I used to keep a paper journal. Sometimes I still write in it, but rarely. More often, when I have a thought that I want to record, I post it on this blog. It always turns out more generic, but I'm really okay with that. My fingers flying across the keyboard are more accurate than a pen on paper. It's really skipping a step for me; the words appear on the screen as I'm thinking them, whereas when I'm writing there's a mental gap, a bridge that I have to cross to make the words appear. There's more of a stream-of-consciousness effect with a keyboard. Plus there's the added bonus of being able to backspace, to erase mistakes, to word my thoughts with precision.
I've kept a paper journal since I was in kindergarten. That's over fifteen years of my life, recorded on paper. I'm currently in the process of archiving the past six years of my life, transferring the blog posts from the internet to a word processing document, so I can print them and have a copy on paper that somewhat matches the medium of tradition for me. I don't even know why I'm writing this now, except for the fact that it seems important and posting it to my blog is easier, more convenient than pulling out my notebook, finding a pen, turning on a light, and taking the time to write it all down. It's kind of sad that this is how it's turned out; from real writing to just typing my thoughts onto a screen, no medium, no thought process behind it. Just moving my fingers as my mind sees fit. There isn't even a connection between the two. My mind has a thought and my fingers express it. It's weird, you know?
I think it's representative of where society is going. We've become a people that facilitates the notion of "think before you speak;" actions come before thoughts, and the consequences are ignored almost entirely.
Tonight I was at a bar in my hometown and it was so surreal; I saw the most random collection of people from my past. And as I was leaving, I saw this guy I knew and this girl I didn't (though I think she was a friend of a friend) all over each other in a semi-private corner outside. And it just exemplifies what we've become; think first, act next, deal with it later. Will either of them remember what happened at 1:15 am? Will either of them care?
I don't really know where I'm going with this post. I'm a bit drunk and I'm just letting my fingers do the talking. How uncommon is that?
12.19.2008
12.18.2008
Dreaming and pretending
Lately I've been having these weird baby dreams. I'll be pregnant, or a new mom. I never really know who the dad is, or even if there IS a father, but that never seems to matter. Then something weird happens. One time, the baby started talking...like an adult. Another time, someone stole the baby from me.
I'm big on dream analysis. Not in the psycho-babble way, but in a subconscious revelation way. My mother thinks that it's because I'm coming to terms with my new responsibilities as an adult. I am more inclined to think that it's a manifestation of the age-old cliche: the ticking of the female biological clock.
If my boyfriend happens to read this, I want to make it perfectly clear: I DO NOT WANT A BABY RIGHT NOW.
That being said, I am really just becoming more aware of my own mortality than ever before in my life. Think about it...when my mother was my age, she was engaged. When my grandmother was my age, she was already married. Granted, society has pushed back the average age of marriage; being 23 and unattached is the new norm. And I certainly have no desire to rush into any lifelong commitments, be they child or marriage. I can't even decide on a major/minor combination, for God's sake.
But the fact is, I am starting to complete those items on my to-do list for life.
Graduate high school: check
Go to college: check
Move out: check
Find a career: not yet
Get married: not yet
Have a family: not yet
Yes, this is basic. But it's still half-finished. How weird is that?
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a little kid, playing pretend. Other times, I think that I'm not playing anymore.
I'm big on dream analysis. Not in the psycho-babble way, but in a subconscious revelation way. My mother thinks that it's because I'm coming to terms with my new responsibilities as an adult. I am more inclined to think that it's a manifestation of the age-old cliche: the ticking of the female biological clock.
If my boyfriend happens to read this, I want to make it perfectly clear: I DO NOT WANT A BABY RIGHT NOW.
That being said, I am really just becoming more aware of my own mortality than ever before in my life. Think about it...when my mother was my age, she was engaged. When my grandmother was my age, she was already married. Granted, society has pushed back the average age of marriage; being 23 and unattached is the new norm. And I certainly have no desire to rush into any lifelong commitments, be they child or marriage. I can't even decide on a major/minor combination, for God's sake.
But the fact is, I am starting to complete those items on my to-do list for life.
Graduate high school: check
Go to college: check
Move out: check
Find a career: not yet
Get married: not yet
Have a family: not yet
Yes, this is basic. But it's still half-finished. How weird is that?
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a little kid, playing pretend. Other times, I think that I'm not playing anymore.
12.14.2008
Hey. Could we do that again? I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant, you know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continuously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know?
I've been having a terrible time at work lately. Not because it's particularly difficult, but because it's mind-numbingly easy. There's nothing more depressing or frustrating than working retail during the holiday season. I'm an ant.
The other day, I was getting ready to go home, when one last customer walked up to my register. I started to say hello, but she cut me off, pointing at her ears and saying that she's deaf. I smiled and rang her out. As she's getting ready to leave, I tell her "have a good night" in sign language. And the woman flips out on me. She's so excited, she's stammering and fluttering her hands.
"It's easy, it's easy!" she exclaimed, "Drive...read..." Each word is punctuated by the sign. "Keep learning!" she said as she waved goodbye.
For a moment, I stopped being an ant. Unfortunately, those moments are few and far between. Everyone is conditioned to be ants, not just me.
On an unrelated note, I lost my story. I've been working on a short story for a few months now. I finally started typing up the first final draft, and was on a roll. Really, it was brilliant. And most of it was fresh, not written down at all. And I, idiot that I am, didn't save it. So when my computer died today, and closed down all my applications, my work was gone. Auto-recover did nothing. I don't remember a word of it. It was just stream-of-consciousness writing.
I tend to live with the thought that everything happens for a reason. Am I going to write something better? Or is the lost version as good as it's going to get, and gone forever?
I've been having a terrible time at work lately. Not because it's particularly difficult, but because it's mind-numbingly easy. There's nothing more depressing or frustrating than working retail during the holiday season. I'm an ant.
The other day, I was getting ready to go home, when one last customer walked up to my register. I started to say hello, but she cut me off, pointing at her ears and saying that she's deaf. I smiled and rang her out. As she's getting ready to leave, I tell her "have a good night" in sign language. And the woman flips out on me. She's so excited, she's stammering and fluttering her hands.
"It's easy, it's easy!" she exclaimed, "Drive...read..." Each word is punctuated by the sign. "Keep learning!" she said as she waved goodbye.
For a moment, I stopped being an ant. Unfortunately, those moments are few and far between. Everyone is conditioned to be ants, not just me.
On an unrelated note, I lost my story. I've been working on a short story for a few months now. I finally started typing up the first final draft, and was on a roll. Really, it was brilliant. And most of it was fresh, not written down at all. And I, idiot that I am, didn't save it. So when my computer died today, and closed down all my applications, my work was gone. Auto-recover did nothing. I don't remember a word of it. It was just stream-of-consciousness writing.
I tend to live with the thought that everything happens for a reason. Am I going to write something better? Or is the lost version as good as it's going to get, and gone forever?
12.02.2008
A discussion with my sister
On lifestyles, mine in particular:
"Do you want to experience everything in your life?"
"Yes," I hesitated, thinking the question over in my mind. It's a bad habit of mine; leaping into action before considering the consequences. I was always been a girl of immediacy, instantaneous response. Answer or act first, think later.
"Well, no. I'd like to experience most things. There are some things I think I'd be better off without." I suppose what I meant is that I want to experience the good. I've felt the heartbreaking, the devastating. I don't want to do that again. I know I will; such loss is inevitable in a moral world. But I don't desire it; I desire the new, the thrilling, the exhilarating, the challenging.
"I don't! I don't want to sit there at the end of my life knowing that I've done everything there is to do! I don't want to be left with nothing left to do!" I stared in disbelief at her. When my life is almost over, I want to be able to reminisce about how great it was, not regret all that I didn't do.
We argued about it for a while and were unable to come to an agreement. So I'm posing the question to you, my readers.
Which would you prefer...
sitting at the end of your life, doing nothing but remembering the excitement you've had, or,
sitting at the end of your life, thinking about what you haven't done and the possibility of your still doing it?
Please respond.
"Do you want to experience everything in your life?"
"Yes," I hesitated, thinking the question over in my mind. It's a bad habit of mine; leaping into action before considering the consequences. I was always been a girl of immediacy, instantaneous response. Answer or act first, think later.
"Well, no. I'd like to experience most things. There are some things I think I'd be better off without." I suppose what I meant is that I want to experience the good. I've felt the heartbreaking, the devastating. I don't want to do that again. I know I will; such loss is inevitable in a moral world. But I don't desire it; I desire the new, the thrilling, the exhilarating, the challenging.
"I don't! I don't want to sit there at the end of my life knowing that I've done everything there is to do! I don't want to be left with nothing left to do!" I stared in disbelief at her. When my life is almost over, I want to be able to reminisce about how great it was, not regret all that I didn't do.
We argued about it for a while and were unable to come to an agreement. So I'm posing the question to you, my readers.
Which would you prefer...
sitting at the end of your life, doing nothing but remembering the excitement you've had, or,
sitting at the end of your life, thinking about what you haven't done and the possibility of your still doing it?
Please respond.
11.03.2008
Free speech
In America, we are granted the right to freedom of speech. It's engraved in the basic foundations upon which our very country was built. Men died to protect it. Maybe that's why it pisses me off so much when people try to impede upon others' right to say what they want.
Each person is entitled to his or her own opinion. That's the point of my blog: to share my opinions and invite others to do the same. So if your opinion differs from mine, by all means, tell me! Tell me why what I'm saying is erroneous, why my theories have holes, why my logic is invalid. Just make sure your points are well-founded themselves. Don't name-call or insult; say what you want to say without resorting to immaturity. Be eloquent. You have the right to say whatever you want...why on earth would you waste it on childish and empty insults? You're spitting in the faces of our forefathers. Use it...responsibly.
Cutting off a person's argument by calling him a prick isn't exercising responsibility. While I do appreciate that my readers are defending me, I don't want to be defended with immaturity. Stun them with your eloquence! Stagger them with your wit and reason! Silence them with your logic! And choose your battles wisely. Pointing out the factual errors in my writing isn't a crime. In fact, I appreciate it.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: we're not twelve-year-olds on a Pokemon message board. Let's not act as such.
Anyway...I am rubber. You are glue.
Each person is entitled to his or her own opinion. That's the point of my blog: to share my opinions and invite others to do the same. So if your opinion differs from mine, by all means, tell me! Tell me why what I'm saying is erroneous, why my theories have holes, why my logic is invalid. Just make sure your points are well-founded themselves. Don't name-call or insult; say what you want to say without resorting to immaturity. Be eloquent. You have the right to say whatever you want...why on earth would you waste it on childish and empty insults? You're spitting in the faces of our forefathers. Use it...responsibly.
Cutting off a person's argument by calling him a prick isn't exercising responsibility. While I do appreciate that my readers are defending me, I don't want to be defended with immaturity. Stun them with your eloquence! Stagger them with your wit and reason! Silence them with your logic! And choose your battles wisely. Pointing out the factual errors in my writing isn't a crime. In fact, I appreciate it.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: we're not twelve-year-olds on a Pokemon message board. Let's not act as such.
Anyway...I am rubber. You are glue.
10.27.2008
Global warming, schobal...schwarming?
It snowed today in my parents' town, which is only a few hours north of mine.
As a child, snow was welcome any time of the year. Snow meant surprise, one-day vacations. It meant snow men and snow angels and snowball fights. It meant hot chocolate and warm blankets from the dryer. In my childhood, snow was even more precious because of its rarity; central North Carolina schools got more ice-storm days than snow days.
As an adult, snow is nice around Christmas, inconvenient before Thanksgiving, and downright atrocious before Halloween. I might add that Halloween isn't until this weekend. Even my town is calling for snow/rain mixes this week. Absurd.
Which leads me to my next question: what's the big concern with global warming? Last time I checked, snow belongs in winter, and this is still autumn. Daylight savings time hasn't even happened yet. So why the winter weather when we still should be enjoying mild days and piles of leaves? What happened to pumpkins and cider? Why are we already wearing scarves and mittens to tailgate parties and football games?
This year I decided that autumn is my favorite season (as opposed to the former favorite, summer). The weather is crisp in the morning and warm and pleasant during the day. The air smells wonderful because of the leaves and bonfires. It's not too muggy or too hot or too rainy. It's perfect. And now Mother Nature has taken that from us too early.
How selfish.
As a child, snow was welcome any time of the year. Snow meant surprise, one-day vacations. It meant snow men and snow angels and snowball fights. It meant hot chocolate and warm blankets from the dryer. In my childhood, snow was even more precious because of its rarity; central North Carolina schools got more ice-storm days than snow days.
As an adult, snow is nice around Christmas, inconvenient before Thanksgiving, and downright atrocious before Halloween. I might add that Halloween isn't until this weekend. Even my town is calling for snow/rain mixes this week. Absurd.
Which leads me to my next question: what's the big concern with global warming? Last time I checked, snow belongs in winter, and this is still autumn. Daylight savings time hasn't even happened yet. So why the winter weather when we still should be enjoying mild days and piles of leaves? What happened to pumpkins and cider? Why are we already wearing scarves and mittens to tailgate parties and football games?
This year I decided that autumn is my favorite season (as opposed to the former favorite, summer). The weather is crisp in the morning and warm and pleasant during the day. The air smells wonderful because of the leaves and bonfires. It's not too muggy or too hot or too rainy. It's perfect. And now Mother Nature has taken that from us too early.
How selfish.
10.23.2008
Trick me, treat me.
I love Halloween. It is by far my favorite holiday of the year. I think that it is the least pretentious of them all; there is no hidden agenda, no double meaning, no contradiction. Halloween is a time to pretend and be afraid. And candy. That's it.
It isn't hypocritical like Christmas (a holiday about materialism and selfishness that masquerades as one about the birth of a deity and good will toward men), it isn't over-commercialized and sickly sweet like Valentine's Day (or worse yet, Sweetest Day...ugh), and it doesn't turn Christian salvation into an egg-hunting frenzy like at Easter. Halloween is, pure and simple, a time when you can get the living daylights scared out of you, dress up however you like and not get teased, and rot your teeth out with candy given to you by strangers. That's all. Even the basic history behind Halloween--the night when the souls of the dead walk the earth again among the living--is still part of the modern celebrations. Everywhere you look are haunted houses, corn mazes, cemeteries; everyone's obsessed with horror films and Ouija boards.
Pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns, clever men's costumes and sexy ladies' ones, fake spiderwebs, black and orange and purple everywhere you look. The leaves are turning and the air is crisp and cool, but not cold. Autumn--and consequently, Halloween--is the best time of the year, hands down.
Maybe the appeal, for me at least, lies in the part of Halloween that lets you pretend to be something you're not. Halloween can make you more daring, more brave, more sexy, more clever, more whatever you want to be. And there's no one to stop you or mock you for it, because everyone else is doing the same thing.
Spook me, scare me, trick me, treat me.
I'm ready for it.
It isn't hypocritical like Christmas (a holiday about materialism and selfishness that masquerades as one about the birth of a deity and good will toward men), it isn't over-commercialized and sickly sweet like Valentine's Day (or worse yet, Sweetest Day...ugh), and it doesn't turn Christian salvation into an egg-hunting frenzy like at Easter. Halloween is, pure and simple, a time when you can get the living daylights scared out of you, dress up however you like and not get teased, and rot your teeth out with candy given to you by strangers. That's all. Even the basic history behind Halloween--the night when the souls of the dead walk the earth again among the living--is still part of the modern celebrations. Everywhere you look are haunted houses, corn mazes, cemeteries; everyone's obsessed with horror films and Ouija boards.
Pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns, clever men's costumes and sexy ladies' ones, fake spiderwebs, black and orange and purple everywhere you look. The leaves are turning and the air is crisp and cool, but not cold. Autumn--and consequently, Halloween--is the best time of the year, hands down.
Maybe the appeal, for me at least, lies in the part of Halloween that lets you pretend to be something you're not. Halloween can make you more daring, more brave, more sexy, more clever, more whatever you want to be. And there's no one to stop you or mock you for it, because everyone else is doing the same thing.
Spook me, scare me, trick me, treat me.
I'm ready for it.
10.06.2008
This is why I get nothing important done.
Earlier today, and again five minutes ago, I had this overwhelming urge to finish my vignette/essay/short story/novel/whatever it will turn out to be. But earlier, I got distracted by an internship information session and just now, he sighed and rolled over in his sleep and made me consider how little sleep I get lately. How maybe, I should just let myself go to bed early tonight. And now I don't really feel like writing any more.
The problem is, there's this slightly restless energy tugging at the edge of my consciousness, and I know that the second I lie down and turn off the light I'll be completely incapable of sleep. Which will in turn make me more uptight and alert, which will either lead to a panic attack or (more likely), a very long, annoying, boring night of insomnia. Not the good, productive kind of insomnia, where one can't sleep and instead accomplishes all matter of tasks that couldn't be tackled during the day; no, it would be a frustrating insomnia, filled with tossing and turning and uselessness.Maybe I'll just turn on the TV and watch until I drift off...the keyboard and screen in front of me have already lost their third dimension, a sure sign that my brain is overworked.
I kind of like getting to this point, though. I can see my fingers flying delicately across the keys as my thoughts materialize in pixels. It's far preferable to writing with pen and paper, I think; it's faster to type and I don't have to make my brain slow down to meet the limitations of my body. As much. I just open up and let it all flow, a stream of consciousness from electrical mental processes to electrical technological reactions.
I'm babbling. Goodnight.
The problem is, there's this slightly restless energy tugging at the edge of my consciousness, and I know that the second I lie down and turn off the light I'll be completely incapable of sleep. Which will in turn make me more uptight and alert, which will either lead to a panic attack or (more likely), a very long, annoying, boring night of insomnia. Not the good, productive kind of insomnia, where one can't sleep and instead accomplishes all matter of tasks that couldn't be tackled during the day; no, it would be a frustrating insomnia, filled with tossing and turning and uselessness.Maybe I'll just turn on the TV and watch until I drift off...the keyboard and screen in front of me have already lost their third dimension, a sure sign that my brain is overworked.
I kind of like getting to this point, though. I can see my fingers flying delicately across the keys as my thoughts materialize in pixels. It's far preferable to writing with pen and paper, I think; it's faster to type and I don't have to make my brain slow down to meet the limitations of my body. As much. I just open up and let it all flow, a stream of consciousness from electrical mental processes to electrical technological reactions.
I'm babbling. Goodnight.
9.29.2008
It's been a while...
I'm stressed. I'm starting to have panic attacks again, despite the SSRIs that are flooding my system. I have too much homework. I work too much. My therapist increased the number of times a month that I go to see her. My landlord is refusing to cooperate with me on bills that cover days that I wasn't even renting from her. Today, I had a manic fit of stress, during which I talked incessantly and laughed at everything.
But it's okay.
I'm writing again.
It's prose, this time. And I think I'm really going to polish some of it. Try to get it published, even. Because it's not as depressing as my poetry used to be. I think some of it has the potential to be quite good when all is said and done.
And that's enough for me.
But it's okay.
I'm writing again.
It's prose, this time. And I think I'm really going to polish some of it. Try to get it published, even. Because it's not as depressing as my poetry used to be. I think some of it has the potential to be quite good when all is said and done.
And that's enough for me.
9.10.2008
I woke up in a car
I've never been so lost,
I've never felt so much at home.
Life is turmoil, and that's the way I want it. I'm dripping sweat and overworked and exhausted, and I've never felt so alive. I really don't know why I don't go running more often. Who needs Prozac when you can run?
The thing is, I'm at a very interesting point in my life. Something big is in the works. I can feel it. I'm starting to go down a new road, like Frost, and once I commit to it there is no going back. I should be thrilled. And I suppose on an intellectual level, I am. But this fucking medication has me dulled inside and blurred around the edges, until I'm just content to watch it all happen to me. I should be more active in this. I have the two roads and I'm eager to walk down one, but I can't pick up my feet.
The only problem is, if I stop taking the meds, the panic attacks come back. And I hate them.
I feel fine now. I feel ready to do this thing, take this path, commit to this road. I'm excited about it. But let's face it...I'm not going to have two hours every day to devote to running and crunches and rock walls. I'm lucky if I have twenty minutes every day to just veg out.
I want to capture this, bottle it up and keep it. So I have something else to think about in those wee hours when I lie awake, staring at the sloped ceiling, listening to him breathing next to me and the drunken bar-crawlers outside my window. So the edges don't get so blurred and I'm able to care as much as I want. It's like my brain is cut off from my heart, and I want to fix that. Forever, not just for a moment.
I want more of moments like last night, when I can know that I'm the luckiest girl on earth, when I can be truly and completely happy. I want more of that assuredness, and maybe it's a bit much to ask, but when have I ever felt like I didn't deserve everything?
I moved into my new apartment last week. It's mine; not a sublease, I'm not a house guest. Mine. My home. Even in this turmoil, even though I'm so lost, I know I'm home. And to be honest, it has less to do with a physical address than I ever imagined.
I've never felt so much at home.
Life is turmoil, and that's the way I want it. I'm dripping sweat and overworked and exhausted, and I've never felt so alive. I really don't know why I don't go running more often. Who needs Prozac when you can run?
The thing is, I'm at a very interesting point in my life. Something big is in the works. I can feel it. I'm starting to go down a new road, like Frost, and once I commit to it there is no going back. I should be thrilled. And I suppose on an intellectual level, I am. But this fucking medication has me dulled inside and blurred around the edges, until I'm just content to watch it all happen to me. I should be more active in this. I have the two roads and I'm eager to walk down one, but I can't pick up my feet.
The only problem is, if I stop taking the meds, the panic attacks come back. And I hate them.
I feel fine now. I feel ready to do this thing, take this path, commit to this road. I'm excited about it. But let's face it...I'm not going to have two hours every day to devote to running and crunches and rock walls. I'm lucky if I have twenty minutes every day to just veg out.
I want to capture this, bottle it up and keep it. So I have something else to think about in those wee hours when I lie awake, staring at the sloped ceiling, listening to him breathing next to me and the drunken bar-crawlers outside my window. So the edges don't get so blurred and I'm able to care as much as I want. It's like my brain is cut off from my heart, and I want to fix that. Forever, not just for a moment.
I want more of moments like last night, when I can know that I'm the luckiest girl on earth, when I can be truly and completely happy. I want more of that assuredness, and maybe it's a bit much to ask, but when have I ever felt like I didn't deserve everything?
I moved into my new apartment last week. It's mine; not a sublease, I'm not a house guest. Mine. My home. Even in this turmoil, even though I'm so lost, I know I'm home. And to be honest, it has less to do with a physical address than I ever imagined.
8.17.2008
What if, or what now?
Life is full of questions. From mundane to life-changing, they rule our lives and our decisions. We don't always get the answers, and if we do, they aren't always answers that we like. Many times, the answer to one question presents itself as a new question. What if becomes what now.
It's strange to spend several years thinking that someone is exactly like you, but getting frustrated because you can't figure him out. If he's just like you, figuring out how and why he acts the way he does should be the easiest thing in the world. But then late one night, it hits you like the piece of sky hit Chicken Little: he is nothing like you. You don't know why it took you more than two years to figure it out...maybe it's because you're not the same person you were then. More likely, you were only seeing what you wanted to see.
And that's why what happened between us was such an epic fail.
Still, I truly think that everything does happen for a reason. I thought that moving here, not going to a school in the state I used to live in, were the two worst things that had ever happened to me. It just took some time to realize that they were, in reality, the greatest things I could have ever imagined, because they brought the most amazing person I've ever met into my life. The really crazy thing is, this wasn't his first choice ever. We were so close to never happening at all...but a series of disappointments for each of us led us to where we are now. And I couldn't be happier.
So as for this "epic fail," well...let's just say that I don't think it was for nothing. I think that I finally accomplished what I set out to do; now I just have to sit back and see...
what now?
It's strange to spend several years thinking that someone is exactly like you, but getting frustrated because you can't figure him out. If he's just like you, figuring out how and why he acts the way he does should be the easiest thing in the world. But then late one night, it hits you like the piece of sky hit Chicken Little: he is nothing like you. You don't know why it took you more than two years to figure it out...maybe it's because you're not the same person you were then. More likely, you were only seeing what you wanted to see.
And that's why what happened between us was such an epic fail.
Still, I truly think that everything does happen for a reason. I thought that moving here, not going to a school in the state I used to live in, were the two worst things that had ever happened to me. It just took some time to realize that they were, in reality, the greatest things I could have ever imagined, because they brought the most amazing person I've ever met into my life. The really crazy thing is, this wasn't his first choice ever. We were so close to never happening at all...but a series of disappointments for each of us led us to where we are now. And I couldn't be happier.
So as for this "epic fail," well...let's just say that I don't think it was for nothing. I think that I finally accomplished what I set out to do; now I just have to sit back and see...
what now?
8.12.2008
Won't be seventeen forever
Today, my little sister turns seventeen. And I feel a slight panic attack coming on because of it. When we were kids, she followed our other sister (the one between us in age) and me like a puppy. Because back then, it was just the three of us. And even though there's a lot more of us now, and she doesn't follow us like that anymore, I still kind of see her that way. Like a child. Only now, she's seventeen, and I still remember that age as though it were yesterday, not three years ago. So in a way, it feels as though she's caught up with me, like she's my age.
And what really gets to me is that soon, she'll be eighteen, a real adult. And not too long after that, the sister below her will turn sixteen and start driving. And my three brothers under her will just keep getting older, and before I know it, even the baby will be entering junior high and high school, getting her license, going on dates. They all keep getting older, and meanwhile, so am I. I realized that today when I was talking to my mom. We were talking about children's t.v. shows and how weird they are. And then I did someone that I've made fun of my mom for most of my life.
"What's that one called? Bee-bos, or boo-bops, or something?"
"Doodlebops?"
"No, no, no. Boo-bahs!"
I sounded exactly like my mother when she's trying to recall the name of my latest band obsession. Which she made no hesitation about pointing out.
On a parallel note, I had a really intense night last night. I think most of it is probably too personal to spew out on the web (which shows just how personal it was, as I usually have no qualms about this sort of thing), but suffice to say that I experienced an emotion that I have never in my life felt before. And it scared me to death, because letting myself get to that place involved a lot of trust, which is something at which I've never been skilled. The reason I say it's on a parallel line is because it has to do with growing up and all the jazz that comes with it.
Oh, life. How you slay me.
And what really gets to me is that soon, she'll be eighteen, a real adult. And not too long after that, the sister below her will turn sixteen and start driving. And my three brothers under her will just keep getting older, and before I know it, even the baby will be entering junior high and high school, getting her license, going on dates. They all keep getting older, and meanwhile, so am I. I realized that today when I was talking to my mom. We were talking about children's t.v. shows and how weird they are. And then I did someone that I've made fun of my mom for most of my life.
"What's that one called? Bee-bos, or boo-bops, or something?"
"Doodlebops?"
"No, no, no. Boo-bahs!"
I sounded exactly like my mother when she's trying to recall the name of my latest band obsession. Which she made no hesitation about pointing out.
On a parallel note, I had a really intense night last night. I think most of it is probably too personal to spew out on the web (which shows just how personal it was, as I usually have no qualms about this sort of thing), but suffice to say that I experienced an emotion that I have never in my life felt before. And it scared me to death, because letting myself get to that place involved a lot of trust, which is something at which I've never been skilled. The reason I say it's on a parallel line is because it has to do with growing up and all the jazz that comes with it.
Oh, life. How you slay me.
8.07.2008
So close
I took K. to Walmart last night. She needed new swimwear for her aerobics class, so while she was in the dressing room, I puttered around the dress clothes. And they had these nice-looking women's suit sets. (I say nice-looking, and not nice, because the quality was dubious...after all, do you really expect to find a nice three-piece suit set for sixty bucks?)
At any rate, it got me thinking. Someday soon, I'm going to have to go shopping for some nice interview clothes. And I'll probably get them from Walmart, because that's all I can afford. But someday...maybe someday...I'll have a fancy job that requires me to dress like that--or similarly--every day. And maybe then I'll be able to afford the nice clothes, the three-hundred-dollar sets. Maybe someday I'll find the glamour that I've been dreaming of since I was little.
Which is strange enough in itself, I suppose. Little girls' ideas of glamour usually involve pretty dresses and pink cars and all that jazz. Mine was always professional glamour; if I had the patience and the willingness to go into debt, I might have gone into law.
But I'm broke, and creative, and dreamy, so I went into writing instead. Go figure.
At any rate, it got me thinking. Someday soon, I'm going to have to go shopping for some nice interview clothes. And I'll probably get them from Walmart, because that's all I can afford. But someday...maybe someday...I'll have a fancy job that requires me to dress like that--or similarly--every day. And maybe then I'll be able to afford the nice clothes, the three-hundred-dollar sets. Maybe someday I'll find the glamour that I've been dreaming of since I was little.
Which is strange enough in itself, I suppose. Little girls' ideas of glamour usually involve pretty dresses and pink cars and all that jazz. Mine was always professional glamour; if I had the patience and the willingness to go into debt, I might have gone into law.
But I'm broke, and creative, and dreamy, so I went into writing instead. Go figure.
8.01.2008
But I took it anyway.
I know you guys haven't been hearing a lot from me lately, and I apologize. I could give you the same old shtick that everyone's heard a million times: I've been so busy with work, I'm really focused on my relationship, my family is taking up a lot of my time, etc etc etc.
But I'd be lying.
The fact is, I've been deliriously happy lately. And when I'm happy with the way my life is going, I am happy with myself. I might not think that I deserve it all (in fact, I don't think I deserve any of the amazing-ness in my life, but oh well), but I let that slide. When I'm upset and sad, I feel alone, I hate who I am, I want someone to whom I can confide. So I write and I write, post after post of misery, like a radar signal beeping out to the world. Someone. Anyone. Someone. Anyone.
But lately, I've been happy. And not feeling so alone. Sorry to abandon you all. I'll try harder for those of you who care, I promise. The simple fact is, the longer you don't hear from me, the better I'm probably doing.
But I'd be lying.
The fact is, I've been deliriously happy lately. And when I'm happy with the way my life is going, I am happy with myself. I might not think that I deserve it all (in fact, I don't think I deserve any of the amazing-ness in my life, but oh well), but I let that slide. When I'm upset and sad, I feel alone, I hate who I am, I want someone to whom I can confide. So I write and I write, post after post of misery, like a radar signal beeping out to the world. Someone. Anyone. Someone. Anyone.
But lately, I've been happy. And not feeling so alone. Sorry to abandon you all. I'll try harder for those of you who care, I promise. The simple fact is, the longer you don't hear from me, the better I'm probably doing.
Our whole lives laid out, right in front of us
Around the time I graduated high school, a close friend of mine coined a phrase that I've been using and living by for the past few years. We were drinking, and though the details are fuzzy, I remember that someone said that something about the situation was a bad decision. Probably the situation in its entirety was a bad decision, but that fact is irrelevant now. At any rate, my friend responded with a phrase that, in my mind, has become legendary:
We have the rest of our lives to make good decisions.
It's everything there was to us in one simple sentence. We were reckless and careless, and we were allowed to be.
Today I realized that the rest of my life is beginning to start. Because I can't be capricious about decisions in my life anymore; none of us can. We're not allowed that recklessness anymore.
Accountability is scary.
We have the rest of our lives to make good decisions.
It's everything there was to us in one simple sentence. We were reckless and careless, and we were allowed to be.
Today I realized that the rest of my life is beginning to start. Because I can't be capricious about decisions in my life anymore; none of us can. We're not allowed that recklessness anymore.
Accountability is scary.
7.24.2008
So easily undone
So I suppose I'm not where I thought I was. Which is disappointing. Disheartening. Very nearly devastating, but only because it also begins with a "d."
The point is, I'm back to where I started. Second-guessing and over-reacting and getting nowhere.
Why do I always sabotage these things?
The point is, I'm back to where I started. Second-guessing and over-reacting and getting nowhere.
Why do I always sabotage these things?
7.17.2008
Writing songs that voices never share
It's been awhile since I posted anything new or even worthwhile, and that disturbs me slightly. But the simple fact is that I have nothing to say. No angst to drive me, no real suffering. There's emotion, to be sure, but frankly I get so nauseated by the senseless drivel that happy people tend to exude in their writing that I can't bring myself to do the same. It's rather annoying, to be honest. Here I am, wide awake at two in the morning, and I feel that I have nothing worthwhile to say because I have nothing to lament.
This isn't to say that my writers' block is caused by a lack of emotion; on the contrary, it is quite possible that this is the happiest, most content, that I have been in years. I just got an amazing promotion at work, drama (for once) has taken a backseat in my personal life, my relationship is going startlingly well, tensions between me and my parents are at an all-time low...what more could I want?
Is it strange to think that a year ago, six months ago, I was so despondent regarding my relationship-sustaining abilities? And now, it feels so perfect; it's as though we've been together two or three or four times as long as we really have. I honestly haven't felt this completely comfortable around another person of the opposite gender in years. Everything just...fits.
But there I go with the drivel. Ugh.
The sad fact is, I haven't the slightest clue what I should write if I don't have some sort of existential crisis to discuss and over-analyze. I once said that perhaps madness is a requirement for the creation of true art; in my case, I guess it is rather sadness.
The sick thing is, writing makes me happy. Well...writing well makes me happy. So if writing well makes me happy and I must be sad to write well...do I really enjoy being miserable in some masochistic, self-suffering way?
I recently found some old songs I wrote a few years back. Maybe I'll post them soon, seeing as how I haven't produced anything decent since. Until the next crisis hits...
This isn't to say that my writers' block is caused by a lack of emotion; on the contrary, it is quite possible that this is the happiest, most content, that I have been in years. I just got an amazing promotion at work, drama (for once) has taken a backseat in my personal life, my relationship is going startlingly well, tensions between me and my parents are at an all-time low...what more could I want?
Is it strange to think that a year ago, six months ago, I was so despondent regarding my relationship-sustaining abilities? And now, it feels so perfect; it's as though we've been together two or three or four times as long as we really have. I honestly haven't felt this completely comfortable around another person of the opposite gender in years. Everything just...fits.
But there I go with the drivel. Ugh.
The sad fact is, I haven't the slightest clue what I should write if I don't have some sort of existential crisis to discuss and over-analyze. I once said that perhaps madness is a requirement for the creation of true art; in my case, I guess it is rather sadness.
The sick thing is, writing makes me happy. Well...writing well makes me happy. So if writing well makes me happy and I must be sad to write well...do I really enjoy being miserable in some masochistic, self-suffering way?
I recently found some old songs I wrote a few years back. Maybe I'll post them soon, seeing as how I haven't produced anything decent since. Until the next crisis hits...
7.11.2008
6.24.2008
Here's another...the floodgates have been open
A short hiatus from my vow of "not too personal." Both of these were from the 10 Words thing I mentioned in the last post.
Well this needs to be said.
These eyes have been wandering and are no longer
satisfied
by the gaze of your own.
Things went unsaid for
too long
and I really haven't been completely
truthful.
Telling you that I love another is just too
difficult
for words.
It was the first sight of you that filled my once-idle summer with frantic lust
and a longing for you, oxygen, to make me combust.
Who would've thought that you'd speak my name and we'd cling to each other like socks from the dryer, sending sparks into the air when we're pulled apart? Only you can hear me calling, screaming everything and nothing together in one whisper.
Comments/criticisms are encouraged.
Well this needs to be said.
These eyes have been wandering and are no longer
satisfied
by the gaze of your own.
Things went unsaid for
too long
and I really haven't been completely
truthful.
Telling you that I love another is just too
difficult
for words.
It was the first sight of you that filled my once-idle summer with frantic lust
and a longing for you, oxygen, to make me combust.
Who would've thought that you'd speak my name and we'd cling to each other like socks from the dryer, sending sparks into the air when we're pulled apart? Only you can hear me calling, screaming everything and nothing together in one whisper.
Comments/criticisms are encouraged.
6.23.2008
This takes more courage than you probably realize
I was going through some boxes I left in my parents' basement when I first moved out two years ago, and I found an old notebook. It was scribbled all over the front and back and insides, and falling apart. You think I write frequently now; you should have seen this notebook. Pages and pages of poetry and prose; some half-finished, some half-edited, some written on napkins and paper bags because that was all that was available at the time.
It's kind of an odd coincidence, because a week or two ago, someone asked me if I still wrote the kinds of things I used to write a couple years ago. I don't, really, and maybe that's for the better. The vast majority of what I wrote was utter garbage; emo pseudo-scene crap that would be better fire kindling than reading material. But some of it isn't bad, if I can say so with humility and modesty.
Several years ago, when LiveJournal was insanely popular, I belonged to a LJ community called Ten Words. The premise was that members would post ten words (or, in some cases, ten short phrases), and other members would reply to the post with poetry and prose that contained all ten of the words. One time, the words were "I, Am, A, Faded, Photograph, Resting, In, Your, Cold, Hands."
I find myself overcome with anticipation and excitement. My hands. They are cold and need your warmth. Put my hands in yours and let us forget until the world is a faded memory. I have had nothing but a photograph for the past five months and frankly it hasn't been nearly enough to get my by, I try and somehow I pull through. I am resting my emotions so I won't explode when I see you.
It's lame, I know, but I love the last line so much that it makes up for the rest of it. I don't know why this is so hard for me to post right now, but it is. I guess it's just a part of someone who I used to be, and I'm not sure if that's someone I want to share with the people I know now.
It's kind of an odd coincidence, because a week or two ago, someone asked me if I still wrote the kinds of things I used to write a couple years ago. I don't, really, and maybe that's for the better. The vast majority of what I wrote was utter garbage; emo pseudo-scene crap that would be better fire kindling than reading material. But some of it isn't bad, if I can say so with humility and modesty.
Several years ago, when LiveJournal was insanely popular, I belonged to a LJ community called Ten Words. The premise was that members would post ten words (or, in some cases, ten short phrases), and other members would reply to the post with poetry and prose that contained all ten of the words. One time, the words were "I, Am, A, Faded, Photograph, Resting, In, Your, Cold, Hands."
I find myself overcome with anticipation and excitement. My hands. They are cold and need your warmth. Put my hands in yours and let us forget until the world is a faded memory. I have had nothing but a photograph for the past five months and frankly it hasn't been nearly enough to get my by, I try and somehow I pull through. I am resting my emotions so I won't explode when I see you.
It's lame, I know, but I love the last line so much that it makes up for the rest of it. I don't know why this is so hard for me to post right now, but it is. I guess it's just a part of someone who I used to be, and I'm not sure if that's someone I want to share with the people I know now.
Epiphany
Things change.
I know, avid readers (all four of you, plus the few who randomly stop by once in a great while), that this is not startling news. It is hardly epiphany-worthy; even calling it a realization is a bit of a stretch. But K. was driving me home tonight, and we started talking about what's been going on in her life since we last spoke. Which was quite a while ago--moving four hours away for nine months out of the year will do that to you.
"Everything's changed. I can't believe how different it all is now."
"Ha. Yeah, you're telling me. Nothing is the way it used to be."
And it's not.
I guess that what shocks me more than anything is the apparent lack of build-up. It just feels like all of a sudden, we go from kids to adults, and there's no wading into it from the kiddie side of the pool; it's a shove off the high dive into the deep end. In December.
Nick Horny says it better:
I know, avid readers (all four of you, plus the few who randomly stop by once in a great while), that this is not startling news. It is hardly epiphany-worthy; even calling it a realization is a bit of a stretch. But K. was driving me home tonight, and we started talking about what's been going on in her life since we last spoke. Which was quite a while ago--moving four hours away for nine months out of the year will do that to you.
"Everything's changed. I can't believe how different it all is now."
"Ha. Yeah, you're telling me. Nothing is the way it used to be."
And it's not.
I guess that what shocks me more than anything is the apparent lack of build-up. It just feels like all of a sudden, we go from kids to adults, and there's no wading into it from the kiddie side of the pool; it's a shove off the high dive into the deep end. In December.
Nick Horny says it better:
It's no wonder we're all such a mess, is it? We're like Tom Hanks in Big. Little boys and girls trapped in adult bodies and forced to get on with it. Except it's not just snogging and bunk beds, is it? There's all this as well.
And there you have it. The fact is, I realized today that the people I now consider my closest friends are all people that I didn't even know eighteen months ago. My baby sister is older than these friendships. And the people I was closest with before that? I barely even speak to most of them. There's no animosity really, we just grew up. Grew apart.
I know that's part of growing up; I get that. But I don't know if I was really ready for that shove; I wanted to stick my toe in the water first. In the past three months, my life has done a complete one-eighty; more than that, it has done a five-forty, a seven-twenty, an eight-ten, a fourteen-thirty-two, until I don't even know which way I came from or where I'm going.
The really strange thing about all of this is how I'm reacting. Typically, I'm not a person who accepts change. But all of this...I don't loathe it, I don't love it, I'm not indifferent. I accept it (and you should, too).
I know that's part of growing up; I get that. But I don't know if I was really ready for that shove; I wanted to stick my toe in the water first. In the past three months, my life has done a complete one-eighty; more than that, it has done a five-forty, a seven-twenty, an eight-ten, a fourteen-thirty-two, until I don't even know which way I came from or where I'm going.
The really strange thing about all of this is how I'm reacting. Typically, I'm not a person who accepts change. But all of this...I don't loathe it, I don't love it, I'm not indifferent. I accept it (and you should, too).
Sometimes, the more things change, the more things stay the same. And sometimes...oh, sometimes change is good and sometimes change is everything.
(Because what blog would be complete without at least one Grey's Anatomy quote somewhere in it?)
6.21.2008
Alcohol and distress do not discretion make.
And yet, I'll try.
Basically, I'm proud of myself. Because for once in my life, I managed to step outside of "carpe diem." Don't get me wrong; I think that "seize the day" is one of the best mottos one could have. But living in the moment 24/7 has its consequences.
And for what may possibly be the very first time in my whole life, I've found something that was worth considering the consequences before the action, rather than after the fact.
This is not going to go the way I want it to go. I know that. Having my way would be having the cake and eating it too, and that's selfish and unrealistic. I'm going to stop being self-absorbed and expecting the world to bend to my every whim and fancy. It's just not going to happen.
I could tell you what will happen; I know that already. But that would ruin the surprise for everyone else.
Basically, I'm proud of myself. Because for once in my life, I managed to step outside of "carpe diem." Don't get me wrong; I think that "seize the day" is one of the best mottos one could have. But living in the moment 24/7 has its consequences.
And for what may possibly be the very first time in my whole life, I've found something that was worth considering the consequences before the action, rather than after the fact.
This is not going to go the way I want it to go. I know that. Having my way would be having the cake and eating it too, and that's selfish and unrealistic. I'm going to stop being self-absorbed and expecting the world to bend to my every whim and fancy. It's just not going to happen.
I could tell you what will happen; I know that already. But that would ruin the surprise for everyone else.
6.20.2008
Getting there
It's interesting, putting the shoe on the other foot. I can honestly say I've never been in this position; it's always been the other way around for me. But I can also honestly say that I have learned from being on that side of the fence, and I'm not making the same mistakes that others have made with me. I'm trying, for one. And I do believe that that makes a world of difference.
It has just been so weird to come back here and face the consequences of what I have done. I was foolish, I was childish, I was self-absorbed. I lived a la All Time Low:
Except the consequences are still there, whether or not I give a damn about them. And the bottom line is...
It has just been so weird to come back here and face the consequences of what I have done. I was foolish, I was childish, I was self-absorbed. I lived a la All Time Low:
I have seen millions of faces,
Ever-unchanging, content with redundancy.
I'm not the same way;
Searching for change in the directions that I want to go.
...
Smile like you don't give a damn about the consequence,
Just say anything...
Ever-unchanging, content with redundancy.
I'm not the same way;
Searching for change in the directions that I want to go.
...
Smile like you don't give a damn about the consequence,
Just say anything...
Except the consequences are still there, whether or not I give a damn about them. And the bottom line is...
I do.
6.17.2008
Strange that my tradition for growing older is all about feeling younger
The waters are no less turbulent. I have just learned to row with them,
rather than against them.
The boat is no less stable, but the
change
makes all the difference.
rather than against them.
The boat is no less stable, but the
change
makes all the difference.
6.14.2008
Dive in
I'm an extrovert. I hate being alone. I need constant distraction, stimulation, attention. Sometimes it borders on childish. So why is it that I love the three and a half hour drive from school to home so much? I rarely talk on the phone because I get too distracted from driving (apparently, moving vehicles are in fact quite dangerous when not handled properly), and I almost never take passengers. I go out of my way to avoid passengers.
Something about being alone for a few hours with a task that requires a fair amount of thought and attention (but the kind of attention you would give a sleeping baby; never neglect, but not face-hovering-inches-away either) just relaxes me, calms me down. Centers me.
Because long drives have always been my time to think. Whether I was a passenger or a driver, I can work things out in my head that I can't work out any other time. It's almost like meditation, I suppose. Concentration on a specific concept or subject until one reaches a trance-like state of awareness. Thank you, Psych 101.
Weird or not, I love it. I just wish it wasn't so expensive now...
Something about being alone for a few hours with a task that requires a fair amount of thought and attention (but the kind of attention you would give a sleeping baby; never neglect, but not face-hovering-inches-away either) just relaxes me, calms me down. Centers me.
Because long drives have always been my time to think. Whether I was a passenger or a driver, I can work things out in my head that I can't work out any other time. It's almost like meditation, I suppose. Concentration on a specific concept or subject until one reaches a trance-like state of awareness. Thank you, Psych 101.
Weird or not, I love it. I just wish it wasn't so expensive now...
6.11.2008
Time flies when you're growing up
I was just standing there, blow-drying my hair in front of the mirror, when it hit me. In about two hours' time, maybe three, I will have taken my last final as a college sophomore. I'll officially be a junior, an upperclassmen. In a few weeks, I'll be moving into my first-ever house (that my parents don't own, that is), and in September I'll have an apartment of my very own. I'll be twenty years old in a few days. When did all this happen?
It seems like just a moment ago that my sisters and I were pretending that our loveseat was a flying carpet and singing "A Whole New World" as though we were really flying all around the world in one Arabian night. Now, here I am, (mostly) independent and on the verge of something big. I'm halfway through college. Two years, two very short years, separate me from the rest of my life and the Real World.
But I think I'm ready for it. I look at all I have and all I've done; I have a loving family, incredible friends, an amazing boyfriend; I'm consistently on the Dean's list and I'm in one of the best journalism programs in the country, certainly the best in the state. I may be shaky at times, but who isn't?
Yesterday was really depressing for me. This morning, I was angry enough to punch someone in the throat. Right now, I'm happy and content and nervous, but in a good way. I have such a good feeling about this summer, this year, this life.
It seems like just a moment ago that my sisters and I were pretending that our loveseat was a flying carpet and singing "A Whole New World" as though we were really flying all around the world in one Arabian night. Now, here I am, (mostly) independent and on the verge of something big. I'm halfway through college. Two years, two very short years, separate me from the rest of my life and the Real World.
But I think I'm ready for it. I look at all I have and all I've done; I have a loving family, incredible friends, an amazing boyfriend; I'm consistently on the Dean's list and I'm in one of the best journalism programs in the country, certainly the best in the state. I may be shaky at times, but who isn't?
Yesterday was really depressing for me. This morning, I was angry enough to punch someone in the throat. Right now, I'm happy and content and nervous, but in a good way. I have such a good feeling about this summer, this year, this life.
6.02.2008
I'd like a little more allegro in my ever-widening sandwich.
Today, my psych professor was lecturing on schizophrenia. Now, I've always thought abnormal psych was somewhat fascinating, but schizophrenia really takes the cake in fascinating material. She was talking about a symptom of disorganized schizophrenia commonly known as "word salad," which is just what it sounds like. Grammatically correct sentences that nevertheless make absolutely no sense whatsoever. I used the example she gave us as the title for this post.
I've heard of word salad before (I've even had a conversation with a severe ADHD sufferer that reminded me of the symptom; she went from talking about shower heads for her sister to Nazi Germany before I even had time to realize that she had changed subjects). This professor, however, used a description that I have never heard before; she said that the sentences are often somewhat poetic. And when one thinks about it, it fits. Some of the best poetry is somewhat nonsensical (Lewis Carroll, anyone?), but is still beautiful in its own way. It just takes some abstract thought to wrap one's mind around it.
And that started me thinking; why do art and madness always seem to go hand in hand? What is it about the human psyche that requires a certain inbalance or detatchment to express itself? I even see it in myself; when I really want to get a point across, I just turn my brain off and let my fingers do the thinking. Sometimes I go back over it and correct for grammar, spelling, etc., but most of the time I just leave it raw. And it's kind of a crazy feeling, too.
Which leaves me with the question,
Do art and expression require madness, or
does madness facilitate them?
And why?
I've heard of word salad before (I've even had a conversation with a severe ADHD sufferer that reminded me of the symptom; she went from talking about shower heads for her sister to Nazi Germany before I even had time to realize that she had changed subjects). This professor, however, used a description that I have never heard before; she said that the sentences are often somewhat poetic. And when one thinks about it, it fits. Some of the best poetry is somewhat nonsensical (Lewis Carroll, anyone?), but is still beautiful in its own way. It just takes some abstract thought to wrap one's mind around it.
And that started me thinking; why do art and madness always seem to go hand in hand? What is it about the human psyche that requires a certain inbalance or detatchment to express itself? I even see it in myself; when I really want to get a point across, I just turn my brain off and let my fingers do the thinking. Sometimes I go back over it and correct for grammar, spelling, etc., but most of the time I just leave it raw. And it's kind of a crazy feeling, too.
Which leaves me with the question,
Do art and expression require madness, or
does madness facilitate them?
And why?
5.27.2008
I kiss you and I know
It kills me a little bit. It scares me a lot. Because the fact is, I've fallen with reckless abandon. The shields I used to put up to protect myself are gone. I've let them fall. I'm trusting him and it scares the hell out of me.
Everything just fits. I know it sounds corny but that's how it is. And I know I'm not usually the mushy "everything is so perfect" type, I usually hate that type, but what else can I say? I haven't felt this way in years, years, and it's thrilling.
And what's more, that insecurity that I usually have in relationships is gone. I don't sit there and second-guess and overanalyze every tiny detail. I'm comfortable. I'm secure. And that carries over to the other aspects of my life as well. Yes, money is incredibly tight--if I didn't work in food services I'd probably starve to death. Yes, my job is stressful--I've burst into tears in the back office more times this month than the last year and a half combined. Yes, I have more drama than the high school cheerleading squad. But despite all of that, I'm holding my own. I'm confident.
Security is a wonderful thing.
Everything just fits. I know it sounds corny but that's how it is. And I know I'm not usually the mushy "everything is so perfect" type, I usually hate that type, but what else can I say? I haven't felt this way in years, years, and it's thrilling.
And what's more, that insecurity that I usually have in relationships is gone. I don't sit there and second-guess and overanalyze every tiny detail. I'm comfortable. I'm secure. And that carries over to the other aspects of my life as well. Yes, money is incredibly tight--if I didn't work in food services I'd probably starve to death. Yes, my job is stressful--I've burst into tears in the back office more times this month than the last year and a half combined. Yes, I have more drama than the high school cheerleading squad. But despite all of that, I'm holding my own. I'm confident.
Security is a wonderful thing.
5.24.2008
I've got your runaway smile in my piggybank, baby
Do you ever feel like you could just take over the world? Not in a weird, evil plan way, but in a simple, I-can-do-anything way. Like anything is possible.
I don't know what it is that made me go from wanting to jump off a bridge to feeling like everything is okay, in a time span of about two days. But whatever it is, I like it.
I think it's just about taking the time to appreciate the little things. Like sititng on the porch with a cigarette and a coffee and someone you really care about. Like warm weather and lazy mornings. Maybe life isn't about the spectacular, not really. Maybe it's the little, everyday things that make you smile.
I don't know what it is that made me go from wanting to jump off a bridge to feeling like everything is okay, in a time span of about two days. But whatever it is, I like it.
I think it's just about taking the time to appreciate the little things. Like sititng on the porch with a cigarette and a coffee and someone you really care about. Like warm weather and lazy mornings. Maybe life isn't about the spectacular, not really. Maybe it's the little, everyday things that make you smile.
5.15.2008
I don't post enough anymore.
So last night, I couldn't sleep again. Between the stress from work and school, it just was not going to happen. And I got to thinking (which only exacerbated the problem, but what are you going to do?) about intimacy. I kept thinking about this habit I have of talking to people without looking straight at them. It is very rare that I make direct eye contact with anyone, and I can't help but wonder if everybody is this way, or if it's just another manifestation of my intense fear of commitment/closeness/being hurt (as a result of the first two). It's weird, because it's almost intentional. Fixing my gaze on a person's ear, or on some fascinating, imagined event in the distance. Does everyone do this? Am I subconciously trying to be that emotionally detached?
I've always been told that I overanalyze everything, and it's absolutely true. I can't help it. I get stuck in my head and I can't get out of it.
The thing is, it is getting to be about that time again. It's been...what, three weeks? Four? And I'm starting to feel that old familiar fidget. I can't recall a single instance where I didn't feel that anxiety, that restlessness. And to be honest, I can really only remember one time where I was fully able to overcome it. Am I just being silly? Immature?
Summer really can't come fast enough for me.
I've always been told that I overanalyze everything, and it's absolutely true. I can't help it. I get stuck in my head and I can't get out of it.
The thing is, it is getting to be about that time again. It's been...what, three weeks? Four? And I'm starting to feel that old familiar fidget. I can't recall a single instance where I didn't feel that anxiety, that restlessness. And to be honest, I can really only remember one time where I was fully able to overcome it. Am I just being silly? Immature?
Summer really can't come fast enough for me.
5.04.2008
But I very seldom follow it.
Those of you who know me, know that I am not a religious person. I was raised Catholic, but I disagree with much of what the church teaches. I don't care to get into a great debate at the moment (although conflicting opionions are always welcome, so long as they are intelligent and supported), but I would like to say a few things.
I truly believe that everything happens for a reason. I don't believe in destiny or fate or soulmates (in the traditional sense, at least, but that's a whole other blog in itself), or any of those idealistic fantasies, but I do believe that life is not random. There have been too many occurences in my life that were perfectly coordinated for life to be one huge coincidence. I believe that things have a way of working themselves out regardless of circumstances or human error. The only way to truly fuck up your life is to not do anything about it. Make decisions. Even if they're the wrong ones, something good will eventually come of it. It is in our indecision that we stagnate and fail.
I don't think that there's a plan for each of us in the form of an unchangeable destiny; I see it as more of a general outline that we inevitably follow as a result of our own characters and personalities. And there is some...thing that is gently guiding it all. I dislike the term "God" because I feel that it (like so many other concepts) has been corrupted by mankind. Humans have taken ideas that are supposed to be pure, ideas like God and love, and turned them into something dark and twisted, things to be feared. I believe in karma, and that good things happen to good people, either in this world or the next. I don't think that I--or anyone else, for that matter--will suffer for eternity because we discovered sex before we were married.
I can't even honestly say that I think someone like Hitler will spend eternity suffering for what he did. Yes, it was terrible. But mankind cannot make up his mind on how many gods there are, or what they are like, or if they even exist. How are we to determine how a deity will judge us if we cannot even decide whether it is even there? Who are we to judge in its place?
I truly believe that everything happens for a reason. I don't believe in destiny or fate or soulmates (in the traditional sense, at least, but that's a whole other blog in itself), or any of those idealistic fantasies, but I do believe that life is not random. There have been too many occurences in my life that were perfectly coordinated for life to be one huge coincidence. I believe that things have a way of working themselves out regardless of circumstances or human error. The only way to truly fuck up your life is to not do anything about it. Make decisions. Even if they're the wrong ones, something good will eventually come of it. It is in our indecision that we stagnate and fail.
I don't think that there's a plan for each of us in the form of an unchangeable destiny; I see it as more of a general outline that we inevitably follow as a result of our own characters and personalities. And there is some...thing that is gently guiding it all. I dislike the term "God" because I feel that it (like so many other concepts) has been corrupted by mankind. Humans have taken ideas that are supposed to be pure, ideas like God and love, and turned them into something dark and twisted, things to be feared. I believe in karma, and that good things happen to good people, either in this world or the next. I don't think that I--or anyone else, for that matter--will suffer for eternity because we discovered sex before we were married.
I can't even honestly say that I think someone like Hitler will spend eternity suffering for what he did. Yes, it was terrible. But mankind cannot make up his mind on how many gods there are, or what they are like, or if they even exist. How are we to determine how a deity will judge us if we cannot even decide whether it is even there? Who are we to judge in its place?
Note: This entire thing went in a completely different
direction than I intended, but that's okay. I had a long,
involved conversation with my sister just now and I
meant to write about it. But I liked the way this turned
out so I decided to keep it. Hence the discontinuity
between the title and the subject matter. Forgive my
inability to think of a topic and stick with it.
direction than I intended, but that's okay. I had a long,
involved conversation with my sister just now and I
meant to write about it. But I liked the way this turned
out so I decided to keep it. Hence the discontinuity
between the title and the subject matter. Forgive my
inability to think of a topic and stick with it.
4.24.2008
Wide open spaces
So today I did it. I changed my major. And I really feel like I was standing in a long hallway, and all of a sudden thousands of hidden doors just opened up for me. Magazine jouranlism really offers me so much more freedom than broadcast does; I could write in the office or I could freelance, I could travel, I could write about more or less anything my little heart desires.
I still have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life, as a career I mean, but that's okay. I have time. The important thing is that I have my mobility; the thought of being tied down and trapped is enough to give me panic attacks (which brings us into a whole other realm of irony that I don't even want to begin to address, not right now, anyway).
My advisor told me I should figure out what I like to write about and start doing it. So I can decide if I want to write for news (probably not), or fashion (hmm), or something else (ding ding ding). I really am leaning towards a critic...after all, I already do it constantly. Why not get paid for it? I'd have to take lit and music and film courses, because I'm too picky to be a food critic. But books and music and movies...I could really immerse myself in that kind of thing.
Most of what I write about, even in my private blogs and journals, is at least somewhat introspective/philosophical. I know there are probably very few (if any) magazines out there like that, but I can handle that. I just want to make people stop and think. I want to have an impact on peoples' lives, no matter how small. If any of you have ever read even one of my posts and stopped for a second and thought, "Wow, she may have a point there. I never thought about it that way," then this entire blog is a success. I don't need fame, I don't need fortune. I just need to be able to reach out and touch something.
I still have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life, as a career I mean, but that's okay. I have time. The important thing is that I have my mobility; the thought of being tied down and trapped is enough to give me panic attacks (which brings us into a whole other realm of irony that I don't even want to begin to address, not right now, anyway).
My advisor told me I should figure out what I like to write about and start doing it. So I can decide if I want to write for news (probably not), or fashion (hmm), or something else (ding ding ding). I really am leaning towards a critic...after all, I already do it constantly. Why not get paid for it? I'd have to take lit and music and film courses, because I'm too picky to be a food critic. But books and music and movies...I could really immerse myself in that kind of thing.
Most of what I write about, even in my private blogs and journals, is at least somewhat introspective/philosophical. I know there are probably very few (if any) magazines out there like that, but I can handle that. I just want to make people stop and think. I want to have an impact on peoples' lives, no matter how small. If any of you have ever read even one of my posts and stopped for a second and thought, "Wow, she may have a point there. I never thought about it that way," then this entire blog is a success. I don't need fame, I don't need fortune. I just need to be able to reach out and touch something.
4.23.2008
Cause you left the frays from the ties you severed, when you said "best friends" means "friends forever"
Sigh.
I suppose these things happen. I know they do. People get older, they change, their priorities change. That doesn't stop this from being incredibly painful. The fact is, I've seen it coming for the past couple months; we both have. Maybe it's my fault for befriending (or bestfriending, ha) the "flavor of the month" kind of girls every time. Maybe it's her fault for being that way.
More likely it's both of our faults; we're too inattentive, too self-centered, too used to letting other people make the effort. I can't help but feel as though I've been replaced, but I'm sure she feels the same. The replacements are just different. And in my eyes at least, I was replaced first. It started long ago...almost a year. But when you go from hanging out with your "best friend" every single day, just the two of you, to hanging out rarely (and even then, only with her and her boyfriend), then...well, you can't help but feel pushed to the side.
I'd love to say that it's just a matter of people getting older and changing and drifting apart; a natural part of life that hurts but happens to everyone. But somehow, I just know that that explanation is too easy.
I'm a fixer. I like to fix things, make them better, or at least as good as they once were. And by God, I really am going to try. But something tells me that this time, there's no going back. How is it that you go from being a person's future maid of honor to barely speaking and posting passive-aggressive blogs that each hopes the other will read? How do you go from knowing everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING) about one another to not even knowing if she ever found a new job, or if her latest relationship is struggling as much as past ones (for the record, it's not)...? Maybe we just never had enough in common.
Or maybe we had far too much.
I suppose these things happen. I know they do. People get older, they change, their priorities change. That doesn't stop this from being incredibly painful. The fact is, I've seen it coming for the past couple months; we both have. Maybe it's my fault for befriending (or bestfriending, ha) the "flavor of the month" kind of girls every time. Maybe it's her fault for being that way.
More likely it's both of our faults; we're too inattentive, too self-centered, too used to letting other people make the effort. I can't help but feel as though I've been replaced, but I'm sure she feels the same. The replacements are just different. And in my eyes at least, I was replaced first. It started long ago...almost a year. But when you go from hanging out with your "best friend" every single day, just the two of you, to hanging out rarely (and even then, only with her and her boyfriend), then...well, you can't help but feel pushed to the side.
I'd love to say that it's just a matter of people getting older and changing and drifting apart; a natural part of life that hurts but happens to everyone. But somehow, I just know that that explanation is too easy.
I'm a fixer. I like to fix things, make them better, or at least as good as they once were. And by God, I really am going to try. But something tells me that this time, there's no going back. How is it that you go from being a person's future maid of honor to barely speaking and posting passive-aggressive blogs that each hopes the other will read? How do you go from knowing everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING) about one another to not even knowing if she ever found a new job, or if her latest relationship is struggling as much as past ones (for the record, it's not)...? Maybe we just never had enough in common.
Or maybe we had far too much.
4.22.2008
Nothing messes with your head more than psychology
Before I went to bed last night, I read a chapter in my psych book about sleep and dreaming. And dream theories, as in, what purpose dreams serve. Now, I've always been one to have really weird, random, and messed up dreams. But last night may just take the cake, and I think that chapter is to blame.
I dreamt that my boyfriend from high school proposed to me. Mind you, this guy and I broke up my senior year in high school. We're on really good terms now, but we rarely talk because we're both so busy. So anyway, he came to visit me. And he asked me to marry him. He gave me the ugliest ring ever, and I said yes. The next day I told him that I had a boyfriend (which in real life, I do), and a "man-on-the-side" who was another ex of mine (in real life, the person really is another ex, but there is DEFINITELY no side action going on...ick). And I was suprised when my "fiancé" was mad about it. Because I told him I was dumping the other two and I loved only him. The weird thing is, even in the dream I knew that I was lying. I think my dream-self was afraid that no one would ever ask, so I'd have to take what I could get.
And I think that's my underlying problem. I have this mentality where I feel like I never have options, I have to just take what I can get because I'm not good enough for anything else. Which is slightly preposterous. Everyone has choices. Even me, even as I type this, I have a choice. And I'm sticking to my guns.
I guess that's the scary thing about commitment for people like me, people who have been hurt too many times in the past. Commitment means giving another person the opportunity to hurt you again. But I was rereading one of my favorite books the other night (High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, for anyone who cares...great book) and there were a couple lines that stuck out in my mind.
"You run the risk of losing anyone who is worth spending time with...If you're going to go in for this stuff at all, you have to live with the possibility that it won't work out". And as always, the book sums up my current issue perfectly. Thank you, contemporary English lit.
I dreamt that my boyfriend from high school proposed to me. Mind you, this guy and I broke up my senior year in high school. We're on really good terms now, but we rarely talk because we're both so busy. So anyway, he came to visit me. And he asked me to marry him. He gave me the ugliest ring ever, and I said yes. The next day I told him that I had a boyfriend (which in real life, I do), and a "man-on-the-side" who was another ex of mine (in real life, the person really is another ex, but there is DEFINITELY no side action going on...ick). And I was suprised when my "fiancé" was mad about it. Because I told him I was dumping the other two and I loved only him. The weird thing is, even in the dream I knew that I was lying. I think my dream-self was afraid that no one would ever ask, so I'd have to take what I could get.
And I think that's my underlying problem. I have this mentality where I feel like I never have options, I have to just take what I can get because I'm not good enough for anything else. Which is slightly preposterous. Everyone has choices. Even me, even as I type this, I have a choice. And I'm sticking to my guns.
I guess that's the scary thing about commitment for people like me, people who have been hurt too many times in the past. Commitment means giving another person the opportunity to hurt you again. But I was rereading one of my favorite books the other night (High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, for anyone who cares...great book) and there were a couple lines that stuck out in my mind.
"You run the risk of losing anyone who is worth spending time with...If you're going to go in for this stuff at all, you have to live with the possibility that it won't work out". And as always, the book sums up my current issue perfectly. Thank you, contemporary English lit.
4.16.2008
As if we needed more ways to mess up.
The seven mortal sins. Most of the population is at least somewhat familiar with the concept at the very least. Seven sins that are so base and so terrible, they are considered deadly to the soul. Commiting just one of these sins, even one time, results in eternal damnation to hell. For those who are not immediately familiar with the sins themselves (even I had to Wikipedia them to get the full list), they are: Lust, Gluttony, Avarice, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. Oddly enough, pride is considered the worst of the seven. It just seems strange to me...I always assumed that the Catholic Church was pretty critical of lust in particular, but maybe that's just what modernity does to religion. At any rate, these seven sins have been corrupting humans worldwide since they were first laid down in the sixth century CE.
Recently, Pope Benedict XVI has declared seven "new" deadly sins; essentially the old sins with a contemporary twist. The list has been expanded to include genetic modification, experimenting on humans, pollution, causing social injustice, causing poverty, becoming obscenely wealthy, and taking drugs. Now, I can honestly say that some of these make sense; human experimentation isn't always a walk in the park. But are you trying to tell me that if I drive my car too much, or throw a piece of paper on the ground, that I'm going to hell? Now, before the environmentalists out there go balistic, let me just say this: pollution sucks. It's gross and it ruins the only planet we'll ever have. But come on...hell? For forgetting to turn off my t.v. at night?
It seems to me that the whole concept of eternal damnation is slightly flawed. I refuse to believe that a good person, who makes a couple mistakes (especially in his or her youth) will be doomed to suffer for eternity. Who are we to judge? The human race as a whole can't even agree on whether or not an afterlife even exists, let alone who gets to go there.
But I have class, so I suppose I have to cut this short.
Recently, Pope Benedict XVI has declared seven "new" deadly sins; essentially the old sins with a contemporary twist. The list has been expanded to include genetic modification, experimenting on humans, pollution, causing social injustice, causing poverty, becoming obscenely wealthy, and taking drugs. Now, I can honestly say that some of these make sense; human experimentation isn't always a walk in the park. But are you trying to tell me that if I drive my car too much, or throw a piece of paper on the ground, that I'm going to hell? Now, before the environmentalists out there go balistic, let me just say this: pollution sucks. It's gross and it ruins the only planet we'll ever have. But come on...hell? For forgetting to turn off my t.v. at night?
It seems to me that the whole concept of eternal damnation is slightly flawed. I refuse to believe that a good person, who makes a couple mistakes (especially in his or her youth) will be doomed to suffer for eternity. Who are we to judge? The human race as a whole can't even agree on whether or not an afterlife even exists, let alone who gets to go there.
But I have class, so I suppose I have to cut this short.
4.15.2008
Square one?
If you could look into my head and see what I'm thinking, you would probably laugh. I honestly feel as though there's a tennis match inside my skull, only with four half-courts instead of two, opinions instead of nets, and decisions instead of tennis balls. It is slightly (perhaps more than slightly) ridiculous as to the number of times I've changed my mind today, and the speed at which this mind-changing has happened. I can honestly say that I've "made up my mind" approximately sixty-three different times today, between four or five different decisions.
I keep telling myself that nothing is easy, not anymore, and that I should stop expecting it to be. Expecting things to just be simple and carefree reaches a new level of self-absorption that even I cannot justify. So no matter what I decide to do, it's going to be difficult. So why change anything at all...right?
I used to think that some things would just come naturally. Relationships with friends and the opposite sex (provided that, in the case of the latter, it was the right person). Finding a career that you could love. Being confident in yourself.
But it all takes a substantial amount of effort. More than I ever would have believed.
I guess this is it. Childhood and adolescence truly are over. I'll be twenty in two short months. I suppose it's time I started acting it.
I keep telling myself that nothing is easy, not anymore, and that I should stop expecting it to be. Expecting things to just be simple and carefree reaches a new level of self-absorption that even I cannot justify. So no matter what I decide to do, it's going to be difficult. So why change anything at all...right?
I used to think that some things would just come naturally. Relationships with friends and the opposite sex (provided that, in the case of the latter, it was the right person). Finding a career that you could love. Being confident in yourself.
But it all takes a substantial amount of effort. More than I ever would have believed.
I guess this is it. Childhood and adolescence truly are over. I'll be twenty in two short months. I suppose it's time I started acting it.
4.13.2008
Think about the best thing that ever happened to you. The number one, all time greatest, life-changing event. Was it always the greatest? Did you think it was the worst thing at first, or is that just me?
When the greatest thing that has ever happened to me actually happened to me, I had just turned sixteen and I thought I had everything I needed in my life. I couldn't have been more wrong if I had tried.
I initially thought that the best thing to ever happen to me was the worst. I actually threw a legitimate temper tantrum over it, like a child, which in retrospect is funny but at the time was just sad. I was so upset, and so desperate. I considered being technically homeless until I was old enough to legally rent a place to live. It was one of my worst nightmares, and I was living it.
Looking back, I still think it was an incredibly difficult thing to go through, particularly at that age. But it made me who I am today, and I am genuinely proud of that. It also brought me here, and (despite my recent doubts about whether I really belong here) I couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world. I wouldn't want my life anywhere else.
So what was your greatest thing? Think about it. You don't have to tell me. But was it expected or sponaneous? Did you want it at the time? How long did it take you to realize how amazing it was? And please, I ask you not to say "the day my boyfriend asked me out" or something like that. People are unreliable and, for the most part, largely untrustworthy. Events, history...those things never change.
When the greatest thing that has ever happened to me actually happened to me, I had just turned sixteen and I thought I had everything I needed in my life. I couldn't have been more wrong if I had tried.
I initially thought that the best thing to ever happen to me was the worst. I actually threw a legitimate temper tantrum over it, like a child, which in retrospect is funny but at the time was just sad. I was so upset, and so desperate. I considered being technically homeless until I was old enough to legally rent a place to live. It was one of my worst nightmares, and I was living it.
Looking back, I still think it was an incredibly difficult thing to go through, particularly at that age. But it made me who I am today, and I am genuinely proud of that. It also brought me here, and (despite my recent doubts about whether I really belong here) I couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world. I wouldn't want my life anywhere else.
So what was your greatest thing? Think about it. You don't have to tell me. But was it expected or sponaneous? Did you want it at the time? How long did it take you to realize how amazing it was? And please, I ask you not to say "the day my boyfriend asked me out" or something like that. People are unreliable and, for the most part, largely untrustworthy. Events, history...those things never change.
4.08.2008
Where are you going?
Do you remember the first time thaty you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? Were you five? Fourteen? Are you still waiting for that moment of clarity and assuredness?
I was never the child who answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the same way twice. It's been doctor, nurse, nun, firefighter, policewoman, teacher, news anchor, and a million other things that I forgot almost as soon as I answered the question.
For the past four years, I've been saying news anchor. And I woke up the other morning and realized that I would hate my job. I chose my major on a whim; my dad told me one day that he thought I'd "look good" reading the news, that I'd be good at it. So I went with that. I was a sophomore in high school, and I had decided that it was about time I figured out where my life was going. Now, nearly five years later, I still have no clue.
I want to stay in journalism, because I'm at one of the best schools for it in the entire country. I think I'm leaning towards either magazine or public relations. The former, because let's face it, I love to write, and creative writing has always been my forte. The latter because...well, to put it politely, I have an immense and innate talent for warping and twisting the truth to make it sound more favorable. I am not a liar. I just know how to spin things.
So to those of you who know me personally, and those who only know me through my writing...what is your opinion (besides the fact that I shouldn't be basing my major and my career choices on something as whimsical as blog comments)?
I was never the child who answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the same way twice. It's been doctor, nurse, nun, firefighter, policewoman, teacher, news anchor, and a million other things that I forgot almost as soon as I answered the question.
For the past four years, I've been saying news anchor. And I woke up the other morning and realized that I would hate my job. I chose my major on a whim; my dad told me one day that he thought I'd "look good" reading the news, that I'd be good at it. So I went with that. I was a sophomore in high school, and I had decided that it was about time I figured out where my life was going. Now, nearly five years later, I still have no clue.
I want to stay in journalism, because I'm at one of the best schools for it in the entire country. I think I'm leaning towards either magazine or public relations. The former, because let's face it, I love to write, and creative writing has always been my forte. The latter because...well, to put it politely, I have an immense and innate talent for warping and twisting the truth to make it sound more favorable. I am not a liar. I just know how to spin things.
So to those of you who know me personally, and those who only know me through my writing...what is your opinion (besides the fact that I shouldn't be basing my major and my career choices on something as whimsical as blog comments)?
4.03.2008
I'd love to be half as talented as Dave Barry
I realize that this is completely making fun of people like me. And yet, what good is life if one cannot laugh at herself?
4.02.2008
Alright, alright, slow down.
In the last two weeks, I've found out about two more people from my graduating class that are now engaged. Plus one from the class below me. Add to that the ever-growing list of peers that I know who are already married or engaged...
Am I the only one who is a litle creeped out here?
I can't help but wonder...what's the rush?
We are nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. We have the rest of our lives to make good decisions, as a close friend once said. Why settle down now?
Of course, another friend once told me that when you find the right person, it doesn't feel like settling down. So maybe that's what's happening for those people, I don't know. But how can you honestly know that it's the right person after six or twelve months? Or even if you've only known him or her for two years...and now you're ready for the rest of your lives? It just doesn't make sense to me.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm less of a romantic than I thought. If that's the case, well...I hope it won't always be that way.
We are nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. We have the rest of our lives to make good decisions, as a close friend once said. Why settle down now?
Of course, another friend once told me that when you find the right person, it doesn't feel like settling down. So maybe that's what's happening for those people, I don't know. But how can you honestly know that it's the right person after six or twelve months? Or even if you've only known him or her for two years...and now you're ready for the rest of your lives? It just doesn't make sense to me.
Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm less of a romantic than I thought. If that's the case, well...I hope it won't always be that way.
3.30.2008
Hey moon, please forget to fall down.
Funny how so much can change in just three months.
December 30th, 2007. I was packing everything up in this very room, dying to get back to school. Practically counting down the hours till I'd be back.
March 30th, 2008. Here I sit, my belongings strewn carelessly about the room, various articles of clothing flung haphazardly into my giant duffle. I don't want to leave.
It's stupid. I know it is. It's my insecurities that are causing this hesitation. I just can't let them go. I don't think I ever will.
I was talking to my parents today. About my views on life, and my current belief that I'm not afraid that I'll never get married, but rather, that one day I will. My dad rolled his eyes at me.
"Do you know what your problem is?"
"I'm insecure, I'm obsessive, I'm neurotic..."
"No. You think too much."
BAM. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, E.'s inner monologue has effectively been deemed "unnecessary."
There's so much more I could probably say. I'm just not sure how.
December 30th, 2007. I was packing everything up in this very room, dying to get back to school. Practically counting down the hours till I'd be back.
March 30th, 2008. Here I sit, my belongings strewn carelessly about the room, various articles of clothing flung haphazardly into my giant duffle. I don't want to leave.
It's stupid. I know it is. It's my insecurities that are causing this hesitation. I just can't let them go. I don't think I ever will.
I was talking to my parents today. About my views on life, and my current belief that I'm not afraid that I'll never get married, but rather, that one day I will. My dad rolled his eyes at me.
"Do you know what your problem is?"
"I'm insecure, I'm obsessive, I'm neurotic..."
"No. You think too much."
BAM. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, E.'s inner monologue has effectively been deemed "unnecessary."
There's so much more I could probably say. I'm just not sure how.
3.28.2008
"Fear is the heart of love." So I never went back.
Ah, Death Cab. Lovely.
FDR once talked about his "firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." Well, sir, with all due respect...
I disagree.
I realized today that I fear a lot of things. I think that above all, I fear rejection and failure. Which makes me just like approximately 98% of the rest of the human population. Or at least those that are within ten years of my age. Some people try to tell me that I'm afraid of commitment, but I think that that is only partially true. What I'm more afraid of is the heartache that tends to follow for me. I've always considered myself a risk-taker, but in matters of the heart, I may be one of the biggest cowards you will ever meet. Honestly, though, who could blame me? Look at my track record. One long-term relationship that sent my world crashing down around me when it ended, followed by a series of extremely short relationships that barely register as anything more than "flings." And even some of those really got to me.
I was at a restaurant with T. tonight, and as usual, she helped me figure myself out without even trying. Yes, I've made some mistakes. But they weren't out of foolishness; they were the only way I could've possibly figured out what I truly wanted. And I have figured that out. I know exactly what I want.
I'm just too afraid to make that last reach to get there.
FDR once talked about his "firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." Well, sir, with all due respect...
I disagree.
I realized today that I fear a lot of things. I think that above all, I fear rejection and failure. Which makes me just like approximately 98% of the rest of the human population. Or at least those that are within ten years of my age. Some people try to tell me that I'm afraid of commitment, but I think that that is only partially true. What I'm more afraid of is the heartache that tends to follow for me. I've always considered myself a risk-taker, but in matters of the heart, I may be one of the biggest cowards you will ever meet. Honestly, though, who could blame me? Look at my track record. One long-term relationship that sent my world crashing down around me when it ended, followed by a series of extremely short relationships that barely register as anything more than "flings." And even some of those really got to me.
I was at a restaurant with T. tonight, and as usual, she helped me figure myself out without even trying. Yes, I've made some mistakes. But they weren't out of foolishness; they were the only way I could've possibly figured out what I truly wanted. And I have figured that out. I know exactly what I want.
I'm just too afraid to make that last reach to get there.
Note: I know I've said, time and again, that I was done with
the whole overly personal insights into my life. Well, let me
tell you all something: I love to talk. About anything. My life
in particular. Talking about it, typing it up, writing it down...
they all help me get it out of my head and into the real world.
Where I can make sense of everything.
So J., and anyone else who hoped I wouldn't start limiting my
writing: here you are. My soul, laid bare. Enjoy.
the whole overly personal insights into my life. Well, let me
tell you all something: I love to talk. About anything. My life
in particular. Talking about it, typing it up, writing it down...
they all help me get it out of my head and into the real world.
Where I can make sense of everything.
So J., and anyone else who hoped I wouldn't start limiting my
writing: here you are. My soul, laid bare. Enjoy.
3.26.2008
Once more, one thought gets me going
It baffles me that we allow people get to us that much
and can care for people that much to have them
destroy our worlds in the blink of an eye.
and can care for people that much to have them
destroy our worlds in the blink of an eye.
That's it in a nutshell. We all let people get to us that much. Some people let it continue to happen. They stumble blithely from one bad situation to another, each time thinking, "This will be different." Others let it stop them. They harden up inside until no one, nothing can get in and crack that shell. They might never trust again.
I'm on the edge. And I don't want to fall in like the rest.
3.25.2008
From the passenger seat. As you are driving me home.
I saw a shooting star tonight when B. was driving me home from the movies. I hate to sound like a little kid, but yes, I am five years old and yes, I believe that wishes on shooting stars come true. They always have for me.
I left school last weekend knowing that it would be an interesting break. And if that wish comes true, it's going to be even more so.
I hope I wished for the right thing. I think I did.
When I got home I watched old home movies with my mom. But that's a train of thought for another night.
I left school last weekend knowing that it would be an interesting break. And if that wish comes true, it's going to be even more so.
I hope I wished for the right thing. I think I did.
When I got home I watched old home movies with my mom. But that's a train of thought for another night.
3.24.2008
This is just to say...
Hi. My name is Emma. And apparently, G. was right about me.
I am the most awkward girl you will ever meet.
That's all I have to say right now.
I am the most awkward girl you will ever meet.
That's all I have to say right now.
3.23.2008
True to my word...sort of.
I know I said I wouldn't get personal anymore. And I won't. Somewhat.
Tonight I met up with a bunch of people at a bar uptown. Most of the old gang from high school. And K. and I were just talking, about how none of the boys have really changed since then. Someone said that all the girls have changed was their hair colors and lengths. And at the time, I agreed, maybe because I wanted that security. I don't know. But the more I think about it, it just isn't true. We're all older, we're all a little more mature. A little less sporadic. We sat around and talked about our lives...most of the gang still lives in our hometown, but myself and another always have a little catching up to do when we all hang out. And we just talked...about high school, and what we miss, and what we don't, and what's different now. So much is different. For the better.
For a while we were talking about relationships, and I kind of felt like I was destined to be the "friend who never marries". You all know the one. There's always that one person who bounces from relationship to rocky relationship and never even wants to settle down. But then I realized that's ridiculous. Yes, I am afraid of commitment. But I am also ready for some stability in my life. Just a little...I don't want anything to be too predictable.
I've begun to realize the weight that comfort carries when it comes to how close two people get. Meems and I are completely comfortable with each other. I can say anything or nothing to her, do anything around her, and she gets me. Same goes for me and K. We had entire conversations today without speaking a single word...because we have that comfort and understanding. And that certainly doesn't only apply to friendships.
I'm going to stop now. It's three-thirty in the morning, I'm practically typing in my sleep, and I'm pretty sure I'm already on the verge of incoherence. I don't want to read this tomorrow and wonder what the hell I was trying to say.
Tonight I met up with a bunch of people at a bar uptown. Most of the old gang from high school. And K. and I were just talking, about how none of the boys have really changed since then. Someone said that all the girls have changed was their hair colors and lengths. And at the time, I agreed, maybe because I wanted that security. I don't know. But the more I think about it, it just isn't true. We're all older, we're all a little more mature. A little less sporadic. We sat around and talked about our lives...most of the gang still lives in our hometown, but myself and another always have a little catching up to do when we all hang out. And we just talked...about high school, and what we miss, and what we don't, and what's different now. So much is different. For the better.
For a while we were talking about relationships, and I kind of felt like I was destined to be the "friend who never marries". You all know the one. There's always that one person who bounces from relationship to rocky relationship and never even wants to settle down. But then I realized that's ridiculous. Yes, I am afraid of commitment. But I am also ready for some stability in my life. Just a little...I don't want anything to be too predictable.
I've begun to realize the weight that comfort carries when it comes to how close two people get. Meems and I are completely comfortable with each other. I can say anything or nothing to her, do anything around her, and she gets me. Same goes for me and K. We had entire conversations today without speaking a single word...because we have that comfort and understanding. And that certainly doesn't only apply to friendships.
I'm going to stop now. It's three-thirty in the morning, I'm practically typing in my sleep, and I'm pretty sure I'm already on the verge of incoherence. I don't want to read this tomorrow and wonder what the hell I was trying to say.
Understand?
3.20.2008
Productivity is overrated.
So in true procrastinator form, I was watching VH1 with my sociology notes open in front of me. I wasn't actually reading the notes, but I thought that maybe having them in my line of vision might somehow help. Tonight I'll sleep with them under my pillow and try to learn through osmosis.
But anyway, I was watching VH1 and saw a commercial for a new reality show.
But anyway, I was watching VH1 and saw a commercial for a new reality show.
Sidenote: I'd like to say that for the most part, reality tv disgusts me.
Yes, I watch both seasons of Rock of Love and I Love New York.
Yes, I watch Real World and a Shot at Love with Tila Tequila.
But that doesn't mean the shows don't disgust me. They're pathetic.
I mean, it's pathetic that America gets entertainment out of such degrading
and menial drama. Most of it is probably scripted anyway.
What's even more pathetic is that even the people who absolutely hate it
actually enjoy it.
Yes, I watch both seasons of Rock of Love and I Love New York.
Yes, I watch Real World and a Shot at Love with Tila Tequila.
But that doesn't mean the shows don't disgust me. They're pathetic.
I mean, it's pathetic that America gets entertainment out of such degrading
and menial drama. Most of it is probably scripted anyway.
What's even more pathetic is that even the people who absolutely hate it
actually enjoy it.
But I digress. There was a commercial for a new reality show, I Know My Kid's A Star. And the commercial featured all these parents screaming at their kids, and the kids getting upset because they're not good enough. And these children are about ten years old. It really kind of make me want to puke. I mean, it's pure exploitation of children! For entertainment! There was one clip of a child saying that she thought "All the moms...on this show should be on drugs." And she was right! The mothers were ridiculous! But the moms aren't the only ones who should be on drugs. The producers need something too. I mean, come on. Who in their right mind would say "Let's find a way to market little children's tears!"
Ugh.
I really wish my finals were over already.
Ugh.
I really wish my finals were over already.
3.19.2008
This is me. Part two.
I'm selfish, impatient, and a little insecure.
I make mistakes, I am out of control, and
at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle
me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't
deserve me at my best.
I make mistakes, I am out of control, and
at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle
me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't
deserve me at my best.
-Marylin Monroe
Oh, dear. It seems we have all the same flaws, and that worries me a little. Is it bad that I have the same flaws as a celebrity who died of a drug overdose? But Ms. Monroe and I have our differences I suppose. I'm only a little selfish...I also consider myself to be at least slightly compassionate. I do care about others and their happiness. And for the most part, I do what I can to help that. Except where it conflicts with my own. Sorry, I am only human. But I am incredibly impatient, to the point where it drives others crazy sometimes. But I can't help that. And as for a little insecure...oh, I am so much more than a little. Which is why I do these fucked-up things in the first place. I can pretty much guarantee you that if I do something completely out of line, it's probably because it made me feel better about myself at the time.
And let's face it. We all make mistakes.
This entire blog has gotten far too personal for my liking. I left the Myspace one alone because there were too many names, too many situations, too much mess. I wanted something clean and uncomplicated. And no, I don't use names. But I might as well. My readers (and I do have them, apparently...more than I think) are not idiots. Readers, I'm sorry for underestimating your ability to put two and two together, in a literary sense.
Ms. Monroe forgot one big flaw, however; perhaps she didn't have it, perhaps she didn't want to admit it. But I am more passive-aggresive than you realize. That's what this blog has been reduced to, and it makes me sick. So, in true passive-aggressive form, I'm going to apologize here as well. I wish I had the courage to say what needs to be said, but I don't. When it really comes down to it, I'm a big coward.
That comment, B., that you thought reffered to you being desperate...ha. You couldn't be further from the truth. I'm sorry it sounded that way, but it intended to be a masochistic insult to myself. As in, no one would actually care enough about me to make an effort, unless there was something in it for them. Because me, myself...there's not much to offer there. For years, I've been told that I'm just a slightly pretty face and a halfway-decent body, and nothing else. No personality, no intelligence, nothing worth keeping around for longer than the time it takes to get off. So forgive me for having the same opinion of myself.
I'm trying to change it.
So that's it. I'm done. No more personal life, no more stories, no more situations. Speculation, commentary, and opinion only. It's kind of sad, because I finally realized why I always fall back into the habit of getting so personal. It's slightly exhibitionist, in a way. The thrill of revealing intimacies and not knowing who will see them. Or be interested. If I were sluttier, I'd have a webcam (but I'm not. Thank God).
And let's face it. We all make mistakes.
This entire blog has gotten far too personal for my liking. I left the Myspace one alone because there were too many names, too many situations, too much mess. I wanted something clean and uncomplicated. And no, I don't use names. But I might as well. My readers (and I do have them, apparently...more than I think) are not idiots. Readers, I'm sorry for underestimating your ability to put two and two together, in a literary sense.
Ms. Monroe forgot one big flaw, however; perhaps she didn't have it, perhaps she didn't want to admit it. But I am more passive-aggresive than you realize. That's what this blog has been reduced to, and it makes me sick. So, in true passive-aggressive form, I'm going to apologize here as well. I wish I had the courage to say what needs to be said, but I don't. When it really comes down to it, I'm a big coward.
That comment, B., that you thought reffered to you being desperate...ha. You couldn't be further from the truth. I'm sorry it sounded that way, but it intended to be a masochistic insult to myself. As in, no one would actually care enough about me to make an effort, unless there was something in it for them. Because me, myself...there's not much to offer there. For years, I've been told that I'm just a slightly pretty face and a halfway-decent body, and nothing else. No personality, no intelligence, nothing worth keeping around for longer than the time it takes to get off. So forgive me for having the same opinion of myself.
I'm trying to change it.
So that's it. I'm done. No more personal life, no more stories, no more situations. Speculation, commentary, and opinion only. It's kind of sad, because I finally realized why I always fall back into the habit of getting so personal. It's slightly exhibitionist, in a way. The thrill of revealing intimacies and not knowing who will see them. Or be interested. If I were sluttier, I'd have a webcam (but I'm not. Thank God).
3.18.2008
And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking.
I think my biggest problem is that I've grown accustomed to assholes. So when someone comes along that actually seems like they might be good for me, I do little passive-agressive things to fuck it all up. Not on purpose. Not even consciously. It just happens.
Why would anyone try to sabatoge something good in her life?
Because she's afraid of losing it. At least with M., all I lost was a cheating liar who used me for sex. But there's so much potential with B. Fucking it up there could mean losing someone who actually is interested in me and not just what he can get from me.
Do you know how rare it is to find a guy that wants something more than that?
Damn near impossible. And to make matters worse, he's cute and we can talk and he makes me laugh and (as far as I can tell), he's honest with me. The whole deal.
And here I am. Undecided and probably ruining everything and scared. That's the bottom line.
I'm just scared.
And here I am. Undecided and probably ruining everything and scared. That's the bottom line.
I'm just scared.
3.17.2008
Another of life's great ironies.
I hate indecisiveness. Yet, strangely enough, it is one of my bigger personality flaws. I never really know what I want, or if i do, it is basically unattainable at the moment I want it. I have the hardest time making up my mind...over anything. Whether it's a commitment issue or what I'll have for dinner...I'm usually stumped.
So why does it bug me so much?
Shouldn't I be used to it?
Shouldn't I be used to it?
I think it's mostly because that's how I am with everything. I hate most things that remind me of me. Hell, for the first fourteen or fifteen years of her life, I hated my sister because I saw so much of myself in her. Now that I've moved out and gained a little perspective, we get along really well. I'm not sure if it's a subconcious desire for individualism and identity, or if it's just that I recognize how bad my flaws are, or a combination of the two. But I hate it just the same.
Damn my inability to decide, or commit. Damn my conflicting wants and needs.
Damn my inability to decide, or commit. Damn my conflicting wants and needs.
3.16.2008
Here it goes, here it goes again.
...and just like that, my independence is reestablished. Irony knows no limits, particularly in terms of my life.
In other news, it's that time of year once more: finals week. My history final is at noon tomorrow. I've done no studying whatsoever. I'll eventually end up trying to do so, but it will probably end in my half-hearted flipping through pags of notes without actually reading anything worthwhile. The fact is, years of educational stagnation in high school have completely annihilated anything resembling good study habits.
I almost wish I had papers instead of exams. At least I have marginal talent in that respect.
In other news, it's that time of year once more: finals week. My history final is at noon tomorrow. I've done no studying whatsoever. I'll eventually end up trying to do so, but it will probably end in my half-hearted flipping through pags of notes without actually reading anything worthwhile. The fact is, years of educational stagnation in high school have completely annihilated anything resembling good study habits.
I almost wish I had papers instead of exams. At least I have marginal talent in that respect.
3.13.2008
It's too early to elaborate.
I am far too superstitous.
But to be honest...why
would one take the risk, when
not
taking it is just as effortless?
But to be honest...why
would one take the risk, when
not
taking it is just as effortless?
3.10.2008
I'm an addict for dramatics
Thank you, emo alternative, for describing my entire life in one line. To put it simply, I don't think that I can be completely satisfied until there is a near-crisis bubbling under the surface of my facade.
Sad, isn't it?
I'm not saying that I'm the type of girl who goes and stirs shit up. I just let it happen, I get myself into these situations almost on purpose and then complain about how difficult things are. I know that what's going on isn't good, but I don't do anything to stop it. Even when I can.
And then I get online or curl up in bed with my notebook and whine about it to a largely uncaring (or, in the case of the notebook, nonexistent) audience.
Who am I kidding?
My online audience is practically nonexistent as well. To the best of my knowledge, I have three non-habitual readers. Perhaps a fourth, although I was such a jackass to him, I wouldn't be surprised if he stopped reading. You'll get that from me a lot.
3.09.2008
Greatest fears, part 3
I have this weird obsession with PostSecret. I check it weekly and compulsively save the ones that I can relate to, or that make me laugh. And I was recently looking through the ones I had saved when I came across this one.
Seeing as how I posted a blog on the topic somewhat recently (more than one, actually), I figured this was appropriate. I actually have nightmares about this stuff. Tell me my subconscious isn't fucked up. I mean, who has nightmares about this? The sad thing is, I've heard it so many times. Actually, I got this just last week when a close friend told me something that a mutual friend had said to her, about how he liked me as a person, and he'd probably sleep with me, but he didn't want to date me. Now, I'm glad that said person doesn't want to date me, because if he did, I wouldn't reciprocate and that would be somewhat awkward.
I suppose I could even go so far as to say that I should be flattered. At the risk of sounding concieted (and I assure you, I am not; tone and inflection are difficult to convey via Internet), I will say that there have been a lot of guys in recent years who have wanted to be with me, in a purely physical sense. But in true spoiled rotten fashion, I am not flattered; on the contrary, I am offended. I think it is the basest form of backhanded compliment to only want a girl for her body. One is essentially saying, "Yes, I find you attractive; however your personality sucks and I want nothing to do with you on anything but a physical level."
Seeing as how I posted a blog on the topic somewhat recently (more than one, actually), I figured this was appropriate. I actually have nightmares about this stuff. Tell me my subconscious isn't fucked up. I mean, who has nightmares about this? The sad thing is, I've heard it so many times. Actually, I got this just last week when a close friend told me something that a mutual friend had said to her, about how he liked me as a person, and he'd probably sleep with me, but he didn't want to date me. Now, I'm glad that said person doesn't want to date me, because if he did, I wouldn't reciprocate and that would be somewhat awkward.
I suppose I could even go so far as to say that I should be flattered. At the risk of sounding concieted (and I assure you, I am not; tone and inflection are difficult to convey via Internet), I will say that there have been a lot of guys in recent years who have wanted to be with me, in a purely physical sense. But in true spoiled rotten fashion, I am not flattered; on the contrary, I am offended. I think it is the basest form of backhanded compliment to only want a girl for her body. One is essentially saying, "Yes, I find you attractive; however your personality sucks and I want nothing to do with you on anything but a physical level."
Am I the only one who is disgusted by that train of thought?
And I cannot help but wonder if my personality is really so abrasive, that the only thing I'm really good for is sex.
In fact, I put myself in mind of song lyrics from one of my favorite bands:
In fact, I put myself in mind of song lyrics from one of my favorite bands:
"I'm all right in bed, but I'm better with a pen"
Sound about right?
Oh, who am I kidding...I'm really not that good of a writer either.
So...what do I have going for me?
3.06.2008
I may have bad vision, but I at least have 20/20 hindsight
I've been thinking today about how much I miss the way things used to be. How easy they were, and it's sad because I didn't even know it. I miss trips to Walmart listening to Maroon 5 and thanking God for corny friends. I miss summer nights, giggling and feeling dangerous. I miss things like the senior-year mudfight and when pre-gaming didn't refer to alcohol. I miss hanging out with my band geek and chess geek friends in North Carolina. In retrospect, everything seemed so much easier then.
But I suppose that's just the nostalgia talking. I absolutely had more than my fair share of problems then. In many ways, my life might be a little easier now. More complicated, yes, but I am also far more capable now than I was then. Doesn't that mean my life is easier?
In another five years, I'll probably look back at the so-called "complexities" of my life now and laugh. After all, a 2000-word story is just a grade for me now. In a few years, it will be my salary. I only hope that by then, I will have grown more than I have in the last few years.
When you really think about it, weren't there certain aspects of life at age ten that seemed just as unbearable as certain aspects of life at age twenty? It's only with retrospect that we see just how menial those problems really were.
But I suppose that's just the nostalgia talking. I absolutely had more than my fair share of problems then. In many ways, my life might be a little easier now. More complicated, yes, but I am also far more capable now than I was then. Doesn't that mean my life is easier?
In another five years, I'll probably look back at the so-called "complexities" of my life now and laugh. After all, a 2000-word story is just a grade for me now. In a few years, it will be my salary. I only hope that by then, I will have grown more than I have in the last few years.
When you really think about it, weren't there certain aspects of life at age ten that seemed just as unbearable as certain aspects of life at age twenty? It's only with retrospect that we see just how menial those problems really were.
3.05.2008
Before it's too late
I know exactly where this is going. And it's frustrating, because I'll probably wind up doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Because I'm impulsive and in-the-moment. And the moment is what feels good. The moment is what makes me think that things may turn out differently.
But take a step back. Look at the bigger patterns, the larger picture. Is this really that unlike any other time? What is really different? So he drove a few hours to see me. The guy hasn't gotten laid in two years...he'd probably drive across the country if he thought he was going to get fucked.
And yeah, I am a bit of a tease. So sue me. If that's what it takes to get his attention...but then I suppose I really have no reason at all to complain that that's all they ever want of me. That's all I really let them expect.
But guys, here's a hint. If you are genuinely into a girl and genuinely like her, don't tell her she's convenient. Even if you're just kidding. Especially if that girl is someone like me, who has heard that more than any girl should.
But take a step back. Look at the bigger patterns, the larger picture. Is this really that unlike any other time? What is really different? So he drove a few hours to see me. The guy hasn't gotten laid in two years...he'd probably drive across the country if he thought he was going to get fucked.
And yeah, I am a bit of a tease. So sue me. If that's what it takes to get his attention...but then I suppose I really have no reason at all to complain that that's all they ever want of me. That's all I really let them expect.
But guys, here's a hint. If you are genuinely into a girl and genuinely like her, don't tell her she's convenient. Even if you're just kidding. Especially if that girl is someone like me, who has heard that more than any girl should.
3.04.2008
Generation Wanna-be
My generation is one of internet fads. Livejournal dominated during my early years in high school; Myspace slid in to fill the void left when Livejournal became too "weird", and Facebook innocuously stepped up just as Myspace became too juvenile for our newly-graduated maturities. And now here I am, furiously typing in a computer lab because I got frustrated and walked out on my sociology class. It's funny how the most miniscule things are able to completely push one over the edge.
In terms of internet fads, I highly doubt that Blogger will be able to compete with the popularity of Facebook, now or ever, but it is a nice subculture. Private enough to let me maintain my sense of anonymity, but public enough for me to know that my words might actually fall on listening ears (or eyes, as it were).
The convenience in things like Blogger is that they do give one that sense of facelessness. It's liberating to know that it's possible to say anything, and have it be read, but not face any dire consequences from it. Unless, of course, the writer is one of those who uses names and specifics. Livejournal put my fourteen-year-old ass in a lot of hot water for that very reason. But I've grown up, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. The cattiness of adolescent drama is a thing of the past for most of us.
We are a generation of pseudo-intellectuals. We want so desperately to have something to say, a reason to be heard. Whether we actually have that or are just pretending is up to the reader to decide. I'll be the first to admit that the vast majority of the time, I only pretend that I have something profound to say. But I do a damn good job of convincing my (however miniscule) audience that what I say is important, if I do say so myself. Everyone wants to be profound. Everyone wants to appear as though there is more than meets the eye; nobody wants to be judged on a surface level alone. Because let's face it...for the most part, the surface sucks.
The problem with us is that very few of us actually are any of those things.
Maybe it's not just my generation. Maybe life is just a series of pretending to be different things. As little kids we wore our mothers' shoes and our fathers' ties and pretended we were bigger than we were. Now we wear our blog posts on our sleeves and still pretend we're something bigger.
We all want to be just one more voice in the chorus, one more face in the crowd.
2.27.2008
Is it everything you dreamed that it would be?
Sometimes I wish I had more down time.
Then I remember days like Monday. I had the flu, so I called off work and skipped classes, and just laid in bed all day. And I was miserable, even after I started feeling better. I got so depressed and mopey. I wonder if that's a problem...that not even I can stand to be with me for several hours. Or is everybody like that? Does everyone drive themselves crazy sometimes? Is it ridiculous that I can't stand to be unoccupied for more than a few minutes at a time?
It's streseful as hell, what I do. Most days I go from 9 am to 9 pm with little to no breaks. Some days I go all the way until 11 until I actually get home. And I always have several hours of homework after I do finally make it back to the room. It's kind of ridiculous, really, the amount of time I spend doing things. Everyone talks about how they just have to have that midafternoon nap, and it really makes me want to laugh. Or hit them. The only time I ever get to sleep is at night and when I'm too sick for class and/or work. The really sick thing is, I kind of like it that way. My suitemates are on the other side of this wall, dead asleep, and here it is 11:11 am and my morning isn't even over yet.
The fact is, I'm far too afraid of missing anything. Last night, B. and I were playing this silly "truth-or-dare" type game, only it was all truths (a kind of get-to-know-you thing, it was incredibly corny but somehow slightly adorable), and he asked me what my worst fear is. I'll admit, I fibbed a little, but only because the real answer was far too long to detail, in the context of the game. I told him spiders adn being alone forever, which is the gist of the issue. But it's more than just being alone forever. I'm so afraid of time; namely, that I won't have enough of it to live the way I want to live and do the things I want to do. I'm afraid I'll never fall in love again. I'm afraid I'll never have a family, or the kind of career I've aspired to since I was a child. I'm afraid of seeing and doing and hearing and feeling too little. I have panic attacks over things like this. There are times when I realize that we only get one life, one chance, and mine is almost one-fourth over. What have I done with it so far?
But that's irrational. I've done a lot of things. I dare to say that I have even made a substantial impact on more than one life. That's what is important to me; that is what matters. If I can get that much done, I feel somehow that the rest will fall into place.
So you can see why I wouldn't want to admit all that so blatantly. I am an open person, but I don't want to seem crazy. At least with this there is the slightest degree of separation, of anonymity, to protect me.
God, I have missed being able to write like this.
Then I remember days like Monday. I had the flu, so I called off work and skipped classes, and just laid in bed all day. And I was miserable, even after I started feeling better. I got so depressed and mopey. I wonder if that's a problem...that not even I can stand to be with me for several hours. Or is everybody like that? Does everyone drive themselves crazy sometimes? Is it ridiculous that I can't stand to be unoccupied for more than a few minutes at a time?
It's streseful as hell, what I do. Most days I go from 9 am to 9 pm with little to no breaks. Some days I go all the way until 11 until I actually get home. And I always have several hours of homework after I do finally make it back to the room. It's kind of ridiculous, really, the amount of time I spend doing things. Everyone talks about how they just have to have that midafternoon nap, and it really makes me want to laugh. Or hit them. The only time I ever get to sleep is at night and when I'm too sick for class and/or work. The really sick thing is, I kind of like it that way. My suitemates are on the other side of this wall, dead asleep, and here it is 11:11 am and my morning isn't even over yet.
The fact is, I'm far too afraid of missing anything. Last night, B. and I were playing this silly "truth-or-dare" type game, only it was all truths (a kind of get-to-know-you thing, it was incredibly corny but somehow slightly adorable), and he asked me what my worst fear is. I'll admit, I fibbed a little, but only because the real answer was far too long to detail, in the context of the game. I told him spiders adn being alone forever, which is the gist of the issue. But it's more than just being alone forever. I'm so afraid of time; namely, that I won't have enough of it to live the way I want to live and do the things I want to do. I'm afraid I'll never fall in love again. I'm afraid I'll never have a family, or the kind of career I've aspired to since I was a child. I'm afraid of seeing and doing and hearing and feeling too little. I have panic attacks over things like this. There are times when I realize that we only get one life, one chance, and mine is almost one-fourth over. What have I done with it so far?
But that's irrational. I've done a lot of things. I dare to say that I have even made a substantial impact on more than one life. That's what is important to me; that is what matters. If I can get that much done, I feel somehow that the rest will fall into place.
So you can see why I wouldn't want to admit all that so blatantly. I am an open person, but I don't want to seem crazy. At least with this there is the slightest degree of separation, of anonymity, to protect me.
God, I have missed being able to write like this.
2.25.2008
Could you save yourself?
Lately I've fallen into this habit of assigning songs to people or events. Typically it would be a song that I had not heard before, one that the person in question had introduced to me. The positive of this trait is that I end up having a new favorite obsession, and if it's a popular song, I get that little pick-me-up that comes with hearing it on the radio when you're not expecting it. The negative is that if things should go sour between me and the person in question (which tends to happen with me...I tend to fail in the relationship department), then the song is forever ruined for me.
It's kind of strange, really, the way I assign such meaning and significance to something so otherwise ambiguous. Like Dig, by Incubus. Last fall, I listened to almost nothing else. And parts of it fit, I suppose. At least for a while. This season the song is Save Yourself by Sense Field. Listen to it, but don't laugh at me. It fits, in some strange way. At least, for now.
It's kind of strange, really, the way I assign such meaning and significance to something so otherwise ambiguous. Like Dig, by Incubus. Last fall, I listened to almost nothing else. And parts of it fit, I suppose. At least for a while. This season the song is Save Yourself by Sense Field. Listen to it, but don't laugh at me. It fits, in some strange way. At least, for now.
2.20.2008
Memories that fade like photographs
So I talked to my mom today, and apparently the hard drive on the family's computer crashed. Everything is gone...pictures from the last six or seven years, my sisters' music, any essays or other school assingments in progress...everything. The thing that my mom and my next oldest sister are freaking out the most about are the pictures. Isn't it strange how years ago, when pictures cost money to take and develop, we took fewer and they seemed less vital? But now in the digital age, we take pictures of everything. Every laugh, every memory, every moment documented forever in bits and bytes in a computer's memory. And they're all so essential.
I think it's because the invention of the digital camera has given us such a micro view of our lives. It used to be that pictures told a thousand words, they told stories. Now they tell moments, but their value isn't diminished for that. If anything, it's intensified. The pictures I have--particularly the candid ones--describe how the subject felt in that moment. There's an elusiveness to them that you can't keep in memory alone. There is one photo I have in particular that always illustrates this for me. It's a picture from my senior year, when several of my friends and I decided to have a giant mudfight. We wanted to destroy the practice field after our final practice of the season. That was a year of last hurrahs, and the mudfight is defintely atop the list of Moments. It's not candid, but it caputres the essence of the moment so perfectly. The guys are flexing and being goofy, the girls are all throwing up fake gang signs, and even though everyone's face and clothes are covered in mud, the grins on our faces shine through and the exhilaration is apparent. It's like the signature quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." That's exactly what that picture depicts.
And that's not the only picture I have that so vividly describes a moment. It's just the first one that always comes to mind. I'd be devestated if I lost all of those. I'm going to Best Buy this weekend to buy an external hard drive. I can't imagine losing all those moments.
So to help my sister and my mom, I decided to go through all my pictures and make copies of ones that they might want. I'm making copies of anything with my family in it. The problem is...well, that narcisism blog that I posted a few weeks back? Well here it comes again. I have so few pictures of my family. Easily, 90% of my pictures are of me and my friends, or me and people that used to be friends but I don't talk to anymore, or me and people that used to be my friends who I actively hate now. Isn't that sad? I probably have just as many pictures of people that I dislike, as I do of my family. I don't hate my family by any means...pictures were just always my mom's responsibility. I was the one being photographed. And how egotistic is it that I took SO MANY pictures of people that were only important to me for the time? It's driving me crazy. I really need to learn to prioritize.
I think it's because the invention of the digital camera has given us such a micro view of our lives. It used to be that pictures told a thousand words, they told stories. Now they tell moments, but their value isn't diminished for that. If anything, it's intensified. The pictures I have--particularly the candid ones--describe how the subject felt in that moment. There's an elusiveness to them that you can't keep in memory alone. There is one photo I have in particular that always illustrates this for me. It's a picture from my senior year, when several of my friends and I decided to have a giant mudfight. We wanted to destroy the practice field after our final practice of the season. That was a year of last hurrahs, and the mudfight is defintely atop the list of Moments. It's not candid, but it caputres the essence of the moment so perfectly. The guys are flexing and being goofy, the girls are all throwing up fake gang signs, and even though everyone's face and clothes are covered in mud, the grins on our faces shine through and the exhilaration is apparent. It's like the signature quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." That's exactly what that picture depicts.
And that's not the only picture I have that so vividly describes a moment. It's just the first one that always comes to mind. I'd be devestated if I lost all of those. I'm going to Best Buy this weekend to buy an external hard drive. I can't imagine losing all those moments.
So to help my sister and my mom, I decided to go through all my pictures and make copies of ones that they might want. I'm making copies of anything with my family in it. The problem is...well, that narcisism blog that I posted a few weeks back? Well here it comes again. I have so few pictures of my family. Easily, 90% of my pictures are of me and my friends, or me and people that used to be friends but I don't talk to anymore, or me and people that used to be my friends who I actively hate now. Isn't that sad? I probably have just as many pictures of people that I dislike, as I do of my family. I don't hate my family by any means...pictures were just always my mom's responsibility. I was the one being photographed. And how egotistic is it that I took SO MANY pictures of people that were only important to me for the time? It's driving me crazy. I really need to learn to prioritize.
2.17.2008
Breaking bad habits.
I'm so utterly and completely exhausted by this whole situation. I really wish I could just crawl into peoples' heads and figure out what the hell they're thinking, why they do the things they do, what they are really all about. I'm sick of doing what's right. I just want to give up and do what's easy. Even if what's easy will hurt me. Because it's much easier to sink into the current than to fight it, especially if it seems likely that the outcome will be the same regardless. It's just so much easier to just let it happen.
I honestly can't even describe what it is about the whole thing, except that maybe I was so completely manipulated that it just screwed me up more than it should have. The self-esteem issue plays into it a lot as well. That's probably the biggest part of the problem. I let this stuff happen to me because for a moment, it makes me feel better. Just for that moment. And then I tend to wind up feeling worse than before. And therein lies my dilemma; my choices are to feel worthless now and empowered later, or to feel wanted and good now and worthless later.
The sick thing is, I know that I'll never have what I want here. I know things will never be the same, we can never go back. It's fucked forever and there's nothing I can do about it. I know that. But here I am trying anyway. And it's an utter waste of my time and energy.
Things with B. could be so good if I would just let them. But I'm not. I'm too afraid of being screwed with again, of being played, of being taken advantage of and used as an ego boost. How sad is that? I've done what I never wanted to do; I've let my past affect my present and I've grown to regret not just one event, but an entire relationship. I never wanted to regret anything. I want to trust him, but I can't. Maybe it's better this way. I mean, I do know how to find the worst guys for me. Probably, B. is just another one. Who knows.
I can't quite seem to get into myself today the way that I usually do. It's weird. I'm too agitated to sink into that trance I get when I write. And on a rare occasion, this isn't helping.
I honestly can't even describe what it is about the whole thing, except that maybe I was so completely manipulated that it just screwed me up more than it should have. The self-esteem issue plays into it a lot as well. That's probably the biggest part of the problem. I let this stuff happen to me because for a moment, it makes me feel better. Just for that moment. And then I tend to wind up feeling worse than before. And therein lies my dilemma; my choices are to feel worthless now and empowered later, or to feel wanted and good now and worthless later.
The sick thing is, I know that I'll never have what I want here. I know things will never be the same, we can never go back. It's fucked forever and there's nothing I can do about it. I know that. But here I am trying anyway. And it's an utter waste of my time and energy.
Things with B. could be so good if I would just let them. But I'm not. I'm too afraid of being screwed with again, of being played, of being taken advantage of and used as an ego boost. How sad is that? I've done what I never wanted to do; I've let my past affect my present and I've grown to regret not just one event, but an entire relationship. I never wanted to regret anything. I want to trust him, but I can't. Maybe it's better this way. I mean, I do know how to find the worst guys for me. Probably, B. is just another one. Who knows.
I can't quite seem to get into myself today the way that I usually do. It's weird. I'm too agitated to sink into that trance I get when I write. And on a rare occasion, this isn't helping.
2.16.2008
My life is the persistence of memory. You can call me Salvador.
Talk about surreal. I almost expect to wake up in a moment to realize that this whole week was just a dream. I'm still reeling from Wednesday, and then Thursday night, and Friday night, and now here it is Saturday and I can't help but wonder what other mindfuck will hit me next.
On Wednesday, B. was here. For propriety's sake, I'll only say this: I am immensely proud of my self-control. I really want to try to make things right for once. And I'm doing better than usual.
Thursday. Oh, dear Lord, Thursday. A bunch of girls from the market decided to go to one of the bars uptown, and I figure, why not...I don't have class till 1 on Friday, and I have nothing better to do. So we all met up at J.'s house and eventually hit up the club. Just outside the door I got a strange sense of apprehension. I knew M.'s band played there on occasion. But what were the odds, right? It was like something out of a movie. I walk up to the door, and there it is: splashed in garish neon paint, the name of his band, and the words LIVE! TONIGHT! screaming at me. Naturally, I panicked. I mean, I knew I would have had to see him evenutally; the campus is only so big. But it took me completely by surprise. What was even more surprising was how everything went down. I always half-wondered what would happen when we finally did run into each other again. What happened was, I pretended I couldn't see him all night, that the person singing some of my favorite songs on stage was just a bodiless voice, until the band stopped playing and the lights came on. None of the girls wanted to stop dancing, so after a few minutes, the only people left were us and the band. And then it happened. He looked dead at me. Caught me with those stupid, stupid blue eyes. And I couldn't pretend I didn't see him. So I slurred hello, how've you been, what's new? He was polite. And that was it.
But now...
No. Absolutely not. M. got me the way he did because of his skill at manipulation. Not because of any genuine affection...it was just an act. I know this. So why is this driving me mad?
Friday was just strange because my sister came and visted me. And she met a lot of my friends. It was odd...like dreaming about something and then seeing it in real life. Two worlds that were never supposed to mingle suddenly collided. It was kind of like that with B., but more so with my sister because she's always been such a big part of my life.
I feel almost as though I'm in the middle of a tornado that's just whirling around me, careening out of control, and I can do nothing but watch. All these things just keep happening to me, and I can hardly even be a part of it. I'm just along for the ride.
On Wednesday, B. was here. For propriety's sake, I'll only say this: I am immensely proud of my self-control. I really want to try to make things right for once. And I'm doing better than usual.
Thursday. Oh, dear Lord, Thursday. A bunch of girls from the market decided to go to one of the bars uptown, and I figure, why not...I don't have class till 1 on Friday, and I have nothing better to do. So we all met up at J.'s house and eventually hit up the club. Just outside the door I got a strange sense of apprehension. I knew M.'s band played there on occasion. But what were the odds, right? It was like something out of a movie. I walk up to the door, and there it is: splashed in garish neon paint, the name of his band, and the words LIVE! TONIGHT! screaming at me. Naturally, I panicked. I mean, I knew I would have had to see him evenutally; the campus is only so big. But it took me completely by surprise. What was even more surprising was how everything went down. I always half-wondered what would happen when we finally did run into each other again. What happened was, I pretended I couldn't see him all night, that the person singing some of my favorite songs on stage was just a bodiless voice, until the band stopped playing and the lights came on. None of the girls wanted to stop dancing, so after a few minutes, the only people left were us and the band. And then it happened. He looked dead at me. Caught me with those stupid, stupid blue eyes. And I couldn't pretend I didn't see him. So I slurred hello, how've you been, what's new? He was polite. And that was it.
But now...
No. Absolutely not. M. got me the way he did because of his skill at manipulation. Not because of any genuine affection...it was just an act. I know this. So why is this driving me mad?
Friday was just strange because my sister came and visted me. And she met a lot of my friends. It was odd...like dreaming about something and then seeing it in real life. Two worlds that were never supposed to mingle suddenly collided. It was kind of like that with B., but more so with my sister because she's always been such a big part of my life.
I feel almost as though I'm in the middle of a tornado that's just whirling around me, careening out of control, and I can do nothing but watch. All these things just keep happening to me, and I can hardly even be a part of it. I'm just along for the ride.
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