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aboldclaim · 5 years ago

Note

3! 26! They can be put together also ❤

Soft™ fic prompts - 3. forehead kisses + 26. bed hair (read on ao3)

He wakes up alone.

The bed has a mismatched quilt neatly spread along the end of it, which he sort of hates, and there’s a space on the other side of the mattress that he throws a leg towards as he tries to shake the sleep from his bones, sheets cold on his bed-warm skin. He wakes up alone. He supposes he’ll have to get used to it.

He wishes he could have woken later, early early morning light peering through the curtains, and he’s tired from the late night, last minute, lost twice drive into town. He was greeted with endless cups of tea at the end of it, and Ray’s mile a minute conversation as they worked their way around the house at a quarter to midnight. He’d contemplated bailing, briefly, escaping to the motel he’d seen on the way in, then getting the hell out. He’d chalk it up to some sort of preemptive mid-life crisis, and things could go back to the way things were, in his town, his job. Rachel.

But he’s made up his mind.

This town seems nice enough anyway, from what he saw on the way in, pretty to spite its name maybe, and small. The main strip couldn’t have been more than an intersection, collected around a cafe, and there’s a garage, and an empty general store, for lease taped across the windows. A collection of houses on streets with odd names balloon from the middle, a few fields, old silos, a brown baseball pitch, and he’s run away to places like this before. He’ll stay until he figures out what it his that he wants, who he wants, where he wants. He’s tried the stiff-collared, stuffed elevator life, and he’s tried, and tried, and tried with Rachel, and he’s tried to want both of those things, but he doesn’t. For now, he’s made a decision and he’ll see it through, like he does, most of the time, and he’ll sort himself out. It’s a temporary sea change, so to speak, a chance to breathe country air.

Rachel would have teased him about it, his jumble of mixed metaphors, his mess of bed hair. She would have told him he could do better, that he’s wildly overqualified for shuffling paperwork around the dinky office downstairs. He would have said he likes paperwork, she would have called him a nerd. She would tease him about this too, about the quilt at the end of his bed, and the room in Ray’s pokey house, and the town with the funny name, and up and leaving her like that, for this.

He thinks it’s only fair that she’s his frame of reference, for things, for everything. He doesn’t think he should begrudge himself that, doesn’t think there’s any sense in burying the last twenty years and every part of his life she had a part in. He can’t obfuscate, won’t erase that she kissed him in the stands of a baseball match when he was sixteen, that he took her home to meet his parents, that she was his best friend, that he broke her heart, and broke her heart, and broke her heart, and broke off the engagement, and said they needed a break. He wants to forget the tattoo of the rain on his balcony, and his skin bristling from the cold, and her voice crackling like she was at the other end of a shoddy phone line and not in amongst boxes, in his apartment, in his head. He can’t forget how he felt, how she looked, her face crumpling, frown collecting beneath his mouth when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and that he felt sad, but he didn’t feel the way she felt, even though he thought he did, even though he’d wanted to.

It’s not as hard as he thought it would be, waking up without her.

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up late, with flannel sheets tangled around his bare legs and David attempting to be quiet as he picks his way across Stevie’s apartment through the mess of their clothes on the floor. He has their forgotten whisky glasses in one hand, his shoes in the other, and his dark brow furrows when he sees Patrick propping himself up on an elbow.

‘Were you gonna leave a note?’

‘Yeah, look, I’ll call you,’ David says, his tone somewhere on the way to teasing, and Patrick watches as he attempts a more casual stance, crossing one bare foot in front of the other and leaning a little to the side, as if loitering against some imaginary wall. He’s half-dressed, has quoiffed his hair back into its usual shape, but his arms are bare, unsweatered, and he can see the hair rising on his skin. His eyes are a little inflated, like a deer in the headlights, somewhere between freeze and flight.

The blind panic bubbles somewhere right below the surface. Patrick can tell, because he feels it too, and he knows David’s afraid he’s making a mistake by staying, that he’d make a mistake by going, that he’s used to being walked out on, left without a note, used to walking out when he’s asked to, or before he is, to save himself more hurt. Patrick knows he’s fighting every conditioned instinct standing there, teasing him, not walking out the door, and he wants to tell him he won’t walk out either. He wants to say he won’t do that, that he’s here, that he’ll be here, but he doesn’t want to scare him off. Instead he clears the sleep from his voice, replaces it with all the warmth within him, and affection, and ginger teasing, and a small wave.

‘See you around.’

‘Definitely,’ David says, and he takes a few cautious steps toward the bed, leaning over to kiss him. It’s soft and short and tender, less desperate, less breathless than last night. His stomach still swoops as David presses a kiss to his forehead, to his left-side temple, to the mark he made on his neck that’s blossomed into a mottled bruise, before he stands again, moves back toward the kitchen. He places the glasses near the sink before he opens the fridge, bends down to peer inside. ‘I was going to make you coffee -

‘Come back to bed.’

‘ - but she doesn’t have any milk.’

He’s avoiding Patrick’s gaze, he thinks, avoiding his request, staring into Stevie’s empty fridge for answers instead. His expression is wound tight, and his posture pulled apart, voice straining still. It’s making Patrick panic a little that David is panicking so much. It’s making him worry that he’s come on too strong, or not strong enough, or that he made a fool of himself last night.

He’d liked that they had the time, had the space to spend the time figuring out each other’s bodies, figuring out what the other one likes. He’d had an idea, had a sense from their halfway there attempts at the store, because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but it wasn’t the same. It’s nothing compared to sitting on a bed with him, kissing lazily because they have the time, letting laughter bubble between their lips. It’s not the same as feeling David’s hands slip beneath his sweater, or whisper against his belt. It’s not the same as his body atop his, or beneath his, around and intertwined and inside his. It’s not the same as chasing each other’s lips, all tongues and teeth and bodies against each other, thighs and hands and the small of his back, and David’s stubble against his cheek.

Thinking that he knew what it might be like, from a few attempts in the backroom of the store, or from what he’s seen, what he’s watched trying to figure out what he wants, is different, is so different from reality. It’s messy and sweaty and very personal, and David has so much experience. He can’t help but feel he’s made a shambles of it, or said the wrong things this morning, or not said enough.

But David had fallen asleep tangled around him, hand hooked around his bicep and feet knocking his feet, and David had peppered kisses along his shoulder before he’d fallen asleep, and David had told him that it was good, so good, don’t stop, so good. They’d taken each other in their stride, and figured things out as they went along, it needn’t have been perfect because it was nice. Patrick feels good, feels right, things feel easy and he likes David, he really likes him. He doesn’t want to overthink it, doesn’t want to re-litigate, doesn’t wants to deconstruct. He doesn’t want to go into work.

‘David,’ he says softly, pressing his palm against the mattress to push himself upward, gesturing to it when David finally meets his eyes. ‘Come back to bed.’

‘We’re late,’ David mumbles, even as he moves towards the empty side of the bed, mouth threatening a smile and the mattress dipping a little as he crawls atop it. Patrick leans forward then, catching David’s shy, joyful expression between his hands, fingers splayed out against his jawline.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Patrick says, and it takes him by surprise a little, its other meaning, and that he means it, that he wants David to know. It seems to take David by surprise too, his expression morphing into something unspeakably tender as he moves forward, as Patrick tugs him toward the pillows.

‘What will the bosses say?’ David surges against him, and the question sounds around laughter, is muffled between their mouths. He lets Patrick run his fingers through his hair, lets him mess it up, so little dark tufts stick upwards and there’s no mistaking what he’s been up to. He lets Patrick’s hands find purchase at the nape of his neck, and at his waist, as he rolls his hips against him.

‘They seem like the forgiving sort.’

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up without David.

He’s woken up without David before, has woken up without him most of his life, and on and off in the last four months, when it suited them, or he needed a change of clothes, or they couldn’t get Ray to shut up. This is different, this sucks - waking up without the possibility of waking up with him, every day since the barbeque, every morning for the last week.

It’s been a week of torture, of emotional self-flagallation, caught in between the lines of text messages, wrapped around link bracelets, and he’s not like this. He tries not to overthink, tries not to spiral into worst case scenarios or get caught in emotional quagmires from which he can’t see a way out, but he can’t seem to help himself.

Maybe it’s because he’s in love with him.

(It’s because he’s in love with him.)

Maybe it’s because he’s got nothing else to preoccupy his thoughts, nothing else to fill the silence, waking up alone this morning, and going to bed alone last night, and the night before, and the night before that. He’s at the store alone too, and on the walk home, and on the coffee run at the cafe, clocking odd glances from familiar faces. He’s sure what happened has made its way around the town already, gossip jumps between people here like wildfire between wooden houses. He’s been told that it’s made the rounds and he thinks they might have taken David’s side in the break up. He wants to tell him, wants to let him tease him about it, and he would if they were still talking, if they were still together.

He had thought they might have been together still. He’d told Rachel he was his boyfriend, is his boyfriend, hands plunged deep into his pockets and mouth dry, an overdue conversation, but tricky all the same to change decades of their history like that.

And they had texted. David had texted him. He had asked him to mind the store, told him about getting away for a couple of days, stilted conversations abutting an affectionate back-and-forth and Patrick had run headlong into over-worrying every response. He thought if he’d kept the conversation going David wouldn’t forget about him, he wouldn’t move on. He thought if he was gentle, and light, and funny enough, David wouldn’t be so angry, wouldn’t end things, would let them stay in this awkward space between dating and not, until he won him over.

After a day or two of radio silence he’d sent flowers to the motel. He’d dropped off chocolates with a bemused, protective Stevie, who’d told him he was a moron and said she’d pass them on. He’d sent a note, sent a bracelet, settled right into old gestures, tried and true to get someone to talk to you. He tailspins into something akin to desperation, a blind panic of texts and gifts until he goes to bed last night, alone, and realises he’s been an idiot.

David hasn’t told him much about his life, about the others. He should have asked, should have let David ask him about his, but they’d fortified the edges of the corner of their town instead, let their fledgling relationship run wild within its artificial boundaries until it could stumble safely into love.

David hasn’t wanted to tell him about his past, but heard enough from throwaway self-deprecation, off-hand jokes to know that it hadn’t been good, that the others, the ones before him, hadn’t been kind, hadn’t treated him well. He’d pieced together enough of the puzzle of him to realise, last night, mismatched quilt at the end of his bed, and a pair of David’s socks in the corner of the room, and his heart in the pit of his stomach, that he’s treated him the same way. He hadn’t told him, he hadn’t asked, and then he’d smothered him. He’d thrown thing after thing at him without so much as a text in response, because it had made him feel better, and he hadn’t thought any further than that.

He feels the same in the morning, sleep failing to assuage the tightness in his chest, the waves of embarrassment that lap against his skin and make him blush, make him feel a little sick. His head is so full of things he wants to tell David that they spill into his mouth, and he tests them out as he wakes up, to see how they fit around his tongue, between his teeth. He wants to tell him he’s sorry. He wants to tell him about Rachel. He wants to tell him everything about before, everything he’d left out, the boys he thinks he might have liked, the men he thinks he might have wanted. He wants to tell him he loves him. He wants to tell him he loves him, and his world feels like its shifted left of centre, but that’s not for David to resolve, that’s not for him to figure out. He’ll figure it out by himself. That’s what he’ll tell him.

They can still run the store though. He cares about it too much to leave it behind, and there’s nothing to stop them being colleagues. There’s nothing to stop them being friendly.

There’s nothing wrong with maybe telling him he missed him, as a colleague. It’s not weird to fix his hair in the reflection of the register before David gets there, rectify the mess that sleep made of it. He doesn’t need to analyse the way his heart leaps into his throat when David comes through the door, even half an hour late, even in a leather sweater, even in this weather.

After, he pretends to be cross.

After he couldn’t be more thrilled, David’s hands on his thighs and music filling the store. After he leans forward, tells him he’s an idiot, tells him he’s sorry he was an idiot. After he takes him home, takes him to bed, presses a line of kisses along the line of his hair.

He wakes up married.

There’s a pile of their suits, shirts, ties, shoes, draped and folded neatly across the chair. There’s a pile of oddly wrapped presents by the door, and a pile of half-eaten strawberries from the hotel staff on the coffee table, and a pile of David’s hair tickling his neck.

His head rests at an odd angle against Patrick’s collarbone, he thinks he’ll complain when he’s awake, and it rises and falls with Patrick’s slow waking sighs. He’s a little trapped by David on his shoulder, and by his arm flung across his middle and tangled in the sheets at his waist, but he doesn’t mind. He still feels like he did yesterday, a little overwhelmed, a little full to the brim, and to the ends of his nerves. It’s like there’s only so much happiness one body can handle in a day, like it had to hold some in so he could deal with the residue today, let it jump between his synapses, run wild around his body, let it bubble on his lips, and against the lines on David’s forehead.

‘Morning’, David mumbles, and he’s woken him up. He shifts away a little, tries to keep still.

‘Morning. Sorry.’

‘I don’t think - ’ David clears the sleep from his throat, and he feels him shift closer, feels his fingers trace the linen at Patrick’s waist, before they slip beneath it to make light, messy circles around his left hip bone. David’s brow is serious, but his voice is laced with humour, and he starts to drum a gentle tattoo against his skin. ‘I don’t think I caught your name last night.’

‘Oh, let’s not do names.’

David peers up at him then, eyes bright, mouth in a tight-lipped smile, pulled to one side of his face, so he can hold in the happiness the best way he knows. David looks at him like he always does, like he did at the start, relieved Patrick’s in on the joke, thrilled when he brings David in on his.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hooked up with a stranger at a wedding,’ he shrugs, and Patrick places a hand atop David’s to pause his fidgeting. David turns his hand over then so their palms meet briefly, before he lets his thumb slide across Patrick’s knuckles, like mountains and valleys to crest before he reaches the thin gold band on his fourth finger. It’s a new addition, a yesterday addition to his fairly jewelry minimal collection. It makes him feel entirely far too happy to deal with atop his current portions, a separate happiness that he’ll process later, so he just lets David traces his thumb against it, lets himself feel David’s own rings bump against it. ‘Probably the last time though.’

‘Probably?’

‘Probably,’ David brings Patrick’s hand up to his mouth, presses a grin to the ring there.

‘Funny,’ Patrick deadpans, shuffles down a little on the pillow. He brings his free hand under Davids chin to shift his gaze upward and leans forward, presses his nose against David’s cheek. ‘Remind me to tell my next husband that one.’

David doesn’t bother to hide his grin this time, wide and warm, and caught against Patrick’s mouth, the kiss messy and familiar and dissolved into laughter.

#david x patrick #schitt's creek #schitts creek #my fic #soft fic prompt meme #Im SO SORRY it took me so long to get to this! i really got carried away with it!#hope its okayyy #david rose #patrick brewer

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pb1138 · 6 years ago

Text

Through the Window

Cable x femReader

Deadpool and Cable need to lie low for a while, so they choose rural Indiana. It just so happens that where they choose to set up shop is not too far from where you grew up, and old memories and emotions get stirred up. HELLA ANGST and then fluff. LOTS of mention of loss/death. About 2,000 words

Deadpool 2 spoilers

“Hey, guys, I have to take Mindy home. I’ll be back in, she says, like two hours. So probably more like 4.” You had poked your head through the archway into the living room, waving at Cable and Wade who were sitting on opposite ends of the room.

“I’m coming with you.”

Surprised, you raised your eyebrows at Cable who had spoken. “I mean. Ok, but we’re going to be singing loudly to a lot of weird music.”

Cable shrugged and stood, crossing the room to you. “I don’t care. I’m goin stir crazy in this dump.”

Wade gasped in mock offense, putting a hand to his chest. “How dare you. I work my ass off to make this place a shitshow. To call it a dump is just downright insulting to my efforts as a homemaker.”

Cable looked pointedly at you and you smiled, waving him along.

The three of you piled into your car, Cable in back, and you set off on your way. Due to your friend’s shitty navigation, it took you nearly two hours to get to her house despite it only having needed an hour, hour and a half tops. But you didn’t mind. You were having fun, talking to her, singing with her, making fun of Cable’s reactions to you both. You had been pointing out houses you liked along the way, as well as obligatorily pointing out every single herd of cattle or horses you saw. You had met your friend in her freshman year of college in DC, but it turns out you were both from the same small town in Indiana. You were ecstatic to have found a piece of home so far away and after so long. The two of you became close friends and eventual roommates in one of the dorms on campus before you had made friends with Dopinder, the lovable taxi driver. He had been taking you across town when DP called needing a ride. You had said it was fine, you didn’t mind sharing a taxi. As soon as Wade’s ass hit the seat, you were best friends. The two of you moved in together after Vanessa passed away so Al didn’t accidentally shoot herself trying to shoot him, and so Colossus wouldn’t lose his mind. Cable had ended up moving in after a while, too, something you very much didn’t mind. Cable was. Just. Fuck. Like. Oh my god. There just aren’t even words.

And then Wade decided to piss off one of the biggest, most widespread mafias in the entire United States and suddenly they needed to lie low. “I’ve got just the place,” you had said, and voila, rural ass Indiana. Nothing but corn and beans and cows for miles. Home.

“You missed the turnoff,” Mindy said.

You smirked and glanced at her, shaking your head. “Nope. I wanna go see my old house. I wanna see what they’ve built over it.”

Cable’s interest was mildly, very mildly, piqued, but he didn’t ask about it. He knew actually very little about you past beyond the basics—Indiana born and raised, mutant but self-trained, tense family life, come to DC for school. That’s really it. Truthfully, he was a little excited to see through this window into your life.

A few miles later, you turned onto a nicely paved road and began your tour. You started with the house of a childhood friend and crush who ended up being gay with a teenage-hood friend and crush, then moved on to the house of another friend, then the cemetery where you road your bike, and then finally your old land.

“Eight fucking years and they still haven’t built anything? What a load of shit.” You scoffed, pulling into the overgrown driveway. Cable narrowed his eyes in confusion, looking out the window at…well nothing. There were two garages, an old barn attached to a silo, and a storage barn, but other than that?

“What do you mean?” Mindy has asked.

“So. Eight years ago. I fucked up. And accidentally burnt my house down.”

“Fucking what?”

“It’s a long story but basically I tried to smoke a cigarette and fucked up and now my house is no more, aight? The people who bought it said they were going to build a new house for their kids. Eight years ago. And there’s still nothing. I mean, it’s kind of touching in a way because it still feels like mine, but jesus what’s the hold up?” You drove them through the rest of the driveway, telling them some stories about your childhood before you continued on your way to the town about a mile away. As you drove down the main street, you slowed down at a candle store and stared at it for a long minute before Cable watched you wipe a tear from your eyes.

“Was that your dad’s store?” Mindy asked. You nodded in response, and suddenly Cable understood. He knew your dad had passed away not long after your house burnt down. ‘The year of hell’ you call it. And he remembered you telling him that your father had owned a computer store, some dinky little place, but you loved it. He looked out the window at the candle store again before he silently reached out and touched your shoulder. You smiled slightly in your rearview at him and set off again. Mindy’s house wasn’t even 2 minutes away. You said your goodbyes and Cable moved up to the passenger seat and the two of you set off again. After learning about what all you’ve lost, Cable felt a little closer to you, not that he didn’t feel close before. In fact, if he were totally honest with himself, he downright liked you. Perhaps a little too much.

You took a different way out of town, more direct to get home, but you had pointed out a few more landmarks (the water tower, a park that “hasn’t changed one goddamn bit,” your gay crush’s old house, some train tracks you said the cops had yelled at you for walking on.) And after a while, you had begun to cry. Not blatantly, but Cable heard the cracking in your voice, saw you trying to hide your eye wipes. Quietly, he asked, “Are you alright?”

Your lip trembled and you gripped the wheel tightly, but nodded. “Yeah. It’s just. A lot of memories.” He nodded silently and looked ahead. After a few minutes of silence, you quietly admitted, “I miss my dad.”

He looked at you and his heart shattered. You had tears blatantly falling down your face now, one hand holding your head, the other gripping your wheel with all your strength. “I’m sure wherever he is, if he’s somewhere, he’s proud of you.”

You were silent another moment before you shook your head slightly. “I’m not so sure. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the last eight years.”

Cable frowned. “But did you learn from them?”

You nodded slightly. “I like to think so.”

He looked forward, hands resting on his knees. “Then he’s proud.”

You pulled into the parking lot of a factory and got out of the car. The sun was setting ahead of you, and you pulled yourself onto the hood of your car, staring at it. Cable got out, too, and stood next to you. “It’s not just what I’ve done since… It’s what I did before.”

Cable looked at you, took in the orange light making your skin glow, lighting the trails of your tears, softening your hair. “What are you talking about?”

“My dad. Um. My dad died thinking I didn’t love him.” You sniffed hard, your voice quivering. “And, before you say he knew, really he didn’t.”

“Go on.”

“So. The night before he died. He asked if I wanted to go into the city to do laundry. I was 14. In my emo phase where parents suck all kinds of shitdick. I told him no. A few minutes later, he comes in and yells at me, which should have tipped me off because my dad never yelled.” You took your sunglasses off and wiped your eyes hard. “So I went, and I was pissed and being petulant. We went and threw our clothes in and then went and got Taco Bell, so I was like cool, Taco Bell. But still annoyed.” Cable pulled himself up on the hood to sit beside you. “And then we started driving around my old neighborhood, where I was born. And he was telling me stories, just random tidbits from my youth. Which was also weird. And then we went and got our clothes and started home.” You swallowed hard and your voice started shaking hard, holding back sobs. “He and my mom were getting a divorce. A while before they asked who I wanted to live with, and I had said my mom. So we’re leaving town that night and he goes, ‘When your mom and I get divorced, will you come see me?’” You choked out a sob and turned your hands into fists, teeth digging into her lip. Cable reached over and put his hand on your shoulder again. It took you a minute to calm down enough to continue. “And I didn’t fucking say anything. Not a goddamn fucking thing. So then he goes, ‘I bet you won’t.’ And I. Didn’t. Fucking. Say. Anything.” You were sobbing now, blatantly, choking your words out one by one. “I went to bed really late that night, but when I did he was still snoring in bed. We hadn’t talked since we left town. And then I woke up to my mom calling an ambulance and he was gone.”

Cable couldn’t handle it anymore. He reached over and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into him. You turned and buried your head in his shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. He held you close, rocking ever so slightly, waiting for you to calm down. It took a while, the sun almost completely set over the horizon, but you whispered a small, “Thank you for listening,” into his shoulder, your grip around his waist slackened significantly.

He put his cheek on your head and rubbed your arm gently. “Doll, I would listen to you read the dictionary word by word, shit letter by letter if I thought it would help you feel better.”

You shook with a small laugh and you pulled back, smiling slightly up at him, eyes puffy and red. He smiled gently at you and brushed a bit of hair behind your ear and you turned your cheek into his palm, your hands moving to his wrist. Before you realized what you were doing, you had turned and pressed a kiss against his palm, and once you did realize, you slipped off the car, moving to head to the passenger side. Cable hesitated for the smallest fraction of a second before he slid off after you and gently caught your wrist. You turned towards him and let him pull you into him, your hands going to his chest, his to your shoulders. You both looked at each other for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth before you stretched up and ever so softly put your lips to his, ghosting your skin just barely against his. He moved to cup the back of your neck and leaned down into it, warmth and love radiating from his core. He pulled back after a moment and you smiled up at him. “Turns out I don’t need to read the dictionary after all.”

His smile widened and he kissed you again, this one long and passionate, almost leaving you breathless. You were interrupted by the ringing of a phone and you sighed, knowing it was probably Wade, being annoying. You stepped back from Cable and smiled, tossing the keys at him. “I’m too tired to drive.” He chuckled and stepped around to the driver’s side and you set off for home, holding hands the entire way.

#cable #cable x reader #nathan summers #nathan summers x reader #x reader #marvel x reader #deadpool x reader #death mention #loss mention #angst #fluff #x reader fluff #cable fanfic #cable fanfiction #fuck #i love cable #ugh

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samuelandthewilburbots · 5 years ago

Audio

One Year in Music: Week 35 This Week’s Song is called Never Tested. It is kind of a composite story of a handful of relationships that all had similar outcomes. It’s bizarre to spend so much time with one individual, where they get to know you better than almost anyone in the world, and then one day you never talk again. They see the best of you and the very worst of you. Even 10-15 years removed I find myself having Vietnam style flashbacks of stupid things I said/did or arguments that we had. Ah, good times.

Probably the most confusing/wild/bizarre times in my life was my Junior year in college. I lived in a house in Dinky-town with 5 of my best friends. It was the first time any of us had lived outside of the dorms so we were overly eager to express/exploit our new found freedoms as well as all being of legal drinking age. It was a weird time period because it finally felt like I was an actual adult for the first time in my life. We no longer had to worry about getting caught with alcohol by the RA’s in the dorm, we no longer had regulated “quiet” hours in the apartment hall, and none of our parents lived within 300 miles of us. We had a big house, we had big dreams, and none of our brains were fully developed. Also, we were all degree seeking college students.

I felt a lot of academic pressure in college. I did not develop strong study habits in high school, and it definitely caught up with me. I was desperate to maintain a solid GPA but I had no idea what my purpose was. I tried several different majors: English, Psych, Child Psych, until finally I settled on Journalism, simply because it seemed the easiest, however, I had no desire to be a journalist. It was a strange year because I didn’t know what I wanted to do AND I didn't know who I wanted to be.

College academics can be stressful because I always felt like I was just keeping my head above water. I would work endless hours on a paper or a project and then turn it in, and immediately had to start on the next giant obstacle. There was no relief, it was always on to the next one. In my mind I thought, once school was over, life would finally settle down and be easier. I guess we always imagine a time where there is nothing urgent to be done, however I have yet to experience that. Because there was no academic relief, I used binge drinking as a huge crutch to deal with the stress. Every single Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of my Junior year I drank heavily. It was very normal in college, and it was very easy to find fun people to go out with, but when your only form of self care is binge drinking, there are a lot of unintended consequences.

I feel like my body and my mental state was much more resilient at the time. I never really took the time to acknowledge my emotions or feelings. Like now, I am able to recognize when I am grumpy or easily irritated it is because I am lacking sleep. In college there was never a moment of pause to reflect or take a mental inventory, I was always go, go, go. I remember working my butt off at the Library all Thursday afternoon so I could have everything done by 8, so I could go out to the bars with my boys on Thursday night. It was honestly one of the best feelings in the world (at the time). I worked hard all week so I assumed I should play hard all weekend. Alcohol would take me on crazy adventures I did not even know how I got to. I would time travel all over town, completely fearless, meeting new people, talking shit to strangers, climbing abandoned grain silos. You know, healthy decision making.

At the time I was very much living in the moment. Almost to a fault. I never looked back on things and reflected because I was hungover until I was drinking again all weekend. I never once really thought about what I was doing with my time/life. All I wanted to do was go out and have fun with a big group of people. I was probably completely unaware of it at the time, but because of the amount I was drinking each weekend, I was probably depressed, but I didn’t have time to think about things, everything was moving so fast. So instead, desperate for a real connection I reached out to my high school girlfriend. In hindsight I clearly wanted someone who cared about me to be there for me. I reached out to her and assumed she would be there on stand by. I assumed nothing had changed in her life, even though my life was moving a mile a minute. I figured she would be waiting by the phone for me to pick up right where we left off. For some reason this was not the case. Nothing quite like a late night drunken phone call to really sweep them off their feet again. Pathetic is a word that comes to mind.

Lyrics

We used to talk every night on the phone Until we both fell asleep I used to curl up on your lawn, late at night When I had to much to drink We could be right, we could be right here along We could be trying, we could be trying to face it all alone Once again I have sinned, from the start, it begins To fall apart you skin the heart and not the soul Now I'm a mess of human flesh These bones will bleed but never rest When they are successfully tied on to their own I never tested my love I never fall far behind I never had to explain myself Because I kept practicing mine mine mine mine Now we never talk on the telephone We just say hi in our sleep Two states away and in two different homes I can still feel your heart beat Let me come home, let me come home, let me come home again Let me come home and rest my head. Let me come home and lie next to you, let me share this dread I thought life was hard when I was younger, Well I had no idea what life would have in store I thought that I had hit rock bottom, But it turns out that was only the ground floor I never tested my love I never fall far behind I never had to explain myself Because I kept practicing mine mine mine mine Once again, I have sinned, from the morning till the end, Ask for forgiveness but what I really want is more I'm still a mess of humans flesh a wounded kneed a hornets nest I must confess, I find it really such a bore You’re acting out You're acting again You're acting like the only one who experiences life inside of them You're acting dumb Your acting less You acting like it's over when it's over but it's over till it ends But you got it wrong You got it right I never tested my love I never fall far behind I never had to explain myself Because I kept practicing mine mine mine mine But these days you get older I can't explain all the news but I'm tired of waking up hungover And I'm tired of waking up next to you I never tested my love I never fall far behind I never had to explain myself Because I kept practicing mine mine mine mine

#Songwriting #singer/songwriter #Songwriting blog #minneapolis #minnesota

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