I changed the name of this from "Blessed Unrest" to "You Are Sleeping", which was the title of a short story (actually long story) I wrote a few years back. I never finished it. I guess you could say it's still in progress. I'll finish it someday... I promise.
I decided to lift a few of the privacy settings on here. I direct people to my art blog all the time, via facebook or my website. This blog was supposed to be more anonymous, more private - where I could write about all the things that are irrelevant to the other one, that have maybe nothing to do with art. Just life, my life, my thoughts, my whatever - which theoretically, should be boring as hell to a whole shit ton of people. Fair enough - I don't know if I want the whole world reading this anyway - but some are okay. I don't mind if someone stumbles upon it, or sees that I have another one via my art blog and peruses it occasionally. DON'T WORRY EVERYONE - THIS ONE IS GOING TO BE TOTALLY BORING and I also will probably offend you in some way, eventually.
There have been a couple of things that I want to be topics, eventually. They include:
1. Women, their fat asses, and why they always seem to want to talk about them (aka, Nutrition and Healthy Living - so easy a caveman could do it)
2. Enlightenment: You think you found it, and you're really just an ignorant piece of shit
3. I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!
2. Enlightenment: You think you found it, and you're really just an ignorant piece of shit
3. I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!
Some of this may seem "angry", or not make any sense. Don't worry - some of it is angry, and it will all make sense later. I hope.
My goal here is not to provide my readers, if there are any, with wise words and thoughtful musings. This is my god damn writing outlet, dammit, and it's going to be full of disconnected thoughts, intelligent ramblings, and curse words. This is real life, and real life is more than wise musings. Real life is hard, and heart-wrenching, and disturbing... and beautiful, and fascinating. And full of destruction, and failure. I want this to be honest, brutally so if need be. Anything but fake, because I'm not here to please you. This doesn't exist for the purpose of smoothing it all over. I may be young, but I've had some horrible things happen to me in my life, as well as some truly beautiful, blessed things. Today, for example, is a very special anniversary for me.
Five years ago tonight (the 27th-28th), I was dragged to a warehouse party in downtown Baltimore by some friends of mine. I say "dragged" when I tell this story because I wasn't planning on going - I was tired, had to work the next day, and didn't see any damn good reason to leave my house in the freezing cold to go hear some shitty music in a crowded warehouse rave. (Yea... it was kind of like that anyway, but I recall the music being pretty damn good.) I was with four guy friends - Brandon, Nate, Drew and Matt, and very uninterested in leaving with anyone other than them. Throughout the night, each one of them graciously pretended to be my boyfriend in front of whatever creepy, pushy dude happened to be trying to talk to me/get in my pantaloons. I was wandering alone at one point, coming back from the bathroom and the enormous line that went with it, when I suddenly ran right smack into a pleasantly familiar face. It was Alex, a guy I had worked with a few years before at my first summer job in Baltimore, in between my sophomore and junior years at art school. By this particular night, I had already graduated from MICA, and hadn't seen him since the summer we met, except once or twice out at a club or a bar. The first time around, we hung out a few times after work, but nothing serious happened between us. I had a crush on him, I think, but I, in his words, "didn't put out" so he moved on. Next thing I knew, he had a girlfriend (who also worked with us) and I, though disappointed, moved on as well. (I was unfortunate enough to have to work directly with her almost every day for the rest of the summer. All I recall her talking about was; 1) the Disco Biscuits, 2) Drugs, or 3) Taking drugs while seeing the Disco Biscuits. As you can imagine, it got old real fast.)
Alex. Alex! The smiles on our faces that winter night could have melted the ice caps. He was on something, and I was on something, but no matter. That's how it was in those days. It only heightened the experience, and the pleasant ways which we each recalled one another from years before. We exchanged phone numbers, and I remember that I had left mine in the car glove box. We promised to get together soon and catch up. This party was thrown by his friends, and he had to continue on his way - I had to find mine, and do the same. By the time I got back to the car, he had already called me and left a message. A year and a half later, we were married.
So that's the long version of the story of how I met my husband.
My goal here is not to provide my readers, if there are any, with wise words and thoughtful musings. This is my god damn writing outlet, dammit, and it's going to be full of disconnected thoughts, intelligent ramblings, and curse words. This is real life, and real life is more than wise musings. Real life is hard, and heart-wrenching, and disturbing... and beautiful, and fascinating. And full of destruction, and failure. I want this to be honest, brutally so if need be. Anything but fake, because I'm not here to please you. This doesn't exist for the purpose of smoothing it all over. I may be young, but I've had some horrible things happen to me in my life, as well as some truly beautiful, blessed things. Today, for example, is a very special anniversary for me.
Five years ago tonight (the 27th-28th), I was dragged to a warehouse party in downtown Baltimore by some friends of mine. I say "dragged" when I tell this story because I wasn't planning on going - I was tired, had to work the next day, and didn't see any damn good reason to leave my house in the freezing cold to go hear some shitty music in a crowded warehouse rave. (Yea... it was kind of like that anyway, but I recall the music being pretty damn good.) I was with four guy friends - Brandon, Nate, Drew and Matt, and very uninterested in leaving with anyone other than them. Throughout the night, each one of them graciously pretended to be my boyfriend in front of whatever creepy, pushy dude happened to be trying to talk to me/get in my pantaloons. I was wandering alone at one point, coming back from the bathroom and the enormous line that went with it, when I suddenly ran right smack into a pleasantly familiar face. It was Alex, a guy I had worked with a few years before at my first summer job in Baltimore, in between my sophomore and junior years at art school. By this particular night, I had already graduated from MICA, and hadn't seen him since the summer we met, except once or twice out at a club or a bar. The first time around, we hung out a few times after work, but nothing serious happened between us. I had a crush on him, I think, but I, in his words, "didn't put out" so he moved on. Next thing I knew, he had a girlfriend (who also worked with us) and I, though disappointed, moved on as well. (I was unfortunate enough to have to work directly with her almost every day for the rest of the summer. All I recall her talking about was; 1) the Disco Biscuits, 2) Drugs, or 3) Taking drugs while seeing the Disco Biscuits. As you can imagine, it got old real fast.)
Alex. Alex! The smiles on our faces that winter night could have melted the ice caps. He was on something, and I was on something, but no matter. That's how it was in those days. It only heightened the experience, and the pleasant ways which we each recalled one another from years before. We exchanged phone numbers, and I remember that I had left mine in the car glove box. We promised to get together soon and catch up. This party was thrown by his friends, and he had to continue on his way - I had to find mine, and do the same. By the time I got back to the car, he had already called me and left a message. A year and a half later, we were married.
So that's the long version of the story of how I met my husband.
No comments:
Post a Comment