I Grow

I grow clearer every day.

I grow clearer about what this life actually means to me, about what I want it to be.

I grow braver and then get scared and then grow braver again.

I grow hopeful and excited and stronger and wiser and wearier and warier and wistful.

I grow accepting of what I can not change.

I grow steadier, no longer a willow willing to weep with the whims of the wind.

I grow secure and stable and self-respecting.

I grow.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

Last Dance

On Sunday morning, I awoke to the strains of music, though I knew not where it came from. I dressed and made coffee and then set off down the sidewalk for my bank, which is only a few blocks away. With every step, the music grew louder, louder, louder, until...

The source came into view. Beyond a small fence, a guy sat on a stoop with an accordion in his lap. A FOR RENT sign grew out of the grass a few feet from where he played, and I realized it was one of the apartments I'd wished had availability back when I was hunting for an abode nearly a year ago. I took a good look at the man. A bowler hat perched askew atop his shaved head. He had a tattoo on his neck and wore a ratty band t-shirt and pin-striped pajama bottoms and his feet were bare. He looked like a clown. A coffee mug sat next to him on the stoop, ignored, the contents most likely half-drunk and cold. He played on, oblivious or indifferent to my passing presence. I continued towards the bank to make a deposit.

On my way back, the man was still in the same exact spot, pressing and crunching away at his instrument, louder and louder and louder to ensure that everyone in the neighborhood could hear. I was struck by how similar it sounded to my organ, how haunting and creepy it was.

"Paris!" shouted another man from a balcony across the street, a smile spread across his nondescript face.

Paris, indeed. The accordion reminded me of Paris, and how could it not?

I remembered the Locks of Love Bridge, as Jacob called it. We purchased a small, brass padlock from a shop near our hotel, and with a sharpie, I carefully wrote our initials on its body, as well as the year. Then we journeyed up and down the city streets until we reached the bridge, walking across the wooden planks until deciding on the perfect location for our memento. I hooked it onto the chain-link fence, where it joined hundreds of other locks that hundreds of other lovers had secured there to commemorate their bond, their shared presence in the most romantic city on Earth. We photographed our hands with the lock. Then I removed the keys and threw them off of the bridge into the Seine, where, presumably, they remain at the bottom of the river to this day.

Five feet from us, an elderly French gent played an accordion oh-so-beautifully, hunched body swaying in time with his own chord changes. Jacob took me in his arms and we slow-danced cheek to cheek, my hands clasped around his neck, his hands on my hips, stopping only to kiss deeply, sweetly, sadly. Jacob tipped the musician generously, nodding respectfully.

It was our last dance and we didn't even know it.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

The Whims of a Madman

I remember how cold the studio got last winter. I began keeping horse blankets in the trunk of my car, knowing a jacket wouldn't always suffice.

Joseph and I secretly planned to co-write and record a song to give Rocco for his birthday, but really, it was an excuse to spend time together alone. Just the two of us. My heart pounded as I walked up the ramp to the iron gate, just as it had for months and months. Anytime he knew I was coming, he'd leave the glass door unlocked and I'd push gently, quietly, hoping to catch him by surprise. Every time he laid eyes on me, I could see his composure fracture as his heart skipped a beat, and I always struggled to contain my identical reaction. We were magnets that fought to repel the attracting force, but were always drawn together at precisely the same moment. We were both shocked by the crackling electricity that led to hugs that led to quivering breath that led to touching and eroticism unparalleled by any other sexual experiences either of us had had to date.

Yes, the kissing was intense and perfect. Yes, our bodies fit together as though they had been made specifically for one another. Yes, I replayed those scenes in my head long after they had initially taken place, and to this day, he is the best lover I've ever had, the only person I fantasize about. It was the other stuff, though, that meant the most.

We sketched funny pictures together in his production notebook, laughing at our mutual inability to draw people of the opposite sex. When I began playing the piano, he sat behind me on the bench, his legs on either side of my legs, and slid his hands beneath my hands. I giggled uncontrollably as his fingers flew across the keys, my palms riding piggyback on the whims of a madman.

It took all of ten minutes to co-write Rocco's song, ten more minutes to record it. I replay my copy of it from time to time and am brought rushing back to those cold nights in that dimly lit studio, falling deeper in love with my future while running further away from my past.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

I, Alone

"What if you didn't go out with other men to distract yourself from hurting over Joseph?" asked my therapist. "What if you simply stayed with the pain..."

"...instead of running from it?" I finished. She nodded. "And just worked on my art and music?"

"That's the perfect outlet for everything you're feeling," she affirmed. "You can channel all of your emotions into your songs."

Every session, she brings up one of the main objectives I'd come to her with in our first meeting.

"You said, 'I want to learn how to be okay on my own, without a man...to feel complete just as I am, as an individual.' Joseph obviously has a lot to work through right now. Rather than feeling as though you're waiting for him, maybe you can look at this time as being solely for you, for doing all of the things that fill you up as a person and better your own life."

Even as I cried over Joseph, over the ever-dawning realization that I loved him above all others and wanted a future with him, her words hit home and sank in. Seeking the company of other men hasn't been making me feel better anymore, as it had initially when I was desperately trying to get over Joseph by any means available. No, I don't need to shun human contact altogether and turn into a hermit, but perhaps continuing to date isn't the answer. I can get to know people as they continue to come into my life and set boundaries based on what feels right. Hooking up with Harvard isn't going to feel right. Sharing my body with anyone other than Joseph isn't going to feel right.

And so I'll work. I'll see friends and family and write and sing and play. I will learn to stay with the discomfort that often accompanies solitude until I reach the point where I, alone, am enough.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

Stay The Course

"You're so precious," he said as I wept into the phone. "You're a precious, creative being and you're presenting yourself as tits and ass."

Hearing him frame me in that manner put my existence into glaring perspective. I'd been steadily losing myself in whiskey and hot guys and image and modeling. What was I doing? I'd been conflicted about modeling since puberty. Being told by my mother that I was beautiful in a "unique" way but too ethnic to ever make it in that world filled me with the perverse desire to prove her wrong. Perhaps knowing now without a doubt that I could do it if I really wanted to is enough. Returning to the center of my being feels like the more righteous path. My art, my writing, my music and my ability to create all three in a truly profound sense fills me with beauty that emanates from within and makes my exterior appear more lovely than it might actually be in reality. Stay the course, do not deviate from the weight of genius, heavy though it most assuredly is. Even if no one is watching, even if no one is listening, I must resume the life I was born to live.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

I Would Wait 1,000,000 Years

I met Harvard while working as an event assistant at the Halloween party he and his two roommates were throwing. His 6'5" frame and big, goofy grin made me feel uncharacteristically small and safe. I felt guilty that I wasn't actively busting ass the entire evening; Harvard and the other guys kept sidetracking me with great conversation. Harvard in particular seemed to "get it." Our conversations about art and writing and music were fueled by alcohol, yes, but were deep and probing and even challenging.

He lent me his namesake sweatshirt when the night temperature began to nosedive. His friends and roommates knew better than I that an old, worn hoodie bearing the "H" initial was significant and akin to territory being marked; I was just cold and grateful to not be cold any longer.

Harvard and I kissed in his bedroom and it wasn't very good when he rushed in drunkenly, though I was still a bit turned on. I slowed down the pace and it improved technique and sensation. When he pulled me down onto his bed, whiskey rocks sloshing around while cupped in my right hand, I shut it down.

"I like you," I said as we got to out feet, facing one another. "Let's leave it at that and continue getting to know one another."

"Okay," he said amicably. "I like that."

My costume was so understated, my makeup sparse and yet, I received an unending amount of male attention. While successful and living rather lavish lives for dudes in their mid-twenties, I soon picked up on their nerdiness. I wondered how often they encountered cool, hot girls. Being Ivy League-educated, they ran in slightly higher-brow circles than I, though my ability to overwhelm their brains in conversation was satisfying to my ego.

I "worked" the party for twelve hours and then went home to crash. Joseph texted me when he was on his way the next morning. I quickly showered, threw on shorts and a cami, and grabbed the bag of lunch goodies I'd bought for him the day before. Barefoot, I walked it down to where he stood beside his van. We hugged, oh how we hugged, his lips on my bare shoulders and neck, our stomachs kissing fervently as our groins fought to stay in check. He went on and on about my sweetness for buying him food, knowing he'd be locked in a studio for fifteen hours and wouldn't have time to go foraging in the midst of engineering. I looked down shyly, my wet hair falling into my naked face. How interesting that I enjoyed letting him see me without makeup, that he was one of the few who ever had or ever would. How interesting that I'd made out with another man only a few hours earlier and still loved this one more than I'd ever loved anyone in my entire life.

I never used to understand how people could say they loved one person and still be able to connect and get intimate with another. Now I do. I understand because the person I love and want to be with can't or won't or isn't ready to be with me, though I know he wishes that wasn't the case. Maybe someday he will be. In the meantime, I have a life to live, with new people to meet and new experiences to have. I move forward externally, yes, but internally, I would wait forever.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

Brain Food

In order to satiate the body, the mind needs to feel full. The brain needs to be fed new information, to learn fresh details, to chew and churn and break down and digest. Focusing on a man, a guy, a boy is comparable to bingeing on candy, abandoning efforts at good health in favor of the quick fix, the sugar high, and the crash, therefore, always leaves one feeling sick and empty and unfulfilled. Protein, carbs, and fat balanced in small, complementary servings provide just enough fuel to press on, to persevere, to sustain livelihood while maintaining an enviable waistline.

So what is my true sustenance, if not the affirmation of superficially gorgeous men?

Writing songs. Singing. Recording. Learning bass. Playing the organ. Exercising. Driving. Reflecting. Working. Brainstorming. Laughing. Daring to dream even as I continue to age, believing my time in this body, mind, and soul to be of great worth. When I pause from the mindless chaos and contemplate that I create my own meaning, that I attract the good, the bad, and the ugly into my space by virtue of the energy I am putting forth, determination floods my being anew. I could have been born in the most dire of circumstances, facing insurmountable adversity; instead, I have every opportunity within easy access of my greedy fingertips, just waiting for me to be bold enough to reach out and grab it.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

Life Goes On

I awoke to this email, titled "Regretfully":


Elle,

I feel like I've kept you waiting long enough-- probably too long, and I owe you some sort of statement.

After weeks of non-stop, painstaking deliberation I've concluded I just can't move forward with dating right now. It's a wildly erratic debate in my mind and the extreme uncertainly of it seems like reason enough to hold off for now. It's definitely made me realize how little I understand of myself, and how much I care for you. I'm beginning to REALLY feel like I need therapy!

I'm terribly sorry to do this via email, but it seemed like the best way to just say it.

I tend to feel like we can still work together and bump into each other normally etc, but I'll defer to you if you feel otherwise.

Also, I realize that I forfeit the right to be "possessive" in any way, or a "caretaker" or whatever, so that's something I'll need to work thru.

I'm so so so sorry big mama for the pain and stress I've caused you. I've meant you no harm at any point but I know I'm a bumbling and clumsy idiot that has not treated you as well as I could have.

Lots of work ahead but can probably discuss this further if you like, tho I feel like we've probably covered all this pretty well in past convos.

I hope this finds you ok big mama. Talk to you later,

j


Tired, hungover, and a bit sick to my stomach/heart, it took me two hours to write back:


Joseph,

I would have preferred to say all of this in person or even over the phone, as what I have to say is quite lengthy. A long, wordy, manifesto of an email will have to suffice.

I called last night to tell you what I've concluded, which is that the process of deciding whether or not to date someone shouldn't require days, weeks, and months of deliberation. People jump in headfirst all the time - for better or worse - because for them, it's too exciting not to, and no one knows what the true nature of each respective relationship will be until they're actually in the midst of it. 

One of my greatest fears hasn't been that you'll hurt me - I've already experienced that with your repeated, contradictory behavior and feelings towards me, which have alternately and simultaneously been exciting and confusing and depressing. One of my greatest fears is one and the same with your own: that I will inevitably hurt you. Even though a big part of me longs to be with you, to be yours in every way, another part of me knows that I'm still not ready to belong to anyone...not even to you, whom I love so deeply. Would I cheat? No. But would I feel trapped and freak out and have panic attacks and pick fights with you to get you to leave me? Probably.

We know each other so well, perhaps because we are, indeed, very similar creatures. The big difference between us is not that you are conservative and I am uninhibited; it is that I am far more self aware than you are. Even though my behavior is sometimes strange and imperfect, I am always able to get to the bottom of its cause and apply improvements and revisions accordingly. You, on the other hand, rarely know how you feel about something until you are too consumed by it not to, and at that point, it's often a huge dose of pain administered all at once, rather than the smaller day-to-day doses that would be easier to manage if you allowed yourself to receive them. Joseph, you've had a lot of pain in your life that extends beyond your distrust of women.

I see my brother, Louis, in the same predicament with marijuana that you once were. His entire life centers around the drug and the stupid toys and the music he's drawn to as a result of constantly being high. He's such a good guy, but he's angry and in pain and trying to avoid feeling any of it. I imagine your immersion in smoking pot stemmed from similar emotions. You downplay - at least to me - how incredibly hard it must have been on you and your family to deal with your brother's mental illness and everything that went along with it. So much of the attention must have been focused on him as a result of his actions, with you taking a backseat a good part of the time. Your brother initially got attention for being athletic and outgoing, then later, for being problematic and troubled. What about you? You've reassured me that you still received proper attention from your parents, but whatever situation we're raised in is our normalcy and it can be pretty difficult to see our upbringings objectively...so I can't help but wonder as to the reality of yours and the effect it had on you. Nobody smokes pot for a decade, all day every day, unless they're trying to avoid some massively bothersome internal shit.

And then your mom, watching a strong, capable woman physically deteriorate...

Two of the most important people in your life are afflicted with ailments beyond their - and your - control, and I know your own various physical and mental afflictions are incredibly frightening for you to fathom. So it makes sense for you to maintain a controlled environment in any way possible, and that, sadly, means not truly letting anyone else into it. Joseph, I represent everything that could potentially throw your world out of whack. Since you have already experienced the pain and heartache and drama associated with your brother and mother, it's terrifying to risk heaping additional devastation onto that which you already carry...and bury.

From my end, holding your emotional well-being in my hands would be a huge responsibility, and one that I wouldn't take lightly. What I realized long ago is that your issues extend far beyond anything we could simply talk out, rationalize, get to the bottom of, and move forward with. We've gone around and around in circles to no avail. Your hesitance to date me is rooted in so much more than my marriage/divorce/record/rape drama, all of which were valid reasons to put on the brakes, but considering our otherworldly attraction and connection, none of those issues are what's truly lying at the core of your fear.  Yes, therapy - not merely self-help books and CD's - is something I emphatically want for you, and I can give you the info of my counseling center, which would be the most cost-effective route, or have my dad recommend someone great. As someone who has been in survival mode for as long as I can remember, I plainly recognize that you're in the same predicament. I avoided therapy for years because I knew it would force me to examine realities within myself that would be excruciating to see. What if it broke me, what if I couldn't function thereafter once I allowed myself to feel the weight of it all? The first month was intensely uncomfortable, but now, I look forward to each session, to the opportunity to dig in and do the work. I am stronger and clearer and can feel the constant growth...even as I continue to experience the setbacks and disappointments that result simply from existing on this planet and partaking in society.

If my trip to New York ultimately served as a catalyst for you deciding, at long last, to seek true understanding of yourself, then it was worth it. I never wanted to inflict pain on you, but rather, had ruled you out as a possibility months earlier. Our incredible afternoon prior to my trip didn't change that, because I knew that the song remained the same as far as your desire to truly be with me was concerned. I figured that as a single woman, I didn't owe you or anyone else an explanation as far as my behavior was concerned. Jerry was a flirtation, a fun fling, but he also took an active interest in my life. He visited his parents in Ohio and sent me a picture of an organ from the 1880's that resides in their living room, knowing I'd trip out. He asked great questions and noticed that my eyes change color and appreciated my sarcasm. There was certainly substance to our communication, mutual interest in each other's lives and passions, and after a month of experiencing that on a daily basis, it didn't seem unreasonable to either reaffirm or deny our connection in person. I wanted to know one way or another so that I didn't continue to put time and effort into someone who may or may not be worth it. I made sure my family and friends had all the info, that I had back-up options if the Jerry situation was a bust. Indeed, it wasn't what I'd hoped for, but at least I know. Better still, that experience helped me to achieve even more clarity as to what I ultimately want in a relationship, when I am eventually ready for something serious. For now, I am drawn to the non-committal type of male as a sort of insurance policy against the type of relationship that could lead to marriage and kids and boring predictability. Having a boyfriend whom I could have fun with and enjoy the company of without things getting too serious too fast? Yes, that's something I'm open to, and what I'd thought, perhaps, Jerry would be.

So what does this mean for us, as you are deferring to me on that topic? Joseph, I can not imagine not having you in my life. Your decision is exactly what I expected following your emotional eruption, as you only seem to want me when you think you've lost me. The possibility that you could have me always brings you back to your senses. With zero manipulative intent, I am telling you now: you can not have me. I will, however, be your friend and creative partner without condition. If so desired, I will be your confidante, sounding board, honest council. I care so deeply for you and suspect I always will, but I deserve to be pursued with conviction and without hesitance. Anything less than that is detrimental to my own emotional well-being, as the mixed signals are too much of a mind-fuck to be healthy. I knew this already and had fully owned my decision, but your reaction to my trip was momentarily confusing and caused me to re-examine my convictions anew.

What I need right now, and desperately so, is my music producer. I need assistance and advice on the damn album artwork so that I can release the record. Is the whole world waiting with baited breath? No. But for my own sake, for the sense of accomplishment and completion, I need this to be done. Please, sit down with me, guide the process a little, and then let's be done with it. I have shitloads of marketing ideas and need this record to be available to the world at large. And then I want to make another record, and another one after that, and if you want to be part of that, great. If not...if it's too difficult emotionally...I'll understand. But I feel like this...all of this...needs to be done so that a new chapter can begin. I can email you what I have so far, and then I need to have something uploaded to TuneCore by Sunday, have a release date officially set, and move on. Please?

I'll be around until 2, if you want to talk...about you/I/music/therapy/whatever. 

Elle

And he simply responded:

Elle, thanks for this. I think a written manifesto was good, obviously there was lots for you to say & for me to digest.

I'm working all day, but by all means send the album art. Are you still unhappy w/ it?

And I sent him the album artwork and, as requested, he gave me his opinion. I had a good therapy session, rife with epiphanies; a great modeling casting, which might lead to catalog work; and now Leann's coming to swoop me up for a much-needed night out on the town. Obla-di-obla-da, life goes on, oh, nananana, life goes on.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

I'm Hungry

Joseph had tried to pussy out of seeing me a week ago, devastated over the Jerry situation and still not ready to face reality. I told him I'd arranged my entire day around our meeting, that it had been his idea in the first place, his last-minute flaking had been an issue for as long as I'd known him...and it wasn't cool.

"Meet me outside, dammit, I'm on my way."

I sped thirty minutes through the winding side streets of Los Angeles, making my way to eastside suburbia where he'd been staying with our mutual friends, a married couple with issues of their own, out of the need for comfort and solace in the wake of my actions. I was almost there when the red light at Alvarado and Glendale forced me to slow to a halt. A dirty homeless man sauntered from one idling car to the next, holding a sign that read, "I'M HUNGRY" and rubbing his belly to illustrate as much. Normally, I hand Clif bars out the window when beggars approach, loath to chance my hard-earned cash being spent on drugs or booze. Always, smiles of gratitude stretch across their weather-beaten faces, thanking me profusely and uttering, "God bless" while clutching their protein-packed prize. This one was different.

Something about his face repulsed me. I didn't feel sympathy or even pity as I did with most. He had a sour, arrogant expression that reminded me of somebody I used to know. I almost refrained from moving, almost kept my eyes glued straight ahead, waiting for the light to turn green. Almost. The thought of someone, anyone, being hungry without the means to feed himself tugged at my conscience until I grudgingly felt compelled to rifle through my purse for my last Clif bar. I could barely afford to feed myself, but here I was, about to give a hand-out to some asshole who had made poor choices throughout his life and fucked himself over. I rolled the window down, hand extended as he approached. When he saw what I was offering, his face wrinkled up in disgust, recoiling as though I was attempting to feed him dog shit.

"I hate those," he spat, "They give me a headache."

"Well, fuck you, then!" I yelled, frustrated, slamming my foot down on the gas as the light finally turned green. My car lurched forward and I sped around the curve onto Glendale, tearing up the 2 North in a fit of rage. The nerve. The fucking nerve. I knew, deep down, that I wasn't actually pissed at the homeless dude...although I was pretty flabbergasted at his response to my charity. I was pissed at Joseph, at the predicament we were now in, at the gas I was wasting on this drive when I knew that it would only lead to the same type of conversation we'd already had a countless number of times. I was pissed at myself...and I was hungry.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day:

Jerry

It's fair to say I'm disappointed. I feel used and let down and dirty and annoyed. The excitement has been decimated, blown to smithereens, crushed to dust. To add insult to injury, he had a small penis.

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day: