Jukebox Joints

Ali Benjamin, in The Thing About Jellyfish said, “Sometimes you want things to change so badly, you can’t even stand to be in the same room with the way things actually are”

I’ve never kept so silent about something, and mornings are the hardest. You get these 5 seconds of peace, and everything else after that is entirely up to you. Suddenly, the window facing a brick wall was shut, and my blinds are broken so ironically the light gets in no matter what. No one likes to admit that waking up and going to sleep are the hardest parts of their day. It’s all going up in flames because these souls keep setting fire to everything you refuse to let go of.

We say things about how we’re not supposed to miss the individuals that hurt us. But everything we touch acts like a constant reminder. Rather than their being monsters under my bed, there’s a paper bag holding my pride. Something I’m swallowing now in hopes that sleep will come easier. It’s as if wearing your heart on your sleeve is worse than having the tag stick out of your shirt. God forbid someone catches you looking at me the way that you do. Or did.

2016 and I’m not afraid to tell you that my day consisted of me staring at my ceiling, dealing with an emotional hangover. So I ripped off my bed sheets, grabbed a pack of stick notes and stuck parts of this post around my room.

I’m a broken record, I sound repetitive throughout some of these posts and I apologize but things will not change overnight. The idea of “ghosting” is absolutely atrocious because you’re leaving individuals whom were once whole, incomplete because there’s this lack of responsibility you think you have. Because you cannot fathom the idea of someone thinking you’re more than something ordinary. It wasn’t until sitting in silence with a spiked Coca Cola bottle wasn’t enough, and according to the man of his word you no longer were either. The idea that I have to stay silent in order to prove a point worries me because I write what I feel, I can’t let this go unspoken. I’ll always be the more emotional one because that’s who I am. But these pieces of me are slowly being taken, every single time I have to fake two seconds of laughter so they don’t ask questions, and so I can contain myself until I reach the end of the parking lot.

You won’t lose your youth if you hold onto something tightly. But you’re aging when you abruptly let go, and let the other person run ahead. What happens if you can’t catch up? Metaphorically speaking if I dive head first and do something out of character in a club surrounded by pink lighting, again it’s who I am, but you knew that well before anybody else.

There’s still marks left over in the palms of my hands from last night, because I did everything in my power to refrain from reminding you how insane all of this truly is. And when I came to terms with what bottom truly was and felt like, I knew that I had to start fighting like hell for myself. Even if that means staying away from the lessons I’ve already learned time before. Even if that means that you’ll never learn this lesson.



All Too Well

PicMonkey Collage

Just when I signed into WordPress it let me know that my last post was published a month ago. I stared at the screen for 5 minutes until I realized that I had written 3 draft posts and never published them because they weren’t the right words. I didn’t have the right message. I’m not even writing on the right computer.

Then I started thinking about you [readers], and the blog, and the fact that I curse the inconsistent things in life when this is most consistent thing I’ve made for myself. I often hear people describe how they make homes in other people, which is possible but after two years I’ve never had something so stable than a place to be open. I also had a few individuals come up to me when I was studying for exams asking me where my weekly blog post was.
(sorry I’m so weird in real life, and rush to every opportunity to show you photos of my dog)

Last year I did the one month hiatus, when you’re focused on exams it’s hard to give into the noise around you and when I write, I give in. I had Writer’s Block, but it was by choice, until I could no longer write a decent sentence, and self-loathed because of it.

“Sometimes he’ll just look at me in such a way that I forget how to utter even the simplest word. How dangerous is that, to even forget that I shouldn’t smile back as often as I do. But I do..Sometimes he does…But mostly I do….” – (3am texts, Beca)

We’re going to let ourselves look ridiculous until we learn not to. We let ourselves believe that the names in bright flashing lights ahead of us mean go ahead, and it’s our alibi when someone asks us why we picked up the phone, when we should have let it go to voicemail. Or why someone looks at us a certain way, but isn’t aware that they are.

I stopped at this point, showed a dear friend, and she said this post wasn’t done. It wasn’t. But I walked for hours today to get just a bit of inspiration. To exhaust my body, and my mental monologues so that I’d write and each typed word would become a scream, and finally someone would hear me. So violin buskers played at the right moment, and I strolled through an old bookstore, thrifted a Hemingway novel, and waltzed by familiar authors that I would associate with other people. Growing up, when I missed someone I would read their favourite author.

To be honest, none of these posts sufficed because none of them said what I have been wanting to express all month. That we look into empty doorways hoping someone will just walk in. I say things out loud before texting them, and write something different because I get so mentally exhausted of the idea of explaining myself. When I could just shoot at a point blank range and say, “maybe you should start acting upon the things you’re so afraid to say out loud.” But then again I’m contradicting myself.

Then again, so are you.

You’re all so afraid. To feel more than one emotion at the same time. Why? Because we’re so stuck inside of our own heads sometimes, and it’s so easy to get lost in there. Regardless of whether it is your own mind, you can’t control what or who consumes it.

And when you choose to walk around like I did today, to get out of your own head. I ask you to take a look around, take notice that there are so many beautiful things growing around you. There are people growing around you. Growing on you. Don’t give them fragmented pieces of what others have left behind, because they’re not your past.

Remember that, you’ll need it.


Dancing On My Own

In our 20s we want love, spacious dance floors, and answers. We’ll spend countless weekends stumbling in painful footwear, only to carry our boots in our hands and walk barefoot into our cabs. We politely excuse ourselves from conversations and think of the boys who keep their hands warm in your jean pockets. We don’t want to be selfish for using the word want so much, but yet here we are.


We untangle our headphones, put on our favourite walking tune, and for just one moment we’re our own cinematic spectacle. Maybe it’s the beauty of seeing our world as its own film. Most importantly we hope the dramatic moments we create in our crowded minds will result in an acapella part of a song forcing the audience to pay close attention to what’s about to happen in front of them,
they lock eyes from across the street
she smiles even though she shouldn’t
he hears the dialtone when she looks away
the instrumental continues
she walks away from a situation that felt like a dead bolted door but was really swinging back and forth the entire time.

We’re not the only ones who know anymore. It’s so hard to be private in an environment that thrives on public spectacles. There’s so many outlets, you’re looking at one right now, to which people reveal that they only put out there what they wish others to see. In reality they’re right. But hold that pose.

I like timing. I like when the universe hands you something so gently and you have the voice of a toddler when you say, “No! I don’t want it” but it’s so aggressive. It comes at full force.
What do we want?
Mutual respect, and a little affection (ageless concept)
How do we get it?
It’s not for everybody!

But what if time was trying to teach us something? How many times do we really have to reconsider everything we text, post, snap, or paint so vividly for other person to realize that we’re pretty much walking the plank all whilst trying to get them to smile at us that way just one more time. However, we were taught that if we don’t fight right away, we’ll fight too late. Or at least, that’s what I learned. So I hopped into as many cabs as possible, and played the same Robyn song continuously to justify my actions, that I’m 20 and I have to say yes to everything that makes me feel electric.

But Thursday night, as I refused to move off of a recycled bean bag chair for a solid 7 hours, I kept looking at this post trying to understand what it really means to dance on your own. But the best part was, is that we never really are, and when it’s just you and 10 other people singing to the top of your lungs up the stairs, down the hallway, make a right into the karaoke bar, you begin to see that.

So I kept the song, but changed the rhythm, and found a Kings of Leon cover. I braved the cold, hopped up the stairs of the streetcar, and thought about how the 24 hour flu, was the end result of the fight. My body danced too much, and I had zero rhythm left in me.

There’s comfort to be found in the middle of the dance floor, and we misunderstood the DJ. He didn’t say, “We let things run their course, you ran your course!” But that’s what we heard. The lovers are fighting outside of the bar,
she pushes him, he kisses her.
You call a cab, take off your boots, and drop them on the floor of your doorway along with your house keys, and this song echoes as you creep each foot so delicately on your bedroom floor.

“I just needed something pretty to look at”