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2002-11-04 : 10:26 a.m.
Doing the Unstuck
Listening to: The Cure, Wish
"... 'why, why, why are you letting me go?' she says- 'I feel you pulling back/ I feel you changing shape...' And just as I'm breaking free/ She hangs herself in from of me... slips her dress like a flag to the floor/ With hands to the sky Surrenders it all..." --The Cure Written: 11-3-02, 12:30 a.m. Taken from my book/journal Hmmm... right now I'm sitting on my yoga ball-- in the corner of my room-- listening to The Cure. With a perfect view of my huge black and white, vintage poster of Robert Smith... 'Boy's Don't Cry' So it is. And I'm having quite the peculiar "light bulb" moment- as it were. The huge bed that sits in my room, (and new; prior to it's horrific street burns) was given to me. The sheets (also new), given to me. Simple, pale wooden shelves- (I've wanted for some time)... given to me. Literally, everything I own at this very moment, I have inherited. (From varying individuals), since I first arrived to the big apple... The TV, VCR (new), couch, vintage love chair, coffee table, cups, plates, wine rack, wines, pots, pans, silverware, liquor, hangers, fans, radio (new acquisition), and soooo much more. It just hit me really. All of this random generosity. Especially the how's and when's, of all these things. It was as if, as soon I would really, really begin to miss something from back home... within a short amount of time, a suitable replacement would appear-- out of nowhere really. For example: My art easel... Two roommates ago... in a land far, far down another street... James noticed I painted a bit... And one night (as I later realized), had apparently over heard a conversation that I was having with a friend. I had been mumbling through tears, how I was really missing some of my "things"... my easel and some of my extra canvases- to name a few. the next day... a simple wooden easel had appeared in the living room. Nothing like the monster I have back home, but a perfect little functional easel, nonetheless. "Uuugghh... James...?" I yelled out. "Yes..." Coming out of his room. "I didn't know you painted." "Oh... no... not really. I wanted to learn and never really got around to taking a class. My ex-girlfriend had bought it for me..." "Oh, I see." "Um, yeah... so do you want it?" he asked. "The easel? Oh... no, no... it's okay..." (Realizing that James must have over heard me crying the night before... and I felt so foolish at that moment for missing such mundane materialistic things.) "No, James..." I continued. "I can't. You could probably find a class to take when you get out to L.A. and use it then." With his hands on his hips and his head in a tilt. "Alex, no, no... really. Something like that really belongs to you, you can have it... besides it will give me a bit more space in the car." he smiled. "Cool... thank you James..." I smiled back, and he went into his room. And so, I have an easel. Something to hold fresh and new colors up as they dry... A perfect metaphor and how it should be really... It's crazy. I came to this city, 9 months ago- with what I could carry- And through random and I mean, random encounters with transient like folk- I have been fed, clothed, sheltered, advised, employed, and essentially been handed everything from a fork to a plant. It's really insane. The friends I thought I had here, or "made" in this city, have left me feeling abandoned and at times- emotionally handicapped. But it has been those fleeting chance encounters that really have sustained me and taken care of me- all this time. Everyone, from the random neighbor, to this... diaryland. I realized this minutes ago... when I sat to think about Shawn, and subsequently became aware of everything that was sitting around me. The roomie (that just moved out, Tally), left me a few things... One of them, a small and very cool Panasonic boom box. One catch... the CD player didn't work... oh, but not to worry... as I've jokingly mentioned before: If I didn't enjoy being with men so much- I may have been better off being born one... So, I opened the puppy and went to work... I don't know why, but I can open just about any apparatus... and all the elements and parts just make sense to me. Although, I don't profess to really know what the hell I�m doing. I just do it, for the most part. So I poked, pulled, carefully cleaned, replugged- and a few other McGyver moves... and within minutes... I plopped in a Cure CD... and well... it played... Tally, hadn't known it, but God how I had been missing my radio back home... I've been growing weary of carrying my headphones with me, wherever I went in the apartment... even to pee, if I had to... You see, I�m a bit obsessed with music. It gives my life and the roller coaster emotions I endure, a sense of order and tranquillity... it's cathartic, really. Uuuugh... and how I missed the voice of someone like Robert Smith- just out and about, in the open air... It feels as though, it surrounds me. I love feeling engulfed by music... especially, when I'm in deep thought... Yes, in spite of all the sadness I have for and of Shawn... Jorge's betrayal... and the anniversary of Danny (G.)'s death, just days away... in spite of all this... I am a very lucky girl. And as Robert Smith now sings through the open air... -It's a "perfect day for letting go... for setting fire to bridges/ boats/ and other dreary worlds you know... Let's get happy!... kick out the gloom/ kick out the blues... with the sound of your world/ going up in the fire... it's a perfect day to throw back your head- and kiss it all good-bye!" And so it is, Mr. Smith... A time for "Doing the unstuck"...
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