Departmental Characterizations

 Departmental Characterizations by Lisa M. Bello

If I tell you honestly the things that offend me you would think me odd,

Or maybe you wouldn't if you really paid attention.

The things I try to do out of my own mind to be with your ideals and expectations,

Never seem to line up.

The frustration I feel is such,

The anger turns into a pure involuntary sadness.

The chills one gets before crying have become commonplace. 

I don't think many people will understand, 

Least of all the ones I want to understand the most.

The tears fall in public,

And without warning.

I'm trying to remain even tempered and sane,

When every bone, muscle, and organ in my body is telling me to flee.

I know this may be a product of my retched experience,

With people who have a power over me.

The resulting feelings are nothing I can avoid or suppress.

Like the dark clouds before a storm, they come and keep coming. 

There is not much I can do about it. 

"Sucking it up" can only go so far,

Sooner or later something will break or bend. 

Or maybe get washed away in the flood waters.

Sometimes I honestly wish it would.

Take with it the blame, guilt, uncertainty, and sorrow it has left in its wake.

Maybe I'm just having a bad day.

Maybe my heart is tired.

Maybe Im tired of being who I have to be.

I just want to be who I am.

Too bad that being who I am is not profitable or approved or easily categorized.

The world is a series of departmental characterizations. 

None of which I fit,

None of which I think I will ever fit. 

The Rebel by Lisa M. Bello

There's a little rebel inside of me that's dying.
And as it does it screams.

Screaming obscenities to a three chord soundtrack.
It's dressed in black and has spikes on its jacket.

On every finger a ring,
A skull,
Black onyx silver barbed wire.

It's everything the world hates,
But it's everything I love.

Pure in form and vision,
Nothing about it is fake.
I wish I could see it live,
But real life gave it a call,
Told it was being put on death row.
 Next to dreams, purity, and fulfillment.

But I wonder what will replace the rebel.
Because there always is a replacement.

Just like a lightbulb,
It can't burn forever.

The rebel, my friend, will die a hero.
It fought he good fight.
Even though its death sentence is true.

The host although oblivious,
Will die along with it.

I wrote this yesterday...with a pen!

I'm sitting on the bleachers of a little league baseball field where I imagine that, in season, the kids play on the field while the parents look on from them.  The sound of children laughing and parents cheering must have filled this air many times.

But right now all I can hear is the faint sound of nearby construction equipment, the patter of squirrels going up these trees with the changing leaves and the rush of traffic behind me.

It's my first day of work and, as normal, I am super early. About an hour early to be exact. I don't mind the extra time is it gives me a few minutes to collect my thoughts and write them out a bit. Some people hate extra time and uncomfortable silences but I welcome them because if you think about it, it is with in those moments that the memorable things happen.

And those small moments are what make life worth living because without them, routine would take over and that's when life becomes stagnant.   

Stagnation is the death of creativity.

The death of creativity would surely mean, the death of me.

Tomorrow I start a new chapter in my life.

I have been unemployed since February and tomorrow I start a new job very close to my house. I hope that I am not too nervous and that everyone is nice at the job. I always get so nervous starting new chapters in life. I always anticipate the worst and hope for the best. 

Sigh... I hope everything is copacetic. 

I'm really not afraid anymore.

I'm not afraid anymore of what other people think.

I know I've said this a bunch of times in my life but this time I mean it.

I had the opportunity to be in a band this week. A band that, although it may be just in it's formative years will probally be really successful because they have a strong, über-talented, and determined individual heading them. He liked my voice ( the position in the band was just for a singer) and thought I would fit with his band. 

But after speaking with him for a while I realized that his dream is not my dream.

I spent a lot of my life in a rock band hoping that we got picked up by some major label for stardom.  I had never gone on tour but I did have a representative from Columbia records (are they even around anymore?) look at the band I was in in the late 1990s- Early 2000s. I know people who are incredible musicians who have been through the ringer of the modern day music making and made it through alive but with what some people would see as short lived fame. So I know the ins and outs of the life. It's just...

I have no dream of being in a famous band anymore. 

Now don't get me wrong, this does not mean that I am giving up making music. I have just been slowly losing the desire and passion that I once had for it and I DO NOT want to fake it. I never want to cheapen music like that. I simply love it too much not to give it 1000%.  Now some people might think this is sad or lazy and a waste of talent on my part, which I honestly and truly appreciate ANYONE who thinks I'm talented at ANYTHING but I really don't see it as a waste and I am certainly NOT being lazy. I'm just seeing the truth of what is in my heart and mind. I don't have the drive and desire I once had. 

I still have a project that I am working on with a long time friend of mine that I really do want to see to completion but after that, I have no plans for music in my future. I'm not barring it from my future but I'm not going to force it or anything creative I do anymore.    

Through this weird process of uncertainty with my music, I have rediscovered the creative process that started it all for me:  Writing. As I have mentioned here before, I have been working on a novel and I have also been compiling some of my old writings onto my website. This process for me has been really rewarding and dare I say it makes me happy. 

And happiness is what I need to strive for now in my life. My own happiness.  

Normal

On nights like these I wish I was the type of person who could just close their eyes to rid themselves of the world and their own personal troubles.

But unfortunately for me it is not that easy.
There are some people I know, like my boyfriend, who can remain happy as long as there is nothing he can do about what is worrying him.

He figures that if there is nothing you can do about it then there is no use in worrying.
I don't know how that logic digests in his system.
In his brain and heart system.

You see, me, I worry about everything.
I was so worried last night when my dog was suddenly afraid of coming inside for no rational reason (there was nothing scary at all) I cried myself to sleep. I mean it hurt so much to have to grab her by her scruff and put her inside that I felt like I had abused her. An animal that I know and love made me feel like I was not deserving of her love and trust. She should trust that I was not and will never be in the business of hurting her. I am at a loss for understanding her at all lately.

There was not much else I could do in the situation I guess, to look at it from my boyfriend's perspective but as my personality is, I can't ignore the situation or her oddball irrational behavior.

I think also the fact that I have been out of work for quite a while and now starting to get super duper depressed about it is not helping my mental preparedness for this sort of thing.
I feel sorta guilty for feeling sad because I had to grab her and push her inside. I didn't do it violently, but I didn't (and really couldn't) do it gently either.

Sometimes i want to just give up. On the dog, the job search, the way I'm making my boyfriend feel with my weepyness, everything.
Not being a close friend of normal has served me well in some parts of my life, but sometimes i wish normal would pay me a visit once in a while.

I posted a new short story on my website.

Check it out!



I posted a new short story up to my website called:



He Has a Name?

Click this link to read it on the website.

http://www.lisambello.com/shortstories.html#aname



Or just read it here. :)

Enjoy - L.

He Has A Name? –short story by Lisa M. Bello

Sigh.




Cassandra opens the vacuum package for her morning coffee. She’s
done this every morning for a year, thinking the same thing. Will this
finally be the day she tells him how she feels?




She lazily pours water into the decanter and scoops coffee into the
basket she had just lined with a fresh new filter. She switches on the
machine and with a flickering orange light and a steam surge, she starts another day.




Cassandra always prefers radio to TV.


“Television leaves too much to be desired and there is no personal
imagination left in the stories. TV is for people who need their
entertainment fed to them with a silver spoon.” is what she always says
about it.


So she turns on the stereo. It was a top notch system created piece by piece by a friend of hers whom she no longer speaks to.




She no longer speaks to a lot of people that were once in her life.




Halfway through Led Zeppelin’s “Communication Breakdown” the coffee sputters to a halt.

As she pours herself a cup, she notices that a note has been slipped
under her front door. She puts down the carafe and walks toward her
door. Across a rust colored carpet, straight to the white heavy metal
door, still bolted, chained, and locked from the night before. Hey you
can never be too safe!




A small yellowish blue card is folded in half a quarter way under
the door. The majority of the paper was facing inward towards her.
Cassandra has seen this paper before, but where? With a wrinkled brow
and curious anticipation she picks up the paper and unfolds it.




“Where you live is not where your heart lies.”




Cassandra’s face twists into a peculiar and delirious look. She has
no idea where this note came from. Either way she feels she has to keep
it on her person today. Wherever she goes. She slips the note into the
front pocket of her work pants. She turns to glance at the large red
digital clock near the door and it blares 7:45am. Looks like she’ll be
late again.




“So what else is new?” Cassandra mumbles to herself in frustration.




It’s noisy on 14th Street. The peddlers and street vendors are out
early. Better for them being that it’s only six weeks until the winter
holidays. Cassandra pulls the collar of her deep plum tweed coat
around her face and shivers.




“Damn it’s cold today!” she stammered as she crossed the street to get to the bus stop.




Sigh. Maybe he’ll come around again this morning. It always makes her day brighter just to see him.


On the bus it is warm and cozy but Cassandra can’t stop fidgeting. Damn winter skin! I get too itchy this time of year! She thought to herself. She also made a mental note to buy moisturizing soap.


As she reaches in her bag to retrieve her iPod she can’t help but
feel someone’s eyes on her. She looks up to meet the gaze of a familiar
but foreign face. A girl with long black hair done up in braids with
pink highlights, a visible tattoo crawling up the side of her neck and
layers upon layers of pink and black clothing. She adjusts her nose
ring and pretends to look away from Cassandra.




Where the hell do I know this girl from? She keeps saying over and over again in her mind.


Cassandra’s memory isn’t so sharp lately being that most of her thoughts surround a certain boy with piercing blue eyes.


Ehhh. It will come to me later. She silently concedes while
pressing the play button on the iPod. Ahh! The sound of distorted
guitar is one of Cassandra’s favorite sounds. It drowns out all the
sorrows of the world.




While running past the guards at the front desk, she flashes her ID
card and then uses it to swipe herself up to the twenty-third floor of
the massive office building.The smell of coffee and donuts hits her as
she arrives to her floor. Meeting today I suppose. She mumbles
to herself as she tries her best not to be seen sneaking into her
cubicle. Ducking low and trying not to jingle, she plops herself lightly
into her chair. But then a head pops over her cubicle wall.




“Late again huh? This must be a new record for you!” A curvaceous but
studious looking blond woman whispers to Cassandra with a raised
eyebrow.




“Shut up Ali!” Cassandra whispers back while turning on her desktop Windows computer.




“Well, I’m just saying it may be a new record for you, 45 minutes today beats your half hour of yesterday.” Ali smiles.




“I dunno Al, I just find it hard to be on time lately.” Cassandra says, with sarcasm oozing out of every syllable.




“Too much time spent looking at a pair of grey pants.” Ali chuckles with delight.




“Al, don’t make me pass a note high school style two cubicles over
to Stewie.” Cassandra says totally serious but with a smirk. Ali
shutters and gasps at that idea. Stewie is a sort of frumpy man in his
late 50s with a very bad body odor problem. He’s sweet enough but Ali
has a strong revulsion to his every way.




“Speaking of notes” Cassandra reaches into her pants pocket. “This was under my door this morning.”




Ali grabs the note with her perfectly manicured hand out of
Cassandra’s comparatively worn out ink stained one and examines it.




“Hmm...wanna know something weird Cass?” Ali says.

Cassandra’s eyebrows pique with interest.




“This paper sort of looks like the receipt I got for my lunch yesterday. It’s one of those carbon copy thingamajigs.”




Cassandra sits up straighter in her seat and asks, “Where did you eat yesterday Al? Not that Mexican place again right?”




“Oh god no!” Ali exclaims while putting a hand to her chest making a I-got-heartburn- face.I went to that place on 1st Ave.”




“That greasy spoon?” Cassandra said with a giggle. “You might as well have eaten that Mexican. Blech…”




“No really they have the best tuna melts there! Trust me! There’s
this complete rock and roll chick working in the kitchen. She must put
wonderful drugs into the food or something." 

Cassandra makes a mental note
to try it and then speaks on another subject.

“So... has he been in yet?”




Ali rolled her eyes. “Cass, you know the mail doesn’t come in for least another hour.”




“I know! I just thought maybe by chance...”




“Thought what? That he’d come in to see the pretty girl who likes
him, but he doesn’t know she likes him because she’s too chicken to say
and...”




“Okay enough Ali! I get your point.”




“I’m just speaking truth and SOMEONE, meaning you needs to tell a
certain other SOMEONE, meaning our good-looking mailman there how she
feels.There is no ring on his finger! Worst he could say is that he has
a girlfriend. Stop being so goddamn scared!”




Cassandra knows there is nothing to be scared of really. It is just
when he looks at her with those blue eyes something inside of her
ceases to function correctly; One of these things being her ability to
properly speak.




An hour later it happens.  He comes through the door with
the bag of mail for the 23rd floor. Short black brown hair only long
enough to get into his left eye, about 6 feet tall, medium build with
broad shoulders that are defined wonderfully by the cut of his uniform
jacket, and just about the firmest butt ever to be seen on a grown man,
or at least Cassandra thought so.




He makes his way around the room placing mail in the bins near the clusters of cubicles.




Cassandra watches his every move as he smiles and looks down at the
mail figuring out section names. Oh so hot. Cassandra is almost
drooling.




“Hey!” he says while plopping down the mail into the bin next to her cubicle.




“Heyyy..he..hey! Whaaat’s up?” she manages to studder out through a
flutter of butterflies in her stomach and a lump in her throat.




“Nothing much, it’s a bit chilly out there today.”




Her shock is apparent all over her face. He smiles and waits in a
courteous stance for her to speak. “It’s not he he he.. not too bad”
Cassandra can't  control her girlish giggling around him.




“You know we’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Daniel. Daniel DiLuci. And you are?”

“Cass.Cassandra Dali.”




Daniel is definitely thinking to himself but does not ask if there was a Miss or Mrs. in front of her name.




“Well, nice to officially meet you Cassandra. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”




“Um..sure..Daniel.” Cassandra manages to smile at him while she
speaks. The smile back Daniel gave her causes her to become light-headed.
Then with a whiff of his light but intoxicating cologne
escaping from the confines of his polyester uniform shirt he leaves. 




Cassandra almost falls off her chair as she slinks down in her seat
as low as she can go. She can hear Ali’s snickering and “Oh my
Gods” faintly through the haze of heat left in Daniel’s wake.




Now, he has a name.