Splinters

"I will always remember you
watching me walking away."
Meant by Elizaveta

"Your name is the splinter
inside me."
Joshua Radin


That last lyric
breaks me every
single time I hear it.
I know how that is.
I know what that is.
I live it, because there are splinters
and names inside me all day every day.
I'm sure some of these names know who they
are and there are others who know and don't care
and others still who never knew how much they became intrinsic
parts of me. I hold onto these names and I tell people that it is because
they make good stories, and I'm sure they do, just as I'm sure that I will tell
the stories one day, but the truth is, is that I've let these splinters stay, because the
pain of splinters stuck in my flesh is worth the remembrance of times past.

These splinters have sliced my hands when I slapped them
and became a part of me, sucked into my bloodstream
because when I was angry at them, they became intrinsic parts of me
how I remember and relate.
But now, where they came from is irrelevant to a certain degree because
there are now bits of wood and glass and steel, all with various names
and dates and deeds floating about it in my body
These are the prettiest and ugliest bits of me.
Splinters of people who touched me and set me on fire
and people who spoke words that remind me that family is choice
and that I will be loved despite the overwhelming prevalence of ugliness
that is inside of me.

There are splinters of people who
I text Thrift Shop lyrics to every other day
and see almost every Sunday
and people I talk to once every two months
and we are warriors and friends and sometimes
domestic as fuck and at other times we are gods of bagpipes and feminism
and splinters of a person I knew once all too well
but his god is not my own and I am broken in his eyes because
I do not believe that I need to be saved.
And splinters of people that are in the downward swing of our friendship
but because I know everything is a circle, they will swing upwards
and splinters of people who have been close to my heart
since I met them.
These splinters can be painful
but they bring so much beauty, that it is worth the pain.


On a sillier note, every time
Welcome to the Black Parade
comes on
I turn it off
unless it is just me listening to it.
There is the true confessions of my life.
And dancing around like a muppet is to this song
is one of them.

What I've Learned So Far

I am terrible at waiting for anything. Especially phone calls for jobs. Those could made me even crazier than I’ve ever been.

The sound of a fiddle, violin and bagpipes can still make me tear up.

Standing in the pouring rain is like going to confession. I feel cold and wet and clean at the end of both. Better than a two hour shower. And my hair smells like rain for hours after.

I miss my animals like crazy. Especially my cat. I want kitten kisses, dammit!

I still sing in the shower. Loudly. And my range is getting back to normal. I need to start swimming more regularly or singing more regularly. Something to improve my breathing.

Ground beef and potatoes are the still the best damn comfort food ever. Ravioli takes a close second, which I never would have guessed in a million years, but OH MY GOD it is amazing. It comes with spicy sausage and freaking LOBSTER and mushrooms and it’s crazy that something can taste that good and be legal. Seriously.

I can still write, even without my infamous red journal. And my “sexy” pen. God, that is the stupidest phrase ever, but it sticks. It was one of the first that ever stuck in my head.

I can only make people laugh when they want to laugh. If they insist on a stoic silence, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. And that isn’t my fault. My ability to laugh easily simply does not affect some people. And that’s okay. I can still make people smile, and do on a daily basis.

Even when you love a person, they can still irritate the fuck out of you if you see them on a daily basis. Which actually explains why my parents, my brother and I clash. So, I’ve got to remember this when I go back to my house. And be more forgiving. And also while I’m at this house. To be less touchy and more forgiving.

I still find helping people an honorable career. I would rather drop dead than do some jobs, but I still think it’s cool that people can work in banks or anywhere they need to. It’s hard being picking in this economy. But what the hell, helping people, being a servant doesn’t go out of style. Ever.

Julia Child was a beast. End of story.

If you can gross out your best guy friend with two words, be proud. It’s been four years and I have learned well.

Anastasia still has a badass soundtrack. It never gets old and that’s just kind of mind blowing.

A friend is NOT a friend when all he does is want what’s best for him. He’s a jackass. And that’s okay, if you want to put up with it, but it’s up to you to deal. So you can either choose to deal or you can kill it.

Alone time with my mom is a precious gift. But not one I should beat up my brother for, probably. But seriously, that fifteen minutes that we get where we are on the phone or just hanging out a little bit, especially this day-date I’m going on with her tomorrow and we make each other laugh are what keeps me going in the midst of intense stress. And I feel so blessed that we have that. It’s special and taking it for granted would be such a mistake.

Also, always knock before going to the restroom.