the weight of my decisions were impossible to hold... but they were never yours

there is something insanely sad about driving past your best friend's house and seeing the FOR SALE sign at the end of the driveway. damn, i'm gonna miss that pool... (sigh)

...

sometimes i wish there was a photographer that followed me around everywhere, taking pictures of moments that will mean much more long after they've happened. not like a lunatic paparazzi-like photographer, just someone who'd quietly follow me and take my picture without being seen. he'd have to be with me every second of the day, though, cause you never know when you're about to do something that will change your life forever. i want a record of those moments, i want to hold them in my hands and look at them and smile and hang them on the fridge. i want something concrete, something i can show people later, when i'm telling a story.

i'm obsessed with documenting things. you must know this by now... i'm still here, still posting, even thought this journal has gotten me into more than a little trouble. sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and just HAVE to write SOMETHING, lest i forget by morning... you never know, it could be the most important and relevant and profound thing i'm ever going to think!

or i'll be driving and i'll be spacing out, right, and then suddenly i'll have this idea, this crazy awesome idea, like how to start the first paragraph of that novel i keep meaning to write... and i'll try to just kick it around in my head until i can't stop and write it down... especially if i have to be somewhere, you know? i can't just pull over... and then usually by the time i get to where i'm going, the idea is gone, that first paragraph is still unwritten, still a big question mark.

but when i can, i write down everything. at work, right after i get out of the shower, before bed, while i'm watching The Daily Show... it makes me crazy cause the words are screaming to get out. sometimes when i'm not alone and i'm trying to be quiet, i can hear the thoughts clawing the inside of my skull. i'm not crazy. i just need to bleed these thoughts before they overwhelm me.

i'm going off on a tangent. what i really wanted to mull over is that photographer... wouldn't that be great? i could look at those pictures later and be able to remember EVERYTHING, cause i'd have that visual, and the rest would just fall into place. i'd have everything else, the smells, tastes, sounds... i'd have this beautiful memory, enhanced by the photos... and i'd never forget anything.

so if you could have a photographer follow you around, what photos would be on your fridge?

i've got a couple i want to hang on to. see if you can figure who all is in them.

and i told you i'd warn you: now i'm going to reflect:

it was after school and we had just broken up and i was sitting on the front steps, crying in the sunshine. i called him because he was my best friend then and there was no one else i wanted to see more than him. his older brother drove him to my house and dropped him off and he came to the steps to sit with me. i asked him if he was thirsty and without waiting for his answer, i went into the house and brought out two glasses of Sunny Delight. we sat there on the steps for a long while and he listened to me while i talked and cried. there was a lull in the conversation and he put his drink down and wrapped his arms around me. SNAP.

we were sitting outside on his porch playing scrabble. the movie had just ended and we were talking about what we thought it was about. he was wearing his Eddie Bower tee shirt, the same one he was wearing last summer when i decided i didn't hate him. it was nice outside and he was winning and i lit a cigarette, only the third or so i'd had all day. inside, before the movie ended, i'd put on this silly straw cowboy hat that was sitting on the end-table next to the futon. he smiled at me, out there playing scrabble, and told me the hat suited me. SNAP.

it was hot and muggy and we were standing out on the causeway, it was dark. we were talking about the moon and how pretty is was reflecting over the water, and he said i was like the moon. i thought he was being a little sappy. we looked some more and talked and leaned against the concrete where people always go fishing. we were looking at the sky, and i spotted a shooting star, and pointed, so that he would see it too. he came forward and hugged me and i rested my head on his chest and breathed in the night air and thought that there wasn't a single other place on this planet i would have rather been at that second. SNAP.

he was leaving the next morning and i'd had too much to drink, WAY too much. i was so sick... i've never been as sick as i was then. he found me in his bedroom while the party was going on in the other room, just me and Peace Pipe, sharing a bottle of vodka. he knew i was going to be sick and he picked me up, carried me like a child to the bathroom, where he sat me down next to the toilet. i didn't want to throw up but he was forcing me to drink some milk, i just wanted to lay down and sleep. he was so worried. i threw up a little and rested my head on the toilet seat, trying to calm my stomach. he sat on the floor next to me, his back against the bathroom door, his head in his hands, and he was crying. SNAP.

we had been out that night, at the mall i think, i don't remember, it doesn't matter. it was dark and i had to be back and anyway we were both tired. we were driving thought the gate and i gave him my ID, which he handed to the MP, the MP looked at them and handed them back and we were on post. and he was telling me that he'd never spent time alone with a girl whom he was only friends with. and we were alone, we'd been alone all evening, and i didn't catch what he was trying to say so i asked him, as he was handing me back my ID. our hands touched and he grasped my fingers and held on. i looked over from our hands to his eyes and understood. SNAP.

...

From: _______

to: Starfish1130

Cc:

Bcc:

Subject: Opposite of guilt

Date: Wed, 25 Feb 2004 9:10:40 PM Eastern Standard Time

I am glad that you blush. That makes me happy. It's not that I am walking on eggshells, it's more like carrying eggs. I know you will hate to hear this, but I think you are fragile. Not little girl fragile. Not weak fragile. Like puppy fragile. You like to play rough, but you still need lots of love and affection. And I want to give you that love and affection. That and kisses.

...

next time you see me, give me a hug.

- Taking Back Sunday "This Photograph Is Proof" -