Why can't I cry?
I've wondered this for a long time. There's something wrong with me, I know it. I listen to saturatingly depressing music, I got 99 problems... let alone bitchez, and I never break down. I sit there and I immerse myself in the melancholy shadows of the world and the most I ever get is eye watering. Just that painful chest tightness. Am I heartless? It just makes me feel guilty - like I'm don't care about myself; I do. I promise. So why can't I let it out.
Sometimes all I feel like is a good hour-long sob fest, but it doesn't come. Last time I really cried was August, in a gross hotel room. Like that day where you know it's gonna rain, you're so sure, so ready for the cool pounding on the roof, but it taunts you. An interesting concept, weather taunting you. At this point I'm just waiting for it all to... rip out of my head. It seems so cruel of me. I don't know.
I kinda want to learn to play the piano. It's the greatest invention ever created, apart from the fridge. Keeps all yo food cold. Pianos don't do that. But I want to learn to play all the same.
I might have seen my 99 year old great grandmother for the last time in August. Ugh, August. It was so painful. She didn't speak a word of English, but she looked so happy sometimes. Her whole family in the same house. I can appreciate that. Other times she just stared sadly out th window onto the narrow street outside. Her arms were skinnier than Meg's. Barely any hair. So much heart. God, I wish I knew what she was saying when she spoke to me. I regret not spending a year there instead of a month.
I hate when people say "No regrets". Most times it's a lie. Sure, you gain valuable experience from everything, but don't tell me you wouldn't go back and change the rough spots if you could. No questions asked, I wouldn't have said that to him. I wouldn't have.
My first big decision about the mess coming up. Anyone up to making it for me? LOL. I refuse to take sides. One thing I won't do, ever. But how can I decide without doing that. Fuck.
I love this silence. It's happy silence, heavy and wrapping.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Fucking Puppy
I had another nightmare last night. Woke up in a sweat. If it's ever happened to you you know how lovely a feeling it is.
It basically showed me what would have happened if they'd had another baby. Jesus, I used to think it was a good idea. Terrible. I was like the mother of the child, for one thing. Because my mom was... like she was out of the picture. All throughout the dream the perspective kept toggling from me to her. I was driving with the baby and the 3 other kids in the car with my dad, and she was in her car with our friend's dog. Obvious symbolism is obvious. And then there was an earthquake... and my mom never checked to see if we were okay, all she cared about was the fucking puppy. And I was responsible for the baby, I couldn't cheat the baby out of a good life I had to make sure it was safe and situated. I don't want this to happen to me.
That baby was so goddamn cute. It was the cutest thing ever. Ugh I have school.
It basically showed me what would have happened if they'd had another baby. Jesus, I used to think it was a good idea. Terrible. I was like the mother of the child, for one thing. Because my mom was... like she was out of the picture. All throughout the dream the perspective kept toggling from me to her. I was driving with the baby and the 3 other kids in the car with my dad, and she was in her car with our friend's dog. Obvious symbolism is obvious. And then there was an earthquake... and my mom never checked to see if we were okay, all she cared about was the fucking puppy. And I was responsible for the baby, I couldn't cheat the baby out of a good life I had to make sure it was safe and situated. I don't want this to happen to me.
That baby was so goddamn cute. It was the cutest thing ever. Ugh I have school.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Guys seriously, don't even bother reading this.
Nothing's changed much. I suppose I should be happy. I'm terrified of change. I cried myself to sleep the last day of my 8th grade year at the prospect of high school and stress and separation anxiety. And oh look, everything that I was afraid of happening has happened. This stupid system has cut my ties with one of the people I value most on the surface of the planet. This system has screwed me over and over but I'm shackled to it. Sometimes I want to move to the bottom of the ocean. I hate going back and putting the word "sometimes" at the beginning of my sentences. I'm working on non-blanket statements; I am. But it feels like it should be the word always in my head. Blanket statements.
But when the change is happening to everyone around you and you're the one starting to lag it just... sucks. You start to realize that you're waiting for things to get better. "This year's gonna be different. This year I'll be great." And then you realize it's not the year that changes... you do. Fuck. Right? Whatever just go sit in your room for hours and blast chaotically depressing songs into your already aching skull. You fucking loser, you tool. You're a fucking tool.
Currently trying to think of something positive to write about, please hold.
I'm more accepting of myself, is that a start? Actually, I guess it's just that I know more about myself. I'm scared of growing up and forgetting what it's like to analyze the feelings that come at you one million strong all at once. I like that overwhelming-ness and then categorizing every one of them. I left the country last August. I don't even know what happened there. I'm afraid to just let the entire incident out because of who's reading this. Fuck, I've done it again.
Thing I Hate About Myself #24
I don't do my best at everything, even if I want it. My posture is bad too.
But when the change is happening to everyone around you and you're the one starting to lag it just... sucks. You start to realize that you're waiting for things to get better. "This year's gonna be different. This year I'll be great." And then you realize it's not the year that changes... you do. Fuck. Right? Whatever just go sit in your room for hours and blast chaotically depressing songs into your already aching skull. You fucking loser, you tool. You're a fucking tool.
Currently trying to think of something positive to write about, please hold.
I'm more accepting of myself, is that a start? Actually, I guess it's just that I know more about myself. I'm scared of growing up and forgetting what it's like to analyze the feelings that come at you one million strong all at once. I like that overwhelming-ness and then categorizing every one of them. I left the country last August. I don't even know what happened there. I'm afraid to just let the entire incident out because of who's reading this. Fuck, I've done it again.
Thing I Hate About Myself #24
I don't do my best at everything, even if I want it. My posture is bad too.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
"I'm Very Flinchy"
Everything is relevant. We are in the midst of finding our selves. BUT our anchors are still tightly tethered to the days of swing set flying and bendy straws, of playground babble and whistles, of plastic rulers and social studies and spell check and line leaders. Not yet in the fields of mergers and quotas and meaningless banter about making rent and not being "committed". Remembering is painful, but to forget is lethal.
Every time something bad happens... like really terrible, I take a shower. And if it feels like my world's being smashed I sink down onto the floor of the shower and cry. I lay there tears streaming, but you'd never know because the water is running. Sometimes I forget where I am and almost drown, but it's a good reminder. After, I feel better, and I feel like listening to slow piano songs. I listen to the problems of who ever's singing and mine don't seem half as bad. My thoughts turn from "Nothing will be the same, no one cares about me, I will die without living" to "It'll all be okay, you know". That's how I get through it. That's how I survive my own mistakes. My own conscience.
When I was younger I used to judge people who were afraid to trust. I used to judge a lot about people who I didn't know. I'm sorry. I understand now. I understand now that everyone has left and trust is a foreign dream. I'm very flinchy, I thought I shoulder warn you. Also, it scares me when the vacuum is on before you plug it in, and it turns on as your sticking the plug into the wall. I don't like being startled. This is mindless babble. This is my brain streaming consciousness. This is a thousand ideas and one line of truth.
Thing I Hate about Myself #19
I'm afraid when I find someone they'll leave because I'll need them too much.
Every time something bad happens... like really terrible, I take a shower. And if it feels like my world's being smashed I sink down onto the floor of the shower and cry. I lay there tears streaming, but you'd never know because the water is running. Sometimes I forget where I am and almost drown, but it's a good reminder. After, I feel better, and I feel like listening to slow piano songs. I listen to the problems of who ever's singing and mine don't seem half as bad. My thoughts turn from "Nothing will be the same, no one cares about me, I will die without living" to "It'll all be okay, you know". That's how I get through it. That's how I survive my own mistakes. My own conscience.
When I was younger I used to judge people who were afraid to trust. I used to judge a lot about people who I didn't know. I'm sorry. I understand now. I understand now that everyone has left and trust is a foreign dream. I'm very flinchy, I thought I shoulder warn you. Also, it scares me when the vacuum is on before you plug it in, and it turns on as your sticking the plug into the wall. I don't like being startled. This is mindless babble. This is my brain streaming consciousness. This is a thousand ideas and one line of truth.
Thing I Hate about Myself #19
I'm afraid when I find someone they'll leave because I'll need them too much.
For my Own Children
When people first came to this country, one of their biggest goals was the allowance of progress. More specifically, they wanted to do better than their parents. In the Old Country, a man may do no better than his father. As outlined in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn: "Provided he works hard...he may rise, but only to his father's state." But here, there was the possibility of endless possibilities. There were no limits. It was a new beginning, the chance to do whatever you were capable of regardless of what your parents were.
Fast forward a few generations. One of the biggest fears is becoming like your parents. Let alone occupation, sons and daughters vow never to be even close to what their parents have become behavior and personality wise. This, to me, is... it's ridiculous. I've observed my parents. I've watched them try their hardest to raise me and three after me. Not only raise us, but bring us up in an environment free of danger, of fear, of rape and horrific discovery and too much junk food. You can never imagine what being a parent means. I have no idea myself.
It must be Hell. To keep your baby safe in a world like ours today. You turn on the news and hear of families burning alive in their own apartments, and soldiers being held hostage with a baby on the way back home. Of children being abandoned and abused. It must be torture to succeed in teaching them love when they are surrounded on all sides by hate. I've seen it go wrong, you've seen it go wrong. You've seen kids who think they have punch smaller kids in the mouth because they are beaten at home every day. You see the kids fighting for attention because their parents ignore them. Ignore them. You've seen the kids who badmouth and abuse their mothers, who are in false control and will therefore never be able to thrive once they move out. I have no idea how fucking lucky I am.
I want to be exactly like my parents when I grow up. I want to be no different. I don't know if I can even come close to how beautifully they've done. And four different times? I'm surprised they didn't up and leave. I could never express my gratitude and amazement of how much they gave us, how much they gave up for us. I want that for my own children. And for their children. I want that.
Fast forward a few generations. One of the biggest fears is becoming like your parents. Let alone occupation, sons and daughters vow never to be even close to what their parents have become behavior and personality wise. This, to me, is... it's ridiculous. I've observed my parents. I've watched them try their hardest to raise me and three after me. Not only raise us, but bring us up in an environment free of danger, of fear, of rape and horrific discovery and too much junk food. You can never imagine what being a parent means. I have no idea myself.
It must be Hell. To keep your baby safe in a world like ours today. You turn on the news and hear of families burning alive in their own apartments, and soldiers being held hostage with a baby on the way back home. Of children being abandoned and abused. It must be torture to succeed in teaching them love when they are surrounded on all sides by hate. I've seen it go wrong, you've seen it go wrong. You've seen kids who think they have punch smaller kids in the mouth because they are beaten at home every day. You see the kids fighting for attention because their parents ignore them. Ignore them. You've seen the kids who badmouth and abuse their mothers, who are in false control and will therefore never be able to thrive once they move out. I have no idea how fucking lucky I am.
I want to be exactly like my parents when I grow up. I want to be no different. I don't know if I can even come close to how beautifully they've done. And four different times? I'm surprised they didn't up and leave. I could never express my gratitude and amazement of how much they gave us, how much they gave up for us. I want that for my own children. And for their children. I want that.
Friday, July 23, 2010
I'm a Brick.
Wait. So then how do we even know what's real and what's not? That isn't any fucking way to live. Never actually knowing? Yeah, you're such a tortured soul, you really have it fucking rough. Your life is such a infected pit of endless fucking despair.
You're forever blankly staring at that wall, just letting it pour out, out through your own eyes. A million things going through your own head, scanning the memories in your brain like a computer looking for a virus. This feeling of being dragged down by your own life, even though it's a life that feels weightless and worthless.
Who do you think you are? Telling me what I feel, thinking you can tell ME what I want. Thinking you can casually let me know what my own deepest fears and worries are. You think you can mention without a care in the world what keeps me awake in the dead of the night. No, I get it. It doesn't affect you because you don't have to deal with the consequences. You can easily taste the burnt edges of my mind without feeling the weight of it on your own fucking chest. How do you know what I'm thinking? Please, enlighten me, because I've never had my own level of pain wrapped up in front of me and tied in a neat little bow. My mistake, it's not real. It's just "hormones". So sorry, didn't realize this shit I have to put up with is a fake show put on by my fucked up age group.
What we're being told... is that we are all victims of the number of years it's been since were born. Well I'm sick of being shoved under the same stupid umbrella as everyone within 5 years of me. I'm sick of having my middle finger ripped off by some guy who thinks he knows me, whose forgotten what it's like to have your world crumple under the weight of your flaws. Just another brick in the wall.
Wait. It's just hormones.
You're forever blankly staring at that wall, just letting it pour out, out through your own eyes. A million things going through your own head, scanning the memories in your brain like a computer looking for a virus. This feeling of being dragged down by your own life, even though it's a life that feels weightless and worthless.
Who do you think you are? Telling me what I feel, thinking you can tell ME what I want. Thinking you can casually let me know what my own deepest fears and worries are. You think you can mention without a care in the world what keeps me awake in the dead of the night. No, I get it. It doesn't affect you because you don't have to deal with the consequences. You can easily taste the burnt edges of my mind without feeling the weight of it on your own fucking chest. How do you know what I'm thinking? Please, enlighten me, because I've never had my own level of pain wrapped up in front of me and tied in a neat little bow. My mistake, it's not real. It's just "hormones". So sorry, didn't realize this shit I have to put up with is a fake show put on by my fucked up age group.
What we're being told... is that we are all victims of the number of years it's been since were born. Well I'm sick of being shoved under the same stupid umbrella as everyone within 5 years of me. I'm sick of having my middle finger ripped off by some guy who thinks he knows me, whose forgotten what it's like to have your world crumple under the weight of your flaws. Just another brick in the wall.
Wait. It's just hormones.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
We are All Racist
You know what pisses me off? The ignorance of America. I know I should be proud of my country, and some attributes really do kick ass. But our pretentious over-confidence, sometimes to the point of arrogance. Like when our logic is that because we have a black president, racism is dead. What? I don't even... okay. How does that even make sense in your mind. Humans were born with eyes, meaning whether we like it or not, we are able to see color. We are able to see the difference between a black man and a white man. It's not an opinion, it's not subjective, it's a fact, we are all born racial.
Racial, not racist. The difference is that you can see the contrast, but don't have any prejudices over which is better or worse. As we grow older however, we begin to class. It's natural. Our brains like order, we like to put things into categories. It doesn't make us mean people. That also means it's not something we can control.
From the moment we leave the womb, our brains learn to see differences. That's why we are able to tell the difference between a red crayon and a blue one. It doesn't matter if you were born in the projects or a small suburban town, you are racist. It's the same with sexism. A news story about a man raping a little girl will always be viewed as worse and more evil than a woman raping a little boy. It's just the way it is, it's always been this way, it always will. You make judgments in your head based on what you see with your eyes. What we can control, is what comes out of our mouths, and what we do with our hands.
That's number 1.
Number 2: What the hell is this notion that just because Obama is leading our country, racism is dead. It's not. And it's definitely not because some guy with a darker skin color is sitting at a desk in Washington. Our brains do not work that way and it will never be "dead", unless the world goes blind and deaf, because that's the only way we won't be able to make judgments based on our environment and our experiences. C'mon people. Use your head.
By the way, I get that this is a touchy subject. Please don't get offended... I like everyone :)
Racial, not racist. The difference is that you can see the contrast, but don't have any prejudices over which is better or worse. As we grow older however, we begin to class. It's natural. Our brains like order, we like to put things into categories. It doesn't make us mean people. That also means it's not something we can control.
From the moment we leave the womb, our brains learn to see differences. That's why we are able to tell the difference between a red crayon and a blue one. It doesn't matter if you were born in the projects or a small suburban town, you are racist. It's the same with sexism. A news story about a man raping a little girl will always be viewed as worse and more evil than a woman raping a little boy. It's just the way it is, it's always been this way, it always will. You make judgments in your head based on what you see with your eyes. What we can control, is what comes out of our mouths, and what we do with our hands.
That's number 1.
Number 2: What the hell is this notion that just because Obama is leading our country, racism is dead. It's not. And it's definitely not because some guy with a darker skin color is sitting at a desk in Washington. Our brains do not work that way and it will never be "dead", unless the world goes blind and deaf, because that's the only way we won't be able to make judgments based on our environment and our experiences. C'mon people. Use your head.
By the way, I get that this is a touchy subject. Please don't get offended... I like everyone :)
Monday, July 19, 2010
Drunk Goggles
We all live in different worlds. We all see it through different drunk goggles. You can never walk a mile in someone else's shoes, we all wear different sizes.
I get scared sometimes, that I'm not good enough, that I'll never be good enough. I know everyone says the only expectations I need to live up to are my own, but frankly, that's bullshit. You can't survive happily on your own, you need other people. You need them to tell you that you're not dependable or have something in your teeth. It's how we improve ourselves. You will never hear a lonely man say he's content being alone. He's just lost his faith in humanity, and it's better than the idea being with people who constantly let him down. It's why humans created the idea of a family... we could've just ended up like praying mantises.
You know, it's pretty funny, how fast your world can shatter. One tear down your mother's face. And you can tell she's trying to hide it from you, to protect you like she always has. But you see it anyway, for one split second you catch a glimpse of your own reflection in that tear, you know it'll never be the same. Her voice "Nothing's going to change, nothing's going to-" She can't finish, she falters. Both of you standing at the cliff's edge. That sick feeling. I hate it so much.
Up until a little while ago, I didn't get why we lie so much to children. Have you noticed that? We lie to them so fucking much. We tell them that Santa's real, that it's all going to be fine, that Daddy's coming home tonight. We say that shit so much we start to believe it ourselves. And then we feel like children. Cold reality smacks us back down to Earth at the realization that it's not true.
Then I understood. It's because of that one moment, that second that we actually believe what we're hearing. They're going to need that memory when they're older. We need that feeling to fall back on, to linger on. Otherwise we've got nothing to remember.
I hate how I bitch about so much. I hate how I'm inwardly negative, and outwardly I have this stupid mask on. I could say it's not me, I could say it's the unfairness of the world that gets me down. But that would be another lie. It's my fault. It's all my fault. And it's not going to go away until I fix it myself. Until I put on a new pair of drunk goggles. Suck it up, and move on.
Myself.
I get scared sometimes, that I'm not good enough, that I'll never be good enough. I know everyone says the only expectations I need to live up to are my own, but frankly, that's bullshit. You can't survive happily on your own, you need other people. You need them to tell you that you're not dependable or have something in your teeth. It's how we improve ourselves. You will never hear a lonely man say he's content being alone. He's just lost his faith in humanity, and it's better than the idea being with people who constantly let him down. It's why humans created the idea of a family... we could've just ended up like praying mantises.
You know, it's pretty funny, how fast your world can shatter. One tear down your mother's face. And you can tell she's trying to hide it from you, to protect you like she always has. But you see it anyway, for one split second you catch a glimpse of your own reflection in that tear, you know it'll never be the same. Her voice "Nothing's going to change, nothing's going to-" She can't finish, she falters. Both of you standing at the cliff's edge. That sick feeling. I hate it so much.
Up until a little while ago, I didn't get why we lie so much to children. Have you noticed that? We lie to them so fucking much. We tell them that Santa's real, that it's all going to be fine, that Daddy's coming home tonight. We say that shit so much we start to believe it ourselves. And then we feel like children. Cold reality smacks us back down to Earth at the realization that it's not true.
Then I understood. It's because of that one moment, that second that we actually believe what we're hearing. They're going to need that memory when they're older. We need that feeling to fall back on, to linger on. Otherwise we've got nothing to remember.
I hate how I bitch about so much. I hate how I'm inwardly negative, and outwardly I have this stupid mask on. I could say it's not me, I could say it's the unfairness of the world that gets me down. But that would be another lie. It's my fault. It's all my fault. And it's not going to go away until I fix it myself. Until I put on a new pair of drunk goggles. Suck it up, and move on.
Myself.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Parallel Realities
It's currently 2:38 AM.
I tried to lucid dream tonight. But not really. I mean, I didn't throw myself entirely into it because... well because it scares the hell out of me. Lucid dreaming is where you make yourself dream, while being entirely aware that you are dreaming. There's a whole process you have to go through to get to it. This basically means that you keep yourself conscious as you fall into a dream. And so, you are able to control what happens in your own dream. You can do anything. Anything can happen to you. You have full control... or do you. Something inside me says "What the fuck are you doing, don't you dare screw around with this shit." Supposedly you can tell if you're lucid dreaming by looking in the mirror and not seeing your reflection, or switching on light switches without any light levels changing, or looking down and noticing that you have 596869 toes. Those are lucid dream signals that occur in every lucid dream. It sounds like a horror movie.
That's what scares me. Anything could happen. How do I know if I wake up? What if I don't wake up. What happens to the real world if I stay in this parallel reality forever. I wouldn't even know...
I don't think I fully understand the size of this idea... that one can experience anything they can fucking imagine as if they were awake, as if it was really happening. Makes me wonder why they haven't built a machine that permanently sticks you in create-your-own-reality mode. Why does this terrify me?
It's currently 2:57 AM.
PS: Fun fact. If you squeeze your left thumb in your left fist as hard as you can for 4 seconds, your gag reflex shuts off. Try it. Go ahead. Now stick your index finger down your throat. It's amazing.
I tried to lucid dream tonight. But not really. I mean, I didn't throw myself entirely into it because... well because it scares the hell out of me. Lucid dreaming is where you make yourself dream, while being entirely aware that you are dreaming. There's a whole process you have to go through to get to it. This basically means that you keep yourself conscious as you fall into a dream. And so, you are able to control what happens in your own dream. You can do anything. Anything can happen to you. You have full control... or do you. Something inside me says "What the fuck are you doing, don't you dare screw around with this shit." Supposedly you can tell if you're lucid dreaming by looking in the mirror and not seeing your reflection, or switching on light switches without any light levels changing, or looking down and noticing that you have 596869 toes. Those are lucid dream signals that occur in every lucid dream. It sounds like a horror movie.
That's what scares me. Anything could happen. How do I know if I wake up? What if I don't wake up. What happens to the real world if I stay in this parallel reality forever. I wouldn't even know...
I don't think I fully understand the size of this idea... that one can experience anything they can fucking imagine as if they were awake, as if it was really happening. Makes me wonder why they haven't built a machine that permanently sticks you in create-your-own-reality mode. Why does this terrify me?
It's currently 2:57 AM.
PS: Fun fact. If you squeeze your left thumb in your left fist as hard as you can for 4 seconds, your gag reflex shuts off. Try it. Go ahead. Now stick your index finger down your throat. It's amazing.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Into the Woods
I didn't see a bear. It was actually pretty fun despite that fact. Of course the first night was torture considering we were all holed up in the same plastic bag, essentially. The tent was definitely big enough, but damn... sleeping in one room would not have been my strong suit, had I lived in the early 1800s... or whatever.
Around 5:30 AM, the rain started. It was pounding the tarp draped above our tent, so loud that we had to shout to each other if we wanted to be heard. I just plugged myself into Ke$ha and laid in my sleeping bag watching the droplets stream down the sides of the bright red plastic. At one point during the night my brother's ear buds had got tangled in my own, and ended up in the same sleeping bag. When I followed the chord down and found an unattached jack, not knowing it wasn't the same set as was in my own iPod, it wigged me out. I thought Ke$ha was broadcasting right into my skull. I had gotten minimal sleep, alright? Cool it. Gawsh.
The storm felt like it took hours to finally subside... but then everything feels like it takes hours when you're lying in the middle of the woods. Time is a funny thing when you don't have a clock next to your head. Your mind starts to make things up and you just arbitrarily believe yourself even if you might be way off.
Nighttime is wonderful in the woods, second only to dawn. We were in a campsite, which means we were surrounded on all sides by a bunch of other families, although they seemed distant in the early hours of the chilly morning. But when it got dark, we all felt like one big family. One guy brought his guitar a couple sites over, and we could hear his slow, quiet strumming late into the night. It was very cliche, but I was in love anyway.
However, when that sun rises, there's just no way to describe it. Beautiful is far from the right word. I remember my father took me hiking in the Appalachians one winter weekend. A couple of mornings earlier I had inquired of him why our family didn't go to church more often. This was years ago. That day at dawn, the sun rose over the snow-capped mountains. A field covered in its own blanket of white powder was spread out before us. It was wild, chaotic, untamed, yet peaceful, silent. Utter awe and tranquility filled my entire being, I was stopped in my tracks.
"This is my church," my father had whispered, standing right next to me.
Around 5:30 AM, the rain started. It was pounding the tarp draped above our tent, so loud that we had to shout to each other if we wanted to be heard. I just plugged myself into Ke$ha and laid in my sleeping bag watching the droplets stream down the sides of the bright red plastic. At one point during the night my brother's ear buds had got tangled in my own, and ended up in the same sleeping bag. When I followed the chord down and found an unattached jack, not knowing it wasn't the same set as was in my own iPod, it wigged me out. I thought Ke$ha was broadcasting right into my skull. I had gotten minimal sleep, alright? Cool it. Gawsh.
The storm felt like it took hours to finally subside... but then everything feels like it takes hours when you're lying in the middle of the woods. Time is a funny thing when you don't have a clock next to your head. Your mind starts to make things up and you just arbitrarily believe yourself even if you might be way off.
Nighttime is wonderful in the woods, second only to dawn. We were in a campsite, which means we were surrounded on all sides by a bunch of other families, although they seemed distant in the early hours of the chilly morning. But when it got dark, we all felt like one big family. One guy brought his guitar a couple sites over, and we could hear his slow, quiet strumming late into the night. It was very cliche, but I was in love anyway.
However, when that sun rises, there's just no way to describe it. Beautiful is far from the right word. I remember my father took me hiking in the Appalachians one winter weekend. A couple of mornings earlier I had inquired of him why our family didn't go to church more often. This was years ago. That day at dawn, the sun rose over the snow-capped mountains. A field covered in its own blanket of white powder was spread out before us. It was wild, chaotic, untamed, yet peaceful, silent. Utter awe and tranquility filled my entire being, I was stopped in my tracks.
"This is my church," my father had whispered, standing right next to me.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Harry Potter Head
Tomorrow, I leave for New Hampshire. Yeah, that's right. This an actual blog, instead of a confusing stream of abstract ideas (because that's seemed to rear its head as my forte, one way or another). What? I can switch it up. Don't look all surprised.
Anyway, I'm actually pretty excited about it. I mean, I haven't left my one horse town at all this summer. However, I'm pretty sure I've never heard a pleasant camping story. Maybe I'll see a bear. Do they even live in New Hampshire? I hear if you come in contact with a bear, you're supposed to play dead. Who the hell came up with that? If I somehow accidentally get close enough to a bear that I can shake its freakin' hand... I'm booking it out of that shiz. Actually, I'll probably just faint... that's just as good right?
Is it terrible that one of the biggest reasons I'd rather not go is the lack of technology that will be available to me? I'm going to have to go 4 days without Facebook, without twitter, without TEXTING. Oh jeez, by Day 3 I might be the crazy kid looking for the bears. Suicide by bear. That would be a cool way to die. Except if my mom told my friends what happened to me they'd probably just laugh. Thanks, guys.
The one thing I absolutely hate about going anywhere is the packing. It skyrockets my OCD. I also get that dumb What Did I Forget feeling. Every time. Oh well, what are ya gonna do.
I really hope Megan's stitches don't come out or anything. My mom's blood pressure would have its own zip code if something like that happened. Okay sequence of events last night, circa 9:10 PM...
I'm chillin' like a villain downstairs with my dad watching TV. My mom's in the kitchen (Irony). Suddenly we hear bloodcurdling screams, one after the other. We don't even look at each other, my mom was up the stairs first, of course. My sister apparently fell off her bed and stabbed herself in the forehead with a piece of plastic. Blood is gushing out of her skull, and she's just shriek-fest. Long story short: I end up having to babysit the other kiddies while my mother and father rush her to emergency room to get 6 stitches on the outside and one on the inside of her head. They get back around 12:30. And it doesn't help that my dad is cracking Harry Potter scar jokes the entire time. She's all sad because she think she's ruined her face.
I still think it's adorable. She now hates Harry Potter. Her loss.
Anyway, I'm actually pretty excited about it. I mean, I haven't left my one horse town at all this summer. However, I'm pretty sure I've never heard a pleasant camping story. Maybe I'll see a bear. Do they even live in New Hampshire? I hear if you come in contact with a bear, you're supposed to play dead. Who the hell came up with that? If I somehow accidentally get close enough to a bear that I can shake its freakin' hand... I'm booking it out of that shiz. Actually, I'll probably just faint... that's just as good right?
Is it terrible that one of the biggest reasons I'd rather not go is the lack of technology that will be available to me? I'm going to have to go 4 days without Facebook, without twitter, without TEXTING. Oh jeez, by Day 3 I might be the crazy kid looking for the bears. Suicide by bear. That would be a cool way to die. Except if my mom told my friends what happened to me they'd probably just laugh. Thanks, guys.
The one thing I absolutely hate about going anywhere is the packing. It skyrockets my OCD. I also get that dumb What Did I Forget feeling. Every time. Oh well, what are ya gonna do.
I really hope Megan's stitches don't come out or anything. My mom's blood pressure would have its own zip code if something like that happened. Okay sequence of events last night, circa 9:10 PM...
I'm chillin' like a villain downstairs with my dad watching TV. My mom's in the kitchen (Irony). Suddenly we hear bloodcurdling screams, one after the other. We don't even look at each other, my mom was up the stairs first, of course. My sister apparently fell off her bed and stabbed herself in the forehead with a piece of plastic. Blood is gushing out of her skull, and she's just shriek-fest. Long story short: I end up having to babysit the other kiddies while my mother and father rush her to emergency room to get 6 stitches on the outside and one on the inside of her head. They get back around 12:30. And it doesn't help that my dad is cracking Harry Potter scar jokes the entire time. She's all sad because she think she's ruined her face.
I still think it's adorable. She now hates Harry Potter. Her loss.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Mr. Rogers
Remember when joy tasted so much sweeter when you were little. Surge after surge of pure happiness floats into your soul, then explodes like the knowledge of illegal fireworks on the fourth of July. And you know you can't tell anyone that this makes your life a snugger place to be, a place that fits you easier, but in some ways it's better. It's like your own secret haven, where every decision works out, and the summer days last as long as you are able to remember them.
Remember when you would get nervous about the stupid stuff, like the dark closet in your room, or running out of highway when you got sleepy on long car rides, or trees potentially falling into the house? Or your father being swallowed up by the monstrous waves at the beach so that you are no longer able to see his bright yellow swim trunks? Growing up begins to define itself, Captain Hook is replaced by the rapist alerts on CNN, and the irrational fears fade away into the mist, are replaced by more practical ones. And those are so much scarier, because they might actually happen.
Remember when you were small, and got angry... like... REALLY pissed. Just at everyone. For the stupidest shit. The dog knocked over your blocks, or Mom friggen threw away that your box of valentines from your whole 1st grade class? And your house no longer felt like a home and you just wanted to run away to Alaska because it was the farthest place you could think of... and then two seconds later you just completely forgot about why you were mad... because Mr. Rogers was on. He was great.
Have you ever looked back on your memories from when you were really little, too little to know what everything meant on a large scale? Too little to recognize the toll these experiences would have on you once you grew up? Have you ever looked back and thought..."That's why I did that" or "That's why that happened"? I do that all the time. It makes me feel like I'm time traveling. Don't judge me.
Sometimes I wish the world never knew sunlight, and Earth was always shrouded in nighttime mystery. And then one day, out of the blue, so to speak, the sun would rise. And I just want to see every one's reaction. We would all feel like children, afraid of the big sphere of fire up above us. I think if that happened the word beautiful would have a whole new meaning.
Sometimes I hear people say that they have a fear of not being remembered. I think I'm the opposite. I don't want to be remembered. I want to die without leaving my dirty fingerprints on Earth. I want to be the quiet strumming of the acoustic guitar in the back ground, that fades away before the climax of the song. I want to be the left hand of the piano. I want to have an effect on people, but have it be invisible, so that they don't remember why they're like that. I want to be the change you only see if you're looking for it.
Please look for it.
Remember when you would get nervous about the stupid stuff, like the dark closet in your room, or running out of highway when you got sleepy on long car rides, or trees potentially falling into the house? Or your father being swallowed up by the monstrous waves at the beach so that you are no longer able to see his bright yellow swim trunks? Growing up begins to define itself, Captain Hook is replaced by the rapist alerts on CNN, and the irrational fears fade away into the mist, are replaced by more practical ones. And those are so much scarier, because they might actually happen.
Remember when you were small, and got angry... like... REALLY pissed. Just at everyone. For the stupidest shit. The dog knocked over your blocks, or Mom friggen threw away that your box of valentines from your whole 1st grade class? And your house no longer felt like a home and you just wanted to run away to Alaska because it was the farthest place you could think of... and then two seconds later you just completely forgot about why you were mad... because Mr. Rogers was on. He was great.
Have you ever looked back on your memories from when you were really little, too little to know what everything meant on a large scale? Too little to recognize the toll these experiences would have on you once you grew up? Have you ever looked back and thought..."That's why I did that" or "That's why that happened"? I do that all the time. It makes me feel like I'm time traveling. Don't judge me.
Sometimes I wish the world never knew sunlight, and Earth was always shrouded in nighttime mystery. And then one day, out of the blue, so to speak, the sun would rise. And I just want to see every one's reaction. We would all feel like children, afraid of the big sphere of fire up above us. I think if that happened the word beautiful would have a whole new meaning.
Sometimes I hear people say that they have a fear of not being remembered. I think I'm the opposite. I don't want to be remembered. I want to die without leaving my dirty fingerprints on Earth. I want to be the quiet strumming of the acoustic guitar in the back ground, that fades away before the climax of the song. I want to be the left hand of the piano. I want to have an effect on people, but have it be invisible, so that they don't remember why they're like that. I want to be the change you only see if you're looking for it.
Please look for it.
Monday, July 5, 2010
How it Feels
It's like sitting on a wooden chair, in an empty room, and you can hear music. And the music is happy, but it doesn't make YOU happy. It doesn't fill you up, even though you know it should. And you doubt yourself, you think something is wrong with you, because this music doesn't uplift you the way it seems to do to everyone else. And then you realize that you're tied to the chair, you are being forced to face this endless self-doubt, to feel this terrifying sense of difference. Waves of lost faith crash into you, rippling the self confidence you worked so hard to obtain.
You try to fit yourself into the tune, to find its meaning and place in your own life, but it doesn't work. And you feel so alone in that dark and empty room. and no one outside the room even attempts to understand. And the music is forever getting louder. Then suddenly it hits you, like a pane of glass being smashed into your forehead: the music is coming from inside your own head. That's how it feels.
Thing I Hate about Myself #37
I give in too easily, and then wonder what would've happened had I not.
You try to fit yourself into the tune, to find its meaning and place in your own life, but it doesn't work. And you feel so alone in that dark and empty room. and no one outside the room even attempts to understand. And the music is forever getting louder. Then suddenly it hits you, like a pane of glass being smashed into your forehead: the music is coming from inside your own head. That's how it feels.
Thing I Hate about Myself #37
I give in too easily, and then wonder what would've happened had I not.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The Power Game
I Will Not be a Victim. I will not lay down in front of my emotions, big name companies, the social cliques at my high school. I will be in control. How many times has that been subliminally furthered in life?
After sitting in history class after history class for over 10 years, I've realized the following: Human life is a game of power. Who has it, and who is controlled by it. It isn't about money, or looks, or kindness, or even how much brain you have. It's about how fast you get to the top, and who you bring with you. And more importantly, who you leave behind to tell what to do later on. The food chain is very carefully constructed.
Jesus was a Jew, just like the kingdom he governed. Hitler controlled a bunch of those as well. How many years have the Shiites and Sunnis been battling it out over 8,000 miles from here? Their conflict isn't over religion, they don't give a crap about that, at least not anymore. They all just want power over the other party. They all just want the supposed right to tell the other guy that your God isn't as good as mine.
And I don't think, for one second, that this is bigger than I am. Everything is relevant. The power game rings true in high school, and we all know what it's like to have to kneel down to it, and then turn around and victimize someone else. It sucks, but it's necessary to thrive in this world. Whether in a heated argument, an abusive relationship, or an infomercial, it's all about domination and control.
And strangely, I think that balance is necessary to be upheld.
After sitting in history class after history class for over 10 years, I've realized the following: Human life is a game of power. Who has it, and who is controlled by it. It isn't about money, or looks, or kindness, or even how much brain you have. It's about how fast you get to the top, and who you bring with you. And more importantly, who you leave behind to tell what to do later on. The food chain is very carefully constructed.
Jesus was a Jew, just like the kingdom he governed. Hitler controlled a bunch of those as well. How many years have the Shiites and Sunnis been battling it out over 8,000 miles from here? Their conflict isn't over religion, they don't give a crap about that, at least not anymore. They all just want power over the other party. They all just want the supposed right to tell the other guy that your God isn't as good as mine.
And I don't think, for one second, that this is bigger than I am. Everything is relevant. The power game rings true in high school, and we all know what it's like to have to kneel down to it, and then turn around and victimize someone else. It sucks, but it's necessary to thrive in this world. Whether in a heated argument, an abusive relationship, or an infomercial, it's all about domination and control.
And strangely, I think that balance is necessary to be upheld.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Sick
Can't you see that I'm trying?
Can't. Two meanings: either one is not allowed to or one is not able to.
Which one is it, because I'm done trying to figure it out. We are all composed of our experiences, our emotions, our reactions. We can either choose to have something happen to us or for us.
I'm sick of running my course, the course set out by other people instead of me. But if it was my own course, it would most likely lead away from the roads of other people. The roads I'd rather be on. Does that make sense? It doesn't need to.
I'm sick of my stupid OCD routines, and kidding myself, and internal lies, and light switches set in their ways. I'm sick of being cryptic and Googling my thoughts, and the fear of difference. I'm sick of wondering and wandering through my own memories to look for something I missed. I'm sick of that face I make, and how it changes everyday. I'm sick of the backspace button.
I'm sick of censorship and exposure, I'm sick of being sick.
When someone tells you something, and then that someone turns out to be a fake lie, does what they said have to be a lie too? We shouldn't be worried about self-loathing, you should, and I should.
I hate when someone says "You wouldn't understand", because that's really insulting. I think that chord that connects my brain to my spinal cord was broken once, and someone tied it together, but the knot is unraveling. Too bad I despise the thought of reaching into myself to fix the problems.
None of this connects. It's like a broken mirror, that someone drew a face on in Crayola marker.
Can't. Two meanings: either one is not allowed to or one is not able to.
Which one is it, because I'm done trying to figure it out. We are all composed of our experiences, our emotions, our reactions. We can either choose to have something happen to us or for us.
I'm sick of running my course, the course set out by other people instead of me. But if it was my own course, it would most likely lead away from the roads of other people. The roads I'd rather be on. Does that make sense? It doesn't need to.
I'm sick of my stupid OCD routines, and kidding myself, and internal lies, and light switches set in their ways. I'm sick of being cryptic and Googling my thoughts, and the fear of difference. I'm sick of wondering and wandering through my own memories to look for something I missed. I'm sick of that face I make, and how it changes everyday. I'm sick of the backspace button.
I'm sick of censorship and exposure, I'm sick of being sick.
When someone tells you something, and then that someone turns out to be a fake lie, does what they said have to be a lie too? We shouldn't be worried about self-loathing, you should, and I should.
I hate when someone says "You wouldn't understand", because that's really insulting. I think that chord that connects my brain to my spinal cord was broken once, and someone tied it together, but the knot is unraveling. Too bad I despise the thought of reaching into myself to fix the problems.
None of this connects. It's like a broken mirror, that someone drew a face on in Crayola marker.
Monday, June 28, 2010
White Noise
We've all been spending too much time thinking about other people. Thank you, I know I sound like an 80 year old psychiatrist, I do not give a crappola. It pisses me off, that the definition of ourselves derives from the root words of the demeaning thoughts and words of the people around us. Don't get me wrong, I think it's so important to be social, communicative, involved citizens in society. But at what point does it become moot.
At what point is it just white noise?
I've been trying to surround myself with the kind of kids (and I use that word very loosely) who are independent, with their own music, clothes, ideas about how the world should work, how they themselves should work.
I realized, that's completely counterproductive. That won't help at all. That just makes me show myself as trying to be one of them. Goddammit, there's no way to get around it. Nothing we do or are trying to do is new. It's all been done before. I'm doing it right now, as I type. I know I sound whiny, but I keep trying to think of what difference it makes, I can't come up with anything. What difference does it make.
This world has been around way too long. No, I take it back. The people who inhabit this world, who USE this world, have been around way too long. And what's worse, we keep making the same stupid errors. The same mistakes.
Domestic abuse, pollution, corrupt government, war, FRIGGEN TOO MUCH HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP. I split my brain trying to think of a way to beat it, to be different, it's impossible. I am nothing, I will be forgotten as soon as the people who knew me are.
Hell, I don't even know why I capitalize my I's. Sorry for the obvious depression, I needed a venting session.
At what point is it just white noise?
I've been trying to surround myself with the kind of kids (and I use that word very loosely) who are independent, with their own music, clothes, ideas about how the world should work, how they themselves should work.
I realized, that's completely counterproductive. That won't help at all. That just makes me show myself as trying to be one of them. Goddammit, there's no way to get around it. Nothing we do or are trying to do is new. It's all been done before. I'm doing it right now, as I type. I know I sound whiny, but I keep trying to think of what difference it makes, I can't come up with anything. What difference does it make.
This world has been around way too long. No, I take it back. The people who inhabit this world, who USE this world, have been around way too long. And what's worse, we keep making the same stupid errors. The same mistakes.
Domestic abuse, pollution, corrupt government, war, FRIGGEN TOO MUCH HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP. I split my brain trying to think of a way to beat it, to be different, it's impossible. I am nothing, I will be forgotten as soon as the people who knew me are.
Hell, I don't even know why I capitalize my I's. Sorry for the obvious depression, I needed a venting session.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Hope
Today, I had nothing to do. Well, truthfully I had nothing I really wanted to do. And so my father took it upon himself to drag us all to the Framingham Public Library... because I am forced to use my time wisely.
MORE TO THE POINT: driving by farm after farm, the signs began to blur. However, one in particular caught my eye (ow.). The sign read "Hopestill Reservation". Hopestill. Still hope. It got me thinking. What is hope?
Well, Webster's dictionary defines hope as: "The belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life" So still hoping is the relentless belief. But how long before one can't hope anymore?
When the cancer treatment doesn't work anymore? When the hurricanes and monsoons won't stop pounding your end of south-east Asian coast? When the rescue helicopters haven't showed up to pluck you out of the ocean where you have been patiently waiting for 4 days? I mean, I've noticed that humans have again and again exhibited the characteristic of being able to hope when ALL odds are against them. But at what point is it just not enough anymore?
I can't answer that question. The things that are important to me have never been pushed to the absolute limit... yet. I can only wish that when the time does come (because I do believe that this time comes in every person's life), I'll be able to work through it. I hope.
MORE TO THE POINT: driving by farm after farm, the signs began to blur. However, one in particular caught my eye (ow.). The sign read "Hopestill Reservation". Hopestill. Still hope. It got me thinking. What is hope?
Well, Webster's dictionary defines hope as: "The belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life" So still hoping is the relentless belief. But how long before one can't hope anymore?
When the cancer treatment doesn't work anymore? When the hurricanes and monsoons won't stop pounding your end of south-east Asian coast? When the rescue helicopters haven't showed up to pluck you out of the ocean where you have been patiently waiting for 4 days? I mean, I've noticed that humans have again and again exhibited the characteristic of being able to hope when ALL odds are against them. But at what point is it just not enough anymore?
I can't answer that question. The things that are important to me have never been pushed to the absolute limit... yet. I can only wish that when the time does come (because I do believe that this time comes in every person's life), I'll be able to work through it. I hope.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Eliminating Chaos
Why do I keep waiting. For my life to change, for my maturity and morality to grow. Why do I keep waiting for someone else to make it happen for me. Why do I keep waiting to take control. It's infuriating. And what's even more frustrating is that I can make it stop, make it go, make it be the best set of experiences of my life, just by pressing the button in my brain. But I'm too lazy, or too afraid of rejection or failure.
I've always been told, no one can do it for you. You live your life alone. It's a hurtful truth that one must learn, that EVERYone must learn, if they want to survive the harsh winter of their life. You've gotta do it yourself, and hope for the best by your own skill and coping. It's not the way it should be, but its the way it is.
Nature is a series of organized, systematic chaos. Humans try to eliminate that chaos. The reason political, economic, and legality system almost always fail to work (or at least have many pitfalls along the way), is because people are always trying to put it into a symmetrical pattern. People like symmetry. I've noticed that.
Maybe I should be noticing other things. Maybe not.
I've always been told, no one can do it for you. You live your life alone. It's a hurtful truth that one must learn, that EVERYone must learn, if they want to survive the harsh winter of their life. You've gotta do it yourself, and hope for the best by your own skill and coping. It's not the way it should be, but its the way it is.
Nature is a series of organized, systematic chaos. Humans try to eliminate that chaos. The reason political, economic, and legality system almost always fail to work (or at least have many pitfalls along the way), is because people are always trying to put it into a symmetrical pattern. People like symmetry. I've noticed that.
Maybe I should be noticing other things. Maybe not.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Hurt Junkie
Why do we continually put ourselves through torture only to catch a glimpse of what we can't have. I dunno, maybe it's just me. Yeah, yeah the grass is greener on the WHATEVER. It still doesn't change the fact. Fact. Stagnant. Constant. Unchanging. Shit.
"She says December, will help me remember."
WHYYYY why does life have to suck. Was the big wheel of fortune broken? Or just unlucky? Did it by chance land on SUCK instead of AWESOME and that was it? Maybe we have to change it ourselves. Whatever that means.
It's slipping through my fingers, like glitter in those of a toddler, no knowledge of the disappointment that will surely ensue. It's not fair, goddammit.
The melody hits me like a wall of sound, smashing into my brain into shards of hurt at the repeated realization that I can't have it. Over and over and over again like a mother yelling at her child. No, suffer.
Strangely enough, it's my drug. I know it's the closest I'll come to a taste - no, just the memory of happiness. I'm a hurt junkie. Crap.
And now I may never see her again.
"She says December, will help me remember."
WHYYYY why does life have to suck. Was the big wheel of fortune broken? Or just unlucky? Did it by chance land on SUCK instead of AWESOME and that was it? Maybe we have to change it ourselves. Whatever that means.
It's slipping through my fingers, like glitter in those of a toddler, no knowledge of the disappointment that will surely ensue. It's not fair, goddammit.
The melody hits me like a wall of sound, smashing into my brain into shards of hurt at the repeated realization that I can't have it. Over and over and over again like a mother yelling at her child. No, suffer.
Strangely enough, it's my drug. I know it's the closest I'll come to a taste - no, just the memory of happiness. I'm a hurt junkie. Crap.
And now I may never see her again.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Blocks
Closing time. Makes your heart ache don't it. You know what I dislike? When people make the argument that end should be happy.
No. They shouldn't.
Pretending to be la dee dah while your heart breaks (and may I remind you that is does NOT break even)is a lie to both ourselves and whoever, or whatever, we are saying goodbye to. LET'S BE REAL, PEOPLE. You're hurtin'. To feign happiness and joy is dishonesty. Love your feelings, learn to bring them into the light, where you can be proud of them. Bottling up your emotions that have to, long to come out, is dangerous and unhealthy, as we have all learned in 8th grade P.E. Don't deny it. You'll explode.
Anyway... I use that word way too much. Anyway, I was thinking about closing time as freshman year comes to an end. Dude. Changes. A lot of them. Like, I can't even begin to describe this shiz. It's just been a boatload of self-discovery, and discovery of other people too. It's all been good though. Someone once told me that no experience is ever wasted. Everything can be learned from. That's how i view this year.
No regrets, of course. Sometimes I just wish people would stay with me. Change is bad, I've decided but only when you're wishing it'll never come.
Before the year started, I cried. I actually bawled my eyes out for the end. The end of childhood, of grinning, of running around the playground, of pointing fingers and unwrapping white plastic lunch straws, of playing with blocks and having them knocked down. It's inevitable. Get used to it or get out of the way. Survival of the fittest, life's unfair, the whole nine yards. You learn, you adapt, or you perish.
You despise it, or you tolerate it and get along. This is life. This is us.
Pick up your blocks.
No. They shouldn't.
Pretending to be la dee dah while your heart breaks (and may I remind you that is does NOT break even)is a lie to both ourselves and whoever, or whatever, we are saying goodbye to. LET'S BE REAL, PEOPLE. You're hurtin'. To feign happiness and joy is dishonesty. Love your feelings, learn to bring them into the light, where you can be proud of them. Bottling up your emotions that have to, long to come out, is dangerous and unhealthy, as we have all learned in 8th grade P.E. Don't deny it. You'll explode.
Anyway... I use that word way too much. Anyway, I was thinking about closing time as freshman year comes to an end. Dude. Changes. A lot of them. Like, I can't even begin to describe this shiz. It's just been a boatload of self-discovery, and discovery of other people too. It's all been good though. Someone once told me that no experience is ever wasted. Everything can be learned from. That's how i view this year.
No regrets, of course. Sometimes I just wish people would stay with me. Change is bad, I've decided but only when you're wishing it'll never come.
Before the year started, I cried. I actually bawled my eyes out for the end. The end of childhood, of grinning, of running around the playground, of pointing fingers and unwrapping white plastic lunch straws, of playing with blocks and having them knocked down. It's inevitable. Get used to it or get out of the way. Survival of the fittest, life's unfair, the whole nine yards. You learn, you adapt, or you perish.
You despise it, or you tolerate it and get along. This is life. This is us.
Pick up your blocks.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Summatime & Dave
Ahhhhhh. Summer. Summa. Summatime (and the livin's easy?) I'm supposed to be doing math homework right now... but screw it, you know? It's summer time. And yes... the livin' is easy. Well, sort of.
Guess what. I found a high. Literally. You know that cute saying... "I remember when getting high was just on swing sets"? It's true. When I was little, I had an old, wooden swing suspended by two frayed white roped between two trees in my back yard. In my opinion, every kid should have this. Anyway, a couple years ago the old ropes finally gave out, unable to bend to my animated plea to complete and utter happiness. It had to come down.
HOWEVER
My daddy has just put it back up, after about 2 or 3 years. I never knew how much I missed it. Or how much it missed me. My legs contoured perfectly to its welcoming wooden bench. And when I'm rocking back and forth in it (and going really high too) I feel...free. Cliche, right? I know... but there really isn't any other way to describe it.
I feel such a rush as I fly forward. It feels dangerous and safe all at the same time. The wind flies over my face, through my hair, encircling me in its warm embrace. Blood flowing my legs as I pump them back and forth, back and forth. It's as close to high as I've ever come.
Another thing on my mind... I recently watched a Youtube video concerning Dave Matthews Band. The guy in the video was basically saying that Dave Matthews and all of the people who like his music are "fuckin' faggots". Yes, he really said that. Look it up. Now, besides being completely rude and uncalled for, in addition to extremely offensive... dude no.
He went on to say that "Nobody is born liking Dave Matthews...it's not a natural thing". First of all, fuck you, for your ignorant closed-mindedness. Second of all, I'm not gonna sink to your level and just say "oh... you suck man YOU'RE a fag." I've considered your point and yes. I do think that people "like" something just because their friends do. To fit in with the group. But is this such a bad thing?
I admit. I "like" Dave Matthews Band to fit in with the group. Hold, don't jump to conclusions. You mentioned before in your video that people use coping strategies. You used the example of hiding behind jokes to bring sensitive or dark subjects into the light so one is able to freely discuss them. For me, Dave is a coping strategy, and it works. So no. I don't think Dave's chord structures or lyrics are deep. BUT, they are a coping strategy that I use to find common ground with people I wouldn't otherwise talk to and get to know (who, by the way, are worth pretending to like something to gain access to).
Because I didn't know if you knew or not... but it's difficult gaining access to someone's personality and someone's friendship if you don't have that "key" - that one common thing that makes it less awkward. Dave is my key. Dave is my coping strategy. So the question is this: Is it better to have friends and have that unimportant, not so significant thing that you feign liking (which is WORTH it) or to not have friends and be completely honest with yourself. In my opinion, in this day and age, if you want to be successful in your life, it's better to overlook that coping strategy and focus on the relationships you've created. Also it got me thinking as to if it was possible to learn to like something if you've forced yourself to listen to it for the benefit of those relationships... because I'm pretty sure that's happening to me. He's pretty deep.
Guess what. I found a high. Literally. You know that cute saying... "I remember when getting high was just on swing sets"? It's true. When I was little, I had an old, wooden swing suspended by two frayed white roped between two trees in my back yard. In my opinion, every kid should have this. Anyway, a couple years ago the old ropes finally gave out, unable to bend to my animated plea to complete and utter happiness. It had to come down.
HOWEVER
My daddy has just put it back up, after about 2 or 3 years. I never knew how much I missed it. Or how much it missed me. My legs contoured perfectly to its welcoming wooden bench. And when I'm rocking back and forth in it (and going really high too) I feel...free. Cliche, right? I know... but there really isn't any other way to describe it.
I feel such a rush as I fly forward. It feels dangerous and safe all at the same time. The wind flies over my face, through my hair, encircling me in its warm embrace. Blood flowing my legs as I pump them back and forth, back and forth. It's as close to high as I've ever come.
Another thing on my mind... I recently watched a Youtube video concerning Dave Matthews Band. The guy in the video was basically saying that Dave Matthews and all of the people who like his music are "fuckin' faggots". Yes, he really said that. Look it up. Now, besides being completely rude and uncalled for, in addition to extremely offensive... dude no.
He went on to say that "Nobody is born liking Dave Matthews...it's not a natural thing". First of all, fuck you, for your ignorant closed-mindedness. Second of all, I'm not gonna sink to your level and just say "oh... you suck man YOU'RE a fag." I've considered your point and yes. I do think that people "like" something just because their friends do. To fit in with the group. But is this such a bad thing?
I admit. I "like" Dave Matthews Band to fit in with the group. Hold, don't jump to conclusions. You mentioned before in your video that people use coping strategies. You used the example of hiding behind jokes to bring sensitive or dark subjects into the light so one is able to freely discuss them. For me, Dave is a coping strategy, and it works. So no. I don't think Dave's chord structures or lyrics are deep. BUT, they are a coping strategy that I use to find common ground with people I wouldn't otherwise talk to and get to know (who, by the way, are worth pretending to like something to gain access to).
Because I didn't know if you knew or not... but it's difficult gaining access to someone's personality and someone's friendship if you don't have that "key" - that one common thing that makes it less awkward. Dave is my key. Dave is my coping strategy. So the question is this: Is it better to have friends and have that unimportant, not so significant thing that you feign liking (which is WORTH it) or to not have friends and be completely honest with yourself. In my opinion, in this day and age, if you want to be successful in your life, it's better to overlook that coping strategy and focus on the relationships you've created. Also it got me thinking as to if it was possible to learn to like something if you've forced yourself to listen to it for the benefit of those relationships... because I'm pretty sure that's happening to me. He's pretty deep.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Pure.
This warfare of me and myself has been going on for decades. I am just now becoming aware of its affect on me. Me and my soul. What is a soul? A slide show of memories and experiences all circuiting at once, like a string of multicolored horses circling around a track? No. That metaphor uses the approval others and their desire to bend you to their own agendas.
Is it really up to a human being to end another's life to end? I don't think we should be the ones to decide when that should be. It destroys the clock.
These feelings, welling up inside me. They're becoming my secret place. The place I go when I don't want to think about anything logical, practical, real. It haunts me, when these emotions seem like my weakness. Like a kid stealing candy. It tastes so good, but the aftertaste smolders with guilt.
They feed me, keep me sane. Either that or keep me company in my own insanity. Which is better?
There is a filing cabinet in my mind. The kind of filing cabinet that you see in old offices and schools, where people shouldn't care, but they do. I try to file these secrets, to find a place where I can organize them and shape them into the opposite of chaos... but it's impossible. That's like trying to mold clay into a priceless gem. It doesn't have it in it.
Normal isn't in the glossary of these secrets. It's a quiet chaos. A low rumble of continuous, pulsing thunder. Like the sound of all the violins playing before the curtain opens. "I just want to be pure."
All I want. Is to be pure.
Is it really up to a human being to end another's life to end? I don't think we should be the ones to decide when that should be. It destroys the clock.
These feelings, welling up inside me. They're becoming my secret place. The place I go when I don't want to think about anything logical, practical, real. It haunts me, when these emotions seem like my weakness. Like a kid stealing candy. It tastes so good, but the aftertaste smolders with guilt.
They feed me, keep me sane. Either that or keep me company in my own insanity. Which is better?
There is a filing cabinet in my mind. The kind of filing cabinet that you see in old offices and schools, where people shouldn't care, but they do. I try to file these secrets, to find a place where I can organize them and shape them into the opposite of chaos... but it's impossible. That's like trying to mold clay into a priceless gem. It doesn't have it in it.
Normal isn't in the glossary of these secrets. It's a quiet chaos. A low rumble of continuous, pulsing thunder. Like the sound of all the violins playing before the curtain opens. "I just want to be pure."
All I want. Is to be pure.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Yeah, yeah. I know. It's been awhile. Get over it.It's not like there's really anyone listening anyway.
You know, it's funny when something that you see happening, that has nothing to do with you, can voice your opinion as strongly as if it did. Tonight, it's Friday night. I am a 15 year old girl, with friends. I should be going out, shouldn't I? Instead I'm sitting on my bed watching Glee on Hulu. How pathetic does that sound. A commercial came on advertising the popular contest reality show So You Think You Can Dance. At the top of the screen, there was a question with two options: Yes or No. The question was this: Is this relevant to you? Something clicked in my brain. I couldn't click an option. I genuinely and legitimately couldn't decide. And I've been dancing for 4 years.
The thing that crossed my indecisive mind was simple. It crosses every one's mind at one point. But because I have no way of knowing what anyone else is thinking unless they want me to, I have no idea if how much I am brooding over this is "normal". What is my purpose. You know, my place in life. The age old inquiry, Why the fuck am I here? Then another question popped into my head: What am I good at? I know this sounds like an episode of Barney concerning the self-confidence of an 8 year old, but bear with me. I can't help it.
I examine my classmates. Almost all of them mean something to the people around them. Sports, I see mostly. They have a team who relies on them. Earlier in the school year I tried out for the freshman basketball team, but I didn't make it because I had overestimated by skills in the sport. Is that what I'm doing with the rest of my minuscule, meaningless life? No one relies on me.
I'm being pretentious about what's going to happen to me and for me. My 4 years of dance have taught me that it's not going anywhere. I'm not good enough. There's nothing to fill the gap. These students have sports, music, theater, academic excellence to give them a ride to the top. I have none of these. Everything I've started that would hand me the same opportunities are gone now. I gave up violin in second grade, the saxophone in seventh grade, basketball in eighth grade. Oh. And as of now I have a D in geometry. A FUCKING D.
I'm just feeling so much pressure from everyone, from everything to get my act together before it's too late. Before I end up working at Wendy's. Right now I feel I have nothing going for me, even my social life is ruins, spent sitting on my bed watching other people have fun. I just don't know how to start. What's relevant to me?
You know, it's funny when something that you see happening, that has nothing to do with you, can voice your opinion as strongly as if it did. Tonight, it's Friday night. I am a 15 year old girl, with friends. I should be going out, shouldn't I? Instead I'm sitting on my bed watching Glee on Hulu. How pathetic does that sound. A commercial came on advertising the popular contest reality show So You Think You Can Dance. At the top of the screen, there was a question with two options: Yes or No. The question was this: Is this relevant to you? Something clicked in my brain. I couldn't click an option. I genuinely and legitimately couldn't decide. And I've been dancing for 4 years.
The thing that crossed my indecisive mind was simple. It crosses every one's mind at one point. But because I have no way of knowing what anyone else is thinking unless they want me to, I have no idea if how much I am brooding over this is "normal". What is my purpose. You know, my place in life. The age old inquiry, Why the fuck am I here? Then another question popped into my head: What am I good at? I know this sounds like an episode of Barney concerning the self-confidence of an 8 year old, but bear with me. I can't help it.
I examine my classmates. Almost all of them mean something to the people around them. Sports, I see mostly. They have a team who relies on them. Earlier in the school year I tried out for the freshman basketball team, but I didn't make it because I had overestimated by skills in the sport. Is that what I'm doing with the rest of my minuscule, meaningless life? No one relies on me.
I'm being pretentious about what's going to happen to me and for me. My 4 years of dance have taught me that it's not going anywhere. I'm not good enough. There's nothing to fill the gap. These students have sports, music, theater, academic excellence to give them a ride to the top. I have none of these. Everything I've started that would hand me the same opportunities are gone now. I gave up violin in second grade, the saxophone in seventh grade, basketball in eighth grade. Oh. And as of now I have a D in geometry. A FUCKING D.
I'm just feeling so much pressure from everyone, from everything to get my act together before it's too late. Before I end up working at Wendy's. Right now I feel I have nothing going for me, even my social life is ruins, spent sitting on my bed watching other people have fun. I just don't know how to start. What's relevant to me?
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Well this is a Short One.
Sooooo I was just writing a Facebook note like... 2 seconds ago - something like that. A Facebook note is when some guy writes a bunch of questions down on a word document type thingy and people copy and paste it and answer the questions. For bored people. You know. Anyway while I was filling this stupid thing out I noticed that these people, the ones who write the notes, try to squish someone's identity into 50-odd questions. And I don't think that's how it works. I don't think you can judge someone and learn about who they are by reading a note about if they prefer Coke or Pepsi, or what they got for their last birthday. It kinda seems like that's what they're trying to do. I dunno, just thinking about stuff.
I go to a public High school. In public high school they do this thing where you have no school for one week in February... called February Break. Tomorrow is the last day of February Break. I have done absolutely nothing. Not one thing. And I don't mean nothing productive. I mean nothing. I haven't hung out with friends, I haven't gone to the movies with people, I haven't slept over anybody's house or had someone sleep over mine. I am thoroughly pissed about this. I've watched a lot of movies. That's the extent of my break. This situation just seems like a concentrated model of my life. I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen to me, and for some reason I can't go out and get things done for myself. Meh. I'm sad.
In other depressingly uneventful news... I have started Catcher in the Rye and so far... not impressed. I mean, I can understand where people see its meaningfulness and such... I guess I'll just have to power through the slow beginning.
That's all for now kids.
I go to a public High school. In public high school they do this thing where you have no school for one week in February... called February Break. Tomorrow is the last day of February Break. I have done absolutely nothing. Not one thing. And I don't mean nothing productive. I mean nothing. I haven't hung out with friends, I haven't gone to the movies with people, I haven't slept over anybody's house or had someone sleep over mine. I am thoroughly pissed about this. I've watched a lot of movies. That's the extent of my break. This situation just seems like a concentrated model of my life. I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen to me, and for some reason I can't go out and get things done for myself. Meh. I'm sad.
In other depressingly uneventful news... I have started Catcher in the Rye and so far... not impressed. I mean, I can understand where people see its meaningfulness and such... I guess I'll just have to power through the slow beginning.
That's all for now kids.
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Vast Self-Importance of Humans
I am pissed off, pissed off I tell you! The world's gonna keep on a-turnin' (pay attention, now), but it don't change the fact that I am PEEVED to the highest degree.
The reason for my peevity... sure that can be a word... today is the arrogance and self-importance of the human race. Lemme start off with a question. How old is the Earth. 7th grade science class dictates that the world is a little over 4 billion years old. Now, how old is the human race? 100,000 years, maybe 200,000 years old?
Did you know that 90% of all of the organisms that EVER lived on Earth are extinct? Now, assuming the extinction of organisms is evenly spanned out over time, it would be logical that humans are NOT responsible for MOST of the dead organisms no longer living on the Earth. So WHYYYYY why why why why why do we feel responsible for all of the organisms on Earth NOWWWW?!?!?!
It is NOT the fault of Americans or the Chinese or the Russians or humans in general that the polar bear will be no more in a couple 100 years. It is NOT the responsibility of humans to anchor this organism on this Earth indefinitely. George Carlin was completely and utterly correct when he said to LEAVE NATURE ALONE.
No more is it the responsibility of humans to "take care" of the planet. I put those two words in quotes because as if it is POSSIBLE for humans to look after this little blue and green ball swirling around in space. As if it is POSSIBLE for the Earth to end if humans dissapear for a couple days. The Earth has been around for 4 BILLION FRIGGEN YEARS. it has undergone world wide floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, TWO ice ages, plus dozens of other stuff. And we think... a couple of plastic bags? A few water bottles on the ground of the park? Humans aren't gonna stop the Earth in its tracks! That's a hoot! The Earth isn't going anywhere! WE ARE.
The reason for my peevity... sure that can be a word... today is the arrogance and self-importance of the human race. Lemme start off with a question. How old is the Earth. 7th grade science class dictates that the world is a little over 4 billion years old. Now, how old is the human race? 100,000 years, maybe 200,000 years old?
Did you know that 90% of all of the organisms that EVER lived on Earth are extinct? Now, assuming the extinction of organisms is evenly spanned out over time, it would be logical that humans are NOT responsible for MOST of the dead organisms no longer living on the Earth. So WHYYYYY why why why why why do we feel responsible for all of the organisms on Earth NOWWWW?!?!?!
It is NOT the fault of Americans or the Chinese or the Russians or humans in general that the polar bear will be no more in a couple 100 years. It is NOT the responsibility of humans to anchor this organism on this Earth indefinitely. George Carlin was completely and utterly correct when he said to LEAVE NATURE ALONE.
No more is it the responsibility of humans to "take care" of the planet. I put those two words in quotes because as if it is POSSIBLE for humans to look after this little blue and green ball swirling around in space. As if it is POSSIBLE for the Earth to end if humans dissapear for a couple days. The Earth has been around for 4 BILLION FRIGGEN YEARS. it has undergone world wide floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, TWO ice ages, plus dozens of other stuff. And we think... a couple of plastic bags? A few water bottles on the ground of the park? Humans aren't gonna stop the Earth in its tracks! That's a hoot! The Earth isn't going anywhere! WE ARE.
Friday, February 5, 2010
I Knew the Thorpedo Would Come Back to Haunt us All
So as everyone on the freakin' GLOBE is aware of, people do completely stupid things without thinking. At all. Then they get surprised when things go horribly wrong and kick themselves over and over and over again for doing the completely stupid thing. I will now charm you all with a story of my personal experience with this thing. It involves the police, a large and rather unpleasant woman, and jittery panic. None of these things appeal to me anymore.
Play by Play version here we go!
I'm sitting in Latin yesterday. You can imagine the joy in my heart. I dunno what I was going but at that moment the phone rang in the classroom and Ms. Clueless AHEM (something in my throat) went to go pick it up. Looking at me she hung up the phone after a very confusing one-sided conversation. Apparently I was being called down to B-House. Enter suspenseful and dramatic music here. So I get down there, am forwarded to the cafeteria, and sit at a table with a bunch of other people already there. Most of them are juniors. Mr. Assistant Principal comes in... and tells us all about a Facebook fanpage we've all apparently had a hand in about a substitute teacher appropriately named... the Thorpedo.
People, do you even wanna know a person named "thorpedo"? She is a LEGEND in our town. She's only been there for like... what 80 odd years? A somewhat husky woman who enjoys torturing little schoolchildren and stealing candy from the teachers she is subbing for. No lie. So anyway a Facebook fanpage was made making fun of her usingthe name given to her awhile back and which has been passed down to each class ever since. Seriously, people who are out of COLLEGE were writing on this page.
Don't ask me why, but only about 10 people were called down to talk to DiLo. Go figure... I was one of them. Guys, I don't even remember what I wrote it was like something about breathing loudly. The point is I got in major trouble for it - the police were involved, my parents were pissed, the whole nine. All because some stupid mother ratted us out to the good old boys in blue downtown. Thanks buddy. Moral of the story: The Thorpedo and MnMs should say goodbye to one another.
ANYWAYS, who watched the grammyssss I know I... didn't. Missed it unfortunately. But I did catch Gaga and Elton's performance on Youtube the day after. Amaaaazing I might add. Lady Gaga is a subject for tomorrow's post but... lets just say that piano will be stolen if not chained up. Loved it. Alrighty thats about it. See yahh :)
Play by Play version here we go!
I'm sitting in Latin yesterday. You can imagine the joy in my heart. I dunno what I was going but at that moment the phone rang in the classroom and Ms. Clueless AHEM (something in my throat) went to go pick it up. Looking at me she hung up the phone after a very confusing one-sided conversation. Apparently I was being called down to B-House. Enter suspenseful and dramatic music here. So I get down there, am forwarded to the cafeteria, and sit at a table with a bunch of other people already there. Most of them are juniors. Mr. Assistant Principal comes in... and tells us all about a Facebook fanpage we've all apparently had a hand in about a substitute teacher appropriately named... the Thorpedo.
People, do you even wanna know a person named "thorpedo"? She is a LEGEND in our town. She's only been there for like... what 80 odd years? A somewhat husky woman who enjoys torturing little schoolchildren and stealing candy from the teachers she is subbing for. No lie. So anyway a Facebook fanpage was made making fun of her usingthe name given to her awhile back and which has been passed down to each class ever since. Seriously, people who are out of COLLEGE were writing on this page.
Don't ask me why, but only about 10 people were called down to talk to DiLo. Go figure... I was one of them. Guys, I don't even remember what I wrote it was like something about breathing loudly. The point is I got in major trouble for it - the police were involved, my parents were pissed, the whole nine. All because some stupid mother ratted us out to the good old boys in blue downtown. Thanks buddy. Moral of the story: The Thorpedo and MnMs should say goodbye to one another.
ANYWAYS, who watched the grammyssss I know I... didn't. Missed it unfortunately. But I did catch Gaga and Elton's performance on Youtube the day after. Amaaaazing I might add. Lady Gaga is a subject for tomorrow's post but... lets just say that piano will be stolen if not chained up. Loved it. Alrighty thats about it. See yahh :)
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Who the Hell Wears Nike Airs with a Dress...
I have a really lost and confused look on my face as I hit that looming blue "New Post" button. I honestly don't have anything to say... This has been somewhat of a problem in this stage of my life. And so I reveal to you... all 0 of my followers... another one of my random epiphanies. One of my serendipitous realizations about my life that is usually kind of negative. This one is about my social relationships and what I wish I could change about them. Lyric class, for example. My pro-lyric class is filled with about 8 juniors and 2 freshman, only one of which I talk to. These girls friggen RULE the class. I want to be included, but I'm THAT kid. Ya know, the silent one on the edge who says something maybe every 20 minutes. BAH life ain't fair.
So often I find myself searching for something to say to fill the awkward silences. I even eavesdrop on conversations in Main Hall sometimes in an attempt to master the art of casual chitchat. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much. I have never been the quiet girl, but I am realizing that if I don't get my small-talking act together, I'll get there.
Dreaded Grade Update time! Okay guys... don't panic. But report cards come out TOMORROW. Oh shit. Tomorrow. What the HELL am I gonna do. I've kind of mapped out the whole parents explaining thing in my head. I figure I'll just give it to 'em straight.
"Dad, I want you to know that I'm taking ownership of this, it's my responsibility and it will get better. I start out fresh with an A+ at the beginning of this term and I am doing everything in my power to keep it at that level." Sound like BS? Yeah. That's cause it is.
ANYWAY, that's about it. Kay bye.
So often I find myself searching for something to say to fill the awkward silences. I even eavesdrop on conversations in Main Hall sometimes in an attempt to master the art of casual chitchat. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much. I have never been the quiet girl, but I am realizing that if I don't get my small-talking act together, I'll get there.
Dreaded Grade Update time! Okay guys... don't panic. But report cards come out TOMORROW. Oh shit. Tomorrow. What the HELL am I gonna do. I've kind of mapped out the whole parents explaining thing in my head. I figure I'll just give it to 'em straight.
"Dad, I want you to know that I'm taking ownership of this, it's my responsibility and it will get better. I start out fresh with an A+ at the beginning of this term and I am doing everything in my power to keep it at that level." Sound like BS? Yeah. That's cause it is.
ANYWAY, that's about it. Kay bye.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Stuck in Relative
This is the third time I've attempted to write this blog. I'm finding this self reflection/improvement thing harder than I thought. But then again, so does everything else I do. WHAT THE FRICK DO I WRITE ABOUT?!?!?! I guess that's just it. I'm waiting for my life to start and I'm expecting it to just happen, with tons of exciting adventures to blog about along the way. I think I need to wait a little longer. All those parents and teachers were right then. Things probably will be different when I'm older. As FREAKING cliche as this sounds, right now, I should enjoy just being a kid. Oh goody.
The only problem is, this age is way too complicated to enjoy anything. Kid and adult are absolute, and I'm stuck in a world of relative. Expectations are through the roof, and under the floor at the same time. I wait for things to get easier, and get yelled at for it. I get confused about what's best for me, when people around me make it seem so easy. I'll just have to stick it out then. Whatever, when I can make my own decisions it'll be slightly different.
I've been playing basketball since I was about 9. Every year I played Franklin Rec Ball, and so I thought, was pretty good at it. About three months ago, I tried out for the freshman basketball team and was miserably rejected. It was terrible. I didn't have any of the jerseys that the other more experienced girls had, I knew none of the drills that they knew, I stuck out like a sore thumb. The worst part about it was that I was so sure I'd make the team. Easily. And it just makes me wonder... what other things am I so sure of that just won't happen? College? A job? Marriage? Kids? Happiness?
What about all those things that matter? That are expected of me? What if I'm just not able to do them? What if I'm not good enough, pretty enough, strong enough? What happens then?
The only problem is, this age is way too complicated to enjoy anything. Kid and adult are absolute, and I'm stuck in a world of relative. Expectations are through the roof, and under the floor at the same time. I wait for things to get easier, and get yelled at for it. I get confused about what's best for me, when people around me make it seem so easy. I'll just have to stick it out then. Whatever, when I can make my own decisions it'll be slightly different.
I've been playing basketball since I was about 9. Every year I played Franklin Rec Ball, and so I thought, was pretty good at it. About three months ago, I tried out for the freshman basketball team and was miserably rejected. It was terrible. I didn't have any of the jerseys that the other more experienced girls had, I knew none of the drills that they knew, I stuck out like a sore thumb. The worst part about it was that I was so sure I'd make the team. Easily. And it just makes me wonder... what other things am I so sure of that just won't happen? College? A job? Marriage? Kids? Happiness?
What about all those things that matter? That are expected of me? What if I'm just not able to do them? What if I'm not good enough, pretty enough, strong enough? What happens then?
Friday, January 29, 2010
Alone on a Friday Night...
In my quest for awesomeness, and being a 15 year old girl, today I attempted to do the impossible: educate myslef on the economical financial crisis. I know. Katie, what the hell are you doing. HOWEVER: also being a problem solver, I decided to do it in the least complicated way imaginable. I am referring, of course, to Youtube. This is what I found:
The vlogbrothers are pretty much my intellectually stimulating while also being a brain cooking form of entertainment. NERDFIGHTERS <3. so check em out.
Kay that's it for me tonight. I still don't understand how the economy works but I guess, ya know..... who cares.
The vlogbrothers are pretty much my intellectually stimulating while also being a brain cooking form of entertainment. NERDFIGHTERS <3. so check em out.
Kay that's it for me tonight. I still don't understand how the economy works but I guess, ya know..... who cares.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
New Revelations and Midterms Miseries
Sometimes, I have random revelations. Like when I realize the next morning that staying up late wasn't such a good idea and I want to bash my own head against the wall for my spur of the moment stupidity. Or when I realize that I have to inevitably face the music and change upon receiving almost all B minuses on my report card. Or when I realize that it's not about me and my own problems or revelations at all, but other people and helping them with their problems and revelations, and that, if this is true, I in turn will probably be helped with my problems and revelations and therefore we all depend on each other and the Lion King was true after all.
One of the most relevant revelations (potential tongue twister? I think so)in my life this moment is that I have never had the experience of reading Catcher in the Rye. This was recently brought to my attention upon hearing about the death of J.D Salinger (Thank you, Tom Brokaw) and I know, I know, I'm totally Michael - Jackson's - Death-ing this thing by mentioning it at all, but it's important to me as of now, so I'd like to share. Being my blog and all.
Anyway, I haven't read this seemingly magnificent entity of a novel and that is my February Resolution. I guess I have monthly resolutions now. Oky Doke. Yes. My monthly resolution is to at least start Catcher in the Rye. Done.
On a non-related note, I am truly deeply sorry for being inexplicably absent from the Blogosphere for the past couple of days as I was experiencing the social and independent breakdowns of freshmen first-time midterms. I kid you not, I literally studied more for these three tests than I have studied for anything in my entire life, and don't have much to show for it. It's not that my geometry teacher is a total nub when it comes to actual teaching. It's not even that nothing on any of the study guides (completed, studied for hours) seemed to be on the actual test. It's that somehow, I know in the recesses of my twisted and not fully developed brain that getting a 65%, a 70%, and a 76% is completely, undoubtedly, and entirely my fault. It was something I did or didn't do that needs to be not done or done next time. So yeah. That's my life right now.
One of the most relevant revelations (potential tongue twister? I think so)in my life this moment is that I have never had the experience of reading Catcher in the Rye. This was recently brought to my attention upon hearing about the death of J.D Salinger (Thank you, Tom Brokaw) and I know, I know, I'm totally Michael - Jackson's - Death-ing this thing by mentioning it at all, but it's important to me as of now, so I'd like to share. Being my blog and all.
Anyway, I haven't read this seemingly magnificent entity of a novel and that is my February Resolution. I guess I have monthly resolutions now. Oky Doke. Yes. My monthly resolution is to at least start Catcher in the Rye. Done.
On a non-related note, I am truly deeply sorry for being inexplicably absent from the Blogosphere for the past couple of days as I was experiencing the social and independent breakdowns of freshmen first-time midterms. I kid you not, I literally studied more for these three tests than I have studied for anything in my entire life, and don't have much to show for it. It's not that my geometry teacher is a total nub when it comes to actual teaching. It's not even that nothing on any of the study guides (completed, studied for hours) seemed to be on the actual test. It's that somehow, I know in the recesses of my twisted and not fully developed brain that getting a 65%, a 70%, and a 76% is completely, undoubtedly, and entirely my fault. It was something I did or didn't do that needs to be not done or done next time. So yeah. That's my life right now.
Friday, January 22, 2010
I Heart Napping
My life. My life is full of repetition. Of rituals and redundancy. Every day is the same. I feel like... I'm stuck. Like I want to leave, to get out of this house, this town, but I've put down too many roots that it would be impossible to depart without regret. It is the roots that bind me, that hold me to my routine abyss.
It shows itself in the way I constantly stay up late (like I'm doing right now) and regret it in the morning when I am all but dead. In the way I say the same things to the same people, wear the same clothes, the same hair.
Anyway today, my stress level skyrocketed, if you couldn't already tell. That's probably why the above two paragraphs sound disgustingly depressive. But hey. Who can maintain a positive attitude during MIDTERMS WEEK. AHH!!! I've been trying, I really have. But come on. What the hell was my health teacher thinking when she decided to add a term test onto Monday after she KNEW we were going to have two midterms that day. Seriously. WTF.
On the brighter side (it really shouldn't be all that bright) track is over tomorrow. Today during practice, some kid decided it would be funny to throw cup of water at another kid, spraying everyone around him (INCLUDING ME). Last meet tomorrow, then we're done. Finito. Caput.
So that's today. In a nutshell. I actually kept a pretty good record. The only time I was reprimanded was when Daddy told me I couldn't be taking 2 hour naps after practice every day. HAHAHAHAHA aritey Dad. Whatever you say.
It shows itself in the way I constantly stay up late (like I'm doing right now) and regret it in the morning when I am all but dead. In the way I say the same things to the same people, wear the same clothes, the same hair.
Anyway today, my stress level skyrocketed, if you couldn't already tell. That's probably why the above two paragraphs sound disgustingly depressive. But hey. Who can maintain a positive attitude during MIDTERMS WEEK. AHH!!! I've been trying, I really have. But come on. What the hell was my health teacher thinking when she decided to add a term test onto Monday after she KNEW we were going to have two midterms that day. Seriously. WTF.
On the brighter side (it really shouldn't be all that bright) track is over tomorrow. Today during practice, some kid decided it would be funny to throw cup of water at another kid, spraying everyone around him (INCLUDING ME). Last meet tomorrow, then we're done. Finito. Caput.
So that's today. In a nutshell. I actually kept a pretty good record. The only time I was reprimanded was when Daddy told me I couldn't be taking 2 hour naps after practice every day. HAHAHAHAHA aritey Dad. Whatever you say.
Here Goes.
So here's the beef. I am in the midst of self discovery, as most humans ages 13 through fill - in - age - here (does it ever really end?) are. And, like all humans, I feel the need to tell people about my life. Ya know, self expression and what not. You might as well skip this one, it's nothing special. I haven't moved to South Africa or started a bizarre art collection or any of those things. It's mainly for myself. It is me.
Me, Katie. Age 15. And Katie's gonna be honest. For once, brutally honest. So often we find ourselves, or at least I do, pretending what we want to happen actually did. Rarely the case, hmm? I admit it. I am a compulsive liar. HOWEVER: This is a challenge. This blog is complete honesty. Every gory detail of it. I lie, it dies. Bottom line.
That's first of all.
Second of all, this being a recording of events, I figure I should have a goal relating not to the blog, itself, but to my life. Or what I hope my life could be like. My new year's resolution this year was to (anti-climactic drum roll, please) make my life better. Yup, that's it. I do mean every aspect of it. Exercise/Diet, relationships, grades, work ethic, you name it. I will not be a copy! I will not work at the gas station down the street (which, may I say, has an excellent Hubba Bubba gum variety).
As Davey Wavey said, rather than point fingers at other people, it's much more productive to turn attention inward, and overcome our own challenges. So yeah, that's pretty much it. Ummm... kay this is just like an intro blog thingy. I'm doing another one for today about, ya know. today.
Arite, here goes. With any luck, I will disappear in no time. --K
Me, Katie. Age 15. And Katie's gonna be honest. For once, brutally honest. So often we find ourselves, or at least I do, pretending what we want to happen actually did. Rarely the case, hmm? I admit it. I am a compulsive liar. HOWEVER: This is a challenge. This blog is complete honesty. Every gory detail of it. I lie, it dies. Bottom line.
That's first of all.
Second of all, this being a recording of events, I figure I should have a goal relating not to the blog, itself, but to my life. Or what I hope my life could be like. My new year's resolution this year was to (anti-climactic drum roll, please) make my life better. Yup, that's it. I do mean every aspect of it. Exercise/Diet, relationships, grades, work ethic, you name it. I will not be a copy! I will not work at the gas station down the street (which, may I say, has an excellent Hubba Bubba gum variety).
As Davey Wavey said, rather than point fingers at other people, it's much more productive to turn attention inward, and overcome our own challenges. So yeah, that's pretty much it. Ummm... kay this is just like an intro blog thingy. I'm doing another one for today about, ya know. today.
Arite, here goes. With any luck, I will disappear in no time. --K
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