Lips of An Angel

"It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words - it makes me weak
And I never wanna say goodbye
But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel"
                  ~Lips of an Angel lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC


What a different world it is since I used to write. Such a different space this is then the one I used to use as a platform for my thoughts and feelings. Now it's a platform for everyone's thoughts. No need to have the skill of putting words to the page; you barely need the ability to spell anymore. Between open letters and mommy/daddy/teen/pet blogs and keyboard warriors waging their war on every societal norm in which they disagree with their mighty typing. Hell, one doesn't even need a computer, because even the most powerful among us use their Twitter fingers with wild abandon to grammar, or sentence structure. 

I have watch all this with sadness, as someone who has always cherished the written word. There was a time I would have told you my favorite book was a thesaurus. Yet now, after reading opinion after opinion, rant after rant, and sometimes just a steady stream of mental diarrhea that pours out of any screen lately, I feel an over-saturation. Why would anyone choose to read another random blog by an essential nobody, when there are all these celebrities to follow? Who even wants to read, when they can watch YouTube for hours or live feeds on any social media platform? 

I do. I cherish books that thankfully still exist, and hope that knowledge and enlightenment will not be replaced by ignorance and intolerance. But, even I admit, I don't devour them like I used to. At the risk of sounding like and old person who is stubborn and steadfast in their ways, I just feel like we've lost something. A special thing that can't fully be replaced by videos and pictures and the collective opinion. 

Being in the midst of someone who can truly articulate themselves, whether through writing or speech, is a beautiful thing. Words are a gift that are unique to us as humans, and I feel it slipping away. Almost like we are reverting back to a time when people communicated in grunts and by drawing pictures on walls. I read countless posts by young people who can't spell some of the simplest words correctly. I even read online articles from newspapers with so many typos, I wonder how no one cares. Why does no one care? 

Then I realize it doesn't matter. Honestly, one middle-aged mom in Las Vegas has her heart hurt over the world's apathy toward the death of the written word. There are children dying of cancer, innocent people being murdered over their beliefs, poisons being released into our water, air, on soil, and I'm going to bitch about this? I understand how ridiculous that is. That's why I don't even see a point to this. Anything I have to say, anything I have even thought, has been expressed by someone else in a much better way on some other forum. 

I suppose I can do it for me. Block comments so I don't have to listen to trolls who only want to feed on the sadness and insecurity they bring. Maybe. Writing is like a cherished lover to me, the thing I always drift back to because it ignites a passion and fills me inside like nothing else quite can, even after years away from it. By no means am I trying to say I'm a great writer. I am not. But, I strived to be, once upon a time.

Perhaps it is not the world I am so mad at, but at myself. I know there was a time where the potential was there, as well as the drive, and the world still wanted what I had to give, and yet I let that golden moment, that wisp of promise, slip away. And, for what? I'm sure for the thing most foolish young people throw away their dreams for. Love. As it turns out, it wasn't even for love, but just the hope of it. Not once, not twice, but many more times than should be allowed. A heart should not be allowed to break so much. Now I sit here, alone, with no desire for that thing I squandered dreams for, and nothing to show for it but the ghosts of my misplaced affections and the wisdom of hindsight. 


Alas, the world has moved on, and that flicker of something I had in what seems like a different life is not anything of value here. I accept that. On top of that, there are countless tragedies far worse. I know. But, that doesn't make it less sad to me.

Inspiration

I need a hobby.

Do you ever think too much? Think yourself into circles, questioning everything and everyone in your life until you are left sobbing in a ball in your bed wondering about the meaning of it all? No? Me neither...

Okay, so, yeah, I confess I have been a sobbing ball more nights than I want to admit. I'm hoping it's just because I don't do well with stress, and my life is just level 10 stress right currently. But, maybe I can start to make that better.

I was at a show for one of my many talented friends, talking to a couple of his beautiful and also talented friends, and one of them said something that triggered a switch in my head. She was telling me how she loves to draw, but she can't just have someone point at something and say "draw that," because she has to be inspired. That is exactly how I feel about writing. I have to be inspired. Unfortunately, bad times often are what get those creative juices flowing. So, with the state of my life right now, it should be Niagara falls up in here.

I'm going to try (again) to start blogging on a regular basis. We shall see if it sticks. Heaven knows I can use the distraction, I just don't know if I can be that disappointed anymore.

Wish me luck.

-Jen

But, I Have My Moments

"I am not the prettiest you've ever seen
But I have my moments, I have my moments
Not the flawless one, I've never been
But I have my moments, I have my moments
I can get a little drunk, I get into all the drugs
But on good days I am charming as fuck"
~"Moments" by T. Lo, 2015

It's been almost two years since my last blog. And, what have I done in that time? Well, for a while I was just existing. Going through the motions of the daily life of a single mom with a teenager. Sounds boring, and it was, but it was what I needed. For years, I had let myself be verbally put down by an ex parading as a "friend," but he was really just crushing my self esteem, and keeping me in the mindset that I was not good enough, and that no one would ever love me, and that I should be grateful for the morsels of affection he gave me. I tried to be his friend, but I felt lower than low. I felt like, if this was all I could ever expect from someone, if this was the best I could get, I would surely rather be alone forever. To me, life without passion, be it sex, love, friendships, art, etc., isn't really living, but existing. I just don't want any of it if it doesn't have that sparkle, that fire.

Then, a good friend of mine, Adam, passed away. He was only maybe seven months older than I am, and it was sudden and unexpected. At one time, Adam and I were the closest of friends. We would hang out together all the time, going to movies or out to eat. When I needed a ride, he was there. When I needed someone to serve my ex-husband with divorce papers, he was there. My daughter's birthday parties, holidays, any new shmuck boyfriend I got, he was there. But, then he moved away, and we kind of lost touch. I would see him on social media, and comment on each other's stuff on occasion, but I hadn't seen him in years, even after he moved back to Vegas. Then I got the message from his brother-in-law that he has been found dead in his apartment from natural causes. I was devastated because my friend was gone forever, but even more so that I had been a failure as a friend for letting so much time go by before contacting him, always assuming there would be time later. Later was too late.

From the depth of my grief came the realization that life is too short to be staring at the ground, on the edge of tears all the time because the person you are around the most is this heavy, negative, anchor, dragging you down. I let go. And, for the first time in years, I lifted my gaze to the sky. It felt good. So many things were still wrong, but at least I could start to feel my heart healing. I still had anger, and a deep feeling of bitterness, but ultimately I knew that I was the only person I could blame for staying when I really knew I shouldn't. I accepted that I was messed up, and I needed to heal. That is when an amazing thing happened; Jen started to come back. People began to want to be around me, and that felt good. I could make people laugh and smile, and that was the Neosporin to my soul.

I would like to think in the time I have been away, I have begun the journey back to me. Back to a world that holds a sparkle and shine, where a daily grin has replaced the daily tears. While I accept I am not pretty in general, I do believe I have moments where I am. I'm far from perfect, but there are moments I feel almost attractive. There was one major thing that I have been missing, and I have kind of been spinning my tires because of it, and that is the lack of a hobby. Then I stumbled upon this blog and thought, yes, that is what I need to do... Write! That has always been a passion, and so I am going to try to get it in more, because it really does make me feel good to get my thoughts out in writing, even if no one reads it. So, hopefully, I get into this routine, and that further pushes me towards happiness.

Well, I can hope...

~Jen 

Loving Him Was Red

"Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street
Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly
Loving him is like trying to change your mind once you're already flying through the free fall
Like the colors in autumn, so bright just before they lose it all

Losing him was blue like I'd never known
Missing him was dark grey all alone
Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met
But loving him was red
Loving him was red

 Touching him was like realizing all you ever wanted was right there in front of you
Memorizing him was as easy as knowing all the words to your old favorite song
Fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword and realizing there's no right answer
Regretting him was like wishing you never found out that love could be that strong."
~"Red" by T. Swift, 2012

What is it about exes? Like a comfy sweater you find in the back of the closest... Maybe it's something about time romanticizing the memories. Maybe when you are resigned to being single for the rest of your life, as I have, it's a better option than hooking up with someone new.

Here I am, about to celebrate my three year anniversary of being single. After my last disaster, detailed on this very blog, I decided I needed time. Time to heal, time to reflect, and time to focus on finding myself again. I think I did all that. And, the call of the keyboard has brought me back here, to my favorite guilty pleasure; writing.

In this time of introspection, I also think I realized that maybe I am just not a "relationship" type of person. I mean, I would love to say every ex was 100% at fault for things not working out, but of course that's not true. No one is blameless. In addition, like attracts like. I was messed up, and I attracted that, so things were pretty much doomed from the get go. I also think that maybe I got into these impossible relationships because deep down I knew I didn't want to really be a wife. It's not a label that fits me. I would rather just be Jen.

The last few years, thanks to the far reaching massiveness of social networking, I have been in the position to reconnect, virtually, with former loves. I see their lives daily, as they see mine, and we "like" each others photos and leave brief comments on statuses occasionally. It is truly awesome to see them with their spouses and kids and so happy. I genuinely only want the best for them.

It does sting a little bit, too. For reasons that are purely emotional and sentimentally based. Adults can deal with this, though. It's just part of loving someone. You want them happy, even if it's with someone else, but of course your heart still yearns irrationally.

That being said, I am a mature now and know that the past is best left in a photo album. I am learning how to enjoy now and make new memories. Life is short, beautiful, and better when viewed from the windshield than from the rear view mirror. I want to get the most out of it and just love everything.

Of course, we all have to glance at what's behind us now and then.

Tears Dry On Their Own

"He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day but I'm grown
And there's no way, in this blue shape
My tears dry on their own

I don't understand
Why do I stress a man
When there's so many bigger things at hand
We could've never had it all
We had to hit a wall
So this is inevitable withdrawal
Even if I stop wanting you
A perspective pushes true
I'll be some next man's other woman soon

I shouldn't play myself again
I should just be my own best friend
Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men"
(Winehouse, 2007)

I had told myself that I wasn't going to blog again until I had something positive to say. Every blog I had posted before my little hiatus had been so gloomy, and even I was getting sick of my Debbie Downer routine. So, I waited it out. And, it took a lot longer than I expected to feel like writing. Plus, the spring semester had finished up, so I really just needed some me time.

A cool thing happens when you give yourself time to be alone, and that thing is self reflection. I have done so much thinking the past month, about things like my friends and relationships, my health, my child's health and mental development, to even my eventual and inevitable disappearence from the universe. At times it had me worried and terrified, but it always came around to the same realization. NOW is the time. I can't put anything off. I can't waste time. The sands running through my hourglass are not going to pause, and so I need to make the most of every grain. I need to stop being an asshole, and freakin' live. I don't hate my life; I've actually been pretty fortunate in a lot of ways. But, that being said, I could certainly make it better. Since this is the only one I'm going to get, I damn well better make the most of it.

Okay, I will admit, I am going through a bit of a mid-life crisis, but that's okay. I am acknowledging it and embracing it. I would rather appreciate my life now then wait until I get diagnosed with cancer or some other miserable condition. I am in relatively good health, and I've been to a couple doctors recently to confirm that, so I need to use it. How many people out there who are not healthy would I be disrespecting by not utilizing my ability to do pretty much anything I want to? And, if I am even alive 50 years from now, I would look back on myself in disgust for not jumping on the opportunity to do something with myself besides moping and self loathing.

I guess what I realized, and what I know I already knew but wasn't acting on, is that crying over a unfaithful lover or a disappearing friend is not going to change anything, and it's just wasting precious time I could be spending on making my life or self better. There are always going to be people who don't like me, no matter what I do, and life goes on. I can't let it defeat me. I need to take the good and leave the bad and move on. We are all just here, making the most of this little glimpse of life we are given. Hurt will happen, just like sadness and disappointment and tears. But, wounds heal, tears dry, and the sun eventually always rises. In the end, what matters is that I'm still here to experience it all, and appreciate it while I can.

~Jen