31 July 2007
♥ thank you
for being sweet and asking about my day and actually caring how I answer. Thank you for saying my name, for kissing my neck, for lying in the sun with me, for looking in my eyes, for knowing when I really don't want to talk about it, for holding my hand, for laughing and grabbing me around the waist when I pretend I'm mad.
However this goes, thank you for reminding me that things like this don't always have to be bad.
However this goes, thank you for reminding me that things like this don't always have to be bad.
7/31/2007
♥ first [court] date.
Today in court, I couldn't help but think of our first date. I never expected it would take us here. I never expected attourneys or protection orders or feeling terrified. My first date with him was one of the happiest nights of my life.
I thought about all those good times, and I almost felt like I'd betrayed him. I thought about all the times he was there for me when I needed him, when he brought me Jamba Juice, when he burned me CDs. I thought about when he was my best friend.
And you know what? I miss him. I shouldn't, but I do. He's not the person I used to know, but I guess I miss that person.
Just like with a certain other person, I guess I'm realizing that you can continue to remember the good times, the times when you laughed and were happy and knew you were in love, but you don't have to live in them. Those parts of my life are over; and as hard as it's been to let go, I have to come to terms with the fact that none of us are the same people, for better or for worse.
I thought about all those good times, and I almost felt like I'd betrayed him. I thought about all the times he was there for me when I needed him, when he brought me Jamba Juice, when he burned me CDs. I thought about when he was my best friend.
And you know what? I miss him. I shouldn't, but I do. He's not the person I used to know, but I guess I miss that person.
Just like with a certain other person, I guess I'm realizing that you can continue to remember the good times, the times when you laughed and were happy and knew you were in love, but you don't have to live in them. Those parts of my life are over; and as hard as it's been to let go, I have to come to terms with the fact that none of us are the same people, for better or for worse.
7/31/2007
♥ one draft down, kinda.
You're damn right I just finished a draft! Now if I could just tackle the rest of my summer homework...
7/31/2007
♥ well fuck me.
My extended essay kind of makes me what to die. Plus, so far it is a piece of shit.
7/31/2007
♥ i guess that's that, then.
Now if I could just finish my summer homework, everything would be peachy.
7/31/2007
30 July 2007
♥ my extended essay was due, like, a month ago.
Guess when I started it?
...Um. That would be about ten minutes ago. My "second" draft is due tomorrow.
You know what else is tomorrow? The hearing.
Fuuuuuuuck.
...Um. That would be about ten minutes ago. My "second" draft is due tomorrow.
You know what else is tomorrow? The hearing.
Fuuuuuuuck.
7/30/2007
29 July 2007
♥ my life is a mess, but
it felt good to reconnect with the people who've been there for me the longest. And it felt really good to be on a horse again. And it felt really, really good to talk to Rachel. Thank you.
7/29/2007
28 July 2007
♥ it must be a crackhead thing.
For those of you who care, this should be considered a spoiler alert.
Despite my original excitement at the prospect of seeing I Know Who Killed Me, as the movie wore on, I began to suspect that perhaps, rather than being some kind of intense mind game, this was really just another Lindsay Lohan movie about twins.
Don't get me wrong; I liked The Parent Trap. But she was what, eleven when she did that? Come on, Linds. Time to kick it up a notch. I'm over the movies about twins, trading lives, yadda yadda yadda.
But as disappointed as I was at the movie's end (or, more accurately, lack thereof), I couldn't help but feel sorry for Lindsay, who had been arrested just days before for possession of a controlled substance, presumably crack. Perhaps her acting (which has improved since her role in Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, which I'm ashamed to admit I watched) was somehow influenced by her crack addiction.
Or, as long as we're going out on a limb, maybe Lindsay's habit has become so severe that she's experiencing memory loss and couldn't remember filming The Parent Trap, causing her to feel an overwhelming subconscious desire to make a movie about twin sisters separated at birth, or before consciousness, anyway.
Pretty deep, I know. I should be a shrink... If only I hadn't gotten a 3 on my goddamn IB Psych test.
Despite my original excitement at the prospect of seeing I Know Who Killed Me, as the movie wore on, I began to suspect that perhaps, rather than being some kind of intense mind game, this was really just another Lindsay Lohan movie about twins.
Don't get me wrong; I liked The Parent Trap. But she was what, eleven when she did that? Come on, Linds. Time to kick it up a notch. I'm over the movies about twins, trading lives, yadda yadda yadda.
But as disappointed as I was at the movie's end (or, more accurately, lack thereof), I couldn't help but feel sorry for Lindsay, who had been arrested just days before for possession of a controlled substance, presumably crack. Perhaps her acting (which has improved since her role in Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, which I'm ashamed to admit I watched) was somehow influenced by her crack addiction.
Or, as long as we're going out on a limb, maybe Lindsay's habit has become so severe that she's experiencing memory loss and couldn't remember filming The Parent Trap, causing her to feel an overwhelming subconscious desire to make a movie about twin sisters separated at birth, or before consciousness, anyway.
Pretty deep, I know. I should be a shrink... If only I hadn't gotten a 3 on my goddamn IB Psych test.
7/28/2007
25 July 2007
♥ you are so very, very right about that.
7/25/2007
♥ if i could just pose a question:
If being bad
won't make me feel good,
what will?
won't make me feel good,
what will?
7/25/2007
24 July 2007
♥ and so ends the age of innocence.
I have spent the last month feeling angry, feeling ready to exact revenge. But today I got Leah's message, and finding out that his lawyer had contacted her made everything stop. I didn't hear the laughing CCs in the break room. I didn't hear my boss paging me to come back from my break. I didn't see my purse fall to the floor, I didn't feel myself walking back downstairs.
I knew this was coming, and, as I usually am with events of this nature, I was quite right after all. Today, it finally hit me.
It finally hit me that while I'm stuck here picking up the pieces, he's moving on with his life, pathetic though it may be. I can't sleep at night, and when I do, it's only because I'm tired of crying.
Despite what I've tried to tell myself, he was my first real boyfriend. He was my first love. He was the first person to tell me he loved me and, I think, to mean it. I trusted him so completely. I trusted him with everything, and this is what I've got to show for it.
I have to work at 7 tomorrow morning, and I've been trying to sleep for two hours now. But I can't. I can't sleep because all I can do is think about how the hearing is only a week away. I can picture his face, and when I do, I think of how much I hate him.
I hate him, of course I hate him. But in spite of myself, I can't help remembering all the good times. That night after the movies, when he held my hand and we looked at the stars. Nightly calls from Montana. My first kiss. The first time he told me he loved me, when we were lying in my backyard. Meeting his parents for the first time. The postcards from Mexico. His mom knitting me a scarf. Homecoming. Prom. Our anniversary, when I was sick and he drove down here and brought me my present and sat with me on the couch even though I looked like hell. Falling in love all over again at the Tom Petty concert.
Would I have done anything differently if I'd known? Would things have changed if I'd known that when he wasn't calling me from ski camp, he was cheating on me? Would I have changed my mind if I'd known that he cheated on me before Christmas break? Would I have stood by him if I'd known Leah was telling the truth? Would I have broken up with him sooner? Would we still have been friends? What if this hadn't all come out too late?
So tonight, more than angry, I'm feeling sad. I'm feeling betrayed and abandoned and most of all, I'm feeling alone. First loves are supposed to be bittersweet; you're supposed to be able to look back at them and have fond memories, but will I? Will I ever look at my prom pictures and go, "Yeah, that was a good time in my life"? Most people don't have to file for restraining orders against their high school sweethearts.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize I'm looking for love in all the wrong places, and that's because I've found it in all the wrong places before. What has love ever done for me? The first time still isn't over; now I've got a court date and a head full of things I wish I'd never found out about him. And the second time? Jesus, the next time I fell in love for real, this time with no reservations or hesitation, and look where I ended up... On Zoloft, for Christ's sake. I ended up on antidepressants because I couldn't deal with the stress of losing the one person I've ever loved unconditionally, especially under the circumstances: because "he loved me too much to bring me down with him."
He's seeing someone else now. I hear they're quite happy together.
So where does all this leave me? Hell if I know. What I do know is that I'm stuck in a rut. I haven't even started my summer homework, and the school year is fast approaching. I can't even concentrate long enough to type out a coherent sentence about Tennessee Williams or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and I've forgotten every word of Spanish I ever knew except "Corona," and I'm not even sure what that means. And Grendel and Beowulf are currently sitting on my bookshelf collecting dust.
I went from quintessential good girl to 24-hour party people practically overnight. Most people have been hanging out with friends or vacationing with family, but I've been boozing and smoking and looking for someone to love me the way I loved him. All this self-medication was supposed to help, but now I've just got a perpetual hangover and a phone book full of numbers I'm never going to call.
What the hell am I doing with my life?
I knew this was coming, and, as I usually am with events of this nature, I was quite right after all. Today, it finally hit me.
It finally hit me that while I'm stuck here picking up the pieces, he's moving on with his life, pathetic though it may be. I can't sleep at night, and when I do, it's only because I'm tired of crying.
Despite what I've tried to tell myself, he was my first real boyfriend. He was my first love. He was the first person to tell me he loved me and, I think, to mean it. I trusted him so completely. I trusted him with everything, and this is what I've got to show for it.
I have to work at 7 tomorrow morning, and I've been trying to sleep for two hours now. But I can't. I can't sleep because all I can do is think about how the hearing is only a week away. I can picture his face, and when I do, I think of how much I hate him.
I hate him, of course I hate him. But in spite of myself, I can't help remembering all the good times. That night after the movies, when he held my hand and we looked at the stars. Nightly calls from Montana. My first kiss. The first time he told me he loved me, when we were lying in my backyard. Meeting his parents for the first time. The postcards from Mexico. His mom knitting me a scarf. Homecoming. Prom. Our anniversary, when I was sick and he drove down here and brought me my present and sat with me on the couch even though I looked like hell. Falling in love all over again at the Tom Petty concert.
Would I have done anything differently if I'd known? Would things have changed if I'd known that when he wasn't calling me from ski camp, he was cheating on me? Would I have changed my mind if I'd known that he cheated on me before Christmas break? Would I have stood by him if I'd known Leah was telling the truth? Would I have broken up with him sooner? Would we still have been friends? What if this hadn't all come out too late?
So tonight, more than angry, I'm feeling sad. I'm feeling betrayed and abandoned and most of all, I'm feeling alone. First loves are supposed to be bittersweet; you're supposed to be able to look back at them and have fond memories, but will I? Will I ever look at my prom pictures and go, "Yeah, that was a good time in my life"? Most people don't have to file for restraining orders against their high school sweethearts.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize I'm looking for love in all the wrong places, and that's because I've found it in all the wrong places before. What has love ever done for me? The first time still isn't over; now I've got a court date and a head full of things I wish I'd never found out about him. And the second time? Jesus, the next time I fell in love for real, this time with no reservations or hesitation, and look where I ended up... On Zoloft, for Christ's sake. I ended up on antidepressants because I couldn't deal with the stress of losing the one person I've ever loved unconditionally, especially under the circumstances: because "he loved me too much to bring me down with him."
He's seeing someone else now. I hear they're quite happy together.
So where does all this leave me? Hell if I know. What I do know is that I'm stuck in a rut. I haven't even started my summer homework, and the school year is fast approaching. I can't even concentrate long enough to type out a coherent sentence about Tennessee Williams or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and I've forgotten every word of Spanish I ever knew except "Corona," and I'm not even sure what that means. And Grendel and Beowulf are currently sitting on my bookshelf collecting dust.
I went from quintessential good girl to 24-hour party people practically overnight. Most people have been hanging out with friends or vacationing with family, but I've been boozing and smoking and looking for someone to love me the way I loved him. All this self-medication was supposed to help, but now I've just got a perpetual hangover and a phone book full of numbers I'm never going to call.
What the hell am I doing with my life?
7/24/2007
21 July 2007
♥ good morning.
7/21/2007
♥ i'm losing you, and it's effortless.
I guess "effortless" isn't quite right, but as the days turn into weeks and months, you're starting to seem more and more like a distant memory. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I miss you sometimes, but I'm glad I'm not that person anymore. Whatever happened?
7/21/2007
♥ a burst of creativity. kind of.
Usually, when I'm having some trouble in the creativity department, I smoke a bowl with my dearest friends and wait for the brilliance to set in. It's hit-and-miss, of course, because sometimes I end up with a great idea and sometimes I think about it later and wonder what the hell I was thinking.
For instance, the other night, as I colored with Ali's new sharpies, I began to notice a pattern, prompting me to inform my friends that all colors are actually the same.
"See," I told them conspiratorially, "They're all basically the same color! Yellow turns into red because of orange, red turns into blue because of purple, and blue turns back into yellow because of green!"
Shockingly, my friends seemed less than impressed.
This was okay, though, because earlier that day, I'd come up with a genius idea that will require only a basic understanding of physics, which of course I don't posess. Anyway, when you're drinking a frappuccino, when you get about 2/3 of the way done with it, it gets to that annoying stage where you basically just suck out the stuff encased in the straw area, and for anything outside of that jurisdiction, you're going to have to move your straw. I hate that. You have to stir it like every two sips. But fear not, for I have invented this amazing cup that actually stirs as you drink! You know how at the pretzel stand at the mall, they have those lemonade thingies that just stir and stir and stir so the pulp doesn't settle? It's like that, only in your very own cup!
I guess I was spent after that one.
For instance, the other night, as I colored with Ali's new sharpies, I began to notice a pattern, prompting me to inform my friends that all colors are actually the same.
"See," I told them conspiratorially, "They're all basically the same color! Yellow turns into red because of orange, red turns into blue because of purple, and blue turns back into yellow because of green!"
Shockingly, my friends seemed less than impressed.
This was okay, though, because earlier that day, I'd come up with a genius idea that will require only a basic understanding of physics, which of course I don't posess. Anyway, when you're drinking a frappuccino, when you get about 2/3 of the way done with it, it gets to that annoying stage where you basically just suck out the stuff encased in the straw area, and for anything outside of that jurisdiction, you're going to have to move your straw. I hate that. You have to stir it like every two sips. But fear not, for I have invented this amazing cup that actually stirs as you drink! You know how at the pretzel stand at the mall, they have those lemonade thingies that just stir and stir and stir so the pulp doesn't settle? It's like that, only in your very own cup!
I guess I was spent after that one.
7/21/2007
20 July 2007
♥ i can tell you're pissed.
Yeah, well, you fucked it up, pal.
7/20/2007
14 July 2007
♥ ...if only.
7/14/2007
♥ words to live by.
"If you want to be with Caitlin, be with Caitlin. If you want to be with Veronica, be with Veronica. But don't long for one and fuck the other."
--Randal Graves, Clerks.
--Randal Graves, Clerks.
I know a few people who should probably take Randal's advice. I guess sometimes you're the windshield and sometimes you're the bug.
7/14/2007
♥ same old, same old.
The flowers on my nightstand are thoroughly dead. I guess it's for the best; it was getting harder and harder to look and them and feel okay about it. I was getting more and more upset at the fact that the person who gave them to me really only wanted to keep me around long enough to reassure them that everything was okay. I'm good enough to be your confidante, but where are you when I need you? Why am I not good enough to be your friend? I guess I'm trustworthy enough to share that side of you with, but I get the feeling you're not telling many others--the one person I'm most jealous of, for example. I kind of feel like that should tell you something.
My new friend did exactly what I knew he would; it was only a matter of time. After all, at some point I guess I had to figure out that all boys really are the same. Why should this one be any different? I still haven't learned my lesson: I'm just as naive today as I was on day one. I shouldn't be surprised, but for some reason, I am. I'm not waiting around this time, though. That's all I've done for almost five months now--with or without reason, I've been waiting around and hoping there would be a change in the winds and I'd end up with some not-so-rotten luck. I'm already hung up enough on one person; the last thing I need is another hopelessly uphill battle. This isn't worth it. Not for anyone.
I haven't seen my best friend in nearly a week, because my stupid family happened to be in town for the one week her two favorite people weren't. I guess I missed my chance... Special thanks for this one to little Ivancito, who insisted on his last visit that his mother make him waffles at eleven o'clock at night. This child is six years old and still wears diapers during the day, and I promise you it's not because he has some kind of disability that prevents him from, say, being potty trained. (My obnoxious doberman was potty trained by the time he was like 4 months old, for Christ's sake.) In any case, I realize our relationship (that with aforementioned best friend, not with Ivan) is somewhat strained anyway because of this whole court proceeding thing, but I don't want it to end here. Remember what happened last year? Marc and I swore we wouldn't let our friendship be torn apart after what we'd been through together, and yet here we are. It took nearly year to repair the damage, and even now it's not entirely comfortable. Is that what's going to happen to us? Because I don't want it to, but I feel like you're drifting further away every day.
My psychotic parents are in a complete frenzy because I left my car in the King's parking lot last night. My mother marched into my neighbor's house, where I happen to be housesitting, around eight this morning (consider that it's summer and I won't get up before nine or ten unless the earth is falling apart or there's some other very important reason) yelling "Not cool!" I'm guessing she managed to get my dad all riled up too, because now they're saying that my "driving priveleges are probably going to be severely restricted for awhile because of my careless and irresponsible choice." I mean, the fact that the parking lot is well-lit, supervised by survelliance cameras, and in a nice part of suburban Arvada is completely beside the point. It also totally doesn't matter that nothing was missing, damaged, or in any way changed on my car. What are the car theives even going to steal, anyway? The empty Snapple bottle? The week-old volunteer t-shirt? Maybe I'm just not in the right mindset, but I feel pretty confident that's not the kind of merchandise they're looking for. And anyway, King Soopers is open 24 hours, meaning that the people who work overnight shifts leave their cars there... overnight. Point taken?
My extended essay was due over two weeks ago and I just can't seem to make any kind of coherent progress. Every time I think I should work on it, I freak out. I can't focus. Dropping IB looks good for awhile, then the guilt sets in.
I hate my manager. He's completely pretentious in every way and I've never been more patronized by anyone in my entire life. Also, he wears this stupid Tabasco tie that makes me want to throw up every time I see it. And if you come in like 2 seconds early from your buggy shift (swear to God, the clock above the service desk said I was a minute and a half into Duncan's shift), he yells at you and makes you go back out there. Call me crazy, but sometimes clocks have their second hands in slightly different places. How about chill the fuck out.
I know, I know, at least I'm not a starving African AIDS orphan. At least I'm not being shot to death in Darfur and I don't have to wear a Burka in Iran. At least I'm not a tsunami or hurricane victim, at least I have a place to live, blah blah blah. I get that. Yes. I'm grateful for all the positive things in my life, okay? All in all, I just really needed to vent. I feel ever so much better now.
My new friend did exactly what I knew he would; it was only a matter of time. After all, at some point I guess I had to figure out that all boys really are the same. Why should this one be any different? I still haven't learned my lesson: I'm just as naive today as I was on day one. I shouldn't be surprised, but for some reason, I am. I'm not waiting around this time, though. That's all I've done for almost five months now--with or without reason, I've been waiting around and hoping there would be a change in the winds and I'd end up with some not-so-rotten luck. I'm already hung up enough on one person; the last thing I need is another hopelessly uphill battle. This isn't worth it. Not for anyone.
I haven't seen my best friend in nearly a week, because my stupid family happened to be in town for the one week her two favorite people weren't. I guess I missed my chance... Special thanks for this one to little Ivancito, who insisted on his last visit that his mother make him waffles at eleven o'clock at night. This child is six years old and still wears diapers during the day, and I promise you it's not because he has some kind of disability that prevents him from, say, being potty trained. (My obnoxious doberman was potty trained by the time he was like 4 months old, for Christ's sake.) In any case, I realize our relationship (that with aforementioned best friend, not with Ivan) is somewhat strained anyway because of this whole court proceeding thing, but I don't want it to end here. Remember what happened last year? Marc and I swore we wouldn't let our friendship be torn apart after what we'd been through together, and yet here we are. It took nearly year to repair the damage, and even now it's not entirely comfortable. Is that what's going to happen to us? Because I don't want it to, but I feel like you're drifting further away every day.
My psychotic parents are in a complete frenzy because I left my car in the King's parking lot last night. My mother marched into my neighbor's house, where I happen to be housesitting, around eight this morning (consider that it's summer and I won't get up before nine or ten unless the earth is falling apart or there's some other very important reason) yelling "Not cool!" I'm guessing she managed to get my dad all riled up too, because now they're saying that my "driving priveleges are probably going to be severely restricted for awhile because of my careless and irresponsible choice." I mean, the fact that the parking lot is well-lit, supervised by survelliance cameras, and in a nice part of suburban Arvada is completely beside the point. It also totally doesn't matter that nothing was missing, damaged, or in any way changed on my car. What are the car theives even going to steal, anyway? The empty Snapple bottle? The week-old volunteer t-shirt? Maybe I'm just not in the right mindset, but I feel pretty confident that's not the kind of merchandise they're looking for. And anyway, King Soopers is open 24 hours, meaning that the people who work overnight shifts leave their cars there... overnight. Point taken?
My extended essay was due over two weeks ago and I just can't seem to make any kind of coherent progress. Every time I think I should work on it, I freak out. I can't focus. Dropping IB looks good for awhile, then the guilt sets in.
I hate my manager. He's completely pretentious in every way and I've never been more patronized by anyone in my entire life. Also, he wears this stupid Tabasco tie that makes me want to throw up every time I see it. And if you come in like 2 seconds early from your buggy shift (swear to God, the clock above the service desk said I was a minute and a half into Duncan's shift), he yells at you and makes you go back out there. Call me crazy, but sometimes clocks have their second hands in slightly different places. How about chill the fuck out.
I know, I know, at least I'm not a starving African AIDS orphan. At least I'm not being shot to death in Darfur and I don't have to wear a Burka in Iran. At least I'm not a tsunami or hurricane victim, at least I have a place to live, blah blah blah. I get that. Yes. I'm grateful for all the positive things in my life, okay? All in all, I just really needed to vent. I feel ever so much better now.
7/14/2007
13 July 2007
♥ today is friday the thirteenth.
And I feel strangely at peace with the idea that a car might run me down on my carts shift on this very unlucky day. It wouldn't be a bad way to go, you know. And even if I didn't die or anything, I'd still get out of the rest of my shift, and I bet they'd pay me for it, what with the union and all. I mean, after that cars would probably drive a lot slower and not run those goddamn stop signs in the parking lot. That drives me crazy. And customers would probably hear about the poor little courtesy clerk who got hit by a car and they'd put their goddamn carts in the little Please return carts here! thingies instead of the other end of the freaking parking lot.
Then again, my supervisor already thinks I'm completely incompetent when it comes to buggies; he always sends someone to check on me halfway through my shift and reminds me like three times a day to stay hydrated while on my shift. K. Will do, buddy.
In any case, I hope something exciting happens today, though I thoroughly doubt I'll be so lucky.
Then again, my supervisor already thinks I'm completely incompetent when it comes to buggies; he always sends someone to check on me halfway through my shift and reminds me like three times a day to stay hydrated while on my shift. K. Will do, buddy.
In any case, I hope something exciting happens today, though I thoroughly doubt I'll be so lucky.
7/13/2007
11 July 2007
♥ okay, okay, i'm trying not to!
7/11/2007
♥ eagles or beatles?
I'd like to head this one off by saying it's an endless debate, but whether the Eagles or the Beatles were better isn't really even worth debating. Everyone knows the Beatles were, in every way, far superior to the Eagles, right down to their roots in the English countryside. You can't beat that.
For every semi-respectable song put out by the Eagles, the Beatles have about fifty. "Life in the Fast Lane," sure, that's a good one, he was fatally handsome, she was terminally gray, yadda yadda yadda, but can that really compete with the meant-to-be attitude of "Hey Jude"? The hopeless yet not unexplained longing of "Ticket to Ride"? The biting sarcasm overshadowed by undoubted admiration in "Day Tripper"? I don't think so. Yeah, "Hotel California," it's a great song, some dance to remember, some dance to forget, but if you want to talk about curious melancholy and feeling unable to escape destiny, try "A Day in the Life" or take an LSD trip with the stoner Beatles in "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" or "I am the Walrus." Moral of the story, there's no beating the Beatles. End of story.
But this "debate" actually represents a much larger idea: people don't understand what songs are really trying to say. Now, I'm not trying to say I know everything or I get everything or anything like that, but I think the meaning of a lot of songs is lost on people who simply can't relate. For example, Dire Straits' "Romeo and Juliet" appears at first to be a romantic ballad of love and devotion, but if you actually read the lyrics, you'll notice that it's about being heartbroken when somebody doesn't love you anymore and you can't understand why. Or the Killers' "Smile Like You Mean It." A friend I used to associate with (her identity shall remain anonymous) took the title quite seriously, claiming that the track was actually about sincerity; a closer look will convince most listeners that it's really about trying to protect yourself when someone you love finds someone else.
There are a million songs out there with a million different meanings, and I guess in a way that's the beauty of music: even if you're not necessarily coming away with the message the artist was trying to send, you've got a new perspective and maybe even thought of something that would never have occurred to you.
I'm trying to be more positive these days, and to be quite honest, it's going rather well despite the occasional bump in the road. But the insistence on putting a positive spin on everything, to be frank, pisses me off. It's ridiculous. Things aren't going to be perfect all the time. Sometimes things are bad, sometimes we are rejected and heartbroken and insincere in our intentions, but that's what human nature is. We are imperfect, and making mistakes is how we learn. It's how we grow.
So next time you hear Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach," don't tell yourself it's all okay because they're getting married. No. Madonna's life sucks right then. She has a questionably reliable boyfriend who is apparently opposed to birth control and she knows that her traditional father isn't going to approve of her lifestyle choices. She faces rejection by either her boyfriend or her family. There's really no easy answer for her. Fortunately, however, we can comfort ourselves in a number of ways: a) as far as we know, Madonna did not actually have to deal with an out-of-wedlock child as a minor, b) the song just goes to show that even if she had, you can still end up being pretty freaking cool even if your life doesn't go exactly to plan.
For every semi-respectable song put out by the Eagles, the Beatles have about fifty. "Life in the Fast Lane," sure, that's a good one, he was fatally handsome, she was terminally gray, yadda yadda yadda, but can that really compete with the meant-to-be attitude of "Hey Jude"? The hopeless yet not unexplained longing of "Ticket to Ride"? The biting sarcasm overshadowed by undoubted admiration in "Day Tripper"? I don't think so. Yeah, "Hotel California," it's a great song, some dance to remember, some dance to forget, but if you want to talk about curious melancholy and feeling unable to escape destiny, try "A Day in the Life" or take an LSD trip with the stoner Beatles in "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" or "I am the Walrus." Moral of the story, there's no beating the Beatles. End of story.
But this "debate" actually represents a much larger idea: people don't understand what songs are really trying to say. Now, I'm not trying to say I know everything or I get everything or anything like that, but I think the meaning of a lot of songs is lost on people who simply can't relate. For example, Dire Straits' "Romeo and Juliet" appears at first to be a romantic ballad of love and devotion, but if you actually read the lyrics, you'll notice that it's about being heartbroken when somebody doesn't love you anymore and you can't understand why. Or the Killers' "Smile Like You Mean It." A friend I used to associate with (her identity shall remain anonymous) took the title quite seriously, claiming that the track was actually about sincerity; a closer look will convince most listeners that it's really about trying to protect yourself when someone you love finds someone else.
There are a million songs out there with a million different meanings, and I guess in a way that's the beauty of music: even if you're not necessarily coming away with the message the artist was trying to send, you've got a new perspective and maybe even thought of something that would never have occurred to you.
I'm trying to be more positive these days, and to be quite honest, it's going rather well despite the occasional bump in the road. But the insistence on putting a positive spin on everything, to be frank, pisses me off. It's ridiculous. Things aren't going to be perfect all the time. Sometimes things are bad, sometimes we are rejected and heartbroken and insincere in our intentions, but that's what human nature is. We are imperfect, and making mistakes is how we learn. It's how we grow.
So next time you hear Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach," don't tell yourself it's all okay because they're getting married. No. Madonna's life sucks right then. She has a questionably reliable boyfriend who is apparently opposed to birth control and she knows that her traditional father isn't going to approve of her lifestyle choices. She faces rejection by either her boyfriend or her family. There's really no easy answer for her. Fortunately, however, we can comfort ourselves in a number of ways: a) as far as we know, Madonna did not actually have to deal with an out-of-wedlock child as a minor, b) the song just goes to show that even if she had, you can still end up being pretty freaking cool even if your life doesn't go exactly to plan.
7/11/2007
♥ i need to obitchuate for a second.
I feel like reading the paper is an important part of my morning routine. I start with Dear Abby, though I hate the ones where it's just a bunch of nobodies sending in their own advice. That's Abby's job, nitwits. But anyway, after I've finished that and the comics, I usually switch to the regular paper, where I skip anything boring, meaning I never even take a second look at the business section.
Fortunately, the Rocky is oriented such that readers can simply flip over any section they're not interested in reading and carry on with their perusing. This way, I only have to see the front page of the business section, which is okay because it's usually just a picture (which I can handle), and the back page, which is just obits.
This is where I get a little disturbed. I don't know why it occured to me today, after all these years of doing the same thing with the paper every day, but as I flipped over the business section to continue reading a very interesting story about P. Diddy and his recent breakup, I began to wonder what the obituaries are actually doing in the business section.
It's not like they're stocks and bonds or anything. Nobody mentioned in the obituaries is probably that well-off, or I'm guessing there would be bigger stories about their deaths. Of course, obituaries are usually pretty well-written, or the longer ones are, anyway. That's how Jim Sheeler started out, you know, the reporter from the Rocky who won a Pulitzer? He wrote obits for years.
But it's not the actual obituaries that disturb me. I mean, I guess it's nice to pay homage to the dearly departed; writing a nice little Readers' Digest version of their lives is kind of the least we can do, isn't it? What really bothers me is the fact that these stories are buried at the back of the business section.
Maybe I'm taking this a little far, but the implication seems to be that life and death are just business as usual. Why bother spending too much space in the "real" paper talking about somebody's dead grandma? We have to write about Puff Daddy. Putting obits in the same section as stories about some fancy new software seems a little disrespectful, like saying that the end of a life is no more important than whether Quicken is getting the job done fast enough for ya.
On the other hand, I guess this is just another subtle reminder of the thing I keep trying to remember but can't help forgetting: life goes on.
Fortunately, the Rocky is oriented such that readers can simply flip over any section they're not interested in reading and carry on with their perusing. This way, I only have to see the front page of the business section, which is okay because it's usually just a picture (which I can handle), and the back page, which is just obits.
This is where I get a little disturbed. I don't know why it occured to me today, after all these years of doing the same thing with the paper every day, but as I flipped over the business section to continue reading a very interesting story about P. Diddy and his recent breakup, I began to wonder what the obituaries are actually doing in the business section.
It's not like they're stocks and bonds or anything. Nobody mentioned in the obituaries is probably that well-off, or I'm guessing there would be bigger stories about their deaths. Of course, obituaries are usually pretty well-written, or the longer ones are, anyway. That's how Jim Sheeler started out, you know, the reporter from the Rocky who won a Pulitzer? He wrote obits for years.
But it's not the actual obituaries that disturb me. I mean, I guess it's nice to pay homage to the dearly departed; writing a nice little Readers' Digest version of their lives is kind of the least we can do, isn't it? What really bothers me is the fact that these stories are buried at the back of the business section.
Maybe I'm taking this a little far, but the implication seems to be that life and death are just business as usual. Why bother spending too much space in the "real" paper talking about somebody's dead grandma? We have to write about Puff Daddy. Putting obits in the same section as stories about some fancy new software seems a little disrespectful, like saying that the end of a life is no more important than whether Quicken is getting the job done fast enough for ya.
On the other hand, I guess this is just another subtle reminder of the thing I keep trying to remember but can't help forgetting: life goes on.
7/11/2007
10 July 2007
♥ you know who you are.
7/10/2007
♥ international bullshitters, analyzed to the max.
I realize that this is going to sound incredibly nerdy, but I've been thinking a lot this summer about IB. I've been thinking about my extended essay (shut up, I don't want to hear it) and all the summer homework I have to do and, most importantly, about how junior year was undeniably the most miserable of my life, save the year I was twelve and had be the gator mascot for SLHS at seven consecutive basketball games. That was a rough one. Given, the blame for the general shittiness of the year can't be placed entirely on the shoulders of the IB program; in addition, I had a creepy stalker ex whose goal was to make my life miserable, a turbulent relationship and eventual less-than-pleasant breakup, the widening of a gap between myself and my best friend, the diagnosis of clinical major depressive disorder, bulimia nervosa, and a number of various other stressors that I can't be sure will go away any more than I can those aforementioned.
Thus, I've come to a fairly disturbing realization: I have a really big choice to make. I can stay in IB and feel good about the fact that I stuck it out but have a miserable time trying, or I can drop IB, ditch the extended essay, and have a nice, relaxed senior year with plenty of time to pull my shitty grades back up. In keeping with my mother's sage advice, I've decided to make a list of pros and cons implied by staying in the IB program to help weigh my decision. Fortunately, my mother will never read this, meaning that she won't know I'm following her frequently dispensed (though rarely solicited) advice.
PROS:
Thus, I've come to a fairly disturbing realization: I have a really big choice to make. I can stay in IB and feel good about the fact that I stuck it out but have a miserable time trying, or I can drop IB, ditch the extended essay, and have a nice, relaxed senior year with plenty of time to pull my shitty grades back up. In keeping with my mother's sage advice, I've decided to make a list of pros and cons implied by staying in the IB program to help weigh my decision. Fortunately, my mother will never read this, meaning that she won't know I'm following her frequently dispensed (though rarely solicited) advice.
PROS:
- No dumb kids in my classes. I don't know if I could handle those idiots.
- There's something kind of charming about the camraderie involved with IB kids. We stick together, pretty much.
- I like my friends.
- As much as I hate to admit it, it would be nice to actually learn something.
- I don't want to be a quitter... I mean, I've come this far, right?
- Not having to deal with Tucker's famous "You're ruining your life by dropping out" speech.
- Not having to deal with Tucker, period.
- Writing my extended essay.
- Another semester of TOK.
- IAs.
- IB exams, one of which I've already managed to fail.
- What else are my 3 AP credits going to be used for?
- Math and bio. Eww.
- It would be nice to not be the biggest idiot in the class for once...
- I might, you know, be sane again if I didn't have IB in my life.
7/10/2007
09 July 2007
♥ you have to be kidding me.
Pink eye?! Argggggh.
7/09/2007
08 July 2007
♥ lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.
I guess the cat's probably out of the bag by now. I'm beginning to feel like maybe I was headed here all along.
7/08/2007
♥ when you were young.
You sit alone in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
He doesn't look a think like Jesus, but he
talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you
were young
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
He doesn't look a think like Jesus, but he
talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you
were young
...is there even such a thing?
7/08/2007
♥ i can't move on if you keep this up, you know.
These are the most beautiful flowers anyone has ever given me. They're just right; the buds are in that lovely stage right before they bloom. They smell just like roses are supposed to. I can't help but wish they were a sign. They are innocent and sweet and perfect, and, most importantly, they represent the one thing that is always there in the background: love.
They are just like you were.
They are just like you were.
7/08/2007
♥ finally!
Inspiration has struck, and I'm writing a screenplay.
7/08/2007
06 July 2007
♥ you know what i hate?
My extended essay, that's what. At least I have some very lovely roses on my desk to distract me.
7/06/2007
05 July 2007
♥ i just rediscovered these...
...and they make me ever so very very happy! Here's to pictures speaking a thousand words. I freaking love my friends.
Here's what things would always be like if my best friend hadn't moved to California.
Heck yes I accidentally bought beer in Ireland!
Turns out Blenheim Palace not only has the cheesiest tour EVER, it also has poorly equipped lawn ornaments.
Could I possibly be more enthusiastic about ANOTHER cathedral?!
Phone booths: Brits do it better.
American girls do Hampden Court Palace!
I shall catcheth thee, discus!
Sarcophagus, not to be confused with a bathtub.
My, how scandalous!
What can I say? I don't mean to torture them...
Pre-ferry orgy madness.
The BFFs at graduation.
Oh, most beloved senior hall... I'm gonna miss you.
It is very important to stretch before performing cartwheels, especially if you can't do one.
I basically love Marc Bode... Like, how freaking badass could you be?!
One word: Donosaur.
Dale + Emma + Honda Civic Tour - Set of pancakes, unfortunately = HECK YES.
Here's what things would always be like if my best friend hadn't moved to California.
Heck yes I accidentally bought beer in Ireland!
Turns out Blenheim Palace not only has the cheesiest tour EVER, it also has poorly equipped lawn ornaments.
Could I possibly be more enthusiastic about ANOTHER cathedral?! 
Phone booths: Brits do it better.
American girls do Hampden Court Palace!
I shall catcheth thee, discus!
Sarcophagus, not to be confused with a bathtub.
My, how scandalous!
What can I say? I don't mean to torture them...
Pre-ferry orgy madness.
The BFFs at graduation.
Oh, most beloved senior hall... I'm gonna miss you.
It is very important to stretch before performing cartwheels, especially if you can't do one.
I basically love Marc Bode... Like, how freaking badass could you be?!
One word: Donosaur.
Dale + Emma + Honda Civic Tour - Set of pancakes, unfortunately = HECK YES.7/05/2007
♥ independence day: a multi-verse haiku
Oh, America!
It is your birthday today
You're getting up there
In keeping with our
Role of world's fattest country
The grocery store
Is to be filled with
Loads of last-minute shoppers
Who need lots of food
Work at ten-fifteen
Oh, how I despise this shift
I'm not off til six
Everyone shops
On a day when they shouldn't
Jeez, go barbeque!
It's busy all day
Because they forgot the buns
Or something like that
Mean manager, Vance,
Is insisting that I'm late
(Um, I'm so not late)
I hope I'm not fired
Because I sure like paychecks
To put in the bank
Anyway, Debra
(The bossy clerk who loves me)
Wore stupid earrings
They said "U.S.A.!"
And were red, white, and blue (duh)
Except they were hearts
Which is really dumb
Because the flag has no hearts
It has stars, stupid
In fact, customers
Throughout the day wore clothing
That was quite ugly
I was unimpressed
By the fashion "prowess" of
Our many patrons
When I finally
Vacated the madhouse, though,
I realized something:
Even if it sucks
To bag groceries for those
Who don't really care
About what the fourth
Really represents for them,
At least there's fireworks
And I guess I should
Be happy that I don't have
To wear a burka
Because that would suck
Even more than pushing carts
Yay, America!
It is your birthday today
You're getting up there
In keeping with our
Role of world's fattest country
The grocery store
Is to be filled with
Loads of last-minute shoppers
Who need lots of food
Work at ten-fifteen
Oh, how I despise this shift
I'm not off til six
Everyone shops
On a day when they shouldn't
Jeez, go barbeque!
It's busy all day
Because they forgot the buns
Or something like that
Mean manager, Vance,
Is insisting that I'm late
(Um, I'm so not late)
I hope I'm not fired
Because I sure like paychecks
To put in the bank
Anyway, Debra
(The bossy clerk who loves me)
Wore stupid earrings
They said "U.S.A.!"
And were red, white, and blue (duh)
Except they were hearts
Which is really dumb
Because the flag has no hearts
It has stars, stupid
In fact, customers
Throughout the day wore clothing
That was quite ugly
I was unimpressed
By the fashion "prowess" of
Our many patrons
When I finally
Vacated the madhouse, though,
I realized something:
Even if it sucks
To bag groceries for those
Who don't really care
About what the fourth
Really represents for them,
At least there's fireworks
And I guess I should
Be happy that I don't have
To wear a burka
Because that would suck
Even more than pushing carts
Yay, America!
7/05/2007
03 July 2007
♥ what a day, what a day.
Today was quite possibly the strangest day I've had in a long, long time. Between the hearing-gone-awry this morning, the longest shift ever in the universe at work (partly because I had to spend half the shift holding back tears and explaining my lateness / need to give paperwork to various supervisors), and, as a fitting end to the night, one of the most unexpected things that's ever happened to me.
I have a pretty certain feeling about the former; as scared as I am, I know it's something I have to do. I know I have to take a stand and put that asshole in his place.
Of course it's obvious how I feel about work; it sucks. Being a productive member of society is entirely overrated.
When it comes to the latter, however, I'm at a complete loss. Of couse I know what I want (or at least I think I do; it's one of the few things I've been relatively certain of over the last six months or so), but I'm not sure if it's within reach, and even if it was, I don't know how I'd get it.
Taking things as they come is a lot harder when they all come out of the blue.
I have a pretty certain feeling about the former; as scared as I am, I know it's something I have to do. I know I have to take a stand and put that asshole in his place.
Of course it's obvious how I feel about work; it sucks. Being a productive member of society is entirely overrated.
When it comes to the latter, however, I'm at a complete loss. Of couse I know what I want (or at least I think I do; it's one of the few things I've been relatively certain of over the last six months or so), but I'm not sure if it's within reach, and even if it was, I don't know how I'd get it.
Taking things as they come is a lot harder when they all come out of the blue.
7/03/2007
♥ and a big fat fuck you to you, too.
I know you're just stalling for time. I know you want me to get scared and back down. I know you think I'm just going to drop it.
Not this time. I've let you make me miserable for far too long, and this time, I'm putting a stop to it for once and for all. Not just for me, mind you, for everyone. For all the people you've already done this to (and who knows how many others are out there and just haven't spoken up yet) and for all the people you're going to, I know it's time to take a stand.
It's time to let you know that you can't just treat people like shit and expect them to sit there and take it. You need to realize that at some point, people are going to stop putting up with your bullying and your lies and your manipulation. For a long time, you made me feel weak, like I wasn't good enough or strong enough to do anything about it. But something about the last few weeks has made me realize that you were wrong:
I am strong enough. I have enough self-respect. I am going to stand up for the people who can't, who are too scared and intimidated and afraid of rejection to put a stop to your bullshit.
So I'll see you in court on July 31st. I'll see you and your lawyer and your mother and the "imperative witnesses" I know you don't have. I'll be there with the people who matter most to me. I'll be there and I'll be the person I always wanted to be, and you'll be the person you dreaded becoming.
You always said you didn't want to be like your dad; you didn't want to cheat. I guess the cat's out of the bag, because now it's no secret that you cheated on me at least three times, and there are probably countless others that I don't even know about. But you know what's a lot worse about you than about your dad? At least his cheating is consensual, unlike most of yours. At least your dad isn't a sexual predator, like you.
You always said you didn't want to be like your mom, because you thought she was manipulative and deceitful and disloyal. I guess you fucked that one up too, because you are truly the embodiment of all those characteristics. The difference between you and your mom, however, is that even when her son in court because he molested someone, she's there beside you, hiring an attourney, waiting in the wings to support her fuck-up of a kid. You, on the other hand, abandon everything as soon as the going gets tough. At least your mom sticks around to support the people she cares about, even if they've just ruined everyone's lives.
You always said you didn't want to be like your brother, because you thought he was fake and untrustworthy. He might not always be thinking the things he says, but at least your brother has friends, because he's not a judgemental asshole who alienates everyone with his ignorant, self-righteous preaching about what's "right" and "wrong" and "good" and "bad." You certainly couldn't say the same for yourself, could you?
There's a whole list of people you don't like. Of people you look down on. They give you a "weird vibe," their sexuality makes you uncomfortable, you think they're bad people because they drink or smoke or engage in other common practices of the developing adolescent, they gave you a funny look, they like you too much, they don't like you enough, the list goes on and on. I guess all those people do have at least one thing in common, though: they're all lucky because they don't have to interact with you.
You're a two-faced, backstabbing asshole, and you don't deserve to breathe the same air as anyone else. You don't have any friends, and no one will ever love you once they've discovered what you truly are. Even your own mother, despite her undying support (which, I might add, is undeserved after the way you've treated her), is ashamed of you. And who wouldn't be? You're a disgrace. You're scum. You're a blight on society. You are lazy and useless and to be quite frank, the world would be far better off without you in it. Quite simply, anyone who doesn't hate you just doesn't know you that well yet.
I wish I was never going to see or hear from you again, but unfortunately your usual self-centered ass-covering, which, I might add, only further exemplifies your stunning disregard for those around you, has left me with another month to ruminate on how much I hate you, and on how desperately I want for it to be illegal for you to ever speak to me again.
I hope you spend a lot of time thinking over the next month. I hope you have plenty of time to sit in your hot, smelly room, all by yourself, with a family that doesn't love you, a "girlfriend" you're heartlessly deceiving, and not a friend in the world to help you get through it. I hope you spend the next four weeks agonizing over the choices you've made, over the lives you've ruined, over the people you've manipulated and taken advantage of, over the self-control you've never managed to acquire, over the fact that you're a fucking sexual predator. I hope you worry endlessly about having a restraining order on your permanent record, about having your deepest, darkest secrets exposed to the world, about the fact that no matter how "smart" you are, your laziness and selfish disregard for everyone but yourself will hold you back from ever making anything of yourself.
You are a pathetic loser, and your life has been worthless thus far. I wish I could say I thought you could turn it around, because everyone--even the scum of the earth--deserves to have the opportunity to be happy. But I think you've gone too far for that; I don't think you're capable of normalcy. Your judgemental tendencies and inability to look beyond your own selfish needs, even when your victims beg you to keep your carnal instincts to yourself, have left you rotten from the inside out. No matter how things go at the end of the month, I can take solace in the fact that I will never have to hear from you or see your arrogant face again.
I wish I could say I pitied you more than anything; and it's true, I do: you are pathetic. But more than anything else in the world, more than any other feeling I have towards you, I hate you.
Not this time. I've let you make me miserable for far too long, and this time, I'm putting a stop to it for once and for all. Not just for me, mind you, for everyone. For all the people you've already done this to (and who knows how many others are out there and just haven't spoken up yet) and for all the people you're going to, I know it's time to take a stand.
It's time to let you know that you can't just treat people like shit and expect them to sit there and take it. You need to realize that at some point, people are going to stop putting up with your bullying and your lies and your manipulation. For a long time, you made me feel weak, like I wasn't good enough or strong enough to do anything about it. But something about the last few weeks has made me realize that you were wrong:
I am strong enough. I have enough self-respect. I am going to stand up for the people who can't, who are too scared and intimidated and afraid of rejection to put a stop to your bullshit.
So I'll see you in court on July 31st. I'll see you and your lawyer and your mother and the "imperative witnesses" I know you don't have. I'll be there with the people who matter most to me. I'll be there and I'll be the person I always wanted to be, and you'll be the person you dreaded becoming.
You always said you didn't want to be like your dad; you didn't want to cheat. I guess the cat's out of the bag, because now it's no secret that you cheated on me at least three times, and there are probably countless others that I don't even know about. But you know what's a lot worse about you than about your dad? At least his cheating is consensual, unlike most of yours. At least your dad isn't a sexual predator, like you.
You always said you didn't want to be like your mom, because you thought she was manipulative and deceitful and disloyal. I guess you fucked that one up too, because you are truly the embodiment of all those characteristics. The difference between you and your mom, however, is that even when her son in court because he molested someone, she's there beside you, hiring an attourney, waiting in the wings to support her fuck-up of a kid. You, on the other hand, abandon everything as soon as the going gets tough. At least your mom sticks around to support the people she cares about, even if they've just ruined everyone's lives.
You always said you didn't want to be like your brother, because you thought he was fake and untrustworthy. He might not always be thinking the things he says, but at least your brother has friends, because he's not a judgemental asshole who alienates everyone with his ignorant, self-righteous preaching about what's "right" and "wrong" and "good" and "bad." You certainly couldn't say the same for yourself, could you?
There's a whole list of people you don't like. Of people you look down on. They give you a "weird vibe," their sexuality makes you uncomfortable, you think they're bad people because they drink or smoke or engage in other common practices of the developing adolescent, they gave you a funny look, they like you too much, they don't like you enough, the list goes on and on. I guess all those people do have at least one thing in common, though: they're all lucky because they don't have to interact with you.
You're a two-faced, backstabbing asshole, and you don't deserve to breathe the same air as anyone else. You don't have any friends, and no one will ever love you once they've discovered what you truly are. Even your own mother, despite her undying support (which, I might add, is undeserved after the way you've treated her), is ashamed of you. And who wouldn't be? You're a disgrace. You're scum. You're a blight on society. You are lazy and useless and to be quite frank, the world would be far better off without you in it. Quite simply, anyone who doesn't hate you just doesn't know you that well yet.
I wish I was never going to see or hear from you again, but unfortunately your usual self-centered ass-covering, which, I might add, only further exemplifies your stunning disregard for those around you, has left me with another month to ruminate on how much I hate you, and on how desperately I want for it to be illegal for you to ever speak to me again.
I hope you spend a lot of time thinking over the next month. I hope you have plenty of time to sit in your hot, smelly room, all by yourself, with a family that doesn't love you, a "girlfriend" you're heartlessly deceiving, and not a friend in the world to help you get through it. I hope you spend the next four weeks agonizing over the choices you've made, over the lives you've ruined, over the people you've manipulated and taken advantage of, over the self-control you've never managed to acquire, over the fact that you're a fucking sexual predator. I hope you worry endlessly about having a restraining order on your permanent record, about having your deepest, darkest secrets exposed to the world, about the fact that no matter how "smart" you are, your laziness and selfish disregard for everyone but yourself will hold you back from ever making anything of yourself.
You are a pathetic loser, and your life has been worthless thus far. I wish I could say I thought you could turn it around, because everyone--even the scum of the earth--deserves to have the opportunity to be happy. But I think you've gone too far for that; I don't think you're capable of normalcy. Your judgemental tendencies and inability to look beyond your own selfish needs, even when your victims beg you to keep your carnal instincts to yourself, have left you rotten from the inside out. No matter how things go at the end of the month, I can take solace in the fact that I will never have to hear from you or see your arrogant face again.
I wish I could say I pitied you more than anything; and it's true, I do: you are pathetic. But more than anything else in the world, more than any other feeling I have towards you, I hate you.
7/03/2007
02 July 2007
♥ a pointless, yet poignant revelation.
Some of my readers may remember that by the time I returned from my adventure to the faraway land of Ye Olde British Isles, I was, to say the least, extemely burned out on the concept of the cathedral. Since I've returned, a number of instances, most of which shall remained undisclosed, have caught my attention and led me to the realization that cathedrals, in fact, are very much like men. (Or, if we're talking about the sort I've been dealing with, a very important distinction should be made: they are boys.)
In the beginning, of course, I was awed by the very idea of a cathedral. I'd never experienced anything quite like it, and I was taken aback by the years of history, the air of familiarity, and, most importantly, the breathtaking scenery. I was naive to begin with; but I soon learned a very important lesson:
All cathedrals are exactly the same. They may have different names and be built a little differently, they may come in all shapes and sizes and have different tapestries hanging from their walls, but once you finish with them, they're all the same. They're all just a bunch of stuffy old buildings; they have no secrets to offer, nothing new to say. They keep you long enough to make a buck, then spit you out into the gift shop and send you on your way.
So far, the men (er, boys) in my life have caused me nothing but heartache, and while no cathedrals broke my heart, by the ten millionth or so I was beginning to experience a permanent sense of soul-crushing boredom. The first one seemed great in the beginning, and ended up being a complete and total life ruiner. I fell pretty hard for the second, and he abandoned me when I needed him the most. The next lashed out when I needed a friend, the one after that never did call me back, and the list goes on and on.
In the end, while they may seem a little different at first, the newest one always appearing to be better than the last, the truth is that they're all the same. Some say all the right things for awhile, some tell you they love you, and the truth is they all just ditch you in the end because they're all looking for the same thing.
And no matter what you do, it's going to end the same way every time, whether you break it off or he does. No matter what you do, they always manage to fuck things up in the end. No matter what you do, heartbreak is inevitable, and the best advice I can think of is to just stay away from the lot of them.
In the beginning, of course, I was awed by the very idea of a cathedral. I'd never experienced anything quite like it, and I was taken aback by the years of history, the air of familiarity, and, most importantly, the breathtaking scenery. I was naive to begin with; but I soon learned a very important lesson:
All cathedrals are exactly the same. They may have different names and be built a little differently, they may come in all shapes and sizes and have different tapestries hanging from their walls, but once you finish with them, they're all the same. They're all just a bunch of stuffy old buildings; they have no secrets to offer, nothing new to say. They keep you long enough to make a buck, then spit you out into the gift shop and send you on your way.
So far, the men (er, boys) in my life have caused me nothing but heartache, and while no cathedrals broke my heart, by the ten millionth or so I was beginning to experience a permanent sense of soul-crushing boredom. The first one seemed great in the beginning, and ended up being a complete and total life ruiner. I fell pretty hard for the second, and he abandoned me when I needed him the most. The next lashed out when I needed a friend, the one after that never did call me back, and the list goes on and on.
In the end, while they may seem a little different at first, the newest one always appearing to be better than the last, the truth is that they're all the same. Some say all the right things for awhile, some tell you they love you, and the truth is they all just ditch you in the end because they're all looking for the same thing.
And no matter what you do, it's going to end the same way every time, whether you break it off or he does. No matter what you do, they always manage to fuck things up in the end. No matter what you do, heartbreak is inevitable, and the best advice I can think of is to just stay away from the lot of them.
7/02/2007
♥ strange, if not unpredictable.
It's you,
and me,
and all of the people,
and I don't know why
I can't take my eyes off of
and me,
and all of the people,
and I don't know why
I can't take my eyes off of
you.
7/02/2007
