The future

Out the window it waits
Through the front door
Around the next corner
Always there
Hovering, waiting, wishing
Maybe
Only a shimmer
Not something certain
An endless possibility
Who knows
Nobody does
Perhaps
Fortune, misfortune
It goes on and on
On and on forever
Always there
Until it’s not
Future

My mind...changes

This is my attempt at saying what someone with bipolar disorder would feel like in a moment when they try to not take the pills.


My feelings are like a bag of mixed things, you never know what you are going to get. The only difference is that the flavors can change in a matter of seconds. I never know why I am thinking what I’m thinking, or if it is a true feeling, but I am just not able to control what my heart says. I feel happy and sad about 3 times a day. For no reason at all, just because. I also have different opinions on people each minute, changing my ideas and doctrines constantly. I like someone one moment and then the next I just feel hatred towards them, just like that with no warning or explanation. I would pay billions of dollars to understand my mind and everything I do, but my head is probably to tangled to even be understood by professionals. There is no logical explanation for what happens, and me an extremely down to earth and curious person, is dying to find one. The results my brain produce with any miniature alteration, or sometimes even with no change at all, have to be caused by something, and I desperately want to find out what that is. How that can be done however, is something I don’t know.

I was given millions of chances. Opportunities for me to act as I pleased were settling all around me. I ignored every single one of them, and the few that I couldn’t shove away, I just snuggled myself out of the situations. At the moment, probably caused by humiliation, pressure, or simply my freaky mind, what I was doing seemed to be the right choice. It worked sometimes and others it didn’t but I figured I should keep on doing it and so I did. Millions of times I could have said what I really thought, and millions of times did I think about doing so, but every single one of those moments I chickened out, to afraid to act. Now here I am, sitting in bed, eating ice cream and trying to be happy, the next minute, I am, and then I’m not again. I try not to, I try to resist, but I can’t. I run the bathroom and drink one of the pills. My feelings stabilize, I feel better. In a while though, I know I will feel bad again. Changing every minute, taking pills, a vicious cycle.

Can't live with them, can't live without them

I must admit it feels kind off sad to have to title my piece with a cliché. It’s not like I hate them, not at all, but all my life I have been telling myself that clichés are too typical. Too common. However, during a recent trip with my friends I learned that many times clichés are the perfect fit for a situation. During one of the dinners, over a huge portion of wonderful lasagna we were discussing the exact meaning of the word cliché. I can clearly remember myself saying that they were statements and sayings that were common and usually funny. We talked some more and got to the conclusion that they generally don’t express the truth. However, I must apologize to well known lines.
How did I notice that the definition I had for them was wrong? Another simple yet complex word: guys. The trip was very fun, but that does not mean I didn’t learn anything from it. Guys are like a different species. A day into the trip the three girls, including me, had all the things stacked into neat piles in the closet. The bathroom reeked of perfume, creams, and lotions and it wad covered with all sized bags filled with items needed for our personal hygiene. We asked the guys if they had unpacked and they said they had. But when we went into their walk in closet there was nothing there. The bathroom counter had a couple of tooth brushes and tooth pastes, and the floor of the room was littered, or organized as they saw it, with clothes, hair brushes, deodorants, cell phones ect. The difference was gigantic, but somehow we managed to enjoy ourselves. How? That is one of the unanswered questions that humanity has been pondering for ages. How it is that men and women, two species that are very similar and yet differ in almost everything, live together? Here is where the famous cliché comes in handy to describe the relationship between the seemingly different species of humans. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.
We were surrounded by them for five days. Lots of guys, not so many girls. They were ever present in our rooms, next to us at the table, swimming up behind us in the clear pool, cheering us on as we skied. We sometimes felt as if it was too much, as if there constant being there was driving us crazy. We felt vulnerable, exposed. We were in severe need of some of that precious, quiet, relaxing, ravishing girl time that happens between girlfriends. Some other times when they were joking in the pool, or laughing instead of sleeping, we felt left out and wanted to go talk with them, be with them. What was our problem, I kept asking myself. Well, after thinking about it intently I figured out that the answer was simple, we can’t live with them, we can’t live without them. Reflecting on this brought light upon many other subjects that are continuously shown in T.V. and books. The women are always protesting about their man’s disorder, the noise, and everything else. We always say men are annoying and we are much better. However, when we are alone we look carefully for one, going on dates, getting crushes, dreaming about them. I imagine it is the same from the other way around. They probably go nuts with our frequent requests, the vanity, the need for something better all the time. When we are not there though, they work hard and long to grab a new woman, to have someone there.
So what is the explanation for the cliché? I am sadly forced to declare that after dissecting every aspect of it that was present during this amazing trip, I simply cannot answer the question. There is always the need for something that is not there, be it the presence or the absence of it. There is the need for some time both in company of guys and alone. There is the natural need for our time, with our people, time for some nice talk, and a lovely bonding. The difference between sexes will always stay a mystery, but isn’t that what makes it interesting?

Story (part 9)

With an hour and a half to go till the party, the girls emerged with calm faces and dreamy smiles plastered on their faces into the salon, where four women were sitting at the bar drinking martini’s and playing bridge. As soon as they saw the girls they quickly and unsuccessfully tried to his their drinks behind the bar. Then they ran to usher them here and there. After washing their hair, sitting them in the styling chairs, and getting to work on their hair and nails, Hadley broke the awkward silence.
“So,” She stated to the size 16 woman that was untangling her hair, staring evenly at her in the reflection of the mirror, “I want my hair cut mid upper arm, all even, with very short, edgy bangs. It has got to be perfect. Please and thanks!” Hadley threw Olivia a worried glance and Olivia threw back a fake confident smile. They usually got their hair done at Salomon’s, the best salon in Washington D.C. This by stylists they knew and loved. To their dismay, today they had all been booked and the only chance to get fixed up was at her own home solon. The other girls, however, had managed to get appointments so the rest of them were relaxed. Today was a day in which they had to look perfect and even Olivia understood that. The yearly gala at the White House was one of the biggest events all year in D.C. and magazines always covered the fake red carpet that was set up before going in, the last place were reporters were allowed. On top of everything else, the prestigious magazine Teen Vogue was doing an issue on the life of politician’s children in one month, right after their cotillion, and so they would obviously flock to her group and ask questions and comments. Now was the time, if any, to have tons of good press, and no bad press options.
“I want my hair to be cut into layers and totally straight, please. Maybe three fingers shorter, just about shoulder length. Nails clear, and half short. Other than that do your thing. Just make me look great please and thank you.” Olivia smiled at the women who were around her, and then turned her attention back to Hadley. The women took this as their cue and a quiet buzz between them started, as they pulled, dried, brushed, filed, and painted.
“Who’s your couple tonight again?” Hadley asked her friens as she stared at everything that was going on on her head intently.
“I’m going with Ryan. But I think it is sooo stupid to have a couple. I mean, the only thing you do with them is be announced as you come in as a couple. It’s just for show but I hate it ‘cause its always a big problem.” Olivia shut her eyes and rested her head back whilw the woman behing her pulled and burned it.
“I know. But I think its cute to have a thousand pictures with the guys, all of them because we always switch partners. It’s kinda funny though, we always rotate the guys like over and over. Except today, when I have to go with egomaniac Evan because my mom fixed us up. Lovely isn’t it?” Her big almond shaped eyes rolled around, and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh. Hadley’s mother had always been fixing her up with guys Had hated, and Olivia found it way too funny.
“Whatever really. Outside the pictures are with anyone who’s around and I’m guessing some group pictures for Vogue, maybe one picture with our escort as we get out of the car, and then inside it’s hang out with who ever. Always the same.” The lady fixing her nails asked Olivia something and she shook her head no. “It’s always the same thing, but these huge events are fun. Plus I love the White House.”
Hadley put her hand on her forehead indicating where she wanted her bangs, and continued talking. “I know, I love it too. But then again, who doesn’t? And you forgot to mention the part where we go and stalk Chase Richards all around and never get tired of seeing him and his gorgeous hair.” She sighed dreamily her eyes shutting close probably to form the image of the golden haired boy. Olivia did the same. All the girls in the country loved the president’s son, but not many of them had had the chance t meet him a couple of times, and go to school with him last year while he was a senior. She and her friends all loved him, and they made it a must to go flirt with him just for the fun of it.

Night clubs story (chapter 1)

I shook my head no, and wined my way through the thick crowd that was moving to the beat of the loud techno music. Why was it so hard for people to understand that I do not drink? Not like I have a problem with people who do, just that I don’t like to. The club smelled of alcohol and sweat, and the flashing lights were driving me crazy. My head was turning and I was getting a little too dizzy, so I headed for the terrace. As the fresh air punctured my lungs and the street noises broke the thumping of my ears, I felt brought back to reality. I could feel my cheeks flushing with the cold night air, and my blown out hair was flying in all directions. That one moment, I remember, was perfect. The loud music could not be heard, I was breathing the not so clean metropolitan air I was so used to, and after all I might just be able to get through the rest of the night. However, this one moment of tranquility was shattered. A slim red head in a tight black tube top and an unbelievably short skirt tumbled on to me, spilling her blue cocktail all over my new brown wrap dress. Her thin stiletto heels dug into my ballet flat clad foot, and I stumbled to the sticky floor. Just my luck, I thought bitterly to myself as the clumsy girl, who had somehow remained on her feet produced a drunken “Oops” giggled and scrambled a meter away, where a tall boy stood staring.
“Come on,” the girl purred, grabbing him by the bottom of his black T-Shirt. The guy stared at me for a couple more seconds, his eyes flashing as he decided if to help me up or not, until the girl purred something inaudible and he soberly followed her inside. I looked around and was glad to see that there was no one else around, what had these two been up to? But in a matter of seconds the gladness was overcome by anger. How dare she crash into me, spill her radioactive drink all over me, and leave me in the floor without offering as much as a word of comfort or excuse. Unless of course the delusional and intended-sexy oops counted, which it most definitely did not. The anger grew until I was also mad at the guy for standing there staring at me with plain surprise in his eyes, as if he did not know that bimbo of his was an idiot, and then for letting her pull him away by the hem of shirt without offering help. I stood up and stared down at the stained new dress. It was soaked through and all blue like. The night was getting colder and now that I was wet and sticky the wind was freezing me. I pulled up my light brown hair into a messy, sticky, smelly ponytail and then walked inside. The air was stale and smoky; even though there were a lot of lights flashing I couldn’t see a thing. What on earth am I doing here, I evaluated the scene and whipped out my cell phone dialing my cousin’s number and pushing the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” A loud voice hollered followed by a hiccup.
“Tess, I’m gonna go home okay?” I practically shouted into the small black flip phone.
“Oh nooo,” my cousin whined with a distracted voice. A mussed giggle and a strangled stop were heard, and then she spoke into the phone again. “Where are you, I’m up on the second level.” I looked up and saw her slim figure, laughing and flirting with a boy I did not recognize.
“I see you, who’s the guy?” I questioned as I moved to the front door of the club.
A hiccup, then, “I’m not sure, but he’s cuute!”
“I see,” I commented out loud while a one word description of her rolled around in my brain. “Well I’m glad you’re having a good time but I am hating it here, just as I predicted. Don’t even say anything because I am not going to listen. I’m calling a cab and going home, so I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” As I looked up I could see that she was now kissing the guy, the phone still pressed against her ear. As no answer came from the other end and I knew it didn’t matter anymore, I just closed the phone and stuffed it back in my bag. I walked outside, pretending to not notice the ogling of the bouncers as my soaked self emerged from the club and hailed a cab, or the bemused glance the doorman gave me when I walked into the elegant lobby of my building all wet, and covered in blue liquid, or the pout my Golden Retriever shot at me when I petted her in the middle of the night with my sticky hands. I’ll put this dress in the washing machine to save it, take a long hot shower, pamper my hair and skin, and then call it a day, I planned silently as I peeled off the wrap dress and put on my long fine bathrobe.

Comment on McSweeney's

Although some of the pieces read on McSweeney's were not bad, I did not like the genral type of writing. Everything seemed to be too short, lacking information, or a satire. I thought there was little variety and on top of all the oraganization of the page was terribble. Finding something was very hard. However, focusing more on the pieces, I read an interesting one called Page Six: Very Personal. I thought that it was interesting because there was no story or any writing by the author, he just strun parts of page six from different papers and about stars together in what looked like a satire of the general public being interested in the personal lives of other paople that they have never read.

Letters from WW1

The letter from a soldier in the western front to his wife in California, and her reply.

My dear Christine,

I know I promised. I am aware of the fact that I swore to you that I would be back soon, and be back an unchanged man. However, I think that I will not be able to keep this promise. I will be back, that is for sure. But the other part, of me remaining unchanged, well that’s the part I am worried about. I just got here, one week to be precise, but I already hate it. I live in a trench, with too many other men, bad food, and the constant sound of bombing and machine guns thundering in no man’s land above us. I hate to admit it, but I am scared. I’m scared for my innocence, the one I was not aware I had before getting here, scared for my life, for my fellow soldier’s life, for the stretcher bearer’s life, for you, for America, and for every single person that could ever have anything to do with this war. I thought I was prepared. I thought I was tough enough to come and go, few impacts on me, no problem at all. I thought I was the man I was, the man you fell in love with, the man everyone back in California knows. And I wish I could say that I still am, but that is not true. I cry in the morning and at night. Cry for us, for me, for humanity, for our tiny tiny soon to be born baby. It is the strangest feeling. To feel a small drop of water run down my dry and dirty cheek. I love you Christie. I can’t begin to say how much I miss you; your lovely lavender small, your pastel colored dresses, your delicious cherry pies, the comfort of our bed, our bathroom, our home. Right now, I am crying. It is about ten in the morning. A time where few shells explode, few sounds are heard, and few people are around. I am sitting on a piece of an empty food crate, a small wrinkled paper and a pen in my hand thinking about you. Yesterday one of the men from our company was killed by one of the shells. It was the first time we went over. The feeling, I can’t describe. I never thought I could be so frightened of anything before. The commander yelled, we jumped out of our trench and ran for our lives, shouts of anger coming from all our throats as if something had possessed us. We ran and ran until we could no more, the dark smoky atmosphere blocking our view, just shooting. Suddenly a cry of pain came from behind me. I turned around and saw Sam, the youngest in our company lying on the floor grunting in pain. I remember the order we are always given. Never leave a man behind. I thanked the lord for the chance to go back to the safe trench, only now realizing that it was greedy, but the fear taking over me. I run to Sam, and grab him by the shoulders. You can’t imagine how hard it was to drag one man seventy yards back to the trenches, going over the uneven land, the small, dead, tree stumps, and throwing him inside the trench. Then I jumped in and was taken aback to see the many injured bodies of men from my company, my friends, bleeding and being attended to by nurses that now seemed immune to sadness of it all. But I’m okay, I survived. I have to go now, m beautiful Christie, but remember my promise. I will be back to see our lovely son or daughter growing up. The war will be over by Christmas. Have a pie ready, because any day now I will be next to you, hugging you and helping you out, enjoying the perfect life we will lead when I get back. Be strong for me, Christie, I love you, and I will be back soon.

Lots of love,

Ralph (the husband that will be back)



My dear Ralph,

You don’t know how glad I was to hear from you. To sort through the mail, and find a small letter mailed from France. I cry too, you know. I cried as soon as I saw the envelope, I cried for hours after I read your letter. You are the man I fell in love with, the man we all know you are. I try to understand your pain, to be happy for you, to be strong for you. I made the pie. I will make one every day, and you can dream that you are eating it. Being here, at home, in our new victory garden, watching my belly grow little by little. I will never stop thinking that you are the best man in the world, that you are the man I’m supposed to be with. Crying does not take anything away from you, being scared, not at all. I love you Ralph. You know it, and you know that I am waiting for you. Any day you come home, I will be ready to receive you, my arms open and a freshly backed pie waiting in the kitchen window. Be strong, my love, and let the feelings come. I thank god that you are still with me after that first race against death. You saved man! You saved yourself, and you saved me. America is waiting for you, praying for you, sending you love and strength. You are my man; you will always be, no matter what. I will be here, always. Home is sad without you, but I can’t say I have nothing do all day. I have joined an organization. I work every day during the week. I know you will be worried about the baby, but this job is in a nice house that serves as the headquarters for a fundraising organization here. I sit with other women and we draw posters, count money, and fill out paper work. I miss you so much, and I feel like I need to help so I am doing this to help. On top of that I planted a victory garden, we all did. The whole town is now being run by women, it is different and fun in a way, but we want our men back. I went to the doctor yesterday to check the baby and he said it was a boy. We are having a son! I want you to pick the name. The crumpled letter you wrote, the small handwriting you have, it all made me laugh and cry. If I could I would send a care package with good food, clean uniforms, and a perfume I would. Ralph, I feel as proud of you as I could ever be, I think that even if you do come back home changed, I will just be glad you are back with me. I have to go because I need to take the pie out of the oven. Write back as soon as you can my dear Ralph, because seeing the small, tear stained paper you sent me makes my day. I love you, I am here for you, supporting you, being strong, the baby and me, we both send you lots of love and kisses. We think about you day and night, and I promise I will cry will with you in the morning and at night.

All our love,

Christine and your son (waiting for you with a pie)