gettingmetogether

[gettingmetogether]

The thing women have got to learn is that nobody gives you power. You just take it.

Roseanne Barr (via thesumofmyparts)

[gettingmetogether]

my ability to dream is dead

All I wanted to do when I was little was be a cowgirl.

Not a doctor or a lawyer or President of the United States, just a cowgirl. That way I could ride horses everyday and ride off into the sunset with a rough-and-tumble, unshaven cowboy wearing a hat with an uncanny resemblance to my dead father's.

I'm not sure exactly which moment is the one when I stopped wishing to escape off into a Dixie Chicks song but I'm fairly certain it did not have to with the compensation and benefits package. Things got complicated.

You're smart. You work a little too hard and the other kids hate you for that. Things get out of hand at home and you won't let anyone know even though you're sure they already know. All you can do is read, memorize, teach your 5 year old sister to multiply. These are the only things in the world that make sense and stay put. Words and numbers can't drink until they hit your mom or yell until they leave you. Later on, they won't ask you to pack your things or endanger your family by inviting strangers into your home. They just stay there, right on the page where you left them. 

So I worked a little harder, stayed a little longer so I could prove to myself that I was in control. I was in control of something. All that mattered was reaching the top of whatever I was doing. So long happiness, hello success. You can tell me all night long that success can bring you happiness, like my therapist. You know what I have to say about that? 

FUCK YOU. NOT THIS KIND. NOT THIS KIND OF SUCCESS THAT SHREDS YOUR SOUL. NOT WHEN IT IS THE ONLY GLUE THAT HOLDS YOUR SENSE OF SELF TOGETHER. ITS NOT SATISFYING LIKE YOU THINK OF IT WHEN YOU IMAGINE YOURSELF IN MY SHOES. ITS ONLY PAINFUL NOW.

I can no longer even imagine what will bring me happiness, my ability to dream is dead.

[gettingmetogether]

[gettingmetogether]

[gettingmetogether]

A man's at odds to know his mind cause his mind is aught he has to know it with. He can know his heart, but he don't want to. Rightly so. Best not to look in there.

Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarthy

[gettingmetogether]

Real suffering has a face and a smell. It lasts in its most intense form no matter what you drape over it. And it knows your name.

The Liars Club, Mary Karr

[gettingmetogether]

Part of “The Hallway” by Miranda July. Who I adore.

[gettingmetogether]

[gettingmetogether]

[gettingmetogether]

You do not believe in me; however, that is okay since I do not believe in me either

[gettingmetogether]

November 21st (2009)

Your flowers are wilting

I won't throw them out, not yet

I will watch them die, slowly

Like you and me

I'd rather not live like this

Sitting, waiting to feel something

anything besides tired, incomplete

alone

You were wrong about me

I break.

Push me over so far to see how far I

bend

It was a quiet manipulation

I didn't even know

[gettingmetogether]

[gettingmetogether]

I don't believe in psychology, which says everything you do is because of yourself. That is so untrue. We are social animals, and everything we do is because of other people, because we love them or because we don't.

Miranda July, No One Belongs Here More Than You

[gettingmetogether]

[gettingmetogether]

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,

the crystal goblet and the wine.

You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards. And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of rain on the roof. I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine. 

Billy Collins

[gettingmetogether]

You are the bread, the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine

Billy Collins

[gettingmetogether]

Pictured: A World at 7 Billion