I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakthrough. Like I might be able to figure out some major reasons behind my behaviors in the next week or two. God knows I'll be able to sit and think about it; a week from today I'l be in Athens, starting my real "vacation" (six days without work, class, or responsibility). I'll have plenty of free time to contemplate the intricacies and the enigma of Emma amidst the haze of smoke and cheap alcohol.
In the meantime, I'm writing down all the half-formulated explanations in a notebook. I feel like maybe I can compile them all together and make a sort of file, with organized sections and cross-references. That's the OCD part taking effect.
If my writing seems somewhat haphazard tonight, forgive me. I slept about three hours last night, worked a nine and a half hour shift, relived my childhood in a bar/arcade, and got slightly drunk. It is now almost four in the morning...and I have to be awake in another three to four hours. The way I figure it, between 8:00 Friday morning and 11:30 Sunday night, I will have slept only about six or seven hours, but worked twenty-nine hours. Somehow, that just doesn't quite seem right to me. Oh, well. Que sera, sera, no? After all...you only live once.
12.23.2007
12.13.2007
Yet another parallel between my personality and classic literature
"'I am careful.'
'No, you're not.'
'Well, other people are,' she said lightly.
'What's that got to do with it?'
'They'll keep out of my way,' she insisted. 'It takes two to make an accident.'
'Suppose you meet somebody just as careless as yourself.'
'I hope I never will,' she answered. 'I hate careless people.'"
-From The Great Gatsby
I am Fitzgerald's Jordan Baker, in this sense at least. I am not careless, per se, but I am incredibly whimsical, capricious, and spontaneous. And all those 'accidents' and blunders in my past? The result of my meeting people as erratic and mercurial as myself. The strange thing is, I don't actually hate that type; I rank spontaneity among the most important qualities I look for in relationships, be they romantic or platonic. I think that any relationship is just too boring otherwise.
Maybe it would be duller to look for a bit of stability or practicality...but maybe it would also be safer. I just can't help but wonder if it has to be an ultimatum, a black-and-white choice between safety and excitement. It just doesn't seem fair. I am quite familiar with the old adage, "Life isn't fair," but I am a firm believer in karma, and I think that life can be absolutely fair if you make it that way.
On an editorial note, I have pretty much given up on the idea of this blog as a detatched résumé -builder. But maybe I can use it to prove that I can display both eloquence and emotion; a feat that I personally consider to be difficult. For me at least, emotion tends to increase the volume of what I would like to say at the same time that it decreases my ability to formally convey it. I am sure that I am not alone in this frustrating phenomenon. At the very least, I can consider this an exercise in my ability to analyze...as though that particular muscle needs exercise.
'No, you're not.'
'Well, other people are,' she said lightly.
'What's that got to do with it?'
'They'll keep out of my way,' she insisted. 'It takes two to make an accident.'
'Suppose you meet somebody just as careless as yourself.'
'I hope I never will,' she answered. 'I hate careless people.'"
-From The Great Gatsby
I am Fitzgerald's Jordan Baker, in this sense at least. I am not careless, per se, but I am incredibly whimsical, capricious, and spontaneous. And all those 'accidents' and blunders in my past? The result of my meeting people as erratic and mercurial as myself. The strange thing is, I don't actually hate that type; I rank spontaneity among the most important qualities I look for in relationships, be they romantic or platonic. I think that any relationship is just too boring otherwise.
Maybe it would be duller to look for a bit of stability or practicality...but maybe it would also be safer. I just can't help but wonder if it has to be an ultimatum, a black-and-white choice between safety and excitement. It just doesn't seem fair. I am quite familiar with the old adage, "Life isn't fair," but I am a firm believer in karma, and I think that life can be absolutely fair if you make it that way.
On an editorial note, I have pretty much given up on the idea of this blog as a detatched résumé -builder. But maybe I can use it to prove that I can display both eloquence and emotion; a feat that I personally consider to be difficult. For me at least, emotion tends to increase the volume of what I would like to say at the same time that it decreases my ability to formally convey it. I am sure that I am not alone in this frustrating phenomenon. At the very least, I can consider this an exercise in my ability to analyze...as though that particular muscle needs exercise.
12.12.2007
Why I Am Not An Atheist
(For those of you who didn't recognize it, the title of the blog is an allusion to Bertrand Russel's "Why I Am Not A Christian". It's interesting, and riddled with fallacies. Go read it if you want a good exercise in countering the most feeble arguments that atheists throw at theists.)
It seems to me that atheism would just be rather depressing. It essentially amounts to the following:
1) You are born
2) A lot of things happen, most of which are irrelevant
3) You die
4) Nothing happens
It's just that the thought of life as one long death-crawl to the decaying oblivion of the grave is so depressing for me. What reason is there to do good in life if there is no life after death? What reason is there to even continue living, since we're all doomed to the same fate eventually anyway? Why not just off yourself now and save the annoyance of being around for another fifty or sixty or seventy years? It's not as though you're going to regret that decision after you've made it; you'll be dead and unconcious and oblivious. There really doesn't even seem to be a point in trying to leave a legacy of any sort; the people who remember it will all eventually die themselves, and your memory with them. It all seems so bleak.
It's just human nature to want to continue in some form after our physical time on Earth is over. Some people want to continue existing as spirits or souls in whatever form of the afterlife in which they prefer to believe. These are the theists, the spiritual people, the religous. Some people want to exist as a memory, a legacy, a physical manifestation of what they once were, leaving behind a world better than the one into which they were born. These people are the conquerors, the inventors, the peacemakers. Some people want to exist in any way possible; they're not particular as to which one, so long as they can blindly and desperately continue to cling to some form of existence.
Personally, it honestly terrifies me to think that my conscious mind will cease to exist after (hopefully) 80 or 90-odd years of living, thinking, experiencing. I want eternity! I want to be able to reflect on all that I did during that near-century of doing! And I want to watch others. I want to watch them make the same mistakes I made, and maybe help them learn from them better than I did. That's what keeps me rooted in the belief of souls and ghosts and even Heaven. That desire to continue existing forever. I just don't understand how anyone could not want that. Of course, there are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand, and I do not mean to say that I have a low level of intellegence; there are just many things that seem nonsensical in general. Starting with myself.
I've been throwing around a few ideas for New Year's Resolutions in my head lately. Typically I follow the traditional route: lose weight, save money, find a boyfriend, get better grades, land that promotion, yada yada yada. Lately, I've been considering a different one. Something alone the lines of just figuring myself out. It seems simple enough, but I know it would require some deep analyses...deeper than I've ever been brave enough to go. But I want to know why I do what I do, about everything I do. I think I've begun to scrape the surface, but I really want to be able to sit down and define myself and say, "This is who I am, this is what I believe, this is where I'm coming from, and this is why I do these things." I know I can't expect anyone to truly understand me until I can do so myself, and I think that after I figure all that out, everything else--the grades, the boys, the job, everything--will fall into place. I've spent my whole life being random and undefinable and off-the-walls; it is time for me to settle down and know where I've been, so I can figure out where I am going.
It starts right here, with why I am not an atheist. This is one reason behind one belief that I have. It's all a part of who I am.
It seems to me that atheism would just be rather depressing. It essentially amounts to the following:
1) You are born
2) A lot of things happen, most of which are irrelevant
3) You die
4) Nothing happens
It's just that the thought of life as one long death-crawl to the decaying oblivion of the grave is so depressing for me. What reason is there to do good in life if there is no life after death? What reason is there to even continue living, since we're all doomed to the same fate eventually anyway? Why not just off yourself now and save the annoyance of being around for another fifty or sixty or seventy years? It's not as though you're going to regret that decision after you've made it; you'll be dead and unconcious and oblivious. There really doesn't even seem to be a point in trying to leave a legacy of any sort; the people who remember it will all eventually die themselves, and your memory with them. It all seems so bleak.
It's just human nature to want to continue in some form after our physical time on Earth is over. Some people want to continue existing as spirits or souls in whatever form of the afterlife in which they prefer to believe. These are the theists, the spiritual people, the religous. Some people want to exist as a memory, a legacy, a physical manifestation of what they once were, leaving behind a world better than the one into which they were born. These people are the conquerors, the inventors, the peacemakers. Some people want to exist in any way possible; they're not particular as to which one, so long as they can blindly and desperately continue to cling to some form of existence.
Personally, it honestly terrifies me to think that my conscious mind will cease to exist after (hopefully) 80 or 90-odd years of living, thinking, experiencing. I want eternity! I want to be able to reflect on all that I did during that near-century of doing! And I want to watch others. I want to watch them make the same mistakes I made, and maybe help them learn from them better than I did. That's what keeps me rooted in the belief of souls and ghosts and even Heaven. That desire to continue existing forever. I just don't understand how anyone could not want that. Of course, there are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand, and I do not mean to say that I have a low level of intellegence; there are just many things that seem nonsensical in general. Starting with myself.
I've been throwing around a few ideas for New Year's Resolutions in my head lately. Typically I follow the traditional route: lose weight, save money, find a boyfriend, get better grades, land that promotion, yada yada yada. Lately, I've been considering a different one. Something alone the lines of just figuring myself out. It seems simple enough, but I know it would require some deep analyses...deeper than I've ever been brave enough to go. But I want to know why I do what I do, about everything I do. I think I've begun to scrape the surface, but I really want to be able to sit down and define myself and say, "This is who I am, this is what I believe, this is where I'm coming from, and this is why I do these things." I know I can't expect anyone to truly understand me until I can do so myself, and I think that after I figure all that out, everything else--the grades, the boys, the job, everything--will fall into place. I've spent my whole life being random and undefinable and off-the-walls; it is time for me to settle down and know where I've been, so I can figure out where I am going.
It starts right here, with why I am not an atheist. This is one reason behind one belief that I have. It's all a part of who I am.
12.11.2007
This entertained the hell out of me.
http://www.nassauweekly.com/view_article.php?id=691
Granted, it might not make perfect sense if you haven't had a basic background in philosophy, but I think it's worded so that anyone can get it. I thought it was funny, but if the writer is trying to disprove solipism, he failed. The arguement needn't have ended at "aren't you saying that you don't believe in your own solipism?" The interviewee could have countered with "No, there exists a figment of my imagination, whom I call 'Mother', and it does not believe in my solipism."
But that's just splitting hairs. And being nerdy...not to mention being significantly less funny.
Still, it's a cute article.
Granted, it might not make perfect sense if you haven't had a basic background in philosophy, but I think it's worded so that anyone can get it. I thought it was funny, but if the writer is trying to disprove solipism, he failed. The arguement needn't have ended at "aren't you saying that you don't believe in your own solipism?" The interviewee could have countered with "No, there exists a figment of my imagination, whom I call 'Mother', and it does not believe in my solipism."
But that's just splitting hairs. And being nerdy...not to mention being significantly less funny.
Still, it's a cute article.
12.06.2007
Is it wrong to assume that you missed me?
Frankly, the problem with bad habits is that they're...well, they're habits. So no matter how stupid or hurtful they are, we keep doing them. Because it's easy to do, and hard to break. It's just following the path of least resistence.
Take, for example, a bad habit of mine. I mentioned it in the highly metaphorical post on November 9th. The habit I have of nearly dying from poison and always going back for more. I'm doing it again, I know I am. It's just in a different bottle. Maybe more than one bottle. I'm not worried about being destroyed by it; I know that no matter how much poison I consume, accidentally or intentionally, it can't kill me. That's just not how I work.
Time and time again, it comes back to habit, which leads to ease, which often leads to difficulty; ironically enough, the ends are in complete opposition with the means. Does it really make sense that we make things more difficult by taking the easy path? So why do we do it?
Take, for example, a bad habit of mine. I mentioned it in the highly metaphorical post on November 9th. The habit I have of nearly dying from poison and always going back for more. I'm doing it again, I know I am. It's just in a different bottle. Maybe more than one bottle. I'm not worried about being destroyed by it; I know that no matter how much poison I consume, accidentally or intentionally, it can't kill me. That's just not how I work.
Time and time again, it comes back to habit, which leads to ease, which often leads to difficulty; ironically enough, the ends are in complete opposition with the means. Does it really make sense that we make things more difficult by taking the easy path? So why do we do it?
12.05.2007
A quick epiphany
I think I have figured out more about myself this past week than in the last two years combined. Or maybe i just finally condensed and defined what I learned. I'm not sure.
I do know it helps to have a fresh, open mind off of which to bounce my thoughts.
Regardless...I'm moving forward.
I do know it helps to have a fresh, open mind off of which to bounce my thoughts.
Regardless...I'm moving forward.
12.03.2007
I have just noticed...
That I am extremely long-winded when I can't sleep.
Also, I use a very large number of similies, metaphors, and allusions in my writing. But that has nothing to do with insomnia.
Also, I use a very large number of similies, metaphors, and allusions in my writing. But that has nothing to do with insomnia.
My muse? Insomnia.
So apparently, sleeping literally all day results in a complete inability to sleep when when is actually supposed to. As a result, here I am at two a.m. (yet again), siphoning out the overactivity that is swirling around my head.
Tonight's topic: judgement.
We all judge people. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. We judge based on the opinions of those close to us, on rumor and hearsay, and sometimes, on personal interactions with the subject of our judgements. Most of these bases are completely biased in every aspect. So when we actually investigate our subjects, our judgements typically have to be reconfigured, making us feel like opinionated, asshole-ish bastards. We've all been there.
Take for example, a recent encounter of mine. I had heard stories of one young woman for months; I had never spoken to her or even officially met her, but I had a very solid--and very negative--opinion of her. I am ashamed to say that when my friend (and later, for a short while, my boyfriend) made fun of her, I joined in the laughter. Recently, she contacted me. I strive to be open-minded, and I still had a slight chip on my shoulder towards my now-ex (who also happened to be an ex of hers), so I spoke with her. And I can honestly say that my opinion of her has taken a complete one-eighty...not to mention the fact that my opinion of him has gone from jerk to liar and downright ass. I feel like a complete fool; this young woman hadn't even known of my existence until a few weeks ago, and I had been ridiculing and laughing at her for months. It is kind of pathetic. Safe to say: lesson learned.
Or what about another instance. This with a guy I had been on-and-off unofficially involved with since this summer. I naïvely took him to be one hundred percent genuine, no questions asked. But recent experiences with aforementioned ex-boyfriend have made me realize something: naïveté is neither becoming nor helpful. I am by no means accusing this guy of being anything other than genuine; for all I know, he really is (not that that simplifies my situation with him, but I digress). All I am saying is that one should not readily assume that everyone on Earth is as honest as they seem. Just because I am straightforward and honest and open does not mean that everyone else is; in fact, I am most likely in the minority in this case. A great many people who claim to be so are, ironically enough, lying. They merely pretend to be honest and straightforward in an attempt to appear idealistic and win the trust of others. Unfortunately, manipulation and a claim to be sincere often go hand in hand. Sad enough to say that these low-lifes actually ruin the concepts of "honesty", "sincerity", and "openness" for the people who actually are.
I can't help but wonder how many times a person must be manipulated and used before she finally closes herself off entirely. I have noticed over the past two years that I have become less trusting with each guy I become involved with. Two summers ago, it took me only two weeks to think that I was falling in love. This fall, it took me almost two months. I think I may be learning, however slowly.
What really impresses me about myself is my ability to remain at least partially removed from my current situation on an emotional level. I know that this will not work. I'm continuing to invest time in it only because I am a romantic, hopeful creature, who tends to hold on until the last curtain falls, the audience leaves, and the ushers start sweeping up the aisles. But the improvement is in the fact that I am not investing all of my time, or even a great deal of my emotion. I just don't feel like getting hurt again so soon.
The more I think about it, the more I realize what a bad combination I have when it comes to beliefs and the like. I am a hopeless romantic, mostly optimistic (but with just enough pessimism to keep me from always saying the glass is half full), a complete idealist, cynical at times but for the most part trusting and naïve, a dreamer, a wisher, a thinker. I'd like to say that I can be practical, but for the most part, any practical action of mine is usually caused by the advice of a friend who actually has both feet on the ground. With a combination like that, how can I expect to not be hurt, lied to, used? I practically have the words "I will believe anything you say, just sound like you mean it" tattooed across my face.
Maybe that will be my New Year's Resolution: find a better slogan.
Still not tired. Going to try to sleep anyway. If UPS has me working, I'll most likely go from 11-2:30 there, and 3-10:30 at Best Buy. God, how I love Christmas season...not. But that is a rant for another sleepless night...
Tonight's topic: judgement.
We all judge people. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. We judge based on the opinions of those close to us, on rumor and hearsay, and sometimes, on personal interactions with the subject of our judgements. Most of these bases are completely biased in every aspect. So when we actually investigate our subjects, our judgements typically have to be reconfigured, making us feel like opinionated, asshole-ish bastards. We've all been there.
Take for example, a recent encounter of mine. I had heard stories of one young woman for months; I had never spoken to her or even officially met her, but I had a very solid--and very negative--opinion of her. I am ashamed to say that when my friend (and later, for a short while, my boyfriend) made fun of her, I joined in the laughter. Recently, she contacted me. I strive to be open-minded, and I still had a slight chip on my shoulder towards my now-ex (who also happened to be an ex of hers), so I spoke with her. And I can honestly say that my opinion of her has taken a complete one-eighty...not to mention the fact that my opinion of him has gone from jerk to liar and downright ass. I feel like a complete fool; this young woman hadn't even known of my existence until a few weeks ago, and I had been ridiculing and laughing at her for months. It is kind of pathetic. Safe to say: lesson learned.
Or what about another instance. This with a guy I had been on-and-off unofficially involved with since this summer. I naïvely took him to be one hundred percent genuine, no questions asked. But recent experiences with aforementioned ex-boyfriend have made me realize something: naïveté is neither becoming nor helpful. I am by no means accusing this guy of being anything other than genuine; for all I know, he really is (not that that simplifies my situation with him, but I digress). All I am saying is that one should not readily assume that everyone on Earth is as honest as they seem. Just because I am straightforward and honest and open does not mean that everyone else is; in fact, I am most likely in the minority in this case. A great many people who claim to be so are, ironically enough, lying. They merely pretend to be honest and straightforward in an attempt to appear idealistic and win the trust of others. Unfortunately, manipulation and a claim to be sincere often go hand in hand. Sad enough to say that these low-lifes actually ruin the concepts of "honesty", "sincerity", and "openness" for the people who actually are.
I can't help but wonder how many times a person must be manipulated and used before she finally closes herself off entirely. I have noticed over the past two years that I have become less trusting with each guy I become involved with. Two summers ago, it took me only two weeks to think that I was falling in love. This fall, it took me almost two months. I think I may be learning, however slowly.
What really impresses me about myself is my ability to remain at least partially removed from my current situation on an emotional level. I know that this will not work. I'm continuing to invest time in it only because I am a romantic, hopeful creature, who tends to hold on until the last curtain falls, the audience leaves, and the ushers start sweeping up the aisles. But the improvement is in the fact that I am not investing all of my time, or even a great deal of my emotion. I just don't feel like getting hurt again so soon.
The more I think about it, the more I realize what a bad combination I have when it comes to beliefs and the like. I am a hopeless romantic, mostly optimistic (but with just enough pessimism to keep me from always saying the glass is half full), a complete idealist, cynical at times but for the most part trusting and naïve, a dreamer, a wisher, a thinker. I'd like to say that I can be practical, but for the most part, any practical action of mine is usually caused by the advice of a friend who actually has both feet on the ground. With a combination like that, how can I expect to not be hurt, lied to, used? I practically have the words "I will believe anything you say, just sound like you mean it" tattooed across my face.
Maybe that will be my New Year's Resolution: find a better slogan.
Still not tired. Going to try to sleep anyway. If UPS has me working, I'll most likely go from 11-2:30 there, and 3-10:30 at Best Buy. God, how I love Christmas season...not. But that is a rant for another sleepless night...
11.27.2007
Keep me in mind
Wouldn't it be convenient if everyone were mind-readers? If truth weren't contingent, but necessary...everything would be so much simpler. There would be no liars, no cheaters, no fakes, no players, and far less drama and pain. Think about how many times people you love have lied to you. About how much it hurt. What would you give to make that kind of pain impossible? What would any of us give?
Granted, some lies are for the better. The honest answer to the question, "Does this make me look fat?" is probably one that would be better left unknown. But I personally think that blatant honesty is the best policy. I've started this new thing where I try to be up front. All the time. And not just the fake "straightforward honesty" that I was getting this quarter. I mean genuine honesty. The kind that probably hurts. But honest and well-intentioned pain is still better than a hurtful and malicious lie.
I really just would like to be able to crawl into some peoples' heads and see what exactly is going on in there. If they mean what they say, and why they're saying it if they don't mean it. And I'd like to let someone into my head too. I'd love to let someone else try to figure me out, since I can't seem to do so. Doors are open. Welcome mat is out. Go for it.
Granted, some lies are for the better. The honest answer to the question, "Does this make me look fat?" is probably one that would be better left unknown. But I personally think that blatant honesty is the best policy. I've started this new thing where I try to be up front. All the time. And not just the fake "straightforward honesty" that I was getting this quarter. I mean genuine honesty. The kind that probably hurts. But honest and well-intentioned pain is still better than a hurtful and malicious lie.
I really just would like to be able to crawl into some peoples' heads and see what exactly is going on in there. If they mean what they say, and why they're saying it if they don't mean it. And I'd like to let someone into my head too. I'd love to let someone else try to figure me out, since I can't seem to do so. Doors are open. Welcome mat is out. Go for it.
11.25.2007
Walls up, walled in
"The walls you build around yourself
I guess they also keep you there."
-Staind
How many people can recognize exactly what their problems are? How many people can honestly say, "This what's wrong with me; this is what I need to fix"? My guess is that it is a rare gift to be able to criticize oneself so blatantly. The fact is, if those people can identify their own problems, then why are there still problems? Is it harder for them to solve their issues than it is for anyone else to identify them?
What about when those bad habits are holding us back? And we know they are? Can we still remain blameless, or are we obligated to at least try to fix them? What if we're too afraid?
And when you really think about it, how many times does fear hold us back? Fear of rejection, of failure, of ineptitude...they can all paralyze and cripple.
I guess the real question in this long list is, is overcoming the fear worth the risk?
I guess they also keep you there."
-Staind
How many people can recognize exactly what their problems are? How many people can honestly say, "This what's wrong with me; this is what I need to fix"? My guess is that it is a rare gift to be able to criticize oneself so blatantly. The fact is, if those people can identify their own problems, then why are there still problems? Is it harder for them to solve their issues than it is for anyone else to identify them?
What about when those bad habits are holding us back? And we know they are? Can we still remain blameless, or are we obligated to at least try to fix them? What if we're too afraid?
And when you really think about it, how many times does fear hold us back? Fear of rejection, of failure, of ineptitude...they can all paralyze and cripple.
I guess the real question in this long list is, is overcoming the fear worth the risk?
11.24.2007
She gets what she wants? And she breaks what she gets.
I know it's almost two in the morning, and that I only got about four hours of sleep yesterday, and that I have to be up in about four hours again, but to be honest my sleep patterns have been fucked ever since finals, so why try to fix something that isn't really quite broken?
I just have this swirling mass of thought in my head, and I can't get rid of it, because toga parties and night driving and All Time Low tend to do this to me. It's just that sometimes, I feel like such an outsider, a wallflower. Anyone who knows me even a little bit would say that this statement is completely ridiculous, but I don't mean in terms of parties. I mean in terms of relationships and actual social interaction. I feel like I'm floating alone in this sea of relationships; it heaves and swells, always changing, always moving. And I'm just watching it all happen. I don't really understand how some couples make it work; it just seems like something that requires more work than what it should. I feel that a relationship should come effortlessly; it should just fit. But I'm not sure if it really works like that, even for the most compatable couples. Or maybe it does, and I'm just not compatable with anyone. It's possible.
I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this particular post, only that I don't like it. I'm falling back into the habit of angsty emo personal problems, and that isn't what I want this to be about. The problem is, I have very little to write about besides my own silly drama. I seem like an intelligent person, but really I have nothing intelligent to say most of the time. Sometimes I think I'm one huge sham; a fake hiding behind this great facade. I only pretend to be smart and witty and pretty and interesting. Maybe my only real talent is acting...pretending to be something I'm not.
I just have this swirling mass of thought in my head, and I can't get rid of it, because toga parties and night driving and All Time Low tend to do this to me. It's just that sometimes, I feel like such an outsider, a wallflower. Anyone who knows me even a little bit would say that this statement is completely ridiculous, but I don't mean in terms of parties. I mean in terms of relationships and actual social interaction. I feel like I'm floating alone in this sea of relationships; it heaves and swells, always changing, always moving. And I'm just watching it all happen. I don't really understand how some couples make it work; it just seems like something that requires more work than what it should. I feel that a relationship should come effortlessly; it should just fit. But I'm not sure if it really works like that, even for the most compatable couples. Or maybe it does, and I'm just not compatable with anyone. It's possible.
I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this particular post, only that I don't like it. I'm falling back into the habit of angsty emo personal problems, and that isn't what I want this to be about. The problem is, I have very little to write about besides my own silly drama. I seem like an intelligent person, but really I have nothing intelligent to say most of the time. Sometimes I think I'm one huge sham; a fake hiding behind this great facade. I only pretend to be smart and witty and pretty and interesting. Maybe my only real talent is acting...pretending to be something I'm not.
11.18.2007
Hurting to help
"How do you aim for better when it's a shot in the dark?"
"You never know what you'll hit in the dark. It could be anything. And considering where you are now, isn't anything better?"
Isn't it strange how often I find myself giving out the same advice that I was recieving not too long ago? It makes me believe in destiny and fate and karma all the more. That everything happens for a reason. That all the difficulties I've faced and challenges I've overcome were not in vain; that I went through what I did not only to make myself better, but also so that I would have the ability to help make others better.
"Stop thinking in terms of dates and times and the past. Think about the future, and if that's too hard, think about now. Sometimes the best you can do is to just take everything hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second."
It kind of makes me think that maybe that's part of the reason why we're all here. Maybe one person can't possibly live long enough to make every mistake. Maybe we need to learn from each other, and teach each other.
"You never know what you'll hit in the dark. It could be anything. And considering where you are now, isn't anything better?"
Isn't it strange how often I find myself giving out the same advice that I was recieving not too long ago? It makes me believe in destiny and fate and karma all the more. That everything happens for a reason. That all the difficulties I've faced and challenges I've overcome were not in vain; that I went through what I did not only to make myself better, but also so that I would have the ability to help make others better.
"Stop thinking in terms of dates and times and the past. Think about the future, and if that's too hard, think about now. Sometimes the best you can do is to just take everything hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second."
It kind of makes me think that maybe that's part of the reason why we're all here. Maybe one person can't possibly live long enough to make every mistake. Maybe we need to learn from each other, and teach each other.
11.15.2007
Artificial angst
What can I say? I'm still a teen, it is my right to assume the "woe-is-me" mentality and broadcast it to an audience of empty seats in cyberspace.The fact is, he is not the problem anymore. Not really. I don't like him anymore, and I certainly am nowhere near loving him. Nor do I hate him. He doesn't really annoy me. Only the situation annoys me. I want to disconnect myself from the whole scenario, like I've disconnected myself from him. Maybe now he'll take the hint. Maybe now he'll leave me alone.
Honestly, I want to think that I'm beyond the point where I can be fucked up by a guy. But the fact of the matter is that I'm not. Not by a long shot. I like to think of myself as jaded and tough and indifferent. I would love to be able to pull a High Fidelity and say "we're too old to make each other miserable", and that "if you really wanted to mess me up, you should have got to me earlier," because "unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money."
But I am far too young for that kind of cynicism, and I put too much into everything that I do for any type of failure to be just a drag. I'm more East of Eden; "His mind plunged like a colt in a happy pasture, and when later the world put up fences he plunged against the wire, and when the final stockade surrounded him, he plunged right through it and out. And as he was capable of great joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow, so that when his dog died the world ended." I've said it before. If I invest my time in something, I invest it whole-heartedly. I'll probably never be able to be High Fidelity, even if I am still single when I'm thirty.
I'd even settle for being more along the lines of The Great Gatsby, to be one of the"careless people" who "smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into...their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made". But I am far too romantic and altruistic to smash up anyone. I'm the one who is smashed up, or left to clean up the mess, or both.
Maybe this right here is why I am the way I am; what normal ninteen-year-old compares her philosophies on and reactions to love in terms of her high school AP literature? I mean, the TV in the room is on Comedy Central and there are two guys--both several years my seniors--entertaining themselves (and supposedly, the viewers) by trying to outdo each other in terms of excessive flatulence. Has society really spiraled down this far, to where literature is weird and fart jokes are entertainment?
It deserves to be mentioned that since waking up at 9 am on Tuesday morning, I have had approximately three hours of sleep, most of which were interrupted by my roommate turning on the overhead lights, using the microwave (which is directly beside my head when I'm sleeping), and talking on the phone. So needless to say, I am beyond the stage of exhuastion and have entered the realm of zombie. I really don't know why I'm not more tired, but I'm not, and I can't stop thinking. About everything.
I almost got quite personal, but I deleted the whole paragraph before the thought process became too developed. My language in this blog may be a bit coarser than what can be considered entirely professional, but I would like to try to keep the content somewhat detached and observational instead of descriptive and emotional. If the content is kept as merely speculation and observation, I can at least attribute the language to style and not emotion.
Honestly, I want to think that I'm beyond the point where I can be fucked up by a guy. But the fact of the matter is that I'm not. Not by a long shot. I like to think of myself as jaded and tough and indifferent. I would love to be able to pull a High Fidelity and say "we're too old to make each other miserable", and that "if you really wanted to mess me up, you should have got to me earlier," because "unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money."
But I am far too young for that kind of cynicism, and I put too much into everything that I do for any type of failure to be just a drag. I'm more East of Eden; "His mind plunged like a colt in a happy pasture, and when later the world put up fences he plunged against the wire, and when the final stockade surrounded him, he plunged right through it and out. And as he was capable of great joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow, so that when his dog died the world ended." I've said it before. If I invest my time in something, I invest it whole-heartedly. I'll probably never be able to be High Fidelity, even if I am still single when I'm thirty.
I'd even settle for being more along the lines of The Great Gatsby, to be one of the"careless people" who "smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into...their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made". But I am far too romantic and altruistic to smash up anyone. I'm the one who is smashed up, or left to clean up the mess, or both.
Maybe this right here is why I am the way I am; what normal ninteen-year-old compares her philosophies on and reactions to love in terms of her high school AP literature? I mean, the TV in the room is on Comedy Central and there are two guys--both several years my seniors--entertaining themselves (and supposedly, the viewers) by trying to outdo each other in terms of excessive flatulence. Has society really spiraled down this far, to where literature is weird and fart jokes are entertainment?
It deserves to be mentioned that since waking up at 9 am on Tuesday morning, I have had approximately three hours of sleep, most of which were interrupted by my roommate turning on the overhead lights, using the microwave (which is directly beside my head when I'm sleeping), and talking on the phone. So needless to say, I am beyond the stage of exhuastion and have entered the realm of zombie. I really don't know why I'm not more tired, but I'm not, and I can't stop thinking. About everything.
I almost got quite personal, but I deleted the whole paragraph before the thought process became too developed. My language in this blog may be a bit coarser than what can be considered entirely professional, but I would like to try to keep the content somewhat detached and observational instead of descriptive and emotional. If the content is kept as merely speculation and observation, I can at least attribute the language to style and not emotion.
11.14.2007
Capricious youth part 2
It is now close to four in the morning. I just finished that paper that I was complaining about almost three hours ago. This is a first for me in several ways. For one, I don't think that I have ever spent that much time on an essay that is only two pages and one paragraph long. Also, I don't know if I have ever been prouder of an essay. It might be the lack of sleep talking, or that nerdy side of me cheering at my effort and (eventual) enthusiasm, but I think I did very well. I'm considering posting it sometime tomorrow, after I've gotten some sleep and revised it somewhat.
It seems dumb that I should be so excited about a take-home portion of a final that most (if not all) of my peers will bullshit their way through and forget about...in a class that I pretty much hated. But I don't care. I almost wish the length requirement were longer...I feel like I could have written five pages if I had been asked to do so. Maybe I should and try to convince her to exempt me from the in-class essays...
Well, I can dream, can't I?
It seems dumb that I should be so excited about a take-home portion of a final that most (if not all) of my peers will bullshit their way through and forget about...in a class that I pretty much hated. But I don't care. I almost wish the length requirement were longer...I feel like I could have written five pages if I had been asked to do so. Maybe I should and try to convince her to exempt me from the in-class essays...
Well, I can dream, can't I?
Capricious youth
Before I begin, I would like to say that the title of this post is a result of 1) my aforementioned nerdiness and penchant for collecting words, and 2) my favorite class this quarter, during which my professor used this word about eighty times in a fifty-minute period.
I feel so incredibly "college" right now. I mean, this is beyond cliche. And call me an idiot, but I'm incredibly proud of that. I love when my life is like an after-school special. That means it's predictable. Safe, even when it's not. Because every after-school special has problems that get resolved in half an hour, and I like to pretend that my problems are that simple too. And even though it's after one in the morning and I know I'm not going to get to sleep tonight, it's okay. Because this is what my life is supposed to be like right now--pulling all-nighters to study for finals (also known as "impending doom"). When is my life ever what it's supposed to be? The very fact that I'm actually indulging in an all-night study session should answer that question. I mean, it doesn't seem like normalcy would be too much to ask for, but apparently it is.
Don't get me wrong...as I've mentioned previously, I like for life to be crazy and a little out of control. I like to know that I'm somehow different from others. But little moments like this? Where I'm the same as everyone else? It's a nice respite.
I realize that I'm just procrastinating. I really don't want to start this paper for IArt. So what am I doing? I'm writing. How ironic. But luckily, I have enough caffiene and Adderall in my system to keep me awake until I have to start getting ready for work at 6 am. Lucky indeed.
Work is actually the whole reason I decided to not sleep tonight. I mean, it would just seem pointless to stay up till two or so and get the bare minimum done, and be completely exhausted when I wake up four hours later. Why not just eliminate the middle man and not sleep at all? I actualy tend to be more awake (or on a better auto-pilot, I'm not sure) when I don't go to sleep. Sleeping for a couple hours is such a teaser. You just start to get into that kind of deep sleep during which nothing--not even a jet engine placed directly outside your window--could interrupt, and then your alarm goes off and some miracle (or curse) from God makes your brain recognize that sound and groggily fall out of bed in a futile attempt to just make it stop.
So much for displaying my impressive writing skills. I'm pretty sure that was the longest run-on sentence I've ever written. That's my creative writing style...get over it. My professional writing is much better. I actually sound like an intelligent human being when I think out what I'm going to say, as opposed to just rambling on forever. Like I tend to do when I blog.
The thing is, writing is so therapeutic for me. I've had this tendancy to just let go and type (or write, depending on my setting) without being conscious of what I'm actually saying. Yes, I instinctively proofread and correct grammar and spelling (which is another reason why I decided journalism was my calling), but as for content...I honestly couldn't even repeat half of what I've typed so far in this very entry. Not without going back and re-reading it.
I really should start focusing on my paper now. If I put as much effort into that as I have into this, I'd be halfway done by now. The thing is, I will have to provide support and sources for this. And I don't want to do that. I just want to write what I think and let that be enough. I mean, the topic isn't uninteresting:
"Art as a human phenomenon: Keeping in mind all the different forms and functions of art we have discussed in class, write an essay explaining why art is a uniquely human phenomenon. Don't explain why animals don't create art, but rather explain as best as you can why humans seem to need to produce art. What are the basic functions of art? Explain why they seem to be necessary to the human condition."
That's so easy. This blog right here is a perfect example of art as a necessary function to the human condition. The fact of the matter is, no one will probably ever see this. And the few who do probably won't appreciate it in the same manner that I do. But I write anyway. Because it's an outlet. Because it lets me feel as though I've left a mark in the world. Because it says "I was here". Because it lets me take all the jumbled-up thoughts in my head and organize them and get them out, so I don't go mad or explode with pent-up ideas. That's all art really is, be it visual, or literary, or audio, or any combination of the three. That is what it is, and that is what it is for.
Hm. Maybe I have a bit of a start after all. Now all I need is to elaborate, and pull a few random facts or ideas from the textbook. Guess this wasn't such a waste of time after all.
I feel so incredibly "college" right now. I mean, this is beyond cliche. And call me an idiot, but I'm incredibly proud of that. I love when my life is like an after-school special. That means it's predictable. Safe, even when it's not. Because every after-school special has problems that get resolved in half an hour, and I like to pretend that my problems are that simple too. And even though it's after one in the morning and I know I'm not going to get to sleep tonight, it's okay. Because this is what my life is supposed to be like right now--pulling all-nighters to study for finals (also known as "impending doom"). When is my life ever what it's supposed to be? The very fact that I'm actually indulging in an all-night study session should answer that question. I mean, it doesn't seem like normalcy would be too much to ask for, but apparently it is.
Don't get me wrong...as I've mentioned previously, I like for life to be crazy and a little out of control. I like to know that I'm somehow different from others. But little moments like this? Where I'm the same as everyone else? It's a nice respite.
I realize that I'm just procrastinating. I really don't want to start this paper for IArt. So what am I doing? I'm writing. How ironic. But luckily, I have enough caffiene and Adderall in my system to keep me awake until I have to start getting ready for work at 6 am. Lucky indeed.
Work is actually the whole reason I decided to not sleep tonight. I mean, it would just seem pointless to stay up till two or so and get the bare minimum done, and be completely exhausted when I wake up four hours later. Why not just eliminate the middle man and not sleep at all? I actualy tend to be more awake (or on a better auto-pilot, I'm not sure) when I don't go to sleep. Sleeping for a couple hours is such a teaser. You just start to get into that kind of deep sleep during which nothing--not even a jet engine placed directly outside your window--could interrupt, and then your alarm goes off and some miracle (or curse) from God makes your brain recognize that sound and groggily fall out of bed in a futile attempt to just make it stop.
So much for displaying my impressive writing skills. I'm pretty sure that was the longest run-on sentence I've ever written. That's my creative writing style...get over it. My professional writing is much better. I actually sound like an intelligent human being when I think out what I'm going to say, as opposed to just rambling on forever. Like I tend to do when I blog.
The thing is, writing is so therapeutic for me. I've had this tendancy to just let go and type (or write, depending on my setting) without being conscious of what I'm actually saying. Yes, I instinctively proofread and correct grammar and spelling (which is another reason why I decided journalism was my calling), but as for content...I honestly couldn't even repeat half of what I've typed so far in this very entry. Not without going back and re-reading it.
I really should start focusing on my paper now. If I put as much effort into that as I have into this, I'd be halfway done by now. The thing is, I will have to provide support and sources for this. And I don't want to do that. I just want to write what I think and let that be enough. I mean, the topic isn't uninteresting:
"Art as a human phenomenon: Keeping in mind all the different forms and functions of art we have discussed in class, write an essay explaining why art is a uniquely human phenomenon. Don't explain why animals don't create art, but rather explain as best as you can why humans seem to need to produce art. What are the basic functions of art? Explain why they seem to be necessary to the human condition."
That's so easy. This blog right here is a perfect example of art as a necessary function to the human condition. The fact of the matter is, no one will probably ever see this. And the few who do probably won't appreciate it in the same manner that I do. But I write anyway. Because it's an outlet. Because it lets me feel as though I've left a mark in the world. Because it says "I was here". Because it lets me take all the jumbled-up thoughts in my head and organize them and get them out, so I don't go mad or explode with pent-up ideas. That's all art really is, be it visual, or literary, or audio, or any combination of the three. That is what it is, and that is what it is for.
Hm. Maybe I have a bit of a start after all. Now all I need is to elaborate, and pull a few random facts or ideas from the textbook. Guess this wasn't such a waste of time after all.
11.12.2007
Derailed
I have this theory about chaos. I personally believe that everyone needs a bit of chaos in their lives. It's too boring without it. I have this habit of shaking things up all the time. When life is too boring...when it's already too complicated...all the time. I like to watch things crash and burn and explode. This week, my personal life completely blew up in my face and I loved it. Because now, after the dust has settled, all the superfluous JUNK that was cluttering up my life has been blown away too. That's why I love chaos...it has a habit of calming things down in the end.
It also becomes a matter of awareness. When my life is pushed to an extreme--be it happiness or stress--it reminds me that I'm still here. That this is my life and there is something to be passionate about. I think that people who go through their whole lives without a passion are the saddest things I've ever heard of. It just seems like such a waste of a life. We only get one...why would anyone not want to experience everything?
It also becomes a matter of awareness. When my life is pushed to an extreme--be it happiness or stress--it reminds me that I'm still here. That this is my life and there is something to be passionate about. I think that people who go through their whole lives without a passion are the saddest things I've ever heard of. It just seems like such a waste of a life. We only get one...why would anyone not want to experience everything?
11.09.2007
Always changing
Every year about 98% of atoms in your body are replaced.
If we take that statistic as fact (a risky assumption, as it was found on the internet, but for the sake of argument, we will take it as such), then every few years, we are completely regenerated. Completely different. So why do girls like me keep making the same mistakes? If I'm comlpletely changed from how I was a few years ago, why do I still find myself in the same rut? Girls like me are just unchangeable...that 2% that doesn't change? It's the same two percent every year. It's the two percent that makes us keep going back. We drink poison like water in the desert; we crave it, we relish it. Because that two percent is also our perception of ourselves. Often warped and never changing. It's those insecurities that haunt us at night and drive us back to that which hurts us most. We treat the poison like an antidote for our lack of self-confidence.
But maybe that two percent does get changed. Maybe the 98% rotates through your body, so that after time, you are reinvented. You can outgrow the insecurities. Maybe the new atoms are stronger than the old ones. Maybe that's why they get replaced.
What if sometimes, the atoms that get replaced are the ones that make all the difference? The ones that let you be completely new and cleansed. Because suddenly, I feel like those last few atoms just clicked into place. But I didn't want this blog to get personal. So this is done. It's all just...done.
If we take that statistic as fact (a risky assumption, as it was found on the internet, but for the sake of argument, we will take it as such), then every few years, we are completely regenerated. Completely different. So why do girls like me keep making the same mistakes? If I'm comlpletely changed from how I was a few years ago, why do I still find myself in the same rut? Girls like me are just unchangeable...that 2% that doesn't change? It's the same two percent every year. It's the two percent that makes us keep going back. We drink poison like water in the desert; we crave it, we relish it. Because that two percent is also our perception of ourselves. Often warped and never changing. It's those insecurities that haunt us at night and drive us back to that which hurts us most. We treat the poison like an antidote for our lack of self-confidence.
But maybe that two percent does get changed. Maybe the 98% rotates through your body, so that after time, you are reinvented. You can outgrow the insecurities. Maybe the new atoms are stronger than the old ones. Maybe that's why they get replaced.
What if sometimes, the atoms that get replaced are the ones that make all the difference? The ones that let you be completely new and cleansed. Because suddenly, I feel like those last few atoms just clicked into place. But I didn't want this blog to get personal. So this is done. It's all just...done.
11.08.2007
I have random epiphanies about twice a month
So I finally figured something out. I'm not afraid to risk when I know that what I'm risking is not that valuable. I'm willing to put myself out there, willing to get hurt, willing to fall over and over, as long as I realize that what I'm getting hurt over isn't something that I'll miss. But when something perfect comes along...I don't even try. Because if I get rejected by someone who I know is not good for me, who I know is not completely compatible with me, then I know it's no big deal. Something better will come along.
But when that Something Better actually does come along...I risk nothing for it. I stand back and let the situation happen, instead of taking the bull by the horns like I do with everything else in life. That is the one time I am ever timid or meek. The one time I don't jump. Because if I fuck that up...that's it. There will be nothing better.
So if anyone reading this has observed my behavior during the past few weeks and thought, What is her problem? Is she crazy?, the answer is no. I am not crazy. I'm just more scared than I've ever been in my life.
But when that Something Better actually does come along...I risk nothing for it. I stand back and let the situation happen, instead of taking the bull by the horns like I do with everything else in life. That is the one time I am ever timid or meek. The one time I don't jump. Because if I fuck that up...that's it. There will be nothing better.
So if anyone reading this has observed my behavior during the past few weeks and thought, What is her problem? Is she crazy?, the answer is no. I am not crazy. I'm just more scared than I've ever been in my life.
11.06.2007
This is me.
New beginnings. We all want them. A chance to start over. To try again. Because who doesn't want to redo their mistakes? If you could look back at your life and pick something or things to do over, wouldn't you? I've always tried to be the person without regrets, and for the most part, I am. But even I would change a thing or two about my life.
So that's what this is. A chance to re-invent my image as a writer. My last several blogs (a la Myspace, Livejournal, etc) were immature to say the least. I want to show my journalistic side. I've been writing for as long as I've known how. I have kept a journal since I was in kindergarten. I read and wrote my own stories instead of watching TV. For the most part. I started "collecting" words when I was in junior high. That's when I realized I wanted to write for a living. I'm annoyingly persistent in my query for knowledge and understanding...I realized that in high school, which is also when I decided journalism was my calling. And just recently, I decided to minor in Philosophy. So I can someday write a book. Because all these random ideas that bounce around in my head? I think they could be the beginnings of something big. Something that could change the way people think. That's what I ultimately want to do. Make a difference. Have an impact. This right here, these words? This is just the start of it all.
So that's me, in a nutshell. I'm unpredicatble and capricious and impulsive. I live in the moment. People love me or they hate me, and that's the way I like it. I think that nothing is worth having or living or doing if it's only halfway.
So that's what this is. A chance to re-invent my image as a writer. My last several blogs (a la Myspace, Livejournal, etc) were immature to say the least. I want to show my journalistic side. I've been writing for as long as I've known how. I have kept a journal since I was in kindergarten. I read and wrote my own stories instead of watching TV. For the most part. I started "collecting" words when I was in junior high. That's when I realized I wanted to write for a living. I'm annoyingly persistent in my query for knowledge and understanding...I realized that in high school, which is also when I decided journalism was my calling. And just recently, I decided to minor in Philosophy. So I can someday write a book. Because all these random ideas that bounce around in my head? I think they could be the beginnings of something big. Something that could change the way people think. That's what I ultimately want to do. Make a difference. Have an impact. This right here, these words? This is just the start of it all.
So that's me, in a nutshell. I'm unpredicatble and capricious and impulsive. I live in the moment. People love me or they hate me, and that's the way I like it. I think that nothing is worth having or living or doing if it's only halfway.
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