Side B

The wheel slipped between my fingers as I completed a left turn and so did everything else. It’s in those moments that you navigate the air waves for those low tempo songs. It’s when you discover side B of a Cd.

As I was making my exit from the mall (yes and?) I failed to hold the door for three…well I don’t even know if you can call them people. Two girls were treading behind some degenerate in a wife beater, except they were too busy fiddling with their blackberries to pay any attention to my ill manners. My lack of attentiveness did not slip past the wife beater. “Hey Bri? Ya know only girls without bellys’ are supposed to wear belly shirts.” Bri has decided this observation is quite obvious, ” Yeah, so? I don’t get it?”. The imbecile whispers, “Herrrrr”. (I wasn’t wearing one, just a form fitting shirt)

Now, I am not one to get overly upset about comments such as these. I can honestly say that I am okay with my body. Tonight was an exception; I’m pregnant. Once I had finally shut the door of my once white now taupe 2003 Hundai, I completely broke down and cried. I should have yelled, “I’m pregnant dirt bag!”, but I didn’t I just froze. I cried the entire drive home. I couldn’t stop thinking about every event that led up to this one. I have never wanted to hold my father so badly until tonight.

I will not discuss my decision concerning the pregnancy. The fact that I am sharing this is remarkable even to myself. This is life; things like this happen or at least that’s what you’re told when you urinate on a stick and the results are not what you expected.

Almost instinctively I desperately turned the nobs of my car radio, trying to reach out to anything that I might be able to feel connected with; I failed. In the midst of hysterically crying I shuffled through the three or four cds I had in my car. I found the black keys. The music still sounded foreign to me. When that feeling of total worthlessness overcomes you, all you can think about is who else feels this way? Where can I find them? Do they exist? Of course they do but you’re too hysterical to fathom anyone else’s suffering.

I did not have an epiphany and god did not speak to me via radio transmitter. In fact I just parked my car and stumbled into my apartment wondering if that man had a mother. I felt like side B of a cd as I climbed into my chair and held my stomach.

“I beg you…to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without ever noticing it, live your way into the answer…”- Rainer Maria Rilke



Oh Darling, how could anyone ever take you seriously. You are the complete image of a farce! Read all the Bukowski you like and pretend to understand all the Nietzsche you want. When playing a game of pretend there is no reward. Move all the pieces you like and skip all the space you want, you can’t beat a game that you haven’t begun. I hope you have carefully placed your most prized possession within shimmering diamonds. Easy now, you just might see her for what she actually is. She’s deep because she owns the lenses of yesterday which then capture the images of inanimate objects that she swears are unnoticed relics. They are the same relics that you glorify and overexpose. I wish you no grievance or despair, although you have exclaimed that despair is evidently your favorite word. I always found this adoration fairly comical and I think you can infer why, but that is besides the point. Maybe one day you’ll tear yourself away from performing an act that does not suit you, but for now I hope that you relish in the portrait that you have painted for yourself.

Making the Proccesses Meaningful

At this very moment I should be doing algebraic equations, but you can probably assume that I am not nor will I until several hours have passed. I can barely place the variables of my own life equations within the correct parenthesis, so I have no business solving those for a class that I will be graded on. An e-mail to my slender math teacher should be written.

Professor Fernandez,

I must begin this message with an apology to you. I am sorry that you have spent countless years studying within the halls of Ivy just to encounter terrible students such as myself. I am not trying to mock the degree that is perfectly placed over your mantel ( I am assuming that you have framed your doctoral degree and possess a fire place) Neither here nor there I just wanted to let you know that I am not trying to outwardly offend you. I was just never any good at making equations matter or the solutions sensible.

Trying hard,



I am fairly good at disappearing and reappearing.

Sometimes you just have to take cover.

My air conditioner is making the most horrid noise. I can barely read another page of my newly purchased copy of  Eat, Pray, Love because my air conditioning unit is being inconsiderate. As I am writing this or have written this entry, I forgot that I have given my laptop a virus by viewing adult content. So I must write (already wrote) within a journal I had discarded months ago. As I thumb through the pages of my old friend I cannot help but laugh at the snide and cynical remarks that I recorded for God knows what reason. I probably still am a little snide and cynical, but that’s who I am.

I am not wearing any make up and I feel as gritty as this sample of writing. My breasts are pouring out of my shirt because I have failed to put on a proper fitting bra. Today like any other day I am a mess and an enemy, an enemy to myself of course. An enemy, a prisoner, and the executioner all in one. I think my cat may even be disgusted with me today. I have cleverly named her Rashida Jones. Rashida is waiting for me to hang myself so she can feast on my cold plump corpse. I too would get sick of eating the organic kibble I buy for her. Sometimes I feel like I am taking up space in this world and potentially hindering the birth of the second coming because some mellow dramatic college student is too busy feeling sorry for herself.

I will try my best not to abandon the one thing I love; Writing.