Relationships…like meals.

I was never sure what I thought about love. I was always sure, however, what I was supposed to think about love. Raised by two apocalyptically wrong for each other parents, relationships were hardly defined by compatibility and support for me. In fact, looking back on those innocent high school boyfriends, I really have no idea at all what sort of fruit I was seeking from those still then foreign trees. When I look back at those songs I was writing for guy after guy after guy, I can’t make sense of it. I would scribble passionate lyrics across an oh so cliche napkin. I would pronounce my aching devotion, which yes, the two have always gone hand in hand for me. It seems as though I have always been quite masterful at giving everything there is to give and feeling everything there is to feel instantaneously with a person. It could be my impatience or fear, or both, that has kept me from letting anything marinate.

For Fuck’s Sake, Enough With the Bombs, Dude!

What about this for an idea: don’t blow people up. Huh? How ’bout that? I’m not saying you can’t blow shit up. Listen, I like lighting off a firecracker or two. But the point is, that dude, over there, had a hand. And now he doesn’t. See what I mean? It’s not a good story to tell at a barbeque, let’s just put it that way.