the letter

My mom and I have a less than perfect relationship. Last night I decided to write a small story to for her. I thought I would share it, in hope for some feed back, since I'm a pussy and I don't know if I want to give it to her yet or not...
I call it, To her...

I look closely in the mirror, squinting at myself. My eyes are a deep green, but they still had a slight glimmer in them. I stand there searching, almost longing to see something that isn’t there. I smooth back my hair, like a mother does with a small child. After a while I get frustrated of looking and just stare into my own eyes. I think back to what my grandmother said sometime ago. “You know you look just like your mother,” she stated. I remember glaring at her in disbelief. My mother just laughed from the other room. “She has so much more of her father in her, than she does of me,” she said stopping any debate on the subject. I guess I couldn’t argue with her on that. Every time I gazed at myself I couldn’t help but to agree with this statement. I honestly couldn’t see any resemblance between us. As much as I tried, I couldn’t. As many days, even months I had done this I still didn’t see it. Part of me was saddened by this, almost broken. She was my mom; I was supposed to at least kind of resemble her. Yet, I felt like I looked nothing like her. I let a tear slip slowly down my cheek. I furrowed my eyebrows in frustration and lay down in my bed. I pick up one of the scrapbooks she made me years earlier, smoothing my hand over the cover. The girl I use to be seems so much more hopeful then I ever remember being. I always remember being so dreadfully shy. I would hide behind adults, to afraid of the world around me. She would always get upset and push me out from behind her, telling me to go and play. She would tell me not to be afraid of all of this. Yet, I would always wend up slinking back. I laugh a little to myself thinking about how different I am now. Thinking about how head strong, stubborn and outgoing I have become. Even though to this day I still crave her attention and approval. I think about the long hard days I’ve had to force myself through. How they have caused bags to form under my eyes. The soft lines on my face from constant state of worry I am always in. Sometimes I wonder if she even thinks about me here. I wonder if she’ll ever know how much I’ve had to go through. I wonder if she’ll ever really know me or if I’ll ever really know her. Sometimes I feel like I know nothing about her. I know the simple things. The general childhood stories and heart breaks she once had. I remember the way she was when it was just her and me. I know her eyes to a tee. I know how they become a rich, dark brown when she is upset or angry. When she’s happy, they have almost a glitter effect from the golden flecks scattered in them. What I don’t know a lot of it the person she is now. I don’t know how she feels, who she is beyond being a mother or how she thinks. I don’t even know her favorite color or food. I know that this is my fault; I pushed her away after I moved. I feel like I pushed her so far away that I don’t even really know her anymore. Sometimes I wonder why I pushed so hard to be independent. The whole time I wanted to hide behind her, knowing that she’d just push me back out like she use to do when I was a child. I wanted so much for her to love me. I didn’t even realize that by pushing her away I was slowly loosing her. She was even loosing me. Everything she once knew about me had changed, as well as everything I had known of her. I’ve heard that you can never really know someone. Part of me just wishes this wasn’t true with her. As I flip through pages of birthdays and endless holidays I linger on one page. My breath ceases for just a second as I glare at a picture of her from years ago when I was young. The picture is simple and candid. She’s just standing there at an angle looking off at someone outside of the picture. She looks seemingly unaware of her surroundings or of any picture being taken. Her hand is in her back pocket. She is wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts, showing her tan skin. Her short hair looked tousled, as if blown from the wind. The brown curls seemed to form perfect ringlets. She has a genuine smile on her face. The thing that seems to entrance me is that she is glowing. I remember her smile so fondly. Her happiness would radiate onto you. She is so beautiful when she is truly happy. She honestly brightens up the room. I have heard the same compliments from people. It clicks with me that this is what I got from her. It’s the thing that makes her part of me. I want so badly to call her and tell her as ridiculous as that sounds. I ponder what it would feel like if she knew my joy right now. If she would feel the same way I do. I wonder from time to time what it would feel like if she never knew how much I truly loved her. If she knew that every time I clawed my way back up from the bottom that I was doing it for her too. That I was trying to prove that not only could I do it, but that she was a good mother as well. That she had raised me right and I was happy she was my mom. I hope that I can be as strong as a woman as she is and even close to as good as a mother one day. I wanted her to know she could be proud of herself for everything she has done. One day she could even be proud of me for all that I have accomplished, even though I make mistakes. Knowing that I had accomplished all of this not out of vain reasoning, but to show and prove to her how much I loved her.

Ramblings...

God, I have no clue where to go with that story so I will pause it for now, since the more I read it the more it sounds like every other story I've ever read. I hate that, honestly. That's why I would never be able to write a god damn book! My thoughts always start off so strong and then they completely blur the longer it goes on. My head aches today and my eyes are blood shot. I think I got about 4 hours of sleep last night. Thoughts are still trying to form in my head and lunch time is almost here. The sad break in my day where I don't have to do anything at all.
Yes, I'm bitching, I know this.
Seems to be a trend lately. I've been angry, and more cyncial than usual. I feel like there is a fire burning inside of me that's ready to explode.
Wouldn't that be fun! If only I had the power to form fire balls to throw at people!
I'll stop now... I know my ranting isn't helping anyone...

The night begins

She walked in, everyone seemingly didn't notice her arrival. They were standing in clusters. Most of them in their usual groups. She wasn't trying to make a grand entrance of anything, she was just hoping that she would at least be acknowledged. She skimmed her way on the outward corners of the restaurant, ending up at the table full of drinks. That's when she felt the stare of someone else, glancing over she saw him. He had invited her to lunch before. She remembered peering over her stacks of paperwork to say she was too busy. He was the usual deadly combination of tall, dark and handsome. He has been working here for five years, the top of his class and the top of the firm. His interest in her had not been anything in her mind. He could get anyone he wanted. Not many girls would turn down a date with such a man. The good looking, rich one are usually a hard find. She giggled to herself at the pure thought that he was even looking at her. "Nice of you to leave the stacks of paperwork and come mingle with us humans," he said with a small smile on his face. "I could say the same but you seem to somehow have all the time in the world to be social,"she said back. She grabbed her drink and headed back to a table close to the back. He followed her, seemingly to her surprise. Something in her didn't understand why he'd be interested in her besides the pure fact that she had always been to busy for him before. She smiled to herself as the talked the usual small talk and glasses of wine went down like water. Part of her was more than amused by this new found attention. A slow song came on overhead and they danced quietly through the rest of the night. Unaware of what would happen next.
To be continued....

The night (my lovely stab at fictional writing)

The night has just started and to her surprise it was much warmer than she had anticipated. Remembering that she needed to get ready quickly, she headed to the bathroom of her one bedroom apartment. She glances up at the figure in front of her. Without a thought, she looks away and then looks back. The person looking back at her looks slightly familiar. Her skin pure white, not ghastly pale but enough to show the lack of sun. Her hair tumbled down over her shoulders, slightly grazing her chest. It was a deep mix of reds, blazes of blond delicately swooped through it. In the light it almost looked like the campfires she so fondly remembers from her youth. There was still a small glow in her blue eyes. Something in them seemed darker than she remembered, almost dead. Her hand smoothly fidgets with her hair, the way a mother does with a small child. The figure mimics her. Delicate lines started to form on once smooth skin, from age and suffering. She grimaces at the thought of being old. A gasp protrudes from her mouth as she realizes the figure is none other than herself.
Had it really been that long since she noticed her own reflection? Locked up here in this world of adulthood and responsibility, too busy to even acknowledge her own existence. She had been so busy with work, locking her self away in her office, for the past few months. Striving so hard to show them that she was more than they thought, more than what everyone thought. Too busy for romantic encounters, hell too busy for lunch some days. She gathers her hair up and ties it back as she always does. Noticing the fine details of herself that she had ignored for what seems like so long. The graceful, feminine features she had gotten from her mother. She took a breath and took it all in. Everything from her wondrous eyes that still sparkled as they did in her youth to the long, breathtaking legs she stood so proudly with. She glanced over remembering this was the first outing she would actually attend in a long time. Some dinner for the place she worked. She had been so busy these past few months to even say hello to some of the people there, and had even questioned going. Her secretary said it would be good for her to be social, joking that people would start calling her 'the vampire' if she didn't come out of the hole she lived in. She grimaced at the thought of this.
Her work attire seemed to conservative for a dinner event. Hell, it made her look twice her age. I am still in my twenties, she thought, I should at least look like it! She grazed through her closet, and gasped in despair. It seemed childish to say there was nothing there around the sea of blacks and white, but it seemed that way in her head. Then it appeared out of nowhere, a pale green dress. She immediately ripped of the clothes she was wearing and threw it on. It still fit like a dream. It had a slight, metallic glow when the light hit it. The hem brazenly hitting her slightly above the knee. The details of lace and burst of pink stitching flowed so nicely. She had known it was there. She had bought this right before her promotion, yet to wear it. She glowed in it. Striking even herself, who was more judgement then most. She put on her light sweater and left not even questioning her appearance, feeling more bounce in her step than she had since she was a teenager.
The destination seemed farther than she had remembered. The city seemed so alive tonight though, so she didn't mind. She glanced at the happy people and embraced the thought of being in other peoples company again. She lit up a smoke, although she had been trying to quit. She was quite nervous and kept an emergency pack in the glove compartment of the car. Once she arrived at the restaurant, she sat in her car for a second. Maybe this was a complete mistake, she thought staring at the rear view mirror. Her eyes had this unmistakable spark in them that she hadn't ever seen before. It seemed so right that she needed to go, the fear over passed her. She stepped gracefully out of the car and headed for the door. She took one deep breath and opened it. Feeling more alive than she had in months.
To be continued...

this is it?

The city, work and even life starts to take it toll on me. Downtown is very busy today, it reminds me a lot of the horrid holiday season. People packed in the sky ways, looking like cattle off to be slaughtered. The sound of footsteps marching in unison to the same beat. The suits are yelling on their cell phones. The tear drenched children whining in their mothers arms. I do all I can not to scream, although inner rage causes I tear to drop from my eye. The person in beside me doesn't seem to realize they just elbowed me for the fourth time, my arm will probably be full of bruises tomorrow. I keep walking, trying not to grind my teeth down to my gums. I have my headphones on but this doesn't help drown out all of the noise around me. I can only hear parts of the upbeat tune that I put in. I stare straight ahead, looking no one in the eye. It's part of living here, I've learned it's better to ignore. I make my way through the crowd of lemmings all taking the same path to sudden doom, I grab a coffee and get to work. All this week I've had mundane tasks to accomplish. Silly, little things like bulletin boards and sketches for the monthly newspaper. I feel like I've gotten these jobs because most of the people here don't have a creative bone in their bodies. It's been busier than usual this week, yet it still seems like I am on autopilot. I have made my way through the last couple work days only to go home, strip off my conservative clothing and indulge in a glass or two of wine per night. Usually I don't do this, I try my best not to drink during the work week, it's starting to get harder not to sleep without a glass though. My mind left racing. The noise driving me slightly crazy, although it is kind of quiet, it does not help that my small apartment is right next to a highway. Unnoticeable until the moment I try to go to bed staring at the celling listening to the car whizz by. Sometimes an occasional honk of a horn or the screech of tires, keeping me awake into the early hours of the morning. I groggily get up and set off on the same routine as the day before. Lack of sleep and life in general right now puts me into a rut. I think I need a vacation or maybe I just need to spice things up a bit.

Dealing with it...

This weekend I figured I would do some free writing...
I like to call this, dealing with it...
It becomes like breathing to me. Routine. Organized. Every step has it's place and even gestures thought over twice. The hours seem to fade into each other, maybe even days. In and out of consciousness, visions blurring in my head. Old photographs captured in my memory, seemingly innocent faces imprinted. Head pounding. Music louder. Grasp back to reality. Hear her moan through the walls. Stick your ear closer and you hear things. Things you'd rather forget or things that you haven't forgot. The touch of someones skin, how it feels against yours. Bodies intertwine like branches. Passion. Heat. Sweat. Delicate bites on your lips, so soft and sweet. Wanting. Needing. Grasping. Breaths sync up. Bodies melt. Thoughts seem to disappear. All that matters is this. The feelings pouring out. Spilling all over the routine. Now forgotten for seconds of bliss.

The more free writing I do, the more I'm starting to think that my mind is always going to be in the gutter... damn nymphos...

Trying to loose layers

I am finally realizing how hard it is to feel even slightly attractive during the winter. I am almost pondering hibernating through the rest of this and resuming life when I can feel my toes again. I keep thinking how ridiculous it would be if I ran a phone sex hot line. Once it gets to the 'what are you wearing right now' question, it all be over for me! That is if I answered honestly; "Oh I'm just wearing tights, long johns, two pairs of socks, leg warmers, pants, a tank top, a tee shirt, a sweater and a parka, but don't you worry it will only take me about twenty minutes to awkwardly strip, but then I have to hide under my massive amounts of blankets..." Doesn't that just make you horny? Any guy would probably loose any want for me right then and there. Silenced by the mind boggling amount of clothing and sudden loss of erection. It's even awkward for me at the end of the day to come some to my apartment alone and peal off the four layers of clothing I have to wear every day now. There is really nothing sexy about suffering through a winter in Minnesota. The wind blowing so hard against your face, that you are left a nasty puddle of tears and snot. You can actually feel the wind cutting through your clothing. Sneaking in and attacking any small piece of skin that might be exposed. From hat hair to possible frostbite, I lack to see the joy of this season. I lack to see how there are actual human beings who enjoy freezing their asses off. This time of year always makes me wish I was fortunate enough to take a vacation somewhere nice. So I can show off my blinding pale skin on the beach and feel the sun radiate on my body again. I guess either way I am left feeling self conscious. There is no winning. It's either possibly blinding people or having to waddle around. I guess I'll just have to wait until it finally gets warmer so i can finally show off my collarbone again. At least the cold hasn't affected my sense of humor yet...

pathetic smoker

I am appauling to them. I am a smoker. I see the looks on their faces as I slink back into the smoking box they set up for us. It's dirty, located right next to the garbage they set out back. Honestly you'd think that they'd set something better up then that. Dust covers the cold cement ground. The walls around you are just a facade, you are actually trapped in between two buildings. For some reason they are both a lovely puke yellow. There are black smudges covering them, which look like tiny fingerprints clawing to escape. It was until recently that I noticed they are nothing more than the marks left behind of people putting their cigarettes out on the buildings. I guess part of me hoped that they actually were fingerprints. No matter what it's always cold. Most people that work here don't go back here. I've heard a few people say it's just "too dirty." Sometimes I keep that in mind because when you see people you know, you feel obligated to make small talk. I'm not a fan of small talk, so it's nice to be alone. On the lucky days like today, you go out and the nearby hotel is throwing away their bottles. I honestly smoke to relax during the day. Nothing is more relaxing then the breaking of bottles one by one. Each one echoing making you grind your teeth with every smash. If there is one thing that is more annoying to me then anything else in the world, it's breaking glass. It throws my head into constant agony for the rest of the day. So after cringing through your cigarette, you have to walk back in. They place it fifty feet away from the actual building I work in, which isn't that much but on the short trip in you see exactly 6 no smoking signs, and yes I count them every time. It's peculiar, the transition you take from nasty, grungy smoking area to the lobby. It's ridiculously expensive looking. Covered in mahogany and marble. Gold details and fake plants. Everyone sees you walk from "the back" and they stare at you as if you're bleeding from all orifices. I try to give them the same look back. Most of the people I see make at least three times as much as me and probably work so much they miss out on the things I get to enjoy. Which makes me feel more sorry for them then they may ever know. Part of me wonders why I continue to go through this day after day. I know the dangers of smoking. I hate feeling people pity me, honestly it only makes me feel more pathetic. I know I'm addicted, I am not in denial. I guess this is my out though. Everyone has their out, this is mine. I guess in my mind at least it's not crack. Just think of the looks I would get then!