Dear Texas, What If?

If my life were a movie
there would be a sunset
and the camera would pan away
but the sky is just a little sister
tagging along behind the buildings
trying to imitate their grey
the little boys are breaking bottles
along the sidewalk
the big boys, too
the girls are hanging out at the candy store
pumping quarters into the phone
'cause they don't want to go home

and I think,
what if no one's watching
what it when we're dead, we're just dead
what if it's just us down here
what if god ain't looking down
what if he's looking up instead

if my life were a movie
I would light a cigarette
and the smoke would curl around my face
everything I do would be interesting
I'd play the good guy
in every scene
but I always feel I have to
take a stand
and there's always someone on hand
to hate me for standing there
I always feel I have to open my mouth
and every time I do
I offend someone
somewhere

but what
what if no one's watching
what if when we're dead, we're just dead
what if there's no time to lose
what if there's things we gotta do
things that need to be said

you know I can't apologize
for everything I know
I mean you don't have to agree with me
but once you get me going
you better just let me go
we have to be able to criticize
what we love
say what we have to say
'cause if you're not trying to make something better
as far as I can tell
you're just in the way

I mean what
what if no one's watching
what if when we're dead
we're just dead
what if it's just us down here
what if god is just an idea
someone put in your head

I mean what
what if no one's watching
what if no one's watching...

La cocina local

Did you know that in Texas the best place to get a breakfast taco or even a lunch taco is at the gas station? Now, in Colorado that would be like asking for a lower-intestinal disorder, but here they've got little grandmas in the back making the tortillas from scratch. No joke.

Also, my favorite Mexican restaurant that I have been to so far serves green olives in its margaritas. Now, that was a little weird, I am not going to lie.

You Can Read Me Like A Book

But one that you can put down and walk away from.

Without People You're Nothing

That's his spiel.

I appreciate people who give a shit. That's my spiel.

The Best Thing I'll Ever Buy?

Living on my own is starting to look up, largely thanks to the recent purchase of this tool kit. I have already used it to assemble and fix many things around my cozy little place. Tools aside, however, things are crazy and I almost wish the hurricane would come so I could just get a day off. I have already had more run-ins with the Texas police than I care to admit, have butted heads with a few teachers that I shouldn't have, and gone through more cans of Raid than a girl should have to deal with.

It is weird being an "adult." I had always considered myself to be fairly independent before, but now there is no one else to look to when I need to make a decision, and no one else to fix things when I screw up. This is scary and exhilarating, but it is helping me grow and I guess it is what gives me enough power to buy my own set of tools.

I miss the comfort of my old life. The past couple of years were probably the best I've had. I tried to appreciate them while I had them, but now the hindsight is really making me grateful. I miss the people and the lifestyle that I had back home, it is hard to make this dramatic shift and start again from nothing. There are plenty of things and people to fill up my time, but nothing yet that really makes me happy. I hope that will come in time.

All in all, Texas is weird and I can't really say that I like it, but I think it will do me some good.

At the very least, the tools are cool.

Puzzle

I got up early this morning so that I could start to check off the long list of things I have to do. I was on a roll, until I realized that I had run out of things to do that didn't involve me paying someone else. Since that won't be happening for a while, I had the rest of the afternoon to sit around and go crazy in my place. It doesn't make any sense that a person who is such a misanthrope can get so lonely so quickly. Are there ways to meet new people that don't involve going to a bar and drinking by yourself? Let me know if there are suggestions.

When You're A Stranger

Ever since I got down here in the beginning of June, I have been trying to think of a way to describe the Valley. I have been hesitant to do so, but I think now I am ready to give it a shot. However, before I begin I would ask you to pause to put on a Doors album. I don’t think it really matters which one you choose (although “Strange Days” is titled appropriately), all you really need is Jim Morrison’s spooky voice and harmonics and his not-quite-sensical lyrics. No matter what your opinion of the Doors’ music, you will need to have it going on in the background to set the stage here.

You see, life down here is a lot like one of Jim Morrison’s songs. Nothing quite clicks. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is something very inharmonic in the undercurrent of the daily rhythm. Although there are palm trees and tropical flowers, there is no beauty. There are estates and fancy cars, yet there is no wealth. The tropical flora is here to feebly cover up some sort of deep ugliness that seeps up from the core of the earth. The wealth that is here is very uncomfortable wealth. It is over extravagant because it points at the poverty and says, “I am NOT like that. I am better than that. I will never be like that.” It is nervous and showy because it is trying to be something it will never be. In fact, the atmosphere here is so strange not because it feels like a foreign country, but because it feels so self-consciously “American.” In an effort to blend in, I think the Mexicans are trying to out-American the Americans. The big chain stores are bigger, more plentiful, and better stocked. Olive Garden thrives. The whole world is covered in cement.

And now I understand why nothing clicks here. It is simultaneously familiar and exotic because it is a foreigner’s version of what America looks like. Living here is like looking at a reflection of yourself in one of those carnival mirrors. You know it is you that you’re staring at, but you are just distorted enough that you can’t take your eyes off yourself.

The past few nights, my friend Loren has been sleeping in my bed. And when I say sleeping, I really mean sleeping. There is something so completely platonic in our relationship, it is almost unnatural. I mean, we both like the same kind of music and neither one of us have anyone else to talk to, but the connection ends there. There isn’t anything on a physical, mental, or philosophical level, but I think we both enjoy having someone next to us to talk to as we fall asleep. We doze off talking about work, and when I wake up to get in the shower he plugs his iPod into my Bose speakers and blasts Nina Simone until it is his turn to get dressed.

I went down to Houston
And I stopped in San Antone
I passed up the station for the bus
I was trying to find me something
But I wasn't sure just what
Man I ended up with pockets full of dust

Not the Binders!

I am all moved into my new place. I have a mattress on the floor, a coffee maker, an overdrawn bank account, and three or four house guests every night who share my bed or various air mattresses on the floor in the main room. Wednesday morning we started work again, and I very nearly cried when I walked in the front doors at the Holiday Inn and saw the stacks of three-ring binders and the TFA standard font waiting for us outside of the main conference room. I have been blissfully not writing the past several weeks because I have been blissfully not thinking. Blank stares became my modus operandi as I was told (and I agree) that I strongly resembled my younger sister. I guess I am slowly starting to wake up now, and just in time to try to prevent everything from crashing in around me.