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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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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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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It'll be okay.

I suspect that I'm at a point in my life where I keep saying those three words not because I truly believe them just yet, but because I'm trying to.

And everyone needs reassurance.

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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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If lying were harder I'd do it less.

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Daydreaming

Lazy Friday afternoon, fluffy white clouds outside my open window dancing to my music, pine trees remaining stationary and silent in their vigil.

I'm swaying to this song on repeat, holed up in my dorm room, door ajar. People walk past, some going to class, others going home for the long weekend. To say that I'm not a little jealous of them would be a lie, but that's okay.

In my mind, I'm somewhere else. Somewhere warm, somewhere comfortable.

Is it December yet?

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It's my blog, I can be vague and poetical if I want to

What do you do once you willfully trade knowing for ignorance?

What is left for you to do? But to sit and smile and pretend there is nothing wrong while hoping that you're right; to bury the mutinous whispers of doubt and curiosity beneath blankets of gray matter; to repeat mindless mantras about bliss and killing so much more than cats?

That's what I want to know.

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I hope I am never a cactus

Cassandra (5:59:36 PM): I just had a really random thought

Cassandra (5:59:53 PM): how do cacti hug without hurting each other?

May (6:00:30 PM): hahahah

May (6:00:41 PM): they don't! they have a super duper depressing life

May (6:00:48 PM): and have no physical contact with anybody else in the world

May (6:00:56 PM): because every time they get too close to someone, they hurt them

Cassandra (6:02:03 PM): that's so sad.

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stars

If I could, I'd lay with my back against some lonely asphalt highway, car silent, staring up at the constellations that would bleed into the velvet of the dark mountain sky. I'd listen to this song on endless repeat until I grew tired of it or it lulled me to sleep, thinking and dreaming about everything and nothing and those spots in between. Far, far away, a couple would be having sex, hoping roommates can't hear them; while I would make love with my eyes to the stars, content in my aloneness, tangible and tasteless like water--but only just this once.

I am tired of lying.

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A trail of thoughts, like breadcrumbs

A confession: On Wednesday I did something really stupid.

Today I realize that living life is just a matter of staying standing even when you want to curl up into a tiny ball and cry and wait til everything goes away. But it won't. And sometimes you indulge in getting into that fetal position, wishing things back to how they were, but it eventually passes and you stand up, brush yourself off, and go on. Because that's what humans do. And maybe we're stupid and stubborn, but you kind of have to admire it.

I also realize that I want to help anyone in anyway I can. But that I can't most of the time, and it frustrates and saddens me.

I'm also quite addicted to this song, so you should listen to it because it is pretty:

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Baptism, Take Two

(oh, hey, and read this poem, it's fantastic. go on... what are you waiting for?)

Today, I stood in the cold Spring rain; barefoot, glasses off, hair down in a tangled mess of not-caring. I breathed deeply as each stinging drop touched me, soaked my sagging jeans and old white t-shirt, my hair, my skin. I had no purpose except to be wet, to be outside, to watch the swirling grey mass of the clouds as they blurred in my imperfect vision. I had no purpose, but the longer I stood there pummeled by the rain I was swept away. Now, I have something, transient perhaps, gone in a hour, or several. But I remember the taste of it as the water brushed my lifted face, washed it away.

I can't remember the last time I've ever felt this pure.

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Pedestals

I think it's pretty easy to idealize people. Maybe even putting them up on a mental, moral, or emotional pedestal. I know I do it, maybe not to the extent of hero worship that happens sometimes, but I definitely idealize people more than I should, and more than I even realize sometimes.

So, when that view is contradicted in some way, I think it's necessary to be aware of that pedestal, and remove said person from it instead of burying oneself deeper into disillusion. Because this other person you are idealizing is only human, just like yourself. And it's really not fair to be idealizing people, because then you are not being fully honest in dealing with them, or yourself for that matter.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that when said contradiction happens, it's shocking, but also somewhat refreshing, at least to me. It puts a new spin on things, and I realize that I haven't been exactly fair in how I view them. And then comes the necessary, though difficult task of changing that perception to better fit reality.

Wish me luck.

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My pets need to stop dying, and other interesting statements

In the span of a little over a month, I have lost three goldfish (River, Kaylee, and Simon) and a dog (Sandi). The goldfish were only mildly disappointing, but Sandi... well, we've had her for a long time. So she was old, it was just... very unexpected. I just hope it was painless, poor thing. -sigh- Rest in peace, darling.

Long story short, my pets need to stop dying.

I have a week to finish my transfer app for Chapman. Whoever invented the Common App should be shot, is all I have to say about that.

I also have a short story due on Tuesday, and I still have no idea what to write about. It's kind of awful. But I think I work best under pressure when it comes to school assignments and things, so I'm hoping for something good in the twilight moments before my class on Tuesday. And by twilight moments, I mean Sunday and Monday. I'm not that crazy.

Lastly, I think I've stumbled upon something of an epiphany. Not anything huge, and I suppose it's pretty obvious, but sometimes it's the obvious things that are hardest to strike at.

"I honestly don't know why I feel such an obligation to make others happy, even people like E*** and B**** who are just so draining to talk to, but I'm trying. I suppose it's a whole work in progress thing. Start small and all. And I think a part of it with [my sister] is that I feel so helpless because I can't do anything, and it's eating me up. I generally don't appreciate feeling helpless, you know? But I guess it's just a matter of accepting things for how they are, and not trying to change them so desperately. Like beating your head against a wall hoping it moves at some point, I suppose. It's just kinda pointless in the long run and it hurts you really bad." - from an email I wrote to Morgan.

Like I said, obvious, but still pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.

Well, that's about it for this post. Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, the next post shall be much more entertaining. I just want to see how Maya pulls hers off, first. ^_^

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Wonder

I wonder about lots of things. Little things. Like why I still wear this pair of jeans despite the fact that they are broken (long story). I wonder why I haven't been writing much lately. I wonder what the title of this song is. I wonder about crickets, and what they do in a rainstorm. I wonder why I adore foreign accents so much.

I wonder if it is considered rude and bitchy to simply ignore someone who has attempted to contact you via Instant Message.

Thoughts?

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Regarding Commitment

I'm bored and listening to Christmas music, so I blog. Yes, I do question my sanity on a regular basis, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, of the myriad things I can write about right now (and that's not even counting the things I can't write about... >.>) I'm going to shed some light on my thoughts regarding the subject of commitment; more specifically, commitment in friendships. This was actually the topic we talked about this morning in bible study, believe it or not, though I'm presently reminded that my dear friend Morgan also posted about kinda the same thing last month.

So we're talking about commitment in friendships this morning, right? The scene is very much the same as it always is: the small room that is far too chilly, the lone table, and the five of us females sitting around it, two of whom I happen to be related to, another one the instructor. Of four students, I am the eldest (but not necessarily the wisest, heh heh). We go around the table, sharing our thoughts; I end up last. I sit and listen patiently, nodding along in agreement as the others list off things like being there for when your friend needs you (which is the one that kept popping up the most).

Finally, after a vain attempt at clearing my throat--remnants of a cold coupled with bonfire smoke from the night before--I begin: "I see commitment in a friendship, in any relationship, really, as making it work. Not bailing at the first sign of trouble."

And, to me, that's what it really comes down to. Of course there will be rough patches, but if you're committed to something, you try your hardest to stick with it and make it work. Maybe it's because I've never really been one to recognize a lost cause when I see one, but I think that's one of my new mottos: make it work. Because it's all about determination and action; without the action, your determination is worthless, and without determination, your action is meaningless.

Just something to think about. Thanks for reading.

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Silence

I was going to post something I wrote earlier that's one-hundred percent truth, yet presented as fiction (appropriate considering the name of my blog, no?), but it's a bit too personal and not very good, anyway. I guess I could talk about how, with the exception of two moments, I've not experienced any of this mystical holiday cheer that seems to well up this time of year; how I've grown to strongly dislike Christmas and the "holiday season" in general. But I want to talk about something else instead.

Last night, I watched a Buffy episode called "Hush" for the first time. I'm not entirely sure how many of you that read this are familiar with Buffy, but this episode is the epitome of creepy. Creepy, jump-and-grab-hold-of-the-person-sitting-next-to-you-and-try-not-to-whimper-in-fear sort of creepy. And heart-snatching monsters aside, what really freaked me out was the fact that it was silent. The basic premise of the episode is that, one day, an entire city wakes up unable to speak. And, to me, that is horrifying.

I've never really known what a deep-rooted fear this is for me. To be honest, I think it first hit me about a month ago, when my friend put his hand over my mouth as I was saying something. It was odd, not because it happened in the first place, but in the fact that it unsettled me so. You see, I'm the shy, quiet, keep-to-myself type, except with close friends. I'm independent, and generally don't work well in groups. I have a fear of public speaking. And I suppose you could say I'm a wall-flower, but I'm not too sure about that one anymore.

So it's in my nature to be quiet. It's not like I'm saying that silence is a bad thing, either. Silence can be quite comforting, given the appropriate circumstances. But the nice thing about silence is that it can be broken, that one can simply open one's mouth and speak, eradicating the silence, the quiet. We take this for granted, I think. It's a fact of life. Humans are social, highly-communicative animals, and as such, it's in our nature to make noise, to communicate our pleasures and displeasures, to say what's on our mind.

But there's a difference between choosing to be quiet, and having that choice be taken from you. Forcibly. And that is what I'm afraid of. Being unable to express myself, when I feel like it. To be silenced, not merely silent.

Just something for you to think about.

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It's a little after 1 am on December 1, 2008. I sit here in this almost-too-stuffed armchair recliner, the lamp beside me turned on, with the dark creeping in from everywhere else. Silence fills my ears. I'm floored.

Why?

Because I've just read one of the most heart-shatteringly beautiful, achingly-poetic, utterly human things I've ever come across. It makes me want to cry.

But I can't share it with you.

Just be satisfied in the knowledge that you, no matter what your situation, are not the only one experiencing whatever might be plaguing you right now, good or bad. Things happen to people. Surprising things. Dark things. Secret things.

But that's the beauty and the pain of life. Knowing you're not alone in its pain and its beauty.

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On the Nature of Innocence

I was looking at The Catcher in the Rye earlier for a Creative Writing project due on Friday, and it sort of provided me the impetus to write this.

I've had the thoughts swimming lazily around in my head for the past couple of days, and, while I absolutely adore the book (seriously, it's one of my favorite books ever), I feel the need to disagree with Mr. Holden Caulfield about innocence.

Holden is all about preserving innocence. That much is evident, even if you didn't have to write a paper about it in high school like I did. It's a worthy cause, but at the same time, utterly pointless and futile. Which I guess is the point of the book, but I digress.

When one thinks of the word 'innocence', does one get a good feeling, or a bad one? What are the connotations associated with the word? Generally speaking, it's good across the board. All babies and butterflies and rainbows. Everything perfect and as it should be.

But innocence is deceptive and fragile. Perhaps that is all the more reason to protect it, to guard it and keep it safe. Fair enough. But I have to ask you something... why?

It's come to my attention that innocence, though continually played as beautiful and wonderful and glorious... is really not all that it is cracked up to be. In fact, I'm going to be so bold as to say that innocence is really nothing but trussed up ignorance. I mean.... what separates the two? Where does one end and the other begin? They're just basically shades of the same thing.

And, call me a jaded college student (you won't be too far off) but I'd rather know than remain innocent. Because, really, if you think about it... when, in the long run, has ignorance ever been real bliss?

Just something to think about. Thanks for reading.

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