Losing the Emos

And by "emos" i mean, emotions. But .. you can't be artistic without being cryptic.

3 weeks and no entry. Tsk.

And So Begins Post 5.

I was riding home last night after taking Zach to pick up his truck at his friend's house, and I was listening to my iPod. Normal so far.

During my ride, Feist's "La Sirena" came on and I hadn't listened to it in a while, so I let it play through. And what it did to me it had never done before.

And here's what happened.

Sometimes, when riding in my car and listening to the songs I've collected over the years (and not haphazardly either, these songs all mean something to me) sometimes I fall into this mood. I become very sentimental and very overwhelmed with a deep passion. What is the passion for?

It really all depends on the general mood of the day.

But yesterday, listening to the silky, sorrowful, moan-like notes of "La Sirena" on my night ride home, I was hit with a mournful passion. It was so deep, that my chest, the space between my ribs, was the black hole of my universe. I felt like it was pulling my skin, my shirt, my heart, my lungs, my seat belt, right into the deep pits of sadness.

It was heavy. so heavy. so much weight. so much sorrow.

The reason?

The song all of a sudden was a song about Samantha.

Things like this surprise me. The effect of her death is continuous. It doesn't stop affecting.

So, I let the passion wash over me, as I often do. I swam into it and held my breath and felt it roll over my limbs and through my hair. And before the song was over, it was gone.

My emotions. are so out of whack.

I used to be a girl who took herself very seriously and believed that the world did too. Due to recent tragedies in my life, including, but not limited to Samantha's death, I've begun to realize that my feelings are not as all important as I once thought.

This realization has lead me to have semi-emotions.

I'm half assing the way I feel.

I'm no longer fierce when I'm angry. Instead, I'm a babbling idiot who's reason for being angry changes from sentence to sentence.

Where I once was able to explain myself, I cannot get the words to form the right patterns to make anything meaningful. So sadness is simply tears. And hiding my face because of shame.

No more words. No more confidence in my sadness.

Where happiness once abounded, you will find a luke warm puddle of gladness. The glow of my favorite things is dimming.

One thing does remain though. And grow. But I don't think you could call it an emotion.

It's love.

Sappy, I know. But it's really the only thing I find myself feeling anymore. Love for everyone.

Love for my Zach. My amazing Zach who deserves the most beautiful, intelligent string of words to describe his marvels.

Love for my Mama and Daddy, who I've never appreciated and missed more.

Love for my sisters and brother, who I'm beginning to realize will be the best friends ever created for me.

Love for my co-workers, who really are becoming the closest friends I have. 

Lots and Lots of Love.

It's moving in and kicking all the other emotions out. Taking up all the spaces and filling up all the holes.

It backs everything I do now. Every little thing.

Know what I think?

I think this really all has to do with my lack of reading. I'm trying too hard to find the way I used to write, and sometimes I feel that thought process starting up in my head, but my access to the internet = almost null. So releiving that process typically doesn't happen.

And the way I used to write was affected by the words I used to consume. I really should start reading more often, instead of here and there and not really ever for fun. 

Then i come on here, on this blasted site, and I make up what I think is the thought process for writing. And as you can see, i write SO much because I can't say what I want because I don't have my words. So i ramble on and on hoping that if i talk long enough, what i want to say will show itself.

but just know, I'm desperately in love with my life. Despite the fact that I'm a customer service rep and I live in an apartment complex where people ask you for money the moment you leave the door and flies co-inhabit your home. and i can't write like i used to. My life is awesome. I don't get angry anymore. I don't have a reason. I do get sad, but I can't explain it without bring sam into it. My happiness is there, but it will never be the same. And my feelings for my relations are growing exponentially.

If i don't see my family soon, I am bound to burst. Fortunately, they arrive next week.

And so! My skin bubbles and bursts at the seams and the life form as you know it is gone!

Maybe i'll be back next week to write again.

Post Four: Adventures

Hello,

So, I've missed writing for two weeks. Bad! I made a pact with myself to write at least once a week. So much for that, eh?

I've noticed I'm not one to do the things I tell myself I will do. Oh well. It's just a part of who I am, I guess?

And So Begins Post Four:

I have found an "Alter Ego" without intending to. (I put quotation marks because I don't think she is.. my alter ego, but Zach does). She has curly hair just like me. She has a home that looks just like mine. She is quiet and aloof and a daydreamer. She has big plans for herself. And she often finds she's involved in an adventure she didn't sign up for.

I don't know her name, but I do know what she looks like. I met her when I drew my first comic strip. She was waking up and getting ready for work. Just like what I do on a day to day basis. How the comic ends, I won't say because I don't want to spoil the ending. But it's not what you'd expect.

I've met her twice since our first meeting. The second time, she was determinedly washing a sink full of dishes when the sink overflowed and flooded her apartment. Don't worry, she survived, thanks to some unexpected, ship sailing visitors.

The third time, she was enjoying a nice boat ride through the ocean on her father's (a King, it turns out) ship when she was victim of an "accident" that threw her overboard. Do not despair, she found friends in unexpected places.

When I visit with her, I don't think of her as myself. Her adventures are the type that I could never be a part of and not because I'm not adventurous, but because they're unreal.

Each time I've met her, I've admired her. She's a pretty cool little gal.

I'm excited to meet her again. I'm excited to tell the stories of her adventures. I'm excited to live vicariously through her life.


I think one day she'll be in a book. I'm sure of it.

later gator.

PS: this post brought me zero satisfaction. i used to find SO much joy in writing. it made me feel cool. maybe because I don't really feel that cool anymore and i don't really take myself as seriously as I once did, maybe that makes me unable to write the way i want. or maybe because i write technical, mechanical emails all day, i've lost that  person touch.

who knows.