Today has not been a good day, for reasons that are complicated and just... ugh. An old topic brought up for no reason but to get into a snit about it. I don't know about the other parties, but I have my own opinions on the matter. Don't try to change what I believe. Fighting, lecturing and simplifying situations that I didn't begin or ask to bring up isn't going to change anything. It's just going to ruin a day.
And so we said nothing all day. I stayed in here all day, venturing out only to fetch provisions (bananas, a burnt muffin and eventually a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich), brooding over something that I didn't do or want to talk about. In fact, I didn't say anything. What could I have said to change anything? Nothing. I didn't start this, whatever guilt is thrust at me.
I went outside when the yelling started. I sat by the river, pretended that bugs weren't crawling on me. Eventually I went and sat on the second step of the deck. You came out, talked at me, left.
I didn't ask you to say anything. That's why I went outside. I didn't say anything, do anything. Please don't try to convince me. It just makes me hurt inside.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Things I Love.
Indescribable feelings, smells. The ones I live for. The ones that creep up on me.
Balmy summer evenings, just dim enough, just quiet enough.
Trees. Ivy. Trellises.
Remembering.
Knowing what song is playing within seconds of it starting.
Vanessa.
Nerdfighters.
Balmy summer evenings, just dim enough, just quiet enough.
Trees. Ivy. Trellises.
Remembering.
Knowing what song is playing within seconds of it starting.
Vanessa.
Nerdfighters.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Reflections
I don't know what's up with me lately. Maybe nothing, maybe something. Maybe everything. It hasn't been an easy year. I've made mistakes, and I continue to make them. I'm trying to finish my courses and struggling. I'm worrying, procrastinating, hoping, wallowing... any number of things. There are a lot of things I'd like to say, but feel like I can't--what if so and so saw this, would they hate me, would it be disrespectful, ahhhh screaming.
But as simply I can put it: My dad left us, going off to live in Colorado. My mom has gotten certified to teach and is looking for a job. I've been homeschooling. Which hasn't gone so well. So now I'm behind and -trying- to finish my courses so I can go back to public school.
The thing with this is, people didn't want me to try it. Many thought it was a bad idea, hated the idea, fought the idea... but it was something I wanted to try, so I found a way to do it. Now, being behind, I look really bad to all those people. Among other things, of course. Things I could go on and on about that would end in me getting very worked up about it and probably close to tears.
When I think about it, my life hasn't been so great for a while. Two years ago, I was pretty depressed. I spoke to a school counselor regularly, who charted my 'happiness' and came up with something along the lines of 'you aren't getting any happier. You should be by now.' Don't get me wrong, I liked her as a person, but as a counselor she kept trying to get me to ACT on my problems, which only made me more miserable and upset.
I skipped class whenever I could, but with permission from the counselor. I had a science teacher that was pretty inappropriate and once accused me of doing drugs (oh, the stories I could tell about him). My journalism class disliked me for finding their mistakes, as well as a large portion of the school itself when I started writing an advice column that everyone could tell I wrote. The fact that we lived in Gricignano di Aversa, Italy, didn't help either--besides the fact that the air was so polluted I couldn't go out without getting a headache, it just isn't that fun living in a place where you don't speak the language and your 'civilization' of sorts is a navy base. It just gets old, horrible and isolated.
Then we moved to Key West, Florida- also isolated, if not more so considering it's an island. However, it gets props for the fact that people speak English there. Of course, there was the culture shock. We had lived in Italy for 6 years, and things were very different and, frankly, odd. Even in Italy I had been out of touch with what everyone else thought was cool. I loved my youth group, but there were problems with it that I can't really distinguish clearly and would take a long time to explain. One could write several posts on a certain boy alone.
I suppose one thing that made me uncomfortable was the fact that I felt pressured to raise my hands during worship. This is something I have trouble with, whether by the mere presence of others doing so or people themselves requesting I do so (encouraging or not, it confuses me). If I raise my hands, I want to do it because I feel called to myself- not by others. I guess you could say I have trouble worshipping in a group in general.
That's not such a big thing, though... the people weren't mean--most were very nice, in fact. Maybe you have to have lived in Key West to get it. Maybe you have to be me to get what's going on in my head. It was a positive experience in my life, but a negative one in some ways. Does that make sense? Probably not.
School in Key West wasn't fantastic, either. Besides the two from Youth Group, I didn't really have any friends besides others from Youth Group who weren't in any of my classes. Most students didn't appear to care about their grades, nonchalantly citing Ds like they didn't matter. Taking regular science was a mistake-- insanely chaotic, mostly book work, and no one did any schoolwork but me. I think I kept the teacher sane, but seriously.. it was very, very bad. This also brings to mind a certain girl who sat in my group, the thought of whom makes me kind of angry. I could say a lot of negative things about her. I probably shouldn't. This is another thing I could go on and on about.
Moving on with school--every day without fail, I sat outside to eat my lunch. Key West is continuously sunny (one of the positive things I have to say about it), so I had seating problems only a few times the whole year. Whilst eating said lunch, I would call my mom. I don't have any shame in this, but others seemed to have a problem with it. In fact, I was insulted one time that ended in me bursting into tears (after which the person in question came back, said sorry, and told me to tell my mother that I'd met a new friend. I never sat there again.)
I'm somewhat of a misfit, and I'm constantly battling to be at peace with it. I realize that I'm imperfect and mess up. I realize that I say and do the wrong things. I realize that I've made mistakes, and continue to, and always will. But in the same way, I don't see all of these things. I see them, but I don't. I can't realize everything. I can't fix everything, though I want to. I can't be perfect... I really can't.
When I think about it, though, I believe I'd rather belong to the land of the 'misfit' toys than any other land. At least here I know I'm in good company. Here, other people make mistakes and at least want to admit them. Maybe one of us toys are missing an arm or an eye, but guess what--we still love each other.
If only I knew how to get there in a world beyond my dreams.
I haven't found it yet. Not yet.
But as simply I can put it: My dad left us, going off to live in Colorado. My mom has gotten certified to teach and is looking for a job. I've been homeschooling. Which hasn't gone so well. So now I'm behind and -trying- to finish my courses so I can go back to public school.
The thing with this is, people didn't want me to try it. Many thought it was a bad idea, hated the idea, fought the idea... but it was something I wanted to try, so I found a way to do it. Now, being behind, I look really bad to all those people. Among other things, of course. Things I could go on and on about that would end in me getting very worked up about it and probably close to tears.
When I think about it, my life hasn't been so great for a while. Two years ago, I was pretty depressed. I spoke to a school counselor regularly, who charted my 'happiness' and came up with something along the lines of 'you aren't getting any happier. You should be by now.' Don't get me wrong, I liked her as a person, but as a counselor she kept trying to get me to ACT on my problems, which only made me more miserable and upset.
I skipped class whenever I could, but with permission from the counselor. I had a science teacher that was pretty inappropriate and once accused me of doing drugs (oh, the stories I could tell about him). My journalism class disliked me for finding their mistakes, as well as a large portion of the school itself when I started writing an advice column that everyone could tell I wrote. The fact that we lived in Gricignano di Aversa, Italy, didn't help either--besides the fact that the air was so polluted I couldn't go out without getting a headache, it just isn't that fun living in a place where you don't speak the language and your 'civilization' of sorts is a navy base. It just gets old, horrible and isolated.
Then we moved to Key West, Florida- also isolated, if not more so considering it's an island. However, it gets props for the fact that people speak English there. Of course, there was the culture shock. We had lived in Italy for 6 years, and things were very different and, frankly, odd. Even in Italy I had been out of touch with what everyone else thought was cool. I loved my youth group, but there were problems with it that I can't really distinguish clearly and would take a long time to explain. One could write several posts on a certain boy alone.
I suppose one thing that made me uncomfortable was the fact that I felt pressured to raise my hands during worship. This is something I have trouble with, whether by the mere presence of others doing so or people themselves requesting I do so (encouraging or not, it confuses me). If I raise my hands, I want to do it because I feel called to myself- not by others. I guess you could say I have trouble worshipping in a group in general.
That's not such a big thing, though... the people weren't mean--most were very nice, in fact. Maybe you have to have lived in Key West to get it. Maybe you have to be me to get what's going on in my head. It was a positive experience in my life, but a negative one in some ways. Does that make sense? Probably not.
School in Key West wasn't fantastic, either. Besides the two from Youth Group, I didn't really have any friends besides others from Youth Group who weren't in any of my classes. Most students didn't appear to care about their grades, nonchalantly citing Ds like they didn't matter. Taking regular science was a mistake-- insanely chaotic, mostly book work, and no one did any schoolwork but me. I think I kept the teacher sane, but seriously.. it was very, very bad. This also brings to mind a certain girl who sat in my group, the thought of whom makes me kind of angry. I could say a lot of negative things about her. I probably shouldn't. This is another thing I could go on and on about.
Moving on with school--every day without fail, I sat outside to eat my lunch. Key West is continuously sunny (one of the positive things I have to say about it), so I had seating problems only a few times the whole year. Whilst eating said lunch, I would call my mom. I don't have any shame in this, but others seemed to have a problem with it. In fact, I was insulted one time that ended in me bursting into tears (after which the person in question came back, said sorry, and told me to tell my mother that I'd met a new friend. I never sat there again.)
I'm somewhat of a misfit, and I'm constantly battling to be at peace with it. I realize that I'm imperfect and mess up. I realize that I say and do the wrong things. I realize that I've made mistakes, and continue to, and always will. But in the same way, I don't see all of these things. I see them, but I don't. I can't realize everything. I can't fix everything, though I want to. I can't be perfect... I really can't.
When I think about it, though, I believe I'd rather belong to the land of the 'misfit' toys than any other land. At least here I know I'm in good company. Here, other people make mistakes and at least want to admit them. Maybe one of us toys are missing an arm or an eye, but guess what--we still love each other.
If only I knew how to get there in a world beyond my dreams.
I haven't found it yet. Not yet.
Monday, June 1, 2009
To Be Jeeves
If you've seen Jeeves & Wooster with Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie, or perchance read (gasp!) the stories of P.G. Wodehouse, you know that Jeeves is Bertie Wooster's valet.
Well--and this will sound weird--I've come to the conclusion that, when I *grow up*, I want to be a valet. I'm pretty sure girls aren't usually valets. In fact, I'm almost certain valets aren't really in existance anymore, which is a shame.
However, I plan to defeat the odds. I will be a Jeeves. I will wear a spiffy outfit and inflect my voice in that Jeeves-ly way that solves all problems.
...and with this I will live happily ever after.
Well--and this will sound weird--I've come to the conclusion that, when I *grow up*, I want to be a valet. I'm pretty sure girls aren't usually valets. In fact, I'm almost certain valets aren't really in existance anymore, which is a shame.
However, I plan to defeat the odds. I will be a Jeeves. I will wear a spiffy outfit and inflect my voice in that Jeeves-ly way that solves all problems.
...and with this I will live happily ever after.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Cary Grant Is Apparently My Lover
Cary Grant has officially taken over my dreams.
Now he certainly isn't unwelcome, but the thing is this: my dreams put me in very weird situations. Therefore, it's a bit weird to brag that Cary visits me in my dream(s) when explaining why he was there/what he did in the dream is a bit of an awkward proposition.
However, for the sake of this blog and my own memory and the fact that I can rarely recall dreams this well (yes, this is WELL), I will attempt to recount the dream in question.
The bones of it are as follows. Random bits I can't place may or may not come later.
I do not know what Dream Self was thinking when she decided to associated herself with Mr. Grant as his... It's difficult to say, really. I know I was involved with him somehow romantically, but it was inferred rather than demonstrated. I was at some sort of convention or group with some friends, and we were all comparing tattoos. Apparently we all had tattoos marking how many love interests we'd had.
I had just gotten my first tattoo. You know, for Cary. This is kind of embarassing. It was on my left upper arm, and I think it had a '1' on it. After this comparison, I believe Cary showed up and we went out to his car.
Then, I kid you not, he broke the news that he was going to die soon. Which was just great, because I'd gotten the tattoo and OH NO now he was dying, what's the point... bla bla bla. I don't think I said this, but I get the distinct feeling my main concern was the tattoo.
How he knew he was going to die is beyond me- maybe he realized he was already dead and wanted to break it to me gently. Maybe he had been diagnosed with something. I really don't know.
There may have been something after this, but I can't remember it. It sounds like a lot less when it's written out like this, but it seemed longer at the time. It's frustrating- I love having dreams. It actually kind of upsets me that I rarely remember them well.
I think my head is going through my idols, because I totally had a dream I met John Green in a bookstore last week. I wasn't romantically involved with him, though. That would be really weird.
Not that Mr. Grant appearing as my 'companion' wasn't.
Now he certainly isn't unwelcome, but the thing is this: my dreams put me in very weird situations. Therefore, it's a bit weird to brag that Cary visits me in my dream(s) when explaining why he was there/what he did in the dream is a bit of an awkward proposition.
However, for the sake of this blog and my own memory and the fact that I can rarely recall dreams this well (yes, this is WELL), I will attempt to recount the dream in question.
The bones of it are as follows. Random bits I can't place may or may not come later.
I do not know what Dream Self was thinking when she decided to associated herself with Mr. Grant as his... It's difficult to say, really. I know I was involved with him somehow romantically, but it was inferred rather than demonstrated. I was at some sort of convention or group with some friends, and we were all comparing tattoos. Apparently we all had tattoos marking how many love interests we'd had.
I had just gotten my first tattoo. You know, for Cary. This is kind of embarassing. It was on my left upper arm, and I think it had a '1' on it. After this comparison, I believe Cary showed up and we went out to his car.
Then, I kid you not, he broke the news that he was going to die soon. Which was just great, because I'd gotten the tattoo and OH NO now he was dying, what's the point... bla bla bla. I don't think I said this, but I get the distinct feeling my main concern was the tattoo.
How he knew he was going to die is beyond me- maybe he realized he was already dead and wanted to break it to me gently. Maybe he had been diagnosed with something. I really don't know.
There may have been something after this, but I can't remember it. It sounds like a lot less when it's written out like this, but it seemed longer at the time. It's frustrating- I love having dreams. It actually kind of upsets me that I rarely remember them well.
I think my head is going through my idols, because I totally had a dream I met John Green in a bookstore last week. I wasn't romantically involved with him, though. That would be really weird.
Not that Mr. Grant appearing as my 'companion' wasn't.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Beautiful Things
I want to fill a page with the beautiful things I can't put into words, the thoughts I can't wrap my head around, the essences, the ideas I've tried to phrase and failed.
Scratch that- I want to fill page after page with the beautiful things, always just far away enough in my mind to baffle and frustrate me, these things that live so close to my heart but I cannot know. Maybe they carry themselves out in the realms of my mind, frollicking around in dreams I won't remember in the morning. Sweet summer air thick against my skin, ivy winding its way up a trellis, the sun dimming but still there on a gloriously quiet evening. The idea of early morning, dark and hazy, someone whistling or a bird chirping or nothing at all on empty streets flanked by cold, wet grass.
The words I write here could be pretty, I think, but I don't know how to put them that way. Maybe this is because I've caught these things only in handfuls and gasps. Maybe this is because they're only meant to live vaguely in my mind.
Maybe this is because these things, these and the many others clinging quietly to my mural of beautiful things, don't want to be written or explained. Maybe they do this because they can only really be experienced.
Or maybe the right word would be this one: dreamed.
Scratch that- I want to fill page after page with the beautiful things, always just far away enough in my mind to baffle and frustrate me, these things that live so close to my heart but I cannot know. Maybe they carry themselves out in the realms of my mind, frollicking around in dreams I won't remember in the morning. Sweet summer air thick against my skin, ivy winding its way up a trellis, the sun dimming but still there on a gloriously quiet evening. The idea of early morning, dark and hazy, someone whistling or a bird chirping or nothing at all on empty streets flanked by cold, wet grass.
The words I write here could be pretty, I think, but I don't know how to put them that way. Maybe this is because I've caught these things only in handfuls and gasps. Maybe this is because they're only meant to live vaguely in my mind.
Maybe this is because these things, these and the many others clinging quietly to my mural of beautiful things, don't want to be written or explained. Maybe they do this because they can only really be experienced.
Or maybe the right word would be this one: dreamed.
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