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.

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.

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:

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).

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?)

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.

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:

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...

Except the consequences are still there, whether or not I give a damn about them. And the bottom line is...

I do.

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.

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...

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.

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?