Bonding Over Violent Movies and Railroad Tracks (The Weekend)

Leave it to me to pick out a girl that just so happens to have a load of unattended baggage. Well, I guess I could pick out anyone from the dining hall on any given day and they'd always have problems with whatever people have problems with these days, so I guess it's inevitable and nothing to really complain about. Perhaps instead of being a point of contention, it's really a fulcrum I simply need to learn to use, and then use it, of course. I guess it's mostly just annoying for the moment because I don't intend to maintain my current status as confidante. It's fun to just be friends with good people, at least.
I figure I'm not being at all too tactful about any of this, though. The only obvious displays of affection I can ever manage are in private moments, not that we're always accompanied or surrounded, it's just that I'm very certain those displays are not all appropriate for me and her right now. In every situation, then, the only way I can actually express any desire for anyone is by being a friend, which is wholly counterproductive to my ultimate ends and isn't it just like me to now change my mind about the whole thing? I shouldn't be fretting and worrying about speeding this whole thing along. Maybe this is supposed to start with watching Fight Club and then Kill Bill the next night. And then, what does it matter if it starts absolutely nothing at all?
There are these train tracks in town that lead to places. We were told that if one follows them, they go to some nice little spots. Me and her decided to walk along them today. They're defunct, not used now. Some of the ties are shattered, and most of them aren't even straight. The surrounding forest isn't dense; you can see brightly and dimly colored houses in the distance through the trees. The ground immediate to the tracks is packed by all of these rocks. They crunch when you step on them and make this noise like bones rattling if you drag your feet and kick them, except it sounds more musical than that, but only if you get it right. We didn't really have all day today, so we only went so far as this bridge. It was slow to get to the middle of it, since it's not really meant to be walked on (there are gaps between the ties that have nothing under them). The bridge is over this river. I don't know which river it is. It was windy. She suggested that we bring a kite next time. The water was perfectly blue and wrinkled all over, and the top of the tree line was yellow and orange while it's skirt was still green and the ground it stood on was brown like it always is/will be. We talked about all different things. She talked about her problems with her recent ex for a small bit, but then she talked about other things: movies, school, the broken glass we would see in between the loose rocks, the way she wears brown-colored contacts even though she's got blue eyes. I haven't seen them yet.
I hugged her good night yesterday. It was one of those side-hugs, but still different. Somehow, my chin found itself on top of her head, the hard bone of her skull cushioned by her hair and maybe some kind of sentiment? I wish I could remember if it was me who pulled her close or if it was her who cocked her head towards me, and if it wasn't all because she was so dead tired.

Fuck me. It's like I enjoy being some kind of idiot.
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Grizzly Bear: "Two Weeks

White Wine, Pink Hair, College, etc.

How has college been? I have a lot of free time. I mean a LOT. Peter and I don't have a TV in our room, which is good because we don't really want one at all, so most of the leisure time I've got is spent on biking. I'm not familiar or comfortable enough to go too far into town, so most of my biking is done around the campus. Besides that, I sometimes go and talk to any of the many people I'm acquainted with, mostly girls, which I find funny. It's really really awesome to be allowed to be so spontaneous, and I love it. To be schedule-less and without commitments to anyone is great. I hardly have a schedule to follow most days, but I miss some routines, like having dinner or breakfast or lunch with the same person or people everyday. That comfort and anchor doesn't exist for me right now, which I dislike. I don't like it at all, actually, and I think I hate it. I haven't quite fallen into a perfect niche yet, but I'm sure I'll get into one, preferably one that still allows me this lovely spontaneity.
The weather is just like home, which I like, except for more rain, which I love. The overcast days occur often with their soft light and wind. Sunny days come just as often (for now) and they're truly brilliant, the sun veiling the older and more featured buildings with distinguished shadows. Even though it'd put an end to my bike adventures, I can't wait until it starts to snow.
I acquired wine the other day, but it's cheap commercial wine. yellowtail. I asked for some kind of California riesling, but they got me two bottles of yellowtail riesling. Not at all cool, but I haven't tasted it yet, which is the only way to be sure, but still. I know I'm a college kid. I'm supposed to just want to get piss drunk, but no. I like wine because I like having something complex and nice to taste with someone else, probably nice and complex as well.
I've learned lots of new phrases, most of them vulgar. "Mackin on" is a phrase that literally means fucking, but it's mostly used as a joke. If someone wishes to pursue a closer relationship with someone else, it could be joked that they're mackin on them. Charming in how blunt it is.
There's a girl with pink hair in my building. Not all pink, though I think I've seen another girl once with short hair, all of it an electric blue. She just has a few long locks of pink left. Not hot pink, which is what it used to be. It's more the shade of pale cotton candy, soft and light, all of it on blond hair. I don't know why it's so eye-catching. I've seen a lot of eye-catching hair, all attractive for some strange reason. There's a rather whimsical girl who goes here with a full head of dreadlocks. Something refreshing about seeing her. There's another one with short hair, except she has this rat's tail that grows asymmetrically from her neck. Anyway, pink haired girl's nice. All of her pajamas apparently have hearts on them which is both silly and charming. She has a self-consciously bad taste in books and doesn't listen to enough music. I guess one could say that I'm mackin on her. I guess. Fall break's this coming weekend, and I'm staying on campus. It would be nice to get to know her more then. We have a plan to take a trip into town to the Salvation Army store this weekend, and we'll explore the rest of Brunswick, too. I may even have someone to share the yellowtail with *a-wink wink*. I guess I still run into some of the old problems, though. The subtle shyness. The feeling of not feeling appropriate to the situation. Whether I'm actually wanted around or not. I'll try not to let them come up, though, especially this weekend.
There are lots of trees around on campus. My dorm faces a tiny forest. It's not the densest one in the world, but if you look at it from certain angles, it looks impenetrable. The trees become fence posts that guard some neighbor's yard. They start to hide something, even though you know it's only houses on the other side, but that's only what you know. You don't actually go through. They hide something for those that want to look below, through, underneath.

Motherly Instincts and Hug Defficiencies

Even though I had and still have a lot of reading and studying to do, this last study break was awfully enjoyable. I had to go to a meeting tonight, which included an encounter with a girl I have let down about dinner twice now. She neglected to eat dinner today, which is not cool especially considering she's kind of sick at the moment. In order to make up for this, I invited her over so that she could have Top Ramen that we have around.
I think it's really funny how motherly I get. I warmed up the mug filled with water for her, and cooked the ramen with the microwave we have in our room. I walked her over to the end of the hall, where there is chocolate. I took a bite when she told me to, out of the Reese's we acquired. I made sure that the music I picked was calm for her, and she did little dances when "Deadbeat Summer" came on. I won't be able to play that song soon, it's only enjoyable when it's too hot to want to do anything. She squealed when the ramen she ate became unruly and sighed when the heat of it came back up from her stomach and through her mouth. Her company was extremely enjoyable. Afterwards, I was obsessed with removing every little spot of its recent use out of existence before returning it back to the floor mates I borrowed it from. I just liked it a lot, the experience of taking care of someone.

I saw her out. The goodbye hug we exchanged was strange to me. I gave the awkward one-armed hug I have become accustomed to giving now after meeting and re-meeting so many people. She wrapped both her arms around me tighter than I guess I expected and I guess it lasted longer than I expected, too. She stood on her toes even though I'm not much taller than her at all, a bit of her weight putting itself on my chest and heels. Maybe she just gives hugs less meaning than I do and, because of this, gives better hugs. Maybe she was trying to tell me something about her dancing or the sighs she made or the slight silences we had in our conversations. Maybe I did something important. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who needs a friend, but maybe this was important to her. Maybe I need to relearn how to give hugs.
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Memory Tapes: "Plain Material"

Sandbagging

I really hope I can finally leave everything behind. I hope I can get everything done that I want to get done for myself. I'd be very disappointed in myself if I don't, not to mention I'd end up taking it with me. I really have to leave everything behind. I'm confident that I will, though.

This doesn't make too much sense

Well, how much pain do we bring upon ourselves? Now, I don’t mean stupid decisions, stubborn habits, and undesirable personality traits. I mean, how much of our emotions do we just make up? If we really miss whoever, or if it was just a stupid fling we had that we want to have meant something, try and convince ourselves it wasn’t a shitty waste of time, maybe. If they really get on our nerves, or is it just absolutely nothing about them, it’s just the way it’s become. If whatever feelings of inadequacy are just childish attempts at getting attention from other people. Do we really like them, or have we just gotten desperate about trying to quell any deeper problems that also may not exist? Do these emotions only exist to satiate some bullshit desire in our lives for drama or feeling? Why can’t we just remove any sentiment and purge every painful feeling that we have for someone? It’s so stupidly simple to rationalize doing so. Of course we shouldn’t fall in love when we know it’ll never go anywhere. We shouldn’t stay in love when we know the person isn’t good enough for us. It doesn’t matter what we wear today to anyone but ourselves. No one cares if we didn’t hold a door open or said something mean or not. People like us, we’re just too scared to think that it’s real or just too childish to agree. You just have to keep telling yourself that you’re doing more wrong to yourself than anything else is.

I wish it were so simple, so effective.

Kids in Africa died today with empty stomachs and families in Israel are still broken by war and the worst news of the day is you feel a little shitty? Well, yes. It’s a chronic feeling, and even if it isn’t, it’s still a problem. The horrors of another land may make it seem like less of one, but it still doesn’t fix it. No one chooses to get beat or dumped or to feel bad about themselves no matter what they try. Sometimes bad is the only way you can feel. To try and make a problem seem transient compared to another obviously worse situation doesn’t fix the brooding insecurities of the body or of the mind. It doesn’t move you out of your house and it doesn’t put you to sleep any faster. The way you feel isn’t made up and your frowning isn’t insignificant. The gripping feeling on your neck is proof that you don’t make it up. The razor blade that plunges into your shoulder and the low tearing noise it makes is proof. The dirty sink is proof.

And I’m sure the beggar children in India want you to feel good, too.

Gunpowder

If it’d only light…
It’s not like there’re no sparks every day/night.
It’d start easy, fast,
Just that I’m kinda scared to freak out at last.
Freak out…
Oh I’d be launching projectile words,
I’d be set on automatic, make sure you heard
How I think that every idea you’ve got is absurd,
That every day in the house I feel unnerved,
And that I don’t like the way you talk to me anymore.

Bathroom Painting

I’m painting one of our bathrooms. Today I put on the primer coat. Not at all that exciting, especially at first, but then I realized that I have a laptop, which I then realized enabled me access to that one all-important thing: music. I dusted off the black lappy. I hadn’t touched it since it came last week. Didn’t really have a use for it, but I did then. I put my lappy on the tiny dresser (which really only actually has a prayer book in it) next to the bathroom door. I loaded up Grooveshark and got Delta Spirit playing. I aimed the speakers into the bathroom. Perfectly positioned. Two hours of wrist-destroying activity. Gobs of primer splattered onto the walls and I spread them over the bathroom like peanut butter as the sounds of Beirut, Animal Collective, Edward Sharpe, Fleet Foxes, and Songs of Green Pheasant kept the mundane task fun. I might’ve sung along aloud if I wasn’t so shy about my family. Whispering “White Winter Hymnal” under my breath sufficed. I was bored, but this was more than good enough. I’ve painted before, but I never got to choose the music. I like AFI and As I Lay Dying, yea, but it isn’t emotional to me, you see. It couldn’t make me feel good painting. I felt perfectly fine painting the bathroom, now. The fumes didn’t bother me too much at all, and I just felt good for the music. Took a break to eat with the family. My dad looked at me approvingly. He didn’t even say some stupid joke. Just said, “Mario should be the first to eat today. He’s the only one who’s been working.” I felt nice and well-fed afterwards, but there was still a tiny bit of painting left.

Those moments where you know you’ve just made a memory. I’ll remember how the roller brush was not as awesome for painting the ceiling as I though. I’ll remember that one tinge of frustration. I’ll remember the music, the uplifting melodies and gorgeous voices that carried me the whole day, and I’ll remember how my dad fell asleep to it on his bed. I’ll remember where that one streak of white paint came from on my laptop, just two inches from the trackpad where my pinkie must have rested. I’ll remember the mango I ate and how it sat in my stomach as I painted, how I could tell it still tasted sweet. I’ll remember the rest of my family laughing in the living room, maybe getting annoyed at how loud the music was. I’ll remember the music, and I’ll remember that I was actually a little sore.