TERRI RODRIGUEZ

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I wasted this entire week feeling sad and alone. I stayed inside, mulled around the house, drank too much, skipped the gym. The only productive thing I did all week was make a brief visit to the doctor to be told I’m fine. I guess that’s an upside, but I’m out of booze and broke until a TBD date.

People took digs at me in their various, manipulative ways and I just stood idly by and let it happen. Fuck, I even bought into it for a minute. I believed shit might be getting better but the joke’s on me. Funny thing is, I’m not even mad at the two of you. You’re just being exactly who you always were it was me who thought I saw a glimmer of change, a return to softness and humanity in you. Fuck was I wrong.

I also made the smart decision/mistake (depends on your perspective) of watching Closer this week which is a bad fucking idea if you’re feeling like shit about relationships and the presence of true honesty in people. It’s one of my favorite movies but it might be the loneliest two hours anyone can spend watching beautiful people fight, fuck, and fuck each other up. The film is a series of vignettes that claw deep beneath the skin of just how awful people can treat one another and still expect love, forgiveness. But the moral is there. That sentiment that blows you apart into tiny fragments of emotions and reminds you: be a better person, or this could… will be you. No matter how beautiful you are.

But I got something else from it too. Something I never miss but always forget.

Provocation until that aforementioned honesty rears its ugly head.

So, ‘thank you for your honesty. Now fuck off and die.’

Done. And all the better for it.

And the phone isn’t ringing.

asofterworld.com

There’s a truth in there somewhere.

That I post things:

“twenty questions.

something i am. something you aren’t. something i thought i needed, but i don’t.

animal, vegetable, or mineral?
animal.
is it in this room?
no.
has it ever been in this room?
yes.
is it quiet?
at times.
at times meaning it can be loud?
yes.
is it soft?
on the inside.
does it bite?
not with teeth.
what do you mean?
that isn’t a question about the object.
it’s a question. answer it.
i said it doesn’t bite with teeth, but it has bite. it hurts. leaves a mark.
did it leave a mark on you?
we’re getting off topic. these aren’t questions for the game. what the fuck?
call them for the game. i think we’re getting somewhere here.
you’re not getting anywhere.
did it leave a mark on you? count that for two if you want.
it left a mark but it’s fading.
what does it smell like?
earth. and sweat. and last night’s booze.
did you cheat?
what the fuck do you mean, did i cheat?
i think you changed what your object was in the middle of this game.
you can think whatever you want.
so you did?
i’m counting that as a question.
that’s fine. answer it.
no.
you’re lying.
so what if i am?
where can you find this thing?
here and there. more there than here.
so it was here, with you, and then it left?
i guess you can say that.
does it matter to you, that it isn’t here anymore?
i thought it did. i thought i’d hurt more. i thought i’d fight for it. i thought it’d break my heart. i thought i’d want it to. i thought it’d be here for a little while longer i…
i think we should play another game.
why?
because i’m out of questions.
bullshit.
no, really. i know what the object is.
tell me, then. if you know so fucking much.
i don’t need to tell you what it is.
do it. just do it.

it’s me.

you can’t play twenty questions with yourself, or your ability to love because the game will never end the way you think it will. “

Why do I always feel like an asshole when I write about exactly how I feel? Like I’m not supposed to, like it’s wrong for me to be pissed off at asshole people. Like I should just sit quiet and take it.

There is a big, black cloud over the city today. A huge storm pelting the pavement and it’s incredibly fitting. I managed to get outside to snap a few photos before the rain started. Someone is going to regret not bringing their laundry in earlier. Damn that enticing grey morning for keeping people close to their sofas and beds.

There was hawk perched on the roof of the building across from mine. He stood there looking around for his or her next victim I guess and this tiny bird with a flat, black tail kept flying around him and landing a foot or so away. He’d hop over closer to the hawk and when the hawk turned to look at him, the little bird would fly into the air and circle the hawk’s head before landing again and repeating his little game. It was as if he just wanted to call attention to himself and his cute, flat, black tail feathers. Like, look at me I’m special. I couldn’t help but think the hawk could have easily just snatched that little taunting bird out of the air but he didn’t. It just looked at him. Like it wasn’t ready yet.

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Hawks are birds of prey, also called raptors, which have a presence all over the world except for Antarctica. They possess the attributes of exceptionally fine eyesight, sharp beaks and talons for grabbing their prey, and they have the ability to spot their potential meal with binocular-like vision. Most hawks are what are known as sit-and-wait predators, staying in a selected spot till an animal comes along that they can kill and eat.

“Sit-and-wait predators”. I’ve met a few of those.

I’ve got a lot brewing in this mind of mine, most of which revolves around the slowburn realization that being a fool gets old.

I’m on the fence about whether I put myself out there too much or too little. I used to be pretty angry, apathetic about relationships platonic or otherwise. It was hard for me to trust people enough to really connect with them on any level at all. It was part life experience, part twenty-something emotional growing pains. I’d like to think I’ve grown a lot since then but some days, like this one, I’m not so sure.

This weekend was pretty fucking unreal. The hours that passed from Saturday morning up until I fell asleep hurt and confused and altogether exhausted on Sunday night are a little difficult to categorize under anything other than WHAT THE FUCK. Seeing as though I drank enough vodka Saturday night to make my skin flammable, got three and a half hours of sleep, and moved furniture with a hangover the size of South America, I’d call the last two days a bust. When I woke up this morning I tried to run the events through my head but I can only grasp and flash-like pictures of faces, clinking of bottles and glasses, cigarette smoke, phones ringing and, maybe more importantly, not ringing.

Standing up was fucking painful on Sunday morning, still, I woke up at eight a.m. to move two giant couches out of my tiny apartment through what seems like the tightest spiral-landing staircase on the west side of Providence. The morning was complete with moving hangups like a bikelock that refused to open, pessimistic non-helping person, some holes left in walls that I will have to spackle before I leave, and sweat like a gym workout. Either way, they are gone and my living room is empty.

After the moving came the waiting. The waiting to find out if I truly am as gullible as I’ve felt for a couple months. Turns out, I might be. Turns out, I’m again… somebody’s patsy. Maybe even for several people who somehow turned up in the same weekend! Friends, un-friends, randoms. I feel a little like a participant in a daredevil act who is tied to a wall while people throw darts at balloons around my head.

I laughed out loud when I typed that. I really did. It’s almost amusing to realize just how easily you can get played when you’re willing. Needless to say it was tempting to start drinking at three yesterday but I was sick of vodka and no scotch could be found. I decided to sleep.

I’m not even sure it matters that I’m writing all of this out, I’ll probably regret it later but really, who the fuck cares?

I’ve got a broken heart today. A broken heart and one hell of a hangover.

Life? Stop stomping me to the ground? Kay, thanks.

Since I’m moving at the end of this month, I spent the last few weeks going through my things, clothes, etc and have donated, thrown away, recycled, or upcycled everything I possibly could. Today I unknowingly spent five hours doing this while listening to an audiobook of a thriller I have been meaning to read but couldn’t since I have about three books I’m already in the middle of and the result of my efforts is pretty fucking astounding.

I have successfully simplified my life in so many ways that the air in my apartment feels legitimately lighter. Shelves are bare, boxes stacked neatly in my studio full of books and art supplies that I don’t plan on using before my move in two weeks. Clothes that I kept are neatly hung or folded in their respective places. Extra dishes are packed away so that I have enough to eat, drink and cook with.

The practical application of Occam’s razor works on one’s life as much as it does in rational or theoretical thought.

On Sunday, a friend will be coming by to take away my couch and loveseat, the large bookshelf that currently stands in my studio, coffee table, and a small white entrance table that I found outside my house a year or so ago. All of this furniture I either found or got for free and have outgrown. The things I will come to own in my new apartment will be simple and stylish and far more permanent pieces to add to my life. This sort of makes me feel like I’m aging a bit, but not in a bad way. I’m not saying my life is about buying or owning things, but in a sense I am getting to the point where I want the things I own, few as they may be, to reflect upon my personality a little more.

In addition to the last entry I posted here, I’m still in the same place. I’m well.

Now, bring on the rain because after work I want to curl up in my room with my book and read myself to sleep.

I had this phone conversation the other day that reminded me that I can deal with so much more shit than I’ve got going on now and still survive. I made almost no money when I lived in Sacramento and somehow I managed to get by. The conversation somehow ended up on money and I was saying that I don’t really have any right now and that all I do have is going to making sure all my bills get paid on time, balances get paid down, and other shit that makes me feel more like an adult than I really want to right now.

Actually, I think it came up because I said I made enough rice to last me the week because I don’t have much in the way of groceries. Rice is fucking cheap and goes for days. My friend laughed at me saying I’m always eating rice and that she remembered that when I lived in Sac I was always eating rice then too. Which, in turn made me say, well yeah because I’m always fucking broke. I live okay on a small salary and I’m a student and I pay all my bills and stay away from crazy credit debt (as best I can). So if it’s rice I got, it’s rice I’ll eat.

Herein lies the memory lane trip. I remembered months in Sacramento when my stupid, arrogant, and much more brave twenty-two-year-old self was living in a tiny apartment, walking everywhere, and for the most part scraping by on about half as much money as I make now. I did shit then and I had less to go on. I remembered literally surviving three weeks at a time between paychecks on $12 without having a credit card. I drove to and from work and let the car sit otherwise. I walked for entertainment and exercise. I read a lot more, which is saying something because I read a lot now. And despite some really shitty occurrences during my time there, I was generally happy.

To make shit simple: I need to nut up and shut up. I’m doing okay right now. Way fucking better than I was six years ago. I need to find that twenty-two year old and give her a high-five after I tell her she’s going to make a comeback.

I watched Capitalism: A Love Story this morning while I had my coffee. I’m not a Michael Moore junkie-true believer, but the dude is great at what he does and makes some seriously valid points about this country’s attitude towards money, consumerism, greed, and all around apathetic demeanor.

I bring it up because even though I definitely do not have much, even I someone whose political beliefs are fundamentally opposed to most conservative, capitalist ideologues get caught up in how much I make, how I live, and what I think I need. That little silly conversation about rice just reminded me that I really don’t need much more than what I’ve got. I just have to know how to use it.