I need to relocate myself. Colorado sounds nice.
The confines of the day to day are making me restless.

As expected, learned, taught, spoken of...
changes are taking place, and my chest pains are back.

You were the one with the controlling hand

Your knuckles like a book, told the whole story;

you were so easy to read,

but this book has been placed high up on a shelf, collecting dust.

I've finished that novel

and do you know how it ends?

Your hands are battered and broken

your weak and defeated

and I am the victor.

I was invited over the other day.
We just lay side by side, and slowly like old friends, wrapped our arms around each other in the dark. We didn’t kiss, we just lay there. And it was raining and we were laying in the dark, fully clothed, gently holding one another. And then I left silently and walked home with a cigarette in the downpour.

I don’t believe that there truly is a time and a place for everything.
Sometimes things happen at the worst time in the worst place. Now you could argue that although it may FEEL like it’s the wrong time and place that it is actually the RIGHT time and place and that it's just meant to be awkward or difficult. A life lesson if you will...but I’m not so convinced.

How come life can’t be like a movie? I really wish sometimes that boys would act the way they do in that Mandy Moore movie "How To Deal"...you know, throwing rocks at your window, being clever, always having nice hair, taking you to secret romantic places. And on top of that I wouldn’t mind the perfect lighting and nice wallpaper she has in that movie either.....

Random.

I wrote this yesterday...

I’m as soft as a thorn; I’m as rigid as a willow.
My feet will shy away from you; they’ll lead me the other way.
More than anything I'd really like to sit with you though.
Skeletal silhouettes side by side someday.

Wed talk for hours I know we would, if only we had the chance.
You’d understand why and how, without questioning a thing.
You’d exhale words; each vowel upon your lips would dance.
But no matter how hard I wish, you’re but a feather on a wing

Back to the blog,

I'm feeling sort of sad, I cleaned out my bookcase and found a bunch of remnant items.

rem..nant (rmnnt) n.
1. Something left over; a remainder.
2. A piece of fabric remaining after the rest has been used or sold.
3. A surviving trace or vestige: a remnant of his past glory.
4. A small surviving group of people. Often used in the plural.

Lets go with 2 and 3. I found things that made me hate myself. 
Old pictures. 
Notes. 
Letters. 
And I found things that made me think, "Oh, how great." 
It took around three hours to finsih.
There were sooooo many memories.

I am okay with failing.  I am okay with the fact I will never live up to your standards and I know I will never be as rich as you. I am okay with the fact you think I am selfish and vain and that I am unintelligent. Those facts, are fault to your own ignorance. I except myself, and I know a lot of people who do so as well. You don't intimidate me and I am not afraid of letting you hurt me. But that doesn't mean I won't fight back.

The official name for your liver spots is hyperpigmented lentigines. The official anatomy word for a wrinkle is rhytide. Those creases in the top half of your face, the rhytides plowed across your foreheadand around your eyes, this is dynamic wrinkling, also called hyperfunctional facial lines, caused by the movement of underlying muscles. Most wrinkles in the lower half of the face are static rhytides, caused by sun and gravity.

Let's look in the mirror.
Really look at your face.
Look at your eyes, your mouth.

This is what you think you know best.

Your skin comes in three basic layers. What you can touch is the stratum corneum, a layer of flat, dead skin cells pushed up by the new cells under them. What you feel, that greasy feeling, is your acid mantle, the coating of oil and sweat that protects you from germs and fungus. Under that is your dermis. Below the dermis is a layer of fat. Below the fat are the muscles of your face.

When you pull up your upper lip, this is your levator labii superioris muscle at work. Your sneer muscle. Let's pretend you smell some old stale urine. Imagine your husband's just killed himself in your family car. Imagine you have to go out and sponge his piss out of the driver's seat. Pretend you still have to drive this stinking rusted junk pile to work, with everyone watching, everyone knowing, because it's the only car you have.

Does any of this ring a bell?

That deep crease from each corner of your mouth to your nose is your nasolabial fold. Sometimes called your "sneer pocket." As you age, the little round cushion of fat inside your cheek, the official anatomy word is malar fat pad, it slides lower and lower until it comes to rest against your nasolabial fold-making your face a permanent sneer.

Now frown.
This is your triangularis muscle pulling down the corners of your orbicularis oris muscle.

Pretend you're a twelve-year-old girl who loved her father like crazy. You're a little preteen girl who need her dad more than ever before. Who counted on her father always to be there. Imagine you go to bed crying every night, your eyes clamped shut so hard they swell.

The "orange peel" texture of your chin, these "popply" bumps are caused by your mentalis muscle. Your "pouting" muscle. Those frown lines you see every morning, getting deeper, running from each corner of your mouth down to the edge of your chin, those are called marionette lines. The wrinkles between your eyebrows, they're glabellar furrows. The way your swollen eyelids sag down is called ptosis. Your lateral canthal rhytides, your "crow's-feet," are worse every day and you're only twelve fucking years old for God's sake.

Don't pretend you don't know what this is about.
This is your face.
Now, smile-if you still can.

This is your zygomatic major muscle. Each contraction pulls your flesh apart the way tiebacks hold open the drapes in your living room window. The way cables pull aside a theater curtain, you every smile is an opening night. A premiere. You unveiling yourself.

Now, smile the way and elderly mother would when her only son kills himself. Smile and pat the hand of his wife and his preteen daughter and tell them not to worry-everything really will work out for the best. Just keep smiling and pin up your long gray hair. Go play bridge with your old lady friends. Powder your nose.

The huge horrible wad of fat your see hanging under your chin, your jowls, getting bigger and jigglier every day, that's submental fat. That crinkly ring of wrinkles around your neck is a platysmal band. The whole slow slide of your face, your chin and neck is caused by gravity dragging down on your superficial musculo-aponeurotic system.

Sound familiar?

If you're a little confused right now, relax. Don't worry. All you need to know is this is your face. This is what you think you know best.

These are the three layers of your skin.
These are the three women in your life.
The epidermis, the dermis, the fat.

If you're reading this, welcome back to reality. This is where all that glorious, unlimited potential of your youth has led. All that unfulfilled promise. Here's what you've done with your life.

All you need to understand is you turned out to be one sorry sack of shit.

[Obviously, this was geared at someone].