When reviewing the past with my mother today I had to ask myself: have I always been unlucky when picking friends, are people simply not thoughtful anymore, or am I really just exceedingly ungrateful? While she says it's not the last, I wouldn't put it past myself; I'm American, after all. But once again, the answer to my question is most likely a combination of them all.
I'd like to be a selfless person who could just do things for people all the time, but when you aren't getting it back, you'll get tired, because there's no one filling your own burned out tank back up, you know. If I scratch your back and you don't scratch mine, you get relief and I get circling thoughts about how fucking itchy my back is. So I hate that I can't be totally altruistic, I guess it wasn't how I was raised. Sooner or later I recognize any altruistic acts I've completed and start wondering where my Goodwill income tax slip is because it's almost January.
I think I've probably mentioned a time or two my habit of wishing time away, but I'm not so sure if I've ever spent much time here discussing my habit of what most would call daydreaming. I spend so much time thinking up scenarios in my head that will probably never happen (I won't lie, sometimes they do, for sometimes they are quite simple: pie, for instance), and not even just before bed but all day. I spend a grotesque amount of my time in an alternate universe within the realms of what my mind knows. I guess it took the place of reading, becoming much more personal and much less imaginative. I spend more time thinking up everyday occurrences that aren't happening than I spend attempting to make any of them happen. Or on anything else, for that matter. Like homework. I can't focus on anything but that which isn't happening or that I can't have.
That's my stupid curse upon myself, always wishing for things I can't have. The things I ever really want are the things I can't get to work out. I'd say that's maybe why I want them, but it doesn't really happen in that order, and sometimes I really do feel as if someone keeps dangling this little worm of opportunity in front of me, tugging to soon before I've caught on the hook.
Nah. I always want what could have been and I hang onto the past more than I realize and more than is healthy. Even when the hook would've killed me, even when I know it and even when I don't, I still want it because I couldn't have it. What a needy greedy beady-eyed child I am.
Now I want someone who will not only not drain me, but will energize me--through adventure, intelligence, passion, thought--I don't particularly care of the means, but this is so difficult to find these days. They just don't make 'em like they used to.
Now they're so layered--literally, maybe we aren't all as overweight as we seem when you peel off the current fashion--and our words are so layered and we have to distinguish through all the shit, you know? We have to search through all the different meanings. Words are curses because they can be so overly simple or overly detailed and still be wrong. I have to take what I believe you meant when you said what I heard through what you may have thought if you even projected yourself correctly and it's all a big tangled mess. I love knowing people, peeling their layers--to the point where I'm already through and to the core and bored within a matter of minutes or days. I should slow down but I get so eager and then I get so comfortable and instead of leaving I'm sitting there, bored and loyal as always.
I'm bipolar with my interest in people. I can't decide if I'm crazy about them or uninterested by them--of course, it could just be because I've always cared a lot more about them than they about myself and like I was saying, I'm not entirely selfless. I haven't let a guy get close in a while, didn't intend to, avoid it, will avoid it, and I don't know if it's because I'm crazy about them or uninterested by them. Probably just avoiding getting hurt by them, of course, as I'm not entirely selfless.
As usual I don't know where I'm going with this blog or life, and it is indeed a laughing matter. It's as if I've hit this road bump--on my head that is, and fell down into a rather dull rabbit hole than I can't click my heels out of. Just deep enough to get stuck, just deep enough for it to count, don't let him lie to you. Just a little bit lasts for a long while.
Another curse, did you know I'm always torn between two? A life of simplicity in a suitcase or assorted quirky knick-knacks? Oh, the list could go on but I won't bother you for a paragraph.
I need a third party person to tell me what I'm good at, where to go. I have a feeling I'm going to spend another semester stuck in this whole hole, another summer. Perhaps by next fall I'll head somewhere again.
In the meantime I'll just stay lost in thought.
S that won't ever happen.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
What a girl wants (has nothing to do with elephants and is thus irrelephant).
And so it begins (again).
I've always been pretty well a one-friend type person--likable to others (at least after they finally get to have a conversation with me), but by no means a social butterfly. Perhaps the social butterfly in my "circle of friends," ...which is ironic due to the last sentence.
Anyways, I'm a Cancer, and we're known to be recluses. Also, living in a "town" (it's not technically even a town) such as mine, where you and you alone know the true meaning of being in the middle of nowhere...you become somewhat of a forced recluse despite what your zodiac might say. Oftentimes that could mean your closest friend is twenty minutes away and you aren't nearly old enough to drive, or that your closest friend is the next door neighbor because of that reason, and they suck. Blessed are those with truly cool neighbors.
Therefore, when my Alzheimer's began kicking in (such a young age these days, no?) and I begin forgetting about my imagination and, well, the outdoors in general, I became quite attracted to what will soon become a part, or perhaps already is, of post-humanism: my computer. Obviously not the old Hewlett-Packard or Gateway big chunky white infested with bugs (by bugs I mean roaches) monitor, no. They won't literally become a post-human or anything.
My point is I became attracted for a few reasons: contact with other life, reading (I'd already read Harry Potter three times each, of course), and: music. I'd venture to say music became my BFF for a while. Perhaps my newest companions since are actually rather unsatisfying because they cannot compete with that which is song. It's a pity I was never a very gifted musician, c'est dommage.
(On a sidenote, I've since learned that random french words to non-french speakers without translation can be quite irritating to some, so in order to pacify my non-existent or incompetent audience, I repeated the beginning of that same sentence and won't say a word more because you are reading this from the internet and I trust you're familiar with Google Translate.)
But I always loved music, and it was my friend--it was more of a give and take relationship than many of my real ones. I don't know if I don't love it as much anymore or if I simply don't have time for it. I'm currently writing this, for instance, to nothing but the sound of a rigged fireplace blower and my mother talking rather loudly on the phone in a different room. Granted, I was never much for writing with distractions, and music certainly is a distraction pour moi. (Seriously, go watch the Muppets if you can't figure that one out.) Even to this day, nothing brings my mood to an equilibrium after just about any kind of incident than a drive with the music blaring and my lungs screaming the lyrics. That's how I told stories when I was young--by singing the words. I'll never understand why my parents bought me piano lessons over voice lessons--they're the ones who had to hear it, after all.
People, you know, they ask, "what's your favorite type of music?" And everyone, as if they're asking "how are you" - "fine" scripts, they give this answer, something like: "oh, everything," or perhaps more precisely "oh, everything except country and rap."
Though in all seriousness, I mean I have my preferences like anyone I suppose, but for me, I'll generally like any song if I have to listen to it enough times (with an open mind, that is, not forced, gagged by a pleading seven year old begging me for approval, wouldn't be a first). [Yes, you should imagine that quite like A Clockwork Orange, only with headphones instead of that eye contraption.]
(It's funny, once upon a time at a supervised visit, just from (finally) glancing at a couple of stories, my father could detect a running pattern in them that no one else had paid attention to: trouble with making decisions. A smart little BPD sociopath, isn't he?)
They say people are weak when they don't know what they want, don't have specific taste. Perhaps I am boring if I'm passionless. I'm working on that. But I'm not so sure I agree with that kind of attitude, that a strong person has to be capable of saying what exactly they want for dinner. And I'll even give you that it can be quite annoying when a person seems incapable of making any decisions.
But I'm definitely one of those people, fond of most things--I can find something to eat at any restaurant, and really don't have a craving for anything today, so if you have a preference you should decide. How'd you feel about the movie, oh I liked it just fine, just like any other. PC or Mac, well both have their pros and cons, you know. And what music do you prefer? Oh, I can listen and enjoy just about anything (when you've dated a metalhead and a skaphile, you can deal with all genres)--[though if you must know I really love 80's flicks and psychological thrillers and indie witfests (The Goonies - Everything Fincher/Nolan/Aronofsky - Little Miss Sunshine). I love eating Italian at home and Tex-Mex and seafood out. I own a Mac but I grew up with PCs...the whole not-catching-virus thing, unlike myself, is quite nice. And currently I'm infatuated with Gogol Bordello, the White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Amanda Palmer, and the Kooks, along with some classic rock and oldies as always. I'm a sucker for Shocktarts, homemade fudge, Ultimate Feast at Red Lobster, and clearance racks. I love when interesting people, I'm talking vagrants and elderly, walk up and start talking to me because I wouldn't ever be outgoing enough to do so to them. There's something about vaudeville and burlesque and pin ups and all things cirque. I love old shit--cameras and typewriters and vehicles and jewelry and shops. I'm drawn to caricature stands and cemeteries--and even "corny" paranormal things. Crows feet and smile lines--not just perfectly white, straight teeth--make me melt. Lux Aeterna is gorgeous.]
My point is I don't think that just because a woman knows exactly what she wants for dinner doesn't mean she's going to be a knockout in bed--maybe she's just going to be extremely fucking picky. "No, baby, I really just want you to bang me in this position for seventeen minutes, you to go wipe yourself off, and could you get me my toasty blue house socks on your way back to bed. Perhaps ped-egg my feet for a couple of minutes first before putting them on me because I'm a princess and I want things exactly as I want them." C'mon, don't you think the girl who's "up for anything" when you ask her to choose between Greek and Indian is a lot more likely to be up for anything when it comes time for dessert? I just think people need a different perspective sometimes, like here: where being passive may really just mean not being close-minded.
No, I didn't plan on writing a blog about sex, though if you're half-decent at shoulder massages and can whip out the solos in Ball & Biscuit, we can start talkin', because "solos" is a palindrome, it goes both ways. And God, if I just managed to make myself sound bisexual for the umpteenth time in my life, my apologies, I don't backspace these blogs (obviously). Although, actually, I mean, if you can d....never mind, we won't go there, and neither do I, pardon.
I guess what this has essentially evolved into is me saying I'm not demanding because I'm not a bitch (unless we're talking humor, [humor me here])--I'm "passive" because I'm open, at least that's what I'd like to tell myself. It doesn't mean I can't be assertive, and we aren't still (necessarily) talking about bed, this is just in life. Being open-minded is different from being a weak personality, even if it comes off that way when shyness prevails.
Now...if only I could trade asking you whether we prefer barbecue or mediterranean tonight, I could have you pick a life passion for me. I like writing, but am never inspired. I like travel, but it's so costly and I'm so tied to home. I like helping people, but I'm human and selfish. I like living, but really, I'm just so damn lazy. Whaddya say, doc?
I've always been pretty well a one-friend type person--likable to others (at least after they finally get to have a conversation with me), but by no means a social butterfly. Perhaps the social butterfly in my "circle of friends," ...which is ironic due to the last sentence.
Anyways, I'm a Cancer, and we're known to be recluses. Also, living in a "town" (it's not technically even a town) such as mine, where you and you alone know the true meaning of being in the middle of nowhere...you become somewhat of a forced recluse despite what your zodiac might say. Oftentimes that could mean your closest friend is twenty minutes away and you aren't nearly old enough to drive, or that your closest friend is the next door neighbor because of that reason, and they suck. Blessed are those with truly cool neighbors.
Therefore, when my Alzheimer's began kicking in (such a young age these days, no?) and I begin forgetting about my imagination and, well, the outdoors in general, I became quite attracted to what will soon become a part, or perhaps already is, of post-humanism: my computer. Obviously not the old Hewlett-Packard or Gateway big chunky white infested with bugs (by bugs I mean roaches) monitor, no. They won't literally become a post-human or anything.
My point is I became attracted for a few reasons: contact with other life, reading (I'd already read Harry Potter three times each, of course), and: music. I'd venture to say music became my BFF for a while. Perhaps my newest companions since are actually rather unsatisfying because they cannot compete with that which is song. It's a pity I was never a very gifted musician, c'est dommage.
(On a sidenote, I've since learned that random french words to non-french speakers without translation can be quite irritating to some, so in order to pacify my non-existent or incompetent audience, I repeated the beginning of that same sentence and won't say a word more because you are reading this from the internet and I trust you're familiar with Google Translate.)
But I always loved music, and it was my friend--it was more of a give and take relationship than many of my real ones. I don't know if I don't love it as much anymore or if I simply don't have time for it. I'm currently writing this, for instance, to nothing but the sound of a rigged fireplace blower and my mother talking rather loudly on the phone in a different room. Granted, I was never much for writing with distractions, and music certainly is a distraction pour moi. (Seriously, go watch the Muppets if you can't figure that one out.) Even to this day, nothing brings my mood to an equilibrium after just about any kind of incident than a drive with the music blaring and my lungs screaming the lyrics. That's how I told stories when I was young--by singing the words. I'll never understand why my parents bought me piano lessons over voice lessons--they're the ones who had to hear it, after all.
People, you know, they ask, "what's your favorite type of music?" And everyone, as if they're asking "how are you" - "fine" scripts, they give this answer, something like: "oh, everything," or perhaps more precisely "oh, everything except country and rap."
Though in all seriousness, I mean I have my preferences like anyone I suppose, but for me, I'll generally like any song if I have to listen to it enough times (with an open mind, that is, not forced, gagged by a pleading seven year old begging me for approval, wouldn't be a first). [Yes, you should imagine that quite like A Clockwork Orange, only with headphones instead of that eye contraption.]
(It's funny, once upon a time at a supervised visit, just from (finally) glancing at a couple of stories, my father could detect a running pattern in them that no one else had paid attention to: trouble with making decisions. A smart little BPD sociopath, isn't he?)
They say people are weak when they don't know what they want, don't have specific taste. Perhaps I am boring if I'm passionless. I'm working on that. But I'm not so sure I agree with that kind of attitude, that a strong person has to be capable of saying what exactly they want for dinner. And I'll even give you that it can be quite annoying when a person seems incapable of making any decisions.
But I'm definitely one of those people, fond of most things--I can find something to eat at any restaurant, and really don't have a craving for anything today, so if you have a preference you should decide. How'd you feel about the movie, oh I liked it just fine, just like any other. PC or Mac, well both have their pros and cons, you know. And what music do you prefer? Oh, I can listen and enjoy just about anything (when you've dated a metalhead and a skaphile, you can deal with all genres)--[though if you must know I really love 80's flicks and psychological thrillers and indie witfests (The Goonies - Everything Fincher/Nolan/Aronofsky - Little Miss Sunshine). I love eating Italian at home and Tex-Mex and seafood out. I own a Mac but I grew up with PCs...the whole not-catching-virus thing, unlike myself, is quite nice. And currently I'm infatuated with Gogol Bordello, the White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Amanda Palmer, and the Kooks, along with some classic rock and oldies as always. I'm a sucker for Shocktarts, homemade fudge, Ultimate Feast at Red Lobster, and clearance racks. I love when interesting people, I'm talking vagrants and elderly, walk up and start talking to me because I wouldn't ever be outgoing enough to do so to them. There's something about vaudeville and burlesque and pin ups and all things cirque. I love old shit--cameras and typewriters and vehicles and jewelry and shops. I'm drawn to caricature stands and cemeteries--and even "corny" paranormal things. Crows feet and smile lines--not just perfectly white, straight teeth--make me melt. Lux Aeterna is gorgeous.]
My point is I don't think that just because a woman knows exactly what she wants for dinner doesn't mean she's going to be a knockout in bed--maybe she's just going to be extremely fucking picky. "No, baby, I really just want you to bang me in this position for seventeen minutes, you to go wipe yourself off, and could you get me my toasty blue house socks on your way back to bed. Perhaps ped-egg my feet for a couple of minutes first before putting them on me because I'm a princess and I want things exactly as I want them." C'mon, don't you think the girl who's "up for anything" when you ask her to choose between Greek and Indian is a lot more likely to be up for anything when it comes time for dessert? I just think people need a different perspective sometimes, like here: where being passive may really just mean not being close-minded.
No, I didn't plan on writing a blog about sex, though if you're half-decent at shoulder massages and can whip out the solos in Ball & Biscuit, we can start talkin', because "solos" is a palindrome, it goes both ways. And God, if I just managed to make myself sound bisexual for the umpteenth time in my life, my apologies, I don't backspace these blogs (obviously). Although, actually, I mean, if you can d....never mind, we won't go there, and neither do I, pardon.
I guess what this has essentially evolved into is me saying I'm not demanding because I'm not a bitch (unless we're talking humor, [humor me here])--I'm "passive" because I'm open, at least that's what I'd like to tell myself. It doesn't mean I can't be assertive, and we aren't still (necessarily) talking about bed, this is just in life. Being open-minded is different from being a weak personality, even if it comes off that way when shyness prevails.
Now...if only I could trade asking you whether we prefer barbecue or mediterranean tonight, I could have you pick a life passion for me. I like writing, but am never inspired. I like travel, but it's so costly and I'm so tied to home. I like helping people, but I'm human and selfish. I like living, but really, I'm just so damn lazy. Whaddya say, doc?
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Don't be yourself - be someone a little nicer.
Bah humbug, am I right, kids? I'm sick of the terribly covered jingles, the shopping I've yet to do, and the sneezes that continue raping their way out of my nose, against my will. All this free time just reminds me I'm no good at anything and that I don't even have a life when school isn't interfering. But I guess I'll just be happy if these jeans I pulled out from high school (no, I haven't done laundry yet, screw me) still fit after the break ends, along with the edible-non-cafeteria-food.
I swear I had a plan for this entry...but just like everything else in life, it managed to slip right past my conscious mind...
My friends like to call me a number of names, one of which being "bitch." Now, having said that I think they mostly mean this in a joking tone after I've made one of my many offensive comments. After all, they are the same people who try and stop me when I feel like I've been super-sized a meal for free and talk the owner into letting me pay the difference. They're the same friends who see if I'm in my room so they can pour their souls out, and the same friends I force into letting me help them financially. The ones where I'm the shoulder to lean on the way out of a party where they're completely and shamelessly wasted. I guess I go to church every Sunday for my Grandma's sake, and that's nice and all, but I don't feel that nice, and I think sometimes I'm more of a bitch than they give me credit for.
Save that dreaded-regretted incident in middle school, I certainly used to be a fairly selfless person, but something happened since and I lose my temper and I use them back and I don't offer to do the things I should be doing--it's like I got turned onto this me-phase and I'm not even good at it, obviously. I'm a mess. I guess that's what this season really is all about, reminding us that we're all shitty people and should do a lot more for others (until New Year's). I picked up the paintbrush for the first time in a long time today, and it looked terrible and I was like a lost puppy following my mom around, asking for help, but I was making a present and it felt good, you know? I guess you don't have to give much, not money, not even necessarily time, but thought. It's the thought that counts, and that's so true...I only wish I could think to do these things for others more.
Recently, someone jokingly asked me how I even still had friends, and sometimes, really, I wonder that, too. I should be thankful yet I find myself critical. I guess I've just been in a permanent bad mood for a while.
I blame it on men.
...seriously, I'm only half-joking about that. But I'll be more specific and say those of my choice, not all of you, because that would be "generalizing" and a certain friend of mine might try and call me out on it.
I guess when they sewed me back up, I was cured alright, but only puking my temper on other people. Poor mom.
Maybe I've just been having this never-ending breakdown for a long time, maybe this is my mid-life crisis and I'm dying at 40. The only people I've found myself being nice to the past year are the ones who are already dead. I'm not being dramatic. I made a rock-cross for my headstone-less nephew, "talk" to my big brother and steal his flowers for his empty neighbor's vase. You don't see me doing that kind of shit for living souls, unless you count the time I printed and delivered my roommate's script to class.
Often times, on the way home from my friend's late at night, I would find myself pulling over to check up on the graves, maybe say a word or two. But one time a month or so ago, I didn't even consciously do so...I just fell down and started crying and didn't think about a thing. How emo-tastic is that? Can't you see that being the opening scene of some bad horror remake? This girl, flailing around in front of a tombstone just balling? I don't really know why, but I think that's something you'd do in a mid-life crisis.
Ha, sometimes I'm too open for my own good. I guess it makes the "mystery" disappear, maybe that's why everyone else disappears, boredom, they know it all, or maybe they're just too confused by it or I'm a broken pathetic record.
I don't know why I said anything I have in this post and I feel it's more embarrassing than enlightening and yet I'll probably still post it because that's what I do. Sometimes I try to embarrass myself. I'm strange like that. I'd rather point it out before someone else, though.
I could probably use a change, eh? But I always have an excuse why not to when I finally do have one--and sometimes I can't tell if I'm just arguing with myself or being legitimate. I could go out of the country for a semester, but then I'm stuck and that's a long time and blah and what if something happens and (the legitimate one) it makes it very hard for applying to grad school due to bad timing--yet I was so excited at one point...And I find myself feeling lonely at times, yet when someone offers to fill the empty seat I somehow manage to usually scare them away and I often think it's on purpose. It's like I want myself to suffer, I keep holding out for something to tear it's path into my way, but it won't.
I'd wait for the lion, I guess. And I've managed to make this all about me yet again. Funny thing, how blogs do that.
I swear I had a plan for this entry...but just like everything else in life, it managed to slip right past my conscious mind...
My friends like to call me a number of names, one of which being "bitch." Now, having said that I think they mostly mean this in a joking tone after I've made one of my many offensive comments. After all, they are the same people who try and stop me when I feel like I've been super-sized a meal for free and talk the owner into letting me pay the difference. They're the same friends who see if I'm in my room so they can pour their souls out, and the same friends I force into letting me help them financially. The ones where I'm the shoulder to lean on the way out of a party where they're completely and shamelessly wasted. I guess I go to church every Sunday for my Grandma's sake, and that's nice and all, but I don't feel that nice, and I think sometimes I'm more of a bitch than they give me credit for.
Save that dreaded-regretted incident in middle school, I certainly used to be a fairly selfless person, but something happened since and I lose my temper and I use them back and I don't offer to do the things I should be doing--it's like I got turned onto this me-phase and I'm not even good at it, obviously. I'm a mess. I guess that's what this season really is all about, reminding us that we're all shitty people and should do a lot more for others (until New Year's). I picked up the paintbrush for the first time in a long time today, and it looked terrible and I was like a lost puppy following my mom around, asking for help, but I was making a present and it felt good, you know? I guess you don't have to give much, not money, not even necessarily time, but thought. It's the thought that counts, and that's so true...I only wish I could think to do these things for others more.
Recently, someone jokingly asked me how I even still had friends, and sometimes, really, I wonder that, too. I should be thankful yet I find myself critical. I guess I've just been in a permanent bad mood for a while.
I blame it on men.
...seriously, I'm only half-joking about that. But I'll be more specific and say those of my choice, not all of you, because that would be "generalizing" and a certain friend of mine might try and call me out on it.
I guess when they sewed me back up, I was cured alright, but only puking my temper on other people. Poor mom.
Maybe I've just been having this never-ending breakdown for a long time, maybe this is my mid-life crisis and I'm dying at 40. The only people I've found myself being nice to the past year are the ones who are already dead. I'm not being dramatic. I made a rock-cross for my headstone-less nephew, "talk" to my big brother and steal his flowers for his empty neighbor's vase. You don't see me doing that kind of shit for living souls, unless you count the time I printed and delivered my roommate's script to class.
Often times, on the way home from my friend's late at night, I would find myself pulling over to check up on the graves, maybe say a word or two. But one time a month or so ago, I didn't even consciously do so...I just fell down and started crying and didn't think about a thing. How emo-tastic is that? Can't you see that being the opening scene of some bad horror remake? This girl, flailing around in front of a tombstone just balling? I don't really know why, but I think that's something you'd do in a mid-life crisis.
Ha, sometimes I'm too open for my own good. I guess it makes the "mystery" disappear, maybe that's why everyone else disappears, boredom, they know it all, or maybe they're just too confused by it or I'm a broken pathetic record.
I don't know why I said anything I have in this post and I feel it's more embarrassing than enlightening and yet I'll probably still post it because that's what I do. Sometimes I try to embarrass myself. I'm strange like that. I'd rather point it out before someone else, though.
I could probably use a change, eh? But I always have an excuse why not to when I finally do have one--and sometimes I can't tell if I'm just arguing with myself or being legitimate. I could go out of the country for a semester, but then I'm stuck and that's a long time and blah and what if something happens and (the legitimate one) it makes it very hard for applying to grad school due to bad timing--yet I was so excited at one point...And I find myself feeling lonely at times, yet when someone offers to fill the empty seat I somehow manage to usually scare them away and I often think it's on purpose. It's like I want myself to suffer, I keep holding out for something to tear it's path into my way, but it won't.
I'd wait for the lion, I guess. And I've managed to make this all about me yet again. Funny thing, how blogs do that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)