Fickle Heart Turned to Stone

It’s a known fact that life can turn on a dime. Life, as we know it, can completely alter its familiarity from one minute to the next. We can receive a phone call that brings us to our knees, forever shifting the proverbial. We can watch a two-hour documentary on the preservation of the Amazon rainforests, inspiring us to completely change our chosen professions.

The point is that seven years ago the below was my reality. I have grown, changed, altered, shifted, evolved and then some since I wrote this journal entry. I can vividly recall the sometimes inexperienced, immature sentiments and judgmental thoughts expressed in the below and it’s a direct reflection of the deep, sometimes painful contrast to my present ideas about each individual possessing nine lives.

The below is somewhere around my fourth life and specific names have been omitted to protect their privacy.



My time here is coming to an end. I can’t feel guilty for wanting to go back to Los Angeles. It’s my home now. I don’t belong here and my eyes are wide open to that fact. I recognize more quickly now the reasoning behind things that seem like they shouldn’t be happening. I know that I didn’t get a job right away because my dad was going to be diagnosed with cancer and I wouldn’t have been able to come home and be with him through his treatments. I’ve learned that I had to come and spend this much time here to realize that I don’t want to spend any more time here. Prior to coming home, I was applying to jobs in the Kansas City area and the first few weeks I was here, I was touring apartment lofts in downtown. I now am certain that I don’t want to spend more time here than necessary. I’ve begun to feel like I’m sixteen again. I have no car, I live at home with my mama with the occasional fights, and I’m watching my dad do drugs again. I left when I was eighteen partly so that I could get away from all of that.

There are some things, however, that I have not figured out the reasoning behind. For example, the intense love that I still have for (ex boyfriend) and the part of me that wants to give him another chance. Rationally, I’m almost certain that that’s a bad idea, but the part of me that loves and cares is afraid to just let go. I don’t worry too much about it because I know what is supposed to happen will happen, but it’s something that I definitely think about from time to time. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. I guess I’ll know more once I go home and live with him again. I must say it’s been nice not living with him for three months, though I’ve lived with my mother, and I’d rather be by myself. We were on the telephone for quite some time last night and having a pretty intense conversation. I like to think that he’s listening and understanding and taking the things I say with him and to heart, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t trust him, that is very doubtful.

I know, from experience, that a relationship cannot be had without 100 percent trust being present. I’m twenty-four and I like to think that there’s something bigger and better out there for me. Call me a dreamer, but I believe. There’s also a part of me that thinks settling for (ex-boyfriend) wouldn’t be so bad, though. I cannot even believe my ears and eyes…that was a very difficult sentence to type out, but I have to be honest with myself, therefore I have to be honest with you since I’ve endeavored on this sharing of the past three months of my life. I just want to break that cycle and settling is not the thing to do. I know that. Sometimes love aint enough…it’s true.

Right now, he’s planning on going out with his brother’s soccer team and the team from Milan to do God only knows what. I don’t need to be with a man who makes me feel suspicious or insecure. He’s really the only one who has made me feel this insane. Something else that kind of came to the surface, yesterday, was the golden rule. I told (ex boyfriend): “You lie to me. I lie to you. Don’t fuck with me.” I told him I’m not proud of double wronging things, but I’ve learned my whole life that you treat others the way you want to be treated. If I’m disrespected, I’m going to disrespect you. In other words, that’s karma.

Like right now, almost midnight, I’m going crazy. My mind runs wild, thinking of all the things that he could be doing, looking at, thinking about, ugh…that’s insanity – And a waste of time. I thought my other relationships were “dysfunctional.” Ha. I can’t wait to go to the coffee house. Technically, it opens in five hours…I’m pretty sure they open at 5 a.m.

I went to the other location of Scooters, on the plaza, this afternoon, and did not like it. It was packed and the clientele is very different. The whole vibe was just off – Whatever that means to you. Live in the now. Live in the now, I tell myself. If I live in the present moment, then petty things like (ex-boyfriend’s) actions cannot bother me.

I wish I was holding my baby George right now with Bambino laying by my side. Okay, now I’m just being random. Honestly, I’m tired of the fighting and the discussing, so I think I’m going to give it a “time limit” again. That means I must behave, as well, but basically, I’m going to go back to Los Angeles and I’m going to act as if we are in a relationship. I’m going to give him the same three strikes rule I give any other potential suitor, though we all know he’s well past one hundred fifty strikes. I’m not going to say anything about his meetings or this or that. He’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions, but I will mentally note if he “justifies” not going to one of his meetings. That will be a strike.

He shall that remain unnamed’s birthday is the 22nd but as we all know I don’t have much to say about him. To call or not to call? He told me to give him a call, last time we spoke, when I returned from New York, but I haven’t. Whatever. I’m not in the mood to discuss this any further at the present moment.

I know I’m going to miss my mama and her cats and the coffee shop, but it’ll be all right. It’s not as intense as the feeling of missing my cats. I hope they forgive me.

I’d really like to see my dad quit smoking before I leave Kansas City, though I’m not going to hold my breath. It makes me so sad, but I have to keep reminding the little girl inside my head that I cannot do anything more. I’ve done all I can and it’s not my responsibility. My dad is one of the saddest people I’ve ever known. It’s truly sad because he is a good person at heart. I believe that his next life will be better, happier. I can only hope. I hope a lot. I think it’s a good thing and I hope that that will never change about me. Come to think of it, even if he quits smoking, he still has an addiction to pain killers.   I need to get out of here. I need to live my life. I love my mom and I’m here for her, but I cannot stick around here any longer.

This fucking candle reminds me of He shall that remain unnamed’s bedroom. It smells like his fucking bedroom – the one on Melrose. I wonder where my mama got it. It’s addicting, almost, because I could just blow it out. And I did earlier, but I lit it again. It’s amazing what scents can do to a person. I mean I can literally close my eyes at this very moment and be laying in He shall that remain unnamed’s bed, waiting for him to return from the restroom and/or listening to music drone from his computer while we make love – or have sex. Whatever.

I’ve been very creative today. I worked on a few songs – mostly ones that I had already began. I like it when I do that. I dislike having incomplete work on my hands…perhaps that’s an obsessive compulsive disorder, but if that’s what I’m obsessive about – finishing something I start – then I think I’m doing all right. It’s when I start placing boxes of doctor’s gloves by every single door in my house just so I don’t have to touch the doorknobs, and then I end up with that white, powdery crap all over my sweaty fingers. That’s when someone might need to worry about me.



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