Wasted

Here I am again for granted. Taken for a ride to hell and back. Where I know I should be damning I end up damned, damned and dirtied and weakened and shamed. All for nothing, for some fragile thing that verges on fiction. This toxic tale that I am above but refuse to rise above. That should not even have begun. A story reeking of futility, where I am reduced to a grovelling quivering mass, scattered thin by the feet at which I scrabble and kiss. Scattered by their kicks. Only for kicks. Objectified, used and wasted. Ground paper thin and made to be this flimsy excuse of a being. To be taken in unforgiving fists and waved and tossed and torn and scattered like the garbage I've become. Nothing more than a tattered scrap. Reduced through my intercourse with mediocrity, which I embrace and devour as if it is the only option. To accept a half-life, riddled with fractured pieces which never amount to a whole. Although I often feel so full and substantial with things I am and things I love and things I want to share, with caring and emotion and goodness. But it becomes nothing through ignorance, through apathy. Voided by the indiference I am shown. Left only with a longing and sorrow so full and mature, so repetitious, I feel it could be deemed ancient by now. A million years for every meagre minute it has prevailed in my young life. Always left wanting. Always the fool, a jester to the world, condemned, doomed to forever entertain this false monarchy. Will you lend me your empty applause, my ingracious hosts? Deepen my wounds with falsification and have no fear. I will not feel appreciation, and I will not find love.

"it does not do to dwell in dreams and forget to live" - Dumbledore

Sometimes I have to tear myself out of bed in the morning. Tear myself away from dreams whose nonsensical events, so pregnant and robust, serve as comfort to my thin sliver of a life. Sometimes I can almost feel the pain of it, wrenching myself out of images and actions that aren’t, because things that are not cannot hurt me. To raise myself out of those hazy dreamscapes seems almost akin to an icy plunge. A million jagged edges. Oh, to live in the not and never be wounded.

Then to awake and realize that life is so much lighter than dreams, so much simpler. But for some reason this is no comfort. For some reason, this is a weight. Attached to this weight is the dreaded pain, the ache in the chest that has become a constant side affect of consciousness. The ache and the weight. Reminders and products of everything that is lacking. All the failures and flaws that are so agonizingly apparent. Everyone must see them. Everyone must know. But in dreams you are perfect, in dreams these holes in you do not exist. The jagged edges are softened. Oh, to lower myself into this unconscious sanctuary where all things are beautiful and comfortable. I crave it like a drug.

But, like a high, it is not real.
And, after all, nothing truly exists but reality.
And in the end, it does not do to dwell in dreams and forget to live.

The Heart Wrenches....

....When you miss someone so intensely, who never fully existed in reality

....When you're asked to give someone a second, third, fourth chance at your heart. You have to say no or risk being fooled again, the most plausible outcome. Because how many times can you let someone fool you before you become completely made up of nothing but foolishness? And in that eventuality how would you live with yourself? Its hard enough already. But your heart is screaming at your head to say yes, you deserve that chance, here, have it. Have me and use me up and leave me here to wither away when you're brief moment of substance-induced interest has passed. Because your foolish and hopeful heart somehow truly believes that they do deserve another chance to destroy you again, and it somehow believes beyond all logical reason that perhaps this time you could be made happy for a while, and not scorned and defeated and a left a fool. It doesn't consider that this brief and shining moment in time will certainly leave you as a smoldering pile of ashes, as it has before. A pile of foolish ashes on the barren plain of all the other chances you gave with hope.
....When your head takes over, when logic and reason exercise their strength. A strength that comes from some place you can't even believe exists, because even in this moment of strength you feel so defeatingly weak.
....When you know you've done the right thing, but you wish more than anything you hadn't. Because you're heart is still ashes, and you only have your head to blame.
....When what you yearn for now is that brief moment of foolishness and stupidity that you passed up in attempt to save yourself from the ashes, from the fool you would become.
But all you want now is to be the fool.

On Love, go figure....

What is love? Such a cliché question, but one that has undoubtedly been asked by trillions of people over these human decades. Who is love, how is love, when is love, WHERE is love? Sometimes you absolutely ache for love, other times you behold it, feel it, sense wish it, want it. Some days all you want is to make love (and I’m certain this occurs more frequently for some than others). Sometimes, you resent it. Most often I feel you should cherish it. No matter what form it comes in. Some days the smile of a friend is enough love to burst your heart. Other times love is enough to crush and ruin your very existence. And still other days you long hungrily for the proverbial sensation of being “in love”. I personally sometimes feel like I’m in love with everyone. Everyone! I try to dig love out of every nook and cranny I can possibly fathom. Sometimes, more often than I care to admit, I invent love where love could not probably exist. I long for it every agonizing minute of every average day of my life. And I fear I will forever. I know I have it, I feel it and I see it, but will it ever be enough? Can one ever have enough of this stuff we deem to be love? I feel like I must experience every facet of this emotion. It fills my every thought, my every menial second. Sometimes I think I love someone, sometimes I know I do, sometimes I dream about loving someone to my own complete and total destruction. Sometimes I think someone might be okay to love, or to feign love with, for a while. But only a while, because forever is too large a concept in this day and age. Life, to me, has two certainties: death and love. And isn’t it the ideal, the absolute necessity for most, that at the very tail end of this life you have lived, at the end of your eternity that love is with you? And that it has been with you for the entirety of your days prior to this moment? I feel like everyone deserves this. I feel like this is absolutely achievable and existent to most people on this faltering earth. Unless of course you’re Voldemort....although I’m sure he was loved in some way by those Death Eaters of his. If you think about it, even Hitler had a mistress. I’m sure she loved him. So you see, even the more horrid people you could dream of have, will have or have had love in some way shape or form. And even though it may not always be enough, it certainly matters. Love controls us; it shapes us; it moves us; it devastates us to our very cores; it makes us crazy; it consumes us; it wounds us; it makes us soar, it makes us crash; it makes us ridiculously and soul-crushingly hopeful, and also fully and completely hopeless; it fills every facet of our relationships with people. Whether we love them, or absolutely do not love them, it is all still a matter of love. Love is above all pure agony, and yet it is the driving force behind every human interaction. And what would life be without these things? What would life be like if not for love? Perhaps simple, but more likely dull and grey.

The ravaging of Time

It's coming on fast, I can feel it. This adulthood is steadily racing towards me. Towards all of us. The end of eras are approaching, and it's terrifying, but also exhilirating. Everything is changing, slowly, but soon we'll be standing in a completely different place and thinking "when did this happen?". It will just creep up, rotating slowly, so slowly that we'll hardly notice at all. The only indications we'll glean of such change will be the vivid instances that command our focus. Marriages and relocations and children and career opportunities (real ones). And for a moment we'll hesitate in awe of how our worlds are changing, evolving, and maturing. Then the moment will fade and we'll fall back softly into oblivion, with our lives and the Time continuously moving and changing around us. Again, we'll be none the wiser. Until one day we once more stop and realize how things have changed, moved on around us. We'll note the evolution of life just for a moment, before falling again into ignorance.
In that moment, will I stand alone?
While everyone moves and settles down into their comfortable existences and finds someone to share this comfort with, will I remain, a lone entity in a companionate world? I can sorowfully forsee this in my mind's eye, altough I do not wish it. I can see it as if it were tragically destined. Alone in a wasteland of memories, experiences, aspirations, and my faded hopes and dreams. Perhaps. A vision of myself-calm and forlorn (perhaps defeated), eyes sagging with sadness. With the weight of pity and a thousand lost dreams. Of so many radiant and sorrowful years gone by, and coming out of them alone. Lines like pathways of the past creasing my face, displaying memories of an almost full and happy existence. Leading spectators down the roads of my life, to where they have deposited me now. A map on my face, a memoir on my tongue, and sadness in my eyes. Perhaps I will bear it stoicly, this alone-ness, proudly and with contentment. Perhaps I will appear a statue, independent, strong, but withered and faded with age. Softened and quieted. Perhaps if you were to gaze into those eyes, you would see a deep but contented sorrow that comes from good things lost and faded away in time. And perhaps you would find me lonely. Perhaps I would be.

Sunny thoughts for a bleary day

Today is an extraordinary day. My mind is free from the confines of education (for one night at least), andso I've been letting it run a bit amok in the last few hours. I've had some thoughts.
Something exceptional occurred in my ordinary day today, something out of the ordinary. I was waiting for the bus at school, and a man started talking to me. Without rhyme or reason, just because. He asked how I was and I asked him the same. He told me that he thinks people don't talk to each other very much anymore, and that we as people are losing communication. Coincidentally enough this is something I have been thinking about a bit in the last little while. Just last Sunday I was sitting out in the hazy new spring warmth with a few of my very good friends, listening to music, drinking beers and watching and waving to people going by. Pure Sunday perfection. While doing this, my friend Will observed the large amount of people wearing headphones, and commented shrewdly "No one talks to each other anymore". That stcuk with me, and ever since I've thought about it every time I ride the bus or walk down the street (usually wearing my own set of headphones, I will admit).
So today this man picked the right girl to strike up a conversation with. He pointed out to me that everyone is afraid of people attacking them, hurting them, thiings like this, so they keep to themselves and avoid contact with the strangers around them. Why do we do this? Why do we fear so much? I suppose I can understand the reasoning behind it, being a young girl and having shamefully weak defenses. The possibility of harm is always lurking. But you take that risk every time you step out your front door. Am I wrong? Is it so perilous to strike up a conversation with the person who is sitting right beside you, so close that they are touching you? Or is it a fear of small talk that begets this aversion to strager-contact? Admittedly, it is awkward. Perhaps its a fear of rejection, something which I have struggled with for years. This I can also uderstand. But I also am becoming to understand that we are becoming a society based on fear. This is not to say that a certain level of apprehension is unecessary. Especially in a large(er) type of city. But why should we fear the fellow student sitting beside us on the crowded 61 bus? Why should we fear the girl next door? Why should we fear the middle-aged african man waiting with us at the bus stop? I think that apprehension is robbing us of some of the greatest and most beautiful nuances that life has to offer. People are all around us! They surround us all the time in a city like this! People who could be wonderful, who could turn into fabulous friends, astounding acquaintences, or even just entertaining encounters if we gave it the chance.
Subsequently, this man who took the time to stop and chat with me is from Zimbabwe, and currently teaches African History and the university. His major is in agriculture, and he has an avid interest in all things farming. So, again, he was talking to the right girl! He asked if I could think of any way he could get connected with the rural Manitoba agricultural community, so I took his information and passed it on to my father, who I'm sure will revel in his interest. And I'm sure I will talk to him again in the near future. We both made new and interesting friends today. All because of a bus stop.



I am going to take the opportunity here to use that as a segway into talking about my long established and dearly loved friends back home. A random memory of them has been popping into my head quite frequently of late, and it gets me thinking. The memory is of this video my friend Mel made for her media class in high school. It involves Mel's cat Sonny, my friend Cassie and I doing some very bad acting (at least on my part) trying to sell some kind of odour neutalizing spray. I do not know why the image of this keeps popping into my head! But it got my wheels turning. The video was filmed in Mel's house, which she rented by herself that year. I remember filming it, requiring more "takes" than it should have to film a two minute segment, and busting our guts in between each stupid screw-up. We were so happy just being together and being young and goofing around. And yet at that same time we were going through the most tumultuous times we'd ever faced, and probably will ever face. Events that were undoubtedly more dramatic and tragic than any young girls should have to experience. And yet, we look back at those times as some of the best times in our lives. Were we just too young, at the tender age of 16, to really feel and appreciate the perilous weight of those events? Was it mere naivite that made that year seem so great? Or was it that, with so much of our lives messed up and falling down around us, we had no choice but to pull together and love each other and brighten those dreary days? (Though if there was a choice, it undoubtedly would result in the same answer) I like to believe the latter. In fact, I know that to be true. I'm dead certain of it. And although I wouldn't wish such things on any young, blossoming girls, I wouldn't trade them for the world. No matter how painful, confusing or scarring they were, none of it compares to the unconditional, irreplacable, indescribable love that we found in one another. The laughter, support, happiness and tears we all shared and how we shaped each other and imprinted on each other's hearts and souls forever. The sheer amazement of this is undescribable, and if the blindingly, overwhelmingly bright light of love had to come from such dark places, then so be it. I wouldn't have it any other way. I love you all, through thick and thin, forever and always.

"I never learned to count my blessings, I choose instead to dwell in my disasters"

Meaningless mouths and arbitrary arms;
Talking without truth, caressing without compassion;
Holding but hindering, embracing but encumbering.
Truthfully, typical and trivial.
You-
Repulsed, repelled, but not resisting.
Inevitably impressible, calmly coerced.

And then thoughts turn to an invisible place
a place which you've striven so ardently,
so strongly
to prevent them from straying.
And maybe this place is trivial too.
But in this moment seems so meaningful,
for if it held no meaning
why would your thoughts now stray there?
(Why would it exist at all?)
Why? In an instance of such specific actions,
why the twinge of heart-strings?
Why the image of another,
of one who you've managed
so well thus far
to snuff out?
Why the saline excretions from night-blinded eyes,
now wetting substance-flushed cheeks?
Oh these embittered tears
that nullify the indifference which you hoped was passive.
Which you believed was real
but was, it seems, quite deliberate-
quite illusory.
Those salty streams
that give this convincedly trivial place meaning again.
That insist you be aware of its existence,
this place you've striven to ignore.
The feelings it creates and evokes
and the person who created it.

---------------------------------------------------------

You look at this immediate other and know, "I don't want this"
but let it occur nonetheless.
Let it all occur, always, every time.
And why?
Because it might mean you aren't feeling those confused things anymore?
Because it might mean you really don't care?
Because it might prove all of that which you've tried to convince yourself of?
Things about yourself (beautiful, sex-appealing, interesting)
Things about your feelings (indifference, freedom, contentment)
When all it really does is illustrate your inherent inability to not feel
To not want more than this
To not want something real
Someone real
To BE real.
All it really does is bring to light things striven to avoid.
Thoughts about yourself (objectified, morality)
Thoughts about feelings (shit, shit, shit)
And that need for realness, that you almost wish didn't exist, now screams louder than ever.
And how do you strive for this kind of realness, how do you find it other than to persue love?
That fucking abstraction you've come to resent, to resist, to avoid, to abhor.
That has always eluded you. Has always screwed you. Has taunted and pursued you.
Maybe luck will come one day
Or maybe time will tell
Maybe something will once be real
And you will be real.

***

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit... "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."
-The Velveteen Rabbit

Eye of the Beholder

I have mentioned in past posts about never really being able to know anything for sure. I truly believe this to be true. Nothing can ever be certain in life (exept death, and maybe even love), but I also feel that there are a great many things that can be learned. Things that you can almost know for sure. Two of the things that I have learned and wish to write about today are these: You can't make anyone love you, and you can't make anyone stop loving you.
I know the thought of wanting someone to not love you seems like a strange concept. Trust me if I was reading this a few years ago I would think I was crazy. But haven't you ever just wanted something different from someone who wanted something different from you? I'm being vague. Have you ever just wanted your friend back after they somehow convinced themselves to love (love here is refering to feelings of love, not necessarily actual love) you? Perhaps not, and I feel like those of you who haven't are far more fortunate that those of you who have. I know it might not seem that way, trust me I do know, but those feelings of love change things. Even if these changes are ever so subtle, they still exist somewhere in the back of the mind. And I also feel like once you love a friend, it never goes away, as I have been in the opposite position as well. I feel like it always sticks around a little bit in the peripherals of any continued friendship. That looming unrequited thing. The elephant in the room so to speak.
Sometimes I think about this occurance, of falling in love with friends. More topically, of friends falling in love with me. Love, again, in the loosest sense. And I think sometimes that maybe if I were ugly to people it would more rarely happen. I have a friend who is undeniably gorgeous and she is certainly plagued by this, it seems almost constantly. I feel like when you love someone's mind and soul as you would a friend, an aestheticly pleasing outer demeanor just confuses and complicated the situation. And someone who you wouldn't necessarily consider romantically if they were ugly (in your opinion) becomes something more to you. The word plague here is I think appropriate, for as much as people strive for beauty, I think it can also be a curse. When you have it, its all people see. When you have it no one cares whats underneath. I'm not speaking out of personal experience here per se, I just believe this to be true. And why is it that beauty is so coveted and revered? Yes, it is pleasing to the eye, but I think also we have been primed for beauty since we could understand the concept. The example I use is heroines of Disney movies. Beautiful women whose ultimate fate is nothing but finding love, and happiness that rests on one thing and one thing alone: finding their perfect prince. And yes there are some who are great women doing great things. But the main description of these women is primarily that they are exceptionally beautiful. What type of expectations is that priming us to have for ourselves? What type of standards is that setting for the "princes" of the world? And this is only the beginning. But I think that outer beauty has become such an important part of everyday life that people have begun to rever it far too much. And I know this argument has certainly been made before. I think that flaws should be seen as blessings rather than curses. I feel like flaws and insecurities enable a person to develop such character. Character, which is really what should be revered. For me personally, looking at something that is flawed, that is cracked or damaged or old or dusty or cheap or simple is so much more interesting and breathtaking than something that is new and packaged and smooth and shiny and modern. But I'm not to say whats beautiful or what isn't. Who is to say whats beautiful and whats not? I don't think that this can ever be said for sure either! Why? Because beauty certainly is in the eye of the beholder. This phrase may seem cliche but I have such a strong belief in its truth. I'm sure many people find Megan Fox beautiful, and I know Robert Pattison has been deemed handsome. But neither of these people fit that category for me personally. Give me a James McEvoy and I'll be over the moon. Celebrities are a poor example to be using, but they illustrate my point quite nicely. That point being that what is beautiful to one person might seem average to the next. One thing may be intriguing to someone, and ellicit disgust in someone else. I feel like the same is true for people. And althought the "don't judge a book by its cover" argument is sometimes extremely difficult to follow, I also believe that the content of things can make their shells so much more appealing. Whats inside a person can make them the most gorgeous creature who ever crossed your path. And although I cannot know any of this for sure, I firmly believe in its distinct possibility.

A Lighter Sunday

This was one of the Sunday Secrets today. I think its probably one of my favorite Post Secrets I've seen yet. I love that its scribbled on loose leaf. I love that there is clearly something else written withtin the folds but its never meant to be seen. I love that they used the stamp to seal off that which is hidden away in there. And I absolutely adore the bluntness, brutality and honesty of the message . Whoever you are, this is great.

Soaring hearts and aching hearts and lonely hearts like mine...

What I am forever seeking is simply someone to look at me and think "she's amazing". To be completely enthralled with me, to want to know everything about me and share everything of themselves with me. To wake up every morning and feel overjoyed and utter disbelief that I am with them. To want nothing more than to stare at me for the rest of my days, and that this act would make them truly happy. And I want the same reactions to be illicited in me. I want to be revered, on this tiny scale, at least for a small time. And I want to revere, and I know for a fact of this I am fully capable and susceptible. I want my chest to ache with the suppression of excited laughter from a tiny bud of a memory or thought about someone I can't get enough of (not to always feel this sad-sickness in my gut from looming thoughts of hopelessness). But maybe this isn't simple, and maybe I ask too much. Maybe I'll never catch it, I probably won't.
I spoke to my dearest friend today in her moment of utter joy. She calls it cloud nine, to me it felt like she was soaring. And I know right now she is still soaring. Her heart is soaring while mine is plagued with it's enduring ache. Not breaking, not shattered, just perpetually aching. Aching with sheer joy at her undescribably well-deserved happiness, aching with knowledge of the love for me I know I can find in all corners of my life, and aching for the love I cannot seem to find; with the loneliness that plagues me always. Forever the lonely girl. And today it hurts.

A few quotes

"Everything I know, I know because I love" - Leo Tolstoy
(went to see The Last Station last night...it was amazing)

"A sad soul can kill you quicker, far quicker than a germ" - John Steinbeck

Kaleidoscope

Talking to a few friends a couple weeks ago, we got on the topic of this little blog of mine. One of the reasons I like writing a blog and getting my ideas out there is to enable feedback from others, as well as to get them thinking about things that they may not have realized, or to relate to someone without really ever meaning to specifically (as I have stated in previous blogs). These friends I talked to about my writing gave me very good feedback, and a lot to think about. One of the points made was that a lot of the time I contradict myself in my writing, or seem unsure of what point I’m trying to make. I was thinking about this today, and I realized that I don’t necessarily consider this a bad trait in my musings. I think that, more than anything, that’s just who I am and how I think about things. More than for any other purpose, the way I write is for observation and reflection on things I think or see or encounter in others. I feel like there aren’t very many things in life that anyone knows for sure. How can I really know anything for sure? I rarely even know how I feel about things for sure!
The focus of my writing a lot of the times is not to make a specific point, and even if it was there is no possible way that I could do this effectively because I am so unsure of absolutely everything that it would just end up in twelve different directions anyways! That’s me! I see and feel so many sides of things, and I never really know for sure that this is the way things are, that this is the way things should be. I feel like everything is different to everyone, and I like that I can realize that and appreciate that. Life would be so dull and arrogant with a vision that everything I think or know is the way it is, the way it should be. I appreciate the diversity of people and the fact that there are so many ways that EVERYTHING can be interpreted! It makes the world so rich and interesting. I like to think that I can see things one way, but I also love to see the other ways of interpreting a certain topic or feeling or thought. Or ANYTHING really. Also, I am just such a perpetual clusterfuck that I feel that I would be unable to focus on one thing one way. That’s human!
Another big utility of this blog for me is to kind of talk things out, to figure them out for myself and come to potential conclusions through the act of writing and getting my thoughts down. And I really like to know what other people think, and that maybe they feel the same fucked up way that I do about things. I like this about myself, and so I like this about my writing. Even if it is incoherent and wishy-washy and maybe a bit hard to follow. I hope this isn’t the case, but if it is I hope that enjoyment can still be found in reading what I write because it thrills me to have people read and react to my thoughts and creations. No matter how messy it all might be. Life is messy. Life is lovely, and mess most certainly makes it lovelier.
P.S. Cook: Notice the use of structured paragraphs! Yay me!

The Endless Ache

This is something I wrote earlier this year, but I haven't posted on this blog yet! More to come soon, I have many thoughts of late.

We’re always chasing someone, even if we don’t know who they are.
Does it feel better to have your heart to ache over someone, or is it better when it aches for no one? I wonder that on days like this when my heart aches for no one. I wonder if it was better when it ached for someone. I think that this might be the downfall of many people in many situations. We’re just constantly looking for someone to ache for, because it seems more meaningful than aching for no one. I guess you might call that desperation. And maybe after that ache for the unknown fades, maybe that’s the only time when we're ready to find someone to ache for. I guess someone who won't make us ache. But it always aches doesn’t it? Even when we’re happy, happiness aches too. Like when you laugh too much it makes your stomach muscles ache, or smile too much it makes your face muscles ache. And the happiness makes your heart muscles ache, but a good kind of ache. Perhaps our hearts are always aching. Perhaps it’s part of the human condition, the perpetual aching of the heart.

could it be, this misery will suffice?

I was listening to this song today and the poignancy of its lyrics hit me. Its definitely one of my favorite songs. I love the lyrics, I love Gordon Downey. Music just seems to be speaking to me a lot lately. I'm sure you've all heard this song, but if you haven't, listen to it.


This phenomenon of music speaking to people reminds me of something else Lauren and I discussed the other night. This topic pertains to my current life crisis, which seems to occur monthly. Actually it was brought about by my beginning to blog again. After I had written the first couple new blogs, my lovely friend Lauren took it upon herself to mess with my head and encourage me to get into writing as a career focus. This is something I have struggled with on and off since I was a teenager. It seems like every time I write something, I have someone telling me that I should be a writer. I took it seriously for a while when I was still in high school and figuring myeslf out, but for some reason, at some point i don't remember, I dismissed the idea as a plausable means of making a living. And yet ever since then I have still loved writing, and have perpetually been encouraged to write and affirmed that I AM good at it. I do believe this to be true, but I am still increadibly shocked and pleased when I find out people read what I have written and like what I have to say. I would absolutely love to write for a living in some way, I just have a bsolutely no idea how to go about doing so. I am a very literal kind of writer, I don't think I would be a fabulous fiction author, nor would I excel in the political field of journalism. So I had been feeling very lost to the dream of writing. Then a point was brought up to me, a way in which I would never have looked at it. That is: everybody has thoughts and feelings about things, and their own outlooks, ideas and opinions. However, not everyone has the ability to express them. This is a concept I have been faced with more than once in the last little while. Maybe the fact that I seem to have this ability has made me ignorant to the idea that others do not have it. The fact that I always know what I want to say and just how to say it makes the idea that others just don't know how to convey themselves nonexistent in my mind. I have been completely ignorant to this fact all along! Whats more, she brought up another point that, just like the purpose of a song is to convey a feeling and speak to someone, anyone who might hear it and connect with it, writing has the exact same purpose and utility. So when I write down an observation I have or how I feel about something and someone else reads it, I could be completely conveying every emotion, feeling or thought they have always wanted to articulate but have never found the means to do so. And in this way it speaks to them and, even if they don't admit it, they are grateful that they read what I had to say because it makes them feel less alone, and they feel like they finally have a means to show how they are feeling about something. The thought of this makes me feel blessed to be able to write like I can. But I am still lost in it all. I still feel odd being proud of myself (am I being arrogant?), and I am still self-conscious about writing, even if people tell me I'm great. I think that goes along with a great many other personality factors not connected to my writing at all. It must. I never want to brag, I never want to make it seem like I think I am above anyone. And by saying that I have this ability is in no way saying that I am better than anyone because of it. I hope that is clear, because humility is a very important concept to me. I do not seek reverence or even very much recognition. I despise arrogance, and I never want to be viewed as such. But, I do feel like maybe through this "talent" of mine, some day I can come to be proud of myself for something. Because I am proud of my writing, and I do completely revel in every aspect of communicating and creating something that others can appreciate. And Lauren's words give me hope that maybe someday I'll be able to communicate to a large audience, and connect with a number of people without ever having met them. That is my biggest wish.

The Extraordinary in the Ordinary

I don't even know if I will be able to effectively articulate all of the thoughts that are going throught my mind right now. Actually, they are more like reiterations of a fantastic dialogue shared between me and my very good friend Lauren. So many issues to explore! Its so amazing how one can get caught up in the trappings of everyday trivialities: worries, stresses, obligations; and then sit down with someone and have it all kind of fade into the background. Get swept up in a tunnel of dialogue about nothing in particular but everything at the same time, and be completely revived at the other end. I am sure that there is at least one person in everyone's lives who serves this purpose. "Serves this purpose" is the wrong wording to use, as it makes the person seem like a mere tool, but the purpose I refer to is that of complete understanding and relation and enjoyment. Illiciting all the words and evoking all the thoughts you always wanted to say no matter how ridiculous and abstract they are, and totally reciprocating, understandiing and relating to everything you are trying to convey. I'm sure this description is different for everyone, occurring on different levels, about different things and having different meanings. To me, Lauren is most often this person (shout oouuutt!). To me this person is someone who is intelligent, and above all thoughtful. Which brings me to one of the points we discussed, and I wish to convey in this entry. Thoughtfulness is something I have realized that I place in very high value. Extremely high I should say. Perhaps its because I find it a rarity in everyday society, images, and life. With so many people coasting through life, drifting along on a dreamy cloud and taking things only at face value, I find meaningful and thoughtful encounters incredibly uplifting and invigorating. I LIVE for them. I'm not a highly political, savvy, in-the-know, or even opinionated person. I don't like to argue points about things that concern me very little. I don't revel in the discussion of the meaning behind other people's actions or opinions who I don't know nor ever will come to know. This is not what I mean by a thoughtful conversation. This is what many other people, I'm sure, DO take to mean thoughtful conversation. To me, it is simply a series of ruminations on everyday encounters and events, opinions and ideas. Delving deeper into your own mind than the mere surface of all these things. Seeking and considering something greater, even if you know for certain you may not get very far. Creating your own ideas of how things are, how you perceive them to be, how you think they should be. Your own ideas of ANYTHING. Having opinions and THOUGHTS about things, ANY things. MEANINGFUL ones. This I appreciate eternally, this I love, this I revel in and seek in every corner of every person I ever hope to meet of know. To play the devil's advocate, I'm not saying that a simple outlook on life is wrong or meaningLESS. I am not by any means proposing that taking things as they are, by appreciating them as they come and by wanting nothing more than what you have is at all a bad thing. I think this is a great thing! I think that this simple way of living is amazing, and I envy every aspect of it. I can appreciate the simple-ness of life just as much. And I also by no means mean "simple" in a derrogatory sense. I mean it in the most positive, bright and happy was possible. I DO think OTHER ways of living your life simply in the mind are endlessly abhorrent. I do think that a lot of this meaningful thought gets lost in the translation of life itself. I think that is an absolute crying shame. And this is why, when I come across such a person, such a writen phrase, such a spoken word, such a meaningful meaningless thought, this is why I adore it.

A quote, courtesy of my muse of tonight: "Ah good conversation-there's nothing like it, is there? The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing."-Edith Wharton(The Age of Innocence)

(This thing that breaks my heart)

No time to write anything good. All efforts (which are few and far between) going into catastrophic essay. Just needed to post this song, its a bit like how I feel today. Actually there are about three or four songs by these lovely ladies that illustrate how I've been feeling. But I'll just post this one. Sorry the video part sucks (or lack thereof).

It Rushes in to My Heart and My Skull

I woke up this morning, reflecting on events from the previous night, and I was going to write a simple, one line post which simply queried:
Is my whole life doomed to consist of nothing but empty words and unkept, unintended, uninvited, and unmeaningful promises?
But then I read some comments from my previous blog, I texted a few of my friends and I took a good long look around the room (which was strewn with the violet casualties of last night's decorations, and two unconscious purple clad boys) and I realized how effing lucky I am to be so loved. I am loved by so many wonderful, amazing people, and I love them more than I could ever express in any saliable way. So I am blessed, and my life is not as fatalistic as I sometimes perceive in my mental dwellings. I have the most amazing chosen-family that anyone could ever ask for, and we have unfathomable amounts of fun merely being in each others presence. Outside of that family I have so many other amazing people surrounding me and caring about me, who constitute a whole other part of my life and extension of my happiness, who i love and charish just as much. So I sat there and thought to myself, "there is no way you can complain about your life right now. Look at how fortunate you are." So I'm not complaining. Not today. Not when I really have so very little to be down about. Today I love my life.
I must also record some thoughts brought about by certain happeneings last night. I certainly am of the opinion that life is complicated, and there are a vast array of grey areas that can't be translated into either extreme of the grey-scale. I believe this to be true in many situations, and many ways of interpretation. But not all. I feel like, sometimes, some things are black and white. Some things are simple, and life doesn't HAVE to be this complex maze of confusion and analyzation. Some feelings, some people, and the situations pertaining to the previous two, are wither black, or they're white. Yes or no. Cut and dry, simple. And sometimes I get sick of the grey areas fogging things over. Sometimes I wish everyone would just chill out, lay back, and say yes, or say no. Without complication, without revision, just: this is how I feel, and this is what I want, or don't want or don't feel. I won't give examples or specifications here. This is just something I have been reflecting on today.
I listened to this song no less than 4589 times today. It is unreal. Please enjoy.

Last night I was hit with a wave of insurmountable sadness. Maybe it was because I had been drinking and I was over tired. Mayeb it was because I saw one of my old friends, who is becoming a very close friend of late, get her heart trampled all over again (which she neither deserves nor instigates in any way shape or form). Or because I witnessed the complications of another friend's old relationships, and the heartbreak of a very drunk but still very sweet girl affiliated (and maybe seeing her made me feel guilt). All this drama of the heart just got to me, and made me think a lot about matters such as this. My matters, namely (as the selfish human mind is accustomed). To me, in the last formative years of my life, matters of the heart have included a number of factors, none condusive to my happiness in any way:
1. Chasing an unattainable person and being so caught up in the idea that I'm drowning in hopes and daydreams and thoughts of them. In complete and utter emotional lust over them.
2. Running from the feelings of boys who I love more than the world, but I could never be in love with. Boys who imagine they love me, and make me push them away. Or at least push their love away. (I am using the word love in the loosest sense of the word here)
3. Almost having something, sort of, just out of reach. Or having something come within my grasp only to slip away suddenly. Maybe that means it wasn't meant to be. Only this results in my mind producing a neverending stream of the way it could have been. Of inactively chasing them just because of "unfinished business". Even if I see them and feel nothing. I still want them to want me. Isn't that horrible?
4. We won't talk about how it all started....
And so last night got me thinking. Thinking about the endless cluster fucks that my heart has been involved with and nothing else (see above). And I just thought to myself, don't I deserve something better? Maybe I don't. Maybe thats why. I know I'm young, I know there are many countless endless amounts of other things to revel in and make me happy. Which I do revel in, which do make me happy. And I haven't thought about this stuff in a while, and I lvoed not thinking about it, because really it does consume such hopeless romantic minds as mine. I used to say hopeFUL, but its leaning more and more towards the LESS side. Anyways, I was thinking, a little while ago I think I was just at the end of the desperation rope. My standards were about nil, I was grasping for any semblance of any romantic emotion I could find and turning it into something bigger than it ever was or could have been. And I was content with that at the time, not long ago. But last night I thought about all this and this morning I woke up and I thought, if I'm going to have someone, I want someone brilliant. Someone kind and articulate and humble (above all things). Someone funny and laid back who worships the ground I walk on. Maybe I am asking too much, but I don't ever think anyone should sell themselves short. I have taken to telling my friends (one in particular, who recently experienced a stinging and inexplicably ill-fitted rejection) that what they deserve, what they all deserve and what every woman in the entire world deserves is nothing less than a man who absolutely worships the ground you walk on. This is a notion that I will stand by through every ridicule and criticism. It obviously would be different for every person, but it is still what every female deserves out of life and love.
Anyways, this has been an overly sappy and heart-ful post. Fuckin Valentine's day syndrome must be infecting me with its poison. Red hearts and pink cupids and lace and frills EVERYWHERE and me vomiting in the corner. Gag. Reflex.

I'll move away from the serious nature of this post to talk about where I'm at right now. I am currently sitting at home, on the farm, with a fresh layer of snow staring at me from the window and my lovely mutt dozing in the room next to me. Right now my thoughts are of breakfast, a nice shower, and preparing my eyes for excessive amounts of purple tonight. It is my dear Natasha's 21st birthday party tonight, and her party themes always turn out to be the best. Everyone is beyond excited and I can hardly contain myself. I will hopefully post a picture of all the fantastic purpleness after the weekend. For now, here's a run down of the past few years:
2007: Bucket hats. Best one yet.

2008: Highlight the Night

2009:TWENTIES! Awesome pictures

2010 to follow :)

Restless mind syndrome

I want to move to San Fran Sisco and become a kitschy hippy girl and wear lace and floral and meet a guitarist who I can go to the market with. I want to ride a yellow scooter and ride the trams.
I want to move to Spain and work in a cheese shop and die my hair dark brown so that I feel more Spanish. I want to wear a yellow apron with red trim and wrap wheels of cheese in soft cloth and pack them into crates.
I've also always wanted to work in a cranberry bog. I don't know why, but those Ocean Spray commercials with those dudes standing in the water wearing hip waders, surrounded by floating cranberries always made me want to be there. I know in reality it would probably be a lot less enjoyable than I anticipate, but I feel like I would like to see that for myself.
I have always felt like in my life, something extraordinary was bound to happen. My whole life I have felt like I deserved a fantastic experience, like a movie or a book (but I suppose everyone thinks that, don't they?). Lately I've been feeling like that possibility might be steadily reaching its end. I am headed down a fairly solid career path (granted that I make it), and it feels like once that happens thats it, times up. I definitely thought that in the midst of my constant meandering through life that extraordinary event would occur before this concrete decision I seem to have finally made. It makes me feel a little like I'm getting myself stuck. And that scares me. But oddly it also doesn't scare me. Maybe I'm just slowly accepting the wonderfulness of my ordinary life, and somewhat relinquishing the idea of the extraordinary adventure. Maybe I'll just keep getting stuck and stuck and mentally fighting it, until one day I realize hey this ordinary life IS extraordinary. Maybe I'll turn out like the modern female version of George Bailey. Althought I will admit I could never be as fabulous as James Stuart. But right now this restless need for adventure keeps prodding my mind, and for now I'll still hope for all these things to happen one day. And I'll always hope for my extraordinary piece of ordinary.

Numbness and Solitude

Written April 28, 2009
A mind never at rest produces an everlasting stream of poisonous poignancy

A mind which produces this perpetual poignant stream does not allow it’s host to rest

A mind that alludes to a great many things, a great many fantasies that are intrinsically bland.

A mind that never rests gives its wearer no respite. Haunting the poor soul with such banal dreams.

Such as:

Lovers as well as someone to love

Peeling away this fabric that encases our weary flesh and bone.

When what we really have is:

Empty lips in a quest for fulfillment, but with nothing to come home to.

Empty promises never actually spoken. Never really professed. Not really there at all.

Empty hopes of the empty hearts of consequently empty people. Empty longing of empty limbs to be empty no longer.

Pining over the nonexistant. Hope for what could be.

No reprieve in sight.

All causing:

A lifetime of longing and loneliness through only a sparse stretch of years.

Tumbling across a bleak and desolate landscape of a love life.

Nubness and solitude.

No reprieve in sight.