idontfeelliketellingyou-blog

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Call Me Fucking Cary

Hey

My name isn't Cary but for the sake of this blog 

please call me fucking Cary 

like the one from that big tv show 

that writes all the blogs n stuff 

enjoy 

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Call me Fucking Cary

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Dee’s

October 6, 2019

eating a grapefruit and reflecting after a night out to Dee’s with Friends

I wonder what it would feel like to do something ive felt I could never do 

And do it well 

And prove that to myself 

I know how to pay my rent, my bills, my health insurance, take my medicine, work out, eat a healthy diet, keep a room clean, feel confident in a social setting, get a job, 

But not to write on command towards a project I love 

to start a music career

I don’t know what to feel

I saw pictures of my face last night, it does’nt photograph the way I remember 

I have lived in the screen 

trying to shape the perfect outcome that I could share with the world 

Once I figured it out, it begins to fade and decay 

What does that say about my priorities?

Beauty is something that comes from within has been my biggest battle 

I don’t want it to be one anymore 

I love beauty because beauty is art 

I love evoking curiosity and admiration for the combination of colors and proportion 

when it comes to my body I thought I had control over exactly that 

But I don’t 

years do 

Life is a game to be proud to play 

Selected to learn 

Challenged to earn 

I thought I could win 

I thought I could beat the odds

I thought I could make the high last 

30 under 30 a game 

Not quite first place but a rank 

My hair is short and brown

Everyone seems to love it

I don’t really know how I feel 

I don’t feel attached to what I see

Or that it really matters anymore 

I feel old, the kind where people give you a role and no matter how creative you get 

its still just a motion of the role 

Not a motion for a motion 

I just kept waiting to feel like ive got it 

I got an uber last night and was not happy 

He called me to tell me he was here 

It annoyed me 

I am paying him to be here 

He can wait 3 minutes for me to come out 

I picked up the phone in a tone that was sure to let him know 

Did the same when I hopped in the back

 He kept trying to have conversation and I warned my lack of interested

He asked where I was from , he said ah yes thats where I would guess

You’ve got that new York vibe 

I said well I’m from Jersey actually 

As I stiffened my voice 

We dove into a icey conversation 

That included the most aggressive side of me remaining calm 

But she was doing the talking

We talked about music 

And he told me id find my groove 

I told him about how New York is hard on the emotional and mental well being on a person 

I didn’t like that I could have came off as weak or uncertain 

But I did 

And he ended up giving me advice 

I am so sick of that 

I am so sick of leading friends and strangers into my darkest corners

I want to be able to sit high and mighty and converse in a way strangers converse 

I always feel the need to either put on a show, introduce vulnerability to create a pointless bond 

Im not sure

Dees was everything I wanted nashville to be when I moved here 

But with the drinking 

v neck shirts 

Leather pants and mullets 

Snake skin boots and handle bar mustaches 

In the middle of the woods with a mic wailing around on stage 

I miss having the kind of fun where 

I look in the mirror and smile 

Run into a stranger and confess 

Take a shot and eye a friend to do it again 

Kill a pack of cigarettes and forgot 

Make out with a boy in the back 

Allt that dumb stuff that goes away

But is so fun 

Its like Disney land for adults 

Getting drunk

I miss that 

But I saw a face in the mirror with aging ive never noticed before 

I guess it has been years now. 

Ill be 27 in December 

The age where my parents were starting a family 

I am living in nashville knowing im not staying

Scared of aging

Scared ill never figure out what ive been trying to do the past decade

Scared im not loveable 

Scared I am broken 

Scared I am jaded

 Scared I am not hardworking 

Scared I am stuck in my ways 

Scared of lost time 

Scared of stages 

Scared of cameras 

Scared of my insecurities 

Im going to get dressed and go to a coffee shop

I need to get out of the house 

Maybe that environment will help me write?

I just want to write a new ep by December 

But the second I remember that means having to write lyrics 

And be clever 

And know what im writing about 

I am terrified

Not scared, 

Terrified 

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Summer’s Shadows (8/14/17)

(journal entry I just found, written this summer in a fraying notebook. )

Summer’s Shadows/Winter’s Glow

Summer’s Shadows 

A play on light and dark- relationship between opposite perspectives when one feels more prominent than the other. The wind could be cooling our damp hot skin, while it could also scatter loose paper out of our hands into the scum covered streets of Manhattan. A baby’s cry could be piercing our patience, while its also strengthening our ability to give. The rain could ruin our big night out on the town, while it also brings peace and cleanliness to mother natures skin.

I have broken hearts without feeling an ounce of pain. I’ve been broken by  heartbreakers and disgusted by their lack of empathy. I have blasted songs in the car with the wind wiping the tears off my face- to a song he and I used to sing- when he probably doesn't even remember the name of the song. 

I am guilty of losing touch with my touch, my warmth, my unique approach. I feel as if that lack of belief within my own ability to share my belief happened to me, rather than being caused by me. Days of darkness pile on my back instead of being stepping stones towards my own light. As I comb the knots out of my past, I choose to dwell on its broken ends rather than trimming them off and growing more. The sounds of other peoples opinions still ring in my ears, twist my stomach. Others are hard on me, but I ask them to be. 

Winter’s Glow

I am vulnerable. I want to share that vulnerability, with the intent of connecting with other peoples open hearts. But then I doubt its song. I hate its melodies. I mute its rhythm. I want to sing and cry, but grope my own throat every time I open my mouth. I want to be a part of the under toe’s current. The motions and waves pulled by the moon. I want to be a child of the sun, not by Earth’s unspoken judgement leashing my neck and restringing me from my curiosity. I am passionate to relating to others, and sharing my own emotions and stories as if they are not my own. I am passionate about making others feel at home on this planet, and hand in hand with their souls. I want more hearts to recount their stepping stones, rainy days, and heartbreak. 

I am told to be quiet, share less, be smart, so I won't be hurt again. My freedom has been stolen by fear of others judgment so many times. How am I then a child of this world? Being so fearful of simply existing in my most natural state?Why are there so many parades of self pity? With the mayors and bands and dancers? People eating pretzels and cheering on the sidelines? Why is it normal to hide in Summer’s shadows instead of running through the glow of winter’s snow? 

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Space available 10/28

I’m sitting in a half bike shop half coffee shop drinking (now cold) coffee and pulling the split ends off my hair. This coffee/food spot was the first spot I found to hang at when I first moved to this neighborhood, and is now running out of money I guess. Theres one of those big signs on the front saying the space is available . I’m hungover from 15 hours of sleep, spent my morning scrolling through other peoples lives and watching a colleague from high school’s wedding video. It made me cry. Not sure if it’s because I am sad that I am severely single, or if I am grateful that I am severely single. “Throw your hands in the air if youre a true player” is now playing as this afternoon sunlight brushes  through the front door with crispy leaves. I am not sure what direction my fingers are leading me, but I know they need to be moving across this keyboard.

I am 24 years old, going onto 25 in December. Every year I practice telling people my new age starting in September, just so I am ready to make the adjustment. I have been playing the numbers game since I was really young. Getting older always freaked me out. I remember 12 to 13 being a big one for me. 19 to 20 was a nightmare. 22 to 23 worse. 23 to 24 was exciting. 24 to 25 I don't feel much. Not really scared, not really happy, just awake for the first time. I feel like I'm here. its a weird feeling to feel present for me. 

I am hoping to use this Tumblr page as a place to see my thoughts in front of me and learn to live with them, all in an organized place, rather than restaurant napkins, random voice memo notes, and notebooks scattered around my bedroom. I am primarily chasing a career as a singer/songwriter, but have been struggling with writers block for years now. Poetry is a passion of mine and I am relearning that once again. Music is a passion of mine and I am relearning that in different ways every day. I am happiest with a paintbrush in hand or cutting up old magazines to make collages.I want to be a writer, whether it be through blogging or singing, so this seems like a great start to get my voice and artistry back in my hands. I am constantly sending my thoughts and journal entries with friends and family via text, but I would much rather start keeping them somewhere online rather than drown their phones in my oversaturated emotions.

This is all written pretty poorly 

this is the first time I am writing again knowing people could be reading it 

I am used to Siri leading the way with my spelling 

and proper use of grammar is not needed when texting 

so here I am in school again 

I'm the teacher and I'm the student 

here we go 

idk