Friday, February 24, 2006

the lost occurrences of random vulnerability

There is something to be said about a healthy dose of vulnerability. I don't have much left anymore. It keeps dwindling dwindling dwindling. At one point it was overwhelming to me, now I absolutely crave that feeling again. Fuck this confidence. I wish it could be shed, but now that it has been cultivated it only grows like insidious weeds. Try to take me down, just try. It can't be done my friend, not any more.

There was a beautiful time when I was in a transition, vulnerable soul, growing an exoskeleton. A brief period yes. But it was so profoundly lovely in that glass house. Where the sun refracted in the eye like a blade to the heart.

One time, I brought my boyfriend to my mother's house for a photo shoot. I wont go into gross detail but it involved a gas mask and two bottles of ketchup. We finished shooting and he went up stairs to play my mother's keyboard while I cleaned up my mess. I got one, mind you one, paper towel and went to work cleaning the ketchup off the floor. It had been a lovely day, free of most stress and burden. But for some ungodly reason when I sat down to clean the ketchup up and I realized that that one goddamned paper towel wasn't going to cut it, I immediately went into hysterics. I just sat totally hypnotized by the red vinegar nightmare sobbing and wailing alone in the basement. I screamed and balled bloody murder and at some point my boyfriend heard me, and thinking that I poked my eye out or something of that terrible nature, he flew downstairs to rescue me. When he arrived, I froze, snapped out of the hysteria, and he started laughing. And I started laughing between the sobs. It was just so fucking ridiculous. Who knows why I was so moved by that, just at the time that ketchup seemed so unconquerable.

And again...

Last summer there was many a day that was unbearably hot in my tiny crusty apartment. My boyfriend at the time (different from the above boyfriend) had air conditioning, so I had been spending most of my time over there. When we first started dating I was a hard shell to crack. I baited him with my secrets, and refused to let him in, so to speak. We had decided that day that we were going to spend the evening apart, seeing that we had seen each other just about everyday for three weeks. I had biked to work that morning on my 40lb cruiser, when it was not quite so hot outside. However by the time I was done with school that day, it was 97 degrees out and I had to bike the beast home. I had already over drafted twice that week buying photo paper, so I had not eaten lunch (only coffee all day) to boot. Needless to say when I finally got home to the oven, I was sick, sweating like a hog, nauseated, and completely hopeless. My roommate was working till late that night, and in my solitude I lost it. I just started screaming and balling like someone had stolen my baby or something. Finally I cracked and called my boyfriend and just babbled on and on. He was worried so he hurried over ASAP to find me puffy-eyed, breathing spastically, eating an orange popsicle, sitting in front of a puney fan listening to the virgin suicides sound track with my hair sticking up all over the place. The expression on his face was priceless. Half horror, half amusement, and a pinch of adoration. We went to his house and I immediately passed out on his bed in the basement still breathing like I was going into asthmatic convulsions...

Hindsight tells me, that the world was much more lovely when I was prone to feel like this. When these were the things worth crying over.

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