shit

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shit
my babble

Friday, August 18, 2006

Speaking to a friend today reminded me that I should maybe continue this so called blog I started what seems now like ages ago. I'll call it my mini-diary, sparse as it is, it is part of me. A few days ago I just started writing something, this is it:
"Lately I finally asked myself why it is I like living in New York. Is it the city itself, the glamour and idealism it exudes or have I been able to settle in a copacetic niche that I longed for? The city can be despicable and merciless at times and yet other days it cradles and indulges you. The city is filled with shallow fashionistas who crave the latest trend and liberal hipsters who think it’s cool to protest anything and everything because it’s like being French. Ok, so about them wanting to be like the Frogs I made up, but I wouldn’t doubt it."
Like an old friend, my blog and I do not need to converse every day, or even often... I'm grateful for it, as I do not have the diligence or the time to keep up with a daily entry. My friends, they also understan and I am grateful for them as well.

</mariana>

Saturday, December 17, 2005

There are days in which you feel so disconected from your life, because the dream that you have seems so far it. As young girls we imagine and even plan our wedding day, as women some of us see our career path and some of us already have our babies' names picked out. Lately I've been thinking what a mess I've made of my life and how far it still is from being what I imagined.

</mariana>

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Here I go again, writing things that make sense it seems only to myself. I want to write my mind and free it of things small and great. From my feelings, to any ideas I may have, I don't want to be afraid of it being a big jumble. I am in a sense one big jumble, never being able to make heads of tails of myself.Today, I started a job, it's a stupid job (reminder: there are no stupid jobs) as a salesperson in Fauchon on Park Ave. at 56th st. It's nothing terribly exciting, selling overpriced chocolates, cookies and pastries to people who have nothing better to waste their money on. The people I work with are friendly, that's always good. Still I don't feel I have too much in common with them, nor with the customers who come in for their daily "cappucino with skim milk on the dry side".Entering certain areas of Manhattan is like going into a different dimension. On the one hand you have normal people who shop at Gap, Banana Republic, Zara and H&M around 59th and Lexinton, but walk two blocks west and keep walking up Madison and you'll see that shopping takes on a whole different meaning. The funny thing is that those who frequent the boutiques on Madison such as Gucci and Prada, also shop at these chain retail stores. What I wonder is what they think when they walk by a $50 pair of jeans at the Gap wearing $400 AX jeans and a $600 Chanel purse, or how they feel when they walk by the African guys selling counterfeit Coach and Louis Vouitton purses on the corner of 58th and Lex.We have a tendency to want those "quality" clothes and accessories and while there is nothing wrong with that, there is with our obsession with it. It seems that most are not able to set limits on their spending habits and spare no expense on outfitting themselves. Fahion is a vicious circle very much like Lay's potato chips, "betcha can't have just one"; a new pair of shoes often need a new outfit or a new purse to match. New York City is able to keep the passion steady, never letting the fire even flicker, with retail stores of all types and Starbucks within easy walking distance of every neighborhood. Supply and demand at its best.

</mariana>

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

I'm wearing a scarf because I feel like I'm mourning my own death. I feel as empty and dead as a person can be when the one they love has temporarily left their side. i have not yet cried enough, but I fear it will never be enough as long as we are away like this. I'm scared that one day I will cry blood from crack in my heart. My throat, choking on sadness, choking on pain... of being left alone. I've brought this on myself. And so, for however long I will cry myself to sleep, feeling the cold sheets beside me. He warmed me, he made me smile, he let me laugh. Without him there is just nothing there. But I pretend, I am good at folling myself and others. I make us think that things are peachy and that I can survive on my own. I'll hide my tears in my room and show them, even him that I am strong. There is no need for me to constantly be with him, or so I say. I will not let this get to me. I will wait out the storm like I have done other times. Eventually it won't be as bad. The first hours after separation are numbed by shock. Realization is a bitch. Then we settle into acceptance but helplesness. Desperation will come too like a terrible withdrawal symptom. But after complacement, desperation will reawaken, anxiety, waiting, longing. In every so called phase there will be tears involved, I know this because I've lived it. However this time all my symptoms will be worse that before. We were together, invevitably all the time. It was wonderful but at times like this, we realize, somewhat detrimental to our emotional health. After all this time the sun is beginning to rise, yet it wasn't a dark night when he was still here. How long before we come together again? I see people carrying their lunches at six in the morning; it's nothing unusual for them. They get up every morning, get out of thesame bed and step onto the bus at the same time. Everyday similar faces watching the sunrise together, only they've learned not to pay it any attention. To them, today is a day like any other. They realize nothing, aware of only the day ahead of them. Today, I am only one of them because my heart is being torn, part of me has gone with my love who's flown away from me. To them the road is the same every morning as the ride off to work with their lunches packed with care like every other morning inthe same kitchen. They no longer fly away like us. Attached by some string, in the morning they are pulled one way and at the end of the day, they are reeled back in. Same bed, same job, same bed. Bus rides and packed lunches in between. They don't notice the stops, I'm sure. I do. They are unusual to me. I notice everything. If I didn't I would be engulfed in tears. None of this makes sense. It's hard to understand even for me, how painful love can be. I hate this bus like I hate the plane that took him away. It's taking so long to transport us to well-known destination (only to us). They don't know how from this day forth everything is different. if only they would feel what I feel for a split second, their lives could maybe be changed in some odd way. They don't think I'm much different. I might be off on the same string-pulling they are on. I'm not, but one day, it seems that is my direction. Pulled one way, then reeled back it. The city is waking up, but does not look very alive. I see it like when I was with him, in the evenings. Now tti's daylight and people are being cast into the work day. At night we used to all be tired, now we are all tired, that is our commonality. Do they see my similarity? or do they see that I don't exactly belong? A stranger in a strange place. So i fit in? May I ask how? I'm tired, in pain. I no longer know what I'm saying. I'm drifting off, while they're drifting in and he's drifting away. Overhead, in a place, flying like a celestial being. Me, on the ground, only a terrestrial being. Days will pass, they still will not really notice, just like they no longer catch the sun rising. But I will hurt every day that goes by, even when it seems it is all fine. How far will we go? what will we endure for love? we will keep going utnil it's always dark. A long day has begun for all of us and we count the minutes until it's over.

</mariana>

Thursday, April 01, 2004

yap, yap, it's me again, sitting here, on my ass, I suppose I'm a bit bored or something, because inspiration simply does not come to me so... I don't know what I'm doing, I'm simply a bit tired, wondering what's going on, down and out, wondering if it's still raining outside and if it will stop before I leave this place. nothing much else to think about really, well, of course there is, but my state of mind does not allow me to do that, so I just babble as usual, hoping that one day something real will shine down upon me. also, this is very good typing practice, you should really try it sometime just write shit down for the sake of it and you might just have great secretarial skills. oh no, I just lost my train of thought, or did I. right I was saying that this is good practice, but in the last three sentence I have used that word (practice) three, well now four times. isn't it fun to be bored and write nonsense and not to worry about it. this is definitely better than using the old paper and pen, because in the end my hand always hurts, I suppose it's not used to writting like that. typing is much much easier and a heck of a lot faster, which is good, because my thoughts like to flash by and i simply don't have time to jot them all down. Now it seems that my hands are doing a much better job of keeping up with them, but there still lagging. Maybe it'll end up like the turtle and the hare, where somehow the turtle ends up beating the hare, really i don't know how, I just know he does, or she does, maybe the turtle is a girl and that's why she beats him, because she is much smarter. ok, we all know that was bullshit what i just said, because i trully don't believe that load of balony. balony, i don't think that's how you spell it, I've actually never written it, so that's why I would not know, I haven't to the best of my knowledge seen it written, so there, nah. well, I just wanted to say that I thought it would be funny to write it for the sake of it, because they do it so much in movies, baloney, oh, maybe you spell it with an "e". who knows, who cares, or maybe I should look it up in case one day someone is holding a gun up to my head and tells me to spell that word or else... no, I know what you're thinking, you see the date of this post and you think, she's just april fooling us, wrong, that's where you're totally wrong, I'm often like this. I often rant and say nothing just because i fell i have nothing better to do than this. That is why my little blog here is called SHIT, you see? shit, shit, shit. Fun stuff. hopefully I haven't bored you to much yet, i suppose i have so i leave you with these kind of words, shit, fuck and cuddly.

</mariana>

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

shit, fuck, well, I hope my parents aren't reading this, if you are, forgive my obscenities, life wouldn't be the same without them, indeed they vent forbidden frustration that piles up, not only that but it's also fun, because when you say things like you fucking piece of shit, people are surprised and they're all like, I didn't think you wre capable of that, naturally that only happens the first time you say it, then it's more common than common itself, but i suppose i don't mind being common if it means surprising others once in a while, so there, if you couldn't believe it, fuck you, because really it's no big deal, i'm serious no one ever died from cursing, four letter words don't seem to offend the good Lord as much as everyone claims, i haven't been struck down my lightning yet, but i suppose i'm just taking my chances and it'll come some day, still i'm not that worried, because even when i don't say those naughty words, i still feel like lightning hit me. like today again, this electrical surge permeated my body and i just wanted to break out of my potty mouth self, yes, potty mouth, maybe not as much as other people, but potty mouth nonetheless, the thing is, it sounds like shit coming out of lovely young sophisticated lady like me, but i repeat, it is truly harmless, unless of course i really meant it, but i don't think i've ever told anyone to fuck off and really meant it, so lay off, i'm not that bad, i guess i just wish i was, i'm such a fucking sensitive sour-puss, no seriously, the littlest thing gets to me and angers me and i'm a party pooper, in particular when it comes to him, or so it seems, or so he claims, but then again i suppose that saying nasty words isn't remedy enough, bullshit, why wouldn't it be? oh, forget it, you're nothing, you just want to be something that you're not (that's me talking to myself, don't take it personally), so why don't you stand up and be a man, pardon me, a person, a real one, not just a facade of shits and giggles, keep telling yourself that, keep telling yourself that, and maybe it will work someday, for now... fuck it.

</mariana>

Friday, October 17, 2003

I'm still scared, and I will stay that way until I see him tomorrow, when he looks into my eyes and tells me what he really feels. I want him to be here because I want to understand him, I also want to understand our relationship. What's the sense of speaking only once a week. We love each other, but how do we love someone you hardly talk to? is it simply memories? Those good memories of being together, what if I've changed, what if we've both changed. I can't bear to think that, but it's a possibility. Why is it that when I know I love him the most, I feel that he's drifting away? I know and he tells me so, I am hurting myself thinking these things, but I can't help it. I can't help it.

</mariana>

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