Indecision

Decisions, decisions, decisions.  That would appear to be what I am faced with right now.  I know I wrote a post about an ethical dilemma over a year ago now, and I figure that this one will have a fairly similar drift.  As always, I won't disclose anything, I will be vague as all hell, and mostly, I'm just writing to fill up space.  As usual.  Sorry...

I doubt I'm going to go through with one of them.  It just doesn't make enough sense to bother and I've never really been that sort of person.  I've done many things like that before, some of them even out of spite, but it just doesn't make sense for me to do it.  It doesn't give me any obvious advantage and it simply isn't fair because I very well could have been in that situation myself.  So I guess that's decided.

The second decision, though...that's where it gets more tricky.  I don't know whether or should or shouldn't because to a point, I don't even know if I really want to.  It's one of those things I want to do out of curiosity and because it'd be nice to have done, but that I don't necessarily want to actually do.  The fact that other people are involved also complicates it.  But I guess I'll see.

In any case, sorry for the bad post (again).  I know I haven't written anything decent in a while.  I really hope to get there eventually.  Good night.

I'm a Failure Sometimes

I forgot to blog yesterday.  I feel like such a terrible person as a result.  Well, not really.  I remembered about half an hour past midnight and just...put it off until now.  Because I was enjoying the weekend too much and just too lazy to actually bother taking my computer out at that point.  Which I can't say I object to terribly because I really haven't been getting enough sleep lately.

Regardless, this is my very belated apology for failing a little bit (by which I mean rather a lot) at blogging when I promised myself and everyone else I would.  I've got a lot of thoughts going through my mind and some things I'm really looking forward to and others I'm not and it's frustrating.  I hate the mix of anticipation and lack thereof.  I doubt I'm the only one, though.

I really don't know what to say lately.  That's part of the reason my blog posts have sucked.  Days have either been thoroughly uneventful or just too nice to be legitimately worth blogging about.  This weekend, for example, falls into the latter category.  I just really don't know what to say and I feel like I'm being cheap by just saying this instead, but at least I'm still writing...right?  In any case, I'm sorry this has sucked so much lately.  I hope it gets better.  Good night for now.

Fear

I guess a large part of this is simply the fact that I am afraid of messing things up.  I mean, that's the way I've always been--constantly anxious about making mistakes and doing everything wrong.  As the stakes increased, so did the concern.  I've always known that I often worry when I have absolutely no reason to, but regardless, it doesn't really seem to help much.

This particular fear is one that I would expect to be unfounded by today, because of today, in a sense.  But it's not.  I'm just the kind of person who worries.  It's what I do, it's who I am.  I'm certainly more relaxed right now than I have been in a while, but that doesn't fix everything.  I know I have personality flaws that really should be  corrected in the future so that I don't screw up as much.  I'm working on it.

In any case, as you may have guessed, I'm currently writing just because I make myself.  I don't really have much of anything to say, so I'm not going to say terribly much more than I feel obligated to.  With that in mind, I'm having a lovely weekend and hope that you are too.  I really should start working on my writing at some point...oh well, I'll have time.  Good night.

Rest

I guess this is it then, pretty much the end.  It's not the end in the same way I meant it that night one year, six months, and six days ago (I shouldn't remember it, but I do).  But it is, nonetheless, an end of sorts.  One that most people think to be significantly more important than I do.  No matter how significant I do or do not consider this whole ending business to be, it is, nonetheless, a change.

And I hold changes in very high regard.  Much higher regard than endings.  Arguably, every ending is a change in and of itself, and therefore all endings simply fall into the category of changes.  But I don't think I see it that way because endings carry not only a different connotation, but also a different sense of finality.  It's like you can't go back at all after you've hit an ending, but you still have the potential to reverse things after what I classify as simply a change.

I don't know what happens after this.  I don't know where any of this goes or what happens.  I'm nervous about this weekend, and about the weekend after that, and everything in between, and everything after that.  I'm generally a fairly anxious person.  I'm not much good at really keeping calm, although I'm awfully good at faking it.  So I stress and worry about anything and everything.  I got used to my life this way.  It's worked well enough thus far, I guess.

Planning

I'm sitting in a room with someone planning.  She's not plotting or scheming, but simply planning, trying to put together something that would work, something attainable, plausible, so that we could enjoy ourselves in the next couple of months.  Sometimes I wonder why I don't plan more myself.  I don't really know to be honest, but I've never been much good at planning.

Then again, I've always been the sort of person to let someone else take the wheel.  You want to put something together?  Sure, feel free, whatever you like, I'm just going to run through the final plans and make sure I'm okay with it.  I like being in charge of things without being in charge of things.  Then again, I don't mind legitimate planning so much as I mind trying to compete with other people trying to do it.

My father was always the planner of our family.  He'd plan these extravagant adventures and put together spectacular schemes and as soon as we got to wherever we were going, my mother would promptly squash any ideas that weren't set in stone.  Don't have a reservation for the night but still planned on stopping here?  Well I think we should go to the next city.  Wanted to go straight home?  I say we stop at this national park.  That's how it always was with her.

My parents worked that way, though.  They never got too upset about any of it because they got used to each other's quirks, they found a way to live together and respect each other's personalities and desires without stepping all over each other's feelings.  I never realized until recently just how well their disagreeing dynamic works.  But now I'm staring to really appreciate it and try to learn from it.  After all, they've made it this far, haven't they?

Countdown

I'm supposed to blog now.  Before midnight.  So that it's done and I don't have to worry or think about it.  I really don't want to blog.  I really don't want to be sitting in this chair in this room in this place right now.  I'll take just about anywhere over this.  And I technically have a choice, but it's one of those odd things where I feel constrained to this given situation and not free to leave.

It's entirely a voluntary thing, I know that.  I don't hate any of this, per se.  I don't despise it.  It's just one of those periods of time when I can't wait to just get it over with already and not have to deal with it anymore.  I'm a restless person.  The weeks leading up to changes make me agitated and irritable because I hate just sitting around and waiting for something to happen.

Anyhow, I've lost any semblance of a train of thought I ever had while writing this, so I'm just going to give up.  Give it a few weeks, I should hopefully start writing better posts again.  I really hope I do, anyway.  I guess we'll find out when we get there.  In the meantime, I'm going to go get some sleep because I'm not doing anything productive anyway.  Good night.

I Forgot How a Poem is Built

Writing is hard.  Writing well is, anyway.  It's easy for me to write long angry rants about misery.  Those things are easy.  But when it comes to structuring coherent thoughts, to explaining things logically or simply or fluidly, I don't know how to anymore.  I've lost any eloquence or reason I ever had.  It all just fell away at some point and I don't know when or why or how.  One day it was there and the next it wasn't.  

I know that wasn't true, I know that's not the way it works.  It all fell away slowly somewhere and I hadn't noticed.  But now, now that everything has finally fallen away enough that I don't remember how it once was, that I can only recall that one day it was better than this, that my writing used to actually flow and make sense and convey thoughts and emotions and portray who I was.  I miss that.  I miss knowing what I wanted to say and being able to put it into words.

Does it always go this way?  Does absolutely everything fall apart with age, no matter how much older you get?  The impression I get right now is that things simply go downhill as you get older.  Things crumble and fall to pieces and break down and collapse, corrode, become barren and desolate and destroyed.  I've said it the whole time.  I suck at being in relationships.  I suck at doing things correctly, at knowing what needs to happen, at saying what needs to be said.  I'm too sensitive to be able to let things go and say the things I need to say, or do the things I need to do or make things work.  

And the conversation we had last night is the same exact conversation I had with my ex just about a month before we broke up.  That's why I said I'd give it a month.  Because all it takes is one disagreement.  It's not hard for things to break down, fall apart, crumble to pieces.  I learned that the hard way once and I'd really rather not repeat history.  Being the person I am though, it seems inevitable.  I'm worried that being the person I am, it'll become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  That I'll mess it up just because I'm so afraid of messing it up.

I really hope I don't.  I'll do anything I can to fix it.  So please, just tell me what you need.  

Ode to Showers

Alright, we all know that title is absolute nonsense.  I do not write odes.  Especially not to inanimate objects.  In particular, showers and other such useful things are very thoroughly excluded from things I would write odes about if I wrote odes.  The fact remains, though, that I do not write odes.  Never have, never will, so we'll just leave it at that and get on with things.

Anyhow, now that that's over with.  I adore showers.  I know I've written more than one blog post about this before and I will probably write numerous ones on the subject again.  Showers are glorious, wonderful, incredible things.  Especially when complete with boiling water and steam and solitude to wash away everything from the events of the day.

The only major problem with showers is that they make me abnormally sleepy, which is possibly preventing me from writing even a tolerably good blog post right now, although goodness knows I have enough to write about. In any case, because of this abnormal sleepiness, I think I am going to retire shortly.  Sorry for the bad post.  Better luck tomorrow?

Two Weeks

Counting down, still counting down.  And there are less than two weeks left, actually.  There are thirteen days.  A little bit less now, I presume, but the idea remains.  And I just want it to be over.  I want to be done with all of this.  I could get out of quite a lot of it quite simply, just leaving, getting away.  I really want to do that, if certain people let me.

It would be like a repeat of that one weekend.  Not quite a repeat, it would be a much more limited opportunity, so to speak, but if it works out even a little bit, it will be pleasant, more pleasant than this place can ever be for me at this point.  I'm ready to be gone.  I'm glad that I've realized it now, because it's time for me to be leaving anyway, and I might as well be glad of it.

I've lost my train of thought completely.  There are so many portions of this past year that I would gladly forget.  I know it doesn't work that way, and I don't know how it came up in my mind, but the thought process is what it is.  I'm just rambling.  I don't know what to say anymore.  I'm filling space because my mind isn't working properly and that's okay, because it happens sometimes, so I'm just going to let it go.

Remembrances

Everyone remembers thing differently.  Memory is distorted, emotions confused.  Nothing lines up with the truth after time has elapsed.  We remember things the way we want them to have happened, the way that seems most compatible with how things turned out.  We never remember things entirely accurately, which is probably a good thing sometimes, but also occasionally quite a pain.

It's inconvenient to have no true recollection of the way things were.  I want to know what happened then, what you thought, what you did or didn't do and why.  I want the objective view and I want to know, to understand, even if it's not going to be something that makes me happy, I'd at least like to understand how things went and why they fell that way.

I love the little details.  The ones that come to the surface after such a long time, that I never knew because they were your thoughts, not mine.  It reminds me of things I didn't know, of all the things about you that I have yet to discover.  I don't think I'll ever understand all of them and I'm very happy about that.  I don't want to know everything.  I don't want things to get boring.  I want to always have more things to learn.

Good

I feel...good.  And that's strange for me, because I really don't remember the last time I remember consciously actually feeling good.  It's good, make no mistake, but it's odd.  And I'm happy.  I'm not as bothered by the lacking motivation, the feeling of summer almost being here is finally starting to sink in, and everything just seems to be falling into place bit by bit.

I'm scared, still.  Part of that is that I'm hitting the point where I'm comfortable enough to start wanting more of a future, to start looking ahead and wanting to plan things...and then holding myself back.  I'm a fan of planning ahead when I get into positions like this.  At the same time, I'm enough of a realist to be very, very afraid of things such as this planning ahead, and I know that it often has the tendency of ending badly when things fall through, which is why I'm trying to avoid it.

But I'm so...happy right now.  I can't help but actually believe that things might indeed work out in the end.  I'm looking forward to certain things, and not dreading others nearly as much as I was before.  I'm staring to find a productive groove again, a point where I have just a bit of motivation to do something, but when it comes, it's good and deep and rich and I do things really well.

Life has taken on a rhythm.  An upbeat one.  I'm excited for things again.  I always get scared when I get this excited, but I can get over that.  This is approaching the end of one stage of my life and the beginning of another.  I'm absolutely terrified, but I'm also thrilled.  I can't wait.

Feelings

I'm tired of feeling bad about things I have no right to feel bad about.  I'm in one of those moods.  The prideful ones.  The arrogant ones.  I'm at one of those points in my life where I feel superior, and while I've tried to squash that sensation out of myself, it still comes back occasionally.  Like right now.  So then I don't give answers and I make things hurt even though I know I shouldn't.

I should fix it.  The people around me deserve better than that.  But who am I to talk about deserving something?  I hate that concept; I hate that word.  Just like I don't believe in fate or karma or destiny, I don't believe that people do or don't deserve anything.  They just get things.  And most often it's their fault, but sometimes it's not.  It's not a matter of deserving, it's simply cause and effect.

I tend to take the emotion out of things.  Despite my [occasionally] romantic nature, I have the tendency to be extraordinarily empirical when it comes to certain things.  More often than not, I slip into it when I'm upset or displeased, or occasionally sometimes simply when I'm exhausted.  It's one of these things I do even though I shouldn't, and I'm perfectly well aware of it.

I've always gotten criticized by people I've dated for constantly going on about how I need to improve and never changing anything.  Yes, I realize I'm a failure as a human being.  And I guess there's no changing that.  Or rather, the problem is my attitude, which is not changing anytime soon...because of my attitude.  I also seem to function in cycles fairly often, especially ones that make me a terrible person.

I'm spewing entirely unrelated things into separate paragraphs.  I guess it's good that they're at least separated somehow.  But it's not as though this matters in the end, anyway.  I'll stop now.  Sorry.

Boredom

Ok, so I have to blog again and, yet again, I have absolutely nothing to blog about.  Now isn't that lovely?  I'm not sure why, I'm just not in a creative or original mood lately.  I can't bring myself to work and I really just don't care anymore.  I want it to be summer already and I want it to be warm and I want to be able to think straight for a change.

All of my blogging lately has been pure bitching.  I'm tired of just bitching.  And I understand that I'm the only one who can change that, but I'm just so close to getting out of here that I want to hurry up and be gone already instead of trying to make myself work hard enough to get by.  I know I'll get everything done when it needs to be, I'd just rather not have to.

One more paragraph, that's all, I promise.  I'm willing to bet I've lost most of the readers I ever had here because my writing lately has sucked.  By which I mean it hasn't actually been writing.  Yeah, I know I suck at this blogging thing.  I hope to get at least a little bit better over the summer, but I guess that if things keep going in this downward spiral, I may just drop it, much as I don't want to.

Break

Being away is nice.  I remember the days I used to long to get back, but not anymore.  I know there are only eighteen days left, but being here right now makes me want summer that much more.  It's not warm enough for my liking yet, I still have things to worry about, but something about this is so pleasant.  I'm actually excited.  I'm a lot less worried.  Things seem to be calming down and getting better (knock on wood), so I feel better now.

I'm currently watching a very nerve-wracking episode (and one of my favorites) of Criminal Minds, so you'll excuse how spacey I am with respect to this post.  I'm not sure what else to write.  I'm finally relaxed enough to write something and not constantly worry about simply finishing this before midnight.  And yet, right now, I'm too busy focusing on the show to actually think.

So yet again, I'm throwing up a poorly written post just to fill space and time so that I don't have to worry about multitasking.  That show makes me very emotional sometimes, more so than many other shows.  Even though I understand it's an unrealistic portrayal of the job and situations, it still delves into intensely emotional and serious situations in a very human sense, which I very much appreciate.

Anyhow, my brain is in shooter-terrorist-oh-my-god-I-hope-they-don't-die mode.  So I give up on blogging at present (maybe later? how's tomorrow sound?).  Apologies again for a lack of good post, but I'll get back to the show now.  Good night.

And Again

Yeah, yeah, I know I have about twenty minutes to throw together a crappy blog post and I figure I'm going to do it in the next seven or eight minutes instead because I'm tired and I don't really care.  Part of it is just everything starting to wind down and me getting tired of this particular routine because I want to get my decent sleep schedule back and all that.

I miss having time to myself.  I miss generally being able to do things I want to and I really wish I knew how I had time for any of that last year because I feel like I don't have any at all right around now.  I know that a lot has changed, and I think I recognize how that fits into it, but in part I just want to fix things, to get them back to normal, to make them function properly again.  I really hope that I'll be able to in time.

I was going to make today's post a reflection, a recollection, a memoir, to a point, because I know that I should be writing one right now, but at the same time, I know I'm not going to, not now anyway.  My mind is in the wrong place to reflect on anything and I need the next week and a half to just be over already so that I can actually get back to thinking clearly.  Apologies again for the crap.  Good night.

2 minutes, probably a new record.  I disappoint myself sometimes.

Late Nights and Recklessness

Alright, so the title of this post isn't entirely appropriate, but whatever.  It fits well enough.  I keep putting things off (hint: like blogging, in case you haven't noticed my failures at doing so lately).  I can guess why to a point, but I'm just tired.  I want it to be summer and the frigid weather really isn't helping right now.  I'm just tired and would appreciate it all quieting down.

I want summer.  I'm tired of being bossed around and of everything seeming to not work and of needing to do this and that and other things.  I just want to curl up and go to bed and wake up in twenty days and know that it's finally over.  Parts of it were really really good, but others were really really bad, and either way, I'm just ready for it all to be over.

I guess part of me really is going to miss all of this.  But I don't feel that right now.  All I feel is the burning desire to get out of here because of the appeal of summer.  I will be able to relax and I will have time to myself and I won't have to worry about nearly as many things (although I will have others to keep in mind).  Hell, I'll be able to sleep well.  That's motivation enough for me right now.

Explanation

Alright, I think I owe a lot of explanation here with respect to the posts I have and haven't written these past couple of days.  On May 11, I wrote a post called Trigger, which Blogger apparently erased on accident?  I'm not entirely sure what happened there.  On May 12, Blogger was under maintenance and I couldn't sign in to write.

May 13, I reposted the post from May 11 that had been deleted.  I realize that this doesn't count as writing, and I intended to write something else, but I didn't (it's a long story about an even longer day, albeit a good one).  So here we are today, May 14, and I am actually writing.  Which is good, I think.  I'm not exactly happy about having effectively skipped 2 days of writing, but it happens, so I'm going to pick up the pieces and keep going.

I wish I wrote better sometimes.  I still owe someone else a blog post on a personal blog (the author of the guest post that appeared earlier this year).  I'll get it done eventually, I know I will, but I'm just extraordinarily frustrated by the fact that I seem to be falling behind in absolutely everything lately.  I'm just frustrated generally right now.  I need to start getting things back on track and it'll hopefully get better from there.

Trigger

At the beginning of our poetry unit, we talked about a triggering subject.  We even read a book (or a portion thereof) called The Triggering Town, which basically spent a lot of wasted space and wasted language explaining how every poem has a triggering subject and then an actual subject that is the real point of it.  I can't say I necessarily agree with that, but I certainly respect the value it does hold.

I might have gotten over that case of writer's block today.  Maybe.  I mean, I guess I'd have found out if I'd found some time to write, but currently I am too busy catching up from this hellish week to be able to sit down and just write some bittersweet personal prose, no matter how much I would absolutely love to.  Regardless, I am of the opinion that a triggering subject isn't only present in poetry, but also, to a large extent, in prose.

In elementary school, they always called the first sentence of your essay the "grabber" because it had to grab your reader's attention, otherwise they wouldn't want to read the rest.  That's almost the way I see a triggering subject working.  It's where everything begins and the first thing a reader can notice and take interest in.  Or, in the case of a personal narrative or personal writing generally, it may be entirely an internal trigger, that pulls on something and activates the writing mechanism.

Suddenly, the writer's block is gone and you just want to pour out smoothly crafter, half-thought out sentences onto a page because you don't know how to make it stop and you just need to write.  That's the point I hit today.  And a large part of it is that something significant happened in the life of someone I know.  And that made me think about what's happened in my life and how it has affected me and how I felt about it at the time.

That's when the urge to write struck.  Even this blog post is more fluid than usual, especially more so than these late-night ramblings usually are, because the words just flow.  They tumble out of my mind and onto the page because they need to get out somewhere and I can't speak eloquently for the life of me.  In this way I am compelled to write, to pour my life down into characters against a contrasting background, because where else can it go?  What else can I do with them?  In the end, I think, that is why I write.




Note: this post was up on May 11, 2011, but then appears to have gotten deleted while Blogger was in maintenance.  I apologize if it appears later and this turns out to be a repeat.

About Me

I guess this is what they call writer's block.  I can't write.  I've been trying to write a personal narrative for easily over a week now and it isn't working.  I don't know what to say, what to write about, anything of that sort.  I am stuck in this loop of not being able to put things into words.  Or perhaps the difficulty is one of finding things to put into words.  It hit me today that when I write really poorly when I'm this tired and significantly better when I'm well-rested and less stressed.

I now have to put together a portfolio for that creative writing class, and I don't have very much time to find pieces and pull them together.  I have a couple already, but I still need to write one and would really like to write another one.  And what I really want to do for it is a personal narrative.  I feel like I haven't really written a successful one throughout the duration of this class, and that bothers me.

I'm just stuck as far as what to write.  Maybe this blog has taken me out of practice of writing honestly, or maybe I'm just losing the ability to write well.  Either way, I can't seem to get a damn paragraph out without finding it absolutely horrendous and scrapping it entirely.  I know that's bad practice in writing, but I don't know what else to do with these things.  I've always sucked at editing and I really don't know how to revise something that sounds bad to me.

I was going to write more, but that was an hour ago now and I don't remember what it was.  I'm tired and sleepy and my back hurts, so I think I'm going to call a night here.  Again, apologies for bad quality.  Good night.

Tension Headaches

Yes, I do have a tension headache.  How did you guess?  Couldn't have been the title, could it?  Sorry, I'm too tired and stressed to write well lately.  Everything hurts and I'm trying to catch up with things and I really just want to curl up and sleep.  Sleep would be nice.  Very nice.  But because it's me, it appears that I am not likely to experience this phenomenon anytime in the near future.

I still have to write a post for another blog.  And I don't know what to say.  And I'm too tired to be the least bit eloquent.  And god, I just want to sleep.  I want to stop worrying (which, admittedly, I'm mostly done with right now).  I want to catch up on  the sleep I've missed and I'm tired of hurting.  I feel like there's very little to look forward to in the next week or two (with a few notable exceptions), which makes it even harder for me to care right now.

And this is just turning into another rant.  I really don't know what more to say.  I'm tired.  I've already said that at least twice in this post by now.  So yes, I am just trying to hurry up and get it done.  I'm sorry about lately.  Both in terms of the blogging and other things.  And it's more the sleep-deprivation than the stress at this point, because I just haven't had the time to sleep in and I honestly don't remember the last time I went to bed before midnight.  I really need to figure something out as far as sleep goes for the future...

Good Enough

Curled up on the bed.  Wanting anything but for her to move.  Wishing she would just go away.  Realizing how contradictory that is, and not caring anyway.  Fragmenting off into visions of the future.  Visions where we don't work any more.  Where things are broken, torn, or just worn down to the point of worthlessness.   Wondering if it's too late to change my mind.  Maybe they haven't given the spot away yet.  Maybe I can convince them to let me change into a program that's still open.  And maybe if I do, then she won't be hurt.  Maybe, if I can just do this, tear myself apart like this, she can finally be happy.  Maybe, if I push myself away from her hard enough, I can push her into the arms of someone good enough.  Maybe that would be enough.  I'd like that.  Seeing her with someone who can really make her happy.  It would hurt that it couldn't be me, but if it helped her, it would be worth it.

God, would it be worth it.  If only I knew how.  If only I could be sure.  Then I could let her be everything she can.  Then I could stop dragging her down like this.  Stop keeping her from all the things she wants to do that I just can't.  Stop holding her to the limits I know are right for me, but that are hurting her so.  And then, maybe, if I did it all just right, I could just.... stop.  It wouldn't matter any more.  Once I make her happy, make sure there's someone there to take care of her, I could go.

But no.  I can't start thinking like that again.   I know what lies down that path.  I don't want it.  Or do I? It's been a while.  Maybe it would be ok, just to slip this once.  Maybe, just this once, it would help.  I want to.  I'm scared.  I know I shouldn't.  I don't know why I want to.  I thought I was past this.  I really, truly, thought I was getting better.  Knowing that somehow makes it all the more tempting.  But no.  I can't.  It would hurt her.  I don't want to hurt her.  I've already hurt her too much.

I'm sorry.  I wish I could be better.  I wish I could be good enough.  I love you.

Sigh

It's that time of day again.  When I have less than thirty (or less than twenty, as the case may be) minutes to pull something out of thin air to put here and hope that it is useful.  I'm very very sorry that my posts have been of pretty much negative quality lately.  I can explain, actually.  There is a legitimate (or almost legitimate) reason that I have been focussed on things other than blogging lately.

But as with many other things, I think I will omit that from here, not, perhaps, for any one reason, but just for the hell of it, because I don't feel like revealing too much tangible detail.  It goes back to the identity thing a little bit, as far as how this blog directly says literally nothing about who I am--gender, age, location, etc.  You can figure out a lot of it if you read carefully, but none of it is ever stated directly.

And for all you know, the majority of things you can actually read into may be there specifically for the purpose of misleading you.  You can't know that they're not.  In any case, that's enough rambling for one night.  Now, because I'm tired and still have a lot of work to do, I'm going to disappear and go do some of it, then proceed to sleep.  Good night.

Damn

So of course I forget to write until six minutes before this is supposed to be finished.  In any case, this is my attempt at blogging, and it's going to suck.  In large part because of the fact that I literally have six minutes to write it.  That's frustrating.  I know I've gotten behind in absolutely everything lately and it really doesn't look like it's going to change anytime soon.

Here's hoping everything gets better after Monday.  Theoretically, it all should.  A lot of weight will be lifted off my shoulders at that point, so I'm certainly going to feel better than I do now, but that doesn't mean I won't still be quite stressed.  Stress is a fact of life for me, I've almost come to embrace it.  But I guess it happens.  I'll get over it.

For that matter, summer will be a very nice break.  I would love to have some time to just relax right now instead of rushing to finish everything at the last minute as I have been doing.  But it'll get done, and time will pass, and before I realize it, it'll be summer.  So we're going to go with that and just hang on until then.  Best of luck and good night.

Space

I'm tired.  And frustrated.  I have to write a personal narrative tonight and I have absolutely no idea what to say. Which means I'm going to be up ridiculously late.  And I still don't know what I'm going to do in the intervening time.  I just need someone to give me a topic that makes sense, that works, that I can just sit down and write about.

But instead, I have no idea what to say.  So I'm sitting here, typing a blog post that I know will be absolutely worthless but that I'm making myself write anyway.  What am I supposed to say when there's absolutely nothing to be said?  Or rather, not nothing to be said, but nothing I can put into words, express, otherwise put down into a blog post or a personal narrative.

What do I write about?  What experience do I relate?  I'm tired and frustrated and I don't know what to say.  All I want to do is sleep, but that's not going to happen until I write this goddamn personal narrative.  Which is made that much harder because I don't know what to write it on.  I don't have any experiences that I can write well, nothing I want to share.  Whatever, I give up for now.

Enthusiasm

I have trouble getting up excitement for various things.  Namely, the future.  And large groups of people.  And instructions.  And introductions.  And repetitions of things I've known for years.  And pointless directions.  But that is precisely what lies in the future for me.  The only way I can look at it right now is as something that I have to survive.  Something I have to live through and get over, and hate for every minute.

The thing is, though, I don't want to hate every minute of it.  I want to meet people and enjoy company and have a pleasant time without consistently being distracted by things I'd rather be doing...or talking to, as the case may be.  The thing is, I'm tired of being the exception to everything and having to figure out every single thing by hand, by going through ten different people just to get the answer to a single question because it's not a standard request.

So please, excuse me while all of this individuality and independence that you spent years lecturing me about and forcing me into gets a chance to smother itself again so that I can conform to your rigid guidelines.  I get worked up about things like this too easily, like right now.  Moreover, I don't know how to garner the necessary enthusiasm to go into the experience with anything other than a bad attitude.  Sure, catching up on sleep and being less stressed will help, but I'm afraid that's not going to be enough.

I'm afraid of many things, especially concerning the future.  It's just one of those things I have to deal with as it comes up.  I'll get there.  I'll figure it out.  I hope.

The Meaning of Love

A while ago, someone asked me what I believed love to be.  More specifically, the question came down to what the difference between love and very, very close amity.  It's a question that's plagued me fairly often, although not so much recently, if only because I've simply accepted that I am in fact in love.  I'm perfectly happy being in love as I am, so that's perfectly fine in my book.

In any case, I've thought about that a lot since the question was posed to me.  And one of those things I realized is that the two people I consider myself to have really been in love with, the distinguishing characteristic in emotions was that I could picture spending the rest of my life with them.  Maybe I couldn't picture the steps to get there, but what I could see was the future, what I would like to happen ten to fifteen years later, after life settled down.

I know that it doesn't define love.  I know it's not at all a definition.  But it's just something I noticed.  Being in love for me was always a matter of wanting to be with someone, wanting to share every moment of every day with them.  That's what always sets someone aside as a person I love rather than merely a close friend.  It's the one person I constantly want to share in my experiences.  When something special or exciting happens, that's the first person I want to tell.

But that's just me.  Maybe I'm the only person in the world who feels that way about love.  Maybe I'm not.  I'm probably not.  And you, my dear friend, are probably different.  I can't define love for you because I don't know how it would feel for you.  I hope this helps a little bit, if nothing more.  And good luck figuring out where to go from here.  You'll do great.

Blending of the Winds

It's one of those nights that's chilly but not cold.  It's not the stinging sort of breeze, but the pleasant kind.  The one that carries not so much smells as memories.  It's too cold to smell anything, but warm enough that trees have started to bloom and the world is starting to feel alive again.  Finally.  After the long, bitter winter that lasted three months too long.

And with the warmth come the memories.  Like a monsoon of thoughts, emotions, memories, everything floods back at once, and things from years ago interfere with ones that happened only recently, and a tide of things rushes in a whirlwind that swirls everything into a mass of sensation.  Pure, undiluted sensation.  Nothing can interfere with the rush because in spring, everything comes back, all of the pieces fall back into place, it is as though time never passed, as though the springs of years past never left.

In this ecstatic rush of emotion, the raging storm of everything changing and equalizing and finding back its natural place, nothing is ever clear as spring brings revival and change and growth.  And it isn't the change that fall is where everything starts to fall apart, but rather this miraculous time when things start to come back together and new things arise.  And with each new thing comes a memory of times past, of days that can never be gotten back, of memories that can be retrieved only through the mind.

I miss being able to write.  I miss that desperation that felt sincere but not overdone, the kind that strove to accomplish something without pushing past reason.  And I don't seem to be able to reach that point anymore. Everything feels either overdrawn or just hits a dead end beyond which I can't write.  I'm stressed and frustrated and would really like this next week to hurry up and be done already.

Mysteries

Maybe that's why it always appealed to me so much and why it's one of the few books I can read and reread without getting bored or loving it any less.  Just the way everything comes together shapes exactly the sort of thing that describes precisely who I wanted to be.

If people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

It's the sort of thing that applies to anyone, anywhere.  It just fits.  It simply makes sense.  I always wanted to be the hurricane even if I never consciously expressed it, but I found that I was never more than just a bit of drizzle. I was never anything monumental or extraordinary or wonderful.  I was just there.  And occasionally I would express a bit of something but it would quickly simmer away into nothingness and then it wouldn't matter anymore.

My writing is becoming twisted and convoluted because I can't think straight and I'm so stressed.  All of my attempts at eloquence are falling short and failing and I still have absolutely no idea what I can be so brutally honest about in a personal narrative that other people will eventually end up reading.  I fear that it will turn into another piece of crap that isn't worth reading and that saddens me.

I want to learn to write the truth and write it meaningfully, emotionally, not barring any emotions or thoughts simply because they don't seem to fit, but rather to work them in elegantly.  I wish I could express anything that well, or leave that sort of impression on people.  Unfortunately, it seems as though I am entirely incapable of such feats.  And so I remain to flounder in my own inabilities at worthwhile accomplishments.  Apologies.