Into the Dark

Don't ask. I just want to type out the song....forgive the cheese.

Into The Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark
No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of the spark

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In catholic school, as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me "Son fear is the heart of love"
So I never went back

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me
Have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes
Are all worn down, the time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about 'cause we'll hold each other soon
In the blackest of rooms

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
And I'll follow you into the dark.

A different kind of parlor

There must be a reason I detest funeral parlors with a vengance.
I've just come back from a thirteen hour shoot at a very respectable funeraria, and besides being tired and in need of a shower, I have ghosts of past wakes floating in my head.
I'm still quite unsettled about the downstairs embalming room and coffins. I texted a friend that I thought I was the only one who got nauseated upon arrival. My mind can't forget the rows and rows of coffins sitting in the unused chapels.
Funerarias creep me out. Much more than they creep out the average person I think. I'm actually fine with attending wakes held at private homes. They seem much more personable, not so antiseptic, not so corporate. My grandmother's wake was held at our home and since her coffin was pinewood and made-to-order, she had to be laid out on a bed during the first two nights of her extended wake. And I was fine with that. It freaked out a few of my friends but, whatever.
It's different with funeral parlors...I don't know why. I just can't get used to those coffins lined up, just sitting there waiting for occupants. And the decaying flower smell brought about by the wreaths, bouquets and recycled candles...that is another reason for the psychological nausea. Somehow that smell is SO different from regular flowers that are close to wilting or have wilted. Yes, regular non-wake flowers. Yes, that makes no sense but I'm sticking to my belief that wake flowers have a different smell altogether.
As we packed up the lights and cameras, I passed by a chapel that had just been occupied only that afternoon. I tried not to look in as I passed but something made me look up. A picture of the deceased was on top of the coffin. It was of a young woman, not much older than me. I quickened my pace to the jeep. Instead of heading back up to help the crew with the remaining equipment, I stayed down at the parking lot until we were ready to leave.
I hate funerarias.

Not helping.

I don't have to explain myself to you. But the fact that I endeavor to, and that you still misunderstand me says a lot about our dysfunctional friendship. So you say I've changed since that Friday night. Okay, so maybe I have. But has it ever occured to you that I may be distanciating myself from you for a reason? Could you not perhaps stretch your imagination a bit to include the possibility that I may have found myself in a position of either the sink or swim - and that I decided to swim? Albeit, away.
I do not pretend to be the nicest of persons when cornered. But I think I deserve a little more than callousness and judgment. I was one of your best friends. You said so yourself. I only quote you. Thus as a friend, I think a little leeway should be given when things go to shit in my world. I walk away when people hurt me - deliberately or not. I sometimes come back - to people I love long term. Sometimes I don't bother. You are someone I will explain myself to. Just don't force it out of me. Just don't label me, call me names or harass the reasons out of me. Just give me time.

Don't fear the butterflies

One of my very good amigas is in-kilig. Note that I refrained from using the L word. It's simply in-kilig. For now. And that's wonderful.
The butterflies in the stomach. The I-can't-wait-till-I-see/talk/chat-with him again feeling. The daydreaming. The conversation that leaves you smiling long after it's happened.
Up until a couple of days ago, that was me as well. Which is why I can't help but worry. Because I somehow don't want her to go through the roller-coaster that I'm currently going through.
You know how they say, what goes up must come down?
The kilig factor gets replaced by questions, and the exchange of more information, that leads to even more questions. Then follow the expectations. And then the inevitable downward spiral when either party does not meet said expectations.
But sometimes, things go well. And kilig turns into admiration. And then to love.
I somehow screw things up somewhere between the questions and expectations. (wry laughter here).
But my friend has more brain cells than me when it comes to matters of the aorta. She is the one person I know who can handle men with so much grace (even under extreme pressure) that I end up fuming on her behalf. This girl could put up a school on poise education with electives on self-esteem formation.
Suddenly, I'm not that worried anymore.

Nice going genius.

I'm staring at my toes because I refuse to think about how idiotic I was acting today.
If I could do one thing over today it would be this: Find a better way of expressing myself without sounding stupid. Anything would be better than what my mouth came up with, which was: "I am so not jealous!!!"

If I were inebriated, I'd probably have started off with (and this is in no particular order) -
>I'm sorry but years of jerk exposure has turned me into a scarred cynic who has trust issues. The fact that you act the player does not help.
>I am probably now hard-wired to sabotaging any/all chances of semi-coupledom.
>I try to find reasons to run away before you can get under my skin.
>Jealousy is a by-product of like, so you see, I'm actually admitting that I like you too. In a roundabout way. And that's a lot from me.
>Be semi-glad I'm showing any emotion at all. I could've just walked away without warning.
>I'm sorry, but until I know what the story is, and where I stand, I will act like an idiot sometimes.

But I wasn't inebriated. I was stone-cold sober, albeit green-eyed. So all I could come up with was: "I'm so not jealous!!!"
How creative.
I see the other party running in the opposite direction now. The end is nigh.

Stop. Look. Listen.

Remember how, as a kid, you were taught to look both ways before crossing the road?
The instruction was pretty simple and very logical.
Look to your left and then to your right. If it was clear, you could cross. If not, stay on your side of the road and wait until it was safe.
So why do we, as adults, refuse to apply this simple rule to our lives? Why do we cross without pause, blindly hoping we sidestep the inevitable wreck that may just happen because we refused to look? Why do we insist on walking into the path of speeding bullet trains?
Why do we ignore the figurative traffic signs staring us in the face???
If it's clear, walk. If it's not, stay put. Wait until it's safe, and then cross.

Maybe we all secretly dream of adorning the asphalt as non-furry roadkill.
How else does one explain it?

Revolutionary Road follows Ash Wednesday

I am not April Wheeler. I refuse to die as April Wheeler. The fact that I sit here typing this must be testament to my ability to rise above the pettiness of imagined suburbian bliss. There must at least be something within me that realizes the lie in feigned conformity.
I must admit though that I am not as honest as I wish I could be with myself. There are times I find my thoughts wander to the safety of the nine to five existence again.
And I conform. We all do. Don't say that you've never salivated over a window display at Ikea. I have. But I believe I do it because I want to, not because I have to.
And yet I question myself.
Somebody spoke to me honestly and simply yesterday. And that opened my eyes to the hypocrisy within me. Here was someone who wasted no time sugarcoating what he had to say, yet was not cruel in dispensing the truth. He didn't give a rat's ass what people thought, as long as he knew that he was doing no harm and was being as good and decent a human being as his parents raised him to be. I envied him that.
And I thought I was pretty decent. And I thought that I was being honest with myself. And to others.
I always prided myself at being a really lousy liar. Now I think, I'm possibly a good liar without knowing it.
Now I think of another goal to set for myself. To try and be a little more honest with myself before it's too late. Yet another reminder of my mortality passed me by the other day. Nuns with the black crosses on their forehead signifying the passing of another Ash Wednesday.
This time last year I wrote about how the day reminded me of old roses. And churchyards I think it was. Poetic. Romantic. Whatever. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be the tough cynic again with that I'm about to say. I just want to say that poetry goes hand in hand with honesty. Don't go around showing everyone how tough you are by being the rebellious badass. Be the badass because that is the most honest way you know how to Be.
This year I think about how much clearer things become when I take the time to just fucking let go of all my issues and say things like they are. It isn't that hard to be honest with oneself. Or with others. It just takes a little practice.