"I'm going to need you more then you need me"

The truest words that I have heard in a long time. Who would have thought they would have come out of character Maggie M. in the new movie Love and Other Drugs. It always saddens me when I feel like a screenplay took the easy way out. Note this is not a spoiler alert, but Maggie is sick and struggles with the idea of falling in love, knowing that here sickness is terminal. "I'm going to need you..." is in this case taken quite literally. She will need to be taken care of, however, don't we all?

As those words came out of her cynical, horse mouth it moved me. It did not matter what her character meant by those words, but how they apply to almost every "broken toy" I have ever met. I felt in my core, everything I have been trying to figure out seemed to all come together with this relatively minuet statement. The way I am, how I react to things, the way a small movie quote can quite literally turn my life upside down is exactly summed up to this statement or something very close to this. I need more. I have been viewing this as others short-comings instead of my own. I'm okay with needing people more, I just don't want to have to ask.

Should I Not Be Thankful For

Am I so selfish that in moments when I read another writers work that I can not appreciate it as much if I know them personally. If there is a kudos given out and I am not included in something that I find reasonably apart of, I deem the writing to be a waste. Yes, then I have answered my own question I am that selfish.

On the other hand I find this selfish and self adoring aspect part of myself I somewhat like. Majority would disagree agree with my arrogance and see it simply as being self absorbed. But the thing is this strange sense of a strong place amongst people has brought me to meet some amazing people. I have found myself in places that without my absurd confidence I could have never gained entrance. And every time I have not been acknowledged by those I wish to be, I have a unstoppable force to gain whatever it is I seek from them.

I am glad. Simply I fight for those I love and adore. I have a ridiculously huge ego. It has been hurt, set aside, ignored and cut from its knees once or twice before. But it lives and breaths to this day. Stronger every time it comes back. I have learned through people, circumstances and events that it can be easily taken down to size, but evermore it lives. I like it. It is that voice telling me do better, when I thought the best had been done. My ego prides itself on the people I chose to be around and will defend them when it believes they are the right way to go.

So thank you writers. Thank you parents. Thank you fellow artist. May are egos meet someday and recognize the beauty of our self assurance.

Safe Sex

After the age of 20 it seems important to entertain the idea of "safe sex". The idea of wearing condoms and being honest with your partner about were your whereabouts have been before said person is a very nice and responsible idea. Protecting yourself physically is key.
However this is not what troubles me, the physicality of the act. We at this day in age can actually end a growing fetus inside the womb of a women if we so choose. We can take a small pill and live out the rest of our lives with little or no notice to the fact that we are carrying around a sexually transmitted disease. It's the idea that no matter how much control we have over the physical consequences of sex, we still can't master the seemingly simple balance of the emotional after effects of this action. This hurts me. Not even for myself, but for everyone else who thinks they either do have control over their emotional reactions or have just given up all together.
A good friend of mine and I were talking and discussing things about the idea of sleeping with someone new. She said, " I do not want sex to be my token." I completely understood, and for all to many of us sex is the golden ticket. Women find that if they give it away like the next gift with purchase they are going to be enjoying attention that however may be short lived is none the less able to be enjoyed. This is not protecting yourself, each time your body is given away, you are either letting a piece go or taking a piece of someone else. I'm no angel. This does not go with out saying that I myself have experienced my fair share of rodeos. But I long for the idea of the passion of waiting, to protect what is mine and mine only to give. It is still beautiful, making love is still just that. Share with your partner all the things you can not find in words. Men too. Stop tossing yourself out there. Let me get to know you, your likes, dislikes. Maybe we share a few. Sex will always be a option, the chance to meet someone who makes you feel alive again, far and few between.

Overtime

When I started the new job he was nice enough. At first I did not notice him. The stress of a new job and trying to absorb new information is distracting of course from the attention of a new suitor. Winter was the name of the girl who was deemed my "trainer". I do not think it is possible to find a girl who hates her job quite as much a poor Winter. Every word that came out of her mouth sounded as if it took every ounce of energy she had in her body to push it through her lips. She had a soft voice and warm brown eyes, but substantially lacking in any personality. Making my training a very uneventful and wearing process. I have learned when people find themselves in these situations, they look for some source of entertainment.

His name was Matthew. His baby face was very inviting. The visits started very casually. A hello here, a few minute conversation over there. Nothing to serious. Before I knew what had happened, I knew his childhood stories and had small inside jokes going about. If a sick day was necessary it did not come without regret and a explication the next work day together. Zodiac signs and favorite colors become known. A friendship developed. Boys and girls only play nice for as long as humanly possible. Matthew would let his interests be known.

Matthew has a wife and small son.

The story ends.

Sailor.

Fuck.

"That Guy"

"Last night." To all too many this is all that needs to be said to a close friend. The look in your glazed eye's and the vomit on your dress does all the talking for you. Then the explanation of last nights sequences begins and it is shown how the next morning's monstrosity came to exist. And it is "that" friend you have to face. The friend that rarely if ever has to say "Last Night", and it's that friend that is only one you knew would answer the phone or stay by your side to hold your hair back when you are throwing up holding everyone else's night up. Your "That Guy" and you have to face it, in the morning and the only thing worse then facing "That Friend" is having to pack up your shit and go home sit in your cold shower get out wipe of the mirror and stare at yourself.

You think to back when you were a kid and when you saw your parents fight and people being treated unjust. Even with all that information you were processing you never thought it could be this bad. You never thought you would be the person who goes into the bathroom and looks in the mirror drunk, glazing at your reflection knowing you should stop and pick up a glass of water and make for the nearest exit. But you don't, you take a deep breathe look one last time and reassure yourself that your only having fun and people will forgive your indiscretions due to your over-whelming alcohol intake. Even maybe saying it out loud, "I got this, I got this, I'm good." The lying helps. However people don't forgive and even more rarely forget.

It's not always substances, it could even be a relationship, toxic and decrepit. But you hold on. Telling yourself over and over this time is different. This is love. The pain is what makes it worth it. Knowing all to well where he/she is or has been. Turning the other cheek to classic signs of deception. It's consumes almost worse then any drunken haze or blindsided drug trip. Your heart races uncontrollably and you rational thought leaves you completely void of a progressive action for the better of yourself. Then if it becomes blatantly obvious that you can't be enough, you become spiteful and vengeful. And still even though you might have originally been the victim, you've become "That Guy."
Or you crave the conflict, you know undying that you are the problem. Not the other person. You want to feel something, so push and pull until something gives. Until your the one who is uncomfortable and things have pushed to far. Either way, your loosing a uphill battle.

There it is laid out on the table. Every single person can relate, everyone can understand in one form or another. It's "That Guy" who shows us who we are capable of being when we never in even our darkest hours could have ever believed we could come too. How many times do we need to meet him, until we understand we don't like him. Maybe even hate him. The sick feeling your left with not only emotionally but even physically it is there every time. The hollow shell he leaves behind for you to live in.

5 Year Plan

I have recently discovered that in order to not come across as a complete piece o' shit you need to have some sort of direction. People enjoy talking to others who understand what they want and where they are going. The conversation I had with a close friend still haunts me, even today. We talked about the laundry list of accomplishments and traits that it would take to really have me appreciate a friend, colleague or even a lover. It was ridiculous the strenuous tasks that is would take for a person to even jump out at me. For instance, " Musically inclined, but athletic." No not impossible to find, but what kind of asshole am I to state that and think that is should be some sort of requirement on my poor needs list. It's the guy that didn't like football who first picked up the guitar pick, why take that away?

The idea of a nomad is attractive to a lot of us. We as people love and hate those who can do the things we can not, free spirits. But you can not depend on these people. Not one person that I have ever some across has mentioned a spontaneous person that will pop up occasionally in any sort of plan. I don't have one either. But I also don't have a plan.

When I was running the other day, trying to clear my head, it seemed as each step hit the cement and the shock ran up through my ankle to my knee and up my hip, the thoughts in my head just seemed to get more and more mixed up. There wasn't peace here anymore. It was the running that made me realize this, but it was the lack of drive in a thought. I can't stop and focus on one movement or idea. I get unsatisfied and move on quickly. I need a plan I can stick to. I need someone to hand me there laundry list and have me try to impress them.