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.

Not creative enough to think of anything myself

So true.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Understand?

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.

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.

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.

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.

-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 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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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."

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:

"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?

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.

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.

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.