365 Attempts (At Life)

We were sitting in the tall grass on the mountain checking out the view. There were signs cautioning us of black bears. But we were too busy talking and being silly. I showed him how to play ‘chicken or rooster’ with the weeds. We played a few rounds. I remember he laughed really hard at something. It was infectious. So I laughed too. And I thought to myself how much I could love him. If only he’d let me.

An unrecognizable reflection in the mirrors you cross. Your own impulsiveness has made you feel like a stranger. You’re not even sure why. But you look away. For now. And until you can properly articulate what you need to say, you choose to stop talking. Because it’s a bundle of contradictions in your mind. And how do you explain feeling lost pacing your own corridors?

Like an out of body experience I lived yesterday completely outside myself. I was moving, eating, listening but I was somewhere else. Completely. Unable to get any vacation time, I took a holiday from me for the day. Unconsciously. Without choice in the matter. It’s like my Self said, “That's it! Enough of you. I need a break!” And I’d catch myself staring into space listlessly while friends were conversing or laughing. I wasn’t thinking of anything. I was blank. I just floated above it. I wasn’t there. It was weird. And my body felt heavy. Like those dreams where you can’t seem to stop falling asleep. So disconnected. So dazed. I didn’t like it. I wanted the rest of me to escape, too. I wanted to run after my spirit and apologize for being such a pain in the ass lately. To ask it not to leave me here feeling so zombified. But I didn’t have the energy to. I just didn’t. As I walked out of the restaurant we were in, I saw a flyer. It ...

Assemble bricks and make a wall. But drill a small hole to see through it.

OK I’m not really Irish, but what's a little white lie in exchange for a kiss? Kissing. Is. Amazing. Isn’t it? I think it is. It’s underrated. A dying art in a world too quick to cut to the chase and cop a feel. And if it’s done with the right physical appetite between the two kissers, well… It can be transcendental. The first kiss can be bliss. Built up with a soft sexual tension. Ample curiosity. The shyness, the newness, the spark. That first time you both lean in with intent. Foreheads close. Lips an inch apart. Breath shared. Hearts beating fast. That second before your lips are introduced. It’s so short, but it feels like time has stopped. Just to prepare for what comes next. Then the lips touch. And you’re lost in it. The discovery. It’s soft. It’s urgent. It's timeless. It’s a gateway. Silent communication at its boldest. Worth the little white lie. Don't you agree?

Almost two years ago my friends and I met up at a restaurant for Marcie’s birthday dinner. Well, I was waiting for them to arrive because as usual, half the crew was late. Really late. Like lose-your-reservation-if-they-don’t-arrive-soon kinda late. Here’s why: Christina: We tried to save a pregnant ... Marcie: ...toothless... Christina: ...cat from having her child in the cold September rain. On our way rushing down the stairs, we spotted her meowing. And pacing uncontrollably. We knew something was wrong. Who paces like that if they’re not stressed? Marcie : I initially thought it was an ironic joke, because my b-days are always so colorful. Remember the one when I got dumped via a short note? 365Attempts : I do, buddy. Christina: The cat-napping was so much worse than that. 365Attempts:  OK, back-story to the cat napping thing is that Marcie was volunteering at the SPCA around that time and suddenly had very sharp spidey senses anytime animals were concerned....

There are only 3 ways to know what time it is in my apartment: my computer, my cell phone, and my cable TV. I woke up and all these clocks had changed an hour ahead. I didn’t have to think of it. They did it themselves. They were ready to move forward. Ready to move on. Without any hesitation. They are wiser than me.

Guest Blogger: sideproject Discussion: Voices. sideproject: I’ve been thinking about voices. A voice can escape from your life. If it is ever granted a return, its singular existence becomes the access to memories, emotions…mistakes…laughter. A voice can make you cringe or make your heart start to race. It’s the only part of a daydream that you can’t actually replicate authentically. You can imagine being with a person, you can study their picture, or re-read their emails, but amongst all of the exploration of the past, the voice remains protected. It’s almost like the treasure chest of emotions. Once you hear the voice, the chest opens. Pandora’s box. 365Attempts: It’s true. It’s the vivid missing puzzle piece that breathes life into the fantasy. It’s the reason we save voice mails.  To remember the inflections, the accent, the enunciation, the turn of phrase, the familiarity. To make it real again. Otherwise, it’s just our voice doing a really poor impersonation. ...

So green. On the other side of that fence. My side is still covered in snow, slush and mud. But their side isn’t. It’s a beautiful, luscious kelly green. Always. It’s lovely. Isn’t it? I want to walk on it, barefoot. I want to lie down and feel the prickly blades of grass on my skin. I want to feel it. I just don’t get why they walk out of the house with shovels. Don’t they see there’s no snow in their yard? Don’t they see how bright and green their grass is? Don’t they?

life is... complicated. it's so fucking complicated. and the worst part of that is, we only get one.