I'm bored. And in describing the rest of me, I'm going to try to describe all of the emotions I'm feeling. I sometimes focus on the negative, yes.
I'm sleepy. I'm a bit disappointed and lonely and angry. I feel like my life is so very molten, which isn't a bad thing; I'm just hesitant to flow away from one landmark when the next is so very elusive. I should try to remember than water doesn't pause or falter.
Time, like water, keeps going. I made a choice a long time ago to try and keep my face above it by inhaling and laying on my back instead of fighting for the things I feel like I've lost. I trust. I know that my life is going to be so much more than it is now. I will always have memories and experiences that have marked me forever - and tearing myself away from them has lately been a challenge. My heart is entirely my own, now, but I'm still struck by the fleeting feeling of wanting to smile and look at those I once felt strongly for. It seems I push people away - everyone I've gotten emotionally engaged with has virtually dropped off of the face of the Earth once we've agreed to go our separate ways. Maybe it's beneficial. I know in some cases it definitely is, otherwise moving on would be a trifle difficult.
However, I don't know how I feel about having a tendency to make people crave distance. It's an odd thing to be thirsty for, or at least my ego would like to think so.
So here I am. This is where I've been placed. I could be anywhere in the world right now, with anyone, doing anything, but this is where I have been put, or chosen to be, or happen to be. It's never an accident, these things. My isolation could seem as inconsequential as a dropped penny, or as coincidental as two dogs wagging their tails, but I know better than that.
To be molten is to be dynamic, and to be dynamic is to change. How better to do that than to remove oneself, or, be removed, from everything that has lately been a constant? The only thing I have brought with me into this new environment is me. That makes me wonder what kind of tools I have on my belt that make me useful. What desires have I brought with me? Aspirations? Thoughts, morals, prejudices? What do I carry?
It's not easy. There are at least two people I want to shove and say, "So, where the fuck have you been?" And another three or four that make me want to slip some Xanax into their coffee. I'm so sensitive that I can't be around some things, and some things make me so angry.
The instigation is an accusation that I needn't plead guilty to, though.
Like water off a duck.
Maybe it's because it's night time, or because I must be hormonally charged, but I'm awfully melancholy. And I know that a lot of people would blame that on my being female, and that makes me want to shank people. Seriously. I'm really sick of gender roles, because I feel like once I started paying attention to them, they get more and more present and concentrated every day. It's not about rights or being able to wear pants - it's dealing with a misconception in the collective consciousness of the world. These things start with truth, before they're struck with an imbalance. Then it topples into chaos, and he were are - prancing merrily through a field of neuroses, singing misguided tunes. I'm fun today, eh?
On a happier note, I love the beach. Especially when the tide is out. I may ditch humans for a while, and commune with nature, God, you know the drill. Maybe I'll find myself out there.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Monroe
I don't even really know what to talk about... I just know that I wanted to write something.
I wish the washing machine wasn't broken... That's going to suck, later.
Today was definitely interesting... Things always are when you're getting new holes in your body. And seeing Harry Potter.
...I don't want to write anymore.
I wish the washing machine wasn't broken... That's going to suck, later.
Today was definitely interesting... Things always are when you're getting new holes in your body. And seeing Harry Potter.
...I don't want to write anymore.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Bluberry'd
Oh my, the past 48 hours have done me some good.
Getting away was nice, especially with a good friend. It makes me realize that even though I really feel quite isolated, sometimes, I'm not alone. Bedtime giggles are the most hilarious thing.
I crawled into bed to nap, but I haven't. I needed to get something off my chest, and now I'm making peace with the fact that the information is out there. Swirling inside my head and heart, there's no way for it to affect anyone but me. Now that I've told the truth, I can sit back and let things unfold as they may. For better or worse, it is out of my hands for now.
Man, I really have to get cracking on that DVD. I don't know what else to put on it... I have probably another week before the deadline's getting too close. I just want it to be good.
Getting away was nice, especially with a good friend. It makes me realize that even though I really feel quite isolated, sometimes, I'm not alone. Bedtime giggles are the most hilarious thing.
I crawled into bed to nap, but I haven't. I needed to get something off my chest, and now I'm making peace with the fact that the information is out there. Swirling inside my head and heart, there's no way for it to affect anyone but me. Now that I've told the truth, I can sit back and let things unfold as they may. For better or worse, it is out of my hands for now.
Man, I really have to get cracking on that DVD. I don't know what else to put on it... I have probably another week before the deadline's getting too close. I just want it to be good.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tie-Dyed
I feel fine, right now.
I'm extra sleepy because of the beer, but I'm okay.
It's probably pretty evident to whoever has been reading my blog that I've been going through a bit of a rough time, and it's true. I have been, and I hope that my expression of frustration and pain hasn't come across as pleas for attention or simple whining. If it seems annoying or excessive, by all means you are invited to ignore my blog entirely. Quite honestly, I use this space to talk mostly for my own benefit. I know that the people in my life, if they care about what's going on with me, will ask. I basically just write to get things off my chest.
I feel like I've done just that, lately. After a few weeks of feeling like absolute shit and obsessing over things that are simultaneously in the past and in the present, I'm feeling pretty okay. My memories will not leave me, but I will no longer use the term "haunt" to describe what they do to me. Sometimes, things suck. That's how it is. People change and they're impossible to change back to their factory settings. But you know what else is imperative to know? It's not all about them. There are billions of people in this world, constantly changing. You're one of them. I'm one of them. And why should I feel like I have to be the same person with the same feelings for my little changelings? You've gotta roll with the punches, evaluate and re-evaluate. Just because someone was once worthy of your time and tears doesn't mean they are now. It works the other way too, just so you don't think I'm bitter; just because someone was once given a respectable and deserved social berth doesn't mean they should be alone forever. People wake up, people fall asleep. Parts of us die and are reborn every fraction of a second, and if we get caught up in retaining an unhealthy protocol, we are being restricted.
I've been getting into music lately, because I'm followed an impulse to go to the library. I rented a few movies and a large stack of CDs. From this, only more interest has come.
This next part is unrelated.
I biked home at 2AM this morning. It was so peaceful, with the dim lights only slightly warming what would have been a very desolate atmosphere. I was a little frightened and torn between my instinct to get home and the desire to linger and appreciate the beauty of the silence. I found myself wishing I could experience a night time bike ride like that with a guy. Not just a guy though, but the person that I can feel in my heart. His physical features keep shifting in my mind's eye, but that is not yet important. I feel like I know this person, and the way we would talk to each other. Hopefully I'll know him when I meet him, because it's pretty inevitable.
I'd like to make a habit of that, if it doesn't mess up my sleep pattern too much... Early morning bike rides, I mean.
I'm tired. Goodnight.
I'm extra sleepy because of the beer, but I'm okay.
It's probably pretty evident to whoever has been reading my blog that I've been going through a bit of a rough time, and it's true. I have been, and I hope that my expression of frustration and pain hasn't come across as pleas for attention or simple whining. If it seems annoying or excessive, by all means you are invited to ignore my blog entirely. Quite honestly, I use this space to talk mostly for my own benefit. I know that the people in my life, if they care about what's going on with me, will ask. I basically just write to get things off my chest.
I feel like I've done just that, lately. After a few weeks of feeling like absolute shit and obsessing over things that are simultaneously in the past and in the present, I'm feeling pretty okay. My memories will not leave me, but I will no longer use the term "haunt" to describe what they do to me. Sometimes, things suck. That's how it is. People change and they're impossible to change back to their factory settings. But you know what else is imperative to know? It's not all about them. There are billions of people in this world, constantly changing. You're one of them. I'm one of them. And why should I feel like I have to be the same person with the same feelings for my little changelings? You've gotta roll with the punches, evaluate and re-evaluate. Just because someone was once worthy of your time and tears doesn't mean they are now. It works the other way too, just so you don't think I'm bitter; just because someone was once given a respectable and deserved social berth doesn't mean they should be alone forever. People wake up, people fall asleep. Parts of us die and are reborn every fraction of a second, and if we get caught up in retaining an unhealthy protocol, we are being restricted.
I've been getting into music lately, because I'm followed an impulse to go to the library. I rented a few movies and a large stack of CDs. From this, only more interest has come.
This next part is unrelated.
I biked home at 2AM this morning. It was so peaceful, with the dim lights only slightly warming what would have been a very desolate atmosphere. I was a little frightened and torn between my instinct to get home and the desire to linger and appreciate the beauty of the silence. I found myself wishing I could experience a night time bike ride like that with a guy. Not just a guy though, but the person that I can feel in my heart. His physical features keep shifting in my mind's eye, but that is not yet important. I feel like I know this person, and the way we would talk to each other. Hopefully I'll know him when I meet him, because it's pretty inevitable.
I'd like to make a habit of that, if it doesn't mess up my sleep pattern too much... Early morning bike rides, I mean.
I'm tired. Goodnight.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Ache Me
Another rough patch. Yussss.
I want to get to the point in my life where I actually revel in my sadness and angst, knowing that even though things suck, it's only because they're gonna get a lot better really fast.
Today, I can't even muster the positivity to turn the light on. Consequently, I'm sitting in bed, in the dark, talking about how things suck. My God, I'm pathetic. This would be really funny to me if I weren't so heart-achy... I'm even listening to Coldplay. There's a weight in my throat and chest, though, that's weighing me down from laughing.
I want to be lifted - it's been so long that this has been hurting and I want to be okay. I can see it: what I would look like if I weren't as holey as Swiss cheese... There's an image of me in my mind, and she's gliding through this patch with ease. Peacefully, she's accepting of all the things she feels and is faced with. Maybe I'll eat and then try that on for size. I want to be more like my cat, in the sense that, by default, she is smiling. How do I get rid of just wanting to cry?
I want to get to the point in my life where I actually revel in my sadness and angst, knowing that even though things suck, it's only because they're gonna get a lot better really fast.
Today, I can't even muster the positivity to turn the light on. Consequently, I'm sitting in bed, in the dark, talking about how things suck. My God, I'm pathetic. This would be really funny to me if I weren't so heart-achy... I'm even listening to Coldplay. There's a weight in my throat and chest, though, that's weighing me down from laughing.
I want to be lifted - it's been so long that this has been hurting and I want to be okay. I can see it: what I would look like if I weren't as holey as Swiss cheese... There's an image of me in my mind, and she's gliding through this patch with ease. Peacefully, she's accepting of all the things she feels and is faced with. Maybe I'll eat and then try that on for size. I want to be more like my cat, in the sense that, by default, she is smiling. How do I get rid of just wanting to cry?
Friday, July 15, 2011
Hey, hey.
I laugh in the face of your hasty decisions and deeply-rooted jokes. They did not sway me today, though I thought they could sway me well. I didn't think I would recover.
Is it possible to, simultaneously, fixate and not give a fuck at the same time?
People are split into parts. Not halves, as some would dictate, but parts. Facets: timeless and infinite. Representative of many things. Parts of them, maybe. For every impulse or glance or fleeting desire, there lies a separate version of yourself. Billions, correct? More than that. Countless versions of who you thought to be one entity. Now, for every one of these infinite selves, a past, a present, and a future... Not to mention everything in between. Fractions of time and space and feeling.
I missed all of someone, a while ago. If you think about how many people I was missing by missing one whole person, you can likely imagine how heavy my heart was. Now, I have discovered something: I did not miss that one whole person, just a fraction. Whether it is a fraction of me or him is yet to be determined. I could easily be missing myself, right now. Rightly so, I seem to be on vacation. Or maybe something less frivolous, I don't like to imagine myself skipping out on me for a colada and some oiled men. Maybe I'm buried under the silt of my eighteen years, patiently waiting to be unburied. I'm close now, though... Like I can see the dust of my breath rising as I dig myself out from above with my bare hands.
My cat is smiling. Cats smile a lot. I wonder what they know that I don't that inspires them to be so content all the time, simply snoozing and stretching and smiling. Even when I am just laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I am not smiling. Maybe I should be. They're in on some joke or savvy to some truth that has them fundamentally content. It's as if it's their default emotion... Unless they're hungry or frightened or irritated, they are happy. Me, I'm different. My default emotion is probably wide-eyed patience.
There is always something coming to guide me by the hand. I get scared and panicked sometimes, because it's as though my future becomes this gray, soupy blob of chaotic nonsense. If I don't have a direct course, I sink into what can only be defined as the grays. The blues are too luminous, too serene to describe the feeling. Gray is as background and removed as a dried spoonful of oatmeal under the fridge, where no one can even want to pay attention to it.
Depressing, no? Existential oatmeal... Ooh, that has meme potential. Don't tell anyone.
Where is love?! Somewhere. Apparently it is as perennial as the grass. Desiderata told me that... I don't know what perennial means, but it seems fitting. I'd like a well paying job, soon... I've got to figure out how to make my dreams come true. Sounds drastic, but my dreams don't involve castles or princes or dragons (though I'm lying about them not involving dragons).
Mostly they just involve a VW Cabriolet and the open road to Boston. The post script on my dream involves a positive response and acceptance to my letter that I'm going to send to my favorite actor, Chris Lowell. I am so very tired... At least my words are flowing. That's nice.
Is it possible to, simultaneously, fixate and not give a fuck at the same time?
People are split into parts. Not halves, as some would dictate, but parts. Facets: timeless and infinite. Representative of many things. Parts of them, maybe. For every impulse or glance or fleeting desire, there lies a separate version of yourself. Billions, correct? More than that. Countless versions of who you thought to be one entity. Now, for every one of these infinite selves, a past, a present, and a future... Not to mention everything in between. Fractions of time and space and feeling.
I missed all of someone, a while ago. If you think about how many people I was missing by missing one whole person, you can likely imagine how heavy my heart was. Now, I have discovered something: I did not miss that one whole person, just a fraction. Whether it is a fraction of me or him is yet to be determined. I could easily be missing myself, right now. Rightly so, I seem to be on vacation. Or maybe something less frivolous, I don't like to imagine myself skipping out on me for a colada and some oiled men. Maybe I'm buried under the silt of my eighteen years, patiently waiting to be unburied. I'm close now, though... Like I can see the dust of my breath rising as I dig myself out from above with my bare hands.
My cat is smiling. Cats smile a lot. I wonder what they know that I don't that inspires them to be so content all the time, simply snoozing and stretching and smiling. Even when I am just laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I am not smiling. Maybe I should be. They're in on some joke or savvy to some truth that has them fundamentally content. It's as if it's their default emotion... Unless they're hungry or frightened or irritated, they are happy. Me, I'm different. My default emotion is probably wide-eyed patience.
There is always something coming to guide me by the hand. I get scared and panicked sometimes, because it's as though my future becomes this gray, soupy blob of chaotic nonsense. If I don't have a direct course, I sink into what can only be defined as the grays. The blues are too luminous, too serene to describe the feeling. Gray is as background and removed as a dried spoonful of oatmeal under the fridge, where no one can even want to pay attention to it.
Depressing, no? Existential oatmeal... Ooh, that has meme potential. Don't tell anyone.
Where is love?! Somewhere. Apparently it is as perennial as the grass. Desiderata told me that... I don't know what perennial means, but it seems fitting. I'd like a well paying job, soon... I've got to figure out how to make my dreams come true. Sounds drastic, but my dreams don't involve castles or princes or dragons (though I'm lying about them not involving dragons).
Mostly they just involve a VW Cabriolet and the open road to Boston. The post script on my dream involves a positive response and acceptance to my letter that I'm going to send to my favorite actor, Chris Lowell. I am so very tired... At least my words are flowing. That's nice.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Bruises and Band
I think it's just one of those days.
One of those days you just don't want to get out of bed in the morning, because you don't want to go to work. Then you do. And it's fine, but you nearly fall asleep in brief.
You get a few conversations in, no sign ups. More people ignore you than usual, or shake their heads at your profession because you're interrupting their lives. As little as you feel sorry for them, you secretly wish you could have the freedom to just meander, carefree, as they seem to. You know that's not true, but that's how it looks.
You think often about your poor posture, and all the things at which you want to become skilled. You think about how much money it would take for lessons. Your shoulders slump again.
You think about a guy you used to know with a certain posture problem.
Your shoulders slump further with the weight of the memory.
You get fired an hour later.
You come home, are whisked away to someone's house, and they're very sweet. An hour and a half later, you bike home. Improperly. Get corrected. Don't take it well.
Cry. Open windows, listen to rain. Light candles. Chill the fuck out.
I would say I'm back where I started, but I'm not. Probably about 600 dollars for the richer with a sunburn and some Bo Burnham tickets. I have ambition, now. Thirst, now. Drive, now.
But I'm idle after tomorrow.
Hah, who am I kidding?
One of those days you just don't want to get out of bed in the morning, because you don't want to go to work. Then you do. And it's fine, but you nearly fall asleep in brief.
You get a few conversations in, no sign ups. More people ignore you than usual, or shake their heads at your profession because you're interrupting their lives. As little as you feel sorry for them, you secretly wish you could have the freedom to just meander, carefree, as they seem to. You know that's not true, but that's how it looks.
You think often about your poor posture, and all the things at which you want to become skilled. You think about how much money it would take for lessons. Your shoulders slump again.
You think about a guy you used to know with a certain posture problem.
Your shoulders slump further with the weight of the memory.
You get fired an hour later.
You come home, are whisked away to someone's house, and they're very sweet. An hour and a half later, you bike home. Improperly. Get corrected. Don't take it well.
Cry. Open windows, listen to rain. Light candles. Chill the fuck out.
I would say I'm back where I started, but I'm not. Probably about 600 dollars for the richer with a sunburn and some Bo Burnham tickets. I have ambition, now. Thirst, now. Drive, now.
But I'm idle after tomorrow.
Hah, who am I kidding?
Monday, July 11, 2011
Regenerate
Oh hi there.
I'm going to keep this short, because my leg is cramping and I have a limited amount of hours before I'm going to be at brief. Also, my cat is demanding my attention.
I think I'm back. I'm hesitant, because these things can sometimes come in bursts. However, I feel calm and sore and here. Does that make sense? I went for a run yesterday, and it felt so good. I was pushing through the things I ran away from previously, to their soundtrack. Today, I'm sore. I'm also stronger. I think there's some symbolism in there, for you English majors.
Maybe I don't have everything figured out, and I still miss you, and I wish you would talk to me, and I don't ever want to see you again (I'm talking to different people here, by the way), and some of you I'm indifferent to. Some I've forgiven, and some I'm trying really hard to. I wish some had never left, because sometimes I wish I could write songs about other things. But you are, essentially, besides the point.
Hello, nice to meet you. I like biking and running and I'm going to try bikram yoga soon. I like talking to people, and I'm good at it sometimes. I like to write songs, and sing. I'm good at it sometimes. I'm good at drawing some things, and at expressing myself. I'm pretty good at feeling emotions instead of bottling them up. I like cats and dogs and books, and boys, though they drive me crazy, also intrigue me to no end. I've never been able to get too close to one for too long, but that's okay. I've yet to do my field research.
I love my family, and I want to do so many things. Right now I'm hoping to raise money for a car so I can drive to Boston for my birthday. I might end up going by myself, and it'll be two weeks.
Right now, though, I'm going to try to talk to my friend once more, and then I'm going to sleep. I'm pretty tired. Love you night night.
I'm going to keep this short, because my leg is cramping and I have a limited amount of hours before I'm going to be at brief. Also, my cat is demanding my attention.
I think I'm back. I'm hesitant, because these things can sometimes come in bursts. However, I feel calm and sore and here. Does that make sense? I went for a run yesterday, and it felt so good. I was pushing through the things I ran away from previously, to their soundtrack. Today, I'm sore. I'm also stronger. I think there's some symbolism in there, for you English majors.
Maybe I don't have everything figured out, and I still miss you, and I wish you would talk to me, and I don't ever want to see you again (I'm talking to different people here, by the way), and some of you I'm indifferent to. Some I've forgiven, and some I'm trying really hard to. I wish some had never left, because sometimes I wish I could write songs about other things. But you are, essentially, besides the point.
Hello, nice to meet you. I like biking and running and I'm going to try bikram yoga soon. I like talking to people, and I'm good at it sometimes. I like to write songs, and sing. I'm good at it sometimes. I'm good at drawing some things, and at expressing myself. I'm pretty good at feeling emotions instead of bottling them up. I like cats and dogs and books, and boys, though they drive me crazy, also intrigue me to no end. I've never been able to get too close to one for too long, but that's okay. I've yet to do my field research.
I love my family, and I want to do so many things. Right now I'm hoping to raise money for a car so I can drive to Boston for my birthday. I might end up going by myself, and it'll be two weeks.
Right now, though, I'm going to try to talk to my friend once more, and then I'm going to sleep. I'm pretty tired. Love you night night.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Capo on the Ground
I think I'm laughing at myself.
I'm a funny lady, that's for sure - the way I continue to give people chances to give me something they haven't even got anymore. Why do I have another tab open, waiting?
Because I don't easily give up hope, I suppose. The thought makes me want to cry, but I know there is a possibility that this can all go away with one brief exchange. I wanted closure. I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but noone really reads this anyway. I've slipped into this irrational state, but that's because the loose ends are tripping me up. I want this finished, because all I can think about is when it can continue. I don't want that, it kills me.
Why am I always outsourcing? I'd love more than anything to be able to see myself as I am, but I have such trouble. I want to be and be able to do so many things that I criticize and distract myself. It's as if I need someone to balance me out, to weigh me down with love and affection. Otherwise I'll just float away and dissipate into this identity-void creature.
I look around my room and I see so much colour. So many indications of life and passion. If I were to walk into this room, unknowing of who lived here, I'd think she was a pretty cool person. A Star Wars poster of the later cast rocking out onstage, two Christmas wreaths, collages of herself and family... So much heart has been put up and displayed on these walls, and I'm still looking for something. I've left myself all of these clues, right in front of me - I look past them every day and they're continually in my face.
Am I afraid of what I might find? ...Why?
I asked for, I ache for so much. I just want peace and joy, instead of always working for something. I feel really lost, I guess, because something is tugging at my soul and I'm blind as to where it's coming from. I pray for the strength in my heart to know my path. I also pray for the strength to follow it, even if I can't see the ground beneath my feet.
I want so many things. I've wanted things before - they come to me. Then I want more things. What am I building?
I'm a funny lady, that's for sure - the way I continue to give people chances to give me something they haven't even got anymore. Why do I have another tab open, waiting?
Because I don't easily give up hope, I suppose. The thought makes me want to cry, but I know there is a possibility that this can all go away with one brief exchange. I wanted closure. I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but noone really reads this anyway. I've slipped into this irrational state, but that's because the loose ends are tripping me up. I want this finished, because all I can think about is when it can continue. I don't want that, it kills me.
Why am I always outsourcing? I'd love more than anything to be able to see myself as I am, but I have such trouble. I want to be and be able to do so many things that I criticize and distract myself. It's as if I need someone to balance me out, to weigh me down with love and affection. Otherwise I'll just float away and dissipate into this identity-void creature.
I look around my room and I see so much colour. So many indications of life and passion. If I were to walk into this room, unknowing of who lived here, I'd think she was a pretty cool person. A Star Wars poster of the later cast rocking out onstage, two Christmas wreaths, collages of herself and family... So much heart has been put up and displayed on these walls, and I'm still looking for something. I've left myself all of these clues, right in front of me - I look past them every day and they're continually in my face.
Am I afraid of what I might find? ...Why?
I asked for, I ache for so much. I just want peace and joy, instead of always working for something. I feel really lost, I guess, because something is tugging at my soul and I'm blind as to where it's coming from. I pray for the strength in my heart to know my path. I also pray for the strength to follow it, even if I can't see the ground beneath my feet.
I want so many things. I've wanted things before - they come to me. Then I want more things. What am I building?
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Welcome to the Overwhelm
My heart twists, thinking of when I'll get to hug you again.
I had a dream you were standing in front of me, and the relief I felt woke me up.
You're like an itch I just can't scratch.
I had a dream you were standing in front of me, and the relief I felt woke me up.
You're like an itch I just can't scratch.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
My Life is My Own
Tonight, I belong to the heat that is borderline uncomfortable. I belong to the soothing sound of my mother's furious typing, and of the pizza baking behind me in the oven.
I belong to the knowledge that I have a certain amount of power - a certain ability to make things happen. I don't know why this is so mind blowing for me, but the feeling that I can create long-lasting and worthwhile memories is soothing. I'm going to buy two tickets for Bo Burnham's show in Boston, tomorrow. The second is going to a person yet undecided... A weeklong roadtrip will likely be necessary to attend the show. I don't mind... Hopefully I'll be able to drive down myself, or I'll have to pick someone to come with me. Four pages of Google maps directions and a case of mixed CDs sounds good to me... And the camera. Always the camera.
I don't know why I've been so obsessed with celebrities lately. It's not because they're celebrities, but it's because I'm lonely and they're right in front of me, on my television or computer screen. The other day I came to the conclusion that it's stupid, a certain kind of attention they get. It's all the, "OMGZ You're SO AMAZING. Will you marry me?! I want to bear your offspring from my vajazzle'd ladyparts!"
Realistically, say you married the celebrity of your choice. For a while, I'm sure it would be like a dream come true, but then you'd get to know them. They'd become a person, instead of a patented and sold identity, and you'd have to deal with the multi-faceted glory of holy matrimony, in which you have been bound with a stranger.
Maybe Johnny Depp likes to smear Cheez Whiz on everything, no matter how long and hard you slaved in your thirty million dollar kitchen. Even if it's caviar. Even if it's penguin babies. Woud you still adore him because he wore eyeline in PotC?
And maybe Leonardo DiCaprio has a foot fetish. He wants you to put on nylons with the toes cut off, and just suck your feet. He won't touch you anywhere else, he'll just wipe his saliva all over your toes with his tongue. Unsatisfying? Maybe. True? Probably not.
My point (which I have strayed from), is that these people are not gods. They are people, too, and they all are likely deserving of the praise they get for their talent. Yes, they're good looking, yes, they're admirable... But there are other people who are just as deserving of attention, and the only reason they aren't getting it is because they are invisible to you. They are in a different city or country, busy with their lives and not being plastered on billboards or projected onto silver screens. These people are just as valuable.
YOU are just as valuable.
I don't want this to sound hypocritical, but it may. This next part, however, is what led me to this realization.
This last little while, I admit I've been internet-stalking Chris Lowell, who played Piz on Veronica Mars. He's obviously done other work, but that's where I saw him first, and Rogers Video doesn't carry the movie Graduation. Moving right along. I've been watching interviews and videos of his band play, and I must say that I have a bit of a crush on what I know of him. It's impossible for me to have any good idea of who he is, since we've never met, and it's pretty irrational to believe we'll ever have any kind of relationship (platonic, romantic, professional, etc) since he has no idea I exist. Aside from my rampant hopelessness, I think he's a really person. He loves to travel (spontaneously, I might add, which is my dream life incarnate), he's a spirited musician, he's a hilarious actor and amiable person (in interviews), and he's a passionate photographer. He would be a pretty bitchin' person to have in my life, especially at this time.
Anyways, now that I've gushed, fan-girl style, I want to try to prove to you that I am not a fan girl. I am not a fan girl because my name is Sarah, and while I acknowledge that Chris Lowell is probably a righteous dude, I am also pretty cool. Fangirl style is, "Chris! I would have sex with you! You are the best!" And they don't even pretend they have anything to offer the receiving party (except sexual acts and maybe sometimes baked goods). I, however, am going to write Chris a letter (don't laugh at me) briefly praising his widely broadcast-ed abilities, and then I'll follow up with, "this is what I can do". Maybe he'll get something out of it, if he reads it. Maybe he'll overlook it entirely and go on with his life - I don't blame him. As hard as I try to get his attention, he might not give any fucks whatsoever. That's just how it is when you don't know someone, and she seems to be one of thousands of girls who love you with all their less-than-threes. That's just how she goes.
So I guess for now, I'll just try to ingest some pizza. My throat is swollen due to some rebellious tonsils, and that makes peristalsis both challenging and painful. I think I just wanted to write this blog post because I'm feeling like I have a bit more of a sense of self. That part's pretty cool.
I belong to the knowledge that I have a certain amount of power - a certain ability to make things happen. I don't know why this is so mind blowing for me, but the feeling that I can create long-lasting and worthwhile memories is soothing. I'm going to buy two tickets for Bo Burnham's show in Boston, tomorrow. The second is going to a person yet undecided... A weeklong roadtrip will likely be necessary to attend the show. I don't mind... Hopefully I'll be able to drive down myself, or I'll have to pick someone to come with me. Four pages of Google maps directions and a case of mixed CDs sounds good to me... And the camera. Always the camera.
I don't know why I've been so obsessed with celebrities lately. It's not because they're celebrities, but it's because I'm lonely and they're right in front of me, on my television or computer screen. The other day I came to the conclusion that it's stupid, a certain kind of attention they get. It's all the, "OMGZ You're SO AMAZING. Will you marry me?! I want to bear your offspring from my vajazzle'd ladyparts!"
Realistically, say you married the celebrity of your choice. For a while, I'm sure it would be like a dream come true, but then you'd get to know them. They'd become a person, instead of a patented and sold identity, and you'd have to deal with the multi-faceted glory of holy matrimony, in which you have been bound with a stranger.
Maybe Johnny Depp likes to smear Cheez Whiz on everything, no matter how long and hard you slaved in your thirty million dollar kitchen. Even if it's caviar. Even if it's penguin babies. Woud you still adore him because he wore eyeline in PotC?
And maybe Leonardo DiCaprio has a foot fetish. He wants you to put on nylons with the toes cut off, and just suck your feet. He won't touch you anywhere else, he'll just wipe his saliva all over your toes with his tongue. Unsatisfying? Maybe. True? Probably not.
My point (which I have strayed from), is that these people are not gods. They are people, too, and they all are likely deserving of the praise they get for their talent. Yes, they're good looking, yes, they're admirable... But there are other people who are just as deserving of attention, and the only reason they aren't getting it is because they are invisible to you. They are in a different city or country, busy with their lives and not being plastered on billboards or projected onto silver screens. These people are just as valuable.
YOU are just as valuable.
I don't want this to sound hypocritical, but it may. This next part, however, is what led me to this realization.
This last little while, I admit I've been internet-stalking Chris Lowell, who played Piz on Veronica Mars. He's obviously done other work, but that's where I saw him first, and Rogers Video doesn't carry the movie Graduation. Moving right along. I've been watching interviews and videos of his band play, and I must say that I have a bit of a crush on what I know of him. It's impossible for me to have any good idea of who he is, since we've never met, and it's pretty irrational to believe we'll ever have any kind of relationship (platonic, romantic, professional, etc) since he has no idea I exist. Aside from my rampant hopelessness, I think he's a really person. He loves to travel (spontaneously, I might add, which is my dream life incarnate), he's a spirited musician, he's a hilarious actor and amiable person (in interviews), and he's a passionate photographer. He would be a pretty bitchin' person to have in my life, especially at this time.
Anyways, now that I've gushed, fan-girl style, I want to try to prove to you that I am not a fan girl. I am not a fan girl because my name is Sarah, and while I acknowledge that Chris Lowell is probably a righteous dude, I am also pretty cool. Fangirl style is, "Chris! I would have sex with you! You are the best!" And they don't even pretend they have anything to offer the receiving party (except sexual acts and maybe sometimes baked goods). I, however, am going to write Chris a letter (don't laugh at me) briefly praising his widely broadcast-ed abilities, and then I'll follow up with, "this is what I can do". Maybe he'll get something out of it, if he reads it. Maybe he'll overlook it entirely and go on with his life - I don't blame him. As hard as I try to get his attention, he might not give any fucks whatsoever. That's just how it is when you don't know someone, and she seems to be one of thousands of girls who love you with all their less-than-threes. That's just how she goes.
So I guess for now, I'll just try to ingest some pizza. My throat is swollen due to some rebellious tonsils, and that makes peristalsis both challenging and painful. I think I just wanted to write this blog post because I'm feeling like I have a bit more of a sense of self. That part's pretty cool.
The Matrix Methods
I need to learn Italian. Immediately.
My neighbour is an elderly Italian woman, and she has, twice now, tried to get my mum over for tea. She speaks no English, but teared up and hugged her. My heart is exploding.
My neighbour is an elderly Italian woman, and she has, twice now, tried to get my mum over for tea. She speaks no English, but teared up and hugged her. My heart is exploding.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Foolish Heart
Is it July already? My, this time last year I was sitting at home, writing in my diary about a boy. What's changed? Not much, apparently. I just spent the last forty-five minutes or so writing about a boy.
Mind you this time, it was on a computer. Modernized.
Different situation, similar feelings of fondness and longing. Shall we move on? Yes, PLEASE.
I feel as though there is a balloon, semi-inflated, in the right side of my throat. One tonsil has decided to oppose me, whereas the other has remained quite docile. I picture them as a pair of siblings, one of which decides to act out. I shouldn't be surprised. I don't take very good care of myself. Where is my life going? Man, I do not know. For the next few days, it's going to sit it's ass on the couch that's less than 20 feet away from me, and wait for my glands to deflate and continue existing as usual. During this time, I'm quite certain I'll be faced with quite a few challenging and overwhelming psychological, emotional, and spiritual challenged. In silence, the baggage presents itself. Always with a twinge of nausea (or that could just be the Clavacin).
So I will marinate in teas and pills and sorrow until I feel better. I simply pray to God that someone is there to pull me abruptly to my feet. I am so easy to get down, in this time of transition. If only I could find my footing, I could walk anywhere and know who I am. Even the slightest change in scenery seems enough to send me tumbling straight onto my ass.
My poor, poor ass.
And, for the love of Bob Ross, when will my heart quit yearning for things beyond boundaries? It's not the fact that these things are forbidden, because my affection to the subject is rightly felt and deserved. But to express myself with kisses and comfortingly laid hands - it is in my very nature! Yet I find myself reduced to mumbling and blushing and sometimes, tears. When out of the line of fire, I set myself to memories that induce pining. Imagine - pining! The very thought is enough to send me to a stack of romantic comedies coated in chocolate, simply to make a further mockery of myself. I can hardly stand the thought of the action, 'pining', but what am I doing right now? Is that not the definition of 'pining'? Constantly sending thoughts, reaching out to someone who is focused elsewhere? Escaping to memories when there was no distance between these two (entirely fictional and theoretical) people? It could be seen as pathetic, sad. Then again, certain parts of me could be seen as pathetic, or sad.
My official statement, however, is that I am a victim! A victim of feelings that make me warm when I am cold, despite my yearnings. A victim of feelings that paint my sunny days with silver and gold, and a victim of feelings that, in themselves, are praises to God.
Despite my pain... Despite the costs and the woes... Is the ability to love not beautiful in itself?
In my ill state, I will let this thought ease my mind before sleep. Instead of thinking about that which makes me ache, I will say this.
"I can love."
Mind you this time, it was on a computer. Modernized.
Different situation, similar feelings of fondness and longing. Shall we move on? Yes, PLEASE.
I feel as though there is a balloon, semi-inflated, in the right side of my throat. One tonsil has decided to oppose me, whereas the other has remained quite docile. I picture them as a pair of siblings, one of which decides to act out. I shouldn't be surprised. I don't take very good care of myself. Where is my life going? Man, I do not know. For the next few days, it's going to sit it's ass on the couch that's less than 20 feet away from me, and wait for my glands to deflate and continue existing as usual. During this time, I'm quite certain I'll be faced with quite a few challenging and overwhelming psychological, emotional, and spiritual challenged. In silence, the baggage presents itself. Always with a twinge of nausea (or that could just be the Clavacin).
So I will marinate in teas and pills and sorrow until I feel better. I simply pray to God that someone is there to pull me abruptly to my feet. I am so easy to get down, in this time of transition. If only I could find my footing, I could walk anywhere and know who I am. Even the slightest change in scenery seems enough to send me tumbling straight onto my ass.
My poor, poor ass.
And, for the love of Bob Ross, when will my heart quit yearning for things beyond boundaries? It's not the fact that these things are forbidden, because my affection to the subject is rightly felt and deserved. But to express myself with kisses and comfortingly laid hands - it is in my very nature! Yet I find myself reduced to mumbling and blushing and sometimes, tears. When out of the line of fire, I set myself to memories that induce pining. Imagine - pining! The very thought is enough to send me to a stack of romantic comedies coated in chocolate, simply to make a further mockery of myself. I can hardly stand the thought of the action, 'pining', but what am I doing right now? Is that not the definition of 'pining'? Constantly sending thoughts, reaching out to someone who is focused elsewhere? Escaping to memories when there was no distance between these two (entirely fictional and theoretical) people? It could be seen as pathetic, sad. Then again, certain parts of me could be seen as pathetic, or sad.
My official statement, however, is that I am a victim! A victim of feelings that make me warm when I am cold, despite my yearnings. A victim of feelings that paint my sunny days with silver and gold, and a victim of feelings that, in themselves, are praises to God.
Despite my pain... Despite the costs and the woes... Is the ability to love not beautiful in itself?
In my ill state, I will let this thought ease my mind before sleep. Instead of thinking about that which makes me ache, I will say this.
"I can love."
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Glass Jars
The only thing worse than self-pity is silent, underground self-pity that manifests on a subconscious level. I am so incredibly sick of walking around with my head held low, wondering why I have to be stuck with these seasonal feelings of worthlessness, why I have to be stuck missing people who couldn't give a flying fuck about me, and why I have to be stuck with such a watered-down and inconsistent sense of self.
I'm just going to be completely honest with where I'm at right now - who the fuck am I? I've been consciously observing this for the past week or so. Some days I feel really good about the words that come out of my mouth and the way I relate to people. I felt awesome on Friday night, because I didn't let any of my insecurities get in the way of what I wanted to say to people or who I wanted to hug. I felt awesome. Yesterday, I felt less so. It's like I had stepped out for the night, and my body had to act alone, but it can't focus on relating to people or loving on them... My cells have to multiply, worry about phagocytosis, eat one another, etc etc. My body isn't too great at Sarah-world relations, in most respects. I wasn't grounded, I guess.
I woke up this morning and lay in bed, circling all the things I feel like I'm dragging behind me, through the sand. It's like I have these fabric bags on strings, tied to my arms and knees and feet, and they're weighing me down so I can't run.
One of the bags is work. Is this what I should be doing? Can I do it? Can I continue to do this for enough time to save up traveling money, or would a more low-key job be better? I may be more comfortable serving people in a restaurant or something. I took the knife to that string, though: Maybe. But now is not the time to tell. Working at a restaurant or something would be like chickening out. Canvassing is pushing my boundaries, for sure, but isn't that what I want? I don't understand how I expect to hide for 6 months, and then throw myself into Southeast Asia or India. Working in Vancouver, I'm building my resistance to the noise, and the negative human interaction, and even the city fumes.
As for the rest of my fabric bags, perhaps some will remain for a time. It is more difficult to cut the ties when someone has left an imprint on your heart... Perhaps for now I will just keep my blade poised to cut. When the time is right, I will not hesitate.
I was internet stalking Christopher Lowell yesterday... he's an amazing person, from what I can tell. He's a spontaneous traveler, a passionate musician, and a soulful photographer. On top of that, he's quirky, witty, and a talented actor. What an interesting person he would be to have in my life. After a long while of chasing him through web domains and youtube clips, it hit me; instead of being obsessed and lost in the character of this person, why not let him inspire me? That's truly the reason I thirst for connection with these people that I long to meet. I resonate with some aspect of their personality. Who knows, maybe someday I'll meet Christopher Lowell and we'll have a conversation. But instead of being blank and gushing to him how awesome he is for having all of these adventures, why wouldn't I want to volley back some of my own?
Celebrity crushes are tricky. It's hard to simply ignore these people, and it's even harder not to idolize them. I have to work to convince myself that people like him exist, far from the pedestal of fame. I hope they come into my life. Expending focused energy on someone who is inaccessible is exhausting and fruitless.
I know what the next step is, I can feel it hot on my brain.
I'm just going to be completely honest with where I'm at right now - who the fuck am I? I've been consciously observing this for the past week or so. Some days I feel really good about the words that come out of my mouth and the way I relate to people. I felt awesome on Friday night, because I didn't let any of my insecurities get in the way of what I wanted to say to people or who I wanted to hug. I felt awesome. Yesterday, I felt less so. It's like I had stepped out for the night, and my body had to act alone, but it can't focus on relating to people or loving on them... My cells have to multiply, worry about phagocytosis, eat one another, etc etc. My body isn't too great at Sarah-world relations, in most respects. I wasn't grounded, I guess.
I woke up this morning and lay in bed, circling all the things I feel like I'm dragging behind me, through the sand. It's like I have these fabric bags on strings, tied to my arms and knees and feet, and they're weighing me down so I can't run.
One of the bags is work. Is this what I should be doing? Can I do it? Can I continue to do this for enough time to save up traveling money, or would a more low-key job be better? I may be more comfortable serving people in a restaurant or something. I took the knife to that string, though: Maybe. But now is not the time to tell. Working at a restaurant or something would be like chickening out. Canvassing is pushing my boundaries, for sure, but isn't that what I want? I don't understand how I expect to hide for 6 months, and then throw myself into Southeast Asia or India. Working in Vancouver, I'm building my resistance to the noise, and the negative human interaction, and even the city fumes.
As for the rest of my fabric bags, perhaps some will remain for a time. It is more difficult to cut the ties when someone has left an imprint on your heart... Perhaps for now I will just keep my blade poised to cut. When the time is right, I will not hesitate.
I was internet stalking Christopher Lowell yesterday... he's an amazing person, from what I can tell. He's a spontaneous traveler, a passionate musician, and a soulful photographer. On top of that, he's quirky, witty, and a talented actor. What an interesting person he would be to have in my life. After a long while of chasing him through web domains and youtube clips, it hit me; instead of being obsessed and lost in the character of this person, why not let him inspire me? That's truly the reason I thirst for connection with these people that I long to meet. I resonate with some aspect of their personality. Who knows, maybe someday I'll meet Christopher Lowell and we'll have a conversation. But instead of being blank and gushing to him how awesome he is for having all of these adventures, why wouldn't I want to volley back some of my own?
Celebrity crushes are tricky. It's hard to simply ignore these people, and it's even harder not to idolize them. I have to work to convince myself that people like him exist, far from the pedestal of fame. I hope they come into my life. Expending focused energy on someone who is inaccessible is exhausting and fruitless.
I know what the next step is, I can feel it hot on my brain.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Teach Me How To
I feel fine.
It's unfamiliar, this feeling of balance. I'm quite often a rollercoaster - riding the wave of a good conversation or dance into indifference, only to be thrown off kilter by a spark of jealousy or longing.
Right now, though, I feel good. Tonight was great. I had some good talks and saw the people I love, conquered some fears without realizing, and accomplished my two goals. Not that I went into the evening with a to-do list, but I was given the two opportunities I had hoped for. They were similar and equally (if in different respects) meaningful.
In addition, Matchstick Men is a bumpin' movie.
On top of all this, I got to come home to a warm house, a clean room (because I was just oh so productive today), and then, just when I thought the day was done, my mom comes downstairs saying she had just found the drawing I left her. I had totally forgotten about it.
Spreading and expressing love is wonderful. As long as it's done honestly and evenly, I think it will keep me alert in this way. I need to meet and love myself, and I think we had our first date tonight. I like her.
Anyways, my cat is puncturing my left thigh because she loves me so much. Gotta jet.
Much love, and sweet dreams <3
It's unfamiliar, this feeling of balance. I'm quite often a rollercoaster - riding the wave of a good conversation or dance into indifference, only to be thrown off kilter by a spark of jealousy or longing.
Right now, though, I feel good. Tonight was great. I had some good talks and saw the people I love, conquered some fears without realizing, and accomplished my two goals. Not that I went into the evening with a to-do list, but I was given the two opportunities I had hoped for. They were similar and equally (if in different respects) meaningful.
In addition, Matchstick Men is a bumpin' movie.
On top of all this, I got to come home to a warm house, a clean room (because I was just oh so productive today), and then, just when I thought the day was done, my mom comes downstairs saying she had just found the drawing I left her. I had totally forgotten about it.
Spreading and expressing love is wonderful. As long as it's done honestly and evenly, I think it will keep me alert in this way. I need to meet and love myself, and I think we had our first date tonight. I like her.
Anyways, my cat is puncturing my left thigh because she loves me so much. Gotta jet.
Much love, and sweet dreams <3
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