The Damage This Place Creates

How many times have I done this? Driving around this town, wasting gas in order to kill time? I grew up here. I know it like the back of my hand. I've the phrase, "you never forget your hometown." I believe it's true cause god knows I've been trying to.

I've referred to this place as a haunted city, infected with memories I'd rather just forget. The trouble is living here again has created a whole new set of memories tied to the places that are marked by the old set. Not all of them are bad. There have been some I hope to never forget, like the grin that crept over my face the first time I walked into Jake's living room. Or the pleasant surprise I felt the first time I heard J.R. sing. But too often the pain of this haunted city infects the new bad memories, only increasing their destructive power on me. Getting my heart broken here somehow hurts far more than anywhere else. Loneliness & the accompanying fear of it is more acutely felt till I can no longer breathe.

I've said it before, I know this place will destroy me if I stay too long. I've always felt like it'll happen in a sudden build up until I find myself once again desperately trying to hold together the pieces of my stable mind. I know what it's like to go insane. I've never experienced anything more terrifying in my entire life. And I've wanted to run away, to escape this place because I never know if today will be the day I lose everything all over again, including my mind. But I don't think that's how it's going to happen anymore.

This city, this place, it works more like an infection, weighing you down with haunted memories till you realize the impossibility of escape. Even if you were to physically get out of here, you can never escape those memories, that pain you experienced there. Things like that will change a person. Things will never be the same.

I think I understand the need to run away, to escape as quickly as I can. The longer I stay here, the longer I am exposed to the damage this places creates, until one day it destroys me and my chances of escape.

I need to get out of here.

Love you.
Mean it.

The Morning Fills My Bedroom

I didn't sleep last night.

There are a couple reasons for this.
Reason 1: I got home too late so my dog slept in someone else's bed.
Reason 2: I was freezing (probably due to the lack of doggie warmth).
Reason 3: Alcohol & sleeping pills do not mix. Therefore, I didn't take any of the latter.
Reason 4: I got my heart broken, I felt like shit (emotionally) & my eyes were burning from trying not to cry.

That sums it up quite nicely.

I typically do not like to stay up all night. It leads to problems the next day, mainly with me being rather cranky as the day wears on. But this past night/morning as I was lying in bed, I faced my window. The blinds were closed but very poorly so plenty of light can come in once it decides it's had enough of the darkness. I watched my window fill with soft light through the slats of my blinds. My room began to take shape, from a formless mass of darkness & shadow to familiar & comforting pieces of my life.

I could see my two bookcases, completely filled and stacked on top with over 350 books that I've loved. I could see my typewriter sitting on my desk, and thought about all those times it's saved my life. I could see my  Emily Strange poster I bought when I was a stupid little 15 year old emo kid. I've never taken it down. I don't know why, really. I guess I really do believe if you don't remember where you came from, you won't know where you're going. I could see my walls covered in framed photographs, mostly of friends & a few of family. So many faces of people I've loved. I guess I still love them. I don't remember stopping. I could see the two flags hanging above my bed, one is the flag of Wales, where my mother's family is from. The other is the flag from the Isle of Man, where my father's family is from. And finally, on the wall facing my bed, I could see a wooden plague I had made two years ago. It's blue with white letters, spelling out my granddad's motto: Don't Let the Bastards Win.

It's funny. If I hadn't experienced such a lousy ending to such a fantastic night, I wouldn't have watched the morning fill my bedroom. And I wouldn't have been able to feel the strange peace I received from it. Of course, if I hadn't had such a lousy ending to such a fantastic night, I might not need that peace. But let's not think about that. Let's just enjoy this feeling while it lasts.

Love you.
Mean it.

I Was a Damned Idiot

Remember a bit back when I said I wanted to feel some kind of extreme emotion because that was better than feeling nothing?

Well, I was a damned idiot.

Cause all I feel now is pain & heartache.

And I'd give anything to not feel this way.

Love you.
Mean it.

The Intrigue of Intelligence

If there's one thing I know to be true about myself it's that I am intelligent. I've always been clever, have always grasped concepts quickly & easily. I often find myself being the smartest person in a class or in a group of people. This has become pretty standard for my life. I don't mean this to be prideful. I don't consider it pride if it's the truth. And it is true. 

However, every now and then I encounter someone whose intelligence is far beyond my own & leaves me in awe & intrigued. One such person is this guy from my Postmodern Hollywood class named Chris. The class discussions mostly consist of just he and I commenting on either the film in question or on each other's comments. The other members of the class contribute a thought every now and then but for the most part, the conversation is dominated by Chris & me.

Again, I know I'm smart, but this Chris guy is way ahead of me. He knows philosophy & theory like other people know sports stats or TV trivia. He can spout off different philosophical theories and their applications to cinema with such skill that is almost like poetry. His comments are fluid in their ease, as if it is almost second nature to him. It has me mesmerized, mostly because I know that is something I could never do. I have dabbled in philosophy & theory (I was planning on minoring in philosophy before I discovered cinema studies) but I can never recall the different theories with such precision and accuracy, infused with numerous details. I can do that about movies, such as actors, directors, similar films, etc. but never "hard stuff" like philosophy.

This all leads me to find Chris insanely intriguing. I've always been attracted to intelligence but his is a kind far above my own. This makes it even worse. Add to the fact his left arm is covered in tattoos, and I'm done for. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

The Illusion of Prayer

I haven't voluntarily prayed in nearly three years. I have been asked, on occasion, to say the prayer before family dinners. Those instances are uncomfortable & unwanted, and, thankfully, don't happen terribly often. I think my parents are catching onto the idea that prayer means nothing to me.

The thing is, I don't believe in prayer. People generally pray to thank god for the blessings in their lives and to humbly ask for things they need. This concept of prayer completely contradicts my view of who/what god is. As I've stated before, I hold a deist view of god. To me, god created everything in the universe but then takes a very "hands-off" approach to his creations. He doesn't get involved, he doesn't intervene, & he doesn't interact. This is why prayer seems so silly to me. You can say them all you want, it doesn't do any good. God isn't going to do anything about it. I'm not even sure god listens to them. I can't see how he can. How could he listen to all the desperate pleas of his creations and not intervene? This leads me to believe no one is listening to prayers. The way I view it, prayers are just messages being left on the answering machine of the universe; people feel the illusion of talking to someone but in reality, no one is listening.

My feelings & experiences towards prayer served as a basis for me changing my concept of god from a theistic god to more deistic. In my experiences, I would often pray fervently & fiercely for comfort or relief from my depression. So often I would find myself lost & alone, not seeing the point in anything and not wanting to exist. I would beg god to let me feel comfort, let me feel relief, let me feel something other than emptiness & pain. And do you know what happened? Nothing. I was left feeling empty and alone. The only times I would receive relief was when I got up and did something about it. And I know about the whole "faith without works is dead" bit but I don't buy that. It's just a way of giving god credit for something you did on your own. I got up and I took my life into my own hands & found a way to cope with my depression. God had nothing to do with it. Whenever I found myself in darkness, I'd beg god to help me find the light. And he never did. I had to stumble along, blindly groping my way towards the light.  Again, god had nothing to do with it.

However, I do see the benefit to some prayers. For instance, having standard set prayers, such as "Our Fathers" or "Hail Marys," can be extremely comforting in times of distress. But this comfort comes from the repetition of familiar words. Having set routines & repetitions can be soothing when one needs to find their center. The same idea can work for the repetition of a poem or even just a string of words. God doesn't necessarily have to be in the repetition. I tend to find comfort in writing the same sentence over and over on notebook paper.

I've been asked by people if I pray or if I believe in prayer. I've always tried to be honest about my views but prayer is a touchy issue, even more than if I believe in god. People seem more willing to accept my views about god because, ultimately, I still believe in a god. But when they discover my views on prayer, that god doesn't listen to them, people seem to think of me as some kind of heretic. Why should different views on prayer ignite such hostility? Is it really that big of a deal?

Love you.
Mean it.

The Doctor Is In

Love you.
Mean it.

When Words Aren't Enough

I have always loved words. Words have this amazing power to create, to uplift, to influence, & do so much more. I have always trusted words & believed in their power. I've spent so much of my life reading words & writing words because I find such beauty in them.

I can see the beauty & potential of words. Words can change things and people in such powerful ways that it's never forgotten. Words can make people feel anger, love, joy, terror, heartache, agony, & so much more. That in itself is beautiful. It's creation & poetry & passion & freedom & life in all of their most beautiful forms. That's the power of words. That's what words can do.

I've experience the power & beauty of words on both sides, the creation & the reception of words. I write words and I receive the written words of others. But sometimes, mostly at night, words aren't enough. No mater how many read or how many I write, I still feel alone. And I feel helpless.

I try to help people feel less alone with my words. I try so hard to write words that when read will let someone know they are not alone. But sending out that message is so horribly strange sometimes, trying to comfort and assure others they are not alone when I feel so desperately alone.

And so I read. Like a madwoman in the night, I read everything and anything, searching for that other lonely writer to reassure me, tell me I'm not alone. I need to know that's true: I am not alone. And unless I can find those words, all the other words in creation will never be enough.

Love you.
Mean it.

Being a Friend or Being a Sucker

The thing is, when you come into my life & I consider you my friend, that comes with a fierce kind of loyalty from me. Friendship means a lot to me, probably more than it should. There's a cliche old adage that says friends are family you get to choose. And I guess that rings especially true for me.

The way I figure it, if you're my friend & you need my help, there's not a power on God's green Earth that's going to keep me from helping. Cause that's what being a friend means to me. It means fierce loyalty without questions. It means standing by you when everyone else is against you. It means sticking up for you & defending you, even when I know you're wrong. It means supporting every stupid or brilliant decision you ever make and loving you not matter what. It means doing everything I can to help you find happiness.

The trouble is that very few people share my same definition of friendship and, as a result, I get burned. A lot. I mean, I've been burned before. It's nothing new. But when you're burned by a person you consider a friend & they don't even realize it, that's a new level of horrible hollow pain. And that bit about them not even realizing it is true in almost every case. Most friends don't even realize when they're hurting you. For example, if a friend of mine needed to talk to me about something important, I'd drop nearly everything to be there for them. But often when I need to talk to someone, my friends are busy, distracted, or otherwise preoccupied. I check up on my friends if they are sick or depressed or whatever, just to make sure they're doing okay. They rarely check up on me.

And I know it's not their fault. Their definition of friendship is different. And that's not a bad thing. It's just different. And it's in that difference that a lot of pain for me occurs. It's like I'm always giving 100% of myself to my friendships and not receiving a whole lot back. And it really does hurt, makes me feel worthless, not good enough, and ultimately like a sucker.

Of course, the obvious thing to do is rework my definition of friendship, change it so I'm not so loyal, not so caring & supportive. But, in all honest, that's never going to happen. That's not who I am. And I'm not trying to play the martyr here (god, I hate it when people do that). But I'm not going to change my definition of friendship because nearly everyone's definition differs from mine.

Because every once in a great long while, I become friends with someone whose definition is strikingly similar to mine. And when that happens, it's one of the best things in my life.

So yes, I'm going to get burned a lot by the very people I call friends but, as so well put by Sarah Jane Smith in Doctor Who, " Some things are worth getting your heart broken for."

Love you.
Mean it.

Fence Sitting, Religion, & Cognitive Dissonance

Wolverine: Magneto's right: there is a war coming. Are you sure you're on the right side?
Storm: At least I’ve chosen a side.

-X-Men (2000) 

Sometimes the worst thing anyone can be is a fence-sitter, a person who doesn’t pick a side or worse, someone who only wants the benefits of both sides without the messiness of actually committing to one side completely.

One of the reasons I left the church was because there were parts of the religion I couldn’t agree with. These included the idea of a theistic god, the condemnation of homosexuality, and practice of confessing sins to a bishop, among others. Because I couldn’t accept parts of the religion, I couldn’t accept the religion in its entirety, neither could I claim to be a member of that religion. Yes, there are parts of the church I believe in and have incorporated into my own belief system such as brotherly kindness, charity, self-improvement. But in its entirety, the LDS religion is something I cannot accept as a whole. So I don’t. If I were to still claim to be LDS, there would be serious contradictions between things I believe to be personally true and the things that my religion say are true. Living with these contradictions, with cognitive dissonance in general, is something I cannot do no matter how hard I try. (Don’t know what cognitive dissonance is? Yes you do. You just don’t know it yet. Go here)

That’s really the way organized religions work, especially the LDS religion. To be a true member/believe, you must accept all parts of the religion. You don’t get to pick and choose depending on what’s convenient. It’s an all or nothing kind of deal. That’s one difference between the religious and the spiritual. Religious people accept ALL parts of an organized faith. Spiritual people can take parts of different faiths, religions, belief systems, etc. that they find to be true and incorporate them into their lives in order to find happiness and be better people (mind, there are plenty of other differences between religious people and spiritual people, as well as different kinds of spiritual people. This is just one example).

To claim that you’re Catholic, Baptist, Jewish, Muslim, or Mormon requires that you believe in every aspect of that religion. If you live your life in a way that is contradictory to your ascribed religion, one of two things is true: you are not active in your religious belief or you have found a way to justify your actions when they are in contradiction to your religion. Either way, you are still not being completely faithful to your religion and, therefore, are somewhat of a liar whenever you claim it as your own.

So what’s to be done? Well, that really depends on the person. I’ve said before that people need to find a way to live their lives that works for them, that brings them happiness. God knows it’s taken me so long to find my own way. Who am I to knock someone else’s way? But this whole idea of claiming to be a devout member of a religion when it’s obvious that your life is in direct contradiction to that religion just baffles me. I don’t see how it can happen, how a person can not go insane from the constant cognitive dissonance they must experience. Maybe they don’t feel that cognitive dissonance. Maybe they’re happy just the way they are, by either ignoring those feelings or finding ways to justify their actions. Just because I couldn’t stand it doesn’t mean someone else could.

I left the church because I couldn’t continue to live with the feeling that what I considered to be “truth” and what my religion said was “truth” were in contradiction. I abandoned all I had been raised with and set out to find my own truth. It’s been one of the most difficult tasks in my life. And I’m still not done. I’ve got a lot more things I’ve got to figure out. And I’m not saying that my decision to leave the church makes me better than the people who choose to stay. Again, I’m a fan of whatever makes people happy & doesn’t hurt others.

I guess I’m slowly learning that when it comes to finding happiness & truth in regards to religious beliefs, things are a lot more complicated than I initially thought.

Love you.
Mean it.

Perceptive Jerk

Yesterday, someone texted me this:

"Kelly, you're a lonely depressed girl who doesn't believe in anything and scrapes out an existence through cynicism and bluffing."

Obviously, there was a lot that lead up to this part of our texting conversation but dealt with more personal matters (especially for the other party) and therefore will remain private.

All the same, it pretty much hit the proverbial nail on the head, don't you think? I mean, it doesn't take a genius to see that I'm a "lonely depressed girl." Hell, read this or this or this and it'd be damn near impossible for you not to reach that conclusion. I openly admit that I'm lonely & depressed because it's the truth.

However, that bit about me not believing in anything is simply not true. I mean, no, I don't believe in organized religion. I don't believe in a god that gives a shit about us. I don't believe in fate. And yes, life has turned me into a rather cynical person. But that doesn't mean I don't believe in anything.

I believe in myself, that I can do anything I set my mind to & that I'm a lot stronger than I realize.
I believe in Augustus Johnson, that he will always be there for me & only wants me to be happy.
I believe in the power of words and their ability to create change.
I believe in luck.
I believe that life is plenty shitty enough without people making things worse.
I believe that we need to help make other people's lives less shitty, or at the very least, not make things any worse for them.
I believe in truth, honesty, and in doing what is right.
I believe in being fiercely loyal to my friends.

And I know that most of the bluffing I do is trying to convince myself that things will get better, that one day I will be happy again. Yes, it may be a lie but it's a lie worth believing.

And yes, I am cynical. I am lonely & depressed. But never think that I don't believe in something.

If I didn't believe in something,  I wouldn't still be here, "scraping out an existence."
That's a goddamn promise.

Love you.
Mean it.

Why I Love Augustus Johnson: A Texting Conversation.

Kelly: So I’m working on an article about the different women’s roller derby leagues in Utah. It’s shaping up to be a cool piece with scandal, corruption, betrayal, etc.

Gus: Any sex appeal?

Kelly: If you like empowered women who look somewhat like Slavic gymnasts who could kick your ass, then yes. Lots.

Gus: Empowered women? Slavic I could deal with. Violent, meh. But empowered? That’s taking it one step too far. I prefer my women well subjugated.

Kelly: Remind me to punch you in the neck next time I see you.

Gus: Ahhh! They’re rubbing off on you! Quick! Read some BoM! Do some dishes! Put on a 50s outfit. This calls for desperate measures.

Kelly: Hahahaha. I used to have a very sexy 50s dress but it got lost in the move, along with three other very sexy dresses.

Gus: Hmmm...A sexy 50s dress? Good...Objectification is a step in the right direction. Empowered women... *Shudder*

Kelly: *Neck punch via text!*

Gus: Ouch! You know, I’m glad you’re my friend. I’m glad we talk. ... Even if you aren’t the perfect picture of feminine subservience.

Kelly: I’m glad you’re my friend & we talk too, even though you’re an effeminate chauvinist.

Gus: Effeminate? WTF? Me? I’m the quintessential model of machismo and masculinity. Dangerous. Intimidating. Dripping with testosterone. *Strikes manly pose.*

Kelly: Let’s face it, honey. If you’re macho manly, then I’m dainty, delicate, submissive, and stupid.

Gus: Hey! I’m manly! What are you implying, Miss Cannon? Just cause I occasionally indulge in breaking gender boundaries doesn’t mean I can’t be macho too. *pout*

Kelly: Manly men don’t pout. Point Kelly.

Gus: Uh... I meant to write... *Punt!* Like football. Manly men, uh, play football.

Kelly: Kelly: 1 Gus: 0

Love you.

Mean it. 

Write Me a Tragedy

Love you.
Mean it.

Key to Insanity

Goddamnit, I hate the weekend.

I know. There's something wrong with me if I hate the weekend. Everybody loves the weekend. It's a chance to go out and party it up. It's a chance to get caught up on all the things you kept putting off all week. It's a chance to sleep in or watch all your tivo'ed shows.

If my weekends were like that, then, yeah, I'd like them too. Hell, you'd be stupid not to like the weekend if that's what they consisted of.

But that's never my weekend.

My weekend is two days of being stuck with myself. I mean, when I'm at school or work or in the Newsroom, I have things to do, people to talk to, tasks to accomplish. It gives me purpose. It gives me a sense of belonging. But more than anything, it gives me something for my mind to focus on. But take all those things away, and all I'm left with is my thoughts.

You want to know how to go insane? It's easy. Just get a mind that is constantly infected with thoughts of isolation & loneliness, of anger & hostility. And then make it so you can't escape. Become afraid of your own mind. That's the key to insanity.

And I have that for two days every week.

Love you.
Mean it.

A Prayer to Myself & the Universe (And God, If He Cares Enough to Listen)

May the bridges I burn light my way.
Wherever I go, may I never be too far from friends.
May my curiosity never be satiated & my wanderlust never satisfied.
May I never be content to sit on the sidelines or on the fence.
May I always try to understand before I hate and help before I hurt.
Help me find a place I can call home & people I can call family.

May I always choose what is right over what is easy.

May I never hurt so much I forget to laugh.
Help me save my tears for when they're needed.
May I never be afraid of new things.
Never let me lose my desire to change.
May I always find my way to forgiveness.
And whenever I sleep, may I always dream of better things.

Amen.

Tell Me a Secret Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Love you.
Mean it.

Alone

"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym."

-Stephen King

I've been watching a lot of Doctor Who lately. It's a great show. In a single episode, I have cried, laughed, worried, and cheered. If a show can make you do all of that in just 42 minutes, that's damn fine television. 

One thing that's kind of like a theme throughout the show is the idea of being alone. The Doctor is the last of his kind, the last of the Time Lords. He watched his planet and all of his people burn. Now it's just him, traveling through space and time alone. Yes, he picks up companions that travel with him but they all go. Rose, Martha, Sarah Jane, they all have to leave him. He doesn't want to be alone. But in the end, he is. There's such tragedy and anguish in the Doctor because he knows he is alone. It breaks my heart every time I watch it. 

The funny thing is I've been watching so much Doctor Who lately because I am alone. School's done for now and the Review staff doesn't meet very regularly anymore. I've tried to get together with some friends but the truth of the matter is I don't have many here, close ones anyway. And when you only have maybe three or four chances of going out and doing something, chances are they are already busy with something. And I don't blame them. They're living their lives. How could I be mad about that? Just leaves me alone a lot. 

I mean, I am trying to get used to the idea, of being alone. But I don't think I ever will. And, quite honestly, I don't think I want to. Even though it hurts worse than anything I've ever experienced, even though it leaves me wanting to cry, even though I know I can't take it much longer, I never want to get used to it. I don't care if the pain, the despair, the depression would go away if I did. It's not worth it. 

And yes, being alone is the worst thing in existence. But going through all that pain is worth it when you find someone and you aren't alone anymore. Having someone with you, someone to not only listen to you and talk to, but just to do things with, to help give your days purpose, there's nothing better in the universe. I should know. Cause right now all I've got are memories of times when I wasn't alone. They're some of the sweetest memories I have. And I know that it'll happen again. And I know it's against my nature to be optimistic. I'm more inclined to cynicism. But if there's one thing I hope for, that I believe in, it's that I'm not going to be alone forever. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Melanoma Awareness Month: I've Been Lucky

I've been lucky. I've had 6 moles removed and only 2 of them were cancerous. And they were the kind you could just "cut out" and be fine. Skin cancer runs rampant in my family so we were raised to be hyper-vigilent. We'd have yearly check ups with our dermatologist. We had a record of all the moles on our bodies. We check to see if they changed shape, color, or size. My mom would slather us with sunscreen anytime we were going to be outside for long periods of time. I always thought it was super annoying since I'm already a very fair girl. I was never going to get that "bronze babe" look if I wore sunscreen.

I've been really lucky. I've had some nasty sunburns in my time. But I learned young enough the dangers of getting sunburned, especially with my lousy family history. Me trying to get that perfect summer glow could result in something dangerous or even deadly. And, frankly, I just don't care enough to risk it. So yeah, I could be considered ghostly pale by pretty much everyone. But I'd rather be ghostly pale than a ghost.

I've been lucky. I've lived my whole life knowing about skin cancer and knowing what to look for. Others aren't so lucky. So please, if you're reading this, get to know your skin. Lock yourself in the bathroom, strip down and look at your skin. Check your back in the mirror. Check the back of your neck. Write down any and all moles, their size, shape, and color. Get dressed and have a friend or family member check for moles around your hairline or in your hair itself (you can get them there. I had one for years that looked like a Mickey Mouse icon.) Write them all down. Date that piece of paper and keep it safe. Recheck yourself every month. It seriously takes 10 minutes. That's less time than it takes to check your email, Facebook, blogs, etc.

If you find any moles that are asymmetrical (meaning they're not perfectly round), that are an unusual color or multi-colored, that are raised up from the rest of your skin, are larger than normal, or just don't look right, go to a doctor and have him check them out. I know it's a pain in the ass. But would you rather find out too late?

Be careful out there, friends. I've been lucky, yes. But some of you may not be so.

Love you.
Mean it.

#18: What was the best day of your life?

October 16th, 2010.

I was at my friend Jon's apartment. He and I were siting in the living room, along with his brother, Michael, and his two other roommates, Martin & Justin. We weren't doing anything, really. We may have watched a movie earlier but the t.v. was off now. We were just talking. I don't even really remember about what but I remember that it was more personal than any previous conversations we had ever had (meaning, that all five of us had had together. Jon and I had talked personally before but only when it was just us two).

I remember being really comfortable, relaxed. There was this feeling of security that I hadn't felt in a long time. And then it hit me. It was the same feeling I used to get when I'd hang out with everyone at Sean's house back in Cedar City, that sense of trust and belonging, I never realized how much I missed it. I honestly thought I'd never feel that way again, I'd never feel like I belonged. And there I was, feeling like was finally home.

It was the best day of my life because I knew I was going to be okay. Even though I had lost everything when I moved back home, there was a good chance I could find it again.

Love you.
Mean it.

This Isn't Fate

[This is the finished product that was started back in November. You can read that part here.]

No, I don’t believe in fate.

The idea that I’m not in control of my life is unsettling so I choose not to believe it.

Some people believe that everything happens for a reason, that whatever happened was meant to happen. I think that is bullshit. There are too many variables in life for everything to have a reason for happening. Sometimes stuff happens for no goddamn good reason.

There was this one summer night years ago in Provo. It was the first time I was ever really bold. My two friends and I went to see my one friend’s brother’s band play at a local eatery. The guitarist was cute and I was feeling invincible. I took out a business card I had made one night when I was bored. I wrote the guitarist’s name and then something clever on the back and dropped it in the open guitar case with a few bucks. Then I walked out as cool as I could.

He called me later that night. We had a nice talk. My phone got crappy service in my bedroom so I wandered outside in my front yard. We talked and got to know each other. We found out he had graduated with my brother and he pretty much hated his guts. We bonded over those mutual feelings. He asked me out and we planned on that Friday.

It wasn’t the worst date in my life. That honor goes to a blind date who got arrested for fighting in a parking lot at Trafalga. But it was still rather lousy. I mean, the date was fine but he took me home 40 minutes after he picked me up. He made some bullshit excuse about having to work early the next morning. I never heard from him again. I felt stupid and insecure. He couldn’t even last an hour before he lost interest in me. I quickly tried to forget that night and for a few years, I succeeded.

Flash forward a few years. I am again living in Provo after going to school in Cedar City for about four years. I am confident, independent, and completely depressed. I was having a rough go at finding my place in Provo. But I started writing for the Review, a choice that might have saved my life in the long run. My editor was a nice attractive guy. One day, in the halls of the LA building, we stood chatting about how small the world is in Utah County. We discovered we both went to Timpview High. When he said what year he graduated, I said my brother graduated that year. He asked my brother’s name and I told him. Suddenly, we exchanged looks of recognition. This was him, the guy whom I tried so hard to forget, the guy who had embarrassed me with a 40 minute date. We both knew who each other were and there was no going back. After what seemed like forever, he finally said, “I know you.” I said something back, but what it was is forgotten. I made an excuse to leave and did so quickly.

Why did it have to be him? Of all the people that I could have been forced to reconnect with, why him? Just thinking back to that stupid night years previously made me feel stupid, depressed, insignificant, insecure, and lonely all over again. Why did I have to re-meet him? He could have stayed just an unpleasant memory and never thought of again.


No, I don’t believe in fate.
But sometimes, I think God can be an asshole.

Love you.
Mean it.

Wishful Thinking

Last night I had a dream
where all the people of my past came together
to wish me well.
I walked into a room of memories
and was greeted by smiles and winks.
I ran to old friends,
we hugged and cried,
just so happy to see each other again.
And not a single smile was insincere
and nobody looked at their watch
hoping they could sneak out the back.
And for once, my past & my memories
wanted me to move on and be happy.
And then I woke up.

Don't Have Much Time

If I'm noticed only when I talk,
I'm going to keep silent for awhile.
Cause, yeah, everyone wants connection
but I'm done feeling like you're doing me a favor.

And don't go telling me that biting my nails is a bad habit
after you finish a long pull on your Malboro

Cause we don't have much time in this stupid little room
on this stupid little planet.
And I may not know what's coming next
but it might not be better
than what we have now.