Random Acts of Awesome

Oh, Tom Waits. You provide the soundtrack to every moment of my imaginary life. I'm sitting in a small little restaurant/cafe called Grandmas Corner. It's adorable, with blue collar food, atmosphere, and folk. I kind of love it. It's run by a sweet mother and son team, who my imagination has latched onto. I see the son, a sandy haired proper Irish boy, looking at me often. And I see his mother noticing and smiling. And I imagine what my life would be, attached to these people. I imagine early mornings, hard work, checkercloth table tops, home with sagging doors and warm kitchens. I imagine family, and strength, support and love. Kids and dogs, hard times, hard work, hard life. And I fall a little in love with him, with them. I want her to approve of me, him to love me. I want that life, just for a moment. I wish I could live each life I see, till the end. Not leaving unnaturally early, not hurting others, not disappointing them. I wish I could live all these lives to t...

Right from the start... I gave you my heart!! God, that song brings back the fucking WEIRDEST memories. The back seat of my grandmothers car, all blue velour seats and scratchy fabric in the back window well. Playing with sesame street toys while her and my mother took passive aggressive pot shots at each other in the front seats... All these memories that no one can ever share, not really. It's no wonder that we all feel so alone in our own heads. You're so sure that nobody knows you. Nobody sees the real you. All we know of you is what you let us see, right? No. I see you, Dawnie. I see the overflowing love in your heart that you don't believe anyone will ever really deserve, that you don't know if you'll ever really deserve. I see the darkness constantly trying to creep its way in around the edges of your laughter, that overflows into your eyes sometimes even as your lips smile and your words shock us and make us laugh. I see you constantly fighting it bac...

I've been mulling over a story idea lately. It would be kind of an amazing one. If only I had the discipline to actually write it. I can't tell you how many stories I've started, and then gotten too bored with to finish. I'm not so much bored with the story as I am with the reality of WRITING the story. Even short stories seem to be beyond my abilities. Anyways, the story. I've been mulling over the meaning of fear quite a bit lately. What fear is, how it affects us, how it shapes our lives. I've been looking at my own life, and seeing these fear shaped holes that I've created. They're not external forces, crafting my reality. These holes are simply the negative space that I haven't put anything inside, and their borders are composed of fear. I was thinking about this reality as I walked through my spooky fucking backyard after dark last night, carrying my load of laundry. And shining my flashlight in every corner of the yard, imagining serial k...