Baby You Know My Love For You Is Real, Take Me Where You Want To, Then My Heart You Steal
--"More, More, More", Andrea True Connection
1996
Dear Breannie,
I'm answering this letter fairly quickly so you simply must forgive me for its expected brevity. You know how much I detest short letters. You also know that of anyone I do so relish the opportunity to bore you to death (LOL). I don't know--it's currently 3:12 in the morning and I'm not entirely sure tonight is a night for letter writing. Letter reading definitely, but maybe not letter writing. Perhaps I might have to continue my efforts on another night if this letter turns out as short as I believe it shall.
That's cool you can go to baseball games with your day. Every time I've gone to a game with my parents they always ruin it. If it isn't wanting to leave early than it's the fact they never really know the rules to the game. I can't tell you how irksome it is to have heathens accompany one. It's like asking deaf people to go to a rock concert with you. I guess baseball just isn't their thing. It's gotten to the point where I just stopped asking for them to come with you. I really would rather go it alone than have people who don't really love the game like you or me to go with me. And I just know how you feel about your moods being affected by whether or not your team loses or wins. I mean--I don't expect everything to be perfect in order for me to enjoy the game, but it's just like having the right company with you. Everything is so much better when the game is actually good and exciting and you're with people who all want to be there. That I totally believe can affect your mood positively (or negatively). It's one of the reasons I like going to baseball games when I'm not feeling so hot. It's therapy, actually. It's therapy and theater all wrapped into one neat package.
We really should get out to a game some time.
I don't really have a view from my window here. As you know, all you can see is my backyard. Most days all you can see is Alice chomping at the bit and chasing after something or other. Still, it is rather nice back there. If it weren't for all the bugs that can and do get into my room I'd almost call it serene. At four in the morning I can't see anything right now, but I suppose I could take a page out of your playbook and recall the scene from memory.
Someday I'll have a view worth describing to you. Someday I'll be able to take a look off some balcony or window to tell you of the wonders that are spread out beneath me. It's weird; I never really put much stock into having a good view. It just never seemed important to me. But reading your letters and talking to you on the phone puts me in the mood to stop more often in order to take a peek at the world surrounding me. You're forever going on about how inspired you get by something you saw in a moment. It makes me want to be a more perceptive individual, B. Sometimes I think I'm too oblivious to the world around me in a way that most people aren't. I think you called it awhile back when you said that there are times you think I would rather paint the world I see rather than look at the real world around me. I tend to get more relaxed when I imaginate (LOL) a scene rather than draw from the scene I'm already in. I'd rather fix everything into how I want it to be than subjugate myself to the constraints of reality. Maybe that's why I have such a fondness for landscapes because I'm forever drawing them in my head as well. Certainly I never call up the scene of my backyard when I'm searching for something to inspire me. Hell, I tend to call up the scene from your balcony more than I recall my backyard in situations such as those.
I'm that way for a lot of my ideas. I tend to draw from other people's personal lives than from my own when I'm picturing stuff. I see house down the block when I need a house to describe in my stories; I never use my own. I tend to base characters on friends of friends or people on tv rather than my own friends or family. And, yes, I tend to see your vistas when I need to set scenes in my head. It might be a form of self-deprecation since I always say that my own life is too boring to ever capture into words, but it's more likely that when I populate my stories or what have you I have this desire to fill them with objects, people, and places outside of my own experience. I want them to sound foreign, exotic even. Granted, the lives of your people in Macon isn't exactly Vienna or Africa, but it's foreign enough to be exciting for me. Does that sound weird, Breanne? I just can't think of somebody who writes about their own life extensively if he isn't writing a memoir. People tend to gravitate towards stuff they haven't lived before or at least very much. New and exciting is what sells tickets, not old and stuff, I guess.
As for Tommy's, I had it the other week. It was delish. LOL But seriously, I don't know how I'm ever going to get you to try one. You're just going to have to get your ass over here, I guess, little gal. Personally, I think it's worth the trouble because once you taste the greasy goodness of an old-fashioned Tommy's burgers you won't ever want to go back to substandard chili burgers ever again. Sometimes I really wonder how people like y'all out there do it. How do you live without places like Tommy's and In-N-Out? It's like going without water as far as I'm concerned. I would know because ever since I started working at the bookstore I haven't had much opportunity to get down to Tommy's. They really need to build more of those like now. Shit, all I eat these days is like Subway, Round Table Pizza, and McDonald's. It's crappy. Well, the Subway isn't because you know how much I love them Seafood and Crab sandwiches. They're like heaven in a six-inch loaf of bread.
Speaking of putting too much stock into ordinary objects, I realize that, yes, your prophecy is coming true. These letters have taken a bent towards me describing a food every other paragraph. Pretty soon you might be right and these things will turn into nothing but food, food, food for every sentence. I just think that food is the great equalizer. It's like music. Everybody has their own story about the food they grew up on, the food they like, and, most importantly, the food they're currently digging on. Everybody has their opinions about what makes what they eat good and everybody is dying to share those opinions with everyone else. I couldn't give a rat's ass about what people do for a living. I couldn't give a fig about people's politics, philosophies, and, yes, religion. But talk to me about a good restaurant and I'm your boy. Life's too depressing to talk about subjects that lend themselves to conflict all the time. I say the world at large could do with more talk about the topics that we all can relate to. And what's more relatable than food? Nothing, I say. Nothing at all.
And you know what else food is good for? Allaying thoughts of disappointment. When the world seems to be passing me by, when my friends seem to be all moving away or, worse, moving on without me, I can count on food. When people are acting pissy and when friends are just seeming to be not so friendly, I can count on food. After all, very rare is the day when I walk into a place like Subway and just have a bad Seafood and Crab. At least that never disappoints me; it's always good. My relationship with my family and with my co-workers may go up and down, but there is stability in my favorite food places. I can count on them.
That's not true. Some places have started to suck recently. Shakey's isn't as good as I remember it when I used to go there in eighth grade a lot. But aside from places like Shakey's, most of my favorite foods are still comforting me after all these years.
Well, you know my stance on sleep. It doesn't matter if it's the radio or tv--something has to be on for me to fall asleep. I can't just do the whole sleeping in silence bit. And it's not because of the whole being afraid of the dark or that death is out to get me. It's more that I can't seem to get my mind to shut itself off. I need to tucker it out before it'll get any rest. My whole body might be screaming for sleep, Breanne, but if my mind just isn't exhausted then this whole sleep thing just doesn't work. I especially can't sleep if I'm thinking about how differently my life seems to be turning out from what I expected it to be. That's what has been lately keeping me up at night. I just lie there, thinking about how all of this was supposed to turn out differently, thinking how I wasn't supposed to be twenty-one-ish and still living at home. I keep thinking about how my degree was supposed to be my ticket out of Sierra Madre and onto better, brighter things. But mostly I just think about how stuck I feel in that same old bed in the same old room I've inhabited for five years then. I don't know why the five years thing bothers me so much. I know a lot of people my age (not your age, of course) who have been in the same room for fifteen, even twenty years. I don't know--I guess I just have this wanderlust thing going on where five years just seems like an eternity to be sleeping in the same bed in the same room. Especially when you're alone, all of it feels like you've been doing it for your whole life and you might be doomed to do it for another lifetime. And I just can't seem to assure myself that any of it is going to get any better. I wonder how the happy people like you do it. I really want to know--how do you forget your problems when they loom so large and stick in your face all the time like mine do?
Dancing won't help either. That's right out of the book.
This helps, I guess, so there is that.
I never got the distinct impression that either of my parents wanted me to be just like them. I always got the impression that they somehow wanted me to be better than them; like being exactly like them would be a failure on my part. Maybe that's where I get this whole self-deprecating trait (or wallowing as you call it). My parents never seemed to think they were worthy of being admired by the population at large and I inherited that same trait. I've never been like you, one for the spotlights and the attention. I just want to make myself happy rather than try to entertain or enrich everyone else. Fuck, I can't even do that right. I can't imagine what I'd do if I was actively seeking other people's good opinion of me.
I guess if we were smart we'd swap parents. Yours could have the kid who doesn't cause waves and is perfectly happy being ordinary, but accepted. Mine could have the girl they always wanted who really, really likes to shine in everything she does. It would be a good trade. Sometime I get the distinct impression my parents like you better than me anyway. You're nicer to them than I am, that's for sure. And I think they think that you appreciate family more than I do, which might be true too. I know for one that my mom would've relished the experience of raising a girl. Three males in one house wasn't the picture my mom had in my mind when she saw the family she was going to have in her head. I wonder if she's really disappointed with the way her life turned out in that regard. Maybe that's the thought that keeps her up at night if she's anything like me.
As for you, I've only ever got the impression that your parents adored the way you turned out. Minus the occasional bout of wickedness, you're like the perfect kid. I can't tell you how much of a gift that is and one you shouldn't dismiss out of hand. I would know--it's a different ball of wax when your parents think they can always improve you. I know they mean well, but all I hear is that I'm somehow deficient; that I somehow need improving in the first place. And that really isn't a thought that people should grow up with their whole lives. People should grow up that their parents--hell, their family in general--really do see the best in them even if it isn't true. People need someone in their corner, cheering them on, even if it's all bravado. People need to feel that support from an early age, otherwise they get to be like me, feeling like they're mostly on their own in this whole affair. I'm glad I get some of that feeling of you've got my back from you, but I could do with a little more of it my life sometimes--either from more people or more from the people I already have.
And it's good to ponder things... in moderation. As aforementioned, I try to ponder more of what's actually going on in my life if only because I do so little of it most of the time. It's good to get at the root of what's really eating you up inside. Most people seem oblivious to what the root cause of their concerns are. And most people dig only inches below the service. Personally, I like people who dig a little deeper every now and again. They're the rare creatures in this world--even rarer than unicorns (who still love mushrooms, by the way). I don't know if I could ever be intimate with a superficial person. It even bothers me to talk small talk with people I like. I couldn't imagine having to do it for the entirety of my relationship with a person. It'd be like trying to walk a tight-rope on stilts; eventually I'm just going to fall far on my face. And I like that I can bring out this side in you, Breanne. It's my good deed for this life. You know what they say, if you can even save one soul from being too full of herself then you're one step closer to seeing the face of God. I don't know if they actually say that, but they should. And don't worry, you'll never be somebody I get bored of.
You're too cute for that (LOL).
Do you know what I find funny? I can sit in my bathroom, sit on the toilet, and fall asleep with my head on the sink. It's that close to the toilet. I'm looking at the bathroom now. I'm contemplating just trying to fall asleep there. It's especially good when it's summer here because it really is the coldest room in the guest house. There's plenty of days where I'm just taking naps there because the rest of the house is just too hot to even consider sleeping in. And I know you know those days where everything is so scalding hot that all you want to do is just take a nap. Well, that's where I take mine. There, now you know my secret shame. I fall asleep on the toilet AND the sink. I bet you don't meet too many people who can make the same claim, now can you?
We can go anywhere you like any time you wish. You know me, I'm always up for going somewhere. It doesn't even matter where mostly. As long as you've got good company you've got yourself a good trip. Then we'll broaden those horizons of yours. We'll broaden them right up. Honestly, I don't even think they need all that broadening. I think it's more that I see traveling as a rite of passage. One's first trip without your parents is a distinction that I think more people need to get done as early as possible. People need to stop associating vacations as being family vacations. Vacations are supposed to be deeply personal. One is supposed to be vacating from all those nasty buggers that distill the spirit and tax the mind. If one's family is the cause of your distress, then why in the hell would you want them accompanying you? I don't know--I just think it's important for people to take off from their normal lives every chance they get to. And if that chance includes the opportunity to party down with someone you care about then it's win-win. I mean--yes, when I think about us as us it includes all this correspondence and chats. But it also includes two pretty kick-ass trips to Georgia for me. It's just like when I think of Dan or Peter, it includes all those trips into the city and to San Francisco. You go on trips with your friends; it's just what you do. I suppose it's like saying you have a good baseball team, but you don't win the World Series. I would seriously question any friendship where the idea of spending an extended amount of time with them scares me off. If I can't see myself going on vacay with someone then I seriously question the solidity of my relationship to them.
I also kind of use it as a litmus test of someone's commitment to me. I mean--I fly everywhere for a lot of people if I feel the connection is true. I flew to West Virginia to see Jina. I flew to Maryland to see Tara. I flew to Georgia. And I really judge how strong people feel about me by the fact if they ever fly out to see me. I'm just saying. I guess I could turn the question right around on you, if I asked you to, would you accompany me somewhere? Anywhere?
You know what's playing on the radio right now? Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine". This song always makes me smile because I remember trying to dance to it in seventh grade at my friends' Paul and Phillip's birthday party. They were identical twins and I remember that party they invited the whole class over including (gasp) girls. It was one of my very first boy-girl parties that I actually showed up to. I remember Casey, one of my classmates, asking me to dance and this just happened to be the song that was playing. All I kept thinking was this really wasn't a song you could dance very effectively to. I wasn't thinking about how pretty she looked (which she did), I wasn't thinking about how nervous I was (which I was). Nope, all I kept thinking was how strange my movements must appear because I had no idea as to what to do with this song. I guess that's what people do when they're thrust into unfamiliar situations; they latch onto something simple to keep their minds off the bigger, scarier picture. I mean--if I stopped to think of what I was actually doing I'm sure I would've come apart at the seams. Or worse.
I should try to call up the radio station to see if they'll play the song again. That was fun remembering that night. Do you remember that scary feeling dancing with a boy for the first time? Or were you always Miss Confidence? I have a skulking suspicion you were. People don't change much in that regard from when they were kids. If you were brimming with bravado at an early age it really doesn't go away. I just wonder what boy had the courage to ask you out because I've got to tell you that if I had been in your class growing up, you would've been the type of girl who would have intimidated the hell out of me. More than that, I was the type of guy to allow you to intimidate me all you wanted. That's why that aforementioned story starts out with Casey asking me to dance because, to be honest, the thought just wouldn't have struck me to ask her to dance. Especially not to "Sweet Child of Mine".
I'm a bit of a ball juggler. Hell that sounds dirtier than I meant it to be (LOL). There's a lot of projects that I start and putter around with as I'm doing other things. I try to get things done as they happen, but sometimes the worst thing I can do is just give up on a project entirely. I figure if I play around with an endeavor it'll get done eventually. So, yeah, I have a lot of ideas I've tinkered with that I'm still tinkering with many months or years later. That novella you seemed to enjoy was one of those ideas that sort of got completed despite itself.
And I think it's a great idea for you to go to school out-of-state. I was supposed to go to NYU instead of USC, but I let the cost intimidate me. Hell, that seems to be a motif in my life, letting things intimidate me. Somebody once told me that the cost of doing the right thing is never getting to do the joyful thing, which I believe is a shame. It might even be untrue. I think I would've enjoyed NYU. A lot. I think it would've been one of those edifying experiences that I simply missed out on. It's an opportunity I'll never get back. Sometimes I wonder if it really was the cost that scared me off or if there was deeper-seeded desire to derail myself. After all, going to New York and failing would've been a more humbling experience than staying here at USC and, well, failing. At least here I still had some friends and family to cushion the blow. Over there it would've just been me with my balls hanging out in the air. If I failed there, it would have been a momentous failure. Do you think that's why I ended up not going, to save myself the embarrassment? Or it could have just been that I really do hate that city as much as I say I do? LOL But, for you, I think getting out of Warner-Robins would be beneficial. I don't even care where you go. Something different would do wonders for you. If it even helps you the tiniest bit to round you out into an even more inspiring person I believe it would be worth it for you. You should do it. You should definitely do it.
Okay, let's do it. Let's run off together! You just pick the place and tell me when to meet you. It'll be all so Before Sunrise of us. Except in the end, you better show up and not leave me hanging. That would just suck. Part of me thinks we'll never get it done, but, truthfully, this isn't an altogether out there request. We could even get this done later this summer if you were up to it. I'm not even kidding. If you could make it out here we could just go out to San Diego, Arizona, Denver--I don't even care where. I'm up for that if you're half as serious as you claim to be. So let's do it.
Well, I lied. This letter turned out to be longer than I thought it would be. It's amazing what you can do when you have insomnia and are fired up enough. I ended up pushing through a letter the size of a small baby, I'm afraid. But I think the weariness is at last starting to catch up with me. I promise this shall be mailed off with tomorrow's mail and then you can tell me once more what I should've expanded on and, yes, cut out. I still don't get this whole business of editing letters. It's not like I'm writing you an essay. I'm writing down my thoughts as they happen so there really is no cause for self-suppression. It is what it is, I'm afraid.
Oh 'twell! That is all. I thank you for your time and look forward to your next correspondence.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
P.S. - Good night, Breannie mine, with your eyes so wide, tears so silvery, and my kisses still wet on your cheek.
1996Dear Breannie,
I'm answering this letter fairly quickly so you simply must forgive me for its expected brevity. You know how much I detest short letters. You also know that of anyone I do so relish the opportunity to bore you to death (LOL). I don't know--it's currently 3:12 in the morning and I'm not entirely sure tonight is a night for letter writing. Letter reading definitely, but maybe not letter writing. Perhaps I might have to continue my efforts on another night if this letter turns out as short as I believe it shall.
That's cool you can go to baseball games with your day. Every time I've gone to a game with my parents they always ruin it. If it isn't wanting to leave early than it's the fact they never really know the rules to the game. I can't tell you how irksome it is to have heathens accompany one. It's like asking deaf people to go to a rock concert with you. I guess baseball just isn't their thing. It's gotten to the point where I just stopped asking for them to come with you. I really would rather go it alone than have people who don't really love the game like you or me to go with me. And I just know how you feel about your moods being affected by whether or not your team loses or wins. I mean--I don't expect everything to be perfect in order for me to enjoy the game, but it's just like having the right company with you. Everything is so much better when the game is actually good and exciting and you're with people who all want to be there. That I totally believe can affect your mood positively (or negatively). It's one of the reasons I like going to baseball games when I'm not feeling so hot. It's therapy, actually. It's therapy and theater all wrapped into one neat package.
We really should get out to a game some time.
I don't really have a view from my window here. As you know, all you can see is my backyard. Most days all you can see is Alice chomping at the bit and chasing after something or other. Still, it is rather nice back there. If it weren't for all the bugs that can and do get into my room I'd almost call it serene. At four in the morning I can't see anything right now, but I suppose I could take a page out of your playbook and recall the scene from memory.
Someday I'll have a view worth describing to you. Someday I'll be able to take a look off some balcony or window to tell you of the wonders that are spread out beneath me. It's weird; I never really put much stock into having a good view. It just never seemed important to me. But reading your letters and talking to you on the phone puts me in the mood to stop more often in order to take a peek at the world surrounding me. You're forever going on about how inspired you get by something you saw in a moment. It makes me want to be a more perceptive individual, B. Sometimes I think I'm too oblivious to the world around me in a way that most people aren't. I think you called it awhile back when you said that there are times you think I would rather paint the world I see rather than look at the real world around me. I tend to get more relaxed when I imaginate (LOL) a scene rather than draw from the scene I'm already in. I'd rather fix everything into how I want it to be than subjugate myself to the constraints of reality. Maybe that's why I have such a fondness for landscapes because I'm forever drawing them in my head as well. Certainly I never call up the scene of my backyard when I'm searching for something to inspire me. Hell, I tend to call up the scene from your balcony more than I recall my backyard in situations such as those.
I'm that way for a lot of my ideas. I tend to draw from other people's personal lives than from my own when I'm picturing stuff. I see house down the block when I need a house to describe in my stories; I never use my own. I tend to base characters on friends of friends or people on tv rather than my own friends or family. And, yes, I tend to see your vistas when I need to set scenes in my head. It might be a form of self-deprecation since I always say that my own life is too boring to ever capture into words, but it's more likely that when I populate my stories or what have you I have this desire to fill them with objects, people, and places outside of my own experience. I want them to sound foreign, exotic even. Granted, the lives of your people in Macon isn't exactly Vienna or Africa, but it's foreign enough to be exciting for me. Does that sound weird, Breanne? I just can't think of somebody who writes about their own life extensively if he isn't writing a memoir. People tend to gravitate towards stuff they haven't lived before or at least very much. New and exciting is what sells tickets, not old and stuff, I guess.
As for Tommy's, I had it the other week. It was delish. LOL But seriously, I don't know how I'm ever going to get you to try one. You're just going to have to get your ass over here, I guess, little gal. Personally, I think it's worth the trouble because once you taste the greasy goodness of an old-fashioned Tommy's burgers you won't ever want to go back to substandard chili burgers ever again. Sometimes I really wonder how people like y'all out there do it. How do you live without places like Tommy's and In-N-Out? It's like going without water as far as I'm concerned. I would know because ever since I started working at the bookstore I haven't had much opportunity to get down to Tommy's. They really need to build more of those like now. Shit, all I eat these days is like Subway, Round Table Pizza, and McDonald's. It's crappy. Well, the Subway isn't because you know how much I love them Seafood and Crab sandwiches. They're like heaven in a six-inch loaf of bread.
Speaking of putting too much stock into ordinary objects, I realize that, yes, your prophecy is coming true. These letters have taken a bent towards me describing a food every other paragraph. Pretty soon you might be right and these things will turn into nothing but food, food, food for every sentence. I just think that food is the great equalizer. It's like music. Everybody has their own story about the food they grew up on, the food they like, and, most importantly, the food they're currently digging on. Everybody has their opinions about what makes what they eat good and everybody is dying to share those opinions with everyone else. I couldn't give a rat's ass about what people do for a living. I couldn't give a fig about people's politics, philosophies, and, yes, religion. But talk to me about a good restaurant and I'm your boy. Life's too depressing to talk about subjects that lend themselves to conflict all the time. I say the world at large could do with more talk about the topics that we all can relate to. And what's more relatable than food? Nothing, I say. Nothing at all.
And you know what else food is good for? Allaying thoughts of disappointment. When the world seems to be passing me by, when my friends seem to be all moving away or, worse, moving on without me, I can count on food. When people are acting pissy and when friends are just seeming to be not so friendly, I can count on food. After all, very rare is the day when I walk into a place like Subway and just have a bad Seafood and Crab. At least that never disappoints me; it's always good. My relationship with my family and with my co-workers may go up and down, but there is stability in my favorite food places. I can count on them.
That's not true. Some places have started to suck recently. Shakey's isn't as good as I remember it when I used to go there in eighth grade a lot. But aside from places like Shakey's, most of my favorite foods are still comforting me after all these years.
Well, you know my stance on sleep. It doesn't matter if it's the radio or tv--something has to be on for me to fall asleep. I can't just do the whole sleeping in silence bit. And it's not because of the whole being afraid of the dark or that death is out to get me. It's more that I can't seem to get my mind to shut itself off. I need to tucker it out before it'll get any rest. My whole body might be screaming for sleep, Breanne, but if my mind just isn't exhausted then this whole sleep thing just doesn't work. I especially can't sleep if I'm thinking about how differently my life seems to be turning out from what I expected it to be. That's what has been lately keeping me up at night. I just lie there, thinking about how all of this was supposed to turn out differently, thinking how I wasn't supposed to be twenty-one-ish and still living at home. I keep thinking about how my degree was supposed to be my ticket out of Sierra Madre and onto better, brighter things. But mostly I just think about how stuck I feel in that same old bed in the same old room I've inhabited for five years then. I don't know why the five years thing bothers me so much. I know a lot of people my age (not your age, of course) who have been in the same room for fifteen, even twenty years. I don't know--I guess I just have this wanderlust thing going on where five years just seems like an eternity to be sleeping in the same bed in the same room. Especially when you're alone, all of it feels like you've been doing it for your whole life and you might be doomed to do it for another lifetime. And I just can't seem to assure myself that any of it is going to get any better. I wonder how the happy people like you do it. I really want to know--how do you forget your problems when they loom so large and stick in your face all the time like mine do?
Dancing won't help either. That's right out of the book.
This helps, I guess, so there is that.
I never got the distinct impression that either of my parents wanted me to be just like them. I always got the impression that they somehow wanted me to be better than them; like being exactly like them would be a failure on my part. Maybe that's where I get this whole self-deprecating trait (or wallowing as you call it). My parents never seemed to think they were worthy of being admired by the population at large and I inherited that same trait. I've never been like you, one for the spotlights and the attention. I just want to make myself happy rather than try to entertain or enrich everyone else. Fuck, I can't even do that right. I can't imagine what I'd do if I was actively seeking other people's good opinion of me.
I guess if we were smart we'd swap parents. Yours could have the kid who doesn't cause waves and is perfectly happy being ordinary, but accepted. Mine could have the girl they always wanted who really, really likes to shine in everything she does. It would be a good trade. Sometime I get the distinct impression my parents like you better than me anyway. You're nicer to them than I am, that's for sure. And I think they think that you appreciate family more than I do, which might be true too. I know for one that my mom would've relished the experience of raising a girl. Three males in one house wasn't the picture my mom had in my mind when she saw the family she was going to have in her head. I wonder if she's really disappointed with the way her life turned out in that regard. Maybe that's the thought that keeps her up at night if she's anything like me.
As for you, I've only ever got the impression that your parents adored the way you turned out. Minus the occasional bout of wickedness, you're like the perfect kid. I can't tell you how much of a gift that is and one you shouldn't dismiss out of hand. I would know--it's a different ball of wax when your parents think they can always improve you. I know they mean well, but all I hear is that I'm somehow deficient; that I somehow need improving in the first place. And that really isn't a thought that people should grow up with their whole lives. People should grow up that their parents--hell, their family in general--really do see the best in them even if it isn't true. People need someone in their corner, cheering them on, even if it's all bravado. People need to feel that support from an early age, otherwise they get to be like me, feeling like they're mostly on their own in this whole affair. I'm glad I get some of that feeling of you've got my back from you, but I could do with a little more of it my life sometimes--either from more people or more from the people I already have.
And it's good to ponder things... in moderation. As aforementioned, I try to ponder more of what's actually going on in my life if only because I do so little of it most of the time. It's good to get at the root of what's really eating you up inside. Most people seem oblivious to what the root cause of their concerns are. And most people dig only inches below the service. Personally, I like people who dig a little deeper every now and again. They're the rare creatures in this world--even rarer than unicorns (who still love mushrooms, by the way). I don't know if I could ever be intimate with a superficial person. It even bothers me to talk small talk with people I like. I couldn't imagine having to do it for the entirety of my relationship with a person. It'd be like trying to walk a tight-rope on stilts; eventually I'm just going to fall far on my face. And I like that I can bring out this side in you, Breanne. It's my good deed for this life. You know what they say, if you can even save one soul from being too full of herself then you're one step closer to seeing the face of God. I don't know if they actually say that, but they should. And don't worry, you'll never be somebody I get bored of.
You're too cute for that (LOL).
Do you know what I find funny? I can sit in my bathroom, sit on the toilet, and fall asleep with my head on the sink. It's that close to the toilet. I'm looking at the bathroom now. I'm contemplating just trying to fall asleep there. It's especially good when it's summer here because it really is the coldest room in the guest house. There's plenty of days where I'm just taking naps there because the rest of the house is just too hot to even consider sleeping in. And I know you know those days where everything is so scalding hot that all you want to do is just take a nap. Well, that's where I take mine. There, now you know my secret shame. I fall asleep on the toilet AND the sink. I bet you don't meet too many people who can make the same claim, now can you?
We can go anywhere you like any time you wish. You know me, I'm always up for going somewhere. It doesn't even matter where mostly. As long as you've got good company you've got yourself a good trip. Then we'll broaden those horizons of yours. We'll broaden them right up. Honestly, I don't even think they need all that broadening. I think it's more that I see traveling as a rite of passage. One's first trip without your parents is a distinction that I think more people need to get done as early as possible. People need to stop associating vacations as being family vacations. Vacations are supposed to be deeply personal. One is supposed to be vacating from all those nasty buggers that distill the spirit and tax the mind. If one's family is the cause of your distress, then why in the hell would you want them accompanying you? I don't know--I just think it's important for people to take off from their normal lives every chance they get to. And if that chance includes the opportunity to party down with someone you care about then it's win-win. I mean--yes, when I think about us as us it includes all this correspondence and chats. But it also includes two pretty kick-ass trips to Georgia for me. It's just like when I think of Dan or Peter, it includes all those trips into the city and to San Francisco. You go on trips with your friends; it's just what you do. I suppose it's like saying you have a good baseball team, but you don't win the World Series. I would seriously question any friendship where the idea of spending an extended amount of time with them scares me off. If I can't see myself going on vacay with someone then I seriously question the solidity of my relationship to them.
I also kind of use it as a litmus test of someone's commitment to me. I mean--I fly everywhere for a lot of people if I feel the connection is true. I flew to West Virginia to see Jina. I flew to Maryland to see Tara. I flew to Georgia. And I really judge how strong people feel about me by the fact if they ever fly out to see me. I'm just saying. I guess I could turn the question right around on you, if I asked you to, would you accompany me somewhere? Anywhere?
You know what's playing on the radio right now? Guns N' Roses' "Sweet Child O' Mine". This song always makes me smile because I remember trying to dance to it in seventh grade at my friends' Paul and Phillip's birthday party. They were identical twins and I remember that party they invited the whole class over including (gasp) girls. It was one of my very first boy-girl parties that I actually showed up to. I remember Casey, one of my classmates, asking me to dance and this just happened to be the song that was playing. All I kept thinking was this really wasn't a song you could dance very effectively to. I wasn't thinking about how pretty she looked (which she did), I wasn't thinking about how nervous I was (which I was). Nope, all I kept thinking was how strange my movements must appear because I had no idea as to what to do with this song. I guess that's what people do when they're thrust into unfamiliar situations; they latch onto something simple to keep their minds off the bigger, scarier picture. I mean--if I stopped to think of what I was actually doing I'm sure I would've come apart at the seams. Or worse.
I should try to call up the radio station to see if they'll play the song again. That was fun remembering that night. Do you remember that scary feeling dancing with a boy for the first time? Or were you always Miss Confidence? I have a skulking suspicion you were. People don't change much in that regard from when they were kids. If you were brimming with bravado at an early age it really doesn't go away. I just wonder what boy had the courage to ask you out because I've got to tell you that if I had been in your class growing up, you would've been the type of girl who would have intimidated the hell out of me. More than that, I was the type of guy to allow you to intimidate me all you wanted. That's why that aforementioned story starts out with Casey asking me to dance because, to be honest, the thought just wouldn't have struck me to ask her to dance. Especially not to "Sweet Child of Mine".
I'm a bit of a ball juggler. Hell that sounds dirtier than I meant it to be (LOL). There's a lot of projects that I start and putter around with as I'm doing other things. I try to get things done as they happen, but sometimes the worst thing I can do is just give up on a project entirely. I figure if I play around with an endeavor it'll get done eventually. So, yeah, I have a lot of ideas I've tinkered with that I'm still tinkering with many months or years later. That novella you seemed to enjoy was one of those ideas that sort of got completed despite itself.
And I think it's a great idea for you to go to school out-of-state. I was supposed to go to NYU instead of USC, but I let the cost intimidate me. Hell, that seems to be a motif in my life, letting things intimidate me. Somebody once told me that the cost of doing the right thing is never getting to do the joyful thing, which I believe is a shame. It might even be untrue. I think I would've enjoyed NYU. A lot. I think it would've been one of those edifying experiences that I simply missed out on. It's an opportunity I'll never get back. Sometimes I wonder if it really was the cost that scared me off or if there was deeper-seeded desire to derail myself. After all, going to New York and failing would've been a more humbling experience than staying here at USC and, well, failing. At least here I still had some friends and family to cushion the blow. Over there it would've just been me with my balls hanging out in the air. If I failed there, it would have been a momentous failure. Do you think that's why I ended up not going, to save myself the embarrassment? Or it could have just been that I really do hate that city as much as I say I do? LOL But, for you, I think getting out of Warner-Robins would be beneficial. I don't even care where you go. Something different would do wonders for you. If it even helps you the tiniest bit to round you out into an even more inspiring person I believe it would be worth it for you. You should do it. You should definitely do it.
Okay, let's do it. Let's run off together! You just pick the place and tell me when to meet you. It'll be all so Before Sunrise of us. Except in the end, you better show up and not leave me hanging. That would just suck. Part of me thinks we'll never get it done, but, truthfully, this isn't an altogether out there request. We could even get this done later this summer if you were up to it. I'm not even kidding. If you could make it out here we could just go out to San Diego, Arizona, Denver--I don't even care where. I'm up for that if you're half as serious as you claim to be. So let's do it.
Well, I lied. This letter turned out to be longer than I thought it would be. It's amazing what you can do when you have insomnia and are fired up enough. I ended up pushing through a letter the size of a small baby, I'm afraid. But I think the weariness is at last starting to catch up with me. I promise this shall be mailed off with tomorrow's mail and then you can tell me once more what I should've expanded on and, yes, cut out. I still don't get this whole business of editing letters. It's not like I'm writing you an essay. I'm writing down my thoughts as they happen so there really is no cause for self-suppression. It is what it is, I'm afraid.
Oh 'twell! That is all. I thank you for your time and look forward to your next correspondence.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
P.S. - Good night, Breannie mine, with your eyes so wide, tears so silvery, and my kisses still wet on your cheek.
Labels: adventure, Andrea True Connection, Letters, Life, vacation
posted by mojo shivers @ 3:34 AM
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