Generic Sentiments

There are certain quotes that simply make their rounds of the internet.  They go back and forth on sites like tumblr, sometimes hitting even things like blogger and even other things that appear for generic search criteria like "inspirational" and "emotional" among others.  In being so overused, I can't help but wonder if there is really any truth to them or not.

They speak of incredible worlds and majestic feelings, of grand gestures and inexplicable compassion.  And maybe in our finest moments, we really do see them.  But on the general scale of everyday life, they go either unnoticed or buried under the piles of worry and rubble that build up around our lives.  We get buried in meaningless nonsense and forget the emotions that lie underneath.

As with everything else in life, there are good quotes and bad ones.  Certain ones put to words sentiments we could not have otherwise expressed, while others toss out ideas casually that make no logical sense.  It's interesting to see how much I've changed if only by how much I find myself agreeing or disagreeing with certain quotes over time.  It's a peek into the past.  Knowing that something meant so much earlier that means nothing now is odd.  It's so hard to pinpoint that transition.  And oftentimes, as with everything else, it makes little to no sense (like this blog post; hint: I'm going to go to bed now).

Deserve

You mean the world to me.  And I keep telling you this, but I don't think you really understand what I mean.  Or rather, I think you do, but don't let it really sink in.

I really wish I could change that.

You've done so many wonderful things for me, and you've made me so happy, and I love you so much.  I want to be able to show that.  I want to show you just how much you are loved and how much you do deserve because you mean so much to me.

I want to be the sort of person you remember for loving you so selflessly, even though I know I'm no good at it.  But you make me want to try.  You make me want to change things and do things and give things up because at the end of the day, I just want you to be happy.  I want to see you smile and I want to wrap my arms around you and give you a hug.

That's all.  I don't need you to give things up for me, I just wish that I could make you happy, and show you just how much you mean to me, just how many wonderful things you deserve for everything you've done for me.

I really hope there is a way.  And if there is, I promise you I will try everything to find it.

I love you so much.  I hope that one day you'll realize how amazing you really are.

Personal Narrative

The personal narrative.  Perhaps it is the one genre more native to me than even the prose poem.  But there it is. I write my life in terms of personal narratives right here, every single day.  And sometimes they're really not that great.  Let me rephrase that: most of the time, they downright suck.  But sometimes a decent bit of writing slips in there, making this blog something I can still periodically be proud of.

But when asked to write creative nonfiction for a class, for people to read, for individuals to use for the purpose of getting a glimpse into my life, I freeze.  I have no idea what to write.  Do you want me to write about depression and messed up relationships and broken hopes and shattered dreams?  Or am I supposed to pull out a rosy childhood memory to expand upon and unravel for the benefit of unsuspecting individuals?

I want more than anything else, sometimes, to write it all.  To throw down the truth and say "so now what, what do you think of me now that you know all of this?"  But I know it wouldn't be as powerful as I would want it to be.  It wouldn't bring the satisfaction I imagine and it wouldn't solve any problems.  At the same time, I have no motivation to write about my childhood because it plays a very minor role in the life I'm living today, not a noticeable one, anyway.

So I sit here, torn into pieces, trying to decide what it would be best for me to write.  Trying to decide what sort of topic I could select that I could write both well and honestly but also be unashamed to share with people who don't know me and have no conception of who I am.  I don't know where this will lead, but I really hope it will be somewhere good.

Timing

I'm going to put this post down here as quickly as possible because I don't have terribly much time and I'm tired and I don't have much of anything to write about at the moment anyway.  I don't know exactly what I'm saying right now, nor does it matter to me terribly much.

I'm tired of people ranting at me and trying to get me to do something.  People annoy me when  they are unnecessarily talkative or try to tell me things that I don't need, that don't apply to me, that I don't care about.  It doesn't apply to me, so just leave me alone.  I'm tired of having to listen to you and your nonsense especially when you go on and on and on about nothing of the least significance to me.

In any case, I'm done ranting now.  I'm just spewing minor thoughts about a particularly annoying individual who keeps trying to talk to me and convince me of "my duties" which are absolute nonsense.  I know this doesn't make sense and I'm really sorry about the fact that this blog post absolutely sucks but I don't want to write and I want to go back to other things I was doing.  So I'm done with that.  Sorry, good night. 

In Error

I'm so scared that this is the wrong thing to do.  Or rather, the wrong thing to let you do.  My choice in the matter really, well, isn't, because I already knew what I was going to do and there is no way it would change.  But you have options.  Arguably so do I, but my mind was made up and I'm sorry, but even you couldn't change it.  If I told you not to, would you listen?

It was always a nice thought when it was just a possibility.  Because it was only that, a chance, something to hope for, a ray of light in the dimness of the future.  The thing is though, it's no longer just a possibility.  It appears to be quite the likely outcome.  And while that's exactly what I want, I'm still afraid.  I'm afraid that this is the wrong decision for you, even though it's what you seem to want right now.

More than that though, I'm scared of what happens if things fall apart between us.  Because this would mean it's something that really went wrong and it can't just be blamed on the distance or the different living situations or whatever the hell else.  And then you're stuck making your way out of a situation you weren't even considering in the money.  I'm terrified that if I mess something up, if it all goes downhill, then it's going to be completely my fault that you have to figure out the costs of it, in more senses than one.

I'm apprehensive.  That's probably the best way to put this.  I'm excited, yes, absolutely.  I'm afraid of showing it in case it influences you or leads you to a decision you don't really want to make.  But at the same time that I'm so excited, I'm also terrified that this isn't going to end well for either of us.  Especially for you, given that you are the one giving up so much.  I just hope everything works out for the best.  I'm really sorry if it doesn't.

Bed

I sleep with a phone next to my pillow.  I don't remember the last time I turned it off at night.  I've always been a fan of having it off unless I needed it to get in contact with someone for a given piece of work.  But now I try to constantly keep it on.  I worry about things.  I worry a lot.  And now I've started worrying about people more than I have in a while, if ever.

This winter started things on a downward spiral that I'm afraid I don't see ending yet.  I'm afraid of more things than I have been in a while.  I'm afraid of creating issues with small things and things I never had cause to worry about before.  I'm almost missing being innocent and unaware.  I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.  I'm aware that this is coming off as being somewhat depressing, but I don't really feel particularly depressed.

Forty days.  In forty days this dream that has become a nightmare will be over.  But there are two problems with this.  1) I still need to survive the forty days, and 2) I know perfectly well that things really don't get any better magically.  The summer should be nice, yes, but that doesn't mean that any of my problems will magically go away.  In fact, I know they won't, and that's hard to accept.

Depression comes and goes for me.  I can't honestly tell if I'm depressed right now or not.  I feel like I'm just in this fuzzy state of in-between where I don't really even have a reason to move, to change, to do anything.  I don't know.  It always seems to figure itself out.  I'll get there.  It'll work.  I just need a break right now that I'm not quite yet getting.

Hopes and Dreams

I'm an anxious person.  I've gone back and forth a number of times on whether or not I consider myself to be a neurotic.  I plan things out and then refuse to follow the plan because it won't work out if I try.  That's the sort of person I am.  I structure and restructure my life because I need organization but I also need freedom, which is the only reason I let myself tear down everything I've worked so hard to build up.

What it comes down to is that now I'm sitting here anxiously waiting for tomorrow to unfold.  And then the rest of the week because that determines what happens in the summer.  And then the end of the spring.  And then summer.  And then everything that comes after summer.  I've sat here and thought through just about everything imaginable that could happen here, there, at any point in time.  My mind has built up these scenarios and torn them down again and again.

I'm not sure what to think anymore.  I'm fairly certain it doesn't matter.  But that goes back to the age-old question that started all of this.  Does this matter?  I don't know.  To a point, right now it feels like everything is easier if it doesn't.  I'm completely alright with that.  I don't need things to matter.  I'd just like to be able to enjoy them occasionally and I'll be more than happy to sit back and relax sometimes.

Forbidden

I want to write things and I want to spew words and I want to scream.  There are hundreds of thoughts floating through my head that I can't put anywhere, can't say to anyone, sometimes can't even admit to because something about them is wrong in one way or another.  I want to throw things in the metaphorical sense of needing to get certain words, thoughts, phrases, ideas across and into people's minds because I hate leaving things to sit idle like this.

They always tell you not to bottle things up.  Not to let your emotions, frustrations, thoughts, whatever build up until you explode.  But see, everything they do, even saying that, is one more thing that stops you from releasing them and causes everything to be pushed back down.  You can't say x or write y or think z because that means that something is wrong and the world needs to come down around you to make sure that you don't do anything wrong.

Wrong.  I hate that word.  I don't believe in a right or wrong, a definite black or white.  If you ask me, everything is situational, conditional, everything depends on the circumstances surrounding it.  Which is why it bothers me so much when people think they know exactly what's going on and what should happen next even though they have absolutely no idea.

I'm frustrated.  I don't know what to say here or what to write there because everything that's on my mind is forbidden.  It's all something I can't say for any number of reasons.  So now I get to sit here distracting myself with meaningless nonsense in order to avoid legitimately thinking.  Which I hate.  Because it doesn't work.  I'm in the mood to start some big deal, some major fight, just to have something to do, something to think about, somewhere to express the frustration without making everything fall apart.

Unfortunately, I know it's not going to happen.  Very unfortunately.

Temptation

You're asking for it.  And I can't say anything because I am absolutely one hundred percent the same way, but the fact remains.  You're asking for it.  Part of you wants it to happen just as much as I do.  Which is fucked up in and of itself.  I've been swearing more in my posts lately because I've been restraining myself less.  Regardless, it happens, especially given the past week or so.  Anyhow, back to the point.

I don't know what to say.  In large part, that is because I don't know how I feel.  I'm frustrated by this.  How am I supposed to make sense of anything when I have no idea how I feel?  I'm still trying to get over the past couple of days.  I still have no idea what to make of that or where anything stand in light of that.  I feel like I'm so extraordinarily disconnected from absolutely everything.

Playing with people, tempting fate, whatever you want to call it.  That's the game right now.  And it hurts.  I'm sitting here waiting for something to happen.  Then you're going to hurt and I'm going to hurt and we're back in this vicious circle that keeps coming around.  Except that this time I am even more afraid of how much more vicious it might be.  So fine, if that's what has to happen to keep you sane, alright.  But just say it.

There's nothing for me to write here because there's nothing solid in my mind.  I can't turn any of the vague, uncertain thoughts into concrete sentiments and phrases.  I don't know what to say.  I'll take a lot of pain if that helps you, but I'm afraid that you're going to hurt yourself more than you're ever going to hurt me, especially if things continue the way they have been going.

I don't do ultimatums.  I don't believe in un-fixable mistakes (for the most part, anyway).  Please figure it out.  Please stop hurting yourself by way of this.  If you want to look at it a different way, I'm fine with that.  If you want to throw things up in the air, alright.  But if you keep insisting on keeping it as is while not changing anything, there's something wrong.  When you start scheming how to minimize the mistake, I think there are other things that need to be addressed there.  I'm sorry, but I don't want you to keep hurting yourself like this.

Reflection

I should reflect on this past week.  Except that I really don't know what to say.  I don't understand what happened.  I don't know why or how it all came out the way it did in the end.  Does it matter?  Certainly.  It feels almost like that one time over summer where there was nothing I could do, I couldn't help, I couldn't handle anything.  That's how it is now.  And everyone is wrong.  So wrong. 

Do you really believe it's only that?  Honestly?  Does nobody realize that there's a reason I'm constantly there?  Of course I'm keeping my secrets.  By which I mean these secrets.  Then again, they really are mine.  I didn't think I would ever get to that point.  Sometimes I hoped I would.  And I realized over the course of all of this that it is not, in fact, anywhere near as glamorous as I could have hoped.  It's not pretty and it's not elegant and it really don't make sense. 

Even if it is the truth, if it was me, I don't want to admit to that.  I don't want to accept it.  In part because it is a burden for me in the future, in part because it wouldn't have gotten there if it wasn't for me in the first place, so accepting that would mean also accepting the blame.  They always tell you "it isn't your fault."  But that's bullshit.  Because in every way, you blatantly, obviously see it spelled out as being every bit your fault, and you see everywhere you went wrong and everything you could have, should have, said or done differently.

That's the point I am at.  Maybe this is good.  Maybe it needed to happen.  But it feels like it was my fault that it got where it did.  My fault that it started at all.  And I'm okay with that.  I can accept it.  I'm less than please but things happen, so I can move on and deal with it.  The frustrating thing is that I don't know what to do now, where to go from here.  I feel like I'm intruding on everything everywhere and I really don't know how to fix it. 

I think a large part of it is that I just need some time.  I need sleep.  I need to relax a bit and I need to breathe.  This has been entirely too much over a really short span of time.  I think I've said everything that needs to be said to anyone, which is good.  I'm worried.  I will continue to be worried.  I'm sitting here waiting anxiously and hoping that everything will be alright.  I really hope it will be.  I don't know what more to say. 

Memory

How do you forget?  How do you get past something, get over it, move forward, when it's burned into your mind and etched into your thoughts?  It's debatable whether the worst part of traumatic experiences is the duration itself or the aftermath.  It's different kinds of pain, though.  You can't just compare the two because even if everyone dealt with things the same, the part we are ourselves in consistently feels like the worst.

Fear.  As part of a trauma, fear often establishes itself as a primary emotion.  It is paralyizing and terrifying.  It robs us of the ability to think and breathe and make sense of life.  Suddenly, this becomes the center of everything.  It is what you worry about, what you think about, what you dream about.  You don't know what's going to happen and you are immune to anything else.  At that point, it is paralyzing and intense.  It is a stabbing pain that shoots through your life and prevents you from doing anything.

But with the aftermath of trauma, there comes an entirely different pain.  It is soft and meticulous.  It slowly creeps into your system and lodges itself in the very center, eating its way out through you until you are strugling to function because you don't know if it may happen again.  Occasionally, it eases up and with time it becomes better, but until it does, it is devastating.  Even once it passes, sometimes it will emerge again in paralyzing bouts. 

What we learn as we go through life is that we can't undo anything that happened.  We have to live with the consequences of our actions and make the best of what we have left.  Sometimes it hurts and sometimes we wonder if we're even going to get past something, but life goes on.  If there's anything I've learned from all of the hell that has come and gone thoughout this past year, it's that without a doubt, life does go on.  It may not always be pretty and marvelous, but it does continue on.  It will all be okay.  I promise. 

Fatigue

Alright, back to filling space.  I am exhausted.  These past few days have been absolutely fatiguing and I have not gotten nearly enough sleep.  I have to do a professional presenation in two days and I am nowhere near prepared.  So here I am, largely hoping that the people who show up really don't know what I'm talking about because there is no way in hell I can make it even half-decent. 

There are also certain things that need to be done by tomorrow, but instead I'm sitting here trying to tap out a blog post just to fill space.  I'm tired.  My mind makes no sense anymore.  I would like to get some sleep, but I don't think that's going to happen, and frankly, I can't say I necessarily want to.  I know that's a contradiction.  I don't much care.

As I said before, I'm just filling space.  I'm tired.  So I'll just continue filling space.  I don't want to write.  I'm not interested in writing.  I still have some writing to finish some editing.  And I suck at editing.  I hate editing.  But I still have to finish it.  Oh well.  I'll live.  I'm just bitter and rambling and tired now, so I'll just wrap it all up and curl up and disappear to bed for a while.  Good night.

Press Down

What would you do if I kissed you?

You asked that later, but I wish you'd whispered it in my ear then.  I'm afraid it was much more of a turn-on then than it would be now.  The knife I mean, not the question.  I'm almost curious as to what effect that would have on me now, given the twelve months that have since elapsed.  I haven't thought about that night in a while.  Nor anything associated with it, really, for that matter.  It's hard to believe because it's really not one of those nights that one can forget.

It was pitch black.  We'd just broken six glass bottles.  The shattering glass on the cold concrete was mesmerizing somehow.  Even just the sound was enough of a release to keep coming back.  Smashing glass is better than morphine.  It numbs the pain and overwhelms the senses.  I miss those nights when it was just warm enough to be outside but not quite enough to stay still for a praticularly long time.  But that was one of those nights, the smell of which brings me back instantly. 

And we sat down on that bench that was still there (I don't think either of us knows to this day why it was torn out or by whom).  It was a nice place to have a bench and as I took a deep breath in, I felt a blade press into the skin of my throat.  It was a challenge almost.  A dare.  Would you?  How deep could you press, how much would you trust yourself with my blood?

It was just enough to be a turn-on, not yet enough for me to really be afraid.  I can't believe I remembered the exact phrasing of the question without looking back at chat logs.  But I guess it is the sort of thing that sticks in my head. 

It's not like you can really be all that far away while holding a knife at someone's thorat.

Is that why you were so close?  I wonder what I would have done if you had.  But after all, it was only a month.  How much of a difference did that month even make in the long run?  On the grand scale of things, did it matter that it took a month for you to get around your hypothetical?  Or maybe it just helped to set up a pattern that became easier for me to trace. 

Hypothetical.
One month later, actualized.
Hypothetical.
One month later, actualized.

I guess we'll see how well that pattern holds.  I've always wondered why you didn't do it earlier.  Why you kissed me when you did because we both know you had a couple hundred chances in those lonely nights when temptation ran rampant and tore viciously at the reins of self-restraint.  I almost wonder that I didn't do it sooner.  But that doesn't surprise me as much.  I promised myself that it would have to be you and in the end it was.  You asked me not to let you mess it up with anyone and I didn't...for the most part anyway. 

I managed to keep that up until the very end.  Or was it the beginning?  I'm not so sure anymore.

Filler Material

I might be able to write a good post today if I tried.  The thing is, I'm not going to.  It's one of those days when there are things on my mind that are better not written about.  So I'm not going to.  And yes, I will in fact apologize in advance for posting absolute nonsense and filling space.  You should all have seen that one coming.

I'm tired.  I had my weekend stolen from me.  And now this is turning into a complaint-fest, so to speak, which I should probably stop.  I feel like this all sounds so whiny and annoying when I write it like this.  Sometimes that's just how the voice in my head sounds.  I can't say I'm always happy about it, but whatever, I've learned to deal.

Oh, and when I say the voice in my head, I don't mean voices as in mental conditions and such where you think there are things telling you what to do.  I mean my self-narration or whatever it is.  The common stream of my thoughts that goes through my mind when I stop long enough to listen.  Anyhow, that was enough explanation of absolute nonsense.  I'll stop now.  I promise.  Good night and sorry for bad quality (again).

Bleh

I have resorted to using post titles that are not real words.  Dear god, what has this world come to?  Well, things happen sometimes that we don't really expect or even really don't expect.  And that's how we usually end up where we are.  In this case, with words that are not real words making up the titles of our blog posts.  Or maybe that's just me...

In any case, infinite apologies for not having blogged yesterday (although it still feels like today because I haven't slept yet).  I had sporadic internet throughout the day and was too busy to legitimately write anything.  While I expected to get back around 11 pm, it ended up being closer to midnight, so I didn't get a chance to just write at the end of the day either.

So here I am.  Apologizing again.  But otherwise, I don't really have much to say.  I'm just...here...existing.  I'm exhausted, that's for sure.  Physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.  Supposedly it was all worth something, but I didn't even notice at the time, so whatever.  I'll live.  Anyhow, I'm off to unpack and go to bed.  Good night. 

With My Eyes Closed

Yes, I worry.  I worry a lot.  I'm a neurotic.  My father was the same way.  I don't mind terribly.  It keeps me on my toes and gets the things that need to get done, done.  That's part of why I do so well in certain things.  I'm constantly afraid of even the slightest failure, so I always arrive early, always do extra work, just to make sure I don't mess even the smallest things up.

Unfortunately, that worry extends beyond the simply rational and the useful, and into the realm of needless worrying and pointless fear.  So when you ask me if I trust you, that sets off a red flag.  I have difficulty trusting becase the last time I trusted someone anywhere near this much, that trust was shattered.  Violently.  But you knew that already.  And that's not really why I'm writing this.

I'm not saying it wouldn't bother me.  I imagine it would, although from where I'm standing now, I couldn't know.  I am curious.  I want to know things, especially when it comes to people and actions and reactions.  I know this is a dangerous game.  Which is why I should probably stop bringing it up, stop pushing it.  I know I should, but I'm too curious to let it go completely. 

I'm also afraid to not mention it.  Because if it hasn't been mentioned in long enough, what if you don't tell me if anything happens again?  I'm trying to constantly make it clear that while I don't approve of it, I'm okay with it, I'm more than willing to work through it and deal with it.  I've learned something from you.  I've become more open, more insistent on truth.  So I want this in the open, I want it to remain a topic that at least can be in the open, even if it isn't a constant topic of discussion.

I love you so much.  I just want you to be happy.  Please, don't worry so much.  We'll be okay.  I promise.  Have a good time.  You know how to contact me if you'd like.

You, Me, Us, Why

Just talk to me.  Please talk to me.  Say something, anything.  Give me something to respond to.  Let me help.  I want to help.  Because you remind me of me and you remind me of someone who is not me last year and you remind me of things I know and remember and in a really odd way almost miss.  Thinking back on it is odd.  Last year was weird and full of bad decisions and odd selections and long, long hugs.  I miss those hugs.  But that was a different time and a different person and even I'm not the same anymore.

I just want to help because I'm sitting here watching it all fall apart.  I don't want to see it fall apart because I can imagine what would happen.  So someone was right, this is playing god.  No matter whether we do anything or not, we are still playing god because we know what happens, we can see where this goes.  It's not just you, I see it too.  Sometimes, I see different things, or have slightly different thoughts on the matter, but I see it.  I can see how they're falling apart and collapsing and I want to stop that.

To a point, I know how to.  It starts with a conversation.  It always does.  Or sometimes it's more than one conversation, but it always has to start with one.  That's how it started with us, anyway.  And somehow it's led to this.  But I'm afraid to start.  I'm afraid to be active because what if it's overstepping my bounds?  What if it's going too far and being disrespectful and leading things to fall apart even faster than they would otherwise?

I'm sorry to have to say this, but I'm going to be honest, brutally honest.  It's broken.  And something would have to change to fix it.  Unless it changes, it is going to fall apart.  I can see it without a doubt.  That makes me sad because I don't want it to, because I don't want to see people who are so familiar to me hurt in that way, but that's the way I see it going if it continues as it is.  Maybe I'm wrong.  I hope I'm wrong.  I wish that everything would be clean and sweet and wonderful, but I have a feeling that it's not going to be. 

I want to say something.  I really want to say something.  But I don't know what to say and I have no idea where to start.  So please, talk to me.  Say something.  Ask for help if that's what you want.  And if it's not, if you don't want it, if you want to just slowly fade away and disappear and get lost in hurt, then alright.  I'll step away.  Because I can understand that.  I may not like it, but I can understand it, and I'm willing to leave you to your own life.  Really, though, if you need or want something, anything, just let me know.

The Prose Poem

The prose poem.  This creative writing class is teaching me not how to write different genres but how I myself have always written.  In introducing the genre of the prose poem, our teacher explained that it was a combination between prose and poetry.  It is written and read like prose, but leaves the reader feeling as though it was a poem.  In and of itself, that explanation does not seem to make terribly much sense.  But in thinking about it and reading examples, suddenly everything clicks and makes perfect sense.  Or maybe that's just me.

Every quality blog post I write is a prose poem.  Or a combination of several on related topics.  It has no plot, but it tells a story.  It is written in sentences, but reads like verses.  And most of the people in the class just looked at each other and whispered "what is her obsession with this?  I don't even get what it is."  But no, I wasn't one of them.  The prose poem makes perfect sense to me.  It's how I naturally write.  It's ideas around a central theme but ones that don't necessarily unfold around a timeline of events. 

This genre characterizes how I generally write.  I like the rigidity and fluidity of sentences.  The ability to insert adjectives and fillers without concerning oneself with meter or rhythm or length appeals to me.  It makes me happy to not have to worry about style or format or rules.  And in being the cross-bred bastard genre that the prose poem is, it satisfies my requirement of few to no rules precisely because it also lets me be as loose and plot-less as any poem.

I write naturally in a defined genre.  More than that, a bastard genre.  I'm not sure why, but it's odd for me to think that the majority of my "pretty" writing can be so cleanly classified.  Whatever works, I guess.  In any case, this being my natural writing style, it's easy for me to write in this portion of the class.  Which I'm certainly not objecting to, given that I have enough on my mind otherwise.

Stress

I feel like it's about time for a decent post.  It's been long enough...so I guess I might as well.  This also means writing well before late at night when I'm rushing to finish things and cram them in before I go to bed.  So this is my lovely attempt at writing something.  I have a lot on my mind, a lot of deadlines coming up, decisions to be made, things to catch up on.  But I'll get there.  Right now it's my time to write and think.  So here goes nothing.

I'm afraid of seeing one person at a given point in time.  I hate admitting that.  It's not that I hate admitting it, but what I hate is feeling that way to begin with.  I don't generally consider myself a cowardly person.  I am not afraid enough of many things to let it affect me very significantly.  Truthfully, this isn't one of those things either.  But it bothers me, at least for now. 

I don't want to see this person.  Ever.  In any context.  And seeing said individual on a daily basis, even in a casual situation, really doesn't make me particularly happy.  So this is where I am right now.  And in the situation I am looking forward to, it would frustrate me to no end.  I don't want criticism, spoken or otherwise, from that perspective.  I want nothing to do with this person ever again.

The problem with a place this small is how hard it is to get away from just about anyone.  Even if you aren't in the same place.  It's frustrating.  I hate that all of this still affects me as much as it does.  You'd think I'd have gotten over it by now.  And for the most part, I have.  The things that have shaken up my life lately have, to a point, affected my current thought proces.  Which is partially why I'm so nervous about everything and anything lately.  But it's alright.  I'll be okay.

Misunderstanding

It seems to happen fairly often that someone mishears something or misreads it or otherwise misinterprets it.  Sometimes it develops a particularly Freudian connotation, which is entertaining.  Other times it becomes something entirely nonsensical.  Either way, it ends up being something thoroughly amusing.  In any case, that is what happens if you appreciate it.

The causes for these things are variable.  Sometimes it is fatigue or sleep-deprivation that leads to such confusion.  Other times, it is simply a matter of distraction.  Our minds are simply elsewhere and the word from a nearby conversation seems to make its way into something we are reading or trying to write.  Or occasionally, it is just a matter of mental distraction to keep us awake for the duration of a boring job.

Then again, some misunderstandings arise in more serious situations where they become more detrimental to communication or interactions.  Those can lead to severe inconveniences or other problems.  But things happen.  And sometimes they work out for the better, but other times they break things.  All we can do is hope that too many things don't break along the way.

Week

It's just one of those weeks, it seems, when I can't get anything done properly.  Working on any number of things, none of them gets finished.  Trying to write half-decent posts, and none of them gets written.  I'm just tired right now.  My sleep schedule has been...well, it really hasn't to be honest.  Which is probably a large part of the frustration.

Regardless, this is one of those weeks when I'm literally spewing crap and I feel really sorry for anyone who still bothers to read this.  Maybe tomorrow I'll have something more decent to say.  Or maybe I won't.  I have a couple of ideas in mind, but I'm just not in the mood to write them.  I've had a dry spell lately.  It's frustrating. 

But I've said that before.  And I guess I'm saying it again because right now I have nothing better to throw at the page and I make myself do it every single day, so I guess I have to, don't I?  I mean, I don't have to.  Nothing but myself is forcing me to.  But the fact remains that I am still forcing myself.  Even if that's not enough for other things, it is enough for this right now. 

Confusing

So I have seventeen minutes to crank out a blog post here, which tells you immediately that it's going to suck.  I would like to write something profound and memorable (I really do want to), but unfortunately it's not going to happen right now, so oh well.  That's just too bad.  Weekends are frustrating like this because I'm hardly ever really just sitting down until near midnight, which is when I personally insist this thing is done.

Anyhow, it's been an odd day.  I got some things done but I feel like I've been unproductive.  I'm still stressed about work and largely very confused about life in general because life is, well, to put it simply, confusing.  I'm getting there.  I'm figuring these things out.  I'll be alright.  I've been rambling a lot lately, in writing and in general, so I should probably work on that a little bit.

Additionally, I've been having issues with fatigue.  I've been working on getting more sleep than usual, and it feels like to a point, I am.  But I'm still exhausted and I just hit certain lulls throughout the day when I want to collapse and pass out for a couple of hours.  I'm not sure what my body is doing, but it would be nice to get caught up on sleep if that's all I need.  So I'm hoping I can get closer to that tonight.  With that, I bid you well and good night. 

Tense Days

Today is just one of those days.  When I'm so sleep-deprived that everything is tedious and annoying and pointless and I really just can't concentrate.  It's one of those days days when the smallest of things will really, really bother me for no real reason at all and even though it's fairly easy to pull me out of it, it's still a pain and sometimes makes entire days unpleasant.

Well, today is one of those days.  It wasn't bad, not at all, really.  I was just particularly and unusually irritable.  I'm sorry for the problems it caused and for the confusion.  I'm sorry I don't know how to be less irritable when I'm that tired.  But I guess it happens.  I'm working on it.  I scared myself.  I don't know.  It's frustrating.  I'll figure it out.

Right now I'm going to stop just raving and rambling because it really isn't getting me anywhere, and is probably causing significantly more tension than it should be.  So I'll just stop.  Because I'll be honest, it's not really relevant, not right now, anyway.  It comes and goes on days like this and in moments where I just feel unwell.  But on the whole, I know I don't mean it.  I'm happier than I've been in a while.

Productivity (or Lack Thereof)

I've actually been productive lately, believe it or not.  I've gotten a lot done.  And then I realized just how much more I still have to do.  I've had a thoroughly enjoyable day, but once again, it has been just a bit less productive than I would like it to have been.  Oh well.  It happens.  I don't object terribly.  I've had a pretty good day.

Also, I'm finally starting to calm down.  I'm still kept on my toes, but it works pretty well as a whole.  It's getting better.  Time is passing.  Almost half of it has passed from when I started keeping track. That's good.  It's getting there.  I'm tired right now, so I'm literally just spewing nonsense right now, filling up space, intending to get to bed fairly early despite the need to finish work before that.

I'm too tired and apathetic to want to work tonight.  I've been productive lately and there's a weekend coming up.  That's enough for me.  I'm feeling better about things on the whole, I think.  I have things to look forward to.  I'm worried about this and that occasionally and it comes and goes, but on the whole, I'm doing pretty well.  Alright, I'm done now.  Good night.  Apologies for low quality of post.

Knives

I apologize in advance if this ends up being read by certain individuals or if the context of the situation is misinterpreted.  If anyone directly involved in this would like it taken down, please contact me (you know how) and it can be arranged.

"If I ask for this back before dinner tomorrow, don't give it to me."

See, no matter who says that or what context it's really in, if it's said to me at the same time a knife is handed to me, I will worry.  So requesting that I pass a message along saying not to worry doesn't mean much because I am still going to worry.  Maybe there's no reason for it or maybe there is every reason, I know well enough to be at least a little bit concerned because here especially you're better safe than sorry.

I know that a large part of this is the context in which I have run into such situations before.  But the fact remains that when someone hands me a knife and asks to not have it returned until a given time, we all know where my mind immediately goes.  I don't mean to be presumptuous, I won't make any final assumptions.  But I will watch and wait and hope that everything is alright.

I've learned that sometimes the best thing to do is to not ask questions.  To just let it be and watch things pass.  It feels like that is why I was handed the knife, so I will keep it that way.  I don't need to know what's going on.  But I'm always available if my presence is, for any reason, desired.  I hope everything is alright.  I wish you all the best.  With that, good night, sleep well, and have a good tomorrow.

Death

It's easy for me to write about death.  I'd say I'm not sure why, but to a point, I am.  I'm comfortable with the subject.  I've considered it enough and have had enough conversations with it to not shy away from the topic anymore.  In all honesty, not many people close to me have died, of natural causes or otherwise, so to a point I feel underqualified to discuss the topic.

Regardless, that's not stopped me recently nor do I intend for it to do so in the near future.  I apologize sincerely to anyone I may offend through any of my writing, conversation, or even thought process.  But it is what it is and after all, this is my blog.  I can be as arrogant as I please and nobody can really call me out on it because it's a personal blog that is intended merely for the purpose of spewing thoughts onto a page. 

Anyway...death.  A large part of it is that I'm not afraid of it.  I've come to terms with the idea.  I don't know what happens after I die and I'm okay with that.  I've gotten over it.  To a point, it even fascinates me.  Which is part of why I write about it so readily.  I want to know what people think of as they're approaching it, for whatever reason.  I'm curious.  And that curiosity extends to morbid things...like death. 

Happy Things

You.  I asked you for something to write about.  A topic.  Because I am tired and not really thinking straight and generally lacking in things to write about.  So you told me to write about happy things.  And I asked you for anything more specific.  To which you responded that I should just write about something that makes me happy.  My instant answer to that was "you."

You make me happier than anything else.  It's that simple.  The prospect of seeing you makes me smile.  Feeling your arms around me is the best part of every day because I'm only worried about you, about what is right there before me.  I feel comfortable and safe in your arms.  Simply put, you make me as happy as anything else.

And this here, this is letting you know that.  Because I don't think you really understand just how much you mean to me sometimes.  I love you very, very much and you make me very, very happy.  I'm sorry that I don't show that as much as I should and that I get tired and obnoxious and say some things or don't say others.  I hope you know I mean well and don't want to hurt you because you mean everything to me.

Back

I'm back.  This is frustrating.  And I'm failing at writing again.  So I'm just going to fill this space in because I have to.  I mean, I guess I've had a lovely week of mostly decent posts, so I don't feel too terrible about this right now.  I don't know, I still feel bad just because I generally do when filling up space, even though this isn't something mandatory per se.

I've spent the past couple of days going through and labeling posts.  I got through over two hundred of them.  There is now a handy little label cloud at the left of my blog, below the adorable fish, that lets you click on a label and see all posts tagged with it.  The labeling has been a bit haphazard but I'm trying to keep it consistent at least to a point. 

It's time to wrap this post up and go to bed, because I've spent the past week going to bed at two or three in the morning, which is not the best idea, especially given the fact that I have to adjust to a reasonable schedule again now.  Oh well.  It happens.  Anyhow, I'm going to go get some much-needed rest and relax, I think.  I'm exhausted.  Good night.

Long Day

I feel like I've been writing significantly better lately.  This pleases me greatly.  Especially because I've been meaning to.  Anyhow, I'm going to make this post quick and more logistical because I'm tired and still have a good bit of work left to do.  It's been a long, although thoroughly enjoyable day, and concludes the slight break on a rather high note together with everything else that's come together recently.

Logistical topic 1.  Plans for summer.  I'm not going with another unpaid internship.  I'm tired of those.  The commute is frustrating and costly, and the benefit is not great enough for it to be worth it.  In this case, anyway, and of course I mean specifically for me.  With that in mind, I would like to continue some of the independent work and research I've started this year and go through it on my own time, with no obligations and no stresses, just so that I can make the most of the information at hand and remember why I fell in love with it in the first place.

Logistical topic 2.  I intend to start tagging posts.  The idea was mentioned to me probably a month ago now, and I would ultimately like to go back and tag every single one.  But by now I have well over 500 posts and not nearly enough time to read them.  With that in mind, I would like to start tagging each post as I write it and possibly go back through past posts to tag the best-written or most emotional ones.  I've also been told that having your posts tagged gives better hits on search engines.  I don't mind an audience, so hey...why not?

How to Save a Life

If only it was that easy.  If only there was a set-in-stone formula for how to do it.  That song still makes me cry and I haven't heard it in over a year.  Always with saving someone.  What happens if you can't?  What happens if you don't know how?  Nobody ever talks about that.

I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life.

What does it even mean to save a life?  No matter how many times you try to make a difference, sometimes you just can't.  And then what?  It's one thing to keep a body intact and functioning, completely another to maintain a life. 

How do you do it then?  How do you save someone?  How do you make it mean enough that it's worth it?  Sometimes it just isn't.  Sometimes you stand in that shower with the water scalding your skin and you just want to disappear in the most permanent sense of the word.  It's one of those things that people have to work through and maybe there's no helping them.  Maybe there's no way to make it better.

Is it selfish to want to save a life?  Is it impolite to take away a person's choice?  The only way to do it fairly is to make them want it.  And sometimes they don't.  Sometimes there's no reason to be given and no promises or assurances to be made that would convince them.  That's when acceptance comes in.  The long and bitter route of acceptance and letting people have their own lives. 

I would sit up an eternity if it would make a difference.  I'm afraid that most of the time it can't.  Which is unfortunate, to say the least.