You are my forever boy
Sunken into ocean nights
Ten thousand Iloveyou's under the sea
Where jellyfish are jealous of our sky-filled eyes.
Take me on an exodus,
Would-be, could-be,
Should be a gutterpunk
Born to roam with room to spare:
I am a lion, but I've always been afraid of bears.
And it's not my favorite thing I've ever written.
I don't really think it's bad, but it certainly didn't merit being posted.
Still, it's really important to me.
Mostly because it isn't about anyone.
And love meaningless, but heartfelt, shit.
Listening to a playlist Micahel made for me.
Sickickick. Sociololology sooon.
Maybe I'll write something better there.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Friends At College
I might start smoking (partial joke.)
I spend about 98% of my social time at the Pussy Palace Plaza, the smoking area between the North and South Halls.
Mostly, this is because Mears is my best friend, and I pretty much am attached to her hip, and she spends a lot of time there because she spends a lot of time smoking.
Partially because it's a high-traffic area, so I'm bound to meet someone new every time I go.
And it works.
It just feels weird and stupid, sitting there watching everyone smoke and not smoke myself.
Especially because I've always loved cigarettes. Everything about them: the smoke, the smell, how it tastes in a boy's kiss. I love the little flowers Karen would make for me out of the filters. I love sitting in circles with smokers and listening to their, "Problems I have because I smoke," stories.
Apparently, I have to drink a lot to get drunk.
We think I'm a liquor person.
No back story, just fact.
I met a boy named Kyle today.
Mears and I have seen him around campus before. He always look a little lofty, like he's set himself on his own pedestal. I won't speak for Mears, but I felt really intimidated by him. Socially secure people are always so intimidating to me, because they know how to handle themselves in ways that I will never understand. I hate being one person in the crowd. I am NOT a leader. I'd much rather take orders than give them.
I don't think that's a bad thing. I don't think it makes me a sheep. I do think that being aware of this personality trait makes me self-aware, which makes me more mindful of the situations I place myself in.
That makes me overall a safer, more reliable person.
But, anyways, I finally got around to talking to Kyle today. I mustered up all the courage in my teeny-tiny heart and told him, "You are really intimidating, like a shark in the waters. What do you DO at this school?"
He laughed. He laughed really hard.
And we got to talk, and he is a little arrogant, but he's also a nice person, and intelligent, and not even half as mean as I thought he was. It turns out that, sort of like me, he has the weird social anxiety that makes him WANT to make friends with others, but doesn't permit him to initiate things.
How sad would it have been if I'd gone these next few years without learning that about him? Just hating him for being so cocky and such an asshole, based only on the perception of him being "too good" for us?
So, I'm going to try to do better from here on out.
Michael told me that he almost confronts people into introducing himself, and that some people get really scared and scamper away, but that some people have become pretty good friends with him through that method.
Of course, you know that Michael is my rolemodel.
And that every word he says is straight out of the Bible, as far as I'm concerned.
And that when he suggests something, I adopt it almost as a personal mantra.
So I'm taking this confrontational, progressive method of his and fine-tuning it to my smallness and cuteness and childish-ness, and I'm going make a lot of friends because Michael said so.\
(I really like that I began and ended a sentence with the same word. I'm sure it's not grammatically correct, but this is my blog and I don't care.)
Also, I met Alex today.
On Monday morning when I was really excited about classes, I was walking to Milenburg and he was walking to somewhere else. I had on my yellow and pink shoes, he was wearing a likewise yellow and pink shirt. We matched. We briefly discussed it. We parted ways.
In the cafeteria, while waiting for Michael to finish making his breakfast sandwhich and for Mears and Danny to show up, he sat down alone a few tables over.
And of course Michael has just-a-few-minutes-ago given me this friend-making advice.
So of course I invite him over and explain that I hate to eat alone, and wouldn't want him too.
And of course he informs me that he has absolutely no social anxiety, or any problems eating alone, but spends a very enjoyable brunch with my and my two best friends and Danny (whom has an undetermined position in my social life and thus cannot be named yet.)
Also, I met Carl.
He is twenty-two, and a freshman. He took a few years off to care for his grandparents, because he's an only child and they had no one else to do it. However, his grandfather recently passed, and his grandmother requires medical assisstance that cannot be achieved from home, so he had to put her in a nursing home, where he frequently visits. He wrote a poem about how ignorant people that listen to rap music are. On my walk through South Hall (because it is about five bajillion times more interesting than North,) he invited me to a game of ping pong, and I countered with an invitation to walk around campus in the rain. Mine obviously being the better idea, he accepted. We walked around for at least an hour.
Then, I met Nicky and his girlfriend-- God forgive that I don't remember her name-- who spin poi and do hoolahoops. I don't really understand how one "does" hoolahoops, but I guess that's a personal decision. We talked about SEGA and nintendo and ps1, because we were all feeling nostalgic. This was right before I talked to Kyle for the first time, and is probably the catalyst for my unusal courage. They were really sweet. We were all at the Pussy Palace Plaza (a fake name that only Mears, Keifer, and I use. Keifer was our first college friend, by the way, but he doesn't spend much time with us anymore. I miss him.)
I don't really want to start smoking. I love being able to breathe properly.
But I really am addicted to nicotine already, and second hand smoke is way worse. Actual smoking would be, as a matter of scientific fact, the healthier decision.
I have no romantic feelings for anyone on this campus.
I don't know why I can only make friends with boys.
Girls are just too much of a wall to tackle right now.
I'll just stick to Momma and Nicky's girlfriend, whose name I will soon relearn.
I've written this just to let you know that I. Am. Okay. And that I will continue to be okay until there is no more kay to oh. And that I remember you, and I love you still.
And that I always will.
I spend about 98% of my social time at the Pussy Palace Plaza, the smoking area between the North and South Halls.
Mostly, this is because Mears is my best friend, and I pretty much am attached to her hip, and she spends a lot of time there because she spends a lot of time smoking.
Partially because it's a high-traffic area, so I'm bound to meet someone new every time I go.
And it works.
It just feels weird and stupid, sitting there watching everyone smoke and not smoke myself.
Especially because I've always loved cigarettes. Everything about them: the smoke, the smell, how it tastes in a boy's kiss. I love the little flowers Karen would make for me out of the filters. I love sitting in circles with smokers and listening to their, "Problems I have because I smoke," stories.
Apparently, I have to drink a lot to get drunk.
We think I'm a liquor person.
No back story, just fact.
I met a boy named Kyle today.
Mears and I have seen him around campus before. He always look a little lofty, like he's set himself on his own pedestal. I won't speak for Mears, but I felt really intimidated by him. Socially secure people are always so intimidating to me, because they know how to handle themselves in ways that I will never understand. I hate being one person in the crowd. I am NOT a leader. I'd much rather take orders than give them.
I don't think that's a bad thing. I don't think it makes me a sheep. I do think that being aware of this personality trait makes me self-aware, which makes me more mindful of the situations I place myself in.
That makes me overall a safer, more reliable person.
But, anyways, I finally got around to talking to Kyle today. I mustered up all the courage in my teeny-tiny heart and told him, "You are really intimidating, like a shark in the waters. What do you DO at this school?"
He laughed. He laughed really hard.
And we got to talk, and he is a little arrogant, but he's also a nice person, and intelligent, and not even half as mean as I thought he was. It turns out that, sort of like me, he has the weird social anxiety that makes him WANT to make friends with others, but doesn't permit him to initiate things.
How sad would it have been if I'd gone these next few years without learning that about him? Just hating him for being so cocky and such an asshole, based only on the perception of him being "too good" for us?
So, I'm going to try to do better from here on out.
Michael told me that he almost confronts people into introducing himself, and that some people get really scared and scamper away, but that some people have become pretty good friends with him through that method.
Of course, you know that Michael is my rolemodel.
And that every word he says is straight out of the Bible, as far as I'm concerned.
And that when he suggests something, I adopt it almost as a personal mantra.
So I'm taking this confrontational, progressive method of his and fine-tuning it to my smallness and cuteness and childish-ness, and I'm going make a lot of friends because Michael said so.\
(I really like that I began and ended a sentence with the same word. I'm sure it's not grammatically correct, but this is my blog and I don't care.)
Also, I met Alex today.
On Monday morning when I was really excited about classes, I was walking to Milenburg and he was walking to somewhere else. I had on my yellow and pink shoes, he was wearing a likewise yellow and pink shirt. We matched. We briefly discussed it. We parted ways.
In the cafeteria, while waiting for Michael to finish making his breakfast sandwhich and for Mears and Danny to show up, he sat down alone a few tables over.
And of course Michael has just-a-few-minutes-ago given me this friend-making advice.
So of course I invite him over and explain that I hate to eat alone, and wouldn't want him too.
And of course he informs me that he has absolutely no social anxiety, or any problems eating alone, but spends a very enjoyable brunch with my and my two best friends and Danny (whom has an undetermined position in my social life and thus cannot be named yet.)
Also, I met Carl.
He is twenty-two, and a freshman. He took a few years off to care for his grandparents, because he's an only child and they had no one else to do it. However, his grandfather recently passed, and his grandmother requires medical assisstance that cannot be achieved from home, so he had to put her in a nursing home, where he frequently visits. He wrote a poem about how ignorant people that listen to rap music are. On my walk through South Hall (because it is about five bajillion times more interesting than North,) he invited me to a game of ping pong, and I countered with an invitation to walk around campus in the rain. Mine obviously being the better idea, he accepted. We walked around for at least an hour.
Then, I met Nicky and his girlfriend-- God forgive that I don't remember her name-- who spin poi and do hoolahoops. I don't really understand how one "does" hoolahoops, but I guess that's a personal decision. We talked about SEGA and nintendo and ps1, because we were all feeling nostalgic. This was right before I talked to Kyle for the first time, and is probably the catalyst for my unusal courage. They were really sweet. We were all at the Pussy Palace Plaza (a fake name that only Mears, Keifer, and I use. Keifer was our first college friend, by the way, but he doesn't spend much time with us anymore. I miss him.)
I don't really want to start smoking. I love being able to breathe properly.
But I really am addicted to nicotine already, and second hand smoke is way worse. Actual smoking would be, as a matter of scientific fact, the healthier decision.
I have no romantic feelings for anyone on this campus.
I don't know why I can only make friends with boys.
Girls are just too much of a wall to tackle right now.
I'll just stick to Momma and Nicky's girlfriend, whose name I will soon relearn.
I've written this just to let you know that I. Am. Okay. And that I will continue to be okay until there is no more kay to oh. And that I remember you, and I love you still.
And that I always will.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Collegecollegecollege.
I guess I should rename this blog.
Since, you know, I don't write in English IV anymore.
I haven't in a long while.
(But I think it's sort of catchy. So I'll leave it alone.)
In one day, I am poor.
My math book is gonna coast one hundred and nine dollars.
That's crazy. CRAZY. And I can't buy it used because there's a stupid, expensive software that comes with it that is required for the class.
So. Fuck.
But there are a lot of nice people on campus.
One guy wore a matching yellow and pink shirt to my yellow and pink converse.
He was a film major. I don't even know his name.
But I hope I see him around.
Because I need friends. I thrive off of them
(Lulz, LEEEEECH.)
Butreally. I love having friends. I love my friends. Ineedyou.
Meow. I hope that Michael comes to visit this weekend.
IMissHimSoMuch.
Say Anything is one of my favorite bands.
I might buy a lot of white tshirts and make Bandfron9thGrade shirts.
Because my 9th band bands are so cute.
Senses Fail, Say Anything, Panic! At the Disco, Fall Out Boy.
Those were the days, man.
Since, you know, I don't write in English IV anymore.
I haven't in a long while.
(But I think it's sort of catchy. So I'll leave it alone.)
In one day, I am poor.
My math book is gonna coast one hundred and nine dollars.
That's crazy. CRAZY. And I can't buy it used because there's a stupid, expensive software that comes with it that is required for the class.
So. Fuck.
But there are a lot of nice people on campus.
One guy wore a matching yellow and pink shirt to my yellow and pink converse.
He was a film major. I don't even know his name.
But I hope I see him around.
Because I need friends. I thrive off of them
(Lulz, LEEEEECH.)
Butreally. I love having friends. I love my friends. Ineedyou.
Meow. I hope that Michael comes to visit this weekend.
IMissHimSoMuch.
Say Anything is one of my favorite bands.
I might buy a lot of white tshirts and make Bandfron9thGrade shirts.
Because my 9th band bands are so cute.
Senses Fail, Say Anything, Panic! At the Disco, Fall Out Boy.
Those were the days, man.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
College food
Mears and I did not eat on Thursday.
We ate pizza with her parents for lunch on Friday, but didn't eat breakfast or dinner.
I mean, we were hungry.
We were HUNGRY.
We just couldn't figure out how to use our meal plans, and neither of us wanted to ask.
(What? You would rather starve than feel slightly embarrassed by being a freshman? That's silly!)
Well, this isn't you blog. Or your life. So you can just get gone, mister.
Today we ate a lot. On the weekends, subway and chick-fil-a, and all those other places aren't open. The only place you can get college food at is the all you can eat buffet.
We tried so hard not to eat too much, because freshman fifteen isn't cute.
And I guess we succeeded? And walking back to the dorms felt like a work out, so I guess we sort of almost burned it off?
Idunno.
I could have gone out a socialized after Mears went to the mermaid party, but I just sat around our dorm instead. After a while I went downstairs for a bottle of water and ended up discussing movies and music with Robert for an hour.
He's alright. Really, really sketchy, but alright.
(Robert used to work in a strip club as an announcer.
He is thirty years old, a freshman, and almost completely bald.
He doesn't go anywhere with his black fedora.
He has a pretty gnarly beard.
But, he likes Eminem. So, we're not going to be very good friends.)
I just want to get drunk and giggle.
Good night, everyone.
We ate pizza with her parents for lunch on Friday, but didn't eat breakfast or dinner.
I mean, we were hungry.
We were HUNGRY.
We just couldn't figure out how to use our meal plans, and neither of us wanted to ask.
(What? You would rather starve than feel slightly embarrassed by being a freshman? That's silly!)
Well, this isn't you blog. Or your life. So you can just get gone, mister.
Today we ate a lot. On the weekends, subway and chick-fil-a, and all those other places aren't open. The only place you can get college food at is the all you can eat buffet.
We tried so hard not to eat too much, because freshman fifteen isn't cute.
And I guess we succeeded? And walking back to the dorms felt like a work out, so I guess we sort of almost burned it off?
Idunno.
I could have gone out a socialized after Mears went to the mermaid party, but I just sat around our dorm instead. After a while I went downstairs for a bottle of water and ended up discussing movies and music with Robert for an hour.
He's alright. Really, really sketchy, but alright.
(Robert used to work in a strip club as an announcer.
He is thirty years old, a freshman, and almost completely bald.
He doesn't go anywhere with his black fedora.
He has a pretty gnarly beard.
But, he likes Eminem. So, we're not going to be very good friends.)
I just want to get drunk and giggle.
Good night, everyone.
B U T I M N O T T H A T C U T E.
There are a lot of really cute boys in college.
But, for every cute boy, there's three really cute girls.
I am out numbered.
And awkward.
And sort of boring.
I'll never find a cute boy.
But, for every cute boy, there's three really cute girls.
I am out numbered.
And awkward.
And sort of boring.
I'll never find a cute boy.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
BrownBear:
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a shitty friend. You've done so much for me, and I never do anything in return.
You're my rolemodel.
And I'm a failure.
You're so, so important to me, and I just can't be like you in the ways that I want to be. I don't know the right words or how to comfort people. I don't know how to not be selfish and whiny and self-centered.
I've spent these years trying to live up to your image, and now I realize that I can't. That I'll always be too lazy to really try and make things work.
I need you.
I'm losing you.
You're my rolemodel.
And I'm a failure.
You're so, so important to me, and I just can't be like you in the ways that I want to be. I don't know the right words or how to comfort people. I don't know how to not be selfish and whiny and self-centered.
I've spent these years trying to live up to your image, and now I realize that I can't. That I'll always be too lazy to really try and make things work.
I need you.
I'm losing you.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sometimes, I hate me.
My mom has to get an MRI scan done next month.
I'm not sure what, exactly, they're looking for, but not finding it confirms Alzheimer's.
I don't know if I'm spelling anything correctly, because I'm sitting outside with my puppies, watching them chew on a stick.
It's amazing how they each have distinct personalities.
They're like furry little people.
I wish I could take one of them to UNO.
(I know I'm straying from the original topic.
It's an attempt to stop crying before I even start.
It's not working.)
When I was fourteen, I told my Granny that I don't want scientist to find a cure for cancer. I'm not donating money to boobs. I'm not walk of diming.
Because without all of these medical conditions, the world will become overpopulated to the point of starvation and the end of the human race.
And I've always thought that tornadoes and hurricanes and tsunamis are the Earth's way of culling the crowd, of helping us do what our morals will not allow us to do.
And my Granny said that if my mother ever developed a brain tumor, I'd feel differently.
"No, I won't. I'll feel very sad, because I love my mom. But everything happens for a reason. We aren't meant to never be sick, and we all have to die."
I still feel that way.
What's more is that I feel like this is divine wrath, striking down on me because I tempted fate in the car with my grandmother four years ago.
I want my mother to have the best possible care.
I want her to smile every day.
And I can't ensure that she will if I'm in New Orleans.
But if I don't get an education, I won't be able to provide for her. And if I stay in Texas, I'll go straight into the job market, and won't bother with an education.
So I have to go to New Orleans.
(That's a cop-out, isn't it?
Be honest. You think I want to go so that I won't watch my mother turn into a shell of a person.)
My mom is so bright.
She just so intelligent and helpful and wonderful.
And now I'm realy crying, because there are women in the world who mollest their children, who kill innocent people, who do such terrible things.
My mom did drugs when she was younger.
But she did the right thing and checked herself into rehab, settled down with kids, and got her life on track.
She did all the right things, you know?
And she always took care of her kids. Even when she should have kicked Billy out and told him to grow up, she didn't, because she loves us too much.
She always done her best. Not everyone does.
But she's the one that has to pay.
It's not fair. Nothing is fair.
I feel like all the hope has been drained out of me.
I'm to emotional for this shit.
I'll see you in the morning.
I'm not sure what, exactly, they're looking for, but not finding it confirms Alzheimer's.
I don't know if I'm spelling anything correctly, because I'm sitting outside with my puppies, watching them chew on a stick.
It's amazing how they each have distinct personalities.
They're like furry little people.
I wish I could take one of them to UNO.
(I know I'm straying from the original topic.
It's an attempt to stop crying before I even start.
It's not working.)
When I was fourteen, I told my Granny that I don't want scientist to find a cure for cancer. I'm not donating money to boobs. I'm not walk of diming.
Because without all of these medical conditions, the world will become overpopulated to the point of starvation and the end of the human race.
And I've always thought that tornadoes and hurricanes and tsunamis are the Earth's way of culling the crowd, of helping us do what our morals will not allow us to do.
And my Granny said that if my mother ever developed a brain tumor, I'd feel differently.
"No, I won't. I'll feel very sad, because I love my mom. But everything happens for a reason. We aren't meant to never be sick, and we all have to die."
I still feel that way.
What's more is that I feel like this is divine wrath, striking down on me because I tempted fate in the car with my grandmother four years ago.
I want my mother to have the best possible care.
I want her to smile every day.
And I can't ensure that she will if I'm in New Orleans.
But if I don't get an education, I won't be able to provide for her. And if I stay in Texas, I'll go straight into the job market, and won't bother with an education.
So I have to go to New Orleans.
(That's a cop-out, isn't it?
Be honest. You think I want to go so that I won't watch my mother turn into a shell of a person.)
My mom is so bright.
She just so intelligent and helpful and wonderful.
And now I'm realy crying, because there are women in the world who mollest their children, who kill innocent people, who do such terrible things.
My mom did drugs when she was younger.
But she did the right thing and checked herself into rehab, settled down with kids, and got her life on track.
She did all the right things, you know?
And she always took care of her kids. Even when she should have kicked Billy out and told him to grow up, she didn't, because she loves us too much.
She always done her best. Not everyone does.
But she's the one that has to pay.
It's not fair. Nothing is fair.
I feel like all the hope has been drained out of me.
I'm to emotional for this shit.
I'll see you in the morning.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Tattoos
I'm not going to talk about the tattoo I'm getting extremely soon, because I don't want to jinx it.
However, I feel like my future tattoos are extremely relevant to me, and to my blog.
I've been googling John Green quotes for three hours.
He is an absolutely amazing man, and a brilliant author.
I'm disappointed in myself for not having read all of his books already.
One of his books that I have read is his most famous:
Looking For Alaska.
I know that the main character of a story is supposed to be relatable.
You're supposed to read him and say, "Yes. Yes, I agree. Yes, that is me in character form. This book is about me."
But I relate so, so much to Pudge. From the way he fell so quickly for a girl he couldn't have, to his inner debates of religion and fate, to his general out look on life.
I fell in love with Pudge just as quickly as I fell for Alaska.
And I was just as heartbroken, just as teary-eyed and cracked-souled as he was when she died.
But when Pudge said the following words, I knew that he was not a character.
I knew that Pudge is a real boy-- almost a man-- somewhere in the world.
And that, eventually, I will find him, and we'll live happily ever after.
Because I'm not Alaska Young.
I'm nothing like her.
If people are rain, and she is a hurricane, I'm the mist that rises from the pavement after the rain hits the hot summer asphalt.
I don't have a life library, and I don't drink Strawberry Hills wine.
Alaska is Alaska. And I'm just Jordan. And Pudge is just Pudge.
But I think Pudge and Jordan would go great together.
What Pudge said that made me understand all of this was:
Thomas Edison’s last words were: "It’s very beautiful over there." I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful.
I don't have an explanation for why that struck me as hard as it did.
But I know that it did.
Earlier on, Pudge talks about Thomas Edison’s Great Perhaps, and how he-- Pudge-- wants to start searching for it before he's on his deathbed.
"I go in search of the Great Perhaps."
Like Pudge, I want to start searching in this world, rather than in the next.
I'll know it when I find it.
I will look at my Great Perhaps, and it won't be a Perhaps at all.
It will be a Great Change, a Great Difference, and it will change and make a difference on the course of my life, starting at that point.
I'll be better for it.
To return to the entire point of this blog, at some point in my life, I want to tattoo Great Perhaps on my right hip in white ink.
Because although it's not always clearly in sight, the Great Perhaps is always there, waiting for me to find it.
However, I feel like my future tattoos are extremely relevant to me, and to my blog.
I've been googling John Green quotes for three hours.
He is an absolutely amazing man, and a brilliant author.
I'm disappointed in myself for not having read all of his books already.
One of his books that I have read is his most famous:
Looking For Alaska.
I know that the main character of a story is supposed to be relatable.
You're supposed to read him and say, "Yes. Yes, I agree. Yes, that is me in character form. This book is about me."
But I relate so, so much to Pudge. From the way he fell so quickly for a girl he couldn't have, to his inner debates of religion and fate, to his general out look on life.
I fell in love with Pudge just as quickly as I fell for Alaska.
And I was just as heartbroken, just as teary-eyed and cracked-souled as he was when she died.
But when Pudge said the following words, I knew that he was not a character.
I knew that Pudge is a real boy-- almost a man-- somewhere in the world.
And that, eventually, I will find him, and we'll live happily ever after.
Because I'm not Alaska Young.
I'm nothing like her.
If people are rain, and she is a hurricane, I'm the mist that rises from the pavement after the rain hits the hot summer asphalt.
I don't have a life library, and I don't drink Strawberry Hills wine.
Alaska is Alaska. And I'm just Jordan. And Pudge is just Pudge.
But I think Pudge and Jordan would go great together.
What Pudge said that made me understand all of this was:
Thomas Edison’s last words were: "It’s very beautiful over there." I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful.
I don't have an explanation for why that struck me as hard as it did.
But I know that it did.
Earlier on, Pudge talks about Thomas Edison’s Great Perhaps, and how he-- Pudge-- wants to start searching for it before he's on his deathbed.
"I go in search of the Great Perhaps."
Like Pudge, I want to start searching in this world, rather than in the next.
I'll know it when I find it.
I will look at my Great Perhaps, and it won't be a Perhaps at all.
It will be a Great Change, a Great Difference, and it will change and make a difference on the course of my life, starting at that point.
I'll be better for it.
To return to the entire point of this blog, at some point in my life, I want to tattoo Great Perhaps on my right hip in white ink.
Because although it's not always clearly in sight, the Great Perhaps is always there, waiting for me to find it.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I don't understand anything.
My parents are fighting right now.
I can hear their voices, but not the words, and that's the most frustrating thing in the world.
My mom spent three hours going back and forth from a psychiatrist to a doctor to a hospital.
The overall diagnosis is that she has one of three problems:
1: Because she's been smoking since she was thirteen, it's likely that the nicotine's affect on her brain is beginning to take the form of memory problems and general clumsiness (the area that nicotine affects ((effects??)) is the same as deals with memory.)
2: She may have thyroid disease/cancer (I forget which, and I don't feel like googling.)
3: She's in the beginning stages of Alzhiemer's (Because, even though she's only 46, it's not unheard of people as young as her to develop it. And, my great-grandmother has it, so there's a family history.)
And now I can hear Grady saying, "None of this is NEW. What's NEW is you using it as an excuse to be LAZY."
I don't understand why people argue.
Because I just don't-- argue, that is.
I mean, I facebook drama.
But when tensions rise face to face, I become this doormat for every and anyone to walk all over.
I just sit there, and I think about all of the things I could say, all of the witty come backs I could make, but I don't say them because I'm so small.
I'm not fragile, by any means.
But I am sort of like your mom's favorite vase.
If I hit the carpet, I'm not going to break, but you shouldn't throw me anyways.
If that makes any sense at all.
I wish I knew what communication is.
I just think it's so pointless.
All these words, all these phrases, all these punctuation marks.
None of it can accurately convey my thoughts and feelings to you.
You'll never understand what I'm really talking about.
And I will never understand you.
And that's just so incredibly sad to me.
I think that finding your soulmate is less about love and more about the one person in the world that DOES understand.
Maybe not exactly, but they come so so so close that it doesn't even matter.
That little 20% of not understanding is unimportant because no one else has a percentage that small. The rest of the world is floating in the 80's and 90's, but there's this one person that's worked their way up into the 20's and on some days into the teens.
I want that.
Not today, or tomorrow.
But eventually.
I want someone to understand me the way I need to be understood.
Because until someone understands me, everything I say will be completely pointless.
Gibberish is funny, but it doesn't teach you anything.
It's just gibberish.
And I don't want to talk gibberish.
And I don't want to marry a man I argue with every day.
And I don't want to have five bajillion kids that I can barely afford.
And I don't want to sleep on the sofa forever.
I want a man, a house, and three dogs.
I can hear their voices, but not the words, and that's the most frustrating thing in the world.
My mom spent three hours going back and forth from a psychiatrist to a doctor to a hospital.
The overall diagnosis is that she has one of three problems:
1: Because she's been smoking since she was thirteen, it's likely that the nicotine's affect on her brain is beginning to take the form of memory problems and general clumsiness (the area that nicotine affects ((effects??)) is the same as deals with memory.)
2: She may have thyroid disease/cancer (I forget which, and I don't feel like googling.)
3: She's in the beginning stages of Alzhiemer's (Because, even though she's only 46, it's not unheard of people as young as her to develop it. And, my great-grandmother has it, so there's a family history.)
And now I can hear Grady saying, "None of this is NEW. What's NEW is you using it as an excuse to be LAZY."
I don't understand why people argue.
Because I just don't-- argue, that is.
I mean, I facebook drama.
But when tensions rise face to face, I become this doormat for every and anyone to walk all over.
I just sit there, and I think about all of the things I could say, all of the witty come backs I could make, but I don't say them because I'm so small.
I'm not fragile, by any means.
But I am sort of like your mom's favorite vase.
If I hit the carpet, I'm not going to break, but you shouldn't throw me anyways.
If that makes any sense at all.
I wish I knew what communication is.
I just think it's so pointless.
All these words, all these phrases, all these punctuation marks.
None of it can accurately convey my thoughts and feelings to you.
You'll never understand what I'm really talking about.
And I will never understand you.
And that's just so incredibly sad to me.
I think that finding your soulmate is less about love and more about the one person in the world that DOES understand.
Maybe not exactly, but they come so so so close that it doesn't even matter.
That little 20% of not understanding is unimportant because no one else has a percentage that small. The rest of the world is floating in the 80's and 90's, but there's this one person that's worked their way up into the 20's and on some days into the teens.
I want that.
Not today, or tomorrow.
But eventually.
I want someone to understand me the way I need to be understood.
Because until someone understands me, everything I say will be completely pointless.
Gibberish is funny, but it doesn't teach you anything.
It's just gibberish.
And I don't want to talk gibberish.
And I don't want to marry a man I argue with every day.
And I don't want to have five bajillion kids that I can barely afford.
And I don't want to sleep on the sofa forever.
I want a man, a house, and three dogs.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Ilovehersomuch.
I'm not a lesbian, but Ashlyn Ervin is pretty much the coolest person ever.
I don't know how to make links, so I'll just leave a url:
brookeworm-logic.blogspot.com
If you're not subscribed to Mony, Mae I? you should do it ritenao.
Seriously. She's the best writer I've ever read.
And the coolest fucking person you will ever, EVER have the privledge to meet.
I don't know how to make links, so I'll just leave a url:
brookeworm-logic.blogspot.com
If you're not subscribed to Mony, Mae I? you should do it ritenao.
Seriously. She's the best writer I've ever read.
And the coolest fucking person you will ever, EVER have the privledge to meet.
Friday, August 6, 2010
On the Subject of Tanning.
Do. Not. Want.
My mom is tanning right now.
She looks really good when she's tan: she doesn't get that weird bronze-y color, she just get brown. But coco brown, not poo brown. And it's hot.
But I hate that she uses tanning beds.
One session in a tanning bed increases your chances to develope skin cancer by more than 50%. My mom works in the sun-- when she goes to work, that is. That alone makes puts her at risk. Why double your chances just to look good?
I'd rather live pastey white than die beautifully bronzed.
My mom is tanning right now.
She looks really good when she's tan: she doesn't get that weird bronze-y color, she just get brown. But coco brown, not poo brown. And it's hot.
But I hate that she uses tanning beds.
One session in a tanning bed increases your chances to develope skin cancer by more than 50%. My mom works in the sun-- when she goes to work, that is. That alone makes puts her at risk. Why double your chances just to look good?
I'd rather live pastey white than die beautifully bronzed.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I can hear my parents having sex.
Awwwwwkward.
My yellow converse are the bombdiggity. I have never seen, much less owned, a more awesome pair of shoes. I'm almost afraid to wear them.
I owe my college $1,048.50.
(I know that I've mentioned this before, but I hate that there is no "cent" sign on a keyboard. What sort of bullshit is this?)
I do not have that much money.
Well, I do, but that's just tuition. I also need books. And money to walk around and lose bets with street vendors. If a redbull cost five bucks, and I buy one every day, that's over a thousand dollars a year.
So, really, I need two thousand dollars (one for tuition, and one for energy, for those of you not keeping count.)
I'm going to college. I just am.
And people keep saying that I'm only going to UNO because Mears, Michael, and I applied together. This is fiction, not fact. I'd still be going even if they weren't-- and Michael isn't.
I hate when people make up stupid things to justify my decisions.
I wish I had a boyfriend.
The fact is, I will probably have to celebrate one year of being single. This is the second time I've done this. My friends say, "You're so cool and sweet and quirky, anyone would be lucky to have you." Yeah? Well, why hasn't Anyone found me yet? Because if he asks, I'm willing. I have really low standards.
As in, despicably low.
If you're not a convict, or a total creeper, I will probably date you.
That "probably" is my standard.
I'm not desperate.
I'm just a 100%, no nonsense type of girl.
I don't do the "dark and mysterious" shit. I don't play chase-and-be-chased games (except hide and go seek.)
If I like you, I'll tell you, and from then you get to make your decision.
And if you lead me on, I'll be really pissed off.
And if you date my roomate, I'll be really pissed off.
And if you tell other people that I tried to take things too quickly, I'll be really pissed off.
Other than that, we'll have a really healthy, happy relationship.
YAAAAAAAAWN. I am so sleepy.
good night.
My yellow converse are the bombdiggity. I have never seen, much less owned, a more awesome pair of shoes. I'm almost afraid to wear them.
I owe my college $1,048.50.
(I know that I've mentioned this before, but I hate that there is no "cent" sign on a keyboard. What sort of bullshit is this?)
I do not have that much money.
Well, I do, but that's just tuition. I also need books. And money to walk around and lose bets with street vendors. If a redbull cost five bucks, and I buy one every day, that's over a thousand dollars a year.
So, really, I need two thousand dollars (one for tuition, and one for energy, for those of you not keeping count.)
I'm going to college. I just am.
And people keep saying that I'm only going to UNO because Mears, Michael, and I applied together. This is fiction, not fact. I'd still be going even if they weren't-- and Michael isn't.
I hate when people make up stupid things to justify my decisions.
I wish I had a boyfriend.
The fact is, I will probably have to celebrate one year of being single. This is the second time I've done this. My friends say, "You're so cool and sweet and quirky, anyone would be lucky to have you." Yeah? Well, why hasn't Anyone found me yet? Because if he asks, I'm willing. I have really low standards.
As in, despicably low.
If you're not a convict, or a total creeper, I will probably date you.
That "probably" is my standard.
I'm not desperate.
I'm just a 100%, no nonsense type of girl.
I don't do the "dark and mysterious" shit. I don't play chase-and-be-chased games (except hide and go seek.)
If I like you, I'll tell you, and from then you get to make your decision.
And if you lead me on, I'll be really pissed off.
And if you date my roomate, I'll be really pissed off.
And if you tell other people that I tried to take things too quickly, I'll be really pissed off.
Other than that, we'll have a really healthy, happy relationship.
YAAAAAAAAWN. I am so sleepy.
good night.
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