Cafe de Desiree

January 26, 2012

Being the Car Crash

Filed under: Uncategorized — desi83 @ 8:10 am

“Headlights On Dark Roads”
(Snow Patrol from “Eyes Open”)
For once I want to be the car crash
Not always just the traffic jam
Hit me hard enough to wake me
And lead me wild to your dark roads

Headlights show it all before me
So beautiful, so clear
I will reach out and take it
’cause I’m so tired of all this fear

My tongue is lost so I can’t tell you
Please just see it in my eyes
I’ll pull the thorns from our ripped bodies
And let the blood fall in my mouth

This is the song that is in my head right now because these lyrics describe exactly how I feel right now. I want to be the car crash. I need to make an impact, a big one, not just a ripple. I can’t be satisfied with this, what this is right now. Hmmm…ah well, I’ll just have to keep trying to figure that one out. I think we are all here to make some sort of impact, and it is just a matter of finding what you can do to make that happen. The worst thing that can happen is to end up a character in a Tolstoy story, lamenting your wasted life in your dying days. I just feel like this is my time, right now, because I am so much more anxious than ever before. I suppose I could give a meaningful effort to publishing my book. That would definitely be a good one to check off the old bucket list. To have an entire book published, yes, that would be car crash worthy. Because as the lyrics say, I’m tired of all this fear.

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January 25, 2012

Purpose?

Filed under: Blogging — desi83 @ 8:45 am

Purpose. What is it? Is it finding your gift that you can share with the world? If you aren’t a good writer, singer, artist, football player, preacher, or ballet dancer, do you not have a purpose? Maybe it is finding “the one” and settling down. Then, what if that fails and you are left without your “one”? Does that mean that your purpose is gone? Or maybe things do work out with your one, and you settle down in that house that you save your money for by working a job that you hate. You buy a car and a pool, and maybe you opt for the John Deere zero turn mower that goes straight to the credit card, which will be paid for in ten years after making the minimum monthly payments. So you come home, exhausted after working that miserable career that you chose out of necessity because your dream job fell through, and you sit with your significant other. You exchange tedious work stories, and you agree on a dinner option. You sit beside each other and force feed yourselves hamburger helper and wash it down with some Lipton iced tea. Maybe you have some cookies afterward so that you can add guilt to your list of frustrations from the day. Shit, now you cannot skip out on the gym tomorrow. So, you two watch television so that you can zone out until bedtime. With your minds numbed and your bodies exhausted from the mundane activities of the day, you two make your way to bed. One of you is in the mood, but the other is not. So, you have that awkward exchange in which one person starts to snuggle and timidly kiss the other’s neck and cheeks. Then, the other person pushes their spouse away, mumbling something about a headache, a period, a hard day at work, or whatever. You both lay there uncomfortably and wish that there was something more to this life, and you slowly fall asleep, dreading the moment that blaring alarm reminds you that it is time to do it all over again. Eventually, the two of you feel like you should add children to your meaningless life. Maybe children will give you that grand, happy purpose that you have been searching for? So, because it is what you are supposed to do, and because you feel a void in your present life, you have children. Oh, children are so adorable, fun, and they worship you because you are so much wiser and bigger than they are, and you always seem to have all of these important jobs to do. Then they grow up and tell you they hate you, maybe even curse you when you tell them that they cannot go to a party where there might be drinking, or they can’t go out on a school night because you don’t want them to fail out of high school and miss out on that all-important college education that has obviously done you so much good. Great, now you are failing at your new purpose in life. What is the point?
Why do we spend our whole lives asking this question? What is the answer? Is it to do what makes you happy? Because if that is the case, I need to start saving money now to go to Hawaii since that place made me feel happier than any other place on Earth. But then, what would I do? Write? What would I write about when I would have nothing to complain about? How about that-I could write of being unsatisfied in my happy place. Okay, so that is not the answer. Is the purpose to just suffer through this small journey of 100 years or less in hopes of a more rewarding after life? Well, who knows where I’ll even be going? It depends on which religious group that you ask as to where I could end up, and there are even differences of opinion within just the Christian sect. Is the purpose to learn to be satisfied with what you have? I have tried and failed with that. I suppose that, so far, all I have figured out is that you can’t find your purpose in outside things or people. It has to be within. Now that is partially in the spiritual sense, and that can stretch across the different religions/beliefs. Buddism, Christianity, Muslim, Hindu, even Pagans have a spiritual awareness of some sort. I have no idea how anyone goes through life with no sense of spirituality, but I think I may ask an atheist sometime out of genuine curiosity. But it’s not just spirituality that you have to focus on, because there are people who focus entirely on religion and/or spirituality, and they lose who they are (aka cults). Yes, it is cliche, but you must find happiness within yourself.
I have this painting in my room that I fall asleep mindlessly staring at every night. It is of fairies in the night. Just looking at the overall painting, it is a beautiful picture of flowers ignited by these little fairies in the night. It is basically purple, green, black, and blue. It is a great overall painting. Yet, I could get bored with it after awhile if that is all that I see. However, when I analyze it and make myself appreciate the details, I realize that I have missed out on several other colors that are used to outline and shade the images in the painting. I also didn’t really notice the fairies; I just noticed their lights and their outlines. They have magnificent flowing hair, glowing eyes, and cherry lips. I notice how the flowers are painted to appear to be blowing in the wind. I notice the night sky, which on first glimpse appears to be black, but it is made up of blue, black, red, and purple. These colors make up a night sky that is both dark and vibrant, and it is covered with patterns of stars that I also barely noticed until now. I was happy with the painting in the first place or I wouldn’t have bought it, but now that I see it and appreciate all of its little details, I love it even more. I think that you have to love the overall picture that you choose, but you also have to appreciate all of the little things that it brings, or else it’ll be something that you forget to notice after awhile. With that being said, if you don’t care that much for the painting in the first place, don’t buy it just because it would match your decor. Don’t settle in life, or that painting will get uglier and uglier the longer that you stare at it. You know what makes you happy, and you shouldn’t settle for less just to make someone else happy or because you are too scared to try something that you actually enjoy. Life is too short, so make your purpose to do what makes you happy and what you know to be right spiritually. It’s so simple, yet even I will continue my quest to find this “purpose” that is the holy grail that we all futilely seek.

January 17, 2012

The Date

Filed under: relationships,story — desi83 @ 8:32 pm

“Hi,” he says awkwardly. “Hey, you,” she replies. “So, are you ready to go?” he asks, averting his eyes. “Yes, just let me grab my coat,” she says with a glum look on her face. He puts his hand on the small of her back as he opens the door to lead her out. They walk silently over to the passenger side of his car, his hand still on her back. He opens the door for her, and she begrudgingly says, “thank you,” as she sits in her seat. “You were late,” she comments. “I know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I thought I could get here sooner,” he says weakly. “It was only five minutes, but still, we don’t have much time since I had to work late,” she responds, suddenly feeling remorseful for her harshness. “I know, it is these damned red lights. Once you get stuck at one, they all turn red on you. See?” he points out as they approach a red light. She rolls her eyes. They drive a couple of minutes longer in silence, and then he turns into the downtown square. “Man, I have no idea where I’m going to park,” he complains. “What about there?” she suggests. He passes the space, and she is agitated that he ignored her request. “There is a great spot, almost right in front of the bar,” he says excitedly. She rolls her eyes. “Those are handicapped spaces.” “Damn it!” he says, followed by his goofy laugh. She cringes. “There is a better one,” she points out. “Ah, good eye,” he responds happily. “Yes, thank you for finally listening to my suggestion,” she says, annoyed. “Yeah, yeah,” he replies. They pull into the spot, and they both get out of the car. He starts to hold her hand, but she quickly grabs his arm before he can, and they walk into the smoky bar arm in arm. “Wait, they have to check our id’s,” she says as the doorman quietly says, “Id’s please?” “Oh yeah, duh!” he says with a laugh. They show their id’s, and the doorman says, “thank you,”. “What do you want to drink?” he asks sweetly. “Um, well, I have two choices of gluten-free beer, so,let’s see…I’ll have an Estrella,” she says with an annoyed tone. He laughs, “I’m sorry, babe.” “Well, you certainly have a huge list to choose from, so what’ll it be?” she says resentfully. “I think I’ll have a Blue Moon. It’s been awhile,” he says cheerfully. “Hmmm, yes, that is a good choice,” she comments. They get their drinks, and he hands the bartender his card. “Where do you want to sit?” he asks. They look around, and there is only one place in the bar where two seats are available together. “I suppose right over there,” she points to it. “Yes, I suppose that is where we will have to sit, huh?” he laughs. They walk over to the two cushioned seats, separated by a small round table. They drink, and she notices that he is watching the television. Wow, this is going to be an awkward night, she thinks to herself. He laughs, “this is a great episode!” “I haven’t seen much of that show because I didn’t have cable when it used to come on,” she replies grimly. “You never watched to Chapelle Show? Oh, man, it is fucking hilarious!” he comments. “I didn’t say never, I just didn’t watch much of it. I liked him in Half-Baked,” she replies. “Yeah, that was a pretty good movie,” he responds. They drink their beers in silence for awhile. “So, how was work?” he asks. “It was long and boring,” she says. “Yeah, I bet, now that the holidays are over it is pretty dead there,” he responds. “How was your day?” she asks. “Well, you know, I did some laundry, I read some articles online, read a little bit of my book, and that’s about it,” he says. “Cool. How is your book going?” she asks. “It’s going okay. It’s moving along pretty quickly,” he replies. “That’s good. I’ve been reading Anna Karenina, finally. I’ve had it for the longest time, but I’ve been too intimidated by it to read it. Now that I am, I am finding to be a beautiful and sad book to read,” she adds. “Oh, yeah, you like that Russian literature. You liked War and Peace then, didn’t you?” he asks, obviously not interested in Russian literature. “I have not yet read it. I love Tolstoy’s short stories, though, so I definitely plan to read it after Anna Karenina,” she replies. “It’s just amazing how Tolstoy can capture human emotion. On one page, you feel connected to the poor wife whose husband had an affair, and you feel moved by the way she is packing and unpacking and repacking her and her children’s things. She obviously does not want to leave her husband, yet she feels so betrayed and heartbroken that she can’t stay. So she’s in this place that she can’t leave or stay at. Then on another page, you feel the husband’s pain. He has fallen out of love with his wife over time, so he has turned to another woman to take away his loneliness. He is ready to let his wife go for his sake and hers. Then when he enters her room, he is reminded why he does still love her when he sees her comfort one of their children. He is filled with appreciation and love for the wonderful mother and wife that she has been. I don’t know, you just have to read it to really understand what I mean,” she finishes, noticing that she has lost his attention. “Interesting,” he replies. That is his reply to everything. “Whatever, you think everything in the world is interesting. I don’t know why we can’t have a conversation,” she snaps. “I’m sorry that I don’t know anything about Russian literature!” he says nervously. “Fine, let’s talk about something else,” she suggests angrily, slowly losing hope for this night. She needed to have a fun night with her boyfriend with some beers and no stress. Yet, it is not fun, it is stressful and painfully awkward because they have come to this already. She grips her beer, suddenly feeling her whole body tense, and she begins nervously tapping her foot. She wants to run away from this place and never see it or him again. “So, apparently India is now polio-free,” he says after a long period of silence. She laughs. “Really, that is your big conversation-starter? India is polio-free?” “That was one of the headlines that I read today online,” he says defensively. “India is polio-free. Geez,” she mutters. “Well, it is a good thing that this is not a first date,” he says with a laugh. The tenseness in her body suddenly pushes her to stand up, and the anger can no longer be suppressed inside of her. “This is the worst date that I’ve ever been on in my life!” she shouts as she begins to walk away. “I’m sorry, I am just not in a talkative mood, I guess,” he apologizes. “Let’s just leave. This night is ruined,” she says gloomily. “Fine,” he says with his head down. He closes his tab, and they walk out with her walking briskly ahead of him with this crippling anger and resentment inside of her. They get to the car, and he is about to open the door for her. “We’re supposed to be married, and we can’t even keep a decent conversation going at my favorite bar?” she says staring straight at him. “I’m sorry,” he says in his defeated tone.

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