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

And maybe not.

maybe maybe maybe.

maybe it's all in my head.

just my perceptions clouding my view of things.

maybe everything is going in the direction it should.

maybe indeed.

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!!!

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.

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 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.

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?

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.

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....