Just wondering

When is it my turn? When will I feel safe. Stupid question, right?

SXSW and Rene's B-Day is over and Daniel Came and left again

For me the best thing is anonymity. The best thing is to hide and to run away. I must and I did. That is why I am telling no one that i am writing a blog since I am no longer a blogger and it is embarrassing how I can no longer write or spell or make the decisions that are good.

I am about to push the post button.

I will think about the screen plays, the calls I should not make, the texts I regret, and the phone calls I should answer, as well as the essays I should read, the ciggarettes I should discard, the life I am living, the future that is fuzzy, obscure, in that short moment that it takes to push the post button.

The bad first. Then the Good.

"The Funeral" by Band of Horses should last longer. It is beautiful. And one of those songs that seems to mean something different from one day the next. But, also, one of those songs that no matter what it says on this particular day, or in a certain moment, or that one late night, should be as long as the reaches of your outstretched arms. But, alas, it is only a bit over four minutes long. This is bad.

The other bad thing is this that my very good friend will have her baby this week and when it does happen I will be at work.

The other bad thing is that my other good friend had her 'I am moving with my husband to London Going Away Party' this weekend. This party was hosted by one of my very best friends who because of complicated circumstances, I have not seen in a while. And because of work I did not get to attend the party.

The other bad thing is I keep having dreams about work. But in my dreams I cannot work because I drop and break things. Or even worse I dream that I cannot wake up to go to work. The latter dream generally happens when my alarm is going off and I keep pushing snooze.

Now the good. Wait! I am too tired for details.

Here is the short.

I will work so hard this week. And I love working so hard. And then I will see my bank teller, Jackie, one day next week and have money to give her to put in a very safe place that gains a little interest.

I will meet Harper a week after she is born!

And I-Tunes will make me a Genius List in which I will hear more songs like "The Funeral" performed by the Band of Horses and I will have a great playlist in which to drive on route to Houston to see my soon to be Londoner, the friend I haven't seen in a while because of circumstances, and my best friend.

Ian Moore performed at work tonight and he was incredible.

Thanks, Brother and Mom

I started a blog many months ago. It was read and it got rave reviews for a while. And then got slammed by annonomous posters. And rightfully so. It was humorous and yet bitter. My darkest side came out in that.



So I erased it. And my blog has contained nothing. I get emails weekly asking were it went. Asking why 'Leah should Figure it Out' can't be found.

Okay. Here I go Again

I had a blog; I took it off. Did you see it? Do you remember?



I took it off for one reason, important to me. I want to be loved. I have tried so hard to be good, to be adored, to be loved by all. But I wasn't, when I blogged, I wasn't all that good, I wasn't loved by enough. I was according to my friend, Shari, not focused. I was according to my friend, and some other readers, mean. Mean. I was, according to my friend, Gary, drunk. I was according to my friend, Matt, an idiot without a "real job".



So I am beginning again.



My only rebuttal to any negative reactions is that I have a job that I don't love, that doesn't possibly come close to my creative and intellectual possibilities (I mean, a monkey can do my job), but it is a real job. I make earn an income. I pay my bills with my stupid job. And then I get to meet all of these people. These people that are facinating. That teach me all kinds of things that I might one day know or never know. I only kind of, sometimes understand.



At some point, quite sooner than I will feel comfortable with I will repost my old blog. Because in a very important way, it matters to me.



I think that when you choose to write, to really write, the ugly comes out and the author must expose herself as the antogonist, if she ever wants to be the protagonist. She has to say this is how ugly I am. This is the person that is in my head. The person with the stories, the person who writes about the good also writes about the world that she is often dissappoints.