Don't Aim High, Don't Aim Low

Things Fall Apart, as They Tend To

Rachel C Johnson

Half of me wants to be in Seattle all the time, the other half in Chicago. As for the rest of me, I’m dying to finally do something great, break out of this cycle I’ve been pulled into, this cycle of financial downfall and general discontent. To break out of this state, the state of mind that is Oklahoma—the intrepid discontent on an Oklahoma summer.
It seems that the closer I come to any sort of comfort the more I realize how in the dark I still am. I feel like, for once, I was almost on top of my situation. Not necessarily in control of it, but to the point that I felt I might finally have a chance at comfort, at repair. But, my world has a tendency to come crashing down. Things fall apart, all over the place, all of the time, and, as far as I’ve seen, at the most inopportune time. “Bed news never had good timing,” just when you’re together life falls to pieces.
I’m tired of being in repair. I know it takes time, but time is starting to get the best of me. Time is supposed to be on my side. AS they say, once you stop fighting you realize time is your friend. But, time seems to be fighting me. I’m standing still and it’s pushing me to the ground. No, I have no control, I have no way of calculating this end, but I think I have the right to ask time to be my companion. I think I might have the right to need it on my side. I wish it would stop throwing the punches, I can’t see for the black eyes I’ve been dealt.
I’m blind. From now on I seem to be relying on memories that don’t belong to me. My head is swirling, torn and in two places. All I can do is start into the familiar Oklahoma sky, place for lack of water color. And in the head I might just let my mind wander deeper into a state of submission.

July 26, 2007
Don't Hang On, Don't Let Go

With a Little Smirk

My Dreams are Dreaming Me
Rachel C

My life is in chronological order, but my mind doesn't work that way. I spend so much time contemplating the clouds, once I wake back up to life I'm so far behind or too far ahead I miss the present, I miss what is happening now. I miss the signs until I catch up and contemplate them later. I anticipate words that are too far away to actually hear. Nobody is ever prepared for the present; nobody expects what is happening right now. And I see so much of every time surrounding, I lose track of what time it is now. I don't hear what you're saying until you're on your way to complete your life. And I'm so thoughtful I tend to slow it down. I slow us all down, tire us out, and while you're sleeping, I jump ship to another period, sometime when you don't exist, and I am deep in the life I am not prepared for yet.
I don't know why I do this, though the comfort could explain it. The present is awkward, you don't exist any time else, and I don't move quick enough to say the right thing today. So I say it tomorrow, but you aren't in my head, not the way I wish you were. And no one ever hears exactly what I have to say. If I say it today, It will come out wrong, and I'll lose the chance to make it up tomorrow, and my mind will shift to focus on the past.
I'm not prepared for the present; I'm not prepared to move in chronological order. But I don't have control of time, not even the time in my head.

July 15, 2007

There's No More Logic

My Foolish Notion is Too Fun

©Rachel C

I want to take
you and drink you
and somehow become
a part of you and by
doing so I want to love
you and I want you to
love me.

July 1, 2007
When There's Magic Between Me and You

Come Now, Come and Mourn Me

My Old Bones are Growing New Bones

©Rachel C

Driving home I can see a string of nearly black clouds floating low in the sky. They’re thin, and almost resemble smoke, but they don’t have nearly that consistency. It’s weird to see such dark clouds so thin, and so low as if they just evaporated from the surface of the earth. So low, it seems, a tall man could reach right up and swing his hand through them, scattering the droplets and shaking them back to earth. Maybe even a short girl, with ballet flats and big dreams, could reach up and swipe them away, pull them down to her chest, breathe them in like a natural humidifier. From an angel where they lie next to the dark clouds in the horizon, they are nearly invisible, but once you’re facing the sun, they’re so close, so low, so dark, and so stretched thin you could pluck them right from the atmosphere. For some reason, I feel like these clouds, so fragile and yet out of reach. As if everyone could touch me, feel the moisture of my skin, but I am just an arms length away; a tall man’s head is too far below my feet. Touchable, right there to hold, and so far away, so scattered and stretched, so dark and no one can come near me. Those clouds, I know, aren’t me. They will pour their insides to the ground, or dissolve if they come any lower. They will disappear, and I won’t ever see these clouds again. I may have taken a dive, disappeared, dissolved for a moment, but I can resurface, I can breathe more life, I can begin again—maybe not where I left off, but where I am now. Those clouds will die, and I have not, and someday I will come close enough to touch.

July 1, 2007

It's So Easy, Now I'm Gone