Poetry Arrived In Search Of Me
Y fue a esa edad...Llego la poesia a buscarme. -Pablo Neruda

Friday, November 04, 2005

I keep the things
that are too close
far away

But sometimes they visit
during commercial spots
and meaningless anecdotes

The salt tracing
through the detachment

I laugh
write it off to beer
and insomnia

I'm a little less happy than I was
but then again
I'm a little less sad
-Me (see the elephant now?)

A few years ago, I did something awful to a friend. Me, who was always so convinced of her own superiority. Me, who loved to pretend that she was so above all small superficialities that made people place their own needs above what was right and good.

Suddenly, I was down in the muck with the rest of them. I was just a pathetic, needy little girl who took what she wanted without a thought as to the repercussions. Fuck that. I knew the repercussions, but apparently, I didn't care about them. In return, I lost one of the most meaningful friendships of my life.

I crumpled after that. It was the fact that I had hurt someone I loved so much, but also the fact that I had become someone who could knowingly wound another human so easily. I live my life with a fair dose of guilt anyway (my fantastic catholic upbringing), but for a while there, I thought I might drown in regret and sorrow. I packed up my car and left. It became three months on the road, sometimes not speaking to another human for days at a time. I had nothing but time to wallow and think and try to figure things out.

I gained some distance from the situation in that trip, and some distance from myself as well. I became a watered down version of the person that I had been only months before. I had no interest in getting to know people in my new city of residence, I had no desire to drink or play, and found myself completely uninterested in the opposite sex. But the strangest thing would happen: smack dab in the middle of a completely normal week, I would spend two or three nights in my bed until 5am, sobbing for no reason at all. Or, over a drink with an old friend, tears would start streaming down my face. My composure, it seemed, was precarious at best, and it made me cling to the detachment all the more.

When I finally awoke from this two year self imposed period of sleep walking, I was like an infant absorbing the world. I developed one of those harmless, meaningless crushes on someone, and I delighted in how much fun it was actually liking a guy. I had honestly forgotten what it was like being attracted to someone. And I can still remember waking up one day when Boston was coated with a foot of snow, and wondering how I had missed the beauty of the city for the past couple of years.

It's all back--all the highs and lows of everyday life. I do, though, find myself a bit mellower than I had ever been. I am slow to anger, quick to forgive, and hesitant to judge, all of which would have been foreign concepts to KaseyBeta. But the crying jags have left almost completely, unless "The House of Mirth" comes on cable, or some asshole catches me off guard and makes me watch "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition."
11:19 PM :: ::
  • shh....i'm back...don't tell anyone yet... i'm on the DL.

    By Blogger namdlab, at 6:51 PM  
  • aw, sweetie, you'll ALWAYS be my pathetic, needy little girl.

    By Blogger somegirl, at 11:48 AM  
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