I find myself in a new city, new surroundings, with equally new people... but just as soon as it shined, it dulls and my old ways come back again, like a bird that doesn't know what freedom is. I neither welcome my old self, nor do I fight her. I generally sit and have a drink with her, we don't compare scars...there is no need...

no, we don't talk at all, we just fold our hands across our laps and sigh. I often wonder why people work so hard to break in shoes, because once they fit just right, there's no going back.... they're good for about another week until they really start to ware...until they rip, or scuff, or just don't polish up so pretty anymore. . . so you just wear them on the weekends and go fishing for some new ones, and they're pretty & swade and they button up the side...

but i'm your favorite old pair of shoes....right?

I can't watch the end of movies. I don't read the end of novels. I'll even turn my head away as to not hear the "punchline" of a good joke, witty anecdote, or story, despite how funny or commemorative it may be.

I can't sit through much. My dreams are seldom completed....or even realized.

I live in "almosts..."

I love in almosts...

as soon as it gets good. i leave. with everything unended.

maybe it's to preserve something. maybe it's to protect someone.

maybe i should just appreciate what i can and DO finish.

So

I'll keep smoking until the skin around my fingers burn. & drink just so long as there's something left in that bottle of Ron Castillo....

lesson in lonliness

It's hard for me to not talk to some people. it's hard for me to not pick up the phone and call the people/person who usually occupy(ies) my mind.

it used to be different. i had no desire to talk and tell, i never really liked to "listen."

But that changed, and has been changed for a while now. now i miss "people" too much.

now it's hard to "cope."

Now, i care.

But at the same time, i realize there's really nothing i can do about it.

i'm not there...and they, are not here.

Sometimes, i wish i could wake up to yesterday. Sometimes, i wish i could wake up with you here in my tomorrow.

Sometimes, i wish i didn't wake up at all.

life doesn't start in july.

life doesn't start when you were born, or when you realize you're to die.

i'm not really sure life begins, or ends, at all.

but i am sure that it moves.

the people and places in it move,

or maybe you move from them.

but yet, the present never really seems to take pity on the past.

or maybe it does. i don't know.

i am not really sure what i'm planning on doing. i have no resonation of the things, and people i am sure to miss....or any want of the future that is bound to make it better...and be however "bright."

all i really know, is that i am leaving.

and soon.

for a place far from here.

for a place far enough for you not to see my shadow on your doorstep.

for a place that may, or may not be "home."

but i am taking notes.

maybe to bring about some sort of closeness....maybe for you..

or maybe more

for myself.

Recently i realized just how many stories i have, and how many i will have.

so, here is where i will tell them.

to you.

to everyone who cares to read. to listen with their eyes, to laugh.

to everyone who cares, in general.

and for everyone who doesn't.

here is where i will track my weekly existence in words, pictures, in notes of my "present."

but, also...most likely, the "past..."

because my life didn't start in july.

Good Deeds

I walked to the nearest 711 last night to buy some cigarettes. I'd been having a bad day at work & was exhausted. It was 30 degrees and the relentless Chicago wind attacked me dead on. I entered said store, showed my ID to the cashier and walked out with a pack of spirits and a chill on my shoulders. The wind blew harder, I walked faster. I ducked in a corner space of a nearby building to light my cigarette. Two attempts; not bad. I'm asthmatic. Been asthmatic my whole life, i never "grew out of it." A few years back my mom found cigarettes in my purse. We sat at opposite ends of the living room. That was the first time i'd ever seen my mom more disappointed in me than angry. There were yells through tearing eyes; there were repercussions. I promised her i'd never smoke again. I kept that promise for a long while. I'm not a smoker, at least, not anymore. But on bad days I find my self reaching for a lighter and inhaling, just as I did on that day. The wind blew harder, I walked faster. I walked so fast that my wallet must've slipped out of my back pocket. When I got to my place I realized I didn't have my keycard. I freaked. It's a common situation, sure...but losing a wallet is like losing your identity, an aspect of your life, and more than just a small hassle. I felt irresponsible and panicked. I walked back to where i'd been  searching for it, digging the streets with my eyes. It got darker. I called my roommate. I returned  home cold & defeated. The commercials on TV mocked me with their anti-tabacco ads: "smoking isn't cool. smoking smells. smoking kills." I get it. I shouldn't smoke. Thank you cosmic universe. I fell into bed and slept.

This morning I got a call from the Chicago Police Department three blocks away saying some lady had turned in my wallet. I went down there after work. Everything was still intact. EVERYTHING. I had this rush of complete relief. It's nice to know that there are still good people out there; it's nice to know that I was indirectly faced with one of them. I took this as a sign, and I'm going to bum the rest of that pack off.

Thank god for good deeds. 

Doubt/ Prelude to Pennsylvania

I'm in my school's library looking out the window, watching people washing in & out through the doors like waves upon the seaside. I recall my daily train rides high above the city, my eyes bound to streets so filled that they begin to look like living a living type of concrete, instrumental & alive, while the sound of humanity reeks through double-pained windows.

When I first moved here, I would sit in amazement of it all: the music, the pace, the people with their noisy boots & finely pressed black business suits. The wind would sweep through the inner workings of the city as it blew stark. cold & splendid, winding its way through alleys and bouncing off buildings. If you listened you could hear saxophones breathing their way out of the downtown subway stations. Silence never fell upon glorious Chicago---once a living entity full of hope for wily possibilities. But now heavy dreams fall empty & dead across my chest like shadows against the sun.

Everyday here had been lather, rinse, repeat. Becca and I would go over to Wicker Park, in Chicago. We had friends that lived above the 'Easy' bar. Rain, sleet, snow, shine, we were there. Countless, sleepless nights were spent in that living room. We watched shows like 'Willow' & 'Labyrinth,' and never ceased to invest ourselves in intelligent conversations about certain non-existent presidents of Hawaii, which would inevitably all end up with us bawling our eyes out in a chest full of laughter. We "lived" there, literally. We were the dream team, the Witch's of Eastwick, and the members of the First Wives Club, due to the varying colors of each of our hair.

Life was good; we were a small family, and we loved each other.

But within a week, both our friends had split up and moved out. Chels moved back to her hometown of Pittsburgh, PA, while her now-ex, Ryan moved to Florida to further his bmx career.

Our small family dissipated within two small days. & although the memories will stay, it left me wanting, needing more out of the city, needing a small salvation that I know I'll find somewhere, someday....perhaps out of the blue.

In the meantime, this is where I'll post my everyday adventures (exciting or otherwise.)

April Showers

Today is Earth Day, it also happens to be one of the rainiest days in Chicago so far. I honestly haven't been posting because I haven't had much to post about. There's that usual senseless rambling my head goes through sure, but nothing more valuable than that. Today I woke up, walked my roommate to the train station, and walked around the city with a couple of friends. It's amazing how time is shown most through reflections, memories that lay waste until your eyes catch on something familiar, until your nose picks up on the smell of that old perfume. My life is filled with nothing right now but flooded sidewalks, and intimate strangers. I don't know where to pick up. Or maybe I just forgot how to remember.