emENIGma

The devil and god are raging inside me.

2009-02-25T06:35:00.003-05:00

Oh. My. God.

I love Adobe Illustrator, Adobe InDesign, and Adobe Photoshop. They are, by far, my top three computer programs of all time. Yes, it is 6:30 in the morning. No, I haven't been to sleep yet. Yes, I've been here at the library since I got off work at 1 am. No, I cannot feel my arms anymore (or my butt). Yes, I have been working on one project this whole time.

And I'm okay with that.

I freaking love my major.

Romance fail

2009-02-15T20:56:00.002-05:00

If you're looking for a good laugh (at my expense), read my latest post on my food blog. If I can laugh at it, you'll be a rotflcopter for sure.

More shameless self-promotion

2009-01-29T09:02:00.002-05:00

My first, class-oriented foodie blog is up and running! Check it out; we're going to be learning some really cool stuff this quarter and we have to post it all. Interviews, interactive maps, slideshows, video...it should be interesting.

My official foodie blog (for Backdrop magazine's new website) is still in the works. If you have suggestions as to what I should make, feel free to comment!

I'm making an effort to post more

2009-01-20T18:18:00.002-05:00

And not just my personal life. I want to blog like a professional; I want to be a social commentator.

Additionally, I'm going to take this opportunity to shamelessly self-promote. In the next week, I'll be starting a prototype blog as a class project; it will be all about cooking on a tight budget. Next month, Backdrop (the magazine I work for) will be launching it's official website. I'll be an official blogger for this site, on the same topic. The first blog will only be active until March. The second will (hopefully) be active for the next year or two. Links TBA.

Now. I was using StumbleUpon today and found this page on gay marriage. Now, I don't think that the government has any right to allow or disallow gay marriage; that decision should be left up to individual religious leaders. But this article cracked me up; bureaucracy at its absolute finest. What is wrong with this country when two loving men are not allowed to remain married (through the state's own mistake, no less), but a man and woman who hate each other have every right to remain together for as long as they wish?

Silly, silly technicalities.

Why literary nerds have more fun

2009-01-15T23:37:00.003-05:00

I feel like tonight will be a pivotal night for me, the type of night I'll hold in memory for quite some time. It's Thursday night, which might as well be a Saturday in Athens. I'm sitting in my tiny attic apartment with my boyfriend, cigarette smoke filtering through the skylight as ashes fall into a coffee cup. We're discussing our writing styles and Ginsberg and philosophy and creativity in general under the influence of beer and tequila. And I think I've reached another epiphany about soulmates.

I had just finished reading the first part of Ginsberg's Howl and discussing the finer points of the poem ("boxcar boxcar boxcar" and powerful speed-induced rhythms), when he interrupted me to say, "I love you." And that is what it's all about. Spending two solid hours just talking, bouncing ideas off of each other in a relaxed frenzy and realizing what it means to finally have someone understand you.

Everything is gonna be alright, be strong, believe.

2009-01-08T08:31:00.002-05:00

Last night, I committed academic suicide. I signed up for my third journalism class of the quarter.

It should be noted that I am also taking an English class and a film criticism class. All five classes require an insane amount of writing. All five classes are work-intensive. I have a project, if not two or three, due every week but one.

And I did this willingly. Cheerfully, even. Why? I'm not really sure.

I enjoy challenging myself. And although these classes will require a lot of work, most of it won't feel like work. Because these are the classes that will teach me how to do what I want to do for a living. I might even go so far as to call them "fun."

So here I am. It's 8:30 in the morning. I've been up this early all week. I haven't gone to bed before 1 am at all either. And I love it.

It'll be okay.

Rambling

2008-12-19T01:49:00.002-05:00

I used to keep a paper journal. Sometimes I still write in it, but rarely. More often, when I have a thought that I want to record, I post it on this blog. It always turns out more generic, but I'm really okay with that. My fingers flying across the keyboard are more accurate than a pen on paper. It's really skipping a step for me; the words appear on the screen as I'm thinking them, whereas when I'm writing there's a mental gap, a bridge that I have to cross to make the words appear. There's more of a stream-of-consciousness effect with a keyboard. Plus there's the added bonus of being able to backspace, to erase mistakes, to word my thoughts with precision.

I've kept a paper journal since I was in kindergarten. That's over fifteen years of my life, recorded on paper. I'm currently in the process of archiving the past six years of my life, transferring the blog posts from the internet to a word processing document, so I can print them and have a copy on paper that somewhat matches the medium of tradition for me. I don't even know why I'm writing this now, except for the fact that it seems important and posting it to my blog is easier, more convenient than pulling out my notebook, finding a pen, turning on a light, and taking the time to write it all down. It's kind of sad that this is how it's turned out; from real writing to just typing my thoughts onto a screen, no medium, no thought process behind it. Just moving my fingers as my mind sees fit. There isn't even a connection between the two. My mind has a thought and my fingers express it. It's weird, you know?

I think it's representative of where society is going. We've become a people that facilitates the notion of "think before you speak;" actions come before thoughts, and the consequences are ignored almost entirely.

Tonight I was at a bar in my hometown and it was so surreal; I saw the most random collection of people from my past. And as I was leaving, I saw this guy I knew and this girl I didn't (though I think she was a friend of a friend) all over each other in a semi-private corner outside. And it just exemplifies what we've become; think first, act next, deal with it later. Will either of them remember what happened at 1:15 am? Will either of them care?

I don't really know where I'm going with this post. I'm a bit drunk and I'm just letting my fingers do the talking. How uncommon is that?

Dreaming and pretending

2008-12-18T19:09:00.003-05:00

Lately I've been having these weird baby dreams. I'll be pregnant, or a new mom. I never really know who the dad is, or even if there IS a father, but that never seems to matter. Then something weird happens. One time, the baby started talking...like an adult. Another time, someone stole the baby from me.

I'm big on dream analysis. Not in the psycho-babble way, but in a subconscious revelation way. My mother thinks that it's because I'm coming to terms with my new responsibilities as an adult. I am more inclined to think that it's a manifestation of the age-old cliche: the ticking of the female biological clock.

If my boyfriend happens to read this, I want to make it perfectly clear: I DO NOT WANT A BABY RIGHT NOW.

That being said, I am really just becoming more aware of my own mortality than ever before in my life. Think about it...when my mother was my age, she was engaged. When my grandmother was my age, she was already married. Granted, society has pushed back the average age of marriage; being 23 and unattached is the new norm. And I certainly have no desire to rush into any lifelong commitments, be they child or marriage. I can't even decide on a major/minor combination, for God's sake.

But the fact is, I am starting to complete those items on my to-do list for life.

Graduate high school: check
Go to college: check
Move out: check
Find a career: not yet
Get married: not yet
Have a family: not yet

Yes, this is basic. But it's still half-finished. How weird is that?

Sometimes I feel like I'm just a little kid, playing pretend. Other times, I think that I'm not playing anymore.

2008-12-14T22:31:00.002-05:00

Hey. Could we do that again? I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant, you know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continuously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know?

I've been having a terrible time at work lately. Not because it's particularly difficult, but because it's mind-numbingly easy. There's nothing more depressing or frustrating than working retail during the holiday season. I'm an ant.

The other day, I was getting ready to go home, when one last customer walked up to my register. I started to say hello, but she cut me off, pointing at her ears and saying that she's deaf. I smiled and rang her out. As she's getting ready to leave, I tell her "have a good night" in sign language. And the woman flips out on me. She's so excited, she's stammering and fluttering her hands.

"It's easy, it's easy!" she exclaimed, "Drive...read..." Each word is punctuated by the sign. "Keep learning!" she said as she waved goodbye.

For a moment, I stopped being an ant. Unfortunately, those moments are few and far between. Everyone is conditioned to be ants, not just me.

On an unrelated note, I lost my story. I've been working on a short story for a few months now. I finally started typing up the first final draft, and was on a roll. Really, it was brilliant. And most of it was fresh, not written down at all. And I, idiot that I am, didn't save it. So when my computer died today, and closed down all my applications, my work was gone. Auto-recover did nothing. I don't remember a word of it. It was just stream-of-consciousness writing.

I tend to live with the thought that everything happens for a reason. Am I going to write something better? Or is the lost version as good as it's going to get, and gone forever?

A discussion with my sister

2008-12-02T21:06:00.002-05:00

On lifestyles, mine in particular:

"Do you want to experience everything in your life?"

"Yes," I hesitated, thinking the question over in my mind. It's a bad habit of mine; leaping into action before considering the consequences. I was always been a girl of immediacy, instantaneous response. Answer or act first, think later.

"Well, no. I'd like to experience most things. There are some things I think I'd be better off without." I suppose what I meant is that I want to experience the good. I've felt the heartbreaking, the devastating. I don't want to do that again. I know I will; such loss is inevitable in a moral world. But I don't desire it; I desire the new, the thrilling, the exhilarating, the challenging.

"I don't! I don't want to sit there at the end of my life knowing that I've done everything there is to do! I don't want to be left with nothing left to do!" I stared in disbelief at her. When my life is almost over, I want to be able to reminisce about how great it was, not regret all that I didn't do.

We argued about it for a while and were unable to come to an agreement. So I'm posing the question to you, my readers.

Which would you prefer...

sitting at the end of your life, doing nothing but remembering the excitement you've had, or,
sitting at the end of your life, thinking about what you haven't done and the possibility of your still doing it?

Please respond.

Free speech

2008-11-03T18:21:00.002-05:00

In America, we are granted the right to freedom of speech. It's engraved in the basic foundations upon which our very country was built. Men died to protect it. Maybe that's why it pisses me off so much when people try to impede upon others' right to say what they want.

Each person is entitled to his or her own opinion. That's the point of my blog: to share my opinions and invite others to do the same. So if your opinion differs from mine, by all means, tell me! Tell me why what I'm saying is erroneous, why my theories have holes, why my logic is invalid. Just make sure your points are well-founded themselves. Don't name-call or insult; say what you want to say without resorting to immaturity. Be eloquent. You have the right to say whatever you want...why on earth would you waste it on childish and empty insults? You're spitting in the faces of our forefathers. Use it...responsibly.

Cutting off a person's argument by calling him a prick isn't exercising responsibility. While I do appreciate that my readers are defending me, I don't want to be defended with immaturity. Stun them with your eloquence! Stagger them with your wit and reason! Silence them with your logic! And choose your battles wisely. Pointing out the factual errors in my writing isn't a crime. In fact, I appreciate it.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is this: we're not twelve-year-olds on a Pokemon message board. Let's not act as such.

Anyway...I am rubber. You are glue.

Global warming, schobal...schwarming?

2008-10-27T12:09:00.002-04:00

It snowed today in my parents' town, which is only a few hours north of mine.

As a child, snow was welcome any time of the year. Snow meant surprise, one-day vacations. It meant snow men and snow angels and snowball fights. It meant hot chocolate and warm blankets from the dryer. In my childhood, snow was even more precious because of its rarity; central North Carolina schools got more ice-storm days than snow days.

As an adult, snow is nice around Christmas, inconvenient before Thanksgiving, and downright atrocious before Halloween. I might add that Halloween isn't until this weekend. Even my town is calling for snow/rain mixes this week. Absurd.

Which leads me to my next question: what's the big concern with global warming? Last time I checked, snow belongs in winter, and this is still autumn. Daylight savings time hasn't even happened yet. So why the winter weather when we still should be enjoying mild days and piles of leaves? What happened to pumpkins and cider? Why are we already wearing scarves and mittens to tailgate parties and football games?

This year I decided that autumn is my favorite season (as opposed to the former favorite, summer). The weather is crisp in the morning and warm and pleasant during the day. The air smells wonderful because of the leaves and bonfires. It's not too muggy or too hot or too rainy. It's perfect. And now Mother Nature has taken that from us too early.

How selfish.

Trick me, treat me.

2008-10-23T23:10:00.002-04:00

I love Halloween. It is by far my favorite holiday of the year. I think that it is the least pretentious of them all; there is no hidden agenda, no double meaning, no contradiction. Halloween is a time to pretend and be afraid. And candy. That's it.

It isn't hypocritical like Christmas (a holiday about materialism and selfishness that masquerades as one about the birth of a deity and good will toward men), it isn't over-commercialized and sickly sweet like Valentine's Day (or worse yet, Sweetest Day...ugh), and it doesn't turn Christian salvation into an egg-hunting frenzy like at Easter. Halloween is, pure and simple, a time when you can get the living daylights scared out of you, dress up however you like and not get teased, and rot your teeth out with candy given to you by strangers. That's all. Even the basic history behind Halloween--the night when the souls of the dead walk the earth again among the living--is still part of the modern celebrations. Everywhere you look are haunted houses, corn mazes, cemeteries; everyone's obsessed with horror films and Ouija boards.

Pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns, clever men's costumes and sexy ladies' ones, fake spiderwebs, black and orange and purple everywhere you look. The leaves are turning and the air is crisp and cool, but not cold. Autumn--and consequently, Halloween--is the best time of the year, hands down.

Maybe the appeal, for me at least, lies in the part of Halloween that lets you pretend to be something you're not. Halloween can make you more daring, more brave, more sexy, more clever, more whatever you want to be. And there's no one to stop you or mock you for it, because everyone else is doing the same thing.

Spook me, scare me, trick me, treat me.

I'm ready for it.

This is why I get nothing important done.

2008-10-06T23:30:00.005-04:00

Earlier today, and again five minutes ago, I had this overwhelming urge to finish my vignette/essay/short story/novel/whatever it will turn out to be. But earlier, I got distracted by an internship information session and just now, he sighed and rolled over in his sleep and made me consider how little sleep I get lately. How maybe, I should just let myself go to bed early tonight. And now I don't really feel like writing any more.

The problem is, there's this slightly restless energy tugging at the edge of my consciousness, and I know that the second I lie down and turn off the light I'll be completely incapable of sleep. Which will in turn make me more uptight and alert, which will either lead to a panic attack or (more likely), a very long, annoying, boring night of insomnia. Not the good, productive kind of insomnia, where one can't sleep and instead accomplishes all matter of tasks that couldn't be tackled during the day; no, it would be a frustrating insomnia, filled with tossing and turning and uselessness.Maybe I'll just turn on the TV and watch until I drift off...the keyboard and screen in front of me have already lost their third dimension, a sure sign that my brain is overworked.

I kind of like getting to this point, though. I can see my fingers flying delicately across the keys as my thoughts materialize in pixels. It's far preferable to writing with pen and paper, I think; it's faster to type and I don't have to make my brain slow down to meet the limitations of my body. As much. I just open up and let it all flow, a stream of consciousness from electrical mental processes to electrical technological reactions.

I'm babbling. Goodnight.

It's been a while...

2008-09-29T21:55:00.002-04:00

I'm stressed. I'm starting to have panic attacks again, despite the SSRIs that are flooding my system. I have too much homework. I work too much. My therapist increased the number of times a month that I go to see her. My landlord is refusing to cooperate with me on bills that cover days that I wasn't even renting from her. Today, I had a manic fit of stress, during which I talked incessantly and laughed at everything.

But it's okay.

I'm writing again.

It's prose, this time. And I think I'm really going to polish some of it. Try to get it published, even. Because it's not as depressing as my poetry used to be. I think some of it has the potential to be quite good when all is said and done.

And that's enough for me.

I woke up in a car

2008-09-10T21:49:00.004-04:00

I've never been so lost,
I've never felt so much at home.

Life is turmoil, and that's the way I want it. I'm dripping sweat and overworked and exhausted, and I've never felt so alive. I really don't know why I don't go running more often. Who needs Prozac when you can run?

The thing is, I'm at a very interesting point in my life. Something big is in the works. I can feel it. I'm starting to go down a new road, like Frost, and once I commit to it there is no going back. I should be thrilled. And I suppose on an intellectual level, I am. But this fucking medication has me dulled inside and blurred around the edges, until I'm just content to watch it all happen to me. I should be more active in this. I have the two roads and I'm eager to walk down one, but I can't pick up my feet.

The only problem is, if I stop taking the meds, the panic attacks come back. And I hate them.

I feel fine now. I feel ready to do this thing, take this path, commit to this road. I'm excited about it. But let's face it...I'm not going to have two hours every day to devote to running and crunches and rock walls. I'm lucky if I have twenty minutes every day to just veg out.

I want to capture this, bottle it up and keep it. So I have something else to think about in those wee hours when I lie awake, staring at the sloped ceiling, listening to him breathing next to me and the drunken bar-crawlers outside my window. So the edges don't get so blurred and I'm able to care as much as I want. It's like my brain is cut off from my heart, and I want to fix that. Forever, not just for a moment.

I want more of moments like last night, when I can know that I'm the luckiest girl on earth, when I can be truly and completely happy. I want more of that assuredness, and maybe it's a bit much to ask, but when have I ever felt like I didn't deserve everything?

I moved into my new apartment last week. It's mine; not a sublease, I'm not a house guest. Mine. My home. Even in this turmoil, even though I'm so lost, I know I'm home. And to be honest, it has less to do with a physical address than I ever imagined.

What if, or what now?

2008-08-17T10:16:00.002-04:00

Life is full of questions. From mundane to life-changing, they rule our lives and our decisions. We don't always get the answers, and if we do, they aren't always answers that we like. Many times, the answer to one question presents itself as a new question. What if becomes what now.

It's strange to spend several years thinking that someone is exactly like you, but getting frustrated because you can't figure him out. If he's just like you, figuring out how and why he acts the way he does should be the easiest thing in the world. But then late one night, it hits you like the piece of sky hit Chicken Little: he is nothing like you. You don't know why it took you more than two years to figure it out...maybe it's because you're not the same person you were then. More likely, you were only seeing what you wanted to see.

And that's why what happened between us was such an epic fail.

Still, I truly think that everything does happen for a reason. I thought that moving here, not going to a school in the state I used to live in, were the two worst things that had ever happened to me. It just took some time to realize that they were, in reality, the greatest things I could have ever imagined, because they brought the most amazing person I've ever met into my life. The really crazy thing is, this wasn't his first choice ever. We were so close to never happening at all...but a series of disappointments for each of us led us to where we are now. And I couldn't be happier.

So as for this "epic fail," well...let's just say that I don't think it was for nothing. I think that I finally accomplished what I set out to do; now I just have to sit back and see...

what now?

Won't be seventeen forever

2008-08-12T10:38:00.002-04:00

Today, my little sister turns seventeen. And I feel a slight panic attack coming on because of it. When we were kids, she followed our other sister (the one between us in age) and me like a puppy. Because back then, it was just the three of us. And even though there's a lot more of us now, and she doesn't follow us like that anymore, I still kind of see her that way. Like a child. Only now, she's seventeen, and I still remember that age as though it were yesterday, not three years ago. So in a way, it feels as though she's caught up with me, like she's my age.

And what really gets to me is that soon, she'll be eighteen, a real adult. And not too long after that, the sister below her will turn sixteen and start driving. And my three brothers under her will just keep getting older, and before I know it, even the baby will be entering junior high and high school, getting her license, going on dates. They all keep getting older, and meanwhile, so am I. I realized that today when I was talking to my mom. We were talking about children's t.v. shows and how weird they are. And then I did someone that I've made fun of my mom for most of my life.

"What's that one called? Bee-bos, or boo-bops, or something?"
"Doodlebops?"
"No, no, no. Boo-bahs!"

I sounded exactly like my mother when she's trying to recall the name of my latest band obsession. Which she made no hesitation about pointing out.

On a parallel note, I had a really intense night last night. I think most of it is probably too personal to spew out on the web (which shows just how personal it was, as I usually have no qualms about this sort of thing), but suffice to say that I experienced an emotion that I have never in my life felt before. And it scared me to death, because letting myself get to that place involved a lot of trust, which is something at which I've never been skilled. The reason I say it's on a parallel line is because it has to do with growing up and all the jazz that comes with it.

Oh, life. How you slay me.

So close

2008-08-07T13:37:00.002-04:00

I took K. to Walmart last night. She needed new swimwear for her aerobics class, so while she was in the dressing room, I puttered around the dress clothes. And they had these nice-looking women's suit sets. (I say nice-looking, and not nice, because the quality was dubious...after all, do you really expect to find a nice three-piece suit set for sixty bucks?)

At any rate, it got me thinking. Someday soon, I'm going to have to go shopping for some nice interview clothes. And I'll probably get them from Walmart, because that's all I can afford. But someday...maybe someday...I'll have a fancy job that requires me to dress like that--or similarly--every day. And maybe then I'll be able to afford the nice clothes, the three-hundred-dollar sets. Maybe someday I'll find the glamour that I've been dreaming of since I was little.

Which is strange enough in itself, I suppose. Little girls' ideas of glamour usually involve pretty dresses and pink cars and all that jazz. Mine was always professional glamour; if I had the patience and the willingness to go into debt, I might have gone into law.

But I'm broke, and creative, and dreamy, so I went into writing instead. Go figure.

But I took it anyway.

2008-08-01T21:02:00.002-04:00

I know you guys haven't been hearing a lot from me lately, and I apologize. I could give you the same old shtick that everyone's heard a million times: I've been so busy with work, I'm really focused on my relationship, my family is taking up a lot of my time, etc etc etc.

But I'd be lying.

The fact is, I've been deliriously happy lately. And when I'm happy with the way my life is going, I am happy with myself. I might not think that I deserve it all (in fact, I don't think I deserve any of the amazing-ness in my life, but oh well), but I let that slide. When I'm upset and sad, I feel alone, I hate who I am, I want someone to whom I can confide. So I write and I write, post after post of misery, like a radar signal beeping out to the world. Someone. Anyone. Someone. Anyone.

But lately, I've been happy. And not feeling so alone. Sorry to abandon you all. I'll try harder for those of you who care, I promise. The simple fact is, the longer you don't hear from me, the better I'm probably doing.

Our whole lives laid out, right in front of us

2008-08-01T16:34:00.002-04:00

Around the time I graduated high school, a close friend of mine coined a phrase that I've been using and living by for the past few years. We were drinking, and though the details are fuzzy, I remember that someone said that something about the situation was a bad decision. Probably the situation in its entirety was a bad decision, but that fact is irrelevant now. At any rate, my friend responded with a phrase that, in my mind, has become legendary:

We have the rest of our lives to make good decisions.

It's everything there was to us in one simple sentence. We were reckless and careless, and we were allowed to be.

Today I realized that the rest of my life is beginning to start. Because I can't be capricious about decisions in my life anymore; none of us can. We're not allowed that recklessness anymore.

Accountability is scary.

So easily undone

2008-07-24T00:43:00.003-04:00

So I suppose I'm not where I thought I was. Which is disappointing. Disheartening. Very nearly devastating, but only because it also begins with a "d."

The point is, I'm back to where I started. Second-guessing and over-reacting and getting nowhere.

Why do I always sabotage these things?

Writing songs that voices never share

2008-07-17T02:03:00.003-04:00

It's been awhile since I posted anything new or even worthwhile, and that disturbs me slightly. But the simple fact is that I have nothing to say. No angst to drive me, no real suffering. There's emotion, to be sure, but frankly I get so nauseated by the senseless drivel that happy people tend to exude in their writing that I can't bring myself to do the same. It's rather annoying, to be honest. Here I am, wide awake at two in the morning, and I feel that I have nothing worthwhile to say because I have nothing to lament.

This isn't to say that my writers' block is caused by a lack of emotion; on the contrary, it is quite possible that this is the happiest, most content, that I have been in years. I just got an amazing promotion at work, drama (for once) has taken a backseat in my personal life, my relationship is going startlingly well, tensions between me and my parents are at an all-time low...what more could I want?

Is it strange to think that a year ago, six months ago, I was so despondent regarding my relationship-sustaining abilities? And now, it feels so perfect; it's as though we've been together two or three or four times as long as we really have. I honestly haven't felt this completely comfortable around another person of the opposite gender in years. Everything just...fits.

But there I go with the drivel. Ugh.

The sad fact is, I haven't the slightest clue what I should write if I don't have some sort of existential crisis to discuss and over-analyze. I once said that perhaps madness is a requirement for the creation of true art; in my case, I guess it is rather sadness.

The sick thing is, writing makes me happy. Well...writing well makes me happy. So if writing well makes me happy and I must be sad to write well...do I really enjoy being miserable in some masochistic, self-suffering way?

I recently found some old songs I wrote a few years back. Maybe I'll post them soon, seeing as how I haven't produced anything decent since. Until the next crisis hits...

Stop and think

2008-07-11T20:38:00.001-04:00

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Here's another...the floodgates have been open

2008-06-24T23:33:00.003-04:00

A short hiatus from my vow of "not too personal." Both of these were from the 10 Words thing I mentioned in the last post.

Well this needs to be said.
These eyes have been wandering and are no longer
satisfied
by the gaze of your own.
Things went unsaid for
too long
and I really haven't been completely
truthful.
Telling you that I love another is just too
difficult
for words.

It was the first sight of you that filled my once-idle summer with frantic lust
and a longing for you, oxygen, to make me combust.
Who would've thought that you'd speak my name and we'd cling to each other like socks from the dryer, sending sparks into the air when we're pulled apart? Only you can hear me calling, screaming everything and nothing together in one whisper.

Comments/criticisms are encouraged.

This takes more courage than you probably realize

2008-06-23T21:50:00.003-04:00

I was going through some boxes I left in my parents' basement when I first moved out two years ago, and I found an old notebook. It was scribbled all over the front and back and insides, and falling apart. You think I write frequently now; you should have seen this notebook. Pages and pages of poetry and prose; some half-finished, some half-edited, some written on napkins and paper bags because that was all that was available at the time.

It's kind of an odd coincidence, because a week or two ago, someone asked me if I still wrote the kinds of things I used to write a couple years ago. I don't, really, and maybe that's for the better. The vast majority of what I wrote was utter garbage; emo pseudo-scene crap that would be better fire kindling than reading material. But some of it isn't bad, if I can say so with humility and modesty.

Several years ago, when LiveJournal was insanely popular, I belonged to a LJ community called Ten Words. The premise was that members would post ten words (or, in some cases, ten short phrases), and other members would reply to the post with poetry and prose that contained all ten of the words. One time, the words were "I, Am, A, Faded, Photograph, Resting, In, Your, Cold, Hands."

I find myself overcome with anticipation and excitement. My hands. They are cold and need your warmth. Put my hands in yours and let us forget until the world is a faded memory. I have had nothing but a photograph for the past five months and frankly it hasn't been nearly enough to get my by, I try and somehow I pull through. I am resting my emotions so I won't explode when I see you.

It's lame, I know, but I love the last line so much that it makes up for the rest of it. I don't know why this is so hard for me to post right now, but it is. I guess it's just a part of someone who I used to be, and I'm not sure if that's someone I want to share with the people I know now.

Epiphany

2008-06-23T01:14:00.003-04:00

Things change.

I know, avid readers (all four of you, plus the few who randomly stop by once in a great while), that this is not startling news. It is hardly epiphany-worthy; even calling it a realization is a bit of a stretch. But K. was driving me home tonight, and we started talking about what's been going on in her life since we last spoke. Which was quite a while ago--moving four hours away for nine months out of the year will do that to you.

"Everything's changed. I can't believe how different it all is now."
"Ha. Yeah, you're telling me. Nothing is the way it used to be."

And it's not.

I guess that what shocks me more than anything is the apparent lack of build-up. It just feels like all of a sudden, we go from kids to adults, and there's no wading into it from the kiddie side of the pool; it's a shove off the high dive into the deep end. In December.

Nick Horny says it better:

It's no wonder we're all such a mess, is it? We're like Tom Hanks in Big. Little boys and girls trapped in adult bodies and forced to get on with it. Except it's not just snogging and bunk beds, is it? There's all this as well.

And there you have it. The fact is, I realized today that the people I now consider my closest friends are all people that I didn't even know eighteen months ago. My baby sister is older than these friendships. And the people I was closest with before that? I barely even speak to most of them. There's no animosity really, we just grew up. Grew apart.

I know that's part of growing up; I get that. But I don't know if I was really ready for that shove; I wanted to stick my toe in the water first. In the past three months, my life has done a complete one-eighty; more than that, it has done a five-forty, a seven-twenty, an eight-ten, a fourteen-thirty-two, until I don't even know which way I came from or where I'm going.

The really strange thing about all of this is how I'm reacting. Typically, I'm not a person who accepts change. But all of this...I don't loathe it, I don't love it, I'm not indifferent. I accept it (and you should, too).

Sometimes, the more things change, the more things stay the same. And sometimes...oh, sometimes change is good and sometimes change is everything.

(Because what blog would be complete without at least one Grey's Anatomy quote somewhere in it?)

Alcohol and distress do not discretion make.

2008-06-21T03:44:00.002-04:00

And yet, I'll try.

Basically, I'm proud of myself. Because for once in my life, I managed to step outside of "carpe diem." Don't get me wrong; I think that "seize the day" is one of the best mottos one could have. But living in the moment 24/7 has its consequences.

And for what may possibly be the very first time in my whole life, I've found something that was worth considering the consequences before the action, rather than after the fact.

This is not going to go the way I want it to go. I know that. Having my way would be having the cake and eating it too, and that's selfish and unrealistic. I'm going to stop being self-absorbed and expecting the world to bend to my every whim and fancy. It's just not going to happen.

I could tell you what will happen; I know that already. But that would ruin the surprise for everyone else.

Getting there

2008-06-20T01:45:00.002-04:00

It's interesting, putting the shoe on the other foot. I can honestly say I've never been in this position; it's always been the other way around for me. But I can also honestly say that I have learned from being on that side of the fence, and I'm not making the same mistakes that others have made with me. I'm trying, for one. And I do believe that that makes a world of difference.

It has just been so weird to come back here and face the consequences of what I have done. I was foolish, I was childish, I was self-absorbed. I lived a la All Time Low:

I have seen millions of faces,
Ever-unchanging, content with redundancy.
I'm not the same way;
Searching for change in the directions that I want to go.
...
Smile like you don't give a damn about the consequence,
Just say anything...

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

I do.

Strange that my tradition for growing older is all about feeling younger

2008-06-17T00:49:00.004-04:00

The waters are no less turbulent. I have just learned to row with them,
rather than against them.
The boat is no less stable, but the
change
makes all the difference.

Dive in

2008-06-14T23:48:00.003-04:00

I'm an extrovert. I hate being alone. I need constant distraction, stimulation, attention. Sometimes it borders on childish. So why is it that I love the three and a half hour drive from school to home so much? I rarely talk on the phone because I get too distracted from driving (apparently, moving vehicles are in fact quite dangerous when not handled properly), and I almost never take passengers. I go out of my way to avoid passengers.

Something about being alone for a few hours with a task that requires a fair amount of thought and attention (but the kind of attention you would give a sleeping baby; never neglect, but not face-hovering-inches-away either) just relaxes me, calms me down. Centers me.

Because long drives have always been my time to think. Whether I was a passenger or a driver, I can work things out in my head that I can't work out any other time. It's almost like meditation, I suppose. Concentration on a specific concept or subject until one reaches a trance-like state of awareness. Thank you, Psych 101.

Weird or not, I love it. I just wish it wasn't so expensive now...

Time flies when you're growing up

2008-06-11T13:12:00.003-04:00

I was just standing there, blow-drying my hair in front of the mirror, when it hit me. In about two hours' time, maybe three, I will have taken my last final as a college sophomore. I'll officially be a junior, an upperclassmen. In a few weeks, I'll be moving into my first-ever house (that my parents don't own, that is), and in September I'll have an apartment of my very own. I'll be twenty years old in a few days. When did all this happen?

It seems like just a moment ago that my sisters and I were pretending that our loveseat was a flying carpet and singing "A Whole New World" as though we were really flying all around the world in one Arabian night. Now, here I am, (mostly) independent and on the verge of something big. I'm halfway through college. Two years, two very short years, separate me from the rest of my life and the Real World.

But I think I'm ready for it. I look at all I have and all I've done; I have a loving family, incredible friends, an amazing boyfriend; I'm consistently on the Dean's list and I'm in one of the best journalism programs in the country, certainly the best in the state. I may be shaky at times, but who isn't?

Yesterday was really depressing for me. This morning, I was angry enough to punch someone in the throat. Right now, I'm happy and content and nervous, but in a good way. I have such a good feeling about this summer, this year, this life.

I'd like a little more allegro in my ever-widening sandwich.

2008-06-02T15:42:00.002-04:00

Today, my psych professor was lecturing on schizophrenia. Now, I've always thought abnormal psych was somewhat fascinating, but schizophrenia really takes the cake in fascinating material. She was talking about a symptom of disorganized schizophrenia commonly known as "word salad," which is just what it sounds like. Grammatically correct sentences that nevertheless make absolutely no sense whatsoever. I used the example she gave us as the title for this post.

I've heard of word salad before (I've even had a conversation with a severe ADHD sufferer that reminded me of the symptom; she went from talking about shower heads for her sister to Nazi Germany before I even had time to realize that she had changed subjects). This professor, however, used a description that I have never heard before; she said that the sentences are often somewhat poetic. And when one thinks about it, it fits. Some of the best poetry is somewhat nonsensical (Lewis Carroll, anyone?), but is still beautiful in its own way. It just takes some abstract thought to wrap one's mind around it.

And that started me thinking; why do art and madness always seem to go hand in hand? What is it about the human psyche that requires a certain inbalance or detatchment to express itself? I even see it in myself; when I really want to get a point across, I just turn my brain off and let my fingers do the thinking. Sometimes I go back over it and correct for grammar, spelling, etc., but most of the time I just leave it raw. And it's kind of a crazy feeling, too.

Which leaves me with the question,
Do art and expression require madness, or
does madness facilitate them?

And why?

I kiss you and I know

2008-05-27T10:27:00.004-04:00

It kills me a little bit. It scares me a lot. Because the fact is, I've fallen with reckless abandon. The shields I used to put up to protect myself are gone. I've let them fall. I'm trusting him and it scares the hell out of me.

Everything just fits. I know it sounds corny but that's how it is. And I know I'm not usually the mushy "everything is so perfect" type, I usually hate that type, but what else can I say? I haven't felt this way in years, years, and it's thrilling.

And what's more, that insecurity that I usually have in relationships is gone. I don't sit there and second-guess and overanalyze every tiny detail. I'm comfortable. I'm secure. And that carries over to the other aspects of my life as well. Yes, money is incredibly tight--if I didn't work in food services I'd probably starve to death. Yes, my job is stressful--I've burst into tears in the back office more times this month than the last year and a half combined. Yes, I have more drama than the high school cheerleading squad. But despite all of that, I'm holding my own. I'm confident.

Security is a wonderful thing.

I've got your runaway smile in my piggybank, baby

2008-05-24T12:55:00.003-04:00

Do you ever feel like you could just take over the world? Not in a weird, evil plan way, but in a simple, I-can-do-anything way. Like anything is possible.

I don't know what it is that made me go from wanting to jump off a bridge to feeling like everything is okay, in a time span of about two days. But whatever it is, I like it.

I think it's just about taking the time to appreciate the little things. Like sititng on the porch with a cigarette and a coffee and someone you really care about. Like warm weather and lazy mornings. Maybe life isn't about the spectacular, not really. Maybe it's the little, everyday things that make you smile.

I don't post enough anymore.

2008-05-15T10:06:00.003-04:00

So last night, I couldn't sleep again. Between the stress from work and school, it just was not going to happen. And I got to thinking (which only exacerbated the problem, but what are you going to do?) about intimacy. I kept thinking about this habit I have of talking to people without looking straight at them. It is very rare that I make direct eye contact with anyone, and I can't help but wonder if everybody is this way, or if it's just another manifestation of my intense fear of commitment/closeness/being hurt (as a result of the first two). It's weird, because it's almost intentional. Fixing my gaze on a person's ear, or on some fascinating, imagined event in the distance. Does everyone do this? Am I subconciously trying to be that emotionally detached?

I've always been told that I overanalyze everything, and it's absolutely true. I can't help it. I get stuck in my head and I can't get out of it.

The thing is, it is getting to be about that time again. It's been...what, three weeks? Four? And I'm starting to feel that old familiar fidget. I can't recall a single instance where I didn't feel that anxiety, that restlessness. And to be honest, I can really only remember one time where I was fully able to overcome it. Am I just being silly? Immature?

Summer really can't come fast enough for me.

But I very seldom follow it.

2008-05-04T02:15:00.003-04:00

Those of you who know me, know that I am not a religious person. I was raised Catholic, but I disagree with much of what the church teaches. I don't care to get into a great debate at the moment (although conflicting opionions are always welcome, so long as they are intelligent and supported), but I would like to say a few things.

I truly believe that everything happens for a reason. I don't believe in destiny or fate or soulmates (in the traditional sense, at least, but that's a whole other blog in itself), or any of those idealistic fantasies, but I do believe that life is not random. There have been too many occurences in my life that were perfectly coordinated for life to be one huge coincidence. I believe that things have a way of working themselves out regardless of circumstances or human error. The only way to truly fuck up your life is to not do anything about it. Make decisions. Even if they're the wrong ones, something good will eventually come of it. It is in our indecision that we stagnate and fail.

I don't think that there's a plan for each of us in the form of an unchangeable destiny; I see it as more of a general outline that we inevitably follow as a result of our own characters and personalities. And there is some...thing that is gently guiding it all. I dislike the term "God" because I feel that it (like so many other concepts) has been corrupted by mankind. Humans have taken ideas that are supposed to be pure, ideas like God and love, and turned them into something dark and twisted, things to be feared. I believe in karma, and that good things happen to good people, either in this world or the next. I don't think that I--or anyone else, for that matter--will suffer for eternity because we discovered sex before we were married.

I can't even honestly say that I think someone like Hitler will spend eternity suffering for what he did. Yes, it was terrible. But mankind cannot make up his mind on how many gods there are, or what they are like, or if they even exist. How are we to determine how a deity will judge us if we cannot even decide whether it is even there? Who are we to judge in its place?

Note: This entire thing went in a completely different
direction than I intended, but that's okay. I had a long,
involved conversation with my sister just now and I
meant to write about it. But I liked the way this turned
out so I decided to keep it. Hence the discontinuity
between the title and the subject matter. Forgive my
inability to think of a topic and stick with it.

Wide open spaces

2008-04-24T17:51:00.003-04:00

So today I did it. I changed my major. And I really feel like I was standing in a long hallway, and all of a sudden thousands of hidden doors just opened up for me. Magazine jouranlism really offers me so much more freedom than broadcast does; I could write in the office or I could freelance, I could travel, I could write about more or less anything my little heart desires.

I still have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life, as a career I mean, but that's okay. I have time. The important thing is that I have my mobility; the thought of being tied down and trapped is enough to give me panic attacks (which brings us into a whole other realm of irony that I don't even want to begin to address, not right now, anyway).

My advisor told me I should figure out what I like to write about and start doing it. So I can decide if I want to write for news (probably not), or fashion (hmm), or something else (ding ding ding). I really am leaning towards a critic...after all, I already do it constantly. Why not get paid for it? I'd have to take lit and music and film courses, because I'm too picky to be a food critic. But books and music and movies...I could really immerse myself in that kind of thing.

Most of what I write about, even in my private blogs and journals, is at least somewhat introspective/philosophical. I know there are probably very few (if any) magazines out there like that, but I can handle that. I just want to make people stop and think. I want to have an impact on peoples' lives, no matter how small. If any of you have ever read even one of my posts and stopped for a second and thought, "Wow, she may have a point there. I never thought about it that way," then this entire blog is a success. I don't need fame, I don't need fortune. I just need to be able to reach out and touch something.

Cause you left the frays from the ties you severed, when you said "best friends" means "friends forever"

2008-04-23T10:23:00.002-04:00

Sigh.

I suppose these things happen. I know they do. People get older, they change, their priorities change. That doesn't stop this from being incredibly painful. The fact is, I've seen it coming for the past couple months; we both have. Maybe it's my fault for befriending (or bestfriending, ha) the "flavor of the month" kind of girls every time. Maybe it's her fault for being that way.

More likely it's both of our faults; we're too inattentive, too self-centered, too used to letting other people make the effort. I can't help but feel as though I've been replaced, but I'm sure she feels the same. The replacements are just different. And in my eyes at least, I was replaced first. It started long ago...almost a year. But when you go from hanging out with your "best friend" every single day, just the two of you, to hanging out rarely (and even then, only with her and her boyfriend), then...well, you can't help but feel pushed to the side.

I'd love to say that it's just a matter of people getting older and changing and drifting apart; a natural part of life that hurts but happens to everyone. But somehow, I just know that that explanation is too easy.

I'm a fixer. I like to fix things, make them better, or at least as good as they once were. And by God, I really am going to try. But something tells me that this time, there's no going back. How is it that you go from being a person's future maid of honor to barely speaking and posting passive-aggressive blogs that each hopes the other will read? How do you go from knowing everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING) about one another to not even knowing if she ever found a new job, or if her latest relationship is struggling as much as past ones (for the record, it's not)...? Maybe we just never had enough in common.

Or maybe we had far too much.

Nothing messes with your head more than psychology

2008-04-22T10:41:00.002-04:00

Before I went to bed last night, I read a chapter in my psych book about sleep and dreaming. And dream theories, as in, what purpose dreams serve. Now, I've always been one to have really weird, random, and messed up dreams. But last night may just take the cake, and I think that chapter is to blame.

I dreamt that my boyfriend from high school proposed to me. Mind you, this guy and I broke up my senior year in high school. We're on really good terms now, but we rarely talk because we're both so busy. So anyway, he came to visit me. And he asked me to marry him. He gave me the ugliest ring ever, and I said yes. The next day I told him that I had a boyfriend (which in real life, I do), and a "man-on-the-side" who was another ex of mine (in real life, the person really is another ex, but there is DEFINITELY no side action going on...ick). And I was suprised when my "fiancé" was mad about it. Because I told him I was dumping the other two and I loved only him. The weird thing is, even in the dream I knew that I was lying. I think my dream-self was afraid that no one would ever ask, so I'd have to take what I could get.

And I think that's my underlying problem. I have this mentality where I feel like I never have options, I have to just take what I can get because I'm not good enough for anything else. Which is slightly preposterous. Everyone has choices. Even me, even as I type this, I have a choice. And I'm sticking to my guns.

I guess that's the scary thing about commitment for people like me, people who have been hurt too many times in the past. Commitment means giving another person the opportunity to hurt you again. But I was rereading one of my favorite books the other night (High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, for anyone who cares...great book) and there were a couple lines that stuck out in my mind.

"You run the risk of losing anyone who is worth spending time with...If you're going to go in for this stuff at all, you have to live with the possibility that it won't work out". And as always, the book sums up my current issue perfectly. Thank you, contemporary English lit.

As if we needed more ways to mess up.

2008-04-16T12:36:00.002-04:00

The seven mortal sins. Most of the population is at least somewhat familiar with the concept at the very least. Seven sins that are so base and so terrible, they are considered deadly to the soul. Commiting just one of these sins, even one time, results in eternal damnation to hell. For those who are not immediately familiar with the sins themselves (even I had to Wikipedia them to get the full list), they are: Lust, Gluttony, Avarice, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. Oddly enough, pride is considered the worst of the seven. It just seems strange to me...I always assumed that the Catholic Church was pretty critical of lust in particular, but maybe that's just what modernity does to religion. At any rate, these seven sins have been corrupting humans worldwide since they were first laid down in the sixth century CE.

Recently, Pope Benedict XVI has declared seven "new" deadly sins; essentially the old sins with a contemporary twist. The list has been expanded to include genetic modification, experimenting on humans, pollution, causing social injustice, causing poverty, becoming obscenely wealthy, and taking drugs. Now, I can honestly say that some of these make sense; human experimentation isn't always a walk in the park. But are you trying to tell me that if I drive my car too much, or throw a piece of paper on the ground, that I'm going to hell? Now, before the environmentalists out there go balistic, let me just say this: pollution sucks. It's gross and it ruins the only planet we'll ever have. But come on...hell? For forgetting to turn off my t.v. at night?

It seems to me that the whole concept of eternal damnation is slightly flawed. I refuse to believe that a good person, who makes a couple mistakes (especially in his or her youth) will be doomed to suffer for eternity. Who are we to judge? The human race as a whole can't even agree on whether or not an afterlife even exists, let alone who gets to go there.

But I have class, so I suppose I have to cut this short.

Square one?

2008-04-15T00:52:00.002-04:00

If you could look into my head and see what I'm thinking, you would probably laugh. I honestly feel as though there's a tennis match inside my skull, only with four half-courts instead of two, opinions instead of nets, and decisions instead of tennis balls. It is slightly (perhaps more than slightly) ridiculous as to the number of times I've changed my mind today, and the speed at which this mind-changing has happened. I can honestly say that I've "made up my mind" approximately sixty-three different times today, between four or five different decisions.

I keep telling myself that nothing is easy, not anymore, and that I should stop expecting it to be. Expecting things to just be simple and carefree reaches a new level of self-absorption that even I cannot justify. So no matter what I decide to do, it's going to be difficult. So why change anything at all...right?

I used to think that some things would just come naturally. Relationships with friends and the opposite sex (provided that, in the case of the latter, it was the right person). Finding a career that you could love. Being confident in yourself.

But it all takes a substantial amount of effort. More than I ever would have believed.

I guess this is it. Childhood and adolescence truly are over. I'll be twenty in two short months. I suppose it's time I started acting it.

2008-04-13T21:45:00.003-04:00

Think about the best thing that ever happened to you. The number one, all time greatest, life-changing event. Was it always the greatest? Did you think it was the worst thing at first, or is that just me?

When the greatest thing that has ever happened to me actually happened to me, I had just turned sixteen and I thought I had everything I needed in my life. I couldn't have been more wrong if I had tried.

I initially thought that the best thing to ever happen to me was the worst. I actually threw a legitimate temper tantrum over it, like a child, which in retrospect is funny but at the time was just sad. I was so upset, and so desperate. I considered being technically homeless until I was old enough to legally rent a place to live. It was one of my worst nightmares, and I was living it.

Looking back, I still think it was an incredibly difficult thing to go through, particularly at that age. But it made me who I am today, and I am genuinely proud of that. It also brought me here, and (despite my recent doubts about whether I really belong here) I couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world. I wouldn't want my life anywhere else.

So what was your greatest thing? Think about it. You don't have to tell me. But was it expected or sponaneous? Did you want it at the time? How long did it take you to realize how amazing it was? And please, I ask you not to say "the day my boyfriend asked me out" or something like that. People are unreliable and, for the most part, largely untrustworthy. Events, history...those things never change.

Where are you going?

2008-04-08T15:19:00.002-04:00

Do you remember the first time thaty you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? Were you five? Fourteen? Are you still waiting for that moment of clarity and assuredness?

I was never the child who answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the same way twice. It's been doctor, nurse, nun, firefighter, policewoman, teacher, news anchor, and a million other things that I forgot almost as soon as I answered the question.

For the past four years, I've been saying news anchor. And I woke up the other morning and realized that I would hate my job. I chose my major on a whim; my dad told me one day that he thought I'd "look good" reading the news, that I'd be good at it. So I went with that. I was a sophomore in high school, and I had decided that it was about time I figured out where my life was going. Now, nearly five years later, I still have no clue.

I want to stay in journalism, because I'm at one of the best schools for it in the entire country. I think I'm leaning towards either magazine or public relations. The former, because let's face it, I love to write, and creative writing has always been my forte. The latter because...well, to put it politely, I have an immense and innate talent for warping and twisting the truth to make it sound more favorable. I am not a liar. I just know how to spin things.

So to those of you who know me personally, and those who only know me through my writing...what is your opinion (besides the fact that I shouldn't be basing my major and my career choices on something as whimsical as blog comments)?

I'd love to be half as talented as Dave Barry

2008-04-03T16:18:00.001-04:00

I realize that this is completely making fun of people like me. And yet, what good is life if one cannot laugh at herself?

Alright, alright, slow down.

2008-04-02T10:14:00.002-04:00

In the last two weeks, I've found out about two more people from my graduating class that are now engaged. Plus one from the class below me. Add to that the ever-growing list of peers that I know who are already married or engaged...

Am I the only one who is a litle creeped out here?

I can't help but wonder...what's the rush?

We are nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. We have the rest of our lives to make good decisions, as a close friend once said. Why settle down now?

Of course, another friend once told me that when you find the right person, it doesn't feel like settling down. So maybe that's what's happening for those people, I don't know. But how can you honestly know that it's the right person after six or twelve months? Or even if you've only known him or her for two years...and now you're ready for the rest of your lives? It just doesn't make sense to me.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm less of a romantic than I thought. If that's the case, well...I hope it won't always be that way.

Hey moon, please forget to fall down.

2008-03-30T01:28:00.003-04:00

Funny how so much can change in just three months.

December 30th, 2007. I was packing everything up in this very room, dying to get back to school. Practically counting down the hours till I'd be back.

March 30th, 2008. Here I sit, my belongings strewn carelessly about the room, various articles of clothing flung haphazardly into my giant duffle. I don't want to leave.

It's stupid. I know it is. It's my insecurities that are causing this hesitation. I just can't let them go. I don't think I ever will.

I was talking to my parents today. About my views on life, and my current belief that I'm not afraid that I'll never get married, but rather, that one day I will. My dad rolled his eyes at me.

"Do you know what your problem is?"

"I'm insecure, I'm obsessive, I'm neurotic..."

"No. You think too much."

BAM. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, E.'s inner monologue has effectively been deemed "unnecessary."

There's so much more I could probably say. I'm just not sure how.

Not creative enough to think of anything myself

2008-03-28T22:13:00.000-04:00

So true.

"Fear is the heart of love." So I never went back.

2008-03-28T01:34:00.002-04:00

Ah, Death Cab. Lovely.

FDR once talked about his "firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." Well, sir, with all due respect...

I disagree.

I realized today that I fear a lot of things. I think that above all, I fear rejection and failure. Which makes me just like approximately 98% of the rest of the human population. Or at least those that are within ten years of my age. Some people try to tell me that I'm afraid of commitment, but I think that that is only partially true. What I'm more afraid of is the heartache that tends to follow for me. I've always considered myself a risk-taker, but in matters of the heart, I may be one of the biggest cowards you will ever meet. Honestly, though, who could blame me? Look at my track record. One long-term relationship that sent my world crashing down around me when it ended, followed by a series of extremely short relationships that barely register as anything more than "flings." And even some of those really got to me.

I was at a restaurant with T. tonight, and as usual, she helped me figure myself out without even trying. Yes, I've made some mistakes. But they weren't out of foolishness; they were the only way I could've possibly figured out what I truly wanted. And I have figured that out. I know exactly what I want.

I'm just too afraid to make that last reach to get there.

Note: I know I've said, time and again, that I was done with
the whole overly personal insights into my life. Well, let me
tell you all something: I love to talk. About anything. My life
in particular. Talking about it, typing it up, writing it down...
they all help me get it out of my head and into the real world.
Where I can make sense of everything.
So J., and anyone else who hoped I wouldn't start limiting my
writing: here you are. My soul, laid bare. Enjoy.

Once more, one thought gets me going

2008-03-26T12:04:00.002-04:00

It baffles me that we allow people get to us that much
and can care for people that much to have them
destroy our worlds in the blink of an eye.

That's it in a nutshell. We all let people get to us that much. Some people let it continue to happen. They stumble blithely from one bad situation to another, each time thinking, "This will be different." Others let it stop them. They harden up inside until no one, nothing can get in and crack that shell. They might never trust again.

I'm on the edge. And I don't want to fall in like the rest.

From the passenger seat. As you are driving me home.

2008-03-25T01:05:00.003-04:00

I saw a shooting star tonight when B. was driving me home from the movies. I hate to sound like a little kid, but yes, I am five years old and yes, I believe that wishes on shooting stars come true. They always have for me.

I left school last weekend knowing that it would be an interesting break. And if that wish comes true, it's going to be even more so.

I hope I wished for the right thing. I think I did.

When I got home I watched old home movies with my mom. But that's a train of thought for another night.

This is just to say...

2008-03-24T00:34:00.001-04:00

Hi. My name is Emma. And apparently, G. was right about me.

I am the most awkward girl you will ever meet.

That's all I have to say right now.

True to my word...sort of.

2008-03-23T03:13:00.002-04:00

I know I said I wouldn't get personal anymore. And I won't. Somewhat.

Tonight I met up with a bunch of people at a bar uptown. Most of the old gang from high school. And K. and I were just talking, about how none of the boys have really changed since then. Someone said that all the girls have changed was their hair colors and lengths. And at the time, I agreed, maybe because I wanted that security. I don't know. But the more I think about it, it just isn't true. We're all older, we're all a little more mature. A little less sporadic. We sat around and talked about our lives...most of the gang still lives in our hometown, but myself and another always have a little catching up to do when we all hang out. And we just talked...about high school, and what we miss, and what we don't, and what's different now. So much is different. For the better.

For a while we were talking about relationships, and I kind of felt like I was destined to be the "friend who never marries". You all know the one. There's always that one person who bounces from relationship to rocky relationship and never even wants to settle down. But then I realized that's ridiculous. Yes, I am afraid of commitment. But I am also ready for some stability in my life. Just a little...I don't want anything to be too predictable.

I've begun to realize the weight that comfort carries when it comes to how close two people get. Meems and I are completely comfortable with each other. I can say anything or nothing to her, do anything around her, and she gets me. Same goes for me and K. We had entire conversations today without speaking a single word...because we have that comfort and understanding. And that certainly doesn't only apply to friendships.

I'm going to stop now. It's three-thirty in the morning, I'm practically typing in my sleep, and I'm pretty sure I'm already on the verge of incoherence. I don't want to read this tomorrow and wonder what the hell I was trying to say.

Understand?

Productivity is overrated.

2008-03-20T00:34:00.003-04:00

So in true procrastinator form, I was watching VH1 with my sociology notes open in front of me. I wasn't actually reading the notes, but I thought that maybe having them in my line of vision might somehow help. Tonight I'll sleep with them under my pillow and try to learn through osmosis.

But anyway, I was watching VH1 and saw a commercial for a new reality show.

Sidenote: I'd like to say that for the most part, reality tv disgusts me.
Yes, I watch both seasons of Rock of Love and I Love New York.
Yes, I watch Real World and a Shot at Love with Tila Tequila.
But that doesn't mean the shows don't disgust me. They're pathetic.
I mean, it's pathetic that America gets entertainment out of such degrading
and menial drama. Most of it is probably scripted anyway.
What's even more pathetic is that even the people who absolutely hate it
actually enjoy it.

But I digress. There was a commercial for a new reality show, I Know My Kid's A Star. And the commercial featured all these parents screaming at their kids, and the kids getting upset because they're not good enough. And these children are about ten years old. It really kind of make me want to puke. I mean, it's pure exploitation of children! For entertainment! There was one clip of a child saying that she thought "All the moms...on this show should be on drugs." And she was right! The mothers were ridiculous! But the moms aren't the only ones who should be on drugs. The producers need something too. I mean, come on. Who in their right mind would say "Let's find a way to market little children's tears!"

Ugh.

I really wish my finals were over already.

This is me. Part two.

2008-03-19T13:07:00.003-04:00

I'm selfish, impatient, and a little insecure.
I make mistakes, I am out of control, and
at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle
me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't
deserve me at my best.

-Marylin Monroe

Oh, dear. It seems we have all the same flaws, and that worries me a little. Is it bad that I have the same flaws as a celebrity who died of a drug overdose? But Ms. Monroe and I have our differences I suppose. I'm only a little selfish...I also consider myself to be at least slightly compassionate. I do care about others and their happiness. And for the most part, I do what I can to help that. Except where it conflicts with my own. Sorry, I am only human. But I am incredibly impatient, to the point where it drives others crazy sometimes. But I can't help that. And as for a little insecure...oh, I am so much more than a little. Which is why I do these fucked-up things in the first place. I can pretty much guarantee you that if I do something completely out of line, it's probably because it made me feel better about myself at the time.

And let's face it. We all make mistakes.

This entire blog has gotten far too personal for my liking. I left the Myspace one alone because there were too many names, too many situations, too much mess. I wanted something clean and uncomplicated. And no, I don't use names. But I might as well. My readers (and I do have them, apparently...more than I think) are not idiots. Readers, I'm sorry for underestimating your ability to put two and two together, in a literary sense.

Ms. Monroe forgot one big flaw, however; perhaps she didn't have it, perhaps she didn't want to admit it. But I am more passive-aggresive than you realize. That's what this blog has been reduced to, and it makes me sick. So, in true passive-aggressive form, I'm going to apologize here as well. I wish I had the courage to say what needs to be said, but I don't. When it really comes down to it, I'm a big coward.

That comment, B., that you thought reffered to you being desperate...ha. You couldn't be further from the truth. I'm sorry it sounded that way, but it intended to be a masochistic insult to myself. As in, no one would actually care enough about me to make an effort, unless there was something in it for them. Because me, myself...there's not much to offer there. For years, I've been told that I'm just a slightly pretty face and a halfway-decent body, and nothing else. No personality, no intelligence, nothing worth keeping around for longer than the time it takes to get off. So forgive me for having the same opinion of myself.

I'm trying to change it.

So that's it. I'm done. No more personal life, no more stories, no more situations. Speculation, commentary, and opinion only. It's kind of sad, because I finally realized why I always fall back into the habit of getting so personal. It's slightly exhibitionist, in a way. The thrill of revealing intimacies and not knowing who will see them. Or be interested. If I were sluttier, I'd have a webcam (but I'm not. Thank God).

And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking.

2008-03-18T18:35:00.002-04:00

I think my biggest problem is that I've grown accustomed to assholes. So when someone comes along that actually seems like they might be good for me, I do little passive-agressive things to fuck it all up. Not on purpose. Not even consciously. It just happens.

Why would anyone try to sabatoge something good in her life?

Because she's afraid of losing it. At least with M., all I lost was a cheating liar who used me for sex. But there's so much potential with B. Fucking it up there could mean losing someone who actually is interested in me and not just what he can get from me.

Do you know how rare it is to find a guy that wants something more than that?

Damn near impossible. And to make matters worse, he's cute and we can talk and he makes me laugh and (as far as I can tell), he's honest with me. The whole deal.

And here I am. Undecided and probably ruining everything and scared. That's the bottom line.

I'm just scared.

Another of life's great ironies.

2008-03-17T13:45:00.004-04:00

I hate indecisiveness. Yet, strangely enough, it is one of my bigger personality flaws. I never really know what I want, or if i do, it is basically unattainable at the moment I want it. I have the hardest time making up my mind...over anything. Whether it's a commitment issue or what I'll have for dinner...I'm usually stumped.

So why does it bug me so much?
Shouldn't I be used to it?

I think it's mostly because that's how I am with everything. I hate most things that remind me of me. Hell, for the first fourteen or fifteen years of her life, I hated my sister because I saw so much of myself in her. Now that I've moved out and gained a little perspective, we get along really well. I'm not sure if it's a subconcious desire for individualism and identity, or if it's just that I recognize how bad my flaws are, or a combination of the two. But I hate it just the same.

Damn my inability to decide, or commit. Damn my conflicting wants and needs.

Here it goes, here it goes again.

2008-03-16T21:52:00.002-04:00

...and just like that, my independence is reestablished. Irony knows no limits, particularly in terms of my life.

In other news, it's that time of year once more: finals week. My history final is at noon tomorrow. I've done no studying whatsoever. I'll eventually end up trying to do so, but it will probably end in my half-hearted flipping through pags of notes without actually reading anything worthwhile. The fact is, years of educational stagnation in high school have completely annihilated anything resembling good study habits.

I almost wish I had papers instead of exams. At least I have marginal talent in that respect.

It's too early to elaborate.

2008-03-13T06:44:00.003-04:00

I am far too superstitous.
But to be honest...why
would one take the risk, when
not
taking it is just as effortless?

I'm an addict for dramatics

2008-03-10T21:35:00.002-04:00

Thank you, emo alternative, for describing my entire life in one line. To put it simply, I don't think that I can be completely satisfied until there is a near-crisis bubbling under the surface of my facade.

Sad, isn't it?

I'm not saying that I'm the type of girl who goes and stirs shit up. I just let it happen, I get myself into these situations almost on purpose and then complain about how difficult things are. I know that what's going on isn't good, but I don't do anything to stop it. Even when I can.

And then I get online or curl up in bed with my notebook and whine about it to a largely uncaring (or, in the case of the notebook, nonexistent) audience.

Who am I kidding?

My online audience is practically nonexistent as well. To the best of my knowledge, I have three non-habitual readers. Perhaps a fourth, although I was such a jackass to him, I wouldn't be surprised if he stopped reading. You'll get that from me a lot.

Greatest fears, part 3

2008-03-09T22:17:00.004-04:00

I have this weird obsession with PostSecret. I check it weekly and compulsively save the ones that I can relate to, or that make me laugh. And I was recently looking through the ones I had saved when I came across this one.

Seeing as how I posted a blog on the topic somewhat recently (more than one, actually), I figured this was appropriate. I actually have nightmares about this stuff. Tell me my subconscious isn't fucked up. I mean, who has nightmares about this? The sad thing is, I've heard it so many times. Actually, I got this just last week when a close friend told me something that a mutual friend had said to her, about how he liked me as a person, and he'd probably sleep with me, but he didn't want to date me. Now, I'm glad that said person doesn't want to date me, because if he did, I wouldn't reciprocate and that would be somewhat awkward.

I suppose I could even go so far as to say that I should be flattered. At the risk of sounding concieted (and I assure you, I am not; tone and inflection are difficult to convey via Internet), I will say that there have been a lot of guys in recent years who have wanted to be with me, in a purely physical sense. But in true spoiled rotten fashion, I am not flattered; on the contrary, I am offended. I think it is the basest form of backhanded compliment to only want a girl for her body. One is essentially saying, "Yes, I find you attractive; however your personality sucks and I want nothing to do with you on anything but a physical level."

Am I the only one who is disgusted by that train of thought?

And I cannot help but wonder if my personality is really so abrasive, that the only thing I'm really good for is sex.

In fact, I put myself in mind of song lyrics from one of my favorite bands:

"I'm all right in bed, but I'm better with a pen"

Sound about right?

Oh, who am I kidding...I'm really not that good of a writer either.

So...what do I have going for me?

I may have bad vision, but I at least have 20/20 hindsight

2008-03-06T11:57:00.003-05:00

I've been thinking today about how much I miss the way things used to be. How easy they were, and it's sad because I didn't even know it. I miss trips to Walmart listening to Maroon 5 and thanking God for corny friends. I miss summer nights, giggling and feeling dangerous. I miss things like the senior-year mudfight and when pre-gaming didn't refer to alcohol. I miss hanging out with my band geek and chess geek friends in North Carolina. In retrospect, everything seemed so much easier then.

But I suppose that's just the nostalgia talking. I absolutely had more than my fair share of problems then. In many ways, my life might be a little easier now. More complicated, yes, but I am also far more capable now than I was then. Doesn't that mean my life is easier?

In another five years, I'll probably look back at the so-called "complexities" of my life now and laugh. After all, a 2000-word story is just a grade for me now. In a few years, it will be my salary. I only hope that by then, I will have grown more than I have in the last few years.

When you really think about it, weren't there certain aspects of life at age ten that seemed just as unbearable as certain aspects of life at age twenty? It's only with retrospect that we see just how menial those problems really were.

Before it's too late

2008-03-05T22:03:00.002-05:00

I know exactly where this is going. And it's frustrating, because I'll probably wind up doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Because I'm impulsive and in-the-moment. And the moment is what feels good. The moment is what makes me think that things may turn out differently.

But take a step back. Look at the bigger patterns, the larger picture. Is this really that unlike any other time? What is really different? So he drove a few hours to see me. The guy hasn't gotten laid in two years...he'd probably drive across the country if he thought he was going to get fucked.

And yeah, I am a bit of a tease. So sue me. If that's what it takes to get his attention...but then I suppose I really have no reason at all to complain that that's all they ever want of me. That's all I really let them expect.

But guys, here's a hint. If you are genuinely into a girl and genuinely like her, don't tell her she's convenient. Even if you're just kidding. Especially if that girl is someone like me, who has heard that more than any girl should.

Generation Wanna-be

2008-03-04T11:05:00.003-05:00

My generation is one of internet fads. Livejournal dominated during my early years in high school; Myspace slid in to fill the void left when Livejournal became too "weird", and Facebook innocuously stepped up just as Myspace became too juvenile for our newly-graduated maturities. And now here I am, furiously typing in a computer lab because I got frustrated and walked out on my sociology class. It's funny how the most miniscule things are able to completely push one over the edge.

In terms of internet fads, I highly doubt that Blogger will be able to compete with the popularity of Facebook, now or ever, but it is a nice subculture. Private enough to let me maintain my sense of anonymity, but public enough for me to know that my words might actually fall on listening ears (or eyes, as it were).

The convenience in things like Blogger is that they do give one that sense of facelessness. It's liberating to know that it's possible to say anything, and have it be read, but not face any dire consequences from it. Unless, of course, the writer is one of those who uses names and specifics. Livejournal put my fourteen-year-old ass in a lot of hot water for that very reason. But I've grown up, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. The cattiness of adolescent drama is a thing of the past for most of us.

We are a generation of pseudo-intellectuals. We want so desperately to have something to say, a reason to be heard. Whether we actually have that or are just pretending is up to the reader to decide. I'll be the first to admit that the vast majority of the time, I only pretend that I have something profound to say. But I do a damn good job of convincing my (however miniscule) audience that what I say is important, if I do say so myself. Everyone wants to be profound. Everyone wants to appear as though there is more than meets the eye; nobody wants to be judged on a surface level alone. Because let's face it...for the most part, the surface sucks.

The problem with us is that very few of us actually are any of those things.

Maybe it's not just my generation. Maybe life is just a series of pretending to be different things. As little kids we wore our mothers' shoes and our fathers' ties and pretended we were bigger than we were. Now we wear our blog posts on our sleeves and still pretend we're something bigger.

We all want to be just one more voice in the chorus, one more face in the crowd.

Is it everything you dreamed that it would be?

2008-02-27T11:04:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I wish I had more down time.

Then I remember days like Monday. I had the flu, so I called off work and skipped classes, and just laid in bed all day. And I was miserable, even after I started feeling better. I got so depressed and mopey. I wonder if that's a problem...that not even I can stand to be with me for several hours. Or is everybody like that? Does everyone drive themselves crazy sometimes? Is it ridiculous that I can't stand to be unoccupied for more than a few minutes at a time?

It's streseful as hell, what I do. Most days I go from 9 am to 9 pm with little to no breaks. Some days I go all the way until 11 until I actually get home. And I always have several hours of homework after I do finally make it back to the room. It's kind of ridiculous, really, the amount of time I spend doing things. Everyone talks about how they just have to have that midafternoon nap, and it really makes me want to laugh. Or hit them. The only time I ever get to sleep is at night and when I'm too sick for class and/or work. The really sick thing is, I kind of like it that way. My suitemates are on the other side of this wall, dead asleep, and here it is 11:11 am and my morning isn't even over yet.

The fact is, I'm far too afraid of missing anything. Last night, B. and I were playing this silly "truth-or-dare" type game, only it was all truths (a kind of get-to-know-you thing, it was incredibly corny but somehow slightly adorable), and he asked me what my worst fear is. I'll admit, I fibbed a little, but only because the real answer was far too long to detail, in the context of the game. I told him spiders adn being alone forever, which is the gist of the issue. But it's more than just being alone forever. I'm so afraid of time; namely, that I won't have enough of it to live the way I want to live and do the things I want to do. I'm afraid I'll never fall in love again. I'm afraid I'll never have a family, or the kind of career I've aspired to since I was a child. I'm afraid of seeing and doing and hearing and feeling too little. I have panic attacks over things like this. There are times when I realize that we only get one life, one chance, and mine is almost one-fourth over. What have I done with it so far?

But that's irrational. I've done a lot of things. I dare to say that I have even made a substantial impact on more than one life. That's what is important to me; that is what matters. If I can get that much done, I feel somehow that the rest will fall into place.

So you can see why I wouldn't want to admit all that so blatantly. I am an open person, but I don't want to seem crazy. At least with this there is the slightest degree of separation, of anonymity, to protect me.

God, I have missed being able to write like this.

Could you save yourself?

2008-02-25T16:45:00.003-05:00

Lately I've fallen into this habit of assigning songs to people or events. Typically it would be a song that I had not heard before, one that the person in question had introduced to me. The positive of this trait is that I end up having a new favorite obsession, and if it's a popular song, I get that little pick-me-up that comes with hearing it on the radio when you're not expecting it. The negative is that if things should go sour between me and the person in question (which tends to happen with me...I tend to fail in the relationship department), then the song is forever ruined for me.

It's kind of strange, really, the way I assign such meaning and significance to something so otherwise ambiguous. Like Dig, by Incubus. Last fall, I listened to almost nothing else. And parts of it fit, I suppose. At least for a while. This season the song is Save Yourself by Sense Field. Listen to it, but don't laugh at me. It fits, in some strange way. At least, for now.

Memories that fade like photographs

2008-02-20T13:32:00.002-05:00

So I talked to my mom today, and apparently the hard drive on the family's computer crashed. Everything is gone...pictures from the last six or seven years, my sisters' music, any essays or other school assingments in progress...everything. The thing that my mom and my next oldest sister are freaking out the most about are the pictures. Isn't it strange how years ago, when pictures cost money to take and develop, we took fewer and they seemed less vital? But now in the digital age, we take pictures of everything. Every laugh, every memory, every moment documented forever in bits and bytes in a computer's memory. And they're all so essential.

I think it's because the invention of the digital camera has given us such a micro view of our lives. It used to be that pictures told a thousand words, they told stories. Now they tell moments, but their value isn't diminished for that. If anything, it's intensified. The pictures I have--particularly the candid ones--describe how the subject felt in that moment. There's an elusiveness to them that you can't keep in memory alone. There is one photo I have in particular that always illustrates this for me. It's a picture from my senior year, when several of my friends and I decided to have a giant mudfight. We wanted to destroy the practice field after our final practice of the season. That was a year of last hurrahs, and the mudfight is defintely atop the list of Moments. It's not candid, but it caputres the essence of the moment so perfectly. The guys are flexing and being goofy, the girls are all throwing up fake gang signs, and even though everyone's face and clothes are covered in mud, the grins on our faces shine through and the exhilaration is apparent. It's like the signature quote from The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite." That's exactly what that picture depicts.

And that's not the only picture I have that so vividly describes a moment. It's just the first one that always comes to mind. I'd be devestated if I lost all of those. I'm going to Best Buy this weekend to buy an external hard drive. I can't imagine losing all those moments.

So to help my sister and my mom, I decided to go through all my pictures and make copies of ones that they might want. I'm making copies of anything with my family in it. The problem is...well, that narcisism blog that I posted a few weeks back? Well here it comes again. I have so few pictures of my family. Easily, 90% of my pictures are of me and my friends, or me and people that used to be friends but I don't talk to anymore, or me and people that used to be my friends who I actively hate now. Isn't that sad? I probably have just as many pictures of people that I dislike, as I do of my family. I don't hate my family by any means...pictures were just always my mom's responsibility. I was the one being photographed. And how egotistic is it that I took SO MANY pictures of people that were only important to me for the time? It's driving me crazy. I really need to learn to prioritize.

Breaking bad habits.

2008-02-17T22:59:00.002-05:00

I'm so utterly and completely exhausted by this whole situation. I really wish I could just crawl into peoples' heads and figure out what the hell they're thinking, why they do the things they do, what they are really all about. I'm sick of doing what's right. I just want to give up and do what's easy. Even if what's easy will hurt me. Because it's much easier to sink into the current than to fight it, especially if it seems likely that the outcome will be the same regardless. It's just so much easier to just let it happen.

I honestly can't even describe what it is about the whole thing, except that maybe I was so completely manipulated that it just screwed me up more than it should have. The self-esteem issue plays into it a lot as well. That's probably the biggest part of the problem. I let this stuff happen to me because for a moment, it makes me feel better. Just for that moment. And then I tend to wind up feeling worse than before. And therein lies my dilemma; my choices are to feel worthless now and empowered later, or to feel wanted and good now and worthless later.

The sick thing is, I know that I'll never have what I want here. I know things will never be the same, we can never go back. It's fucked forever and there's nothing I can do about it. I know that. But here I am trying anyway. And it's an utter waste of my time and energy.

Things with B. could be so good if I would just let them. But I'm not. I'm too afraid of being screwed with again, of being played, of being taken advantage of and used as an ego boost. How sad is that? I've done what I never wanted to do; I've let my past affect my present and I've grown to regret not just one event, but an entire relationship. I never wanted to regret anything. I want to trust him, but I can't. Maybe it's better this way. I mean, I do know how to find the worst guys for me. Probably, B. is just another one. Who knows.

I can't quite seem to get into myself today the way that I usually do. It's weird. I'm too agitated to sink into that trance I get when I write. And on a rare occasion, this isn't helping.

My life is the persistence of memory. You can call me Salvador.

2008-02-16T17:10:00.002-05:00

Talk about surreal. I almost expect to wake up in a moment to realize that this whole week was just a dream. I'm still reeling from Wednesday, and then Thursday night, and Friday night, and now here it is Saturday and I can't help but wonder what other mindfuck will hit me next.

On Wednesday, B. was here. For propriety's sake, I'll only say this: I am immensely proud of my self-control. I really want to try to make things right for once. And I'm doing better than usual.

Thursday. Oh, dear Lord, Thursday. A bunch of girls from the market decided to go to one of the bars uptown, and I figure, why not...I don't have class till 1 on Friday, and I have nothing better to do. So we all met up at J.'s house and eventually hit up the club. Just outside the door I got a strange sense of apprehension. I knew M.'s band played there on occasion. But what were the odds, right? It was like something out of a movie. I walk up to the door, and there it is: splashed in garish neon paint, the name of his band, and the words LIVE! TONIGHT! screaming at me. Naturally, I panicked. I mean, I knew I would have had to see him evenutally; the campus is only so big. But it took me completely by surprise. What was even more surprising was how everything went down. I always half-wondered what would happen when we finally did run into each other again. What happened was, I pretended I couldn't see him all night, that the person singing some of my favorite songs on stage was just a bodiless voice, until the band stopped playing and the lights came on. None of the girls wanted to stop dancing, so after a few minutes, the only people left were us and the band. And then it happened. He looked dead at me. Caught me with those stupid, stupid blue eyes. And I couldn't pretend I didn't see him. So I slurred hello, how've you been, what's new? He was polite. And that was it.

But now...

No. Absolutely not. M. got me the way he did because of his skill at manipulation. Not because of any genuine affection...it was just an act. I know this. So why is this driving me mad?

Friday was just strange because my sister came and visted me. And she met a lot of my friends. It was odd...like dreaming about something and then seeing it in real life. Two worlds that were never supposed to mingle suddenly collided. It was kind of like that with B., but more so with my sister because she's always been such a big part of my life.

I feel almost as though I'm in the middle of a tornado that's just whirling around me, careening out of control, and I can do nothing but watch. All these things just keep happening to me, and I can hardly even be a part of it. I'm just along for the ride.

Deja vu, only different

2008-02-14T00:17:00.002-05:00

I always say it. This time it's different. And to a certain degree, it always is. Different people, different times, different situations. The details change. Only the outcome remains the same. But this time...this time, I don't want to let that happen. Things are different, because I'm making them different. I'm not going to make the same mistakes, fall into the same patterns. I know I'm not doing it, because this is so much harder than everything else ever was. I'm fighting my instincts, because when have my instincts ever helped me? Pretty much never. Or at least, not since I was about sixteen years old. I wasn't the same person as who I am today.

The thing is, B. is on his way here now. He lives back home...a good three to three and a half hour drive from school. In a year and a half at college, not one person from back home has visted me. Not my best friend...not my sisters...no one. Just my parents last year when I needed a ride home and didn't have a car. It's not that nobody wants to; they all tell me how much they wish they could be here. It's just such an annoying drive.

So B. probably won't be here until around 3ish...maybe a little earlier. And he'll probably leave around 3ish tomorrow, when I have to go in to work. So he's driving 6-8 hours, to hang out with me for about 12...most of which will be spent sleeping. Does anyone have any idea how flattering that is for me? That's effort. That's the kind of effort that only one other guy in my life has ever shown me.

I'm not going to pretend that this means happily ever after. Hell, I'm not that stupid. Not anymore. But this is a good first step. Maybe we'll start dating. Maybe we won't. But this is a good start.

The thing is, I don't really want a relationship; that is, I'm not out looking for one anymore. If it happens, it happens. I just want some sort of stability in my life. If I'm single, then fine; I'll stay single for a few years and be stable in that I can do what I want. If I'm in a relationship, then that's fine too, but I want it to be a relatively longer-term thing. I don't want to start a relationship and end it in less than three months. I don't want to keep doing what I've been doing for the past two or three years. I'm sick of that.

I think the old adage about "slow and steady wins the race" deserves more credit than what I've been giving it. God knows that I've only lost by going fast.

Mix tape

2008-02-05T01:09:00.001-05:00

I really need to stop procrastinating my homework. At my best estimate, I'm about three hundred plus pages behind in my reading...yet here I sit, blogging and burning CDs and coloring the fronts in disgustingly elaborate detail. And oh, the mix titles. What a misunderstood soul.

Tonight B. and I had a really interesting conversation regarding sex. Well, I consider pretty much any conversation regarding sex to be at least a fairly interesting one (I daresay most people would agree), but this one was more than the typical "I want to bang you" exchange. I think his celibacy claims are admirable, if not somewhat farfetched. Call me a cynic, but I find it difficult to believe a guy, especially at this age, who claims that he had too many problems with sex and is now "waiting for the right girl" before he does it again. Guys just aren't wired like that these days. Guys are, for the most part, impulsive creatures who think with their heads, not their brains (sexual pun...I'll take a moment to let the immature snigger and the slow catch up).

But if he's serious, then I think I'm okay with that. Those of you who know me can stop laughing; I mean it. I'm not implying that I am slutty or easy...I am just impulsive. To be perfectly honest, I really only cared about two of the guys that I have slept with in the past; both of them completely crushed me, M. in particular. As a result, my views on sex are much more casual than those of most girls. I've noticed recently that I'm more coarse and vulgar about it; I'm much more likely than my friends to use the word "fuck", as opposed to "sex", "sleep with", or (this one actually makes me cringe a little) "make love to". I'm sorry, but that last one just sounds so absurdly misleading. I have this tendency lately to only sleep with guys in whom I have no romantic interest whatsoever. Again, I would like to stress the fact that I am not a slut. It's just that I've been so fucked up in the past by using sex as an emotional attachment that it just seems safer to not get involved like that. Even that disaster in November...I didn't do it because I thought that sleeping with him would fix things. It was like an exorcism, a chance to prove to myself that I could sever the tie between emotion and physical intimacy. It was almost a test, a conquest, an achievement. The same concept applies to the situation on New Year's. I went to the boys' house knowing what I was getting myself into. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could sleep with someone and not let it fuck me up inside.

I never thought I'd turn out like this. Not that I regret my choices; I'm definitely not unhappy with the way I am today. But if this blog somehow found an Internet wormhole and was flung back two or three years, and my sixteen- or seventeen-year-old self had seen it, I wouldn't have recognized it as my own words. It just doesn't fit with who I was. I used to be such a hopeless romantic, so gullible and naïve and trusting. Now I'm this cynic buried in this shell, this armor that I've built up around myself. And it's hard, because I remember what it was like to be in love. And I miss it. I'm probably the only cynic who wishes she could fall in love. I'm a walking oxymoron.

Then again, pretty much everything I do is contradictory.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Here it goes again...

2008-02-03T01:38:00.000-05:00

So B. really surprised me today. It's kind of sad, but all he did was pick me up when I told him to come get me. Saw Cloverfield, which was slow in the beginning, exciting (if somewhat stretched where plot and detail are concerned) in the middle, and predictable at the end. But as monster movies go, this was a good one. The thing had an aura of mystery about it; although allusions were made, its origins were never actually revealed. For the most part, the audience doesn't even see the monster directly, which is a nice effect, I think.

And now, for a semi-rant on the ridiculous and overbearing ways of my parents. I really wish they would accept the fact that I am an adult, a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Mature, responsible, rational decisions. But no...they insist on treating me as though I were still completely unable to take care of myself. It is fully expected that I not only come home every night, but that I wake them up when I do so. I wish they'd just be okay with me spending the night elsewhere when it suits me, but they're completely uncomfortable with it. And they just guilt me so much about it later. That's the part that really gets me. I know that if I let my mother see what I'm really like, tell her the truths to all the lies I've been feeding her over the years, she would consider herself an utter failure as a parent. Nevermind the fact that I am a Dean's list student with a full-time job. Nevermind the fact that I am much more mature and self-sufficient than the majority of my peers. The fact is, we have different morals. And in her eyes, her inability to stamp me with her beliefs is failure. It is not failure. It is called raising an independent person who can think for herself.

But enough ranting. I kind of wanted to get to bed before two tonight, but I definitely sabatoged that myself by refusing to stop pretending to be asleep at B.'s...so I have no one to blame but myself. It's okay. It was worth it.

The naked truth.

2008-01-29T00:21:00.001-05:00

I wrote a paper today for Sociology. Not a terribly exciting event, save for one fact: it was about people who run around naked. Isn't it funny how nudity makes everything more interesting? Like dancing to old 90s music, alternating between eating ice cream and using the spoon as a microphone. In case anyone was wondering, dancing around in my underwear has always been a favorite pasttime of mine. What can I say? I'm not a particular fan of clothes in general. Call me a free spirit or call me a slut, I don't really care. Go bundle up in your pants and shirts and socks. I'll do my thing.

I didn't really intend for this blog to be about my personal habits when my roommate isn't home, and I really don't want this to become crude, so I'll do a drastic change of subject now.

I was also doing some reading for my Western Civ history class today (hooray, she's catching up on homework that she missed during the week-long, illness-induced hiatus!) and I came across this really beautiful Muslim poem. I'm going to post it because honestly, I haven't done any good plagiarism lately (joking!), and I thought I'd have a go at it.

I believe it's called "The Shepherd's Care" by Jalaluddin al-Rumi. Obviously, it rhymes in Arabic (which must sound absolutely gorgeous I'm sure), but the English translation is still very pretty.

Join the community of saints and know the delight of your own soul.
Enter the ruins of your heart and learn the meaning of humility.

Drain the cup of passion and walk steadfast on the path of Truth.
Close both eyes and see the mysteries with your inner eye.

Open your arms if you want to Beloved's embrace.
Break your bonds with this body if you want to see His pure and radiant Face.

Would you marry an old woman to gain a dowry of a few pennies?
Would you face the threat of swords and spears for three loaves of bread?

The Saaqi is not a tyrant.
So come and sit within her circle.
How long will you stay outside and watch her dance the way you watch the circling night sky?

God's creation is vast --
Why do you sit all day in a tiny prison?

Look! He's giving you a real bargain --
Give up one and get a hundred.
Stop running around like a wolf or a dog -- stay and recieve the Shepherd's care.

You say, He stole away my sweetheart!
Forget it -- twenty more sweethearts will come

Thoughts of the Beloved will feed your soul.
How can your hunger be satisfied by thoughts of bread alone?

Speak little,
Learn the words of eternity.

Go beyond your tangled thoughts and find the splendor of Paradise.
Go beyond your little world and find the grandeur of God's world.

Now, those of you who know me will know that I am by no means an overly religious person. For clarification purposes only: I was raised Catholic, but I don't exactly agree with everything the Church teaches. Most Catholics my age don't, a fact which my parents resent greatly, but that's the generation gap for you. I support gay rights and birth control, and I have no problem with premarital sex. I'm officially "undecided" on the topic of abortion, because I've never been in a situation where I or anyone close to me has needed one, and therefore cannot form a decent opinion on the matter.

There. Go ahead and throw your Bibles at me, you traditionalists. Laugh at my ignorant belief in God, you atheists. Shrug your shoulders, everyone else.

At any rate, I think the poem is really beautiful. For a person who is only assured of God's actual existence about 63% of the time, I was impressed. The last four lines especially hit a chord with me, so to speak.

Go beyond your tangled thoughts. Go beyond your little world.

I'm too frustrated to think of a title.

2008-01-28T02:47:00.002-05:00

Well, here I am again. It is officially two forty-seven am. I am wide awake. I have been making ever more futile attempts at falling asleep for almost two hours now. Typically I lull myself to sleep in the stupidest way; I play out scenarios and stories in my head. I daydream until I fall asleep. I'm not sure why I do it; maybe I think that it makes the transition to real dreaming easier. But tonight it's not working.

No matter what I do, I can't stop thinking about stupid things that make my heart pound and my adrenaline rush. Like M. and how mad I still am at him for what he did to me. Or B. and how much I like him. The latter worries me more so than the former, mainly because I don't want to give him that opening. Again. Yes, I have a tough exterior. But it is incredibly thin. And I don't know how to fix that.

I think I'm hiding behind this newfound mentality of mine. I see how well it works for Mims and I put myself in that mind frame so it will work for me. But I can't help but wonder if I really think like that now, or if I'm just pretending. Most of me thinks that I really do want the things I say I want. That I really am just looking for a good time, that I don't want to tie myself down. I think that's the biggest part of me that changed after M. messed me up. But a tiny tiny bit of the old me is still there. And that tiny little bit is starting to nibble at the foundations of the new me. And you know something? That really fucking pisses me off.

Another thing that's bothering me is the fact that I'm pretty sure someone is going to get mad at me this weekend. I'm almost positive that someone or other will accuse me of blowing him or her off when I go home. But in all honesty, I can't help the fact that I'm a complete social butterfly. That I'm so close to so many different people.

What bothers me even more than that is the fact that I'm not close to the people I once was. I'm not going to take all of the blame for this; keeping in touch is a two-way street, and I have yet to recieve a phone call from anyone about whom I am speaking right now. The fact is, we're all still so self-centered (as I detailed in my previous blog). We're too wrapped up in our own little lives to worry about what's going on with friends who are four hours away from us. It's Asheboro all over again. Only it's different, because the ties are closer and the girls are--forgive me Amherstonians, I say this with all the affection in the world, I swear--somewhat cattier. That's just the way it is. And I guess my priorities are completely skewed as well. I'm not going to pretend that I am not selfish or catty, because really I am very much so sometimes. Not always. But sometimes. My motives for visiting home are entirely selfish. I'll admit that right now. I really just want to see how this whole B. situation pans out.

Not that I'm looking for or expecting any kind of commitment from him. I think I'd be a little disappointed if I got it. I mean, it really doesn't get much more impractical than that. The fact of the matter is, I have no time, energy, or patience to sustain a real relationship, so I'm not looking for one. If anything even remotely resembling a relationship were to start taking shape in my life, it would be a low-effort, long-distance type thing. Oh...look what we have here. Oops.

I'm rambling. My apologies. I'm just frustrated because I really want to sleep; I just got over a monster of a cold/sinus infection and I am desperate to stay healthy. My grades and my job can't afford for me to be sick again.

A yawn. That's a good sign. I should read my econ book until I actually fall asleep. Or maybe I'll just go read random blogs online instead.

I have a real problem with procrastination sometimes.

Egocentrism never seemed more appropriate

2008-01-24T22:20:00.001-05:00

So today, someone told me that I have "a way of making a person feel like they know you without giving away too much". I'm not quite sure how to take that. I mean, I suppose it's a compliment, because I suppose it must take a certain amount of skill or talent to give that sort of insight while still retaining the certain amount of anonymity that I hold so dear. But at the same time...that's not what I want this blog to be about at all. I want to write about things, reactions, what I see and hear. But I inevitably wind up writing about myself.

I guess that's okay really. I mean, I'm nineteen years old. The stage in life during which I can be completely self-centered is quickly drawing to a close. As a child, a person cares about nothing and no one else, and that's okay. They're not expected to be mature enough to care about anything else. But really, at this stage in life, my focus has spread. I look out for my family and friends, my employees and coworkers, etc., just like everyone else my age. But "me" still comes first for many of us, and that is still okay. We're all little more than children playing dress-up for the most part; we're the little girls who play with mommy's makeup to experiment, the little boys who follow their dads around with a hammer and nails. Only now we're playing with our own sense of independence and self-reliance. I'm speaking in generalities of course; there will always be the maturity-retarded few who can't seem to catch up with the rest. But they'll suffer the consequences of their refusual to grow up sooner or later.

Eventually we'll all have to stop being pretend grown-ups and start being real ones. We'll have to put our spouses, children, and careers before ourselves. And that's a scary thought, for me at least. Imagine having someone who is more important to you than you are to yourself. It's weird. Maybe I just think that because I've never really been in that postition, and I know I won't be anytime soon. Is it weird that I fully recognize the fact that I'm not mature/stable/prepared enough for a real relationship? Did I get fucked up that badly, or did I just grow up a lot these past few months? I prefer to believe the latter. I don't think any person, male or female, friend or foe, could affect me that much. The only person I want to change me is me.

This is your life. Are you who you want to be?

2008-01-18T01:38:00.000-05:00

How much time does the average person spend thinking about how their life is turning out? Is it enough? What determines obsession (and therefore suffering the consequences of less social time), normalcy, and ignorance?

Sometimes I take a mental step back and analyze my life thus far. My successes and accomplishments, my tribulations and failures. I try not to do this TOO often; I've found that too much examination leads to discouragement. Am I really happy with all I've done, or am I in denial of the fact that I have completely failed to accomplish what I meant to by this point in my life? I don't think I have anything of which to be ashamed. I'm not claiming perfection; I know that I have made mistakes. But I haven't let those mistakes define me, and I think that makes al the difference.

What determines satisfaction in our identity? I suppose it must be different for each person...I guess it would have to be. Maybe the real question I'm avoiding is whether or not I am satisfied. Do my accomplishments outwiegh my transgressions?

I've said it before: I have nothing of which I am ashamed. I suppose that is quite a bit more than most people can say.

Unresolved

2008-01-12T01:30:00.000-05:00

I decided not to make a true New Year's Resolution this year. I think it's honestly a big waste of time. There's a reason why we are all resolving to do these things; they're our vices, and we want to change them. But there's a reason why we have seen eighteen, twenty-one, forty-three new years without changing these things about ourselves. We can't. Most of the time, it's a part of us that makes us who we are. So go on, you hopeful masses. Tell yourself that you'll lose the weight, that you'll quit smoking, that you'll stop being so slutty and you'll go to class. I'm not being cynical, I'm being honest: it won't happen.

Once again I find myself in late-night contemplations of change. My graduation picture is sitting on my desk beside my computer. My parents are standing on either side of me in my cap and gown, with a caption below that reads "Class of 2006". I can't help but feel that I've lost more than just time since then. I was so innocent and romantic then. And now I'm older and colder and just... more realistic. And I think I preferred it when I romanticized everything, even if it did mean more disappointment. I remember throwing my hat in the air and picking up my diploma and feeling like I was holding the entire world in my hands. Like I had so much potential. And now I just feel like a neverending struggle to attain all that I thought would come naturally. I can't help but wonder if I'm the only person whose perspective changed that much.

At the beginning of every quarter, I tell myself that I won't have time for relationships. That I won't go looking for one, or even let one happen, because I know it won't work. Because deep down, I don't really want one at all. And every quarter I find myself with a new flavor of the week. Only this time it's a little different. This time there's a little bit of a history...a year at least, as compared to the previous record of a few months, or the runner-up of a few weeks. The ironic thing is that this is even less viable than any previous chance due to the distance issue, not to mention the emotional retardation from which we both suffer. And yet...it seems different.

On the other hand, it always seems different. And that's why I always go back on my word.

At least I'm not trying to convince myself that I'll change.

Hello, old friend

2008-01-07T05:38:00.000-05:00

Well, "friend" might not be the best term for my insomnia. "Reluctant acquaintance" might fit better. I actually have been sleeping very well for the past week or so, but vast quantities of alcohol and purposely staying out until two or three in the morning will do that to a person. Or so I hear.

But tonight the culprit is a very real problem that I have been trying to deal with for the past several months. Money. It is kind of sad really...I'm nineteen years old, tossing and turning at five thirty in the morning because of credit card bills and paychecks and tuition payments. I discovered yesterday that other than the check I recieved on January 4th, I don't get paid this month. That check was around $400, and it has to pay for food, laundry, entertainment, two credit card payments, and a $630 tuition payment that's due in the first few days of February. You don't have to be a college-level student to know that that is not going to work. So last night I swallowed my pride (almost choking to death in the process), and called my dad to ask for money. I haven't done that in almost a year. It was one of the most disappointing things I have done in ages. And I have done a LOT of stupid, disappointing things recently.

I really think I need to take out a loan. Just a small one, ten thousand dollars or so. A fraction of what the vast majority of my peers are borrowing. And if I save just sixty or seventy percent of what I'm currently spending each month on tuition (or as the case will be this summer and next year, on rent), I will not only be able to afford the cost of living in Athens (and be able to finally pay off my credit cards), but also have almost the entire loan amount saved up by graduation. And I can use that money to buy a car in the next year or two, and still have enough left to pay about half of the loan amount at graduation. I would still graduate light-years ahead of my peers where debt is concerned. Which is why I'm not allowed to take out a loan in the first place; to graudate with an advantage. I'd still have a hell of an advantage if I take out that one tiny loan. I wouldn't even have to take it out every year; I'm confident that I could make that one loan, in addition to my job, last me for the remaining two and a half years I have left of school.

It should be said that I'm not technically paying for tuition; I have a scholarship that covers that. My $600+ payments each month are for room and board. And that payment will be drastically reduced next year when I move into my apartment.

I just don't think it is feasible for a college student these days to graduate without any debt at all, be it credit card or loan, unless she has a complete full-ride scholarship, and a job. Tuition rates have increased MUCH faster than inflation, making a debt-free higher education next to impossible. And federal aid hasn't increased at nearly the same rate either. Ten years ago, the Pell Grant was comparable to a full ride. Now? Not even close. I think it is downright impractical for my father to even expect me to not be in debt, especially considering the fact that he is giving me exactly nothing where money is concerned. I mean, he is giving me money for next month's payment, but I will have to pay that back. I'm not quite sure how to do that, seeing as how 90% of my paychecks already go to paying for school and necessities.

It's time to cut the cord. I am an adult, for chrissake. I am mature enough to be capable of making my own financial decisions. I shouldn't have to sit down and research every aspect of federal and private loans in order to take one out, but that is precisely what I will have to do if I want to convince my father that a loan is a practical decision. I should not even have to convince him, but that's me for you. I'm pretty sure I don't even qualify for federal loans, because I am still technically a dependant, and my dad's income is too high for that. It's not like there are eight kids in my family or anything. It's not like the next oldest after me starts college in the fall. Too bad the government doesn't look at that. To be quite frank, it is complete bullshit the way the government handles student aid. They don't care that I'm paying for school on my own. They don't care that my parents have 9 other people to care for besides myself, and therefore cannot shell out thousands of dollars every year for my education. Thanks, Uncle Sam.

I feel like I'm too young to be awake at this hour, analyzing my financial situation. Sadly, I think that I'm probably in the same boat as the majority, if not the entirety, of my peers. It's just that no one talks about it. I once read that money is less talked about than sex, especially amongst young people. Funny, isn't it? That we are all so worried and insecure about our financial situations that we would rather discuss our sex lives with each other.

I have half a mind to just get up for the day, go for a run, take a shower, and then go to class at nine. (Sidenote: It's warm enough out...mid fifties right now. And the forcast for tomorrow is seventy degrees. God, I love warm winters.) But I'm pretty sure that I'd be exhausted by the time I left work around eight or nine tonight...not to mention that the OSU national championship game is on tonight, and the fact that I still have a pretty bad cough that would probably stop my running within the first few minutes of starting. What a shame.

And once is enough.

2007-12-23T03:39:00.001-05:00

I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakthrough. Like I might be able to figure out some major reasons behind my behaviors in the next week or two. God knows I'll be able to sit and think about it; a week from today I'l be in Athens, starting my real "vacation" (six days without work, class, or responsibility). I'll have plenty of free time to contemplate the intricacies and the enigma of Emma amidst the haze of smoke and cheap alcohol.

In the meantime, I'm writing down all the half-formulated explanations in a notebook. I feel like maybe I can compile them all together and make a sort of file, with organized sections and cross-references. That's the OCD part taking effect.

If my writing seems somewhat haphazard tonight, forgive me. I slept about three hours last night, worked a nine and a half hour shift, relived my childhood in a bar/arcade, and got slightly drunk. It is now almost four in the morning...and I have to be awake in another three to four hours. The way I figure it, between 8:00 Friday morning and 11:30 Sunday night, I will have slept only about six or seven hours, but worked twenty-nine hours. Somehow, that just doesn't quite seem right to me. Oh, well. Que sera, sera, no? After all...you only live once.

Yet another parallel between my personality and classic literature

2007-12-13T01:07:00.000-05:00

"'I am careful.'
'No, you're not.'
'Well, other people are,' she said lightly.
'What's that got to do with it?'
'They'll keep out of my way,' she insisted. 'It takes two to make an accident.'
'Suppose you meet somebody just as careless as yourself.'
'I hope I never will,' she answered. 'I hate careless people.'"
-From The Great Gatsby

I am Fitzgerald's Jordan Baker, in this sense at least. I am not careless, per se, but I am incredibly whimsical, capricious, and spontaneous. And all those 'accidents' and blunders in my past? The result of my meeting people as erratic and mercurial as myself. The strange thing is, I don't actually hate that type; I rank spontaneity among the most important qualities I look for in relationships, be they romantic or platonic. I think that any relationship is just too boring otherwise.

Maybe it would be duller to look for a bit of stability or practicality...but maybe it would also be safer. I just can't help but wonder if it has to be an ultimatum, a black-and-white choice between safety and excitement. It just doesn't seem fair. I am quite familiar with the old adage, "Life isn't fair," but I am a firm believer in karma, and I think that life can be absolutely fair if you make it that way.

On an editorial note, I have pretty much given up on the idea of this blog as a detatched résumé -builder. But maybe I can use it to prove that I can display both eloquence and emotion; a feat that I personally consider to be difficult. For me at least, emotion tends to increase the volume of what I would like to say at the same time that it decreases my ability to formally convey it. I am sure that I am not alone in this frustrating phenomenon. At the very least, I can consider this an exercise in my ability to analyze...as though that particular muscle needs exercise.

Why I Am Not An Atheist

2007-12-12T01:20:00.000-05:00

(For those of you who didn't recognize it, the title of the blog is an allusion to Bertrand Russel's "Why I Am Not A Christian". It's interesting, and riddled with fallacies. Go read it if you want a good exercise in countering the most feeble arguments that atheists throw at theists.)

It seems to me that atheism would just be rather depressing. It essentially amounts to the following:

1) You are born
2) A lot of things happen, most of which are irrelevant
3) You die
4) Nothing happens

It's just that the thought of life as one long death-crawl to the decaying oblivion of the grave is so depressing for me. What reason is there to do good in life if there is no life after death? What reason is there to even continue living, since we're all doomed to the same fate eventually anyway? Why not just off yourself now and save the annoyance of being around for another fifty or sixty or seventy years? It's not as though you're going to regret that decision after you've made it; you'll be dead and unconcious and oblivious. There really doesn't even seem to be a point in trying to leave a legacy of any sort; the people who remember it will all eventually die themselves, and your memory with them. It all seems so bleak.

It's just human nature to want to continue in some form after our physical time on Earth is over. Some people want to continue existing as spirits or souls in whatever form of the afterlife in which they prefer to believe. These are the theists, the spiritual people, the religous. Some people want to exist as a memory, a legacy, a physical manifestation of what they once were, leaving behind a world better than the one into which they were born. These people are the conquerors, the inventors, the peacemakers. Some people want to exist in any way possible; they're not particular as to which one, so long as they can blindly and desperately continue to cling to some form of existence.

Personally, it honestly terrifies me to think that my conscious mind will cease to exist after (hopefully) 80 or 90-odd years of living, thinking, experiencing. I want eternity! I want to be able to reflect on all that I did during that near-century of doing! And I want to watch others. I want to watch them make the same mistakes I made, and maybe help them learn from them better than I did. That's what keeps me rooted in the belief of souls and ghosts and even Heaven. That desire to continue existing forever. I just don't understand how anyone could not want that. Of course, there are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand, and I do not mean to say that I have a low level of intellegence; there are just many things that seem nonsensical in general. Starting with myself.

I've been throwing around a few ideas for New Year's Resolutions in my head lately. Typically I follow the traditional route: lose weight, save money, find a boyfriend, get better grades, land that promotion, yada yada yada. Lately, I've been considering a different one. Something alone the lines of just figuring myself out. It seems simple enough, but I know it would require some deep analyses...deeper than I've ever been brave enough to go. But I want to know why I do what I do, about everything I do. I think I've begun to scrape the surface, but I really want to be able to sit down and define myself and say, "This is who I am, this is what I believe, this is where I'm coming from, and this is why I do these things." I know I can't expect anyone to truly understand me until I can do so myself, and I think that after I figure all that out, everything else--the grades, the boys, the job, everything--will fall into place. I've spent my whole life being random and undefinable and off-the-walls; it is time for me to settle down and know where I've been, so I can figure out where I am going.

It starts right here, with why I am not an atheist. This is one reason behind one belief that I have. It's all a part of who I am.

This entertained the hell out of me.

2007-12-11T01:16:00.000-05:00

http://www.nassauweekly.com/view_article.php?id=691

Granted, it might not make perfect sense if you haven't had a basic background in philosophy, but I think it's worded so that anyone can get it. I thought it was funny, but if the writer is trying to disprove solipism, he failed. The arguement needn't have ended at "aren't you saying that you don't believe in your own solipism?" The interviewee could have countered with "No, there exists a figment of my imagination, whom I call 'Mother', and it does not believe in my solipism."

But that's just splitting hairs. And being nerdy...not to mention being significantly less funny.

Still, it's a cute article.

Is it wrong to assume that you missed me?

2007-12-06T23:26:00.001-05:00

Frankly, the problem with bad habits is that they're...well, they're habits. So no matter how stupid or hurtful they are, we keep doing them. Because it's easy to do, and hard to break. It's just following the path of least resistence.

Take, for example, a bad habit of mine. I mentioned it in the highly metaphorical post on November 9th. The habit I have of nearly dying from poison and always going back for more. I'm doing it again, I know I am. It's just in a different bottle. Maybe more than one bottle. I'm not worried about being destroyed by it; I know that no matter how much poison I consume, accidentally or intentionally, it can't kill me. That's just not how I work.

Time and time again, it comes back to habit, which leads to ease, which often leads to difficulty; ironically enough, the ends are in complete opposition with the means. Does it really make sense that we make things more difficult by taking the easy path? So why do we do it?

A quick epiphany

2007-12-05T02:14:00.000-05:00

I think I have figured out more about myself this past week than in the last two years combined. Or maybe i just finally condensed and defined what I learned. I'm not sure.

I do know it helps to have a fresh, open mind off of which to bounce my thoughts.

Regardless...I'm moving forward.

I have just noticed...

2007-12-03T02:37:00.001-05:00

That I am extremely long-winded when I can't sleep.

Also, I use a very large number of similies, metaphors, and allusions in my writing. But that has nothing to do with insomnia.

My muse? Insomnia.

2007-12-03T02:07:00.000-05:00

So apparently, sleeping literally all day results in a complete inability to sleep when when is actually supposed to. As a result, here I am at two a.m. (yet again), siphoning out the overactivity that is swirling around my head.

Tonight's topic: judgement.

We all judge people. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. We judge based on the opinions of those close to us, on rumor and hearsay, and sometimes, on personal interactions with the subject of our judgements. Most of these bases are completely biased in every aspect. So when we actually investigate our subjects, our judgements typically have to be reconfigured, making us feel like opinionated, asshole-ish bastards. We've all been there.

Take for example, a recent encounter of mine. I had heard stories of one young woman for months; I had never spoken to her or even officially met her, but I had a very solid--and very negative--opinion of her. I am ashamed to say that when my friend (and later, for a short while, my boyfriend) made fun of her, I joined in the laughter. Recently, she contacted me. I strive to be open-minded, and I still had a slight chip on my shoulder towards my now-ex (who also happened to be an ex of hers), so I spoke with her. And I can honestly say that my opinion of her has taken a complete one-eighty...not to mention the fact that my opinion of him has gone from jerk to liar and downright ass. I feel like a complete fool; this young woman hadn't even known of my existence until a few weeks ago, and I had been ridiculing and laughing at her for months. It is kind of pathetic. Safe to say: lesson learned.

Or what about another instance. This with a guy I had been on-and-off unofficially involved with since this summer. I naïvely took him to be one hundred percent genuine, no questions asked. But recent experiences with aforementioned ex-boyfriend have made me realize something: naïveté is neither becoming nor helpful. I am by no means accusing this guy of being anything other than genuine; for all I know, he really is (not that that simplifies my situation with him, but I digress). All I am saying is that one should not readily assume that everyone on Earth is as honest as they seem. Just because I am straightforward and honest and open does not mean that everyone else is; in fact, I am most likely in the minority in this case. A great many people who claim to be so are, ironically enough, lying. They merely pretend to be honest and straightforward in an attempt to appear idealistic and win the trust of others. Unfortunately, manipulation and a claim to be sincere often go hand in hand. Sad enough to say that these low-lifes actually ruin the concepts of "honesty", "sincerity", and "openness" for the people who actually are.

I can't help but wonder how many times a person must be manipulated and used before she finally closes herself off entirely. I have noticed over the past two years that I have become less trusting with each guy I become involved with. Two summers ago, it took me only two weeks to think that I was falling in love. This fall, it took me almost two months. I think I may be learning, however slowly.

What really impresses me about myself is my ability to remain at least partially removed from my current situation on an emotional level. I know that this will not work. I'm continuing to invest time in it only because I am a romantic, hopeful creature, who tends to hold on until the last curtain falls, the audience leaves, and the ushers start sweeping up the aisles. But the improvement is in the fact that I am not investing all of my time, or even a great deal of my emotion. I just don't feel like getting hurt again so soon.

The more I think about it, the more I realize what a bad combination I have when it comes to beliefs and the like. I am a hopeless romantic, mostly optimistic (but with just enough pessimism to keep me from always saying the glass is half full), a complete idealist, cynical at times but for the most part trusting and naïve, a dreamer, a wisher, a thinker. I'd like to say that I can be practical, but for the most part, any practical action of mine is usually caused by the advice of a friend who actually has both feet on the ground. With a combination like that, how can I expect to not be hurt, lied to, used? I practically have the words "I will believe anything you say, just sound like you mean it" tattooed across my face.

Maybe that will be my New Year's Resolution: find a better slogan.

Still not tired. Going to try to sleep anyway. If UPS has me working, I'll most likely go from 11-2:30 there, and 3-10:30 at Best Buy. God, how I love Christmas season...not. But that is a rant for another sleepless night...

Keep me in mind

2007-11-27T00:52:00.000-05:00

Wouldn't it be convenient if everyone were mind-readers? If truth weren't contingent, but necessary...everything would be so much simpler. There would be no liars, no cheaters, no fakes, no players, and far less drama and pain. Think about how many times people you love have lied to you. About how much it hurt. What would you give to make that kind of pain impossible? What would any of us give?

Granted, some lies are for the better. The honest answer to the question, "Does this make me look fat?" is probably one that would be better left unknown. But I personally think that blatant honesty is the best policy. I've started this new thing where I try to be up front. All the time. And not just the fake "straightforward honesty" that I was getting this quarter. I mean genuine honesty. The kind that probably hurts. But honest and well-intentioned pain is still better than a hurtful and malicious lie.

I really just would like to be able to crawl into some peoples' heads and see what exactly is going on in there. If they mean what they say, and why they're saying it if they don't mean it. And I'd like to let someone into my head too. I'd love to let someone else try to figure me out, since I can't seem to do so. Doors are open. Welcome mat is out. Go for it.

Walls up, walled in

2007-11-25T20:50:00.001-05:00

"The walls you build around yourself
I guess they also keep you there."
-Staind

How many people can recognize exactly what their problems are? How many people can honestly say, "This what's wrong with me; this is what I need to fix"? My guess is that it is a rare gift to be able to criticize oneself so blatantly. The fact is, if those people can identify their own problems, then why are there still problems? Is it harder for them to solve their issues than it is for anyone else to identify them?

What about when those bad habits are holding us back? And we know they are? Can we still remain blameless, or are we obligated to at least try to fix them? What if we're too afraid?

And when you really think about it, how many times does fear hold us back? Fear of rejection, of failure, of ineptitude...they can all paralyze and cripple.

I guess the real question in this long list is, is overcoming the fear worth the risk?

She gets what she wants? And she breaks what she gets.

2007-11-24T01:56:00.001-05:00

I know it's almost two in the morning, and that I only got about four hours of sleep yesterday, and that I have to be up in about four hours again, but to be honest my sleep patterns have been fucked ever since finals, so why try to fix something that isn't really quite broken?

I just have this swirling mass of thought in my head, and I can't get rid of it, because toga parties and night driving and All Time Low tend to do this to me. It's just that sometimes, I feel like such an outsider, a wallflower. Anyone who knows me even a little bit would say that this statement is completely ridiculous, but I don't mean in terms of parties. I mean in terms of relationships and actual social interaction. I feel like I'm floating alone in this sea of relationships; it heaves and swells, always changing, always moving. And I'm just watching it all happen. I don't really understand how some couples make it work; it just seems like something that requires more work than what it should. I feel that a relationship should come effortlessly; it should just fit. But I'm not sure if it really works like that, even for the most compatable couples. Or maybe it does, and I'm just not compatable with anyone. It's possible.

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this particular post, only that I don't like it. I'm falling back into the habit of angsty emo personal problems, and that isn't what I want this to be about. The problem is, I have very little to write about besides my own silly drama. I seem like an intelligent person, but really I have nothing intelligent to say most of the time. Sometimes I think I'm one huge sham; a fake hiding behind this great facade. I only pretend to be smart and witty and pretty and interesting. Maybe my only real talent is acting...pretending to be something I'm not.

Hurting to help

2007-11-18T17:45:00.001-05:00

"How do you aim for better when it's a shot in the dark?"
"You never know what you'll hit in the dark. It could be anything. And considering where you are now, isn't anything better?"

Isn't it strange how often I find myself giving out the same advice that I was recieving not too long ago? It makes me believe in destiny and fate and karma all the more. That everything happens for a reason. That all the difficulties I've faced and challenges I've overcome were not in vain; that I went through what I did not only to make myself better, but also so that I would have the ability to help make others better.

"Stop thinking in terms of dates and times and the past. Think about the future, and if that's too hard, think about now. Sometimes the best you can do is to just take everything hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second."

It kind of makes me think that maybe that's part of the reason why we're all here. Maybe one person can't possibly live long enough to make every mistake. Maybe we need to learn from each other, and teach each other.

Artificial angst

2007-11-15T00:19:00.000-05:00

What can I say? I'm still a teen, it is my right to assume the "woe-is-me" mentality and broadcast it to an audience of empty seats in cyberspace.The fact is, he is not the problem anymore. Not really. I don't like him anymore, and I certainly am nowhere near loving him. Nor do I hate him. He doesn't really annoy me. Only the situation annoys me. I want to disconnect myself from the whole scenario, like I've disconnected myself from him. Maybe now he'll take the hint. Maybe now he'll leave me alone.

Honestly, I want to think that I'm beyond the point where I can be fucked up by a guy. But the fact of the matter is that I'm not. Not by a long shot. I like to think of myself as jaded and tough and indifferent. I would love to be able to pull a High Fidelity and say "we're too old to make each other miserable", and that "if you really wanted to mess me up, you should have got to me earlier," because "unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money."

But I am far too young for that kind of cynicism, and I put too much into everything that I do for any type of failure to be just a drag. I'm more East of Eden; "His mind plunged like a colt in a happy pasture, and when later the world put up fences he plunged against the wire, and when the final stockade surrounded him, he plunged right through it and out. And as he was capable of great joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow, so that when his dog died the world ended." I've said it before. If I invest my time in something, I invest it whole-heartedly. I'll probably never be able to be High Fidelity, even if I am still single when I'm thirty.

I'd even settle for being more along the lines of The Great Gatsby, to be one of the"careless people" who "smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into...their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made". But I am far too romantic and altruistic to smash up anyone. I'm the one who is smashed up, or left to clean up the mess, or both.

Maybe this right here is why I am the way I am; what normal ninteen-year-old compares her philosophies on and reactions to love in terms of her high school AP literature? I mean, the TV in the room is on Comedy Central and there are two guys--both several years my seniors--entertaining themselves (and supposedly, the viewers) by trying to outdo each other in terms of excessive flatulence. Has society really spiraled down this far, to where literature is weird and fart jokes are entertainment?

It deserves to be mentioned that since waking up at 9 am on Tuesday morning, I have had approximately three hours of sleep, most of which were interrupted by my roommate turning on the overhead lights, using the microwave (which is directly beside my head when I'm sleeping), and talking on the phone. So needless to say, I am beyond the stage of exhuastion and have entered the realm of zombie. I really don't know why I'm not more tired, but I'm not, and I can't stop thinking. About everything.

I almost got quite personal, but I deleted the whole paragraph before the thought process became too developed. My language in this blog may be a bit coarser than what can be considered entirely professional, but I would like to try to keep the content somewhat detached and observational instead of descriptive and emotional. If the content is kept as merely speculation and observation, I can at least attribute the language to style and not emotion.

Capricious youth part 2

2007-11-14T03:38:00.000-05:00

It is now close to four in the morning. I just finished that paper that I was complaining about almost three hours ago. This is a first for me in several ways. For one, I don't think that I have ever spent that much time on an essay that is only two pages and one paragraph long. Also, I don't know if I have ever been prouder of an essay. It might be the lack of sleep talking, or that nerdy side of me cheering at my effort and (eventual) enthusiasm, but I think I did very well. I'm considering posting it sometime tomorrow, after I've gotten some sleep and revised it somewhat.

It seems dumb that I should be so excited about a take-home portion of a final that most (if not all) of my peers will bullshit their way through and forget about...in a class that I pretty much hated. But I don't care. I almost wish the length requirement were longer...I feel like I could have written five pages if I had been asked to do so. Maybe I should and try to convince her to exempt me from the in-class essays...

Well, I can dream, can't I?

Capricious youth

2007-11-14T01:19:00.000-05:00

Before I begin, I would like to say that the title of this post is a result of 1) my aforementioned nerdiness and penchant for collecting words, and 2) my favorite class this quarter, during which my professor used this word about eighty times in a fifty-minute period.

I feel so incredibly "college" right now. I mean, this is beyond cliche. And call me an idiot, but I'm incredibly proud of that. I love when my life is like an after-school special. That means it's predictable. Safe, even when it's not. Because every after-school special has problems that get resolved in half an hour, and I like to pretend that my problems are that simple too. And even though it's after one in the morning and I know I'm not going to get to sleep tonight, it's okay. Because this is what my life is supposed to be like right now--pulling all-nighters to study for finals (also known as "impending doom"). When is my life ever what it's supposed to be? The very fact that I'm actually indulging in an all-night study session should answer that question. I mean, it doesn't seem like normalcy would be too much to ask for, but apparently it is.

Don't get me wrong...as I've mentioned previously, I like for life to be crazy and a little out of control. I like to know that I'm somehow different from others. But little moments like this? Where I'm the same as everyone else? It's a nice respite.

I realize that I'm just procrastinating. I really don't want to start this paper for IArt. So what am I doing? I'm writing. How ironic. But luckily, I have enough caffiene and Adderall in my system to keep me awake until I have to start getting ready for work at 6 am. Lucky indeed.

Work is actually the whole reason I decided to not sleep tonight. I mean, it would just seem pointless to stay up till two or so and get the bare minimum done, and be completely exhausted when I wake up four hours later. Why not just eliminate the middle man and not sleep at all? I actualy tend to be more awake (or on a better auto-pilot, I'm not sure) when I don't go to sleep. Sleeping for a couple hours is such a teaser. You just start to get into that kind of deep sleep during which nothing--not even a jet engine placed directly outside your window--could interrupt, and then your alarm goes off and some miracle (or curse) from God makes your brain recognize that sound and groggily fall out of bed in a futile attempt to just make it stop.

So much for displaying my impressive writing skills. I'm pretty sure that was the longest run-on sentence I've ever written. That's my creative writing style...get over it. My professional writing is much better. I actually sound like an intelligent human being when I think out what I'm going to say, as opposed to just rambling on forever. Like I tend to do when I blog.

The thing is, writing is so therapeutic for me. I've had this tendancy to just let go and type (or write, depending on my setting) without being conscious of what I'm actually saying. Yes, I instinctively proofread and correct grammar and spelling (which is another reason why I decided journalism was my calling), but as for content...I honestly couldn't even repeat half of what I've typed so far in this very entry. Not without going back and re-reading it.

I really should start focusing on my paper now. If I put as much effort into that as I have into this, I'd be halfway done by now. The thing is, I will have to provide support and sources for this. And I don't want to do that. I just want to write what I think and let that be enough. I mean, the topic isn't uninteresting:

"Art as a human phenomenon: Keeping in mind all the different forms and functions of art we have discussed in class, write an essay explaining why art is a uniquely human phenomenon. Don't explain why animals don't create art, but rather explain as best as you can why humans seem to need to produce art. What are the basic functions of art? Explain why they seem to be necessary to the human condition."

That's so easy. This blog right here is a perfect example of art as a necessary function to the human condition. The fact of the matter is, no one will probably ever see this. And the few who do probably won't appreciate it in the same manner that I do. But I write anyway. Because it's an outlet. Because it lets me feel as though I've left a mark in the world. Because it says "I was here". Because it lets me take all the jumbled-up thoughts in my head and organize them and get them out, so I don't go mad or explode with pent-up ideas. That's all art really is, be it visual, or literary, or audio, or any combination of the three. That is what it is, and that is what it is for.

Hm. Maybe I have a bit of a start after all. Now all I need is to elaborate, and pull a few random facts or ideas from the textbook. Guess this wasn't such a waste of time after all.

Derailed

2007-11-12T19:23:00.000-05:00

I have this theory about chaos. I personally believe that everyone needs a bit of chaos in their lives. It's too boring without it. I have this habit of shaking things up all the time. When life is too boring...when it's already too complicated...all the time. I like to watch things crash and burn and explode. This week, my personal life completely blew up in my face and I loved it. Because now, after the dust has settled, all the superfluous JUNK that was cluttering up my life has been blown away too. That's why I love chaos...it has a habit of calming things down in the end.

It also becomes a matter of awareness. When my life is pushed to an extreme--be it happiness or stress--it reminds me that I'm still here. That this is my life and there is something to be passionate about. I think that people who go through their whole lives without a passion are the saddest things I've ever heard of. It just seems like such a waste of a life. We only get one...why would anyone not want to experience everything?

Always changing

2007-11-09T18:43:00.000-05:00

Every year about 98% of atoms in your body are replaced.

If we take that statistic as fact (a risky assumption, as it was found on the internet, but for the sake of argument, we will take it as such), then every few years, we are completely regenerated. Completely different. So why do girls like me keep making the same mistakes? If I'm comlpletely changed from how I was a few years ago, why do I still find myself in the same rut? Girls like me are just unchangeable...that 2% that doesn't change? It's the same two percent every year. It's the two percent that makes us keep going back. We drink poison like water in the desert; we crave it, we relish it. Because that two percent is also our perception of ourselves. Often warped and never changing. It's those insecurities that haunt us at night and drive us back to that which hurts us most. We treat the poison like an antidote for our lack of self-confidence.

But maybe that two percent does get changed. Maybe the 98% rotates through your body, so that after time, you are reinvented. You can outgrow the insecurities. Maybe the new atoms are stronger than the old ones. Maybe that's why they get replaced.

What if sometimes, the atoms that get replaced are the ones that make all the difference? The ones that let you be completely new and cleansed. Because suddenly, I feel like those last few atoms just clicked into place. But I didn't want this blog to get personal. So this is done. It's all just...done.

I have random epiphanies about twice a month

2007-11-08T19:35:00.001-05:00

So I finally figured something out. I'm not afraid to risk when I know that what I'm risking is not that valuable. I'm willing to put myself out there, willing to get hurt, willing to fall over and over, as long as I realize that what I'm getting hurt over isn't something that I'll miss. But when something perfect comes along...I don't even try. Because if I get rejected by someone who I know is not good for me, who I know is not completely compatible with me, then I know it's no big deal. Something better will come along.

But when that Something Better actually does come along...I risk nothing for it. I stand back and let the situation happen, instead of taking the bull by the horns like I do with everything else in life. That is the one time I am ever timid or meek. The one time I don't jump. Because if I fuck that up...that's it. There will be nothing better.

So if anyone reading this has observed my behavior during the past few weeks and thought, What is her problem? Is she crazy?, the answer is no. I am not crazy. I'm just more scared than I've ever been in my life.

This is me.

2007-11-06T19:45:00.000-05:00

New beginnings. We all want them. A chance to start over. To try again. Because who doesn't want to redo their mistakes? If you could look back at your life and pick something or things to do over, wouldn't you? I've always tried to be the person without regrets, and for the most part, I am. But even I would change a thing or two about my life.

So that's what this is. A chance to re-invent my image as a writer. My last several blogs (a la Myspace, Livejournal, etc) were immature to say the least. I want to show my journalistic side. I've been writing for as long as I've known how. I have kept a journal since I was in kindergarten. I read and wrote my own stories instead of watching TV. For the most part. I started "collecting" words when I was in junior high. That's when I realized I wanted to write for a living. I'm annoyingly persistent in my query for knowledge and understanding...I realized that in high school, which is also when I decided journalism was my calling. And just recently, I decided to minor in Philosophy. So I can someday write a book. Because all these random ideas that bounce around in my head? I think they could be the beginnings of something big. Something that could change the way people think. That's what I ultimately want to do. Make a difference. Have an impact. This right here, these words? This is just the start of it all.

So that's me, in a nutshell. I'm unpredicatble and capricious and impulsive. I live in the moment. People love me or they hate me, and that's the way I like it. I think that nothing is worth having or living or doing if it's only halfway.