Thursday, November 25, 2010

Many fine things

I'm in the shade, its Thanksgiving day, im writing this on the stone patio set in the photo. wireless is working fine. Through doors and walls and glass. And im tapping on glass, getting used to it. Words.
My family is coming over for the big dinner, been cooking all morning. I don't eat meat so they bring the bird, my sister the drinks, my grandparents, cousins, aunt, uncle,, it's a lot of guests this time. They all called, they are all running late. It's okay, I watch some football, I read a little. I go on the treadmill and after i go swimming in the pool. I wish it were cooler out, but i don't mind that i can swim today either. One half the other. Where you are and where you end up its where you're supposed to be. At least for today.

There was a back breaking afternoon a few weeks back, getting this patio set from my parents backyard to here. The parents just sold the house i spent my middle and high school years. They were just going to leave it for the new buyers but I wanted to keep something from the house. It was originally used at a fifties style diner that my father was part owner of. It's all he ended up getting out of it. don't get into something you know nothing about is the lesson there. And that the set is a beast to move and that it will be here a long long time, or at least for today.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Thursday, November 18, 2010

And when your fears subside And shadows still remain

1.     Ive been throwing things around more since August, less sleep, clenching my jaw, balling my fists. bad dreams. everything. anything. Since august. since my Dallas Cowboys took the field and started losing game after game after game, then injuries, and more losses. they fire the head coach, good. Win one. I'm elated this week. I'm different. I shouldn't care this much, i always say this. but i do,  and i know there is some sweetness in losing. feeling lost, feeling alone, feeling sunken. You cant touch me here, you cant reach me in this place.  The pain of losing, the feeling of being down, i have found it lasts far longer then the feeling of winning. the feeling you get from getting what you want-is never as good as you think and it never lasts. Its the journey from below..that is the sweetness.

I learned to lose, early. It was like learning to swim. At first its scary and you don't like it. But then, you kick and fight your way to the surface and breathe. Just fucking breathe.
I was 7 and on my first soccer team, Mcdonalds. we had a big corporate sponsor. (really, the coach owned a franchise) our colors are famous: golden arches yellow (over one billion served). we have knee high tube socks with three golden stripes. Under the South Florida sun we look like mini french fries running around kicking a ball. I loved soccer and hated it. which is the way I learned to love things. All things. When we won a game we were rewarded with a team trip to Mcdonalds after wards. A treat since my Mother always cooked, We rarely if ever ate out. I can count on one hand how many times we ate fast-food. which is a good thing, i guess. but seemed cruel when you're 7. So, i tried very hard to win. I hated to lose. but we almost always lost. I had a total of 3 cheeseburgers, 89 fries, 2 soft serve ice-cream cones- a large COKE the entire season. we received a trophy at the end of the year in a ceremony where every team in the league got one. win or lose. an "everyone wins!" booby prize. a losers prize.  a trophy for last place? I looked at it and on the ride home i was silent. I walked straight to my room, closed the door and  threw the trophy in my tin Dallas Cowboys trash can. I cried for 2 hours. It was the best i felt all year. 

2.   Be consistent. don't try to be perfect. just write. write more and write anything. be consistent. write because you have to, because you hate it and because you can't stop. bleed because there is no other way. this isn't what you love,  school isn't what you love, you're job it isn't what you love. what do you love? Stop writing with your heart. for just once, let this not be about her.

ohashleylove (flickr)