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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.