Cookie cutter family

I've got baby fever, and not the kind you would think. It's more like baby dog fever. I apparently shouldn't have real children. Some girl at work the other day told me I should have my ovaries removed. Granted I made a joke about being tired and sticking a child in a closet. I guess that's not something you joke about. Not that I in any way even want a real kid. But a puppy, that is a baby I could handle.

And I know it will be hard work. I am under no disillusion that having a puppy won't be one of the hardest things I've done. I know he will whine at 6 in the morning to go out. I know he will nip and chew on things. I know he will pee on the floor and cost me plenty of money.
But I also know that he will be loyal and love me no matter what. He will look at me and I will melt. He will jump up to cuddle me and we will know that we belong together.

I have barely spoken to my mother in two months. I have family close but really only close enough for me to see them infrequently. I feel like getting my puppy will be like building my family. Unorthodox, yes. But my family none-the-less. I always pictured it as me, a dog, and a cat. I mean I assume some other person will come in to the picture at some point. Actually, I expect and hope for it, but until then, why not start building my unit now, when I have the resources and time?

Aubade

A poem I've been working on for a while. It's still not quite where I want it but I thought I'd publish it here all the same. :)  And an "aubade" is a poem in which two lovers are separating in the morning.

Between the real and the real

your body is spelled backwards

on red painted lips

which whisper secrets

that even your ribs didn’t know.

Your hips sing sirens,

light fires that won’t die

until the sun kisses

the windowsill.

Between the real and the real

tongues entwine with hips

and the slow cessation

of breath bumps rythms

against the sensitive curves

of lips, shaping lust

in their very indents.

Between the real and the real

your legs wrap beats

that leave my skin clinging,

and I gasp into your mouth

as your body

is unwritten.

The things that make a difference

I'm in Mexico with my lovely, amazing family and the only thing I can think of is how lonely and lost I feel. I'm trying, dear readers. I am laughing, and I we went on a whale watching tour today and we saw three separate pods of whales! 14 total. and I believe that that was my first genuine smile in a long time. The first time in a while that I felt truly me. The last time was when my bestie S was in town. She is amazing and makes me feel like myself, utterly and lightly me. Not this happy person I try to be. Not the sarcastic bitter person I have become. Not lonely and desperate for contact. Just me. A me that is alright being alone. Not being attached to someone else.

I thought maybe the sun and warmth would fix me but maybe this dear, crushing heart break is not something that can be fixed with the smell of the ocean and the flip of a gigantic tail, the spray of the sea.

I never really thought there was anything that the sun couldn't fix.

Maybe, sometimes, I don't even think that I have a heart to give anymore, so I give the very pieces of myself as love. I love you, I whisper, and a the very splinter of my third rib down is torn from me, and handed over. A token.

My heart I gilded over, flew away when the very people I call family betrayed me. When hands took things from me too young, when my mother tried to kill herself.  My heart soared away, light and beautiful, to remain that way always, far from dark people who do dark things.

I'm so sorry to be so depressing. It's draining to be friends with such a person, I know. I'm not entirely certain my friends read this blog. I'm not entirely certain anyone should read this blog. But for now, writing gives me some relief, and that will make all the difference.

Falling into line

I'm having one of those beautiful, rare days where nothing can put me in a bad mood. I got my hair cut, got a new bathing suit (and free underwear, heck yes), and some coffee. And I feel amazing. I feel confidant and happy. Like I'm in control of my life and it is going to be amazing. I think of myself as so old sometimes but seriously, I'm 23. And I know that will turn into 30 in no time but really, bring it on. I should be excited about life and not scared of it. I've come across Lucille Ball's quote "love yourself first and everything else falls into line" two days in a row in two separate places. So I'll take that as a sign, follow her advice and rock this year. I just know it's going to be great. :)

Sweet dreams lovely readers

I apparently fall for assholes. That's really all there is to it. I can't handle people who are all put together because they don't understand what I come from, how broken I feel most of the time just dealing with basic everyday things.
So I find boys, or men, who are broken too, so theory we would understand one another. But it just turns out that two broken people push one another away.
I get clingy when I feel uncertain. It's a problem. I get it. But I clasp on so tight because I really can't bear losing anyone else in my life. And usually men with issues have a problem with emotions. So, I end up pushing and they pull until one of us ends up falling face first in the mud (just in case you were wondering, it's usually me).

Sometimes I just want a house and a dog. Only me. Me, Jane, and a dog. And a good job. One I absolutely love. And I will write and have a nook full of pillows and the whole place will be lovely and open and clean. And warm. Oh, so warm. Because I can't handle the cold anymore.
And I won't sleep 14 hours a day like I have been recently. I'm just so tired and there are just too many hours in the day. And I'm sad. I really am trying so hard not to be. I just feel like I keep opening up to these people who don't give a fuck. And yet I have to remind myself that I have lovely, amazing friends.

But I long for a hug. So simple really. An all encompassing hug, one which uses one's whole body. That's the thing I miss most when I'm single, the touch. People don't touch, or really aren't supposed to (or so I hear from my manager).
I just want to cuddle. Is that so much to ask? (Just kidding lovelies, I want so much more than cuddling.)

And now that I sound all pretentious (I mean really, who calls herself "broken"?), and pathetic (I just want to cuddle *gush*), I am going to get some sleep. Sweet dreams to anyone who happens to stumble across this.

You want me to pine for you...

well that's just too fucking bad.

Walking into something which feels a bit like the coyote and road runner... I'll probably end up hanging over a cliff

I'm not entirely sure what I'm walking into today. It could be a pistol whipping gun show or possibly a sappy romantic comedy, or maybe a firework show so glorious that the oohs and aahs play accompaniment to the bangs. Or maybe I'm walking into a deafening silence and my heart will beat it's rhythm so loud and fierce that words won't be needed. I guess any way it seems to happen, I'm going.

Tattoo cravings

I'm craving a new tattoo. I'm not sure if it's because I want something new and meaningful or because the pain sounds nice right about now, but either way I want one.

I have this theory that the Beatles song "All You Need is Love" is the quintessential truth. That if we all had so much love for one another, be they friends, lovers, partners, strangers, husbands, wives, family, then life would work out the way it is supposed to. I get that this is a naive thought, I really do. But if we all acted out of kindness and selflessness then maybe there wouldn't be any bad, and my relationships that keep ending because of someone being busy, or hateful, or whatever other reason, wouldn't have had to end. We could go on loving one another. I would never have lost a friend, my mother wouldn't drink too much or be depressed, children wouldn't be killing themselves in school parking lots. None of these terrible things would happen if love were all we needed.

But this was all to say that I'm trying to decide whether to get the Beatles' "love is all you need" or Walt Whitman's "some people are so much sunshine to the square inch" tattooed on me. My ultimate tattoo would be a garter belt with a little gun tucked in, but I think it's going to cost too much.

It's going to have to be after I go to Mexico anyway so that it doesn't melt right off my side into a puddle of dirty ink, or flake off into the ocean.

My ultimate goal for the night: paint my nails and try to stay warm.

You are so much sunshine to the square inch...

you know who you are.

Not a good excuse

I had one of those days where getting out of bed seems near impossible. I laid there for three hours, just thinking about how I should be up, before actually peeling myself up.

It really all boils down to a guy (doesn't it always?). Maybe more on that later, but right now it's too fresh. But just one comment, I would like to say that saying you have too much shit going on is not a good excuse, because seriously friend, who doesn't?

Between bills, debt, loans, school, lack of school, still working the same job you worked in college, friends who leave you at a bar, not being pretty enough, being too pretty, being too short or tall or too fat or skinny, between break-ups and dating and too much of the bad sex, and not enough of the good sex, dry skin, cracked lips and elbows, not having enough time for sleep, having too much time for sleep, broken blower motors (it's a car part perverts), drunken mothers, car crashes, mental illness, insurance, or lack there of, overdrawn bank accounts, maxed out credit cards, graduate school applications, seriously, after all those things, who doesn't have too much shit?

But it's when all those things are colliding at you, when you feel broken and overwhelmed, that you should pull the people in your lives around you like a blanket, warm and like home. I promise, dear friend, it is so much easier that way.

And now, after I sound all preachy, I will say goodnight, and that you are lovely.

Why I feel alone in a crowd of people

I’m not sure I could pinpoint it exactly, this feeling of being surrounded by people and being utterly alone. It’s strange. Like no matter how many friends I have and how lovely and amazing they are and no matter how much I know deep down that they actually think I’m lovely too, I can’t shake the feeling that I am just completely unlikeable. I can’t even fathom why given the choice anyone would want to spend their time in my company. 

And I guarantee you I’m not saying this to get a bunch of “but you know I like you”’s and “you’re amazing”’s. It really has nothing to do with my searching for compliments. I just genuinely feel unfit to be around people. I feel like sadness leaks right off of my skin and sticks to others, until before they know it, they’re sad too. I know reasonably that this is not the case. I can tell myself all the pretty words, and I can smile and laugh along. And you can tell me I’m funny and I can tell you you’re great to be around. I can play along. But really I’m anxious that you’re judging me, thinking “why is this girl talking to me?” Wondering if you’re thinking I’m weird and awkward, thinking that I’m a flake, because I make all these big plans to go out and then I get home and I can breathe, and I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath in the first place.

And I am uncomfortable being alone, because I wonder if I am alone because I’m unbearable to be around. But then when I’m around people, I am generally wondering the same thing. So really this is the reason why I can feel alone in a room full of people. And you can call me weak, and say that it’s all in my head and just to get over it, and I would say, oh I would if I could. Because being lonely is getting so old.

blog origins

I got the idea for my blog title from the poetry collection Astrophil and Stella. Astrophil means star gazer and Stella means star. A star and her gazer, and in this collection the gazing is done from afar. I'm not entirely certain why I like the idea of a star owning another star. In the poems Stella never knows of Astrophil and his love for her, so I always wonder if she's gazing at someone else, in love secretly. This string of unknown adoration. And he would be her star, as she is the star to Astrophil.

It's a romantic idea, and I am nothing if not a hopeless romantic.

I was told a couple weeks ago, twice in the same day that I needed to be writing. And my best friend challenged me to be honest about the depression I have battled with ever since I can remember. So here, dear readers, I am going to be candidly honest. Not always beautiful, not always lovely and sweet, but honest.