young and alone.

So I recently received arguably the best phone call of my entire life. I'll set the mood. It's more or less midnight, I'm more or less naked (this is irrelevant) in my bubble bath reading The Economist and drinking wine (true story). In case of emergency (ie, I drunkenly slip underneath the water and begin to drown), I have the phone with me in the bathroom. On the off chance that I have a friend, the phone rings. It's S and he begins to tell me about the best worst date he's ever had. I'm dying of laughter, wine is spilling, The Economist is wet. After what seems like ten minutes of laughing I compose myself. Shit, what if he's offended I laughed for so long? Nope, he's still laughing as well. Nevertheless, we say our goodbyes.

Five minutes later he send this text or something similar to it: "Tonight is a tribute to you and all of my single friends. May we embrace our loneliness and revel in the god awfully amazingly horrible nights like this that happen on occasion."

brother sport.

Brother and I have developed this odd game where we run for treats. Literally, we run to go get treats. The rules include; the establishment of choice has to be at least two miles from our house and we have to at least run the way there. I'm down for any time of physical activity and we're both in love with anything sugar laden so it works. So far we've hit up Dairy Queen, 7-11, Panera, and Coffee Bean. And treats and sentimental moments aside, it's so refreshing to talk (mostly about tattoos, we're bros obviously) and get to spend time together before we both go our separate ways with our separate friends for the night. On most of the trips we've encountered friends who offer us rides home. Most people don't understand running/walking for recreation. Besides, we just ate cookies the circumference of my head/20 ounces of sugar ice/a half gallon of ice cream, we need this walk.

dear sir or madam:

this is in regards to my most recent let down. and this is in regards to me sounding as if the world's job is to keep me happy. it's not, i know. i lost that sense of entitlement at an early age. momma, driving the car, telling me that the world owes me nothing, no one owes me anything and if they do i should not have been in that situation in the first place. (mom was never really into that fairytale bullshit)

i forgot this once when i believed a boy would owe me his heart forever. but i got over that too when i realized you can't expect to get if you don't give. so i gave. boy, did i give!

but this isn't about sexuality and this isn't about one's interpretation of riding in cars with boys.

this is about karma and feeling like maybe just once something could work in my favor. but i have this attitude where i'm not feeling like lending my talents anymore. under appreciation, little compensation, que sera sera. so i'll act like it's not my concern and say i'm busy everyday this week. yeah, midterms. and reading? damn, there's so much of that. and i'll walk away feeling like i own the place. i will show you!

mom said the world owes me nothing but she never said i couldn't hold my head up like it did.

what's it in for someone with nothing to do?

because a bed is just a bed and i am just a girl.

you are just a boy and together, well, we're just together.

and the next morning is a new day.

we will rise and you'll pull on your pants and we'll still be friends regardless.

forgo the parable.

So the other night I finally met up with him in the parking lot.

And we played that silly game we invented called Honest Abe, where the person wearing Lincoln's imaginary hat has to tell a secret or answer truthfully until he passes the hat to the other person.

i've probably thought about you every day for the last six months. pass hat.

even though i don't stop, i always check to see if your car is at our favorite places when i drive by. pass hat.

i was mad you didn't stay that night. pass hat.

i was mad you let me get out of your car that night. pass hat.

did you know it was me who left the card on valentines? pass hat.

of course, knew it before i even read it.

these are my confessions, ursher style.

-I can and will find a way to trip over anything that crosses my path. Tree root, side walk curb, your foot, my foot, the air. Been there, done it. All of it.

-Time spent with brother is one of my favorites. I will always deny knowing him in public but fucking hell, I love this kid. Often times, we're still 10 and 7 years old, driving my mother insane and making each other laugh the way no one else can. I get sentimental and can't wait until his 21st birthday so I can fly from where ever I am to take him to a bar and get him piss ass drunk. And we'll fall asleep, momma's drunken babies, in a blanket fort we made in our living room, like the golden days.

-Feminine wiles are so fun. I'm afraid I'm becoming a hussy and I'm not even meaning to be. Society has taught women that crying works every time, eyelashes can say more than words ever could and instead of thinking that that guy at the gym front desk is a creep, I could just smile and tell him, yes, I did have a great workout.

-I tend to eat candy late at night. I'm a sucker for it anytime of day, but there's nothing like twelve Laffy Taffys to comfort me in bed.

-I'm good at first impressions, horrible with maintaining contacts. So yeah, we did well in the group setting but I'll probably be conveniently busy every Saturday for the next three years so we'll never date. And yeah, lab partner/coffee shop mate/random person on the street, we'll exchange numbers and make plans to bake cookies or see that movie but will I ever call you? Probably not. And I know I should. I know you're a cool person and I want to expand my social circle but my phone is always on vib or I'll prioritize the gym. And this is why I'll have my same eight best friends forever and always refer to Ground Zero Boy when I'm bored/lonely.

-I've always known I will never get married (just let me plan a wedding) but I am starting to believe I will never be in a long-term, lasting relationship. I cringe at how couples stay together 10, 20, 30, however many years. No one has anything interesting to say for ten years, I'm sorry.

-I have this weird obsession with Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. It reminds me of a missed opportunity I'm glad I didn't take because "players only love you when they're playing games." Also, my preferred walking to school music is Heart. Try it, it's badass.

lengths we go.

weekend:

lots of self time (pedicure, manicure, sauna)

long walks and runs

watching Sean try to shove his feet into lady's keds

surprise run in/car hang out with an old "friend" (with benefits)

blueberry cupcake baking (see above)

trip to LA to see Ash

talking, analyzing

retail therapy

happy tears, long hugs.

oh and enough sleep to last an eternity. it's go time.

our ideas held no water though we used them like a dam.

i just need you to be able to tell people i was here, i felt, i lived and i loved as much as i could, while i could. and that the person that i loved, was you.

half of the time, i don't even know what i'm saying.

What I'm saying: I need you.

What I mean: I adore you and you don’t even know it. You keep me grounded, happy, give me something to look forward to. I’m such a school girl.

What I'm saying: I don't really like John Mayer anymore.

What I mean: John Mayer makes me feel too much, makes me remember too much, makes me regret too much. Emotional association with songs is a love/hate relationship.

What I'm saying: “They’re kind of hard to pull on, you know?”

What I mean: The extent of my cigarette knowledge isn’t far past the colored boxes but I heard this about that brand so I’m going to say it because you’re a boy, you’re cool, and I’m going to impress you.

What I'm saying: I have no time.

What I mean: There's so much running through my mind. So much I want to do, so much I have to do. Ideas escape me as requirements fill my notebook and take up space on my desk.

the trapeze act was wonderful.

Best Friend smirked through sips of his overpriced latte, "What Aubrey, are you running away from home?"

Maybe, I thought. Probably.

But I always imagined runaways as orphans or hobos with their possessions tied up with a handkerchief on a stick, walking down dusty railroad tracks into the sunset. I, however, drove through the rain in a little red car that gets surprisingly good gas mileage, sipping Arizona green tea and listening to the only, albeit static-y, English-speaking radio station in all of Central California. I'm certainly not a hobo or an angsty teenager, and I'm definitely not running away glamorously like my favorite heroines, Lady Brett Ashley or Holly Golightly. I'm shooting for somewhere in between.

And there's a boy back home telling me that my problems are not geographical. Believe me, I know. The shadows follow even when the sun isn't out, no matter where the closet is mine always has skeletons in it and my hair is just big enough to keep all my secrets. But in that car I was feeling so relateable; like Nellie, just a bird who always flies away. And if Celine can drive all night to get to you, then why couldn't I?

Truth was, I was running away. Away from the stack of bills on my desk, the unopened emails in my folder and the exhaustion that never seems to leave even if I sleep an eternity. Listening to Bon Iver on repeat and eating dark chocolate bon bons in bed can only get a girl so far. Teary phone calls with LA and crying because the sky is so beautiful from the top of the hiking mountain, what is my life?

And I have issues with the way people use the term "home." Like it's always supposed to be at the place you last left it. So I make a spectacle of myself in global perspectives class and tell the lecture hall I am not a "global soul" because my home is between the cracks and one really has to squint to see it close. And now, because of all this, I tell Best Friend that I am just running from a place (my problems) because my home (my sanity) maybe does not exist or is running from me.

If you have ever tried to catch a feather in the wind, you will know this is no easy feat.

like a bird, i always fly away.

if you've never taken a solo road trip, i seriously recommend it. and i mean a trip where you are not consumed with time, where you can think of all the cliche song lyrics on being free and do what you want when you want. with that in mind, i was supposed to go shopping thursday after class but instead i kept driving and went to fresno because boo said she needed a hug. here's what happened subsequently:

-did something i probably shouldn't have.

-being only two hours away is the perfect excuse to keep driving and end up in berkeley.

-stopped to look at a field of llamas and take horrible self portraits with them.

-stopped at various fruit stands for driving foods.

-best friend was (is always) down for coffee, cigarettes, secrets and lots of aimless walking.

-indian cultural day, consisting of holi festival and food.

-jungle party.

-night hiking and summer plans.

-driving six hours at speeds varying 65-85 mph with an expired license and expired plate tags to be home in time for easter.

but if you do this, make sure you have more than three cds.