traction and distraction

It's hard for my to even begin to process the last few weeks. In an attempt to escape all of it, Zoe and I ran away together for the day. It didn't help me understand my current situation any better, but it was fun and full of distracting tastes and sights. 

I've worked really hard to distract myself from my various recent problems and anxieties. I even cancelled my recital in hopes of healing from tendonitis. I've found ways to convince myself that a breakup after a two year relationship is really not that bad.  I've watched mind-numbing movies with my mother when I know that we're both thinking about my Dad spending Christmas alone. I constantly remind myself that it could be worse, and I KNOW it could be worse. But this is my life and these are my problems. I've never been so impulsive, hedonistic, and eager for male attention. I tell myself that this is temporary, but I'm afraid if I don't run away from these habits now I'll just get myself into more trouble.

Being away from my cello is weakening me. I'm not really sure who I am away from this big wooden box, and in moments like this, I realize how much this THING has become a part of my identity. Although I can't imagine life without playing music, I also can't stand the thought of needing it. My sense of identity away from the cello is blurry at best. I've always said "Fuck plan b" with an uppercase F and a lowercase b, but I'm quickly losing confidence in my original plan to only have an original plan.

Just to clarify, my distractions have not been meaningless. One distraction in particular has given me a really interesting perspective and a surprising amount of affection. It has also caused me to swing back and forth between boosts and drops of confidence because I am constantly questioning this distraction's intentions and desires. I would like this distraction to be much more than a distraction, but I am afraid that this distraction believes that I am also just a distraction and cannot be more than a distraction. These concerns are already distracting me from the original distraction.

oh god

When I came home this morning from the store, I ran into a group of about ten people walking down the sidewalk carrying gift bags. I asked what they were doing and they said they were from the church across the street and they were talking to people and giving gifts.
"Have you ever thought of visiting our church?" one woman asked.

I had, so I honestly said. "Yes."

"Can we say a prayer for you?" she asked me. I hesitated for a second, but told her yes. They formed a circle and we all held hands. They prayed for my soul and prayed that I would form a relationship with God and prayed that my house would always be protected from danger. All the others started praying for me simultaneously and I briefly glanced up to watch their faces. I even said "amen" at the end. They each hugged me before they continued their walk, and although I had no belief that my soul was any more close to getting saved, I allowed myself to enjoy each stranger looking me in the eye, smiling, and giving me a warm hug.

It's easy for me to be cynical about church. I was raised to ask questions and to doubt absolutely everything.  Jesus has always seemed like a pretty fascinating person to me, but I have no reason to believe that God somehow impregnated his virgin mother. Week after week, I sit through church services and pick apart each sermon until the only truth I can actually conclude is that people are completely insane for choosing to attend church services and for choosing to pump their money into it. While each church is different, they all emphasize forming a personal relationship with God. To me, forming a relationship with God is like trying to form a personal relationship with a doll that your mother has always told you is up in the attic, but you've never actually seen this doll... and you try to imagine its face.... and she tells you that this doll is the most important thing in the universe but the ladder to the attic is broken and has always been broken so just try try try to have faith that it's there in the first place... and oh by the way you must tell all of your friends about this doll. Is this a horrible analogy? It probably is.

Anyway, it seems to me that while churches emphasize forming a relationship with God, the more honest and attainable goal is forming relationships with OTHER PEOPLE. You know, real living and breathing and farting people. Why else go to church?

In the spirit of Christmas, I have decided to suspend some of my cynicism for a moment just to recognize some of the similarities between me, a girl who laughs during communion and sends text messages during the sermon, and church people. I enjoy a sense of community. I enjoy speculating about the mysterious functions of the universe. I enjoy hugging. I enjoy stories. I enjoy volunteer work, even though I know my ego is wrapped up in it. I think I could even enjoy imagining that my food is the flesh of a person, but I haven't given that much effort yet.

I wanted to laugh at the church people walking down the sidewalk, but how could I laugh at people who are willing to hold my hand, wish for my safety, and give me hugs? Physical and emotional pain has made the past few months difficult. Friends and strangers have offered advice that could "save" me: God, pills, water, exercise, working hard, not working hard, having sex, not having sex, time with friends, time away from people, vegetables, vitamins.... The list grows longer each day. I appreciate all of the advice and maybe some of these things and activities and concepts will ease my pain, but what has helped me more than anything is just having people involved in my life in the first place. Our bodies work hard to move and speak and think, and when someone uses this limited energy to try to help me, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude. So... there you go. Everything is fine and Merry Christmas.

Maybe I am only my body.

My heart is breaking and where are you?

I went to Wal-Mart to buy all the things that could save me from my abandonment:

a neck-supporting pillow, so I could sleep deeply enough to not have dreams of you
vitamins, so I could become strong without you
stamps and envelopes, so that I could send Christmas cards to all your family reminding them not to forget me
eye drops, so I wouldn't look like a drug addict after crying about you in the car

Except I couldn't find the stamps and I almost began to cry. Everybody in the store looked so ugly to me in the harsh lights, but I knew I looked just as terrible. Every time a man looked at me, I felt like they could read my mind which made me want to crawl into a shelf.

All the things are still in a bag. I will start the recovery process tomorrow, so tonight I will just leave myself alone to wonder how you could just stop loving me.

I'm trying not to feel because I know I'll only feel pain. So I can't listen to anything too beautiful or look at the pictures that mean something to me. I really really can't.
The cortisone shot helped my arm go numb,  so I can't feel so much of the pain my arm has endured for months. What can I use when my heart is breaking?

All I really want to do is jump on the trampoline with the kids next door. (all day)

more melrose adventures

I walked into my office at melrose (which isn't really my office.. just a room I claimed that EVERYBODY else wants to claim because it has carpet) to practice as usual. There was yellow liquid in my water bottle. I stared at the bottle for a few seconds... "maybe it turned yellow on its own?" But that just doesn't happen. I ignored it at first, pulled out my cello, began pracicing... but I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was just sitting there next to me... being yellow.

"ANDREW! GET UP HERE! NOW!" He ran upstairs. "Take this. Throw it away." There was also a plastic cup filled with yellow liquid. I wanted to believe it was tea, but there's no way. Somebody came and pissed in my water bottle, it wasn't big enough, so they peed in one of the plastic cups sitting on the desk.

I thought back to the previous day. My chamber ensemble was in the same room practicing, and during a delicate spot in the music, we heard a big "ERRRRRRR" coming from a tuba in the room above. We yelled all together, "NO MORE TUBA!" and the noise stopped abruptly. Then the window slammed shut. Could this water bottle pissing incident be a result of an angry tuba player seeking revenge? Or was somebody upset that I had claimed the nice room and wanted to quite literally mark their territory? Or did somebody convince themselves that it was simply more convenient?


It's really hard to practice scales when you're trying to figure out who pissed in your water bottle.

I went to orchestra a few minutes later and shot angry looks at the low brass for the first hour. During our break, I walked up the the tuba players. There's really no delicate way of asking somebody if they pissed in your property, so I went ahead and asked. They did a pretty good job of convincing me that they would never piss in an empty water bottle, so I left it at that.

Anyway, my office is now on the third floor. I'm not going to tell you what room though, because I still haven't figured out who pissed in my water bottle

-------------------------

PART 2:
I sent out a big email advertising the album my friend zoe just released (which I recorded cello parts for). I got a reply from Rusty Holloway that made me feel pretty great:

"This is too hip for wurdz... congrats... you have crossed over..."



hey mr. picture of rusty... I wish you were my dad.















I'll give a shoutout to my cello teacher too... because he's a champ.  But he probably thinks I need quit playing silly old jazz music.
hey mr. picture of wesley... you get a smaller picture because you didn't say I was "hip"

Went down to the fair yesterday and helped judge a kid's talent show. I heard "The Climb" by Miley Sirus THREE times.... and gave one less point for originality each time. I heard a girl sing something that sounded like it came from a church in the middle ages. I saw a perky clogger, a boy with a guitar, many cowgirls, acrobatic dancers.... When they announced the winners at the end, EVERYBODY looked disappointed (except for the grand prize winner). And the kids who didn't win anything just looked miserable. I told a few of them they did a great job (and they did) but they did not look convinced and their parents gave me this look like "Thanks for trying, but we know our child is pathetic."

Zoe's new album is amazing. I'm really proud to be part of it. We sat around last night watching "America's Next Top Model" and eating ice cream. Talk about a good Saturday Night.

I probably shouldn't even be typing right now. My arm has been hurting me. I could hardly practice yesterday.. it's awful.

Luv C

My turkish, muslim roommate is standing at the door arguing with an african american southern baptist who showed up with a hand drawn cartoon about hell and sinning. They've been standing in the doorway for a half an hour and the heat is pouring in. I think they should go to Denny's or something.

Whenever I see a cluster of girls walking down the strip in strapless dresses, I wonder if I'm missing out on something. It seems like that's what you do in college- go to class in gym shorts during the day, roll your eyes at teachers, complain about stress, gulp down energy drinks, and go out drinking and and searching for a short-term sex partner at night. It didn't work out for me like that. I spend a lot of time practicing and eating meals alone, and when I'm not doing that, I'm spending time with my "serious" boyfriend. It's working out though, and I've done a good job of convincing myself that my life is somehow more meaningful this way. It's probably not, but I feel pretty good about my ability to walk down the street all alone in my practical shoes.

Personality really shines through when somebody is playing music. People who listen carefully in conversations also listen carefully when playing music with others. People who crack jokes constantly also play with a sense of humor. And people who are aggressive and insensitive often play that way. I wonder what my playing reflects.

School is back in session. Nothing to say about that, other than it's pretty hot to cart around a cello in between several different buildings. The music building is almost completely torn down now, and all the music majors are fascinated with the process. Every day I hear somebody say "Man! They tore down the band room closet today. Everything is so crazy." I don't really care. Despite playing music in that building for nine years, I don't feel particularly attached to it. I've always loved moving. I guess people people get sentimental about different things. There are certain songs that are hard for me to listen to because they bring me back to a really specific time and person. I won't mention names, but most of them are dudes. I'll have itunes on shuffle, and it will come to that song and my heart will skip a beat. But that's the only thing. I'm tough.

Max is leaving for college. I guess I'm a little emotional about. He'll only be two hours away though... I probably won't see him any less that before. All these thoughts keep running through my head like "Did I hit him too much when we were younger" "Did calling him stupid all the time destroy his confidence" "Do we actually look alike?" "Is this it? Are we grown up?" "Will we move to opposite sides of the country after school and see each other once a year for a holiday that means nothing to me?"
I was feeling fine until I just asked those questions. So much for letting it all pour out.

I'm sitting in a hot dorm room right now. The fan is blowing on me, the floor is filthy, I'm not practicing, I'm spying on everybody walking to the library, my armpits are sweating, I'm poking my belly wondering if I gained weight over the summer, and I'm wondering why I have to be so self-absorbed all the time. Maybe because I don't watch the news.

zoe did this

San Francisco is weird.
Thad an I slept in a closet, just like Harry Potter. With the window open it was cold and it reminded me how nice it is to have a warm body next to me when cold air is surrounding me.
I like his body. I am constantly grabbing, holding, pushing, and pulling it.

you butterfly danced
my heart pounded strong
I gazed with magnet eyes
as you lifted off
but I couldn't fight
your flight to beyond to
fly north for the summer
to settle with winged ones
to be free to flutter without
the wet and heat
of the south and my mouth
and a rain of phonemes
won't cool you off?

door to door, girl to girl

People going door to door around here a lot more than in west knoxville. I've had a bunch of guys come to my door trying to sell security systems. It seems like a good idea, but my cello is insured and I can't convince myself that it would protect me against rape or homicide. I don't like the way they beep either.

My doorbell rang the other day and I looked through the peephole (something I never did out west) to find two girls my age.

"Hello maam. We're seeking friendly, non-violent people. Are you friendly and non-violent?"

I tried not to laugh but it was impossible. "Yeah, I'm friendly and nonviolent."

We have 150,000 points currently which puts us in fourth place, so we're doing everything we can to get up to second place at least."

I didn't know what the hell they were talking about, but it sounded like a game I wanted to play. Then she handed me a brochure about Hawaii and some kind of contest. It wasn't until I opened it that I realized they were trying to sell magazines. Ebony, Spin, Backpacker Magazine....
Her friend just stood there. She was a really pretty girl with dark hair and dark eyes, but she looked bored. Or stoned. And kept looking around in different directions.

I really wasn't interested but I asked about the cost of Spin.
"Yes maam." she replied. That made me feel like an asshole. They scanned the price sheet trying to find the magazine (surely they were in alphabetical order) but after a minute of standing there while they searched for the price together, I said "Nevermind. Uh... what about the backpacker magazine?" They found that one, but I told them I couldn't afford it. I sensed that they were relieved to finally come across a girl close to their own age because they kind of lingered, even after I was obviously not interested in their magazines.

"So.. do you guys go to school around here or...."

"No. I want to go into the army though and they make you take 10 hours of college classes so I'll do that and then I'll go into the army and I WILL achieve my dream," the girl on the left said (then gasped for air). Actually, I think she rehearsed everything she said to me.

I asked the pretty, bored girl "What about you? Are you in school?"

"No (pause). I'm in cosmetology school."

"You guys should be careful around here."

"Yeah this guy down the road chased after us a few minutes ago. We finally got away"

"Shit. Have you tried to go further west?"

"Naw.. we're getting picked up out here." They stood there for a minute, then she asked for a class of water. I felt sorry for them. Their only hopes of escaping Knoxville depended on winning this crazy contest, which was probably a scam in the first place. They wanted to jet off to Hawaii, yet they weren't even able to travel five miles to sell magazines to people with real money in safe neighborhoods.
Anyway, I hope they won and are sitting on the beach right now forgetting all about getting chased down, getting hit on, getting sweaty in the heat, getting points, and getting judged by me.

Uhm, I would LOVE to go to the church picnic. And be involved in anything else that will save my sad talentless soul.

Don't you hate it when you're home alone practicing and you get frustrated and starting yelling "SHIT" and your doorbell rings, and it's the minister from down the road and you know that he heard everything, including the awful music and the profanities?

Me too.

the gathering

My cousin pounded each key of the piano while we, the family, gathered around the living room sitting on chairs and steps. I saw my aunt shed a tear and wondered why, but soon felt my own breath grow short as I glanced at the characters of my life. They stared quietly at the walls and furniture, their minds filling with memories of scraped knees, dead wives, and failed pies. The room filled with wrong notes, right notes, sneezes, sighs, and an itchy feeling that the last chord struck would never be heard again.

I, too, am an AMERICAN

Let me just go ahead and get this out there: I have ties to the socialist party but that's over, sort of.
I used to talk to Brian Moore on the phone while he was running for president, and I decided to see what he was up to these days. Believe it or not, he actually assigned me to be the socialist elector of my district. Anyway, this is old news but I just came across this video. When I actually got into the voting booth, I stared at the ballot for a long time then quickly voted for Obama, but I did feel a little guilt because I'm pretty sure I was the only member of the socialist party in Knoxville.

spread the wealth?

my buddy brian on colbert

PS: If you're reading this Jerod, just know that when you're gonna get wrinkles if you make lots of horrified faces and frown.

It's a tolerable day in the neighborhood, would you be mine?

For the first time, I'm a minority in my neighborhood. Hopefully, my lack-o-melanin doesn't draw attention. But seriously. I think living alone is going to save me from my parents. The only hard thing about living in a house is finding time to fill it with crap. If anyone has any crap they don't need, just toss it in my living room.

I don't think my teacher was actually in love with me (see post below). I think I just secretly want everyone to be in love with me.

Two great websites that I've found recently:
FASCINATING VIDEOS THAT WILL MAKE YOU SMART!!!!!!

Texts from last night (read this website when you have two hours to kill because you won't stop reading them)

Shoutouts to my dawgs playing in summer festivals and traveling around the world. I'm just gong to be alone in my living room practicing scales and praying that my tendonitis keeps its cool and that doing 5 crunches a day will be sufficient enough to keep Thad attracted to me. So if anyone is in the same boat as me and wants to occasionally meet up to play boggle (big boggle 5X5 board) or watch movies on my dad's netflix account or go jogging at night in the mechanicsville area.... well... call me.

my grade. look closely.

 I don't think I have the ability to be truly obsessed with something.  I think people who are genuinely obsessed with something and can't control themselves are... maybe sick in some way. But I was tired of skimming the surface and finally had to dive head first into this freak fest that is the music scene of knoxville. I have to hold on with both hands now because... I don't know why. I just have to. So now this is officially my "thing" and I'm just going for it with my whole heart, and improving more quickly than I ever have. And maybe someday I will produce the PERFECT NOTE that will cure somebody.

And on a similar note (har), after a brief period of uncertainty last semester, I quickly realized that I could not be apart from the most remarkable person I know, aka the only man I have every loved, aka Thad.

So we all came together, me and cello and thad and sarah jordan and we drank and drank for days and never got hungover because we drank a secret love potion that made us love each other forever and prevented us from ever feeling bad again.

praying seems like a good idea

(jenny holzer)

Let's turn "love" into a verb again. Let's show that we care instead of telling it.




PS: damnit damnit damnit

here's to banal bullshit

No really. I mean it!
It's amazing.. the mundane shit we put up with just to eventually have some magical, inspired moment.
I'm sitting in the ear training lab listening to midi chords... trying to identify them. And I tell myself that it will pay off. Most of what I spend my time doing doesn't mean anything. Or doesn't mean that much. But it's all meant to be part of the bigger fantasy, so I sit in the ear training lab before spring break, I make flashcards, I buy a new tire, brush my teeth, put on clean socks.. and it's all supposed to be a part of the bigger plan. But the thing is, I don't really have a bigger plan. It's more of a pretty glowing light in the distance that I'm running towards, but I don't even know what it is. And I probably never will, but I'll keep doing these things, taking care of business... bathing... and all of that

I must recreate this today.



And I must write a paper about these.

 

LAAA LA LAAAAAAAAAAA

I'm beginning to think that people are repulsed by me/don't want to live with me/think I'm smelly/generally annoyed.
The question is... Why? Damnit damnit damnit I want to be loved all the time. Too bad I gotta be such a paranoid smelly bitch.

(this isn't my creation.. it belongs to someone who I really don't talk to/care about anymore. but eh..)

In other news, Kitchen Counter Culture (well so far that's our name) is practicing for the first time tomorrow. Once I have a kickass band, everything will change and this town will RESPECT me. That would be nice. I often type "Thad" instead of "That" and then have to correct myself. Cute, huh? Thad would be nice.

Melrose

Smack dab in the middle of campus is a old dorm building called Melrose. Every day, I drag my cello and bag of food up to this building and climb up the stairs to the RA room on the second floor. The room is completely empty, except for a folding chair and stand. I check my reflection, make some adjustments, place my lunch on the shelf, and unload my cello and sheet music. From the window, I can see the hideous "whirlwind of opportunity" sculpture on the pedestrian walkway.

I begin to play open strings, letting my arm sink into the string with all its weight. The sound fills the empty room and bounces against every surface, finally escaping through the cracked window, leaking down the side of the building, and trickling down the sidewalk. I glance out the window and see people looking the the left, right, and up above. I'm never sure what they're looking for but I pray that they hear the residue my sounds and are desperate to find the source. I tell myself that all these punk kids really need is some exposure to Rachmaninoff. Then they wouldn't need to watch MTV. HEY PUNK KIDS,  TAYLOR SWIFT AIN'T GOT NUTHIN ON THIS SHIT!

I take a break and run through the halls, then open random doors, hoping to find somebody lying in bed who never got the memo that Melrose is closed for good. I say, "Dude! Do you realize you're the only person living in this building? All the other rooms are empty!." They say something like, "What are you talking about? I've just been sleeping here. You need to get out of my room or I'll find the RA" Then I say, "I am the RA. That's my room over there. And by the way, I've been using the men's restroom." Then I tap dance down the hall while I eat my carrot.

a mysterious reward

I had a dream last night that I played in the jazz concert. I had sang and had lots of solos... and as it was happening, I saw myself on stage. An out of body experience, I guess you would call it. I had no control of what I was doing-- all I could do was watch it happen from out in the audience, but floating above the crowd as if I didn't even exist. The sounds were all muddled and everything was blurry. When the performance was over, everybody came up to me and told me how amazing it was, which I had a hard time believing. Somebody gave me a reward.. or what I thought was an award, but it looked like a pile of mail.

__________________

Why does everything have to affect me? Every word spoken to me, every dream, every glance, every touch... Why does everything have to shake my world and fill me with joy or doubt?

I need to stop analyzing and interpreting everything... searching for hidden meanings and emotional  nuances.

The end (officially the end of this thought)

It's hard to be productive after watching The Virgin Suicides.

There's no such thing as the "right reason" to do something.
God bless my inflated ego.

freezing and throwing

Freeze!
while I take this moment
to throw a sound at you
and you will feel something
whatever that is
and I will hope that
you feel what I feel
but you won't, you can't
you will feel something
to throw at someone
they will feel something
to throw at someone
and we won't know what
that something is or
who that someone is
but it won't matter
because we will be feeling
and if nothing else
we will be freezing
we will be throwing

the goal

what I want to do here:

1. write my ideas
2. entertain

what I don't want to do here:

1. use words that don't matter
2. describe shit that doesn't matter

The End.
I mean, The Beginning.