Stages of Aloneness/Nostalgia

Dear blog,

You are looking mighty fine right now.

I realize it's been a while since we've last spoken. Even then it was in cryptic little moody snippets that I am prone to at midnight after reflecting on some bullshit drama or just too much introspection.

Is there such a thing as too much introspection, you might ask? Well, there is for me. The way it works is like this:

1) Oh, happy happy silly nonsense, it's a beautiful day, let's run around outside.
2) Hyper! People! Hello!
3) Hmm. Okay. Alone time. Alone time is good. Contented sigh.
4) More alone time. Okay. Cool.
5) More alone time...?
6) I'm still alone?
7) Why am I alone? =(

It snowballs from there.

And thus it happened again today, as it is often wont to do. It's frustrating. Some of it is my doing; I choose to be in my room instead of potential elsewheres because it is comfortable and near to my computer and convenient. But then I just... flatline, and plummet, and there goes my good mood. Sigh. I guess it also doesn't help too much that I also miss people at home dearly.

Right now, I am listening to Coldplay's "Viva la Vida" and it's very nostalgic but in a quiet and calming sort of way. It doesn't ache, because it harkens back to a time that I don't wish to return to. But all the same there's something there, a sort of smiling wistfulness that keeps whispering to me "Hello again. Remember...?"

Yes, I remember. I remember driving my parent's cars because I had yet to get one of my own, driving down the freeway and turning up the music. I remember a hot summer afternoon when I painted my face and dressed up as Batgirl for a party, cape at once whirling and clinging to my shoulders as I danced around getting ready. I remember anger and hurt, curled up into a ball on my bed with headphones drowning out everything else. And I remember stumbling into a late night conversation that quite literally changed the course of my life as I knew it.

So yes, I remember you. Some of it's a little painful, to be honest. But please don't leave. I don't like being alone.

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Reasons why

There's so much I want need to say to you, but you don't want to listen.

It's crushing me on the inside.

---

This one time a couple years ago, I "ran away" (i.e., drove off without permission and spent the night at a friend's) from my house.

Tonight, I'd love to again. But for real this time.

---

This month is a timebomb.

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Sometimes

Sometimes, I am crazy.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just drop everything and travel for a long time.

Sometimes I think about what it would feel like to die.

Sometimes I say the most stupid things.

Sometimes I say nothing at all.

Sometimes I stay up too late.

Sometimes I am depressed.

Sometimes I dread what will happen.

Sometimes I imagine horrible things for no reason.

Sometimes I work myself up into a frenzy over nothing.

Sometimes I talk to myself.

Sometimes I hear two people talking in my head.

Sometimes I write it down.

Sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I deny.

Sometimes I need a reality check.

Right now, at 12:32 in the a.m., in the silence and the otherwise emptiness of this front room, I want to melt into the sweetness of staring up at the starry sky for no reason but to marvel, to fall asleep there, protected by a blanket of night air, and stop dreaming horrible dreams.

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Fuck you, George Lucas: Lamenting the loss of a childhood bit of awesome

I dunno if you heard, but Star Tours is closing today at Disneyland. The one in Florida doesn't close til the beginning of September, but that doesn't count because it's not the original.

This makes me so depressed. You have no idea. I mean, if you've been to Disneyland and experienced for yourself the joy that is Star Tours, you'd know what I'm talking about. Waiting in line through the futuristic spacestation-esque surroundings, waiting for the doors to finally open and the super nice/mean/apathetic/jaded Disneyland employee telling you which to file through, taking your seat... The awesomeness of the ride itself... And that droid! That silly little endearing robot that pilots you on your way to Endor. GAH GEORGE LUCAS WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE.

I was seriously thinking about it on the drive home from my summer class this afternoon. I have so many good memories about that ride. Foremost in my head right now is from years and years and years ago... I must have been about four or five. My parents had taken my sister and I to Disneyland, and we were walking around the park at night, and it was dark and rainy and I was tired, but we went on Star Tours before heading back to our hotel for the evening. And there was no line. And we went in. And it was awesome. Because it wasn't the first time I'd ever been on the ride, and it certainly wasn't the last... it's just a moment that I remember because it was so good.

I was just driving home from class thinking about that, and I came to the realization that my eventual offspring won't have that experience. Sure, there's Star Tours 2.0 and all that bullshit with the podracing and the special effects and whatever, but that's not the same. There's just something about experiencing something amazing as a kid, and then eventually getting to share that same experience with your kid... And I apparently long for something like that. I've never, ever thought about it before today. But sitting in the car by myself I came to the realization that I won't be able to do that with something I genuinely love and enjoy and have great memories of, and it made me legitimately sad.

So I wonder if anyone has ever gone up to George Lucas, knowing full well who he is, and ever said "fuck you" to his face. At like, a meet and greet, or a signing, or convention. Something. I used to get really star-struck, and I occasionally still am, but meeting all these cool, famous people at Con this past weekend whom I really enjoy watching on television bringing characters to life, or writers or musicians whose work I love and admire, I realized that I'm slowly getting over it and am able to have something of a conversation with them.

I want to be the person who is eventually so bold and so articulate, and so not nervous at all. And I want to be able to someday walk up to George Lucas, and I want to say "fuck you". And maybe it impacts him, maybe not. Maybe his neck explodes. I don't know. But that's my goal.

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Milestones to failure

The past week has had more than its fair share of firsts. And they're not very good ones, either.

- Tuesday was the first time I've ever been asked to leave a class for the day. I'm taking a biology class this summer for gen ed credit at my old community college and I forgot to wear closed-toe shoes for lab (long weekends are deadly to newly-establishing habits, and I wear flip-flops everywhere. I don't have to think about it, they're extensions of my feet). It was pretty embarrassing.

- Wednesday I ended up getting a parking ticket for the first time ever. Thanks for putting up signs and then hiding them behind trees so I don't notice them for two weeks. I've never gotten any sort of driving ticket. It sucked. And now I owe the city 40 bucks.

- Friday I was driving with my friend and accidentally ran over a squirrel running across the street and almost cried. Shut up, okay? It was traumatizing. I've never killed anything bigger than a bug before. I'm sorry, squirrel! =(

I'm not sure why I felt the need to spell it all out like that, but last week was.... trying. A lot of little things added up and I'm just realizing it now, and though I wrote like a crazy person on Thursday night/extremely early Friday morning and actually managed to churn out a decent guest blog, right now it just feels like I'm not accomplishing anything and I'm just a failtastic waste of space. I know that's silly and I'm not really, but sometimes it just feels like I am.

Which isn't really encouraging the day before a big test (honestly, I don't give a crap about photosynthesis and cellular respiration, but I need this class), but I'm trying to see past that sentiment of failure. It's a little easier once I acknowledge it to move on afterward.

So here's to last week and all the suck. And here's to this week and it being that much better and productive.

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Wondering about normalcy

So I should be guest blogging for this other thing right now cuz the entry goes live on Tuesday but I don't really feel like doing that right now. You're stuck with me for now--

OH GOD GIANT SPIDER COMING RIGHT AT ME HELP. Oh blurg. Now it keeps moving around all fast and quick with all those legs and oh my god paranoid. -shudder-

Anyway. On Thursday I drove my sister to her appointment with her therapist, because I could, and I wasn't doing much of anything else, and I like driving. I brought comics to read while waiting for their session to be over, because I'm awesome. And I was out there for less than ten minutes when the doctor poked her head out the door into the lobby and called my name. Confused and nervous and shocked, I followed her back into her office where my sister was sitting, waiting.

I can't really go into detail about what we talked about in those forty minutes or so, namely because of a little thing called confidentiality and I can't go blabbing that sort of thing about my sister all over the internet, but it was... interesting. I've never spoken to a trained professional about myself and my problems and relationships with other people like that before. I guess I could have lied through my teeth about what I thought and all of that, but I didn't. I was honest, relating things from my childhood together with my sister that I'd never shared with anyone before. But it didn't feel like I was baring my soul or investing trust or anything like that. I was just relating facts and experiences and memories. Things that I know now, after 20 odd years of being alive, are not typical experiences one should have as a child. But then I get to thinking about myself, younger, and wondering if I thought it was normal then. After all, what other existence did I know?

I can say these things to people and write it off with a shrug of my shoulders and a laugh and an acceptance of fact, but the more I think about it, the more it bothers me that I do. And I can't quite pinpoint why that is.

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Making me happy

- summer break
- time spent with my best friend
- slowly regaining my tan
- suddenly realizing that I really like L.A.
- real Mexican food
- driving aimlessly with friends
- watching Doctor Who with my little brother
- Glee in concert
- the sheer genius of the LOST finale
- being in love

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While running

During my run through my neighborhood this morning (finally home for the summer, thank god) a little realization hit me, but before I get to that it requires a little backstory.

I was on the last little section of the mile I got into the habit of running each day during the last couple weeks of school. I'm proud of this habit, proud of my times for each day, and though I wasn't able to go out regularly for the past few days because of packing and traveling, I would quickly be restored to my less-than-ten-minute-mile glory, still basking in the contentment that comes with being back in San Diego.

And then my delusions were quickly dashed when I simply couldn't hold out anymore and had to stop to rest before the mile was over. Which is something I never do.

Already self-conscious about all the bare skin revealed by the old high school PE shorts I was wearing, my frustration at myself and my endurance just made me feel worse. Of course, I hadn't taken into account the chaos of my schedule the past four days, the fact that running outside was different than running around the track in the gym, oh no no no, this was all on me.

So it was in this frame of mind, staring around at the houses in the cool morning air of this overcast day, that I realized something:

I would have killed for this body in high school.

Which is entirely true. As I walked back to my house this morning, I considered the tiny green mesh shorts and the high school girl who was forced to wear them each week. "PHS Titans" stamped on the left, the slits on the side of each leg exposing more fourteen-year-old skin than she felt comfortable with, the way the fabric would ride up when she walked or ran and her constant, awkward struggle to put it back in place. And if this girl, at least fifteen pounds heavier, completely self-conscious and self-hating, could deal with these stupid shorts four times a week and the mockery of her peers' eyes (both real and imagined), then I could get over myself and the fact I couldn't run a mile today.

And though all the self-confidence I've acquired since then didn't come flooding back at once like I wanted it to, I did end up feeling a little better.

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An Interlude

Lemme just talk about this past month for a sec.

You know how you can have the greatest day, but then all it takes to completely ruin it is a single moment?

March was filled with these moments.

Sure, there were good times. Excellent times, in fact. And much laughter, always laughter, what with the company I keep and the people that I talk to on a regular basis. Many good moments. Some great moments, even. But then every once in a while, a bad moment, or an awful moment, or a truly horrible moment will show up, and just negate all the good and set me back so much. And I'll fight it, and I'll scream at it, or I'll quietly give in to the numbness before I'm reminded that I'm strong. And I am. But that's for another time.

And there's been so much crying. It's pretty terrible. I mean, I've gotten past the point where I consider crying a weakness to be avoided at all costs (because I did think like that, once upon a time). I understand that it's healthy and a part of the healing process, etc etc etc. But really? This month has just been a superfluity of moments that make me cry and it's gotten to the point where I'm wondering if it all isn't a bit ridiculous. Isn't it? It must be.

But then I get to thinking about some of the things. Things like death, and loss, and violence, and fear, and horrible, horrible uncertainty. For the beginning of Spring, this month's been touched by too much death. But it's the uncertainty that gets to me most, I find. For example: I don't know if I'll be able to go to school here in Farmington next year. I'm proceeding as normal, but it's difficult sometimes. And there are so many other more pressing uncertainties.

And lastly, there's the ever-creeping tendrils of depression that will catch me in an off-moment and just suck me right down. But at least I know how to do a better job at combating it now.

Anyway. That's that. So, goodbye, March.

Another thing: I should have started outlining ages ago!! -frantic face-

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Happymaking

Today, someone said to me, "You are systematically destroying my insecure and zero self confidence existence!"

It's one of the best things anyone has ever said to me ever.

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Some thoughts

It was my twentieth birthday yesterday, so I've officially outgrown the classification of 'teen' up there in my lovely header. I don't know what to change it to though, so it'll stay as-is for a while.

I've been thinking a lot lately (okay, last night and today) about signing up for another blog, and making it private or just not giving people the link. Because while I enjoy writing on this, there are just some things that need to be said without inhibition or regard for others. And I don't have that here. But I haven't decided either way just yet.

Things have been good for the most part. But despite all the great goodness, I can't help but think that Alex was right during our conversation on Sunday, even though I definitely feel somewhat guilty for thinking that. [/ambiguity]

See that? That's the sort of thing I need a secret blog for. A physical journal is just too much work for little ol' me.

That's about it for now. Perhaps I'll turn in. Oh, and I'm very taken with this song right now (thanks Morgan).

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Monday Afternoon

Today's the kind of day that's muffled, like a slight persistent ringing around the edges after too much loud anything.

Today's the kind of day when my hair falls in waves I am content with, the pleasantly bitter aftertaste of coffee coloring my tongue as I watch my old, old dog inhale painfully, my eyes still heavy with four a.m.

And I wonder how simultaneously old and young I feel, me, living and breathing on the cusp of twenty.

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Half-packed

There's something beautiful about a half-packed suitcase. Something new and comfortable and frenetic. Something exciting.


In less than two days I'll be on the move, when each passing minute will bring me that much closer to you.

I can't wait.

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I just want to be proven wrong.

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We were in the dark

We were in the dark, I sitting, she lying in the relative silence though Glee quietly reminded my ear drums to not stop believing. She sneezed, signaling she was awake. The clock, though recently taken to playing tricks on me and resetting itself to random intervals, spelled out in primary colors that it was after twelve.

I asked how her night was. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with muffled congestion and a sort of weariness. I could relate.

'Boys are stupid.' I fell back on that time-honored response, trying to make her feel a little better.

She agreed.

She's up now, blind drawn, light from outside spilling over her side of the room. I suppose I could follow suit, feel the metal beads under my fingers as I rediscover the window hiding behind the white canvas flap, but for the moment I prefer the artificiality of my computer, lighting my face and arms and hands. The silhouette of the friendship bracelet I've been working on obscures the upper right corner of the screen, a braided and colorful reminder of summers already experienced.

It's quiet now, she's gone, and I rock back and forth in my chair as I breathe and think and wait and simply be.

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A promise and a reminder

I will not give up, no matter how awful it gets.
I refuse to stop fighting for what I want.

Be the change.
I love you.

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A Sunday

I fell asleep twelve hours ago, woke up again in half that time.

My heart is overflowing but I'm only just acknowledging it, only just realizing that I ran away but you came with me, stopped me and made me listen.

I'm watching this crescent of a moon rise outside my window, this smile in the sky, and I'm smiling too.

I don't know what the stars mean.

I don't care as long as you're here to share them with me.

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Untitled

She hangs up the phone with resignation and the false smile still pasted over aching lips.

Of course everything would be all right. Wouldn't it? It had to be.

"No, darling, they won't lock you up."

"No, darling, you're not crazy."

"Talk to your doctor. It'll be fine."

What she longs for the most is to say, "I'm scared. I don't understand."

What she longs for the most is to be held and for the trouble to seep quietly away, out of her body and into the ground, cleansed by fire and kisses.

She can't.

Fall's slanting golden light and thinly pure air is no match for dark circles cradling tired eyes.

But it can try. She would welcome that.

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How I fared this past week

- Survive
- Get all my homework done
- Not get addicted to caffeine
- Talk to you as much as I can (Not nearly enough.)
- Figure out what's up with him ("Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.")
- Make a new friend
- Take more pictures
- Watch the sunrise again (Not this week, but it will happen.)

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Goals for the rest of this week

- Survive
- Get all my homework done
- Not get addicted to caffeine
- Talk to you as much as I can
- Figure out what's up with him
- Make a new friend
- Take more pictures
- Watch the sunrise again

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