Days of My Life

A few years ago, I diagnosed myself with "separation anxiety." Granted, it was one of those half-joking moments of admission. With that said, it was also one of those half-serious moments of confession. Admittedly, I probably never had a clinical case of separation anxiety, but I did know that I had always had trouble letting go of things because the idea of separation simply did not sit well with me. To delve further into my subconscious, my separation anxiety is likely due to the great ease at which I emotionally attach myself to the things and people nearby. Of equally reasonable consideration, it is also likely to due to some degree of narcissism in that I do not want, post-separation, for the other person to let go of--and worse--forget me (I mean, really. I'm me!) even though letting go is precisely the purpose, if not definition, of separation. Between platonic, romantic, and professional relationships, I often ended up in debates with myself. One part of my mind

Don't make plans, 'cause that's just hoping Don't make promises, 'cause they get broken Let's just take it one day at a time And live our lives 'Cause hearts fall harder from higher places Love gets lost in expectations Let's just take it one day at a time And live our lives ... 'Cause all I've ever known Is being in the moment Suddenly you're here with me I want to say forever But I know it's better If we don't say a thing _______________________________________________ I heard this song a short while ago on Pandora's Jason Reeves station, and since then have put it on repeat. I wish I could say that I do exactly what the lyrics prescribe, but I often can't help but end up wanting to--or at least talking about--make plans and promises. Don't get me wrong--I love the whole one day at a time thing, but eventually, one has to make plans, methinks. Without the expectation of a future or

At one point, I was eager--frantic, really--to replace every memory and every memento with someone and something else, so that I would forget. But lately, I find that I no longer want to replace. Rather, I want to just add to every past memory and memento, in a stratified manner, with most recent on top but less recent still ever present. It isn't necessarily that I'm not willing to let go--it simply is that I don't want to forget anymore. Yes, stratification will be my (temporarily) solution. Let's go back to replacements. Fortunately, many things are easily replaceable. And it's amazing that, because of that, you can so quickly achieve satisfaction. But of course alongside that are the abstract matters, feelings, and people that aren't immediately--if at all--replaceable. What then? Is there a difference between replacement and substitution? If the connotation of "substitution" is that of impermanence or instability, then a substitution for an abst

A friend recently told me that people spend an average of seven minutes prior to falling asleep reflecting on that day and planning for the next. I told him that was a bunch of phooey for me, because I spend every other unoccupied minute of the day thinking about such things--among many others--and once my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep immediately. Hubris. The last two weeks were terrible falling-asleep sessions in that I actually spent well over seven minutes thinking and planning for the next day and the rest of the week. I also had a heavy heart which kept me unfocused during the day. It's amazing how much even the smallest matter that you tell yourself doesn't matter, does matter and pervade your mind for days on end. But the burdened and heavy heart has at last been relieved. I'm currently reading Audre Lorde's Zami: A New Spelling of My Name  for my LGBT Issues in Education class, and am very much enjoying it. It almost feels as though I'm reading for

You're right there, and yet I'm too stubborn-- Okay, afraid--to initiate  What if you don't think of me What I think you think of me And I think of you what You don't think of me Too much thinking, methinks I ought to just do it, so I did--and nothing

I met someone at The Misfit earlier who asked me what I would do if I were paid $1 million a year to do it. My answer was automatic: write. And throughout the remainder of the conversation, he repeatedly encouraged me to write my poetry and to publish it, because that might be the thing that I one day make a living out of. More importantly, it's the one thing that I know I love to do. Additionally, he reiterated the importance of relationships. In order to establish relationships with people who have the potential to change your life for the better, though, you must first be nice. After about 15 minutes of conversation, he left, turning back to remind me, "Write and publish!" Fortunate are those who do what they love for a living. Fortunate, too, are those who love what they do for a living. Of course, there lies a difference between the two. Those who do what they love love what they do, and, per something I'm sure you've read or heard before, if you do what yo