It’s funny, when I wrote this song over the summer, I never imagined so many people would hear it, let alone like it. It was just the way I was feeling at the time.

For me, putting my feelings into words and melodies is like a little bit of redemption NOW. A way of saying, This hurts so much, but maybe it’s worth it–cause look. Here’s a song, now, and that’s directly related to what I was feeling. Couldn’t have one without the other.

It doesn’t necessarily make it easier while you’re in it–but pain can produce good things. Worthwhile things. So what I’ve learned is not to run from your pain, but to sit there. Listen to it. And then use it to make things. Just my two cents.

Ain’t my friend:

Chorus: Baby, you ain’t my friend, and I ain’t your last call, nor can I let my heart wonder how you feel about me at all. Cause you got all your fans, people who are on call, but I ain’t one of them, nor can I let myself pretend…
Oh-oh-oh…baby, you ain’t my friend
Oh-oh-oh

See, I don’t really really wanna just be your friend; we’re either gonna play this game or let the game end. I mean, sure, I’ll be polite and wave as I walk by, but it hurts way too much to act like we’re still fly after everything that happened, that happened between us; you’re so good at pretending while I just make a fuss; now, I ain’t saying that it’s now or it’s never gonna be, I’m just saying that this friendship feels impossible to me. And maybe someday it’ll be just fine between us, but that day ain’t today, and maybe there’s some truth to the way they always say that, baby, you’re from mars, and maybe I’m from, I’m from, I’m from Venus.

Chorus

It’s not like you were wrong when you decided that I didn’t belong next to you, it’s just hard to stand here with you, when I’m not really with you, do you know what I mean? Don’t think I’m trying to be mean–no! I think you’re just great! Too great, in fact, that’s why I take a step back; it’s just a matter of survival as I walk through this new trial, don’t take it personally, cause I’m just trying to live free, to take a deep breath now and feel what I feel. As I keep walking, watch me walking, no I won’t stop. Though you ain’t here–stop with all the fear, I tell myself again and again just as long as you say that you are my friend, so…

Bridge: Hey hey hey, a baby (bay bay bay); you live your life now and I’ll be busy living mine; Hey hey hey, a baby (bay bay bay); I already got quite enough friends now, thank you, yeah, I’ll be fine, fine, fine….

Chorus.

Chords: chorus/rap: C,G,Amin,F,G (with an occasional extra F and G thrown in for good measure; I trust you to figure out when)

Bridge: Amin, C, Amin, F, G

(yes, the chords are simple…have I mentioned I haven’t playing the ukulele for that long…?)

And there you go.

Peace!

And then another month or so went by and that same friend told me he had something for me.
“Walk with me to my car,” he said.
I did, and once we got there, he handed me this.

“Do you remember that night we had dinner?” he asked.
I nodded as he continued.
“When we drove out of the parking lot, respectively, the lady at the booth was selling these.”
“I remember that!” I interjected.
“I bought this for you that night,” he continued, ”It’s yellow–”
“My favorite color…” I interrupted, smiling.
“And also the color of friendship,” he said, smiling, too, now.
“It’s perfect,” I said, “Thank you so much…”

And now whenever I look at that yellow rose, I remember that I am loved.
And liked, too.
And never, never alone.

And this is good.
Maybe even important.
To surround ourselves with the things that remind us of who we are.
Loved.
Important.
Worth knowing.
Worth eating dinner with.
And buying roses for.
Even yellow roses, for friendship.
Especially yellow roses, for friendship.

We sit on the set bed while it’s backstage and we discuss.
We don’t sit on it while it’s onstage and discuss, cause we’d probably be fired then.
“He texted me,” she’ll say.
“And…?” I’ll prompt.
And then I’ll get the low-down.
Or:
“Yeah, I talked to him,” I’ll tell her.
“And…?” she’ll say.
And then it’s on.

But yesterday, she asked me a question.
“Do you think I should hang out with so-and-so?” she asked.
“Do you want to?” I asked right back.
“Well…it’s kind of nice sometimes, I guess…”
“Even though so-and-so has been SO SO SO lame in the past?” I’ll ask her. And yes, I am totally leading the witness.
“…Well…” she’ll say, slowly.

And I know that kind of well; I mean, I recognize it.

“I know what you mean, but I’m gonna bring God into this, if you don’t mind.”
“Bring him,” she said.
“I was reading a proverb and it said something about how to the hungry, even what is bitter tastes sweet. And I am not sure what other people think that means, but for me–I think that can mean relationships. Like, it feels good to be liked and loved and paid attention to and none of that stuff is wrong, necessarily…unless it IS wrong, you know?”

She nodded her head.

“Say the proverb again?” she asked.

And I did.

“Sometimes I think we’re so hungry that we just take anything into ourselves and call it food, call it good, just cause it’s something and we think something is better than nothing, but the truth is that SOME THINGS are way worse than NOTHING.”

“Like being with a cheater just cause you’re lonely,” she chimed in.

“Exactly,” I said.
“And,” I went on, “I will be the first to admit that I am hungry…”
“So hungry…” she agreed.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything close to a meal in terms of relationships,” I said.
And again, she agreed.
And then we started laughing really hard on that set bed backstage.

Finally, I took a breath to say, “We’re laughing because it’s true,”
“So true,” she said.
Which made both of us laugh all over again.

And then we got off the bed and went back on stage.

But just for now, I’m gonna say I’m the waves. And I’m gonna ask you–no, I’m gonna tell you–that I need you to be the shore. I need to be able to rise and fall, to crash down upon you again and again, to lose my shape into a thousand sprays and drops and foamy bits, and still find you here.
Underneath me.
All around me.
Taking and giving and being and, God, still here.

Still here.

I say it again, because it’s so hard to find; but in my own little world, where I am the waves of the ocean and you, my love, are the shore, I will say it as many times as I need to.
And like God, who spoke light itself into
being, who coaxed something from nothing, maybe I will say it until it is.

I mean, maybe.

I am sorry, for I think I lost my faith. I guess it was the time when I had accidentally become Niagra Falls. No, not the falls–I was just a small bit of water that stumbled upon the falls. And then I fell a greater drop than I ever knew existed; the shore was
gone and gravity was a hard, cruel teacher.

And now I keep waiting for the next great fall. I know I shouldn’t; but ‘shouldn’t’ hardly exists in the great light of what is. I keep waiting for you to leave. I make myself small and so quiet, hoping that maybe you won’t notice me so much. Because if you don’t even know someone is there, then there’s no reason to leave them.

But the truth is, I want to be the waves and I want you to be the shore and I want you to stay through all my pushing and pulling and rising and falling–yes, the truth is, I want you to stay.

That’s how it would be, anyway, if I were to suddenly find myself the ocean.

I think I’d be the waves and you’d be the shore; I think I’d find some kind of faith again; crashing into you, fighting you, loving you and finding you here, still.

Truth is, I am not the best anything in the world.

But that doesn’t really matter. Because who is? Not being The Best In The World is peripheral compared to this: What is it that you love?

And I mean real love. The kind that makes your heart beat faster and your body feel electric as you push yourself and find that you’re doing things you never imagined you’d do. Not ever. Maybe for the guy who’s shy, who’s never read Shakespeare–maybe he’s suddenly writing a poem to some blue eyed girl in Minnesota that, just by her very presence, has transformed Minnesota into some kind of wonderland. A place where dreams are born.

What I mean is, being in love transforms you.

And I love to dance.

Which is why I went to samba class again tonight. Why the four drummers playing in the corner were changing the beat of my own heart, turning it into something that went bum, BOOM, boom, boom, for a change. And why I shook my whole body for about an hour and a half. These are the kinds of crazy things that people do–people who are in love, I mean.

And no, I am not the best dancer in the world.

But do you refrain from falling in love with another person for the mere fact that you are not The Best Person In The World?

No, you don’t.

And that doesn’t matter at all.

Heck, that doesn’t even exist at all.

You fall in love, and then you’re doing crazy wonderful things (one hopes). You’re stopping at nothing to make sure you’re the very best vehicle for that pure strong love to flow through, and you point it nowhere but in your beloved’s direction.

So it is with the things that we love to do, I think.

And I remembered tonight, while shaking it in samba. I remembered how much I love to dance. And that’s something, guys; that’s really something.

Also known as: JESSICA, DON’T FORGET YOUR UMBRELLA AGAIN! SEASON.

Also known as: IS THERE ANYTHING WORSE THAN WET SOCKS? SEASON.

And yes, there is something worse than wet socks. But just one thing, really: socks that slip under your heels while you’re walking. Oh, just thinking about it makes me feel deeply uncomfortable. I’ve been known to flat-out throw away the aforementioned offending socks and buy a brand new pair while mid-errand.

And if you’ve ever experienced sock-slippage, then I think that you really cannot blame me at all.

But the sky has been downright torrential these last few days. Like the earth has been crying for water! so much now that the sky has gotten a suspicious gleam in its eye as it shows just how much water it can pour down when it wants to.

“Be careful what you ask for, cause you just might get it,” the Sky says to the Earth, shutting it right up. But only until Earth realizes that the Sky just quoted a Pussycat Dolls song and so the Earth starts to laugh. And there is nothing subtle about the Earth laughing. It’s mountains moving powerful. It’s tectonic plates jumping powerful.

So yeah, the Sky notices.

And then the Sky rains harder cause now it’s mad that the Earth is making fun of it (and a little embarrassed to be caught quoting the Pussycat Dolls, truth be told), and here I am: standing in wet socks and feeling like none of this is really my fault at all.

Such is life sometimes, friends; such is life.

We clean up messes we did not make; this is unfair.

And yet, others sometimes clean up the messes that we did make; this is also unfair.

And life is messy.

And sometimes you get wet. Really, really wet.

But you figure out how to wrap your ukelele in plastic so as to keep it safe and you figure out how to jump over the puddles and you realize a brand new connection with all the other people on the subway who also look like drowned rats (though they were smart enough not to wear a white dress, you notice with more than an ounce of chagrin) and you revel in being human and feeling and the fact that we all get wet sometimes and then we all get dry and you wouldn’t really have it any other way because if something was one way all the time then life would be boring.

And life is many, many things, but boring?

Well, never; never boring at all.

But anyway, happy monsoon season, guys.

Go out and celebrate by getting yourself a nice pair of rain boots.

I did not intend to stay out until three-thirty tonight.

We had an A Chorus Line reunion down in mid-town and I totally thought I’d go hang out for a bit and then hop on the train and make my way home. I forgot to take into consideration how very much I love some of those people and how very much I get involved in conversations.

I think I started saying good-bye to people around 12:30. And that good-bye stretched until…three or so. I think the bar was closing down. I think it’s very good to see people I love. Actually, tonight was a blast.

And of course we ended up talking about The Event. And so many people said such kind things to me. I can hear it now, too. When it first happened, I didn’t want to hear what people had to say about it. I was so humiliated, I didn’t want to even see anyone. But now it’s like recounting the facts of a recent article I read or something. It just doesn’t feel so terribly personal anymore. It doesn’t hurt to talk about.

I also realized something. I love to hear people’s opinions. I ask for that kind of thing a lot, actually. But the truth is, people can tell me what they think until they’ve used up every last word in the English language convincing me why I should do this or why I should never do this. But I will never really figure something out until I decide for myself.

“Take your time, Jess,” said my friend John, when I was telling him about life and where it’s left me lately.

And I think that’s a lovely thing to say from one friend to another.

And I think I’ll do just that.

I certainly did that when it came to getting home tonight, that’s for sure.

Have I mentioned that I really love my ukelele? Yes, I do.
Anyway, here it is.

And also? Last night I dreamt that I had a fever and then woke up with a fever. Shane says that’s because I knew it without really knowing it.

I wonder what else I know without really knowing it. Probably more than I admit to myself. It’s a strange balance to at once feel so lost and clueless, while trying your darndest to walk resolutely on that overgrown, easily overlooked path called TRUTH.

I have also decided to grow my hair out long.
I want to have a braid down my back again.
I want to see what color it is when all it does is grow.

Until I decide I want a fauxhawk and it really should be blond, that is.

I met a girl with an afro today at church. A white girl with an afro. I guess word has gotten out about how I’d like an afro because her friend pointed to the afro and said to me, “You want her hair.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
And it was true; I couldn’t deny it.

But God gave me straight, soft hair. It is how it is. Acceptance is the first step to freedom, you know. And the next step is a braid down the back. Cause if I can’t have an afro, at least I can have braid, I guess.

At least I can have braid.
And sound like a cavewoman.
That, too.

That seems to be the predominant question when it comes to me and The Guy I Used To See A  Lot.

And honestly, we don’t talk on a regular basis. Though, I can say in truth that it’s not an angry distance. It’s more like a well-why-would-we-talk-really? kind of distance. There is a lot of peace in my heart concerning the whole mess. In fact, I would say that in terms of us, the peace now outweighs the mess.

And that’s a freaking miracle.

I am grateful to be here. People tried to describe this place to me, back before I could see it for myself. And if felt somewhat like listening to someone tell you about their dream. It didn’t make much sense. You were never gonna be there, yourself. And then your mind starts to wander towards what’s for lunch, before making yourself try to listen to this dream that isn’t. even. real, just for the sake of your friend who is so passionately describing it.

But lookit! Turns out to be a real place, after all. I’m okay without him. I’m better than okay. I’m not the walking dead and the zombie apocalypse wouldn’t just feel like I’d finally come home, believe it or not.

But, back to the question: do we talk?

Sometimes. I mean, rarely, and always for some practical reason, but when we do, it’s okay.

And I’m grateful for this, too. I never wanted to be that girl who cannot even hear the name of the person who has hurt her so badly, for fear that she’ll have a conniption. And I’m not saying that a conniption isn’t necessarily warranted, but I am saying that I don’t want anyone to have that much power over me. Especially when it’s a person who does not actually want to take care of my heart.

But, I have to say that it did my heart a little good to have this conversation with him recently:

D: “I saw [a friend of ours] the other day.
J: “Oh yeah? How was that?”
D: “Good. He speaks of you very…well, very highly.”
J: “What’d he say?”
D: “He was trying to describe you to someone who’s never met you. So he went on and on–about how you look, how you dance, how you act and sing, how you’re so sweet, how you’ve made an album…I mean, he really just kept on going on and on about how amazing you are, Jess.”
J: “That must have made you feel great.”
D: “Yeah. I finally said that I’m the idiot who messed all that up.”
J: “Well, you are.”

And then we hung up the phone and I went on with my day and I felt peace and even if I didn’t ever hear that, I’d still have felt peace, because it doesn’t hinge on what he thinks of me.

Still, it wasn’t a bad thing to hear, I guess.

Lately, life has felt bleak. This is the honest truth. It does not mean that things will always be this way, and I am trying to recognize that it is simply a feeling, and though feelings are important, they must be put in their place. As in: they are not the end of the story nor even always the truth.

But anyway.

In some of my darkest moments, an inane statement will run through my mind, almost like listening to a tape being played. And I will find myself thinking the statement, despite the fact that I am crying and wondering why it is that life hurts so much.

First, I must say it has to do with facebook. Second, I will say that I have almost no criteria when it comes to accepting friend requests. If they are inappropriate, then they get the axe, or their request is ignored. But other than that, I generally accept. To me, facebook is not a place where real feelings are shared and much of it is not even real. I mean, it can be kind and it can be encouraging and funny and a nice way to keep in touch, but it’s not a place to be vulnerable. Thus, my loose policy when friend requesting. With that said, I have a lot of “friends” who are not friends at all.

And about a month or so ago, a man who I don’t know left a comment on my wall. All it said was this:

Life is good and I’m livin’ it. How bout you?

That was it. I thought it was kind of funny, kind of weird, and didn’t even reply. But now that comment has a way of popping into my head at the weirdest times. At the saddest, darkest times, I hear that question. Life is good and I’m livin’ it. How bout you? Strange, I know.

The other ridiculous thing about me. Well, the other one I am going to share now, anyway. There are more than two, you know.

When I cry, there is a part of me that gets just a tiny bit interested in the fact that my lips get very red and very puffy. It’s like the perfect lipstick or something. It kind of goes like this: life is so sad; I’m so sad; my heart hurts so much; when will I ever stop crying? Oooooh, my lips look so pretty right now; anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, life hurts….

And now you know that I am not only ridiculous, but I guess I am vain, too.