Thursday, July 2, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
todays horoscope:
its moving day, so i figured that before anyone gets here i would check out my horoscope:
Virgo (Aug. 23 — Sept. 22)
The daunting task before you now has left you feeling intimidated, but a benign sky insists you are the right person to do the job. The potential problem you fear is hardly anything. It’s all going to work out much better than you think.
- http://www.thestar.com/diversions/horoscopes
with every ending…
Well, another year has come and passed. So many good memories from this room; from C’s room that are being physically left behind, but not emotionally. They will always remain in my thoughts and heart. It’s one of those bitter sweet emotions that is creeping up on me while I stare at my empty room with all the boxes and bare walls, listening to Johnny Winter (two steps from the blues); various songs of Bessie Smith playing in the back ground as I packed.
This year could easily be summed up as one of the best years I have ever experienced: though there has been spiritual ups and downs, and a recent over-load of school work (which is blissfully done), everything else about this year has been amazing.
I have made so many new friends, and have finally been able to feel at home at school and in my own skin. I have finally learnt how to look in the mirror and like what I see; reflect upon my personality and love myself for who I am and what I can do.
I have found my place in the world it seems. I have found the love of my life this year, a man who can make me smile effortlessly, no matter the mood I am in; he’s able to pick me up when I fall, and keep me completely interested. He has my whole heart, which has never happened before- he accepts me for who I am, and knows every aspect of my personality; good and bad, and somehow still loves me completely.
I have found a faithful friend; someone who I could easily call my best friend and who I would do anything for.
But yet, there are tears running down my eyes- perhaps a mixture of happiness and sadness. I look at this room, and think of all the good times; happy times I’ve had here. Exam time in December when me, G and C all chilled on my bed and ‘worked’ on our school work; the first time C slept over, mine and G’s ’music videos… and so much more.
I can remember when I first moved in here; painting this room yellow with my mom, discussing E, school and friends… I remember my expectations for this year, and how it turned out to be so much better then I could have ever imagined. I would have never thought this was going to be the year it has been, and I’m grateful.
But I always feel a little sad when moving out of a place, but this time seems to be a little sadder. Perhaps part of the cause is knowing that C has gone home for the summer, is no longer in this town. Perhaps its that I’ll never chill with him and his roommates and our friends in his room anymore, won’t hear the familiar tapping on his fridge while lying in bed in that room.
Or maybe it’s that I already miss him, even though he dropped me off about 4 hours ago, knowing that I wont see him tomorrow or the next day.
I don’t know what it is; probably a combination of all these things and more.
Whatever the case, I know that next year will be just as good if not better then this year was; I’m hopeful, happy, sad; this is truly a bitter sweet moment, and I’m happy to move on; to experience more happy memories and good times.
Now to continue packing so I’ll be ready tomorrow.
-good night.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
april 5th, 12:30 am
Countless amounts of essays, sleepless nights, restless days. Distractions, procrastination, stress, frustration and irritation. Cigarettes haven’t helped much, other then relieve these unpleasant feelings momentarily. The minute the smoke has stopped streaming from the stick of tobacco, the stress, frustration and irritation returns. The distractions return. Essentially, I’m back in my personal hell. If I haven’t mentioned this before, I hate the last week of school.
I have so much work to get done- I’ve already gotten an extension for my philosophy of religion essay (on religious and mystical experiences- what else?) for Monday, which is in exactly one day. Is it at least half way done? Not even slightly. I was so confused- I didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how to structure it. Didn’t even know what I was talking about, which is highly unlike me. Normally, when it comes to school work, I hate asking for extensions, and I hate asking for help. But, when I realize I really need it, I’ll ask. Which I did, and he did help a lot.. But, why can’t my brain function enough to put the words together to make this essay everything it can be? After a week of non-stop writing, of practically living in the library- arriving around 10, some days 9 in the morning and not leaving until 2am at the worst, 9pm at the best, just to go home and write some more, of dealing with family issues that no one seems mature enough to deal with except for me, and living with a bladder infection that seems to have transformed into a kidney infection.. I’m done.
I cant do this anymore… how much do they think I can take? And who the fuck are ‘they’? who do I blame this on? No one. How can I blame it on anyone? If I want an education, the most ambitious of educations, which of course I would, I have to get used to this. This is what it will cost me… but is my sanity worth it? I feel like I’m going stark-raving mad; I can’t handle this.
Ever since I was about 14, no matter what it was, my family relied on me for answers. It only got worse as I got older. If someone in the family had a health problem, had a problem with their kids, spouse, finances and so on, it was always “call amber”, “ask amber”, “amber always has all the answers”… and I provided them with what I knew. It started with my gift; the minute my whole family- and when I say whole family, I’m referring to close to 100 people- knew how accurate I was with my ‘gift’, it was so-long adolescent and teen life, hello adult hood and all the problems that go with it. Don’t get me wrong, my family is amazing, and the life I led aside from my gift was fun, if not too adventurous and troublesome. But most of my life was devoted to this gift, how could it not be? And it seems that now, at 19, I am faced with dealing with this family’s ‘dirty laundry’ as the saying goes. My uncle, who was just wrongly charged with spousal abuse, and very accurately charged with having an addiction to chemical substances, is in deep shit. He needs an intervention, and he needs his family to back him up, all together. All at once. He needs someone to be there for his children and let them know they’re not alone in this, he needs someone to treat his wife with dignity and like a human being, even though she stooped to the ultimate low- acting like a child will not get you anywhere, and it most definitely will not persuade her to drop the charges. But will anyone do that? No, of course not. So, I am left to deal with it all, as usual. Left to talk to my aunt, talk to my younger cousins, organize an intervention, and so on. Normally, I would not mind doing this. But now, at this time in the year? As I have said, I’ve been pretty much living in the library and surviving off of late night dinners. No sleep. I’ve had barely enough time to see my boyfriend. And now, I have to deal with problems bigger then myself. Problems that I shouldn’t have to deal with; problems that just add to my ball of stress.
And now, I also have to deal with a bladder infection and possible kidney infection. Which brings me to my current state of mind and current surroundings. It’s about 12:19am right now, and instead of writing my essay at home, I am in the emerge. Waiting to be seen so I can fix this crippling pain in the left side of my stomach. I can hardly breathe because it hurts so much, and my face is probably stained with tears… I’ve been crying for a few hours now. The pain started about 2 days ago I think, but only started getting intolerable today. My school book is open beside me, and my lap top is plugged in. But, the only thing I can concentrate on right now is the intense throbbing of my side. And what happens when I call home to tell them I’m going to the hospital? My father, who, in his defence, is probably worried sick about me, starts yelling at me about not taking care of myself properly… fuck that. I am not taking care of myself?! Really? Because I’m pretty sure, I’ve been taking care of every one else around me for the past I don’t know how long. On top of it, I’ve been swamped with work- haven’t even had the time to sleep let alone waste 3-5 hours of my life in the emerge! He has not been through school like this, he doesn’t realize the intensity of it. But, he should at least begin to understand a little how hard this is- I haven’t been home in close to a month, something that I have never done! And why? Because of school work.
So here I sit, crying again, homesick, and wondering how the hell I am suppose to get this essay done in time to start writing a next one, and how the fuck I’m going to study for an exam when I barely have enough time to start and finish another essay (aside from this one). I’m stressed beyond no return, as you can probably tell.
I wonder if C got home okay… he paid for my cab here, comforted me while I indulged in my (much needed) vice, and walked home from the hospital. This is ridiculous. I feel like my body is falling apart, and my mind is close to follow.
I’m going to start reading about the differences between non-mystical and mystical religious experiences now, why mystical is more credible, and how neither of them reasonably prove the existence of the Theistic God.
And I’ll leave you with one question before I go:
Will someone please just euthanize me already?
-Amber Christina
Thursday, March 26, 2009
‘default’
You know, its funny… when I was a little girl, I never thought I would ever find anyone who could chase away my fears and make me feel better about things that were bringing me down or make me smile like my mom could. Whenever I had a nightmare, whenever something went wrong, whether it be school, friends, boyfriends or spirits, she was the only person who I could always count on to be there; the only person who would understand and talk me through it. She was always the first person to pop into my head to call, to talk to.
It’s 12:45am, and I find myself in a sticky situation, yet again. A spirit has presented herself to me for the second time since yesterday, telling me things that I know are not true, showing me things that I know could never happen; will never happen. She’s not what she seems, she’s something more- or maybe less. In any case, I’m in another dilemma. Before I met him, I would be resorting to my default setting; I would already be on the phone with my mom, having her talk me through what to say to this deceiving spirit; following her every instruction to make it go away. Afterwards, I would sit up talking to her for another hour or so, depending on how much that particular spirit got to me, letting her calm me down enough to go back to sleep. Letting her make me laugh and smile and realize that everything is alright, no matter what that spirit told me.
It seems, though, that my default setting has altered a bit.
I will always love my mother; always turn to her when I am in trouble… but it seems that the first person I want to call right now, as I am being bothered by this spirit, is no longer my mother, but instead my boyfriend. The only other person besides my mom who understands what I see, what I hear and what I live with. The only other person who seems to be able to keep a smile on my face without having to put much effort into it; the only person who knows how to calm me down and make me happy again.
His reason and rationality seems to have rubbed off on me, though.
Before, the things that I am being told right now would be tearing me up inside. They would be getting to me more then they should, and even though I knew that then, I still couldn’t help myself from listening… and believing. But now, I find myself analyzing everything this spirit is telling me, using reason and logic to decipher what she is really saying to me. Listening to her in a way that she obviously doesn’t know I can.
She’s not hurting me in any way. She’s not making me upset. She’s not leaving a huge impression. But she is triggering my anger; my temper… and that seems to be the reason why my default has kicked in.
My default. The phrase kind of makes me laugh; he is more then just a default setting to turn to when I need some help or need to talk. He’s more then just a boyfriend to me.. Boyfriends, in my experience, mean next to nothing. They’re an irritation, an obligation to attend to. But not him. C doesn’t even come close to that; he’s far from an irritation, and I think its quite obvious he’s not an obligation.
So now, it seems that he is no longer a default in the way that my mom was. Instead, my default setting is to call and make sure he is okay, to make sure she hasn’t gone to bother him when she realized she couldn’t bother me. I know he’s alright, I know he always will be. But, I also know, its hard to fight something you can’t see.
-Amber Christina
Thursday, March 5, 2009
a night stroll
He left, I went to the laundry mat. Lit a cigarette, went for a stroll around the block. ‘Stroll’ would be the correct term here, because it was hardly walking. I was taking my time; alone in the dark streets. Barely a car passing by, no one else walking. Collecting my thoughts, enjoying my vice. I feel nauseous. The cold ought to do me good. My shadow was a sad one, but I am hardly sad. Watching the houses, filled with light and laughter. I don’t really feel like laughing right now- I don’t know what I feel like doing. Certainly not crying, however there is no smile to be seen on my face. Worry, that’s what would be seen on my face. Am I alone while I stroll, or is there something unseen coming along with me? Unseen is a term I rarely use; I see everything around me. Living souls and the dead ones. Most living souls, at least. But is there an unseen living soul near me? With me? Inside me? I’m worried, have been worried for some time now. I’m late; early. Late in bleeding, potentially early in someone else’s life. Odds are, I am physically alone. Maybe I’m feeling ill because of a cold. Perhaps the headaches and fatigue is nothing more then an on coming flu. Could be that my cycle is late because I screwed up on the pill, and have been living without it since my first missed period. But I’m still scared. I cannot be responsible for someone else’s life when I’m barely responsible for my own.
Responsibility. My parents raised me to be responsible for my own life, ever since I could feed myself. They taught me how to take care of myself at a very young age; getting my own food, getting my own clothes, essentially taking care of myself unless I absolutely needed their assistance, something in which they were all to ready to provide (as you can see, I was very blessed with amazing and loving parents, much to my distress when I was 16). They raised my brother the same way. I am independent, always have been. But responsible? Maybe to a certain degree.
As the cold starts to seep through my thin coat, I reach for another vice. I don’t mind taking care of people. I like to be of some use to someone other then myself; I’m barely useful in that respect. I don’t mind paying for my roommates laundry to be done when she has run out of money, I don’t mind doing it for her when she’s sick. I don’t mind buying my boyfriend cigarettes and gas, or bringing him food when he’s not up to making his own; he makes me dinner quite frequently. I don’t mind being someone’s caretaker at times, as long as they appreciate it. I don’t mind looking over someone’s essay or assignment when they barely know English, fixing it up where I see fit. I don’t expect anything in return.. For the most part, I feel I take care of those around me better then I take care of myself. And, I’m completely okay with that.
I will be a good mother. People have told me that time and time again, and I feel it as well. I will be a good role model and parent to a child; my child, when the time is right. But, right now is not that time. I am not ready for a child of my own, not ready to become that perfect role model, not ready to be solely responsible for someone else’s life. And, chances are… I wont be for a while. But that doesn’t mean that worry is not there.
Walking alone in the street. It doesn’t matter if I’m partially alone or completely alone anymore. If I am worried about this, I shouldn’t be indulging in my vices, however.. It’s times like these that they are most comforting. I turn onto another street, just as isolated and empty as the last. London street. I breathe in the cold air mingled with the smoke from my cigarette, and the nausea subsides a little. Essentially, I am happy with all that I have done in my past; all that I am doing. I am happy with where I have taken myself; the people I have surrounded myself with, the decisions I have made; will make. I’m happy with the effort I have put into everything I do. I am exactly the type of person I have always wanted to be… I’m actually quite fond of myself right now. More so, however, I am fond of my parents for teaching me to be this way. I realize that I am how I am mostly because I can’t help it- this is my personality. But I cant help but to think that if I had anyone else as parents, my personality that I am so happy with right now would be slightly altered. If it were slightly altered, I would no longer be me; resemblance of me, perhaps. Someone who I could get along with. Someone who is surprisingly similar; not me. I continue walking.
One hand in my pocket, the other free to feel the crispness of a march night. No hint of spring, though. Still very cold, but tonight I can appreciate that. No make up, I am as I was born: free from superficiality. Free from judgment. Free from society. At least, for the time being; these rare minutes. My stomach starts to cramp up; I see the street back to reality. As I walk closer to the business of George street, the soft echo’s of my footsteps fade away behind me and are replaced with the sound of busses and cars passing by quickly on the street ahead. My brief return to innocence and thoughts are left behind me in the dimly lit street. I walk back into the real world; filled with sorrows, joys, confusion, clarity, love and hate. Time to go home.
-Amber Christina
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
2:13am
I feel like I fall in love with him all over again every day; each time I fall, it’s always harder and more intense then the time before. Am I the only one that feels this way? I know he loves me with all his heart and soul, I know this because I see it. I feel it. But, does he feel it the way I do? Does he fall all over again every time he sees me? It doesn’t matter, not really. All that matters is that he’s happy. All that matters is that I have his heart.
I held his hand today, just like I did the first time he came to my house, into my room and into my heart. I read his thoughts, his feelings, his past and his future. I felt the familiar tingle of his energy mingling with mine. What put a smile on my face was that I saw myself there, standing beside him. I saw that I would still be a colossal part of his future. I saw that he would be happy and accomplish more then he ever thought he would; could. I saw us. I saw a family. I saw success; in more ways then the typical way.
I held his hand today, just like I did the first time he came to my house, into my room and into my heart. I read his thoughts, his feelings, his past and his future. I felt the familiar tingle of his energy mingling with mine. What put a smile on my face was that I saw myself there, standing beside him. I saw that I would still be a colossal part of his future. I saw that he would be happy and accomplish more then he ever thought he would; could. I saw us. I saw a family. I saw success; in more ways then the typical way.
“stop using your logic”.
Alright.
I saw a face. The one thing that scared me, the one thing that made me drop his hand quicker then I took it. If that’s what I’ll continue to see every time I hold his hand in that way, I refuse to take it. I refuse to peek into his mind and his future in the way only I can. I wont use this gift if that is what they’ll show me. “Darkness surrounds the world every day, and in his arms you will stay. Shadows here, shadows there, but in his arms you’ll feel no fear”.
Yes, I know.
I understand all that you are telling me, I acknowledge the fact that you are always right. But, do you have to be right about this? Will he really have to chose? And, more importantly, will the decision be a hard one? All these questions roam around in my head long after he’s left. Alone in the darkness of my room, visions keep streaming in. Hitting me hard like a blow to my head, all dizziness and black; color. Shadows moving, left and right… back and forth. Why couldn’t I stay? Why must I be so stubborn?
Alright.
I saw a face. The one thing that scared me, the one thing that made me drop his hand quicker then I took it. If that’s what I’ll continue to see every time I hold his hand in that way, I refuse to take it. I refuse to peek into his mind and his future in the way only I can. I wont use this gift if that is what they’ll show me. “Darkness surrounds the world every day, and in his arms you will stay. Shadows here, shadows there, but in his arms you’ll feel no fear”.
Yes, I know.
I understand all that you are telling me, I acknowledge the fact that you are always right. But, do you have to be right about this? Will he really have to chose? And, more importantly, will the decision be a hard one? All these questions roam around in my head long after he’s left. Alone in the darkness of my room, visions keep streaming in. Hitting me hard like a blow to my head, all dizziness and black; color. Shadows moving, left and right… back and forth. Why couldn’t I stay? Why must I be so stubborn?
The look in his eyes tells me he sees my fear,
Opening me up to visions so clear.
Deceit, lies and emotions over run,
To the only place I can hide, the only place I can hunt.
Recession, deaths, decisions to be made,
Solutions, revisions, his dream will never fade.
Destiny takes over on the last thread of hope,
Showing us no hold, tying me in with a rope.
You will want to leave, want to stay.
Just keep in your mind the thoughts that may stray.
Loneliness and comfort sleep in the same bed,
Keep close to you the hope that lingers on your last thread.
I know what your showing me, I know what I see.
To you I tip my hat, and walk away free.
Opening me up to visions so clear.
Deceit, lies and emotions over run,
To the only place I can hide, the only place I can hunt.
Recession, deaths, decisions to be made,
Solutions, revisions, his dream will never fade.
Destiny takes over on the last thread of hope,
Showing us no hold, tying me in with a rope.
You will want to leave, want to stay.
Just keep in your mind the thoughts that may stray.
Loneliness and comfort sleep in the same bed,
Keep close to you the hope that lingers on your last thread.
I know what your showing me, I know what I see.
To you I tip my hat, and walk away free.
I’m finished writing for tonight, I think. I’m done contemplating my thoughts and feelings, wondering what they mean and where they stem from. I’m through with sorting out the emotions that are running through me through the English language for tonight. I think it’s time I put my aching head to bed, and think about tomorrow and the days and weeks after that. Think about all the good that is bound to happen while it’s still (blissfully) quiet. Think about how happy I am, and how lucky I am to have him in my life. All I feel when I think of him is the overwhelming feeling of love, happiness and contentment; I am completely his. Not to overrun, not to control or to ‘pet’… but, his to talk to, to love and to have as a source for everything and anything he needs; a best friend, a girlfriend, a partner, companionship. His equal, his everything; just like he is mine.
-Amber Christina
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
mindless chatter.
how do you forgive someone who’s screwed you over more then once?
how do you let someone comfort you in your time of need?
these questions and more continue to roam around in my mind. i seem to know how to express myself wonderfully through words on paper or through a key board (though when i write with a pen and paper, i seem to lose my train of thought easier because my thoughts run faster then my hand can work out the english language through a pen), but when it comes to expressing myself vocally, i cant seem to put my thoughts together. i get into these strange moods that even i dont fully comprehend without the use of writing. i want to smile, frown, laugh and cry all at the same time. dont ask me to talk about it while in the moment, because i wont know what to say- wont know how to express myself effectively. but, give me a computer or a pen/pencil and some paper, leave me to my thoughts for a few minutes, and you’ll know exactly what’s going through my mind.
am i too complex? am i too reserved with my thoughts and emotions? am i too outspoken and energetic? too flirtatious? too much of an individual? too much of a leader? too much of a follower?
thing is, im equally all of these things- perhaps thats why im so complex. perhaps thats why it’s hard to figure me out… because people seem to think they know me until i say or do something unexpected… what they dont seem to realize is this: you cant figure me out, ever, because i havent even figured myself out. dont waste your time trying to do this, because you’ll just be dissapointed.
i’m alone. always have been, and i always will be. alone in the sense that i will never be able to comunicate my deepest thoughts and feelings through speech. i will not be alone in life, will not be alone in companionship; i’ve already found happiness and contentment in that. but i will be alone within myself.
i’m noy shy about this; not shy about feeling this way, not shy about writing this, fully knowing that the odd person may read it and think they understand. think they can relate. you cannot. the reason why i say this is because my feelings are mine, as i have previously explained. you may be able to use my words of expression and make them your own, but then they become just that: your own; no longer mine.
i’m alone in my emotions, but not alone in being alone in my emotions. does that make sense? i dont really care- it makes sense to me.
so, knowing all this, can i forgive someone who’s already screwed me over once, earned my forgiveness and done so again? my bitterness towards this person and people like him is my form of self-protection. i’m protecting myself from forgiving too easily (as i have been known to do) and then getting hurt in the end. but here is my dilemma: am i letting my bitterness negatively taint another person’s life? am i letting it get out of hand? am i letting it taint my life? am i letting it turn into something more evil then just mere bitterness?
“life’s too short to hold grudges”- J.
His words ring in my head making me second guess myself and my actions…
there’s a reason why he repeated the forgiveness, why he re-sang that part. listen to it.
letting my thoughts show themselves on paper before in my mind now, i’m searching for answers only i can provide. pages and pages may go by, and still i may not find what im looking for. i’m full, hungry, upset and happy. in love. now, and probably always will be. and yet, i continue looking for my answers.
no, i dont mind your habits, your vices, your mood swings, your sadness, your voice, your talents. i dont mind you playing that beautiful guitar, singing in a way only you can. it provides calmness, a sense of insight. happiness, contentment.
“what are you writing about?” -you, of course.
always you, because you are a constant theme in my thoughts, and those are what appear on paper. my thoughts; thus: you. I’ve never had someone capture every part of me so completely before; i am yours. and im completely okay with that.
pages and pages of messy hand writing. and still, i do not have a point; i dont have an answer. soothing myself; i need some smoke in my lungs. it always goes so well with thoughs and tea. with writing. cynical, am i? perhaps.
i have my cigarette (i like that word; makes it sound so sophisticated, like something Audry Hepburn would say in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), and now i can keep going. continue on in my mindless writing, though it does have a point. what is it? i’ll let you know when i find out.
tap, tap, tap. i hear it, i perceive it. i dont know where it’s coming from… a deep memory? voices from my childhood? i wish i could go back; forward. i’m lost, yet i know where i am.
farewell, goodbye, good luck.
-Amber Christina
Friday, February 20, 2009
Flashbacks.
I’m lost in my own feelings and mind. Feeling an odd mixture of emotions that not only contradict each other, but also make no sense. Happiness, sadness, grief, anxiety, contentment and anger. I don’t know which emotions are my own, or which are reminiscence of the spirit who was here only a few hours ago. I don’t know if it’s foreshadowing anything or if I’ve picked it up from my father’s friend who’s come to stay, or even from C… perhaps its from the negative energy that has been surrounding me recently. Perhaps it’s nothing; perhaps I’m just tired and need some sleep.
Whatever the case, this tea isn’t helping. If anything, it’s just mucking up my thoughts even more then they are.
Flashbacks of happy times are going through my head, and I find myself concentrating on and absorbed in these flashbacks, in spite of the loud laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen (a room that is only separated from me by a thin wall and a wood door).
Thinking of high school, skipping class to go chill in the grave yard with friends. The grave yard was (and still is) my favourite place to go and think.. To go and relax. It’s so peaceful and quiet… and when I’m alone, it can be interesting as well. The spirits that linger in a grave yard are very interesting and content for the most part; they’re not surrounded in fog or smoke. They’re not upset or angry, wanting nothing more then to hurt or scare me. No, most of them just want to have a regular conversation. Just want someone to laugh with or to chill with. I don’t tell many people this, but that’s the place I used to go and get high during class. Smoke some pot and just chill. Where I would sit on the grass (or benches on those mild winter days) near the graves and wait for the numbness to settle in. but it’s not the kind of numbness that’s unsettling, it’s the kind that let’s me think clearer. Let’s me hear clearer. And that’s when I would have those really interesting conversations. Sometimes I would lie really still in the grass with my eyes closed, just trying to feel my surroundings. Trying to feel the way the grass caresses my legs and arms, the way it feels when it brushes up against me, and the way it feels to lie down on it. Slightly damp and soft. I used to try and feel the breeze, try and feel the smells and the sounds. The smell of sweet grass and musky old grave stones with mould growing it’s way around the old monument. Feel the sounds of the birds chirping, the wind moving through the trees, the cars in the distance. Feel the spirits coming closer and sitting beside me. Feel their curious hands poking me in the leg, brushing my hair back. Feel them speak to me. Just feel. Feel.
Flashbacks of last year. Of last year’s laughing, singing, dancing and drunken nights. Of M and D getting ready to go to the bars while I chilled with them and talked about everything and nothing, laughing the whole time. Of Halloween and my random one night stands. ’Simon the fish’ was it, D? of coming home after a terrible day to find M and D in their adjoining rooms, both equally as frustrated/tired/upset as I was, and talking to them about it after or before listening to how their day went, then laughing about the stupidity of it all. Of watching The Hills and America’s Next Top Model with them. Of D’s amazing advice and thoughtfulness, and M and mine’s walks. Our random conversations- “and that, my friend, is a dead squirrel”. Of ‘studying philosophy’ with Plato and how much fun him and I used to have with our so called philosophy, and how happy I was in spite of all the bad times.
Flashbacks of talking until 4 or 5 in the morning with MetalD, laughing about the most ridiculous things and mourning our losses together. Sharing everything about ourselves to one another, and feeling no shame or guilt in doing so. About the one time when he came over just before Christmas and we stayed up all night and all day talking, crying, laughing and just overall enjoying each other’s company.
Flashbacks of Arizona and the peace I felt while being there.
Of summertime, of fall when G first moved in and all our random, hyper fun. Of those nights (that still occur quite frequently) where one of us, or both of us can’t sleep so we stay up smoking, talking and laughing.
Flashbacks of when I first met C, the way he was sitting there against the stone wall at our university, smoking before class. The first time I chilled with C, when I gave him a reading, and the overwhelming feeling of attraction that came over me while holding his hand. And the ridiculously strong feeling to lean over and kiss him. Flashbacks of the first time we kissed, and how ridiculously happy he made me. The first time he seduced me (yes, you read that right. He seduced me!). When we would stay up until odd hours of the morning talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. Like the times we stayed up until 5:30am (just before exams) talking about our unique beliefs and gifts, when we stayed up until 3:30am smoking and discussing how our horror movie would go if we were to make one, or when we stayed up until 4am laughing about nonsense, like what would happen if him and I were to walk into a candy store, me pretending to be very pregnant and very hormonal demanding candy with no artificial flavouring, and C looking very abused and sketchy. Like the time when we talked about how if we were to ever have a house, our room would have to have a latch in the floor that opened up to being a slide that led strait to the pool in the back yard. Flashbacks of the first time he told me he loved me, and my drunken “I love you, in case I forgot to mention it earlier” reply. Thinking of the way he looks at me that completely melts my heart. Thinking of how much fun we have together, and how comfortable I am with him… and mostly, how happy we make each other. How happy he makes me. How easy it is for him to make me smile, and keep me smiling. How much I love and adore him.
Flashbacks.
Oh, how I adore them when I’m feeling odd and disoriented.
The anxiety has subsided. The sadness dwindling away.
I think I’ll go join the chatter now, and then perhaps go to sleep.
Good night.
Whatever the case, this tea isn’t helping. If anything, it’s just mucking up my thoughts even more then they are.
Flashbacks of happy times are going through my head, and I find myself concentrating on and absorbed in these flashbacks, in spite of the loud laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen (a room that is only separated from me by a thin wall and a wood door).
Thinking of high school, skipping class to go chill in the grave yard with friends. The grave yard was (and still is) my favourite place to go and think.. To go and relax. It’s so peaceful and quiet… and when I’m alone, it can be interesting as well. The spirits that linger in a grave yard are very interesting and content for the most part; they’re not surrounded in fog or smoke. They’re not upset or angry, wanting nothing more then to hurt or scare me. No, most of them just want to have a regular conversation. Just want someone to laugh with or to chill with. I don’t tell many people this, but that’s the place I used to go and get high during class. Smoke some pot and just chill. Where I would sit on the grass (or benches on those mild winter days) near the graves and wait for the numbness to settle in. but it’s not the kind of numbness that’s unsettling, it’s the kind that let’s me think clearer. Let’s me hear clearer. And that’s when I would have those really interesting conversations. Sometimes I would lie really still in the grass with my eyes closed, just trying to feel my surroundings. Trying to feel the way the grass caresses my legs and arms, the way it feels when it brushes up against me, and the way it feels to lie down on it. Slightly damp and soft. I used to try and feel the breeze, try and feel the smells and the sounds. The smell of sweet grass and musky old grave stones with mould growing it’s way around the old monument. Feel the sounds of the birds chirping, the wind moving through the trees, the cars in the distance. Feel the spirits coming closer and sitting beside me. Feel their curious hands poking me in the leg, brushing my hair back. Feel them speak to me. Just feel. Feel.
Flashbacks of last year. Of last year’s laughing, singing, dancing and drunken nights. Of M and D getting ready to go to the bars while I chilled with them and talked about everything and nothing, laughing the whole time. Of Halloween and my random one night stands. ’Simon the fish’ was it, D? of coming home after a terrible day to find M and D in their adjoining rooms, both equally as frustrated/tired/upset as I was, and talking to them about it after or before listening to how their day went, then laughing about the stupidity of it all. Of watching The Hills and America’s Next Top Model with them. Of D’s amazing advice and thoughtfulness, and M and mine’s walks. Our random conversations- “and that, my friend, is a dead squirrel”. Of ‘studying philosophy’ with Plato and how much fun him and I used to have with our so called philosophy, and how happy I was in spite of all the bad times.
Flashbacks of talking until 4 or 5 in the morning with MetalD, laughing about the most ridiculous things and mourning our losses together. Sharing everything about ourselves to one another, and feeling no shame or guilt in doing so. About the one time when he came over just before Christmas and we stayed up all night and all day talking, crying, laughing and just overall enjoying each other’s company.
Flashbacks of Arizona and the peace I felt while being there.
Of summertime, of fall when G first moved in and all our random, hyper fun. Of those nights (that still occur quite frequently) where one of us, or both of us can’t sleep so we stay up smoking, talking and laughing.
Flashbacks of when I first met C, the way he was sitting there against the stone wall at our university, smoking before class. The first time I chilled with C, when I gave him a reading, and the overwhelming feeling of attraction that came over me while holding his hand. And the ridiculously strong feeling to lean over and kiss him. Flashbacks of the first time we kissed, and how ridiculously happy he made me. The first time he seduced me (yes, you read that right. He seduced me!). When we would stay up until odd hours of the morning talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. Like the times we stayed up until 5:30am (just before exams) talking about our unique beliefs and gifts, when we stayed up until 3:30am smoking and discussing how our horror movie would go if we were to make one, or when we stayed up until 4am laughing about nonsense, like what would happen if him and I were to walk into a candy store, me pretending to be very pregnant and very hormonal demanding candy with no artificial flavouring, and C looking very abused and sketchy. Like the time when we talked about how if we were to ever have a house, our room would have to have a latch in the floor that opened up to being a slide that led strait to the pool in the back yard. Flashbacks of the first time he told me he loved me, and my drunken “I love you, in case I forgot to mention it earlier” reply. Thinking of the way he looks at me that completely melts my heart. Thinking of how much fun we have together, and how comfortable I am with him… and mostly, how happy we make each other. How happy he makes me. How easy it is for him to make me smile, and keep me smiling. How much I love and adore him.
Flashbacks.
Oh, how I adore them when I’m feeling odd and disoriented.
The anxiety has subsided. The sadness dwindling away.
I think I’ll go join the chatter now, and then perhaps go to sleep.
Good night.
-Amber Christina
-February 20th, 2009; 11:35pm
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Laughing. I hear laughing and crying; I don’t know who it is and I don’t know why it’s happening… but I’m not scared. I don’t feel uneasy, I don’t feel afraid, I don’t feel upset in anyway. I feel normal, calm. And confused. I can’t place a face or body to these sounds, but I know it’s coming from this house, somewhere upstairs, outside my room. When I open my door, I see no one.
I’m alone in the house, my roommates are gone; the dog is gone. It’s only me and my cat.
And someone crying. Someone laughing.
A child, a little girl I think. But I cant be sure, because she keeps hiding. Running and hiding, like she’s playing a game.
And really, tonight, I don’t mind playing her little game. I don’t mind laughing with her, hiding with her, talking with her.
I just wish she would come in my room and actually talk to me.
Tell me why she’s here.
Why she’s crying.
I want to help.
But I cant help if she doesn’t want me to.
I’m alone in the house, my roommates are gone; the dog is gone. It’s only me and my cat.
And someone crying. Someone laughing.
A child, a little girl I think. But I cant be sure, because she keeps hiding. Running and hiding, like she’s playing a game.
And really, tonight, I don’t mind playing her little game. I don’t mind laughing with her, hiding with her, talking with her.
I just wish she would come in my room and actually talk to me.
Tell me why she’s here.
Why she’s crying.
I want to help.
But I cant help if she doesn’t want me to.
-Amber Christina
