting that cigarette – and how insane does that sound? 

I like to be alone because I hate constantly worrying that someone is going to contradict every little thing I say. 

Maybe that’s selfish. Or maybe people are just straight up assholes. 

I know we all have to welcome the real world and we can’t all always be happy but fuck that shit. I would like to know who the fuck started the whole “you can’t be happy all of the time” because it’s serious crap. 

Why can’t I be happy all of the time?

Why can’t I walk away from my “friends” that are being jerks and saying jerky things that I know are rude and wrong and hurtful? 

Why can’t I be happy all of the time? 

I Don’t Want Good & I Don’t Want Good Enough

Sometimes when I’m in the shower I’ll put my nose in the middle of the circle of water coming down from the spout so I can breathe and still have water falling on my face, like tiny kisses.

I feel like that’s what a bunny’s kisses would feel like. If there’s one pet in the world I wish to have, it’s a bunny without a doubt.

Or an Alaskan husky because, whaddup, those eyes are piercingly beautiful.

Or a lion if that could be realistic and I wouldn’t feel paranoid cuddling with it.

That’s three pets, so sue me.

I just accidentally put my hand in my empty ice cream bowl because I was staring out my bedroom window at the rain and thought I was reaching for my cellphone.

That’s my life in a nutshell I’d say. My head is always in the clouds and I feel almost certain I’m doing the right thing so I go ahead and do it, and I stick my hand in the ice cream bowl.

*Licks chocolatey goodness off fingers*

*Not seductively – stop thinking like that*

Silver Lining by Rilo Kiley just popped up on my shuffle and that is friggin fantastic.

Back to the main topic of tonight’s blog which actually hasn’t been decided yet but topics usually present themselves as I continue to type.

I’ve realized from the undoubtedly cheesy lyrics of Hunter Hayes’ “I Want Crazy” that I do, in fact, “want crazy”.

There were a couple of gents this year that popped up into my world and they were spectacular and humble and attractive – but they were also safe, I knew how they felt about me. You get those vibes sometimes from guys that they try to portray as chill and cool, but they’re so needy.

If boys are that needy for a sexual relationship (which I’m not saying all gents are) why don’t they just call on a whore?

What’s changed from the 1600s where Kings and Knights would visit brothels and whorehouses on the daily and their women turned a cheek?

I’m not saying “Bring it on back boys! I love the profile view”.

What I’m trying to get at here is that I really, truly think males have deep down feelings for females that don’t just involve wanting to see them naked. They’ve tried to convince us of this before and they can say whatever they like – we can watch movies and read books that have cute quotes and dreamy men wanting to “be with you forever…and only you” – but who believes that crap? Whenever my ex would say things like that to me I would feel a little flip in my stomach trying to bring up my dinner. Or laugh – I definitely wanted to laugh.

It’s the most fake! I know you don’t actually mean that because it sounds like it’s been said before. There should be a rule about not plagiarizing love lines for your girlfriends and it should feel just as sinful as plagiarizing in an essay.

Like, thanks bud for telling me you see a future with us together and that I have eyes you could stare into forever but I, personally, do not find that enthralling.

I’ve lost track of what I was trying to say. I wonder what my brain would look like if it were portrayed by trains and railroad tracks. Probably very life-threatening.

I like that feeling of nervousness in my stomach – the butterflies that are shitting their pants. I hate how I try and say intellectual things but I slur and stumble over my words. I like how I can’t meet your eyes but I’m always looking at you. I like that I can’t stop smiling around you and it’s not because you’ve said something funny or nice, but probably because you’re just saying things to me. We’re conversing and it’s easy. I like going home every night and not being able to get you off my mind (sexual thoughts and non, I won’t be a liar here). I like how my head races when I hear their voice calling to me. And for some very, very, very bizarre reason, I love the chase.

I hate how safe you feel. I could walk all over you and that’s not cool. I hate knowing you like me. I hate the obvious.

And as much as I hate having to guess whether or not he has feelings for me, I cannot stand how clingy the obvious boys get.

There it is folks.

I suppose tonight’s topic of discussion (with myself) was my asking who needs to play it safe in love?

This post has been composed of my sporadic thoughts and an early rise:

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want.

Ed Sheeran’s voice swoons me one way – to the stereotypical, media-induced love we all want – and the nagging, annoying voice in my head pulls me another.

It’s different being with you and being apart. It’s different as in…I want different things, as if I’m not in the same state of mind when I’m with you and when I’m not.

I’ve been up since 6:30, having to drive my sister and mother to the train station for work. I would have gone back to sleep but I brewed coffee and started reading, being scheduled to work at nine today but receiving a phone call saying the rain influenced the lack of need for my presence.

And so here we are, Lykke Li playing on my speakers and I’m just waiting for the book store to open.

I don’t think I know exactly what I want. I’m not sure I ever really do.

Being an indecisive Pisces by nature doesn’t assist in any way either.

Why did the idea of love change from the sixteenth century? Why did we let it change?

Maybe it hasn’t – possibly, it was for the better.

Being sold off by my parents to a man ten years my age just to bring the family fortune and seniority would break my heart.

So I suppose I’m asking; what is the real thing? Why do we let ourselves get screwed around just to relate our tales to songs and receive sympathy from eager pals waiting to hear the juicy details?

Everyone says “You’ll know when it’s the real thing because it’s indescribable.” 

And I’m all like, “Man, that’s BS, but thanks for the fortune cookie advice anyway.”

I want to kiss you and hold your hand and wrap my arms around your shoulders when we’re together but is that just longing to feel something? Is that just me trying to block out loneliness and the annoying Tumblr posts that twelve year old girls reblog, not even understanding the above mentioned “real thing”.

Lonely (adjective): 

1. unhappy as a result of being without the companionship of others: a lonely man
2. causing or resulting from the state of being alone: a lonely existence
3. isolated, unfrequented, or desolate
4. without companions; solitary

We endlessly complain about wanting to be in relationships and we tweet lyrics from beautiful love songs but I see words from the same person one day about wanting to be wild and crazy and the next day they state they want “true, satisfying, honest ‘love'”.

What the fuck are you even talking about? It drives me insane.

I’ve attempted to delete my Twitter (again) a couple of times but I seriously just want the memory of how hilarious I am in fifty years.

Wow, that came out way more selfish and cocky than I intended.

I suppose I’m just hoping for the apocalypse, or for the day when every computer and technological device breaks down and no longer works so that I have a good reason not to give a shit about other people’s sad lives. Like Y2K.

And so the moral of the story, folks, is what I think I want today will never, ever, be what I want on any other day.