February 2012
Miguel | Find My Way
-Justin (fuckyeahslowjams)
January 2012
I feel this is probably one of my low points in my life.
I don’t like it. I’ve gained 10lbs since I’ve moved home. Also not happy about that at all.
After I’ve moved home, it seems everyone in SD has been able to find new jobs.
I can’t find the motivation to keep this relationship together.
Ugh…ever since I’ve moved home, I don’t think I’ve ever been more frustrated.
I’ve decided to just take one step at a time.
Go to the gym more. No more snacking. Keep applying. Try to keep my head up….
I really need to stop posting emo stuff =/
- that the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.
- that no matter how good a friend is, they’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
- that just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. And just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do.
Before I flew back out to San Francisco, I had the pleasure of shooting Mariel Martin and Keone Madrid’s engagement photos. These two were the funnest, weirdest, most perfect madly-in-love couple I have ever shot. It was definitely at the top of my favorite photo shoots…
I thought I understood it
That I could grasp it
But I didn’t
Not really
Only the smudgeness of it
The pink-slippered-all-containered-semi-precious eagerness of it
I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole
The wholeness was a rather luxurious idea
Because it’s the halves that halve you in half
Didn’t know
Don’t know about the in between bits
The gory bits of you
And gory bits of me
There’s so many things I should’ve, could’ve and would’ve done, but I didn’t. To think about it, one little action was all I needed to do to make the outcome different in many situations. If only I could turn back the hands of time, I would take the chance instead of spending all of my time regretting what I should of done.
I feel like I’m damaged and unable to have a relationship. Or maybe I’m just not at a good point in my life for a relationship.
I should be feeling more, right? But I don’t care. I wish I could be back in San Diego and feel like I don’t need a guy. I miss having my friends around me.
UGHHH! Why is it so hard to find a freakin’ job too?! seriously. I’ve applied to about 5 and NONE have gotten back to me. My goodness…life is seriously sucking.
Thanks, 2012.
I clicked on the source to see if this was legit. The staff really sent this.
just in case.
sigh….
Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or make love at four in the afternoon. They might not sleep at all. Or they might sleep right through the alarm and forget to get you up for work. Or call you home from work to kill a spider. Or refuse to speak to you after finding out you’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. Or spend the last of the rent money on five kinds of soap. Or sell your textbooks for cash halfway through the semester. Or leave you love notes in your pockets. Or wash your pants with Post-It notes in the pockets so your laundry comes out covered in bits of wet paper. They might cry if the Post-It notes are unread all over your pants. It’s an unpredictable life.
But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?
This is a little more predictable. You will find your hemp necklace with the glass mushroom pendant around the neck of someone at a bus stop in a short story. Your favorite shoes will mysteriously disappear, and show up in a poem. The watch you always wear, the watch you own but never wear, the fact that you’ve never worn a watch: they suddenly belong to characters you’ve never known. And yet they’re you. They’re not you; they’re someone else entirely, but they toss their hair like you. They use the same colloquialisms as you. They scratch their nose when they lie like you. Sometimes they will be narrators; sometimes protagonists, sometimes villains. Sometimes they will be nobodies, an unimportant, static prop. This might amuse you at first. Or confuse you. You might be bewildered when books turn into mirrors. You might try to see yourself how your beloved writer sees you when you read a poem about someone who has your middle name or prose about someone who has never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. These poems and novels and short stories, they will scatter into the wind. You will wonder if you’re wandering through the pages of some story you’ve never even read. There’s no way to know. And no way to erase it. Even if you leave, a part of you will always be left behind.
If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

