I feel like I am living my life in limbo. I keep waiting and waiting for things to change. Patience is a virtue. Being virtuous is overrated.
I want things to speed up so I can begin living again. Living seems like a foreign concept to me. My life has been moving in slow motion or reverse for so long. Stick. Stack. Stuck. Now there is plenty of wiggle room but nowhere to go.
The idea of life and space and freedom terrifies me to no end. They are unfamiliar. I want it, need it, but every time I think about it, I am scared shitless.
Goddamnit, I hope things get easier.

syrup

I think it is coming back.

It will be bad this winter. This seems like only the beginning. The dull ache that eats away at me. It can’t come back again. I want to bar the doors and throw the deadbolt, but it seems futile. Self medicating and going to sleep seems much easier than wrestling with the discomfort and unease. I can never quite pinpoint where it starts or stops. I can never quite tell what it is exactly. Constantly nagging at me whispering, barely audible, it breathes out terrible lies. Truths. It flits about; unable to be caught. Maybe I am just too sluggish to grab it, but it made me that way. The vicious cycle it sets off. Self perpetuating.

I wish that I could write about inspiring and insightful things again. Everything just seems so hard right now, and I hate it. I keep assuming that things have to turn around soon, but they don't. Things have been bad for almost two months now, and they seem to have only gotten worse. The "bad" things that happen to me have an impressive way of affecting areas of my life that I already have an incredibly difficult time with. Like how I feel worthless 99% of the time. I do not understand why anyone would genuinely want to know me. I do not give a shit if you say that is ridiculous, and I am an amazing person; it is how I feel. It is how I have always felt. It is probably how I will always feel. When someone enters my life and I actually believe they care about me, it's a big deal. If this person has to leave my life, I fall apart. If this person swears to me they will not leave but then does anyway, it's unbearable. I cannot even describe what happens inside me. It is much more than just being sad; I stop functioning. The reaction is physical and painful.
I thought I was done. I felt so much better. People were acting like they enjoyed my company and needed me. Then I was left alone. A lack of human contact sometimes messes with my head. They're not there so they must not care. I know it doesn't work like that, but someone needs to tell that to my serotonin levels.
Hopefully I will be able to convince myself everyone doesn't hate me tonight. That would be ideal.

Also, I am hoping that my posts will be more regular and less melodramatic after this. I finally have my computer back, and though it is lacking my hard drive, I have regular access to the internet again.

panic

my body--restless

things try to break out from me

they can't escape

clap your hands!

Nobody. No body. Nothing. No thing. 

Wonder what it's like to exist--

Not live life in limbo,

Wait and drift.

Brittle.

Let them make cracks.

Careless. 

Care less.

Fade out.

Exist

I feel like a motherfucking faucet.

I didn't know that this much water could come out of a person. everything about this sucks. even the fucking inkling of hope sucks. I don't deal well with grey; I either want some fucking closure or for it not to end. this is so stupid. things would be so much different if everything had just happened earlier. it would have worked, and I wouldn't need a fucking plumber to keep me from flooding the apartment. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be really truly sad. I stupidly hope that he realizes that we could work some day. I just want to know him. like really know him. I am sure there is something there, and I think he feels that, too. unless he is just lying to make himself feel like less of an asshole which is also very possible. I wish I could know for sure which one it is. I hate not knowing. I wish I could just fast forward and see where we end up. I could move on if I had to, but that is the last thing I want right now. nothing about this was done correctly.

I want a do-over.

fuck everything

of course it would end up like this. things never work out for me.

Things Written on the Wall Next to Me in My Lecture Hall

"Jesus rules Forever"
"S"
"BRIAN SCHEA IS VERY COOL" immediately followed by: "gay"
"vaginal lubrication feels awesome"

oh, college.

normality

this feeling is so bizarre. things feel right. things never feel right. it's a little scary. I'm glad it's not perfect. I would never believe it if it was perfect. who would have guessed that I would feel comfortable with someone so normal. it makes me so incredibly/confusingly happy. being happy feels weird. it's nice though. very nice. like I am bursting out of myself. I am exploding and am sent flying, but I think I am landing only slightly disheveled and with him. I am a mushroom cloud of contentedness.

and glitter.




BAM.

of course.

Everything is so perfect, yet I feel the need to be a neurotic freak and worry all the time.  This is the one time when I am supposed to NOT worry.  And yet here I am, so goddamn worried.
I am not good enough.  If I could accept that I am good enough, I wouldn't worry.  I am good enough.  I don't believe that.
You are.  You are way more than good enough.  You are more than I deserve.  That's why I worry.  It doesn't feel real.  It's too nice for my life.  Nice things do not exist in my life.   I don't believe it.  I can't believe it, so I worry.

I don't know how this will work, but it has to.  I don't want to I think that if I see that it works, over time, I will worry less.  The tension will ease and the chaos that is current constant for my mind will drift away.  Of course the only perfect thing in my life would be so fucked up.  And the sick thing is that it really isn't fucked up at all.  It's all in my mind.
I wish I could just talk to you forever.  Then I would know everything is okay.



I am so crazy.  Crazy people don't deserve things this lovely.

I haven't been feeling inspired to write. Which I guess is a good thing. The only thing inspiring me write now is the feeling like I am heading for a breakdown.

Good things only seem to lead to disappointment.
I am so sad because I am happy. There is no way this can last. Things never work out. Why should this time be any different?
f
u
c
k
It won't work and I want to cry. I am not a real person, so how could anyone have any sort of legitimate interest in me? They couldn't.
I am sad because I am happy.
I wish it worked the other way, too.    I would be happy a lot more often.
I have been thinking too hard. Not thinking, fretting. People must think I am insane. The faces I make when I am lost in these thoughts make me look like I am ready to collapse in a heap of sadness. Maybe I am.

I am made of brittle, brittle glass.
I need some goddamn bubble-wrap.

how strange it is to be anything at all

I did something wild last night.
Someone said something spot on that made me very happy.
"You don't look like the kind of person who would do this. You look like you're going to be a librarian or a teacher or something."
"Actually, I am an English education major. So no, I do not seem like that kind of person. That's a big part of the reason why I wanted to do it."

"Does this mean anything?" I ask curtly.
"What do you mean?" is the justifiably confused reply.
"Whenever I want it to mean something, it means nothing; the only time it ever seems to mean anything at all is when I want it to mean absolutely nothing." Rambling.
"It shouldn't matter what it means." Confusion.
"But it does. It all matters." Silence. "It has to matter. What is it if it doesn't matter. I just have to know."
"What do you want it to mean."
"It doesn't work like that."
"Everything." Exasperation seems like a reasonable reaction at this point.
"To nothing." Of course.


I do not believe I am worthy of love.  In order to believe I am worthy, someone needs to prove it to me.  In order for me to believe anyone who tries, I need to know it for myself.  In order to know it for myself, someone needs to prove it.  I am stuck.

can't stand it

It would be lovely if things could possibly actually work out for me one of these days. Maybe if people told the truth more frequently I would get my hopes up less often and there would be fewer instances of my hopes dropping and immediately shattering upon impact. I think I am learning to deal with those falls a little bit better. I wish I didn't have to. I don't want to hear lies. It doesn't do me any good. Your sugar coating dissolves pretty quickly, and the pill is even more bitter from the delay.

everything's imaginary, especially what you love

Rather, everything is arbitrary.
It really is.  What is the point of anything?  For the life of me, I cannot figure it out.  I like to be happy, sure, but it is not necessary.  I like to meet people.  I like ice cream.  What is the point of anything in relation to the rest of the world?  Is it everything?  Is it nothing?  I am currently leaning toward nothing.  This is not to say, however, that this "nothing" is not important.  Happiness is important.  Love is important.  Everything is important, just completely arbitrarily so.  If it matters to you, it matters.  There doesn't need to be a reason.  I love reasons, but we don't need them to get by.  The world still turns even if we don't know why there are 24 hours in a day or why my favorite color is gray.  I am very comfortable with the fact that nothing has a real reason.  It makes things easier to swallow.  Like death.  If there is no actual purpose for living, if nothing we do really matters, death is not such a big deal.  This is not to say that it is not sad when someone dies, but the world still turns.  It is sad--sometimes profoundly so--but it happens to everyone at some point.  It is not special.  There is no reason why.  While life is essentially pointless, it is also beautiful.  Experiencing things is something I try not to take for granted.  Everyone experiences these arbitrary things, and everyone experiences them differently.  People have beautiful, unique, pointless thoughts.  That blows my mind.  Everything is pointless; everything is beautiful.

How strange it is to be anything at all. 

but for now we are young

I am a master of denial.  I cannot accept things to be real when I don't want them to be or when someone doesn't clearly tell me it is over and why.  Nothing is never--it's later.  I cannot accept the fact that things are really over with when they are.  It's not goodbye--it's see you later.  I am a closure whore.  I rarely get it, but I always crave it--for everything.  I need that last goodbye.  I need explanations.  I suppose that is kind of annoying for other people, but I can't help it.  I guess it's just who I am.  I sometimes wonder if it's bad that I can't let go like normal people.  I let go enough to move on, but never completely.  When it comes to things like childhood, old homes, old friends and cherished memories, I assume that I will have a chance to go back.  I won't.  I always forget that's not how life works.  I wish I could go back.  I want to experience everything again and again until I get it just right.  It seems like I have missed so many opportunities and like I never do things correctly the first time.
Practice makes perfect.
Too bad I only get one shot at this.


"...It's important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse."

I was probably a Tahitian grain of sand in a past life.

It's crazy to think about how everything we do has a reason; everything we do and everything that is done to us has an outcome.
I think things affect me more than they do for most people.  I think I am happy about that though.  It makes me realize things that not everyone else does.  It makes empathy easier.  I could empathize with a rock.

Currently, I am a bizarre mix of hope and hopelessness and apathy.  I find myself hoping, and then I realize it's only going to lead to hurting more when nothing happens, and then I realize there's no way to know whether or not something will happen.

I think that there are more reasons to hope than not.  At least I will have friends.  I will have friends.  That doesn't usually happen to me.  The vast majority of my life was spent without real friends.  I couldn't figure out how to make them stick.  I think people get tired of me.  I don't blame them.  There is nothing really worthwhile about me.
Except my exceptional knack for empathy.  And my alliteration skills.

And the fact that I want to know people.  Not just know them in the sense that I know there names, but I want to know them.  I can't connect with people who don't let me know who they are.  People without pretenses are the best.  Don't fucking hide from me.  It's stupid and will only make me frustrated.  If I can't figure you out, I will give up.  If I figure you out and you don't stop trying to hide, I will give up.

Maybe I got tired of them.

I try to be straightforward with who I am.  There is no sense in hiding it.  If someone doesn't like me for me, then so be it.  I do not need them.  But, they should like me considering I want to like them.

Even when I do have friends, It's rare that I don't question a friendship.  When I am friends with a person I genuinely like and admire I will never really believe that he or she actually likes or admires me too.  Is that normal?  I don't know.  Kelly didn't seem to think so.

If they don't like me, why should I be their friend?  Time to move on.  Again.


Waiting sucks.  I just want to know whether or not I have a reason to hope.
I probably don't.
I guess we'll see.

ba bah this is the sound of settling ba bah ba bah...

now everything's imaginary, especially what you love

When it's late, I get brazen.  Things matter less.  Or more.  I think it's more.  Pride matters less.  There's more at stake; the day is almost over, and we only have so many days.
I am disappointed that we will probably not be friends now.  We should be.  You're a real person and there aren't too many of those left these days.  Everyday I find out more people aren't real--they're just pretending to be real.  If they would just stop pretending, the would be real.
I'm not very real.
I usually forget I exist.
Do I even exist?
Descartes says I do.
I don't like really like Descartes.  He focuses too much on God, and I think we all know how I feel about that.  Or maybe we don't.
Well, "I love you Jesus Christ.  Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do."
Except not.
It's more like, "There are no grounds for going beyond a scientific explanation of reality and no sound reason for believing anything but our sense experience. A clear intellect, close attention to detail and a little scientific knowledge will expose religion as superstitious bosh. God does not exist."
My views on religion are much more like the latter.  In fact, they are gosh-darn identical.  The first one is very catchy though.  I wish I was the King of Carrot Flowers.

I want to be everyone's friend.  Or at least until I get sick of them.  I only get sick of people when I find out they aren't real.  Being fake is fine if you acknowledge that you're not real.  That makes you real again.  You are real because you know that you really aren't real.  I guess that makes me real then.  That feels like bragging.  And now I am fake again.  And now I'm real.  It's a vicious cycle, really.
Real.  Fake.  Real.  Fake.  Real.  Fake.
It could go on forever.
Things like that make my head spin.  I will never know where it ends.  Not knowing makes my head spin.  I wish I knew why you stopped wanting to talk to me.
I don't know why I am thinking about this so much lately.  Maybe it is because the time to fix it is coming to an end.  You can still fix it.  Just say hi.  It wouldn't be a big deal to me.  In fact, it would actually make sense to me.
I do not understand.  I do not understand.  I do not understand.
If you want to let me know why, I would really appreciate it.  I'm not mad.  I wonder if you think I am mad.  I am really, really not.  I'm not sad, either.  Just confused.  I don't usually get mad.  I sometimes get sad.  I only want to understand.  It is only when I understand and wholeheartedly do not agree that I get mad or sad.  That doesn't happen often.  Most of the time people's reasons make sense.
Victor's don't.  He's a narrow-minded jerk.
I am sure yours make sense.  You said you were indecisive like me.  Maybe it has something to do with that.
If you couldn't tell already, I get fixated on things that don't make sense to me very easily.  I am truly sorry that I do not understand why you do not want to know me.  I really wish you would let me know.  Or want to know me again.  I wonder if you just thought I was easy.  I wouldn't be surprised if that was the only reason why you wanted to "know" me.  I wouldn't really mind either.

I guess I should just say something to you directly.  I wish I felt like I could, but it was you that decided to stop, so I don't feel right trying again.  I feel like it's never my decision for anything to stop.



Standing on a doorstep full of nervous butterflies waiting to be asked to come inside. Just come inside.
so many sequins.  so pretty.  in lots of ways.

Is nothing real, or is it just that nothing matters?

 I don't know which it is, but either way, then why do I care do so much?  Why do I care at all?  I don't know why.  I just know that I do.  And I care a lot.  I wish I didn't.  I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't.  Would that be a good thing?  Would it be bad?  Who the hell knows.  I think I would like to care less.  Perhaps I will start.  What is there to lose?  Some dignity?  I don't think I have ever had that.  What good is it anyway.

Nothing matters.  Nothing is real.  It is all what we perceive it to be.

I WILL care less.  I am going to put some face at risk.

So why the fuck can't we be friends?  Why the fuck not?  It makes no sense to me.  I know I fucked things up a little bit and made things a bit weird, but I tried to fix it.  It could have been fixed.  It could have been something.  What it would have been, I have no idea.  A strange, unlikely friendship sounds like the most likely outcome.  Either way, it was your choice to give up.  I would not have chosen that.  I want to know you.  I want to know everyone.  I do not understand why you gave up.  Am I missing something?  It seemed stupid and arbitrary to me.  You seem like an incredibly interesting person.  We have a lot of things in common.

And besides that, in all honesty, I think I could be helpful to you.  Or at least, I think I understand.  Actually, I am nearly positive I understand.  Or at least I understand the main part of it.  Although, I do not understand why you can't be together.  That part I don't get.  Is there even a reason?

You don't make it very hard to get, but it seems to me that a lot of people are either too dense to notice or too preoccupied to with their own lives to care.  I fucking care.  I get that it fucking sucks.  I bet I could have helped if you let me show you I understood.  I understood what was going on with you before I had a reason to think there might be anything going on.  For some reason, I got it.  I wish you didn't stop things before they started.  I get things.  I hate that most people don't understand.

I realize I am overstepping lines here or whatever, but I don't know that I really care.

And by the way, that was the main reason why I stopped you.  There were other reasons, but mostly it was because I couldn't know that, pretend I didn't, and be okay with things.  But how the fuck was I supposed to tell you?  I wasn't supposed to know.  Or maybe I was.  You are very, very obvious about it.  You probably want everyone to know.  You want someone to care.  Maybe even someone to fix it.

I know that feeling.  I wish I could fix it for you.  I would like to help you try to fix it.

Or maybe I am all wrong.  I might be.  Maybe you do not want my help at all.  Maybe there is no real problem.  Maybe this is the only real problem.

Sorry if you end up reading this, understanding it and then promptly being freaked the fuck out.  I would not blame you.  Adding to the creep-factor, you should listen to "We Could Be Friends" by Freelance Whales.  It's a really nice song and kind of what made me want to write this.

I know this is not a normal thing to do.  I realize it is not socially acceptable.  You don't need to say anything to me if you read it and know it's about you.  If you feel like telling me to back the fuck off, that is fine too.  I am just done caring.

(And by "done caring" I mean "done caring at least while hiding on my blog.")

I hope you don't take this the wrong way.  Or the right way.  I don't know which would be worse.  I am very stupid.

[I am convinced that/please don't put your face into your hands] we could be friends

you don't fool me for a second.  you're just as insecure, unsure and confused as the rest of us.  you put up a good front.  impressive, really.  I bet you fool a lot of people.  not me.  I see through the façade.  does that make you nervous?  I bet it does, but it's okay.  I won't tell anyone the truth.  It will be our little secret.  I want to be the one to scare you and then tell you everything will be okay.  it's scary to let someone in past the wall you've spent so much time building.  lucky for you, I don't need you to tear it down completely; I've got x-ray vision.  I suppose I could use your façade against you.  or I could hate you for it.  I'd rather not.  I would rather ask you why it's there at all.  It makes me sad that you think you need it.  I just want to understand why.  I want to understand you.  I want to understand everyone.  does anyone really want anything more than to understand and be understood?  I think that's what love really is--understanding.  I refuse to pretend anything less than being understood is enough.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

lonelily/glub-glub

It really is never going to happen for me.
"It happens when you're not looking."
Bullshit.  Complete and total bullshit.  I spend the vast majority of my time not looking.  It is just those rare moments when someone sparks my interest that I look.  What the hell is the harm in that?  Furtive Glances.  I wish that furtive implied furry.  Furry Glances.  Looking at someone like an animal.  Preferably a tiger.  I have been very into tigers lately.  I blame Richard Parker.  And my hat.

Tigers don't have problems like this.  I don't understand why I have problems like this.  Actually, I do. I am painfully shy and awkward.  You need to come to me.   

I do not think I am terribly attractive or unattractive, but what does that even have to do with it?  Decidedly unattractive people have much better luck than me.  I want to just give up and never leave my room.  That's not really an option though. I need to not lose hope entirely.  Even though I am pretty sure I am nearly there. 

It's hard not to lose hope.  I guess you would have to be in my position to understand.  I am terrified it's all going to end before I experience something real.  At least if it does, I won't care--I won't even know; I won't even be.  If that is the way it is going to end up, I wish it would just hurry up and be done with.  

What's the point of waiting around for something that will never happen?  

"You don't need it to be happy."  

Bullshit.  Only people who have it or at least have had it say that.  I've never had it; I do need it.  At least once.  Even if it's only for a little while.  

It's not too much to want.  I am a fucking catch.  I am a fucking easy catch.  Very low maintenance.  Why does everyone throw me back before they even give me a chance?  I don't require all that much effort.  If nothing else, I could make for a good story.  There would be very little exaggeration required if you would just give me some time.  

Fillet me.  Gut me.  Do whatever you want to me.  

Just please, please don't throw me back there.  

I saw my Uncle Chris last night.
in a dream, that is. he passed away a few years ago, but last night he was here. well, his spirit was. my dream last night was one of the strangest and most amazing one's I've had in a long time. he came back for a visit, I suppose, in the dream. the circumstances are a bit muddy, but he was there despite the fact that he couldn't be. in the dream, this made me question everything I believed and made me so indescribably happy. I was led to believe that there is an afterlife in the dream. I know I only had it because of a movie I watched last night and a photograph of my cousin I saw yesterday, but I appreciated the dream so much. it was absolutely amazing to hear from my uncle again, even if it was just in my subconscious. I miss him so much. he was such an amazing guy and so much fun. people like him should not be allowed to die young. his sons and mother did not deserve to lose him. none of us deserved to lose him.
I wish I actually could believe in an afterlife. heaven would be a nice place for him to spend eternity.
I miss you, Uncle Chris.

I do not need people.

except for the ones who make good music. they can stay in my cds and computer. I would like to get far away from everyone else though. I aspire to be a hermit. a loner. an infinite amount of time to figure out me. I am a self-centered narcissistic so it would serve me well. I could be alone with my thoughts about me.  I might want to get a dog to amuse me. their love is something that lasts. they don't judge. they just want to be with you and be loved by you. why can't people be like dogs? why does everything have to be so confusing? if they were less confusing, I would focus less on me. I am someone I can at least hope to come close to figuring out. plus, if people were more straightforward with how they felt, it would matter less to me that they did not love unconditionally.
more people should explain why. even if all they say is that they have no idea. at least then you would know that they are just as confused as you are. I like the terms of all relationships (even including those with acquaintances) to be clearly defined. "I consider you to be my closest friend." "I have a lot of fun with you but don't connect with you on a really deep level." "I hope that one day we will be very close." "I do not anticipate this lasting."
I've always been this way. it was probably at it's worst in elementary school. my "best friend" became "best friends" with another girl, but she still falsely claimed to be my "best friend," too. we were still close (and still are), but the fact that what we were did not fit the definition of "best friends" really messed with my brain; it caused me a lot of strife.
maybe I just think and dwell too much. I don't anticipate that changing, though, so it would be really great if people could just accommodate for my neurosis and just clearly explain where they stand with me. it does not have to be said directly. just say something that let's me know clearly enough so that I do not start going grey trying to figure it out on my own. people are confusing.
are we friends again? can we be? I hope so. you're fun. and I am over my not-so-brief period of insanity.

vanity is so confusing.

Maybe people will believe the lie.
I wish I believed it.
Maybe I do.
Sorry.
Why the fuck does it matter?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
                                 Never.

vain. vein. vane.
weather vanes. Let's go east. I miss the sun. I love the grey.
Chalkboards and veins. My two least favorite things. 
"Like sewing together two pieces of wet cheese." Thanks.


I count my steps a lot and usually don't realize I am doing it until I am already up to 50 or so.


Perhaps I should go beg for attention elsewhere.

                                                                 

"No, not really. It's more a need for sympathy. I want people to feel sorry for me. I like to feel the burn of the audience's eyes on me when I'm revealing all my darkest secrets into the microphone. When I was a kid I used to carry a safety pin around with me every where I went in my pocket, and when people weren't paying enough attention to me, I'd dig it into my arm until I started crying. Everyone would stop what they were doing and ask me what was the matter. I guess, I guess I kind of liked that."

"Really, you're telling me that you're doing all of this for attention?"


"No, I hate it when people look at me; I get nauseous. In fact, I could care less what people think about me. Do you feel that?"

we can discover the wonders of nature, rolling in the rushes down by the riverside.

my hiatus from facebook is making me post a lot more than usual. I suppose that is kind of unfortunate because they mean less this way. I am so tired. 


I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. that you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. or just not exist. or just not be aware that you do exist. or something like that. 


I've felt like that. I kind of feel like that now. life is boring me to pieces. I need a change. I need new experiences and new people. I am wilting. that's a good verb for me right now. I can't tell if I've been watered too much or too little. or maybe there just wasn't enough sun. I think that was it. I thrive in the sun. did you know that salvia does well in direct sunlight? it also has pretty flowers. that's weird to me. 
I just want to take a break until things get interesting again and people want to know me. if someone could wake me up when that happens, I would greatly appreciate it. I want to meet people and make friends. I fall in love with people everyday. I wish I could meet them. I can tell that I love them just by looking at them. I want to know them all. be their friend. I mostly like to reassure people. make them feel better. less alone. less crazy. less bad. except myself. I can rationalize things for everyone but myself. the rules don't apply to me. 
I know that it's time for sleep when my body feels far away. sometimes my legs are in australia and my head is in canada. my fingertips are in china and africa. 


let's get lost in the atlantic. would you like to do that with me? we could swim with the sharks and eat jellyfish. I just want to float away for a little bit.

a better place, a better time

This sums up how I feel right now. 

Does that make sense? Probably not. 

Twisted up with pretty (but grey) clouds on the beach with some garbage and a couple half-deflated balloons.

Does that make more sense? Probably not.

Confused but kind of okay with it.

That makes sense. Probably. 

forget and start again, love.

narcissism

I changed my pictures to ones I took with my shittyass film camera. I feel less like I am cheating that way. (I know you really care.)

silly silly silly

is what I am. and not in a good way. in a foolish way. I like to pretend I'm more, but I am nothing more than the rest of them. who's to say that's a bad thing? me. I say it's bad. they don't understand, and I think I do, but I know I don't. I bet they think they understand, too. I wonder if they know that in reality they don't really understand. I looked like them today and almost didn't want to face the world. everyone who saw me probably thought I actually was one of them. or, god forbid, trying to be one of them. I try not to be one of them. I wonder if that's even worse. it probably is. clones drones bones.

I like my bones. they help me not be jell-o. I really hate jell-o. it's made from bones. I really wish I was a bird. they have hollow bones. I would like to be one that only ate seeds and berries. I love seeds and but mostly berries. or maybe I could eat things that were already dead. that would be okay. I don't want to kill things. I just want to fly. and sing. I have a terrible voice. 

I have really heavy boots that won't let me fly right now. I think they're a size too small, too, because I can't get them off. at least they don't seem to be made of cement. I hate it when they're made of cement. although, I like the way cement feels under my feet. I like it best when it's rough. I hate it when it's too smooth. then it's like a chalkboard. or a dry shell. I suppose that doesn't make much sense to someone who doesn't live in my brain. I should sell day-passes. maybe then people wouldn't get so annoyed when they think I should know better or be better. have you ever scratched a dry shell by mistake? it gives me the heebie jeebies. dry dry dry. the ocean makes it better. can we go play in the waves now?


I I I me me me.
doe ray me fa' sew la tea doe.
pastel deer would be best. I miss the sun. I want to go fa'. children in china make my clothes. la-la-land is where I should go. I love peach tea. I talk way too much about me.
shut up now, please.

momentarily sane

I went crazy yesterday. it's been happening a lot lately.
this trip to crazyville ended up leading to some good things, though. namely, I came to the realization that I am a control freak. a very laid back control freak, mind you, but I need to know where things stand in relation to my life at all times, or I apparently lose my shit. when things are muddy and undefined I freak the fuck out. I don't need things to change, I just need to know what's going on.
it is really fun when I go batshit. you should probably come watch me sometime when it happens. there is a lot of hyperventilation (which is called that because you hyper-ventilate. like too much breathing. a friend pointed this out the other day and I felt dumb for not realizing it before.) involved, and I get this very strange confused look on my face from thinking too hard. have you ever thought so hard that your brain hurts and you get dizzy? that's what happens to me. I ask why a lot and nothing seems to make sense. confused would be a severe understatement for my mental state when it happens.

also, I am incredibly annoying when having mental breakdowns. the problems that bring them on seem trivial to anyone not in my brain. people who deal with me while I freak out must think I am so overdramatic. I am VERY needy while I am insane. the "problems" are so stupid; there is no reason for me to freak out over such meaningless shit. but I do.
I lose my mind.
once I find it (my mind) again, it generally has a better understanding of things. the breakdowns let me see things clearly once they eventually run their course.

last night when I reclaimed my sanity, I realized that I went crazy because I am too reliant on definitions. I need to learn how to let that go. everyone isn't going to tell me what they are thinking all the time. I will not always understand people's motives or rationale. it's going to be tough because I love definitions.
that probably sounds bad, but it's not. I am entirely unsure how to properly explain what I mean.
I suppose I like very specific definitions and labels. I don't discriminate based on them, I just like to know where everything fits in relation to me. that way I know how to properly interact with them.

also, I decided facebook plays a disgustingly important role in my life. I forget how to interact with people in real life. or did I ever really know how to do that? probably not.
anyway, as of tonight, facebook no longer has control over me. if people want to know me, they can talk to me. I am done.
done done done.
hopefully not using it helps me to stay sane on a more consistent basis.

p.s. clothes suck.

I believe in a thing called love

there are two nights in a day. why didn't we realize this before?

wasted space

is what I am.


could you please make me into something worthwhile?
I'm sort of like clay. fashion me into whatever you think will work. I will gladly fit the mold. 

my feet are so black and blue

barenaked ladies, ben folds, cake, cloud cult, cute is what we aim for, dashboard confessional, dave matthews band, dishwalla, dispatch, the dresden dolls, the early november, everclear, flobots, fun., goo goo dolls, gorillaz, grateful dead, green day, guster, gwen stefani, gym class heroes, hootie and the blowfish, iron & wine, jack johnson, jack's mannequin, jimi hendrix, joshua radin, ke$ha, kelis, the kooks, lady gaga, lil wayne, lily allen, lykke li, manchester orchestra, matchbox twenty, matt & kim, mika, mumm-ra, n.e.r.d., no doubt, o.a.r., oasis, ol' dirty bastard, panic! at the disco, passion pit, peaches, phish, playradioplay!, radiohead, regina spektor, rob pattinson, say anything, the scene aesthetic, shawn mullins, shiny toy guns, shwayze, something corporate, the spill canvas, state radio, streetlight manifesto, sublime, sufjan stevens, suzanne vega, third eye blind, wheatus.

everything you could ever want to know about me is in that list. mostly that I have no fucking idea who/what/where/when I am, but, hey, I like good music. (or all music.) I would be surprised if someone couldn't find at least one artist they liked in that list. I currently only have 100 songs in my "veryvery favorites" playlist, and these are the artist that sing them. they describe me. they are me. 

I am so unfocused. 

it seems really silly and immature to say that my music "defines" me, but it really does, metaphorically at least. I have no direction. none at all. I am all over the place. my style, my personality, my tastes, my beliefs. it is kind of frustrating not to have a destination. 

which way is east? 

I am so redundant. 

trail mix

What makes me worthwhile? As of yet, nothing. I dwell on what I can do to make it happen, but so far I haven't followed through. Sure, I've read a few books, listened to a few songs, jotted down a few notes, but I didn't follow through. Follow through with what exactly, I have no idea. I just didn't make it work. Maybe there was nothing with enough merit to stick. It makes me sick to think of how unimportant I am; how little I contribute. Even when I write, the words are only my thoughts. Who cares about that? I should be writing about things that other people thought with dashes of my own insightful musings scattered in at appropriate intervals. Maybe it's just that I think I think too much to do that effectively. My thoughts come in a blur and very quickly, and then I can't sort them out enough to figure out what's important. 

Everything's important. Or is nothing important? I can't tell. 

Other people's thoughts sometimes really intrigue me, but other times they interest me less than my own. That sounds terribly selfish. I am terribly selfish. I get lost in my own head. It's not the bad kind of lost, though. It's the kind of getting lost that let's you learn and explore before getting to your intended destination. I love being lost. Especially when it's not in a car. Either in my head or on foot is best. Will someone come get lost in the woods with me for a day or two? Or even just for a few hours. I want to lay in the sun in a place that I have never been to before and probably will never go again. I want novelty. 

I am an (oxy)moron. I live for novelty, but I thrive on routine. I want to get lost and explore, but I take the most efficient routes everywhere. I should stop that. I really do just want to get lost and fill my head with pretty thoughts. I think thoughts are pretty. 

I mull over everything. Sometimes I think about things that I don't even care about. I waste hours thinking about it, and never end up caring any more or less. I never regret getting lost in thoughts about unimportant things or people. All thoughts are worthwhile. 

I think about people, mostly. What they want. Why they do things. Everyone is selfish and has motives behind their actions. It's what the motives are that I want to know. I wish everyone knew that there is nothing wrong with being selfish. I am horribly, disgustingly selfish. Because of that,  I want to know your thoughts. I wish I could collect everyone's thoughts. I love other people's thoughts. They're fascinating. They lead me to new thoughts of my own. I just don't like to write about them too much. I wish I did. I mostly just like to pick through their brain and see where it gets me. It usually ends up coming back to me. How do I relate to this? How does this apply to me? Could I deal with that? I am so very, very selfish. I don't think I mind it though. 

I also care about people. I guess it doesn't really sound like it, but I do. I care a whole lot. Maybe too much. It's just that my thoughts end up back on me most of the time while I am caring. I am confusing and rambling. I do care about you though, even though I am a selfish bitch. 

double standards

I feel so stupid. There used to be something there. I didn't imagine that, did I?
I probably did. I'm stupid like that.
I just want to know what changed.
That's all.
I don't care about it, really.
I just want to know what happened.
I didn't want it. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that. I didn't want it. I don't know why I didn't. I still don't want it.
I'm sorry I didn't.
I'm sorry you don't.
Why don't you?
Can't things just go back to how they were?
Did that part even change? I can't tell. I can never tell. Maybe that's why I care at all.
I liked that part. That part worked. That part could still work. That part worked well. It could work even better. Or at least more.
Or the other part. That part changed. But that part could still work, too. They didn't work together. It's a shame they never worked together. It's a shame I didn't want them to.
I know it's stupid to think about this. It isn't anything. I didn't want anything. I don't want anything. So why do I care? I really, really don't want anything.
You probably think that's a lie. It's not.
Maybe that's why.
I wish I made sense.
I think I think too much.
I think I need too much.
I think I need more.
Sorry.

Why can't you be like my computer?
One-sided expectations.





I am going to regret this. It will be taken to mean just what I tried to say it didn't. It really doesn't mean that at all. Oh well.
Honestly, I don't think about this anymore. It's just late and I am bored. My mind wanders to weird places. Sorry.

things are falling down on me, heavy things I could not see.

I feel so awful; stressed to the brink of insanity.
that should not be a reason to not write.
that should be a reason to write.
just I don't want to complain on here.
if I complain, it's real. I'm different. people will throw me pity parties. I don't do pity parties. I keep up the facade and paint on a smile. cheese.

I won't talk about that.
                                                                               

am I really special? I think I am. I deal with my shit and still keep up appearances. I still am a real person despite dealing with my shit. that can be hard. being a real person. I usually forget I am one. actually, I don't really think I am. I know I am, but I don't think I am. my friends tell me I have specific mannerisms that they have picked up and I am bewildered by that thought. I probably got them from other people.

me? I don't have any unique, definable qualities. I'm just a body. a chameleon who doesn't know who she is. a stupid chameleon. adapting to the current situation in the best way she can. you like sports? me too. you like art? me too. music? same. the thing is, it's never a lie. I really do like everything. it makes things confusing and convenient. I can get along with most people. I only have one real dislike:  militant religion. especially christianity. it skeeves me out. keep your god to yourself, please. you can like him all you want. just leave me out of it. other than the super religious, I like everyone. the sluts. the prudes. the stoners. hippie. preppy. frat boy. anarchist. they all have qualities that I can identify with and love. some of the other stuff that I don't identify with (though there isn't much), I find fascinating. I'm not a real person. they are. if I learn enough about them enough, maybe I'll be a real person, too. that's my goal. to become real. to have someone recognize that I have my own qualities (even though I don't) and to like them. I want to be a worthwhile real person. though, I think everyone is worthwhile. (other than those crazy catholics.) I guess a real person would be enough. I would settle for being real. being real would be very nice.

spinning

I am actually dizzy from thinking too much.  That does not seem normal.  oops.

Slippery Snake

My grip on reality and my sanity is usually tenuous at best.  I am not very strong (I really should work out more), and it feels like it is covered in grease.  Someone needs to distract me for just a second, and I forget I am supposed to be holding on tightly, and it slips away rather quickly.  whoosh.  And it’s gone.  whoops.  It keeps sliding further and further away until I remember that I need to grab it.  Sometimes it’s a far reach and I need help getting it back. 

I am easily distracted which doesn’t help matters.  I get fixated on stupid things that really don’t matter.  The small things that push the right (wrong) buttons do it the best (worst).  Logic says I do not care.  But, if I think about it too hard, this stupid little unimportant thing could be interpreted to mean that I am not worthwhile.  whoosh.  And that I am not pretty enough.  whoosh.  And also probably fat.  whoosh.  And stupid.  whoosh.  And boring.  whoosh.  Then it’s gone.

Oops. 

I didn’t mean for it to happen.  It just does.  If someone could throw it back to me, I might be able to catch it and be okay again.  I have fairly decent catching skills.  And throwing skills. 

But really, could you please toss it back to me?  You distracted me and made it slide away, so it’s really the least you could do.  You could try just telling me that I’m wrong.  It wouldn't be very hard for you, and it would probably do the trick.  It might even make it less slippery and easier to hold on to. 

I would give anything for it to be less slick.  I could get distracted and still hold on.  That would be lovely.  

stupid gavels

The trees look alive.  Maybe they are.  I wonder if they mind being turned into different things.  I wonder if it hurts them.  I don’t think it would.  I bet they get upset when they are made into stupid things.  Like gavels. Or tchotchkes.  Or maybe they like tchotchkes.  I kind of like tchotchkes.  They are kitschy.  I like kitschy things.  I do know if that is because I actually like them or because I really like the word “kitschy.”  Either way, the trees look alive.  I bet most people would think that trees would be wise since they are so old, but they only stay in one spot for their whole lives, so they are probably only wise about a small area.  That’s kind of useless unless you really need to know exactly what happened at the corner of Ramblewood Lane and Sparrow Court throughout the course of the past one hundred and fifty years.  Or unless they ponder philosophy.  Then they would be very wise.  They’ve had a lot of time to think, so they probably would know whether or not God exists and the true meaning of life.  They probably know the secret to world peace, too. The goddamn trees are holding out on us.  If they would let us know, maybe we could stop cutting them down and turning them into gavels.  Maybe they aren’t that wise.  I think that if they were, they would do everything in their power to stop becoming gavels.  (And maybe tchotchkes.)  Even if trees are not wise, I bet they like the wind.  It lets them move without us realizing that they are alive.  Well, we know that they are alive in the sense that they create oxygen and stuff, but I mean really alive.  They can stretch their limbs and shake out their knots when it’s windy and people don’t question it. 

I wonder what their stance woodpeckers is.  Also, squirrels.  

OOPS.

I never posted anything wonderful. Tomorrow. I will tomorrow.

BLARGHHHHH

I feel inspired. I shall write something today or tomorrow that is not me being depressed and ranting. Something that is actually creative, perhaps.

hot and cold

is how I feel. figuratively, speaking, of course. I feel happy, and then I feel so unbelievably sad.
I feel tired all the time, though. that doesn't change. not ever.
perhaps I am sick. I hope I am sick. then, I will eventually get better and this will stop.
it needs to stop.
I feel terrible. sometimes I just can't handle it. I get overwhelmed and need to leave. it's like a switch that goes off and I begin to shatter. then I just need to go break into pieces in private. not in the crying sense breaking into pieces, though; more in the literal sense of turing into a pile of rubble. I disintegrate like an old statue or something. it's stupid.
it generally doesn't stop on it's own either. someone needs to stick me back together.

scotch tape and glue sticks.
that's what I am these days.

I do like arts and crafts.


lovely.

bambi

I feel very content and very weird. I like the way the bricks look with salt on them. They look briny. Like rocks when you take them out of the ocean. I wonder if deer would like to lick them. Rainbow deer would be very nice to look at. I wish I could get a bunch of deer and make them colorful. That would be pretty. I bet they would like to lick the bricks and rocks. Then they wouldn't look salty and nice, but there would be rainbow-colored deer around so I wouldn't even mind.

moving day

or at least it feels like it. I need to put some extra tape on my little boxes made of ticky tacky. the really strong packing kind should do. I hope. if not, I am screwed. but it should work. I will seal up the boxes very well so that there will not be any unexpected holes or leaks, and then I will hide them. that way I won't think or feel.

I like gray/grey a lot. I want to move to somewhere very gray. it matches me.
I suppose that sounds sad, but I don't mean it in a sad way. I like grey, so it's not that sad. I like the sky when it's grey from snowing. it is very opaque. I like that. it's like a blanket. it hides the sky completely. it looks cozy. that's where I should put my boxes. behind the gray snow-clouds.

I wonder if I am okay. I can't tell, and I suppose that is bad, but I prefer it this way. I think even if I am not okay, it's okay. I don't particularly mind not being okay sometimes. everyone needs to not be okay. how else would you know when you are okay? I think I'm okay enough. but not too okay. that's fine, though. maybe it will make me more grey. like the clouds when it snows. I think I would like to be that gray.

this is le suck.

y zee worst. BOOOOO.



happy birthday to meeee!

teenage dirtbag

I hate being mad at people I love. then I don't want to tell them I am mad, but I know that I should because I love them and they love me so they would want to fix it. but then I feel badly. I don't want them to know that they hurt me because that might hurt them. then it's just a vicious cycle of hurt. I don't like hurt. but I am very hurt. and sad. I wish this had just worked out for me. I know it never could have, but why does it have to be because of her? and why doesn't she realize that? and why doesn't she realize that because I love her so much, it hurts that she's the reason why I hurt.
I'm glad it didn't work though.
no I'm not.
but it's for the best. at least that's what I want to think.

apparently lesbians like me. maybe I should just do that. although that might be rude and insulting to actual lesbians. I bet that would throw everyone for a loop, though. I like not being predictable. except, by saying this it makes it predictable and less out of left field. whoops.



I wish I was magnetic.

avarice

I hate it when bands I love start to get famous. especially when they are newer to me. that hurts worse. it feels a lot like some wonderful private refuge I had has been exposed and turned into a tourist attraction and is no longer mine. the visitors all think that the place is just the neatest thing ever, but they will never love it as much as I did.
obviously, I should be happy for the bands and the success they find, but I just cannot. this makes me feel a little like a bad person, but I really can't help it. it greatly and genuinely upsets me to hear songs I cherish on the radio.
I suppose that makes me selfish.
but isn't everyone?

abracadabra

Hello, my name is Shannon and I have magical powers.
While some might consider my particular power a curse, I like to think of it as a gift. I have a knack for getting people back together.
You see, my gift is that the moment I develop an interest in a guy, he will inevitably make out with his most recent ex.
Why this happens, I have not a clue. But it does. And with shocking regularity.
In fact, the last three guys I have fancied have done this. After the first one I was kind of devastated. After the second, I was a bit heartbroken, but I also realized that there might be something weird going on. Granted, that didn't make it suck less. Plus, I still questioned why it happened and thought maybe I had just done something wrong.
After the third, I knew there was something out of the ordinary going on. I wasn't even sad.
It is hard to be upset when you know that you have supernatural abilities.

Also, it is very nice to know that the only reason why boys don't like is you because you're magical.
That's the main reason why it's a gift.

6. Judge Judy (Garland)

I hardly ever pass negative judgment. I don't really understand how to. I mean, sure I sometimes think people are selfish or insecure, but those aren't necessarily bad things. They’re just things. We all deal with them, some just more than others. I think that people can’t really help how selfish or insecure they are, so why should we consider them character flaws? Sure, for someone interacting with a selfish person, it’s not necessarily pleasant, but then you just have to account for that aspect of his personality and adjust. Perhaps you could let this person talk about himself for a bit longer than you find acceptable for other people. Or maybe you can learn to count on him just a little bit less. The same thing goes for insecure people; their need for constant reassuring might be seen as annoying, but apparently they need it, so why not give it to them. You might not be able to joke around as much with a person like this, but everyone has her own quirks. Perhaps you could go out of your way to throw her a compliment every now and then. You could compliment her to be a nice person and help make her day a little bit brighter, or if you are a selfish person, perhaps you could compliment her in hopes that your compliment will help to permanently raise her self-esteem. And if this happens, you won’t have to be careful around her anymore, and maybe she’ll even stop talking about how fat/ugly/stupid she is all the time!

If more people understood that things like selfishness and insecurities cannot always be controlled, I think that the world would run a bit more smoothly. We could all accommodate for individual’s personalities and learn how to make each other happier.

I should start a campaign. Perhaps I should post flyers:  

“ATTENTION EVERYONE: ACCOMMODATE FOR OTHER’S PERSONALITIES WHEN YOU INTERACT WITH THEM. SUCK IT UP AND TRY TO UNDERSTAND.” Maybe I could hold a seminar and explain it. It would be very nice if people understood.

If people really did understand, we could all wear labels with short descriptions of our personalities. We could make special codes and symbols for them to make it easier but more complicated because I think people like that. I don’t really know why that is. If everyone knew what other people’s personalities were, and also knew how to interact with different personalities, we could treat each other correctly and always be the best versions of ourselves. That would be nice. 

oopsies.

my hero and role-model did not win album of the year.
perhaps this means I need to step up my whoring-around for gender equality campaign.

but really, why are girls sluts for doing things that are normal for guys? so dumb.

also, I keep forgetting to pick up the three rolls of film I got developed. WHOOPS. I will pick them up tomorrow, I suppose. I hope my pictures came out well.
if they did, I will post them and write poems and stories and ballads and interoffice memos based off of them. I will get reeeeeal fucking artsy. and you will like it.

or, you'll be like, "look at that fucking hipster." and I'll be like, "NO. that's rachel. I just wanna be worthwhile and perhaps a little bit grunge, if I have to label myself for you. didn't you love the 90s as much as I did? I realize I was only a child back then, but I knew what was good. also, I really liked hootie and the blowfish in preschool." and you will say, "that's nice, but they weren't a grunge band." and I will retort, "well obviously, good sir. but clearly if hootie and the blowfish was my favorite band at age four and I distinctly remember rocking out to them after snack time, I remember other important stuff from the 90s. like how the grunge kids dressed and their cool music. and as a preschooler, I wanted to be like them except, seeing as I was four, I did not know how to go about doing so. but now I do know. plus, I also remember loving it when my brothers listened to the smashing pumpkins. and I sometimes like to wear boots with dresses and not bathe. it works."
"although, I would rather just be worthwhile and not have a clear-cut label. however, 'occasionally a little bit grunge' has asymmetrical-fuzzy edges and therefore is fine." then, you will accept defeat and back away.
or perhaps fear and confusion are why you leave.
whatever. I still win.


I need to bathe. I think my hair is a fire hazard.

...virginia woolf.

apparently ivy league boys and drug dealers like me.

I have been hit on more times than I can count this weekend and have been called pretty by two strangers in the past two days. I was also two random guys "good luck charm" for beer pong.

but they sucked and having me around did not change that fact. it might have helped if they had just let me throw the goddamn ball. they had one cup left and missed it about 8 times. I was sober and totally could have made it. I eventually left because they were disappointing me and I was in a shittastic mood.

on my way to the door, some really cute guy with a face covered in orange paint that glowed under blacklights talked to me and tried to convince me not to leave the party. he said I was "very pretty." I said his face was very orange. I was very flattered by his compliments but wanted to leave. so I did.
I probably should have stayed.

also, on the train home today some black man who was dressed quite "thug" and went by the name "big" and had two cellphones decided to sit next to me. he asked my for my name, if I had a boyfriend and if he could "call me sometime." I told him I don't give my number out. the whole two cellphones thing makes me think he was involved in some sort of criminal activity such as drug dealing. he was quite nice and polite, though. before he left he said that I was "really pretty."

I suppose this sounds a lot like bragging, but you have to understand, THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN TO ME. EVER. 

boys do NOT show interest in me. especially not smart and/or interesting. and NO ONE (other than my mother) tells me I'm pretty.

is this a normal thing for actually-pretty girls? because it felt pretty goddamn strange to me.
kind of pleasant, though.

apparently I need to visit upenn more often.

I also need to write more. perhaps I will tonight. 

judgements.

I think the only way you can judge someone without knowing them is knowing what music they listen to. it's very telling. my personal taste in music says, "I'm a mess, I have no idea who I am, and I like it that way."

5. Little Boxes Made of Ticky Tacky

I used to really like to hide. From myself, from other people. It’s the only way I knew how to get by. The only way I knew how to be strong. And I am very good at it. I used to compartmentalize all of my emotions and lock them away, opening as needed. Sometimes it got too hard and I forget to lock them away. Or they stayed open on their own. That was always the worst. It’s when I messed up the hiding that I get hurt.

But now, I’ve decided to let my love box be really open. In fact, I don't think it could stay shut anymore. It causes problems this way too, but at least now I know where they come from. I have more and less control. I have more control because I know that the box isn’t going to spring open when I don’t want it to; I have less because now I love everyone. I love people in romantic ways and in just normal people ways.

I guess there is probably too much love. If anyone who I loved in a romantic way knew it, they would probably be scared. I mean, how could I love them? I barely know them. Having someone love you is scary, I suppose. But I don’t love like that. It’s a subtle kind of love. More like a strong “I-really-think-we-might-be-matches-and-even-if-we’re-not-I’ll-still-love-you-as-a-person” kind of thing. That doesn’t seem scary to me. I don’t think I would mind if someone told me that. I think I would understand. And if I didn’t think that we were matches, I would tell them, they would move one, and we would just love each other as people.

I’ve started loving myself, too. That is a weird feeling. Have you ever loved yourself? It’s weird. I don’t love myself all the time, but when I do, I feel almost worthwhile. When I love myself, I feel like I deserve someone worthwhile to love me. But at the same time, I won’t feel really worthwhile until someone worthwhile actually loves me. I have learned to love my mind. Everyone should love his or her mind. It’s a beautiful thing. Everyone’s is. No exceptions. Not even the normal crazies. Their normal minds are beautiful, too.

I wish everyone would love freely. It would make the world a better place, and people would understand better. I wish more people understood.

They don’t though. People think that their emotions are the only complicated ones. That when they hurt someone, it is only because they had no other choice, or because it seemed like the right decision at the time. But when other people hurt someone, it is because they are inconsiderate jerks. Why don’t we understand other people’s motives? It seems so strange to me. I understand. Or at least I try to. Even when someone hurts me; throws my love back in my face. I try to understand why.

It helps me keep loving. Before I started letting myself love, I tried to understand so that I wouldn’t hurt. When things hurt, I have to hide the pain and that can be hard sometimes. It helped me to define things. Put them in the right boxes without trying too hard.

Now, understanding helps me to love everyone, no matter what. Everyone has motives. When you understand why people do things, you can understand them better. I think that once you understand a person, it’s really hard not to love them.

Everyone’s mind is beautiful. Sometimes it takes a little while to unravel a person’s mind, but once you do, it’s easy to love. When you love a person’s mind, you love that person.

I don’t believe in evil. I believe in lost, confused, insecure, stuck, and desperate. Never evil. I don’t think that people have the capacity to be truly evil. Unless they are psychopaths and don’t have feelings. But even then, they don’t mean to be evil. They can’t help it. You can’t really love them, though. Well, I suppose you could, but that love would be wasted and somewhat unwarranted because their minds don’t work like everyone’s. They don’t have emotions, so I don’t know if they necessarily deserve emotion. Their minds are beautiful, but not really loveable.

I wonder if life would be easier if I didn’t feel at all. Probably. It might help, too, if I let myself feel more emotions than just love. I am constantly focused on love because I hide away all the other feelings. This is good and bad. I suppose it makes me a bit obsessive, but then again, what is so bad about being obsessed with love? I think for now, I will leave my other emotions locked away. Buried deep. If I start thinking about them, I will be led down a bad road.

Now, I do feel other emotions, but usually only in the context of love. Sadness because someone broke my heart by not thinking we were a match before we could even try. Anger because someone who I think might be a match doesn’t give me a clear sign one way or another of what he thinks about us being a match. Fear right before I start trying to see if someone else might be a match. Happiness because I found out that I love a friend even more than I thought. It always comes back to love.

I also think about love in ways other than romance, which makes it almost okay that it is my only real emotion. I have found things that I love. Like activities. And friends. And animals. And colors. And ideas.

Even still, I guess it is not really a healthy way to live. But, it works for me. One day I might have to start thinking about other things. Today, however, I am content to only dwell on love. Everything else can stay in its appropriately marked box. 

googbledeegook.

so I thought that my camera was broken and it made me very sad because the sunset last night was one of the prettiest I have ever seen. ever. the clouds looked like rippled rose gold. and so did the ice on the bay.
I stood on the bay last night, too. that was an experience. I was a little afraid that the ice would crack and I would fall through and die, but then I remembered that the bay is about four feet deep and I was less afraid of dying and more afraid of being cold and wet.
I had some super heavy boots so I went on the swings and tried to fly into the pretty sky. it didn't work and my boots were still heavy. feeling like you're about to fly away only goes so far when it never actually happens.
I woke up to watch the sun rise over the ocean and that was pretty but not nearly as pretty as the sunset.
it turns out my camera wasn't even broken either.
I wish I had a time machine. I wouldn't disturb anything. I would just go back, fix the camera, and take pretty pictures. nothing would change, but my boots would be way lighter.

on another note, I had an awesome dream last night. I think I am going to make it into a story. I'll post it on here when it's done. my first attempt at fiction! woohoo!

pretty (:

I can see a teeny tiny rainbow in a reflection on the lens of my glasses if I hold my head just right.  I want to keep it. I would like to see a rainbow everywhere I go.

a poem, I suppose.

the only thing going through my head when I write is:  read this and love me. love me. love me.

please, love me.

what purpose does my life have if people don’t love me? what purpose does life have if people don’t tell me they love me?

            I will not believe you, but tell me anyway. tell me. tell me until I believe it. tell me in a way that makes me believe it. tell me I matter. tell me I’m worthwhile.

            tell me my writing is meaningful. my words are my thoughts. my thoughts are my soul.* I am my soul* thoughts.

if my words are worthwhile, I am worthwhile.

love my words.

love me.

4. False.

            If people were more direct, maybe I would feel less like a fraud. Everything I do is a lie. Nothing is done without an ulterior motive. Nine times out of ten the motive is making myself appear to be a better person than I really am. More interesting. Less cliché.

However, in doing that, I am as dull and trite as every other ball of flesh on this planet.

I strive to be interesting. To be a unique individual that people want to have long, intellectual conversations with. I want to be someone to be admired or at least seen as an equal by those who I respect.

I want to be someone that someone amazing could fall in love with.

It always comes back to love. I do not know why I am so obsessed with love. I wonder if everyone is secretly as obsessed as I am. If everyone is, they should say so and then we could all try each other out. Try and see who fits with whom.

            We could all make lists and spend some time with each person on the list. Then the lists would be refined and expanded based on the first try, and we would try again until we all found out who really belonged together. Maybe someone you never thought about would have you on his list and you would spend time together and realize that you were near-perfect matches.

            Of course, some people would probably come out of the process without a match. And the overlapping between lists would make things a little messy. Perhaps when a person could not decide between two different matches, the potential matches could play rock-paper-scissors (best two out of three, of course) for the desired one’s love and affection. That would be fair.

            Although, even if this was how the world worked, I bet I would still be terribly fake.

I like to think that the person I pretend to be is who I am becoming. Who knows, maybe I really am becoming that person. Maybe that’s how everyone lives life. Trying out new things in hope of becoming someone new. I need to try new things or else I would be a sad, boring person whose favorite pastimes were playing dress up, hula-hooping, sleeping, and eating. Now, if I were still seven years old, this would be completely acceptable.

I am not seven years old.

I need to find new, more acceptable, ways to pass the time. Like reading. And writing. And photography. Playing dress up has turned into “being interested in fashion.”

I still like to hula-hoop, though. Except now I have to tell people I play with it because it is a good abdominal workout. In reality, I love the whooshing noise the beads inside of it make each time it goes around spin. Whoosh… Whoosh…

I love the feeling of the hoop being pulled around my waist. It makes me feel like a sun or a planet. I am the center of the hoop’s universe. It orbits around me. It makes me feel important.

There is no hula-hooping major, though. It is not a relevant life skill. So I try to become an enlightened person and try to broaden my interests. Or I at least pretend.

Art. Music. Books. Vocabulary.

I like words.

I try. And, I usually even end up liking the things I believe will make me a more worthwhile person. Or, perhaps I just make myself believe I like them because it is so important to me to be worthwhile. If I am not worthwhile, I do not deserve to be loved by a worthwhile person.

Maybe I only need to seem worthwhile. Maybe that’s why I do this. So that I can appear to be someone who deserves someone great. Maybe it’s all an illusion. My life is one giant façade.

I would not be surprised.

I do not think it is, but I am very good at hiding things from myself, so it’s possible.