Tuesday, December 17, 2013
new crush and maybe a poem or song
Yes. I have a new crush.
It may be creepy...to him. But he's famous. So he's used to these things.
No, he doesn't know I exist. But he inspires me.
It's Jamie Campbell Bower, and he plays Jace in City of Bones, which is the movie that was made out of my faaavvvorrrite book series. And he sings. And has a British accent, but not when he sings.
He has the most amazing voice ever, is six feet tall, has blonde hair and blue eyes and just the most hilarious and amazing personality...and I'm gushing.
But that's okay, because I miss gushing (over someone I can't possibly have).
There's something safe about that.
I've needed an escape. Something to fangirl over. And I have it now.
I love his music. I'm listening to one of his song's now: Waiting. I loooove it.
It's such a happy song, while being longing at the same time. But it's a summer song, reminds me a little bit of Summer Shudder by AFI if it were acoustic. Perfect for playing around a bonfire on a beach at night, with sparklers and hot dogs and maybe some bottles of beer.
Perfect night.
I've learned to crochet in the past few days (week or so). It's incredibly...cathartic. Relaxing. Fun.
I've launched an online store to sell knitted/crocheted headbands and other accessories. Hopefully it does well.
I've also started drawing again, and (as usually tends to happen) I'm like ten times better than I was before. I don't know how that happens. Maybe because I go on a long hiatus I come back with more patience? Determination? I don't know, honestly. But now I'm REALLY good, if I may say so myself.
This song is so inspiring. It makes me happy. It makes me want to write.
V.1
Blue bottles lined on a shelf
sunlight streaming in on the dusty windowsill
as I sit here with my strings and my song
White lace on the bed
rose petals falling from the dresser
onto my lap... they kiss my lips and whisper so long
Chorus.
There's ink in my wrists and fingertips
Cut me open and watch it flow
like a river, like a stream
it's gonna flow strong and slow
Make me happy or make me sad
that's what you can always do
Even if I tried I couldn't control you
You flow in me
So strong and slow and glad
V.2
Jars filled with hairpins and fireflies
a cracked countertop and a collection
of rocks
bits of paper and ice my castle will rise
but my castle is full of ghosts and cinderblocks
So I run there to escape from the world
Chorus. (2x)
There's ink in my wrists and fingertips
Cut me open and watch it flow
like a river, like a stream
It's gonna flow strong and slow
Make me happy or make me sad
that's what you can always do
Even if I tried I couldn't control you
You flow in me
so strong and slow and glad
So strong and slow...and glad
It may be creepy...to him. But he's famous. So he's used to these things.
No, he doesn't know I exist. But he inspires me.
It's Jamie Campbell Bower, and he plays Jace in City of Bones, which is the movie that was made out of my faaavvvorrrite book series. And he sings. And has a British accent, but not when he sings.
He has the most amazing voice ever, is six feet tall, has blonde hair and blue eyes and just the most hilarious and amazing personality...and I'm gushing.
But that's okay, because I miss gushing (over someone I can't possibly have).
There's something safe about that.
I've needed an escape. Something to fangirl over. And I have it now.
I love his music. I'm listening to one of his song's now: Waiting. I loooove it.
It's such a happy song, while being longing at the same time. But it's a summer song, reminds me a little bit of Summer Shudder by AFI if it were acoustic. Perfect for playing around a bonfire on a beach at night, with sparklers and hot dogs and maybe some bottles of beer.
Perfect night.
I've learned to crochet in the past few days (week or so). It's incredibly...cathartic. Relaxing. Fun.
I've launched an online store to sell knitted/crocheted headbands and other accessories. Hopefully it does well.
I've also started drawing again, and (as usually tends to happen) I'm like ten times better than I was before. I don't know how that happens. Maybe because I go on a long hiatus I come back with more patience? Determination? I don't know, honestly. But now I'm REALLY good, if I may say so myself.
This song is so inspiring. It makes me happy. It makes me want to write.
V.1
Blue bottles lined on a shelf
sunlight streaming in on the dusty windowsill
as I sit here with my strings and my song
White lace on the bed
rose petals falling from the dresser
onto my lap... they kiss my lips and whisper so long
Chorus.
There's ink in my wrists and fingertips
Cut me open and watch it flow
like a river, like a stream
it's gonna flow strong and slow
Make me happy or make me sad
that's what you can always do
Even if I tried I couldn't control you
You flow in me
So strong and slow and glad
V.2
Jars filled with hairpins and fireflies
a cracked countertop and a collection
of rocks
bits of paper and ice my castle will rise
but my castle is full of ghosts and cinderblocks
So I run there to escape from the world
Chorus. (2x)
There's ink in my wrists and fingertips
Cut me open and watch it flow
like a river, like a stream
It's gonna flow strong and slow
Make me happy or make me sad
that's what you can always do
Even if I tried I couldn't control you
You flow in me
so strong and slow and glad
So strong and slow...and glad
Saturday, September 21, 2013
A Little Useless
My life has come to something of a standstill.
I'm not really doing anything with it, at least not in the "American" way of doing things. Like having a job or going to school or doing "something productive." It's not that great for my self esteem.
Oh I'm doing something alright. I've decided to stay home with my mother and put off grad school until she fully recovers from the cancer. Thank God she's well along that road now, much better than she was before.
There's been significant shrinkage of the tumor, and she can eat normally again. She's sleeping in her own bed instead of in an armchair, and she's been taken off the fluid restriction that she was on. Her hair has stopped falling out and is starting to grow back, and she's generally a lot happier.
I'm generally a lot happier, too...
She also celebrated her 54th birthday last Wednesday. =) Happy birthday, Mom.
We've settled in pretty nicely to the house, and I did most of the decorating, although there was one evening where we all pitched in and made the living room and dining room look pretty.
I like it here.
I'm quite content.
Except....I feel kind of useless.
It's all the fault of American, capitalist advertising, I suppose. Broadcasting the idea that a woman should be out of the home working and contributing to the society in such a way as to not be there for her family.
I'm taking care of my mom, helping her out and the like, but because I don't have a job or anything really to show for my six years of college, I feel like I haven't amounted to anything.
In the meanwhile, there's things I'd like to do now that I'm at home all day. I'd like to take up learning ballet and the guitar, but there's not time for that. I mean, there is, but I can't seem to find it.
Someone once said that everyone has the same amount of hours in a day, it's how you spend it that's up to you.
That's true, I guess. But I still feel so stunted.
I've been really sad today. I can't give you a good reason except thoughts like those I've jotted down above have been foremost in my mind all day. I cried a bit.
Okay, a lot.
Stupid me. My mom says I'm doing the most important thing there is, which is helping someone's (her's) life be easier, but I still feel ... useless.
Like I'm in a rut and can't get out and I'm spinning my tires uselessly. Notice the recurrence of the word "useless?" It's showing up a lot.
*sigh*
I'm going to go help prepare dinner so that I'll be a little bit less useless.
I'm not really doing anything with it, at least not in the "American" way of doing things. Like having a job or going to school or doing "something productive." It's not that great for my self esteem.
Oh I'm doing something alright. I've decided to stay home with my mother and put off grad school until she fully recovers from the cancer. Thank God she's well along that road now, much better than she was before.
There's been significant shrinkage of the tumor, and she can eat normally again. She's sleeping in her own bed instead of in an armchair, and she's been taken off the fluid restriction that she was on. Her hair has stopped falling out and is starting to grow back, and she's generally a lot happier.
I'm generally a lot happier, too...
She also celebrated her 54th birthday last Wednesday. =) Happy birthday, Mom.
We've settled in pretty nicely to the house, and I did most of the decorating, although there was one evening where we all pitched in and made the living room and dining room look pretty.
I like it here.
I'm quite content.
Except....I feel kind of useless.
It's all the fault of American, capitalist advertising, I suppose. Broadcasting the idea that a woman should be out of the home working and contributing to the society in such a way as to not be there for her family.
I'm taking care of my mom, helping her out and the like, but because I don't have a job or anything really to show for my six years of college, I feel like I haven't amounted to anything.
In the meanwhile, there's things I'd like to do now that I'm at home all day. I'd like to take up learning ballet and the guitar, but there's not time for that. I mean, there is, but I can't seem to find it.
Someone once said that everyone has the same amount of hours in a day, it's how you spend it that's up to you.
That's true, I guess. But I still feel so stunted.
I've been really sad today. I can't give you a good reason except thoughts like those I've jotted down above have been foremost in my mind all day. I cried a bit.
Okay, a lot.
Stupid me. My mom says I'm doing the most important thing there is, which is helping someone's (her's) life be easier, but I still feel ... useless.
Like I'm in a rut and can't get out and I'm spinning my tires uselessly. Notice the recurrence of the word "useless?" It's showing up a lot.
*sigh*
I'm going to go help prepare dinner so that I'll be a little bit less useless.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Does that make me crazy?
I think I might be losing my mind.
I'm an awful person. Why should God let hardships come if he knows they're going to make me into a worse person? So he can sit back and laugh when my demise comes?
The things I think of doing...of saying...I'm really a terrible person.
If my mother knew half the things I think (and somehow refrain from saying) whenever she frustrates me, she'd give up and die. She wouldn't want to live.
If my dad knew, he'd disown me and throw me out of the house.
Does any of it even matter anymore? I don't think God cares except to be mad at me. He's probably just given up on me. Seems like everything I'm doing or thinking or saying is wrong, un-Christian-like.
I don't feel like living.
But my parents have made me afraid to die, because the earlier I die, the longer I'd have to burn in hell.
I'm an awful person. Why should God let hardships come if he knows they're going to make me into a worse person? So he can sit back and laugh when my demise comes?
The things I think of doing...of saying...I'm really a terrible person.
If my mother knew half the things I think (and somehow refrain from saying) whenever she frustrates me, she'd give up and die. She wouldn't want to live.
If my dad knew, he'd disown me and throw me out of the house.
Does any of it even matter anymore? I don't think God cares except to be mad at me. He's probably just given up on me. Seems like everything I'm doing or thinking or saying is wrong, un-Christian-like.
I don't feel like living.
But my parents have made me afraid to die, because the earlier I die, the longer I'd have to burn in hell.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
My cat is missing.
I'm scared. Worried, is more like it. We just moved here not too long ago and I'm just ...worried. There are at least three little brats that live next door, and the road is right in front of our house.
I have a weight sitting in my stomach.
=(
an hour later...
he came back.
Thank God, he came back.
I'm scared. Worried, is more like it. We just moved here not too long ago and I'm just ...worried. There are at least three little brats that live next door, and the road is right in front of our house.
I have a weight sitting in my stomach.
=(
an hour later...
he came back.
Thank God, he came back.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
summer stuff
It's been a while since I've blogged.
In the meanwhile, we've moved, I've completed all the learning days of a summer course (the third midterm is tomorrow and the final on wednesday) and commenced being the housekeeper/caretaker of our new home while my mom is recovering/being really....taxing.
It's all pretty taxing. But why should I complain? If all that happens in my life is taxing and trouble and difficulty, maybe that's all my life is.
Sucks, that.
I'm sitting at the table right now by the vending machines with my study group; there's four of us regulars...Estefania, Stephanie, and Aamirah. We get along pretty well and study well together. I'm just distracted today. Really tired. Sleepy, even.
I've tried eating, drinking water, listening to dubstep and christmas music and pop music and rap, and nothing wakes me up. Not for more than ten minutes at a time though. It's a lot to remember, all these reactions. There's carbohydrates and amines and phenols, proteins and amino acids. And that's just going to be on tomorrow's midterm.
Everything is going to be on the final next Wednesday.
Ah well. I did well on the last midterm. Hope I can just pass this course so I can finally know that I've really graduated. So I can hold my diploma in my hand and know that I've actually accomplished something with the last six years of my life.
One day.
One.....day.
P.S. I'm also finally reading Wuthering Heights. It's terrible and great at the same time. It's engrossing, but terribly so in the sense that none of the characters are happy and they're all full of vice. To the extreme. But I can't put it down. =)
In the meanwhile, we've moved, I've completed all the learning days of a summer course (the third midterm is tomorrow and the final on wednesday) and commenced being the housekeeper/caretaker of our new home while my mom is recovering/being really....taxing.
It's all pretty taxing. But why should I complain? If all that happens in my life is taxing and trouble and difficulty, maybe that's all my life is.
Sucks, that.
I'm sitting at the table right now by the vending machines with my study group; there's four of us regulars...Estefania, Stephanie, and Aamirah. We get along pretty well and study well together. I'm just distracted today. Really tired. Sleepy, even.
I've tried eating, drinking water, listening to dubstep and christmas music and pop music and rap, and nothing wakes me up. Not for more than ten minutes at a time though. It's a lot to remember, all these reactions. There's carbohydrates and amines and phenols, proteins and amino acids. And that's just going to be on tomorrow's midterm.
Everything is going to be on the final next Wednesday.
Ah well. I did well on the last midterm. Hope I can just pass this course so I can finally know that I've really graduated. So I can hold my diploma in my hand and know that I've actually accomplished something with the last six years of my life.
One day.
One.....day.
P.S. I'm also finally reading Wuthering Heights. It's terrible and great at the same time. It's engrossing, but terribly so in the sense that none of the characters are happy and they're all full of vice. To the extreme. But I can't put it down. =)
Monday, June 10, 2013
Nothing Special
To go from being a person's whole world,
to being less than nothing
is nothing special.
It happens all the time.
Even in the folds of the browned pages,
the ones I turn over to escape
from this place.
It happens on the flickering reel,
the images jumpy and scattered
with age.
The story repeats itself, playing back again
because we never learn
or never seem to, anyway.
It's a strange sensation, sort of like
your chest was once full,
warm and tight.
There was knowledge and safety.
But when it's on the other side of the typefont,
the other side of the reel,
somehow it's odd.
Different.
Worse.
There is no happy ending to expect,
thirty minutes down the line, or
fifty pages later.
And so,
we trudge on, nothing special,
because we can do nothing more.
to being less than nothing
is nothing special.
It happens all the time.
Even in the folds of the browned pages,
the ones I turn over to escape
from this place.
It happens on the flickering reel,
the images jumpy and scattered
with age.
The story repeats itself, playing back again
because we never learn
or never seem to, anyway.
It's a strange sensation, sort of like
your chest was once full,
warm and tight.
There was knowledge and safety.
But when it's on the other side of the typefont,
the other side of the reel,
somehow it's odd.
Different.
Worse.
There is no happy ending to expect,
thirty minutes down the line, or
fifty pages later.
And so,
we trudge on, nothing special,
because we can do nothing more.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Wednesday afternoon
I went to church today. Out in the city. I think it was called Convent at the Crossroads or something...it's on the upper West side. Really old building - the whole neighborhood is old, in fact. 1800's type of old.
Pretty cool. There was a noon service and I wanted to see what the inside of the building looked like, so I went.
Nice people.
I guess I just have to keep holding on. That's what the message was about.
But I've been deregistered from my summer course due to non-payment and have until tomorrow to come up with the funds. I would have BEEN had the funds like last friday, had it not been for the idiotic school not accepting VISA. Who doesn't accept VISA? Like really?
Piss me off.
Sigh.
I....am....exhausted. And what on earth is NBS? It's some reaction I need to know how to use. I'll have to google it. But it seems like everything is working against me.
I need to go back out and deposit my check in the bank, draw out $300, hope that my dad can come up with $300 more by tonight, and....the bank is so far away.
It's actually really close. It's five minutes away by cab. But I don't have $4 to spare to get there and back. That leaves either a 25 minute walk (exhausting) or a 20 minute longboard ride (murderously exhausting).
I guess I'll go dig for some spare change.
Pretty cool. There was a noon service and I wanted to see what the inside of the building looked like, so I went.
Nice people.
I guess I just have to keep holding on. That's what the message was about.
But I've been deregistered from my summer course due to non-payment and have until tomorrow to come up with the funds. I would have BEEN had the funds like last friday, had it not been for the idiotic school not accepting VISA. Who doesn't accept VISA? Like really?
Piss me off.
Sigh.
I....am....exhausted. And what on earth is NBS? It's some reaction I need to know how to use. I'll have to google it. But it seems like everything is working against me.
I need to go back out and deposit my check in the bank, draw out $300, hope that my dad can come up with $300 more by tonight, and....the bank is so far away.
It's actually really close. It's five minutes away by cab. But I don't have $4 to spare to get there and back. That leaves either a 25 minute walk (exhausting) or a 20 minute longboard ride (murderously exhausting).
I guess I'll go dig for some spare change.
Friday, May 31, 2013
finally
He finally admitted it.
That he can't do long distance. That he doesn't think he's what I'm looking for. That he doesn't know what he's doing with his life.
That makes two of us.
At least it's all out there now. I told him I was okay, and I was, but then I cried afterwards. I cried the entire next day, in fact. Literally. Almost non-stop. The whole darn day. That was my graduation day. And then the day after that. It all sucked, really.
It's also weird that it's over. We barely talk now. Not in a bad way, I don't think, but just...I guess this is what it was like before we were "more than friends?" It's been almost a year of us talking every single day and every single night....and now, nothing.
I've hidden away from facebook and social media until I'm more or less okay. A little worse for the wear, but I don't randomly get the urge to burst into tears at the thought that there will never be a Norah Nykole. Dangit. That was a really pretty name.
Also, I did fail organic chemistry. So now I'm going to take the course at a college in the city. It's just as far of a commute as to my alma mater, but at least I can use a Metrocard and pay $5.00 round trip instead of $19.50. Also, the school looks like Hogwarts.
Literally.
We got the keys to our new place today, and went over there to look at it. I've decided not to take the attic after all, since you have to go through the master bedroom to get to it. It is realllllly nice though. But the room that I'm going to take has the most amazing closet/cupboard space I've ever seen. It reaches to the ceiling. There's room for shoes. There are WINDOWS!
Sorry, but I'm a bit excited about windows. We've spent the past two years living in a basement, and I've spent the past one year with no sunlight at all coming into the tiny window in my bedroom.
Now I'm going to have TWO windows.
Zomg.
One teeny, tiny thing.
My room is pink. -____-
Pink.
Yes. Pink. *sigh*
A weird, rosy, can't-get-any-girlier pink.
I'm too lazy to paint it, though. If I could, I would do it a mint green. I'm loving green lately. Dangit! Why pink? All the bedrooms are pink, as a matter of fact. And so is the living room and dining room. But it's okay down there, just...not....upstairs.
Oh yes!
We have an upstairs. And two bathrooms. And an eat-in kitchen. And a finished basement, which I have yet to see.
But the lighting in the upstairs bathroom (which also has a window!!!!) is amazing. Like, perfect. Like, I'm going to have the most fun ever doing makeup in there, and hello, YouTube! It's the perfect lighting for making videos. Guess my channel will be making a comeback. =)
I wonder where we'll put the fish tank. And we have a lawn out front, with a little white cast iron picket fence, and some bushes under the window...I think one of them is a flowering bush.
I have seeds for marigolds, too, that I want to plant. I have this dream of planting them with my mom.
It's really happening. It's actually happening. We're really moving in there. We have the keys. The rent is paid.
Wow.
Thanks, God.
That he can't do long distance. That he doesn't think he's what I'm looking for. That he doesn't know what he's doing with his life.
That makes two of us.
At least it's all out there now. I told him I was okay, and I was, but then I cried afterwards. I cried the entire next day, in fact. Literally. Almost non-stop. The whole darn day. That was my graduation day. And then the day after that. It all sucked, really.
It's also weird that it's over. We barely talk now. Not in a bad way, I don't think, but just...I guess this is what it was like before we were "more than friends?" It's been almost a year of us talking every single day and every single night....and now, nothing.
I've hidden away from facebook and social media until I'm more or less okay. A little worse for the wear, but I don't randomly get the urge to burst into tears at the thought that there will never be a Norah Nykole. Dangit. That was a really pretty name.
Also, I did fail organic chemistry. So now I'm going to take the course at a college in the city. It's just as far of a commute as to my alma mater, but at least I can use a Metrocard and pay $5.00 round trip instead of $19.50. Also, the school looks like Hogwarts.
Literally.
We got the keys to our new place today, and went over there to look at it. I've decided not to take the attic after all, since you have to go through the master bedroom to get to it. It is realllllly nice though. But the room that I'm going to take has the most amazing closet/cupboard space I've ever seen. It reaches to the ceiling. There's room for shoes. There are WINDOWS!
Sorry, but I'm a bit excited about windows. We've spent the past two years living in a basement, and I've spent the past one year with no sunlight at all coming into the tiny window in my bedroom.
Now I'm going to have TWO windows.
Zomg.
One teeny, tiny thing.
My room is pink. -____-
Pink.
Yes. Pink. *sigh*
A weird, rosy, can't-get-any-girlier pink.
I'm too lazy to paint it, though. If I could, I would do it a mint green. I'm loving green lately. Dangit! Why pink? All the bedrooms are pink, as a matter of fact. And so is the living room and dining room. But it's okay down there, just...not....upstairs.
Oh yes!
We have an upstairs. And two bathrooms. And an eat-in kitchen. And a finished basement, which I have yet to see.
But the lighting in the upstairs bathroom (which also has a window!!!!) is amazing. Like, perfect. Like, I'm going to have the most fun ever doing makeup in there, and hello, YouTube! It's the perfect lighting for making videos. Guess my channel will be making a comeback. =)
I wonder where we'll put the fish tank. And we have a lawn out front, with a little white cast iron picket fence, and some bushes under the window...I think one of them is a flowering bush.
I have seeds for marigolds, too, that I want to plant. I have this dream of planting them with my mom.
It's really happening. It's actually happening. We're really moving in there. We have the keys. The rent is paid.
Wow.
Thanks, God.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
pre-graduation funk
There's so much. That's what I keep saying. But it's true. There's really so much.
My mom got her first chemo treatment today - at least she did it. I'm proud of her for that.
Graduation is in two days, though, well, really only one day. Because it's Wednesday night, and I have to be there bright and early at 7am on Friday morning. Thursday, we'll be spending the entire day at the hospital, first for a blood transfusion and then for her (daily) radiation treatment.
Guess who has to drive her there?
I'm not complaining about that. Really, I'm not.
But I just won't have any time to prepare myself...I look like a bum right now. Unwashed hair, I haven't shaved in like, what? Two weeks?
I'm a shallow, horrid person, aren't I?
Sigh.
I don't even feel like going to the graduation ceremony. My brother might not even be able to come.
There's really no excitement in it for me.
I'm just bummed.
I want to scream until my throat is raw and I can't scream anymore. Then I want to collapse by the side of a river and just lie there.
Never have to get up.
My mom got her first chemo treatment today - at least she did it. I'm proud of her for that.
Graduation is in two days, though, well, really only one day. Because it's Wednesday night, and I have to be there bright and early at 7am on Friday morning. Thursday, we'll be spending the entire day at the hospital, first for a blood transfusion and then for her (daily) radiation treatment.
Guess who has to drive her there?
I'm not complaining about that. Really, I'm not.
But I just won't have any time to prepare myself...I look like a bum right now. Unwashed hair, I haven't shaved in like, what? Two weeks?
I'm a shallow, horrid person, aren't I?
Sigh.
I don't even feel like going to the graduation ceremony. My brother might not even be able to come.
There's really no excitement in it for me.
I'm just bummed.
I want to scream until my throat is raw and I can't scream anymore. Then I want to collapse by the side of a river and just lie there.
Never have to get up.
Monday, May 20, 2013
this isn't being written from my laptop
I'm on a public computer, which feels awkward, and the keys are stiff and stubborn so I keep having to backspace and retype half my sentences.
But I needed to get on here and say a few things.
One.
Nothing.
Two.
Confusion. But what else is new?
Three.
I might not graduate.
Four.
Does that mean I'm a failure?
Five.
I have no idea where he and I stand, and I'm too afraid to ask.
We haven't spoken in two whole days (in the grand scheme of life, that's not a long time, I know). But I'm wondering if maybe he doesn't want to talk to me, and if he would feel obligated to reply in a cheery manner if I did text him. And then feel obligated to continue talking to me, or to ask me how I'm doing.
I don't want him to feel obligated.
I also want to ask him if he doesn't care about me ... for me... anymore, and if so, what triggered that. But what if he doesn't have an answer? Or worse, what if his answer is a question, asking me why I would ask that?
It seems to me like anything I could possibly ask him on the subject would make him feel cornered, because what guy likes being questioned about their feelings? Especially if they don't know themselves? I have a feeling he doesn't know anymore.
But then there is the teeny, tiny, remote possibility that this separation is doing the same thing to him as it's doing to me, and that he just won't say anything about it the same way I won't.
That's probably too much to hope for. We do live in a cruel world, after all.
I'm tired of living in the future and wishing for the future...but the present sucks balls. I'm this quivering mess of insecurity and complications. I don't want to need friends. I think, maybe, that I don't. I think that maybe, the effort we put out to live and be happy is useless.
I've been thinking a lot about mortality lately. It's kept me up at night. Probably has to do with seeing my mother lose even more weight...she's only 108 lbs now. Her shoulder blades jut out at sharp angles, and I can count each of the vertebrae in her spine without even having to trace them with my fingers. Her skin hangs around her thighs like ... like bags.
It hurts.
It's terrifying.
I lie awake at night with nightmares that I can't wake up from, strange waking dreams that I'll come home from school one day to find her cold body motionless in the bed. God forbid. But I can't get the thoughts out of my head. I picture what I would do, how I would react, the screams that would tear out of my throat. I would try CPR. I would call 911. I would grab her hand and cry my eyes out.
I just want her to get better.
Why the fck is cancer deadly? Why can't it just sit there and do nothing? How does it kill a person? What does it DO?
I can't sleep at night anymore. Apparently one week of night shifts has completely reversed my sleep schedule. So I lie there, unable to get comfortable, with these thoughts running through my mind. I hate them.
You know what sucks? What really sucks? The fact that we're all going to die.
All of us. Each and every one. One at a time. Sometimes two, some times thirty, sometimes a hundred or more at a time. But the end result is the same: the ones we love left behind to mourn. What's the point? Why be here if we're so transient...so easily disposable? One little slip and fall - a crack of the head on the pavement - gone.
Even me. I'm going to be gone one day. If Jesus doesn't come back first, I'll know what it feels like to cease to exist here...my skin will shrivel up and me, the real me, not this body but who I am on the inside, will go on to see whatever really lies beyond.
It's so strange.
And I hate that I can't escape it. I'm trapped inside this body suit, with fingers and hair and nails and skin and blood and muscles and ligaments... and it wants different things, but because it's all I know from birth, I can't separate what I (the real me) wants from what the body wants.
I'm pretty sure it's two different things. Yes. I'm pretty sure of that.
Sometimes I try to remind myself that the real me, the soul that thinks and feels, is someone else than the body it wears. The body I wear. This body is imperfect. Sometimes I think it's ugly. I wonder what my soul looks like. Is it a mist, like the woman said who wrote that book about the afterlife and hell? Or is it an orb of light like the little boy saw leaving his mother's body when she died?
I really do feel trapped. I wish I could detach myself from my body for short periods of time. But to leave it would mean leaving it to rot...
So strange. So, so strange this world we live in.
I don't think I'll ever understand it.
But I still want to know why.
But I needed to get on here and say a few things.
One.
Nothing.
Two.
Confusion. But what else is new?
Three.
I might not graduate.
Four.
Does that mean I'm a failure?
Five.
I have no idea where he and I stand, and I'm too afraid to ask.
We haven't spoken in two whole days (in the grand scheme of life, that's not a long time, I know). But I'm wondering if maybe he doesn't want to talk to me, and if he would feel obligated to reply in a cheery manner if I did text him. And then feel obligated to continue talking to me, or to ask me how I'm doing.
I don't want him to feel obligated.
I also want to ask him if he doesn't care about me ... for me... anymore, and if so, what triggered that. But what if he doesn't have an answer? Or worse, what if his answer is a question, asking me why I would ask that?
It seems to me like anything I could possibly ask him on the subject would make him feel cornered, because what guy likes being questioned about their feelings? Especially if they don't know themselves? I have a feeling he doesn't know anymore.
But then there is the teeny, tiny, remote possibility that this separation is doing the same thing to him as it's doing to me, and that he just won't say anything about it the same way I won't.
That's probably too much to hope for. We do live in a cruel world, after all.
I'm tired of living in the future and wishing for the future...but the present sucks balls. I'm this quivering mess of insecurity and complications. I don't want to need friends. I think, maybe, that I don't. I think that maybe, the effort we put out to live and be happy is useless.
I've been thinking a lot about mortality lately. It's kept me up at night. Probably has to do with seeing my mother lose even more weight...she's only 108 lbs now. Her shoulder blades jut out at sharp angles, and I can count each of the vertebrae in her spine without even having to trace them with my fingers. Her skin hangs around her thighs like ... like bags.
It hurts.
It's terrifying.
I lie awake at night with nightmares that I can't wake up from, strange waking dreams that I'll come home from school one day to find her cold body motionless in the bed. God forbid. But I can't get the thoughts out of my head. I picture what I would do, how I would react, the screams that would tear out of my throat. I would try CPR. I would call 911. I would grab her hand and cry my eyes out.
I just want her to get better.
Why the fck is cancer deadly? Why can't it just sit there and do nothing? How does it kill a person? What does it DO?
I can't sleep at night anymore. Apparently one week of night shifts has completely reversed my sleep schedule. So I lie there, unable to get comfortable, with these thoughts running through my mind. I hate them.
You know what sucks? What really sucks? The fact that we're all going to die.
All of us. Each and every one. One at a time. Sometimes two, some times thirty, sometimes a hundred or more at a time. But the end result is the same: the ones we love left behind to mourn. What's the point? Why be here if we're so transient...so easily disposable? One little slip and fall - a crack of the head on the pavement - gone.
Even me. I'm going to be gone one day. If Jesus doesn't come back first, I'll know what it feels like to cease to exist here...my skin will shrivel up and me, the real me, not this body but who I am on the inside, will go on to see whatever really lies beyond.
It's so strange.
And I hate that I can't escape it. I'm trapped inside this body suit, with fingers and hair and nails and skin and blood and muscles and ligaments... and it wants different things, but because it's all I know from birth, I can't separate what I (the real me) wants from what the body wants.
I'm pretty sure it's two different things. Yes. I'm pretty sure of that.
Sometimes I try to remind myself that the real me, the soul that thinks and feels, is someone else than the body it wears. The body I wear. This body is imperfect. Sometimes I think it's ugly. I wonder what my soul looks like. Is it a mist, like the woman said who wrote that book about the afterlife and hell? Or is it an orb of light like the little boy saw leaving his mother's body when she died?
I really do feel trapped. I wish I could detach myself from my body for short periods of time. But to leave it would mean leaving it to rot...
So strange. So, so strange this world we live in.
I don't think I'll ever understand it.
But I still want to know why.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
some things I need
a capo for my guitar
my sketchbook and a few free hours
It's odd, how I picture myself. The way I want to reinvent myself.
I want to be the girl with the big, round glasses and the massive hair. The one with the stretched ears and the leg warmers and ballet slippers. The one who can't carry a tune but can play the guitar until it sings.
The one who sits in the grass and sketches, who climbs trees to read a book. Who paints her toenails but never her fingernails, because they'd just get chipped on the guitar strings.
The one with the hidden ink and silver, for her eyes alone; the one who writes to live and lives to write.
I want to get back to living in my own world.
But then I look at myself and see how imperfect I am...
my sketchbook and a few free hours
It's odd, how I picture myself. The way I want to reinvent myself.
I want to be the girl with the big, round glasses and the massive hair. The one with the stretched ears and the leg warmers and ballet slippers. The one who can't carry a tune but can play the guitar until it sings.
The one who sits in the grass and sketches, who climbs trees to read a book. Who paints her toenails but never her fingernails, because they'd just get chipped on the guitar strings.
The one with the hidden ink and silver, for her eyes alone; the one who writes to live and lives to write.
I want to get back to living in my own world.
But then I look at myself and see how imperfect I am...
Friday, May 10, 2013
tough days
Maybe I should be stronger.
I don't think I am. I don't think I'm strong enough.
Most days, it's all I can do to keep going...to put one foot in front of the other.
A lot of days, I don't even want to get out of bed.
But there's no escaping it...it's there whether I'm in bed or out, at school or at work, crying or trying to pull myself together.
My mom has cancer.
It's not something I could have ever pictured. Not in my worst nightmares.
Just...why?
I know people say "why" all the time, and they tell stories twenty years down the road about how they asked why, and God told them "why not?"
Well I don't want to know why not.
I want to know WHY. Why is it taking so long? Why does it hurt so bad? Why everything at once?
Just why?
I always want to know why. Did I do something to deserve this? If I did, I want to know what, so that I can have some measure of consolation. Some understanding. Insight.
I hate not understanding things.
I hate being stressed.
I hate being alone.
I hate the fact that I hate being alone.
I hate organic chemistry.
I hate cancer.
Some days I hate myself.
And then I hate myself for hating myself, because that means that I'm weak and needy and insecure.
It's a vicious cycle.
When I was younger I had a video cassette called The Feel Better Friends. It was a bunch of sing-along songs that my cousins bought me when I had the flu, to cheer me up. There's a song on there that talks about the weather being cloudy outside, but how it can still be sunny on the inside of you.
I'm finding that the opposite is true, too.
It can be a bright, sunny, warm day outside, and the inside of me can be as cold and numb and dead as winter.
I think I'm going to have to start lying about how I feel. Nobody's going to want to be around somebody who is bummed all the time and only talks about their problems. Why should I bring anyone else down with me?
Because misery loves company, that's why.
But I won't do that. I have to pretend to be strong. What was it my journalism professor said? Fake it till you make it. I don't know if I'll make it, but watch how good I'll fake it. That last bit was from a Hot Chelle Rae song....
I got off the phone with my mom a little while ago and she was admonishing me to make sure I make use of all the available resources for chemistry tutoring while I'm on campus.
Then she made me promise her that I'll try my hardest.
The problem is, I've lost all will to care. I mean, now I have to try, because I promised her, but I have three goddang F's in a row, already. Today was the last day of class, and I have an F on each and every midterm we took this semester.
What's the point of trying?
I mean, maybe I'll have enough points in the class to get a D, which is all I need, but really, how can that happen with three F's?
And that was the only class I needed to graduate.
Granted, it looks like I'll be getting A's in my journalism classes, but I'm SO tired of trying with chemistry. I don't understand it. And the stupid teachers want us stupid students to teach our stupid selves and each other, and the stupid students, all they do is memorize crap. And when I ask them WHY something has to be done a certain way, they can't tell me.
Go to the professor, and he sympathizes with my situation and then tells me that he won't give me extra help. So why the fck would you talk about coming to office hours? What office hours?
I hate him. I hate all of this.
I think I hate everything right now.
Maybe I'm depressed. Who cares?
I don't.
I don't think I am. I don't think I'm strong enough.
Most days, it's all I can do to keep going...to put one foot in front of the other.
A lot of days, I don't even want to get out of bed.
But there's no escaping it...it's there whether I'm in bed or out, at school or at work, crying or trying to pull myself together.
My mom has cancer.
It's not something I could have ever pictured. Not in my worst nightmares.
Just...why?
I know people say "why" all the time, and they tell stories twenty years down the road about how they asked why, and God told them "why not?"
Well I don't want to know why not.
I want to know WHY. Why is it taking so long? Why does it hurt so bad? Why everything at once?
Just why?
I always want to know why. Did I do something to deserve this? If I did, I want to know what, so that I can have some measure of consolation. Some understanding. Insight.
I hate not understanding things.
I hate being stressed.
I hate being alone.
I hate the fact that I hate being alone.
I hate organic chemistry.
I hate cancer.
Some days I hate myself.
And then I hate myself for hating myself, because that means that I'm weak and needy and insecure.
It's a vicious cycle.
When I was younger I had a video cassette called The Feel Better Friends. It was a bunch of sing-along songs that my cousins bought me when I had the flu, to cheer me up. There's a song on there that talks about the weather being cloudy outside, but how it can still be sunny on the inside of you.
I'm finding that the opposite is true, too.
It can be a bright, sunny, warm day outside, and the inside of me can be as cold and numb and dead as winter.
I think I'm going to have to start lying about how I feel. Nobody's going to want to be around somebody who is bummed all the time and only talks about their problems. Why should I bring anyone else down with me?
Because misery loves company, that's why.
But I won't do that. I have to pretend to be strong. What was it my journalism professor said? Fake it till you make it. I don't know if I'll make it, but watch how good I'll fake it. That last bit was from a Hot Chelle Rae song....
I got off the phone with my mom a little while ago and she was admonishing me to make sure I make use of all the available resources for chemistry tutoring while I'm on campus.
Then she made me promise her that I'll try my hardest.
The problem is, I've lost all will to care. I mean, now I have to try, because I promised her, but I have three goddang F's in a row, already. Today was the last day of class, and I have an F on each and every midterm we took this semester.
What's the point of trying?
I mean, maybe I'll have enough points in the class to get a D, which is all I need, but really, how can that happen with three F's?
And that was the only class I needed to graduate.
Granted, it looks like I'll be getting A's in my journalism classes, but I'm SO tired of trying with chemistry. I don't understand it. And the stupid teachers want us stupid students to teach our stupid selves and each other, and the stupid students, all they do is memorize crap. And when I ask them WHY something has to be done a certain way, they can't tell me.
Go to the professor, and he sympathizes with my situation and then tells me that he won't give me extra help. So why the fck would you talk about coming to office hours? What office hours?
I hate him. I hate all of this.
I think I hate everything right now.
Maybe I'm depressed. Who cares?
I don't.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
What it's all come down to
You'll say we've got nothing in common
No common ground to start from
And we're falling apart
You say the world has come between us
Our lives have come between us
Still I know you just don't care
I see you, the only one who knew me
But now your eyes see through me
I guess I was wrong
So what now? It's plain to see we're over
I hate when things are over
When so much is left undone
Our lives have come between us
But I know you just don't care
-lyrics taken from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something
No common ground to start from
And we're falling apart
You say the world has come between us
Our lives have come between us
Still I know you just don't care
I see you, the only one who knew me
But now your eyes see through me
I guess I was wrong
So what now? It's plain to see we're over
I hate when things are over
When so much is left undone
Our lives have come between us
But I know you just don't care
-lyrics taken from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
I feel like writing even though I don't have anything to say...for the moment.
As usual, there are other things I should/could be doing, but I'd rather be here...for the moment.
I've got Blackmill streaming through my headphones and a good day under my belt. I'm content.
I'm also going to go and help build a cardboard boat for Roth Pond Regatta...I've wanted to do that since I was a freshman. My job is making one, and I'm going to head over there in a few minutes. Not to work...but to have fun.
What a great change, for once.
This should be fun.
I'm also going to include a picture of myself, just because. I haven't put one up in about a year.
Here I am:
Just lil ole me =)
Toodles!!!
Friday, April 19, 2013
nostalgia and mood boosters
I've spent the last half hour or so reading back through my old blog posts, all the way back to the first day I started blogging.
Ah, the memories.
My life was so consumed with school back then. I started blogging when I was twenty-one, and I'm now twenty-four. My life is still consumed with school. I just don't write about it as much on here.
I feel so much better after reading those posts, though. It's strange. It's like it's taken me back to a time when even though things were difficult and frustrating, somehow, they were simpler. And...it's nice to read about them.
It's also interesting to hear my voice...read my voice...whatever...as it was back then.
I sound so YOUNG.
I spent maybe an hour's worth of blogging in one post, gushing about a crush I had on a boy in my class.
Really?
Really.
It was kind of cute.
My life is much more complicated now, but I have that feeling again that I've been missing for so long and trying to get back to.
The feeling of contentedness.
It comes in the springtime, sometimes in the winter, sometimes in the fall, rarely in the summer.
But it's achieved mainly through me blogging about the way I feel and venting in that manner, and spending some time reading, drinking tea, and misplacing my mind inside of a familiar story world.
Gah, I've missed that.
Currently, I don't have any tea around me, but I've blogged, read old blogs, and I'm caught up in the story of the Hunger Games.
It's a good feeling.
I'm glad to have you back, old self.
Ah, the memories.
My life was so consumed with school back then. I started blogging when I was twenty-one, and I'm now twenty-four. My life is still consumed with school. I just don't write about it as much on here.
I feel so much better after reading those posts, though. It's strange. It's like it's taken me back to a time when even though things were difficult and frustrating, somehow, they were simpler. And...it's nice to read about them.
It's also interesting to hear my voice...read my voice...whatever...as it was back then.
I sound so YOUNG.
I spent maybe an hour's worth of blogging in one post, gushing about a crush I had on a boy in my class.
Really?
Really.
It was kind of cute.
My life is much more complicated now, but I have that feeling again that I've been missing for so long and trying to get back to.
The feeling of contentedness.
It comes in the springtime, sometimes in the winter, sometimes in the fall, rarely in the summer.
But it's achieved mainly through me blogging about the way I feel and venting in that manner, and spending some time reading, drinking tea, and misplacing my mind inside of a familiar story world.
Gah, I've missed that.
Currently, I don't have any tea around me, but I've blogged, read old blogs, and I'm caught up in the story of the Hunger Games.
It's a good feeling.
I'm glad to have you back, old self.
un-caps
today is a good day, i think.
i got my hand tattooed with henna ink, spoke to my professor about my home situation and got good news...there's still a chance for me to pass the class! watched a live performance by a band at my school, petted a possum, played in a drum circle, went to class, and adopted a baby ivy plant. all before 1pm.
not bad.
also there were some native americans on campus performing a rain dance.
it started to rain.
i believe in their magic, now.
just wanted to tell you about my day. tomorrow i'm going to the archery range with calvin, so that should be fun.
yay me.
i got my hand tattooed with henna ink, spoke to my professor about my home situation and got good news...there's still a chance for me to pass the class! watched a live performance by a band at my school, petted a possum, played in a drum circle, went to class, and adopted a baby ivy plant. all before 1pm.
not bad.
also there were some native americans on campus performing a rain dance.
it started to rain.
i believe in their magic, now.
just wanted to tell you about my day. tomorrow i'm going to the archery range with calvin, so that should be fun.
yay me.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
I miss painting.
Not that I'm good at it. In fact, I suck. I tried to paint a bird and it came out looking like a rat with wings.
But I miss the colors. The bright, the dark, the feeling as the brush moves over the canvas.
I miss finding random splotches of red, or brown, or blue smudged on the edges of my hand and tips of my fingers.
I miss the feeling that a song could create inside me, that would somehow be channeled out through my fingertips into hues that blend and swirl on the canvas.
I miss it.
I need art.
Art needs me.
We cannot survive without each other.
Not that I'm good at it. In fact, I suck. I tried to paint a bird and it came out looking like a rat with wings.
But I miss the colors. The bright, the dark, the feeling as the brush moves over the canvas.
I miss finding random splotches of red, or brown, or blue smudged on the edges of my hand and tips of my fingers.
I miss the feeling that a song could create inside me, that would somehow be channeled out through my fingertips into hues that blend and swirl on the canvas.
I miss it.
I need art.
Art needs me.
We cannot survive without each other.
Monday, April 15, 2013
I sit in the lecture hall, feeling somewhat inspired and slightly less paranoid than the previous days have left me.
I can't do this, haha.
I love reading blog posts where people write all poetic and dreamlike, but it's not me.
Not if I'm not writing poetry.
This is the only place I'm really myself. Where I write out my thoughts the way they come into my head. (That's why my words often don't make sense.)
But I need something. I'm not sure if it's to get away...no, I don't think it's that. I think I've been too dislocated from society lately, and as a result, I've become dependent on a few things that aren't healthy.
No. No drugs, silly.
Although I admit that I have smoked hookah and gotten dangerously close to wanting to make a habit of it. Good thing I looked up the health effects and got scared out of my wits.
But I've lost track of the strong, self-sufficient girl I used to be. I'm not sure where exactly she went. She used to be able to let things roll off her back. She used to live inside a brick wall that was reinforced with steel and concrete. She used to be able to go into long, solitary moments and come out unscathed...
But she's been misplaced.
I can't find her.
I keep trying to get her back, but she's been replaced by a strange copy of myself that feels everything too much, tells people when she's hurting, and depends on other people to make her happy.
I have to switch back. There's too much going on; I can't afford to feel. I can't think clearly when I feel. My thoughts run away with me...away from me. If I let it go on it will ruin everything I've worked so hard for.
I do wonder, though, if me feeling is a sign of me growing up; becoming Real? Like the Bunny and the Skin Horse in my favorite childhood story The Velveteen Rabbit. I'm not used to this, though, and I don't quite like it.
But what if I go back to my unfeeling self and THAT unravels everything I've worked for?
What if that makes me a terrible person? Someone unlikable? Someone jaded.
It's easier to be jaded than to be Real.
It hurts less.
But is it worth it?
I can't do this, haha.
I love reading blog posts where people write all poetic and dreamlike, but it's not me.
Not if I'm not writing poetry.
This is the only place I'm really myself. Where I write out my thoughts the way they come into my head. (That's why my words often don't make sense.)
But I need something. I'm not sure if it's to get away...no, I don't think it's that. I think I've been too dislocated from society lately, and as a result, I've become dependent on a few things that aren't healthy.
No. No drugs, silly.
Although I admit that I have smoked hookah and gotten dangerously close to wanting to make a habit of it. Good thing I looked up the health effects and got scared out of my wits.
But I've lost track of the strong, self-sufficient girl I used to be. I'm not sure where exactly she went. She used to be able to let things roll off her back. She used to live inside a brick wall that was reinforced with steel and concrete. She used to be able to go into long, solitary moments and come out unscathed...
But she's been misplaced.
I can't find her.
I keep trying to get her back, but she's been replaced by a strange copy of myself that feels everything too much, tells people when she's hurting, and depends on other people to make her happy.
I have to switch back. There's too much going on; I can't afford to feel. I can't think clearly when I feel. My thoughts run away with me...away from me. If I let it go on it will ruin everything I've worked so hard for.
I do wonder, though, if me feeling is a sign of me growing up; becoming Real? Like the Bunny and the Skin Horse in my favorite childhood story The Velveteen Rabbit. I'm not used to this, though, and I don't quite like it.
But what if I go back to my unfeeling self and THAT unravels everything I've worked for?
What if that makes me a terrible person? Someone unlikable? Someone jaded.
It's easier to be jaded than to be Real.
It hurts less.
But is it worth it?
Monday, April 8, 2013
sigh.
SIGH.
I'm trying to rewrite an article for journalism class that my professor said has to be directed towards an audience of educated fifteen-year-olds, but seriously. The speech that I covered was about research on ION CHANNELS, for godsakes. Research-level neuroscience. Past grad-school level neuroscience.
Stop asking me to explain genetic expression and electrical signaling to you when you're giving me a 600-word limit.
Just...please.
Sorry. I'm just frustrated right now because I spent a week working on it the first time and now I only have one day to revise it.
It's falling apart. It's no longer a good paper.
i. am. pissed.
SIGH.
I'm trying to rewrite an article for journalism class that my professor said has to be directed towards an audience of educated fifteen-year-olds, but seriously. The speech that I covered was about research on ION CHANNELS, for godsakes. Research-level neuroscience. Past grad-school level neuroscience.
Stop asking me to explain genetic expression and electrical signaling to you when you're giving me a 600-word limit.
Just...please.
Sorry. I'm just frustrated right now because I spent a week working on it the first time and now I only have one day to revise it.
It's falling apart. It's no longer a good paper.
i. am. pissed.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
update...that's really all this is.
I've been reading back through my old posts and realized that I've left a lot of threads dangling, unresolved.
I got accepted to Boston University, the school I was mostly afraid that I wouldn't get into. Hip hip hooray...except I can't afford their $60,000 per year tuition.
On to the next applications. At least I'm feeling a little more confident now.
My mother spent six days in the hospital, total. On the fifth day, I hid in the patient bathroom and overheard a doctor talking to my father and telling him that my mother did not, in fact, have stage 4 cervical cancer, she had stage 3, and that this was a good thing.
I waited until the doctor left to come out of the bathroom.
Gee, thanks mom and dad, for telling me she had cancer as soon as you found out. Thanks so much. I didn't have to sit around worrying about why she was bleeding her life out every night and why she lost 50 lbs in two weeks. Literally. I didn't lose hours of sleep or struggle with my homework assignments because I couldn't focus on anything else. I was completely unburdened, studying happily at school and riding around on unicorns.
In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic.
He did come, the very next day. Major fail for the first few hours, because the landlord decided to throw a fit once he saw him...because he showed up with a camera around his neck.
Maybe if you weren't doing illegal crap in your backyard, you wouldn't have to be so darn paranoid. He's a photographer, for godsakes.
I've started a donation page for my mom to help pay her medical bills, since, well, good lord, the government sucks rabbit toes and public health insurance (or the lack thereof) is a joke. The week she spent in the hospital cost us ten thousand dollars. Yes. Ten thousand.
On my dad's salary of what, $2000 a month? When half of it comes out for rent, and half of the remaining half pays for other bills and my tuition?
Yes, Uncle Sam, we can afford private insurance of $400/month premiums, that don't even cover pre-existing medical conditions. Of course. Thank you for being so considerate. Screw you.
I'm sorry. I'm not in the best of moods today. Clearly....
I got accepted to Boston University, the school I was mostly afraid that I wouldn't get into. Hip hip hooray...except I can't afford their $60,000 per year tuition.
On to the next applications. At least I'm feeling a little more confident now.
My mother spent six days in the hospital, total. On the fifth day, I hid in the patient bathroom and overheard a doctor talking to my father and telling him that my mother did not, in fact, have stage 4 cervical cancer, she had stage 3, and that this was a good thing.
I waited until the doctor left to come out of the bathroom.
Gee, thanks mom and dad, for telling me she had cancer as soon as you found out. Thanks so much. I didn't have to sit around worrying about why she was bleeding her life out every night and why she lost 50 lbs in two weeks. Literally. I didn't lose hours of sleep or struggle with my homework assignments because I couldn't focus on anything else. I was completely unburdened, studying happily at school and riding around on unicorns.
In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic.
He did come, the very next day. Major fail for the first few hours, because the landlord decided to throw a fit once he saw him...because he showed up with a camera around his neck.
Maybe if you weren't doing illegal crap in your backyard, you wouldn't have to be so darn paranoid. He's a photographer, for godsakes.
I've started a donation page for my mom to help pay her medical bills, since, well, good lord, the government sucks rabbit toes and public health insurance (or the lack thereof) is a joke. The week she spent in the hospital cost us ten thousand dollars. Yes. Ten thousand.
On my dad's salary of what, $2000 a month? When half of it comes out for rent, and half of the remaining half pays for other bills and my tuition?
Yes, Uncle Sam, we can afford private insurance of $400/month premiums, that don't even cover pre-existing medical conditions. Of course. Thank you for being so considerate. Screw you.
I'm sorry. I'm not in the best of moods today. Clearly....
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Post Interview Adrenaline
I DID IT!
I just conducted my first phone interview!!!
And I didn't spontaneously combust or sneeze or belch or anything equally dreadful...and the lady who I interviewed, the coordinator for the lecture series, was SO helpful and sweet.
I'm so glad my first experience went well. Honestly. So glad.
Alright. Well, I've got a full schedule today, so, I'm off to shower and get started on the outdoors portion of my day.
Toodles!
I just conducted my first phone interview!!!
And I didn't spontaneously combust or sneeze or belch or anything equally dreadful...and the lady who I interviewed, the coordinator for the lecture series, was SO helpful and sweet.
I'm so glad my first experience went well. Honestly. So glad.
Alright. Well, I've got a full schedule today, so, I'm off to shower and get started on the outdoors portion of my day.
Toodles!
Interviews and Cocoons
So...
I'm about to conduct my very first phone interview in exactly fifteen minutes.
And I'm scared. Well, nervous. Well....jittery.
Yeah. Jittery describes it well.
You know, sometimes I think about letting him read this blog...I know he really wanted to. But then I think to myself...I need one thing that's private. One place where I can wrap myself in a cocoon and be who I really am. Actually express myself.
Maybe one day. Maybe when .... maybe. But for now, no.
This interview is for my journalism class; I've been assigned to cover a speech, and I need to gather background information on it. And I can't just do that through Google. Nooooooo. Heaven forbid.
I actually have to talk to people.
So, I've downloaded a voice recorder app on my cell phone, written up a list of questions, emailed several potential sources and gotten confirmations from a few, and I've just landed my first interview.
I think I may have preferred a face-to-face conversation.
Ah well. It's time to go hard or go home.
Here goes....everything I've got.
Wish me luck.
I'm about to conduct my very first phone interview in exactly fifteen minutes.
And I'm scared. Well, nervous. Well....jittery.
Yeah. Jittery describes it well.
You know, sometimes I think about letting him read this blog...I know he really wanted to. But then I think to myself...I need one thing that's private. One place where I can wrap myself in a cocoon and be who I really am. Actually express myself.
Maybe one day. Maybe when .... maybe. But for now, no.
This interview is for my journalism class; I've been assigned to cover a speech, and I need to gather background information on it. And I can't just do that through Google. Nooooooo. Heaven forbid.
I actually have to talk to people.
So, I've downloaded a voice recorder app on my cell phone, written up a list of questions, emailed several potential sources and gotten confirmations from a few, and I've just landed my first interview.
I think I may have preferred a face-to-face conversation.
Ah well. It's time to go hard or go home.
Here goes....everything I've got.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
Hospital, day 5
Ah the troubles of family.
When people react instead of responding, when long days and even longer nights take their toll, and tempers run shorter than a dynamite fuse.
This is my life lately.
It's what? Day four in the hospital? Or day five? I don't know, I've lost count.
My mother had a procedure done this afternoon to insert tubes into her kidneys, because the left one is blocked. She was in such pain when she got back from recovery, but at least now she's feeling better.
I don't like nights.
Nights are the worst. Everybody is tired, everyone gets cranky, incessant beeping noises of strange machines threaten to make my brain explode. . .
My mother is especially difficult at night. I honestly don't know why.
And I'm so tired (still didn't get a lick of homework done today) but on the bright side, he's going to be here tomorrow.
Yep. Him.
He's leaving after work at around six in the morning...or possibly before that if he can get off his shift earlier, and driving straight here to New York.
Neither of my parents know this.
I've covered my back though - I spoke to the landlord today and asked whether it would be alright for a friend to spend a few days with us, and he said he didn't mind at all.
So basically, it's kind of supposed to be a surprise for my mom and dad; they haven't seen him in a very long time... only since July, but still.
Okay I admit it.
I didn't say anything to them because I didn't want to give them a chance to say no, don't come.
So he's coming, and this should be good. Or great. I hope.
My dad took tomorrow off from work, so it actually works out perfectly because he said I can go home tomorrow, which means that I'll be there to meet him when he arrives in New York.
Hooray.
I'm sitting out in the hallway right now, getting some fresh air (as fresh as air inside of a hospital can be, anyway). There's a window here with a beautiful view of the city at night. I can't wait to show it to him when he arrives.
But I needed to get out of there. Tensions were running high, and I just. . .
I had to.
Then I feel bad because the nurses came and brought a more comfortable chair for me to be able to sleep in the room with my mom and dad, but I don't want to go back in there now.
I'm going to get up real early and go home and clean up a bit more, and fix my sheets and spread up my bed. I'm going to let him sleep in my bed and I'll sleep on the couch when he comes. He's staying till Tuesday.
Then I'm going to do some freaking homework. Gosh.
Good night.
When people react instead of responding, when long days and even longer nights take their toll, and tempers run shorter than a dynamite fuse.
This is my life lately.
It's what? Day four in the hospital? Or day five? I don't know, I've lost count.
My mother had a procedure done this afternoon to insert tubes into her kidneys, because the left one is blocked. She was in such pain when she got back from recovery, but at least now she's feeling better.
I don't like nights.
Nights are the worst. Everybody is tired, everyone gets cranky, incessant beeping noises of strange machines threaten to make my brain explode. . .
My mother is especially difficult at night. I honestly don't know why.
And I'm so tired (still didn't get a lick of homework done today) but on the bright side, he's going to be here tomorrow.
Yep. Him.
He's leaving after work at around six in the morning...or possibly before that if he can get off his shift earlier, and driving straight here to New York.
Neither of my parents know this.
I've covered my back though - I spoke to the landlord today and asked whether it would be alright for a friend to spend a few days with us, and he said he didn't mind at all.
So basically, it's kind of supposed to be a surprise for my mom and dad; they haven't seen him in a very long time... only since July, but still.
Okay I admit it.
I didn't say anything to them because I didn't want to give them a chance to say no, don't come.
So he's coming, and this should be good. Or great. I hope.
My dad took tomorrow off from work, so it actually works out perfectly because he said I can go home tomorrow, which means that I'll be there to meet him when he arrives in New York.
Hooray.
I'm sitting out in the hallway right now, getting some fresh air (as fresh as air inside of a hospital can be, anyway). There's a window here with a beautiful view of the city at night. I can't wait to show it to him when he arrives.
But I needed to get out of there. Tensions were running high, and I just. . .
I had to.
Then I feel bad because the nurses came and brought a more comfortable chair for me to be able to sleep in the room with my mom and dad, but I don't want to go back in there now.
I'm going to get up real early and go home and clean up a bit more, and fix my sheets and spread up my bed. I'm going to let him sleep in my bed and I'll sleep on the couch when he comes. He's staying till Tuesday.
Then I'm going to do some freaking homework. Gosh.
Good night.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Hospital, day 3.
I am SO tired. So, so, so very tired.
There is no such thing as getting comfortable on one of those chairs that they park next to the hospital beds. There really isn't.
This is my mother's third night in the hospital, and I spent last night here with her.
I started out wanting to write a whole lot more about my experience here, but by the time I've finally gotten a chance to sit down and write, I'm so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open.
I just want to sleep.
There is no such thing as getting comfortable on one of those chairs that they park next to the hospital beds. There really isn't.
This is my mother's third night in the hospital, and I spent last night here with her.
I started out wanting to write a whole lot more about my experience here, but by the time I've finally gotten a chance to sit down and write, I'm so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open.
I just want to sleep.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Songbird
winds howl
and rattle the dried bones
of the songbird
that lay crumpled in a sad grey heap
beneath the sad grey sky
a lone feather
whips back and forth
caught between a joint
where two sinews once connected.
it is a small feather.
the wind almost gives it life
animatedly tearing it to and fro
this dusty, battered feather that clings
to the last scrap of flesh
that once covered the larynx
the place from where beautiful music
once flowed.
now the clattering of stale bones
give their own music
a somber song
reminiscent of the chattering of teeth
as a small child trembles beneath the covers
alone in the dark.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
it's been so long.
It's been much too long since I blogged on here.
I need it again. It seems like I need it every spring.
I went to Cincinnati...and I loved it. I loved every moment of it. I experienced so much there...that I can't begin to write it all down. At least not yet.
I'm confused now, two months later, but that's another story that's connected to the first.
I think I'm going to try out the hippie lifestyle. Not for the dressing, but for the philosophy of it. I need to be happy, at peace, non-judgmental. Plus their styles of dressing and fixing the hair are awesome, but that's really not the point.
I need to focus on the here-and-now. I've been looking so far into the future and imagining it as if it's happening now that I've lost sight of what's going on at this point in my life.
I've lost sight of the steps I need to take to even get to my future.
I have to analyze things the way they are now, and do what needs to be done now, in order for things to work out a few months/years down the road.
I might even be on the wrong road right now, but I don't know this for certain, so I won't comment on it yet. It bothers me, though. A lot.
This spring is going to consist of the biggest life changes for me, ever. I'm growing up this spring, I think.
And this will be a good thing.
I think.
I need it again. It seems like I need it every spring.
I went to Cincinnati...and I loved it. I loved every moment of it. I experienced so much there...that I can't begin to write it all down. At least not yet.
I'm confused now, two months later, but that's another story that's connected to the first.
I think I'm going to try out the hippie lifestyle. Not for the dressing, but for the philosophy of it. I need to be happy, at peace, non-judgmental. Plus their styles of dressing and fixing the hair are awesome, but that's really not the point.
I need to focus on the here-and-now. I've been looking so far into the future and imagining it as if it's happening now that I've lost sight of what's going on at this point in my life.
I've lost sight of the steps I need to take to even get to my future.
I have to analyze things the way they are now, and do what needs to be done now, in order for things to work out a few months/years down the road.
I might even be on the wrong road right now, but I don't know this for certain, so I won't comment on it yet. It bothers me, though. A lot.
This spring is going to consist of the biggest life changes for me, ever. I'm growing up this spring, I think.
And this will be a good thing.
I think.
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