The Chicka Sisterhood

{March 29, 2008}   A Morning in the Life…

…of a neurotic with a loud conscience.

‘Sit down. Sit down I say!

‘Good. Now ask yourself why this bothers you so much. It’s very important to be able to understand and identify why the first thing you feel when you wake in the morning is a wave of some sort of inner nausea.

‘Yes, so that phone call with your boyfriend away on work hadn’t gone so well. You were waiting on that call for days weren’t you? Well that means that you are disappointed. There we go, we can identify this sick feeling as ‘disappointment’.

‘You also feel as though he was upset with you right? Because you reprimanded him for not calling earlier as you were worried about him going away for a week without definite plans for accommodation.  So your worry came across as being aggressive so you feel a little guilty because all you wanted to do was hear from him and then you feel as though you spoiled everything when you finally did hear from him. There we go, that feeling was also due to you feeling ‘guilty’.

‘What else?

‘So your guest performance with the band last night didn’t go as well as you had hoped because you couldn’t hear yourself on stage. You’re so bent on producing flawless performances and you don’t feel confident about how it went because you couldn’t actually hear properly. Well people seemed to enjoy it so stop beating yourself up about it.  You’re just disappointed about this too. Once again you are ‘disappointed’.

‘Anything else? No? Well there you go. You feel this way because you are under the influence of disappointment and guilt. So now we know what to do. You get off your bum and write a quick email to your partner and explain yourself. You were both a bit tired last night and it was hard to hear him on the phone over the music so he will understand. He’s great like that. There is no reason to feel so guilty you bloody worry wart.

‘As for your disappointed? Just get over it. Things won’t always go as you expect them.

‘Feel better? Good.

‘Go go have breakfast and get to work!!!!!!’

It’s hard living with myself… 😛


{March 29, 2008}   What comes of dreams

Dreams can be my worst enemy.

An inmeasurable happiness in the strangest of circumstances, falling yet landing so peacefully…

An impatient waking, every inch of my concious self pleading to drift back. It’s never the same though, each moment after that my dream is marred with nervous fingers, silent prayers to just let me stay.

Waking, finally, after the threads of sleep have unraveled, when my mind and body are brought back to actual time. I am short of breath somehow, always when I wake… as if I’ve been chasing my dream as darkness moves in.

I lie in bed with a cigarette hanging over an empty Coke can, headache beginning between my eyelids. And I can’t stand the thought of sentimental happiness and the way my heart goes all a flutter even in the most dire circumstances.

I dream of him. And though he may be in the peripheral of even my dreaming vision, and though I may be hiding behind each brick and alley way, just watching, when I wake I am sobered. The waning connection pounds through my blood, and I realize-

my dreams with him are happier than any real life I have ever owned.

I  regret leaving him. And I’ll never forget stepping on the plane, tears streaming down my flushed face, and the stewardess asking “are you sure you want to go, miss?” Half mocking, half concerned. I looked up, eyes steady though cold, and said “I’ve never been more sure of anything”. I fell to the ground then, contents spilling from every bag, and I crawled every inch to that airplane leaving coins and reciepts and my final note from him behind

“gone to the store, buying you wine. let’s get schnaukered and watch kung fu”

{March 11, 2008}   Drawing the L.

Two women are walking toward each other, forming the straight, perpendicular lines of an L.  If you looked quickly, you might think a mirror had broken somewhere on an Oklahoma horizon, and one woman had become two.  One woman had morphed into a slightly different reflection of herself.  Distorted.  Like a funhouse mirror.

This is because our lives are like carnivals.

One woman is taller than the other, lighter haired, slimmer.  The other is shorter, curvier, darker.  Both walk in long strides, high heeled, eyes up and not focused on anything in particular.  Each woman’s right foot hits the pavement below the curb at the exact same moment.  Each woman’s left foot pulls one step ahead.  Each woman hits the halfway mark of a crosswalk, and when a black car pulls up at each crosswalk, both women ignore it.  Both women reach the other side of the street at the same moment.  The cars, however, do not.

When the women reach the angle of the L, the taller woman stops and lets the shorter woman go past.  They cross each other and travel the other’s former path.  The shorter woman begins to walk more quickly now, as if traveling another’s path is more dangerous than forging your own.

As if it is.  I’ve always felt that way, myself.

{March 7, 2008}   cutting keys

Perhaps I jumped into it.

I gave him a key, and whether I convince myself it was for convienence or not,  it was because I’d never done it before. It made me feel grown up. Like a real adult in a real adult relationship. Little did I know it would turn out to be one of the more childish periods in my life.

I didn’t ask for it back. Something in me revels at the thought of him carrying it on his keychain, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger late at night. I know one day soon he’ll slip it through the metal ring, stash it in a drawer or maybe just toss it in the garbage bin. Either way it will be much harder for him to let go of than it ever should.

 Now I hear he’s dropped off the face of the planet ever since I said goodbye.

 It’s a terrible habit of mine- dating sentimental men with reckless abandon. Perhaps next time I will only hand over the keys to the lawnmower, how attached can that make a man?

et cetera