Flip A Switch?

Letting something go should be as easy as flipping a switch, but it isn't. Neither is trusting, believing nor hoping. But we should all do so. I should've been less defensive, but I wasn't—but that's my personality. True. Lately, things have surfaced in ugly and unexpected ways, like a cancer—not the Zodiac, because Cancer's are alright. Wink.

What's thoroughly interesting, though, is that those who most think others should "let go" and easily so, are the ones causing the scenarios to be let go of. Or, they're the ones observing and not quite understanding what's going on.

Note: when God tells you to let something be, just do it. Nike.

Tenderized Me

I'm as tender as a peeled grape. I'm broken. This campus has finally gotten to me and I have snapped. The caged animal mentality has passed, lashing out is no more for I am now as a kitten rolled over on my back in vile submission to the dog that is the world. That was quite possibly the worst sentence/comparison I have ever written. I'm with it enough to recognize that, a step in the right direction.

No jazz for me tonight. Not even with the bribe of martinis. I can't hold it together around people. There is a sense of calm associated with losing it, though, I can stop fighting my emotions now. It's like the day after the election, when we're just all glad it's over. Now to rebuild the country within me. My writing improves.

Playing my cello is the only thing I seem to want to do. Tonight I ate an actual meal though, no more oranges for dinner. I need sustenance. The scriptures and cello feed my soul only I can feed my cells.

I Can't Ignore How Similar Loneliness and Hunger Are

I can't ignore how similar loneliness and hunger are.

Loneliness for an introvert is unbearable. As unbearable as the broiler setting would be to an ice cube—a different environment. I used to think of "keeping my sense of humor" as a strength. It's not, at least, not anymore. It's a mask—a shroud. Why cant I cry? Because I laugh, often maniacally. Now I find myself weeping on a "Sunsational" Saturday morning, I've lost the humor. I'm so Goddamn lonely and can't do a thing about it. So, let my hair down and go on and cry? OK. Check.

What does it solve, nothing. What does sleeping solve? Nothing. WHy sleep when you can worry? Worrying is, by nature, selfish, though, for we should trust God in all we do. Do you know how hard that is? What will become of me in life? What the hell have I done besides mess up after mess up? I don't even have a friend I could call right now. Not that I'm the "call you crying" type. No, which is why men love me. That, and my wit.

But wit is but a feather in my mask. I use it when I flirt and become vulnerable. I use it when I feel sad or * gasp * lonely. I use it when I'm nervous. One hell of a defense mechanism, don't you think? Reaction formation? I become witty when I come unglued, for wit is tight, calm, cool togetherness. I use it when I write these stupid blogs to keep from being "too emotional" or complaining. I hate complainers, but I hate false people even more-so.

Don't be fooled by my calm visage—I've been false. I've been hiding.

I hide behind the "I hate people" image, so many "friends" think I actually subscribe to, I don't hate people and I am not socially inept. I find most people iritating and FALSE. I want real, lasting, truthful realationships, but I do not find them. Howcan I be so open when I seek and do not find? Tell me, my extroverted social geniuses. Tell me.

I do not have a need to please everyone, or to have everyone accept me, but to paint me as "anti-social" or "depressed" or whatever, is just plain wrong. I hate it. I don't care if you like me, but please don't think that, anything but that. Children are the same story, I do not want them, and no it won't change when I have my own, because I'm not going to. Blah blah blah. I do not like them. Do I hate them, no. Do I hate anyone? No.

I just want to rest. I want to go home, but even home isn't really home anymore.

Poetry > Rage

It took me a while to channel my rage into poetry, it helps that the Writing Competition due date is tomorrow. Here goes...

“Coward”
By: N. Myrick

I simply shake my head at you —
sifting Voltaire,
and off of your Vanity,
peeling layer
after odious layer.

Noxious waves flow —
from your deceitful hole.
Your Silver tongue spews,
blames and excuses.
It penetrates my nostrils, ears and bones.

So flee, coward, to your layer —
stew in blackest dank and putrescence.
And concerning wrath and ware,
you’ll be in my prayers.
Your heart so full of fear.

And for the ex-wife, of course...

“An A Flat Major Kind of Day”
By: N. Myrick

It’s an A Flat Major kind of day.
The landscape entombed by apathetic snow.
Frost fills the inside of my small vessel.
As an already dank morning sits on my head,
sinking claws of still dissipating wine into my scalp.
All fibers forebode betrayal—my unconscious stirs.

My head swims as I re-enter our happy home,
And there you sit, perched frozen in icy guilt.
Barely look at me — go ahead and
pull the strings of your puppet dad—
or the boyfriend figure with dumb beady eyes.
Do I not look surprised?

It’s an A flat major kind of day.
An ugly key in which we play.
Beautiful, sorrowful, though,
sharp tones and major falls paint our trials,
with indubitable plotted perfection.
Marks the beginning of downward progression.

Returned again upon sunlit afternoon reeling ambushed rejection,
steamy eyes, searching for a couch on which to cry.
But the floors are as barren, as your heart is for me.
Upon discovery, you both emerge and smile audaciously.
Nodding in repugnant realization I exit,
the human fiends — leaving them to dragonish subsistence.

The Montana Difference

Just taking a break from trying to sunburn the back of myself to match. Re-reading—for the 15th time—Nicholas Evans, The Horse Whisperer, and finding myself tearing. Or maybe that's sweat. It is HOT out. 72 already and we've got another two hours of heating and 3 inches of snow on the way. See for yourself. Behold, the Montana Difference.

My Burn Burns

By 1030 this morning, it was 65 degrees outside and I do believe it was still 70 at 1800. Needless to say, I spent all afternoon reading outside and ultimately, sun-burning. A lot. I beat last years record of April 1st, though, I just didn't think I'd burn this badly. And people wonder why i always have aloe at the ready. But alas, the warm wind blowing through my toes and the wispy white clouds sifting in and out of cerulean blue sky, made it well worth the burn.

I've been playing cello everyday for a while now, sometimes in the music building, sometimes not. I'm actually improving even if I'm just dinking around. I also have a feeling my legs will soon match the stain of the wood. Oh well, it's supposed to snow on Friday—such is life here in Montana.

That's all I've got. I'm going to go slather myself with aloe now.

If Someone Asks if You Want a Fork, Say Yes.

Today started well enough, I awoke at 0730 with a small jazz hangover. (Win). I did my laundry, had some cookies, you know the usual Monday. Right? WRONG. It all started at Verizon Wireless...

"My phone broke, again—it won't charge."
"Oh, weird, says you just got one 4 weeks ago."
"I know, it broke again."
"Well this is getting expensive for us, you should bring in your charger and we'll replace it. I can ship you a new phone by THursday."
"Cool, thanks."

Then David's Bridal...

"Hello, I recieved an e-mail notification that my order came in."
"What's the brides name?"
"Magnuson."
"How do you spell that?"
"Umm... m-a-g-n-u-s-o-n."
"Are you the bride?"
"No, but thanks."
"And what's your name?"
"Naomi.—N-a-o-m-i."
"Hmm, ok, let me go grab that."

5 minutes later...

"What's the last name?"
"Myrick."

Three Minutes later

"Huh."

2 Minutes later

"Oh, the sash is in, not the dress."
"Ok, well can i come back when the dress is here, too?"
"Yes, it says it's on the truck."
"I'll just come back, thank you."

On my way home, I decided to get a small deli salad, to celebrate the onslaught of summer, so I stopped at Albertson's on 24th and Central.

"May I please have a small Ceazer Salad?"
"Would you like a fork?"
"No thanks, I'm on my way home."

At the register...

"You know we have forks, don't you? You want one?"
"No thanks, I'm like two minutes from home."

So, I get to the car, and it won't start. Naturally, I walked back into Albertson's and asked for a fork and ate my salad. Two hours and three phone calls later, Hans, had joined me to wait for the tow truck and in leu of paper, I had scrawled Montana AAA's number on my knee.

"Why do you have a car and driver magazine?"
"I like to look at the pictures."

Around 1440 the tow truck shows up, the driver stays on his cell phone all the while chaining my car to the truck. He ends his call, looks me up and down (yes I know I look like Ford Focus Barbie) and asks what's wrong.

"Like I know, man—it won't start and that's enough information for me. "

Thundytoes was then towed to Pro-Tech, where Hans and I waited another good 15 min. until we finally procured a clueless mechanic from the garage.

"Hi, I'm Naomi, I got the Focus, I called earlier, I've brought my car here via tow-truck because it won't start."
"SO, you're bringing in a car?"
"Yeah, I just did."
"Oh, well it's here then?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It won't start."
"Huh, well here write down your information."

He says, handing me the peice of paper that Rick already wrote my info on.

"This IS my information."
"Oh, so, what happened to your car?"
"It will turn over, but won't start, it seems like the fuel injector is dying."
"Ok, give me the key."
"Here."
"When do you think you'll have an assessment?"
"Probably won't even look at her til' tomorrow."

Exit Naomi and Hans.

SO, if someone asks if you want a fork, say yes, it's likely they know something that you don't.

Where's An Orca When You Need One?

MY neighbor, "The Party," is really getting out of hand with consistent parties that begin at 1am and end around 5am. I'm tempted to ducktape a small stuffed animal whale to his door with a note that says, "you've been warned."

OK, that was insensitive, it's tragic, blah blah blah. Whales are evil etc. But seriously, what did they think was going to happen? A whale is a 12 ton beast, void of sentience. I doubt that it was a Murder One deal. Shamoo (or whatever its name is) did not spend the last 16 years, swimming around plotting to kill his trainer. He didn't wake up and say, "Today's the day!" No, that's crazy. And if he did, i am staying far away from the ocean.

Zoos are really depressing. As you've probably surmised from my previous post, I'm not about to join PETA or anything. All I'm saying is that animals are beats, and retain their wildness and wiliness. We hold only a sense of control over them, this is most simply evidenced by the fact that we have to cage them for our own entertainment. We market this watered-down version of nature and ultimately limit the creatures and it pisses me off.

This could easily segway into something about Lent and being captive to fructose corn syrup, or segway into marketing murder pills (Plan B) the same way we cage and market animals. Don't worry, it won't. :)

Last night at Jazz, a good friend of mine presented a spot on and painfully accurate assessment of me—I don't like to lose. I've been awake since 6 am struggling with what he said, "I think, you just don't like to lose." His words were simple, but the thought was profound. When did I become so vain—so despicably vain! I am most disgusted with myself. All morning I've been trying to "win" and talk myself out of this.

I feel as if I should've curtailed this long ago. What is ethical about wanting to win all the time? Winning at the expense of others? Winning at the expense of friends? There is nothing morally obligatory or permissible about that mentality. Who am I to want to win, to deserve to win? Wining only enforces my vanity. This is where my tendency to fight rages out of control.

I've always been a proponent of not necessarily caring if I win or lose—at least rationally—because I'd rather be right. Although, my behavior does not always reflect this.

I think having a competitive nature is a survival skill, but a skill on which I often rely too heavily. Maybe I should've given up vanity and not vengeance for Lent. I need an orca to kill my vanity.

So, where is an orca when you need one?