I can NOT sleep. It is too damn hot for a normal human being to sleep in this condition. Honestly, like… my mother insists I “lay still until I feel cool.” Yeah right, I’d rather go haul out the old bug infested Toys R Us tent and camp outside. If I’m considered a normal human being, well, then I’m incapable of sleeping in this weather.
People are all like, oh it’s so much cooler tonight because it rained! NO. No, people, no. My room is a SAUNA. You don’t understand. There could be a consecutive row of floor-to-ceiling windows with the screens flung wide open and my room would still be the hottest part of the house.
This is not fair. I did nothing to deserve this.
It’s not even MAY yet and it’s in the 80’s? Really? Where the hell did spring go? We’re starting to have a winter, summer, winter, summer pattern with no interruptions of spring or fall. This is depressing. Maybe it can become some new version of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I mean seriously, if it’s like this until September I don’t know how I’ll live. I love summer weather, but really? This just makes me sad. Too soon, mother nature, too god damn soon.
Now I shall go “lay still until I feel cool.” Wish me luck.
28 April 2009
26 April 2009
Sunday
For some reason, Sunday is my least favorite day of the week. On some calendars it's the last day of the week, but in America it's day number one. I don't know if that makes me a pessimist to dread the new beginning of a fresh week, or an optimist because I'd be looking forward to the end of the week, meaning I'd be excited for a new beginning? I just confused myself really badly. I don't even know.
I just got really depressed because one of my friends asked me if I'd be on their podcast and talk about my band and the Weasleys tomorrow, but I can't because I have my psychology class. Blahh. I'm not even in college, don't ask why I'm taking these difficult courses. It's ridiculous. And I have a quiz where I have no idea what I'm supposed to know, so I tried reading pretty much the whole book at once, and I'm just going to forget a bunch of things.
I wish I had more incentive to blog more often.
I just got really depressed because one of my friends asked me if I'd be on their podcast and talk about my band and the Weasleys tomorrow, but I can't because I have my psychology class. Blahh. I'm not even in college, don't ask why I'm taking these difficult courses. It's ridiculous. And I have a quiz where I have no idea what I'm supposed to know, so I tried reading pretty much the whole book at once, and I'm just going to forget a bunch of things.
I wish I had more incentive to blog more often.
13 April 2009
April 13th
This weekend, I studied ridiculously hard for my second psychology exam of the semester.
This weekend, I visited my grandma and realized that people in rehab centers might as well be dead, they're all so lifeless and miserable.
This weekend, I understood that when you're in the country you'll do anything for entertainment. Yes, even strenuous tasks like pulling the weeds.
Yesterday, I laughed at a joke my brother made. That's a rarity.
Yesterday, I listened to old people bowling all day.
Yesterday, my mom gave me a movie for Easter because it has my best friend's name in it.
Today, I got an A on that second psychology exam of the semester and nearly broke out right there in the classroom in the electric slide.
Today, I came to the conclusion I want to write a quiet song.
Today, I'm going to bed before midnight.
This weekend, I visited my grandma and realized that people in rehab centers might as well be dead, they're all so lifeless and miserable.
This weekend, I understood that when you're in the country you'll do anything for entertainment. Yes, even strenuous tasks like pulling the weeds.
Yesterday, I laughed at a joke my brother made. That's a rarity.
Yesterday, I listened to old people bowling all day.
Yesterday, my mom gave me a movie for Easter because it has my best friend's name in it.
Today, I got an A on that second psychology exam of the semester and nearly broke out right there in the classroom in the electric slide.
Today, I came to the conclusion I want to write a quiet song.
Today, I'm going to bed before midnight.
12 April 2009
lillies
I've been neglecting blogspot already. *fails*
You are my clock. In fact, you have been for quite a while now. You skip around sometimes, go back an hour and then forward when I'm least expecting it, but what can I say? It'll grow on me like weeds in between the glowing lillies. I always find a way to count on you somehow, even if I don't try. Sometimes I can even hear you from two rooms over, and when I go to sleep, you're still there, ticking along, a constant reminder that no matter how much effort you put into slowing down time, it will never happen. There will always be tomorrow, always. Even the times I've fallen asleep praying that I wouldn't wake up, your incessant ticking awoke my spirits once more, however begrudgingly. You are the reminder I beg for, telling me to keep going, although that's not what you'd do. Your hypocrisy gets to me sometimes and I'll roll my eyes at you, but then realize you were right in the first place. Even if you didn't know what you were talking about. Funny how that works.
You are my inner nature. You are what it's worth, my worth. You are the reason I keep going, keep on writing, keep on living and looking forward to each new day. I suppose you really do need to be there. You are my world, my static. My velcro. If we were a pair of shoes, we'd be tied together at the laces. Maybe we couldn't walk, sure that's an inconvenience. But that's us. Maybe this will die out, but before it does I'd like to tell you how much it means to me. I could fly across seas and it wouldn't be enough for you. I'm not a person to you, I'm an idea, and that's what kills me. Your understanding does not compensate for your lack of knowing.
You are my sense of chaos. You are the earthquake inside of me, the trainwreck, its cause and effect pattern too extraneous for my own good. My wishes will never fulfill reality, will never extricate what I long to say. In my dreams I take your hand, trace into your palm what I'm trying to say. We get each other like nothing else, not even the purest bluejays could read our minds like we do. Speaking is overrated, but it's the only form of communication I'm left with, there's no other way I can face what's out there.
You are the brightest star in the sky, always. I know I'm only one out of a million that's crazy for your attention, but with each coming moon I know it will wane, and I'm not too much looking forward to the waxing.
I'm really really sorry. This deserves more than a message in a bottle floating off to nowhere, but maybe something will intercept and you'll catch it. A butterfly struggles in the gaps between your fingers, screaming for freedom. You are whole, and there is no room for my appreciation. The butterfly understands, just as I do.
But whatever we end up, you'll always be my clock. The second hand that never tires, you'll always subconsciously push me to create new beginnings. There is no way to shut you up. The thumping of your standard ticking, the beating of my heart in tune, it's all too much to be a mere coincidence. I think I'm going crazy.
You are my clock. In fact, you have been for quite a while now. You skip around sometimes, go back an hour and then forward when I'm least expecting it, but what can I say? It'll grow on me like weeds in between the glowing lillies. I always find a way to count on you somehow, even if I don't try. Sometimes I can even hear you from two rooms over, and when I go to sleep, you're still there, ticking along, a constant reminder that no matter how much effort you put into slowing down time, it will never happen. There will always be tomorrow, always. Even the times I've fallen asleep praying that I wouldn't wake up, your incessant ticking awoke my spirits once more, however begrudgingly. You are the reminder I beg for, telling me to keep going, although that's not what you'd do. Your hypocrisy gets to me sometimes and I'll roll my eyes at you, but then realize you were right in the first place. Even if you didn't know what you were talking about. Funny how that works.
You are my inner nature. You are what it's worth, my worth. You are the reason I keep going, keep on writing, keep on living and looking forward to each new day. I suppose you really do need to be there. You are my world, my static. My velcro. If we were a pair of shoes, we'd be tied together at the laces. Maybe we couldn't walk, sure that's an inconvenience. But that's us. Maybe this will die out, but before it does I'd like to tell you how much it means to me. I could fly across seas and it wouldn't be enough for you. I'm not a person to you, I'm an idea, and that's what kills me. Your understanding does not compensate for your lack of knowing.
You are my sense of chaos. You are the earthquake inside of me, the trainwreck, its cause and effect pattern too extraneous for my own good. My wishes will never fulfill reality, will never extricate what I long to say. In my dreams I take your hand, trace into your palm what I'm trying to say. We get each other like nothing else, not even the purest bluejays could read our minds like we do. Speaking is overrated, but it's the only form of communication I'm left with, there's no other way I can face what's out there.
You are the brightest star in the sky, always. I know I'm only one out of a million that's crazy for your attention, but with each coming moon I know it will wane, and I'm not too much looking forward to the waxing.
I'm really really sorry. This deserves more than a message in a bottle floating off to nowhere, but maybe something will intercept and you'll catch it. A butterfly struggles in the gaps between your fingers, screaming for freedom. You are whole, and there is no room for my appreciation. The butterfly understands, just as I do.
But whatever we end up, you'll always be my clock. The second hand that never tires, you'll always subconsciously push me to create new beginnings. There is no way to shut you up. The thumping of your standard ticking, the beating of my heart in tune, it's all too much to be a mere coincidence. I think I'm going crazy.
07 April 2009
breathe
The creaking hinges of the front door are stained with rust despite their recent appliance. It's almost an omen, as if no matter how new something is, it's still tainted. And it really is, this being the new door with all those translucent prisms and glass contortions. This is the same door you clumsily slammed your hand inside in attempt to quicken your pace for her. You are her greatest sense of pride and her worst disappointment. Although she spends endless nights slaving away at what she thinks is the right answer, you still expect her to return to you, to give you what you crave for. But your trust is fading, and soon you will take to relying on the closest to her you can get. But when that proves a holographic image, a wispy, pathetic excuse, a shoulder too bony to lean on, what remains?
Your silence will slowly deteriorate her body, leaving behind nothing of the euphoria you swept clean from mere irritability, and yet you understand that this is happening. Frustration finds its way to you like it always does, climbing up your skin and nestling into your scalp. You lash out, pulling your hair out in great clumps, before realizing it won't do a thing. You stand up, finished with responsibility, finished with trying to make people happy, finished with anything that means using willpower. Done. You make your way toward the new door, what was supposed to be a fresh start but instead turned out a mental disaster.
"I'm not part of you anymore," you tell her as you slam the door behind you, being careful not to slam your hand in the latch again to escape not only embarrassment, but a sense of dependence. Maybe you should have lowered your voice. Maybe you should have known what you WERE a part of before making such a bold statement.
But you know one thing. If you can make it through this lonely year, you can accomplish anything. Just breathe.
Your silence will slowly deteriorate her body, leaving behind nothing of the euphoria you swept clean from mere irritability, and yet you understand that this is happening. Frustration finds its way to you like it always does, climbing up your skin and nestling into your scalp. You lash out, pulling your hair out in great clumps, before realizing it won't do a thing. You stand up, finished with responsibility, finished with trying to make people happy, finished with anything that means using willpower. Done. You make your way toward the new door, what was supposed to be a fresh start but instead turned out a mental disaster.
"I'm not part of you anymore," you tell her as you slam the door behind you, being careful not to slam your hand in the latch again to escape not only embarrassment, but a sense of dependence. Maybe you should have lowered your voice. Maybe you should have known what you WERE a part of before making such a bold statement.
But you know one thing. If you can make it through this lonely year, you can accomplish anything. Just breathe.
06 April 2009
05 April 2009
inspiration
I need to write more. Like, it's decided. I used to write short storise and I even had a huge 200-something page novel that I just deleted one day because I got sick of the fact that it was progressing into nothing and had no real plot. Blah. People say I need to write when something comes to me, but nothing ever comes to me. Or else things come to me and I don't realize they came and should be put into writing. Or if that's even how it really works. I don't know anymore. I'm confused. My writer's block turned into an attempt at fan fiction, which failed. And that's where I am now. Nowhere. I need to start again, I hope it's possible.
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