Today marks the month countdown until I take a massive road trip across country to spend the summer in Arizona. Yeah, the state I fought so hard to leave, I’m crawling back to for the summer. That’s right, I’m leaving the state of Michigan, where summer temps rarely peek 95, and its sunshine and long days to spend my summer in Hell. 100+ temperatures all the time… so what exactly am I thinking?
First of all, let’s talk about what I’ve been up to? Working, school, and running on empty in the scholastic department. I’m getting restless and I’m getting antsy. I’m also getting ready to quit. So, I need a break, a step back from the regular life stress. I also, more importantly need my friends. It’s not enough to have them a phone call away. I need the physical distraction to help refuel myself. There are more excuses I could go into, but really I just need the break and I miss my family. Put two and two together, and I’m Arizona bound.
But, don’t think this is just a vacation as I thoroughly intend to get a job, work the summer, do some more exploring, and get tan. I’ve become a weird shade of white that I’m not entirely used to nor do I want it. I want to swim as much as humanly possible. And take photos. Also, I miss good Mexican food.
So, Arizona, my camera and I will see you soon.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
The Kids are Alright
I haven't written in a bit and I suppose this is a complete cop out for writing, but here it is anyway. I had to write a story for my creative writing class so I decided that this was going to my by entry. It's a bit long. Some of it is made up, some of it is stolen from real life events. Names, events, places and all that jazz are not necessarily the same. Any relation to real events is probably coincidental. Maybe. I also stole the title from a movie that was released recently. It needed to be done, not everything I do can be that creative.
One time when I was seven-years-old I explained to the doctor how to inject heroin into your arm while he was taking blood from my arm. I learned that from my mother. It was just a routine checkup while spending the summer with my grandmother.
Shortly after that, my brother explained to an audience of great aunts and uncles how to roll a joint, detailing the exact precision it takes to truly make a good one. How you have to roll it tight. He learned that from my dad.
I imagine most parents’ worry about whether their children will repeat the occasional “shit” or “damn it” that escaped their mouths in a bout of frustration. But that’s thing about children; you really have to watch what you do around them don’t you? And even more so if you’re the kind of child I was, who thought everyone was a friend.
For show-and-tell when I was eight, I told people about the Kleenex boxes and cake. It seemed normal for me, but I was pulled into the counseling office and my mother was called.
I didn’t understand the problem with the fact that when Daddy wasn’t medicated it made him do strange things. Strange things like wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet for shoes and bringing me a birthday cake six months shy of my real birthday. Or the fact that one time to prevent my mother from driving he removed one of his own molars and shoved it into the ignition of our Datsun, but it was okay, because “They told him she shouldn’t leave.” And who were the “voices” anyway?
Schizophrenia and weed will do that to you though, people never realize that’s the number one reason schizophrenics fall off their rockers. Weed. They never care either, because they think the only hazard they’ll be is to a cake.
I know it’s actually quite awful when you look at it, horrifying even. But it was my childhood and every now and then it makes for some good stories. I suppose beauty of my childhood was that I was blissfully unaware. I didn’t fully grasp the horror of each of these stories until was much older. It was like how I watched Dirty Dancing every day for a year when I was 5-years-old. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that it actually clicked what the movie was about. It was literally an “Ohhhhhhh” sort of moment for me.
And then there was the day that Scottie died.
----------------------------------------------------------------
It was a normal Friday for us, my siblings and I. We were at home and my mom was rushing about organizing things for when her friends would arrive. I was excited because I loved when her friends came over. It meant I could steal sips of beer, eat all the candy I wanted and stay up late. When her friends came over, mom didn’t care what we did as long as we stayed out of her hair. But mostly, I was excited because Scottie was coming over.
Scottie was my favorite of her friends. He was tall with sandy blonde hair and a mustache that ticked my nose when we he would pick me up and kiss my forehead. He was cute and he paid special attention to me. I even changed the name of my Ken doll to Scottie.
While most of moms friends would say hello then ignore me for their poison of choice, he let me sit in his lap while he drank and passed a joint around laughing and telling jokes. I loved sitting with Scottie. It made me feel special, but he also made me feel safe.
Sometimes I would ham it up in front of my mom’s friends and tell silly jokes. And they lapped up the sarcasm I had even at a young age. Being around the adults, while my siblings preferred to find solitude in our bedrooms watching ET or other cartoons gave me the center of attention most times.
This Friday was no different. I would crack jokes and ping pong between the kitchen and people gathering a beer for a quarter tip. It made me feel important and also, the drunker they got, the higher the tips became. Sometimes I’d end a night having collected twenty or more dollars. Which is a lot to a 6-year-old. It wasn’t long before the sounds of AC/DC, Poison, KISS and other 80’s hair bands filled the air and they were all sunken into their grooves.
Then out came the mirrors, the spoons, and razors and rolled up bills. This is when I would get pushed upstairs and tucked into bed. Scottie would always volunteer to take me to bed. He’s warm and funny. He makes me laugh. He also smells like beer and cigarettes. He tells me a story about a princess in a tower and a knight in shiny armor. I imagine I’m the princess and he’s the knight. And then he calls me sweetie and then tucks me into bed. “Goodnight Princess.” He says as he turns out the lights.
I smile as he leaves but I’m angry that I’m too young to stay up even later because I just know theirs something exciting going on downstairs and I’m up in my room missing it all.
Most nights I listen late into the night to their hushed voices. Their stories about how the world is spinning and other euphoric feelings. I can’t wait until I’m older and can try the spoon trick too.
Tonight the music is so loud I can feel the beat in my mattress, it lulls me into a deep slumber. To this day, I can be at a Mega Death concert and fall asleep. Loud music and metal has a lullaby effect on me, which people always find strange.
When I wake the next morning the house is still and in my Rainbow Bright nightgown, I carefully descend the stairs. Scottie is on the couch and other bodies are scattered around the living room. I skillfully maneuver around each of them into the kitchen pretending they’re lava before I pour myself a bowl of cereal. On the way back, I weave through the bodies before I climb on the couch next to Scottie and sit behind his bent knees. I turn the TV on low and watch Saturday morning cartoons. This is how I have my breakfast.
Most weekend mornings are like this. We make ourselves breakfast, lunch and dinner while mom sleeps through the weekend because she doesn’t feel good. My siblings and I are used to it and so weekends usually consist of Mayo sandwich’s, which is literally just mayo and bread, Cereal and on occasion Mac and Cheese if my older brother feels up to it, he’s nine.
We watch a lot of TV and try not to get into too much trouble. I’m the one that usually cause the most mischief because it’s hard for me to sit still and I get bored easily, especially if they wont let me watch Dirty Dancing and we’re forced to watch The Goonies or ET. I hate both of those movies and I just want to dance.
Every so often, someone will shift and grumble before getting up. They’ll croak a hello; pat me on the head and quietly slip out the door. This continues for a few hours until its only Scottie and me in the living room. I desperately want him to wake up, because he’ll watch Woody Woodpecker with me, and I’ll laugh just like the bird to get Scottie to smile.
And then I realize that there is no movement coming from Scottie and I’m horrified. I scream and then run upstairs screaming, “MOM! MOM! SCOTTIE’S DEAD!”
When I get to her room, she’s jolted awake, her eyes are wild and she seems confused. I take a deep breath and say it again as tears start to form in my eyes.
“Scottie is dead. He’s not moving at all! I don’t think he can breathe either!” I rush to her and shake her. “C’mon lets go!”
I sprint to the door and flee to the bottom of the stairs with my mom following at my heels. I run to the bowl near the TV as she begins to violently shake Scottie on the couch begging him to wake up. Her words are frantic.
“Scottie! Wake Up! WAKE UP!” She gives him a hard shake and he gives a cough.
“What? I’m awake. What is the matter?” He croaks.
I turn with the bowl in my hands and look at them, she’s hugging him, crying and he looks bewildered as he strokes her hair and tries to calm her. I stare at them mad that they aren’t focused at the crisis at hand.
“Mom, Scotties dead! Look! He’s just floating at the top! What are we going to do?” I sob as her eyes finally turn back to me.
“Jesus Christ,” she shouts, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” She seems relieved as I clutch the bowl with my now dead fish in it and begin to cry violently, causing the water to slosh from the bowl.
“But he’s dead” I manage to whimper.
One time when I was seven-years-old I explained to the doctor how to inject heroin into your arm while he was taking blood from my arm. I learned that from my mother. It was just a routine checkup while spending the summer with my grandmother.
Shortly after that, my brother explained to an audience of great aunts and uncles how to roll a joint, detailing the exact precision it takes to truly make a good one. How you have to roll it tight. He learned that from my dad.
I imagine most parents’ worry about whether their children will repeat the occasional “shit” or “damn it” that escaped their mouths in a bout of frustration. But that’s thing about children; you really have to watch what you do around them don’t you? And even more so if you’re the kind of child I was, who thought everyone was a friend.
For show-and-tell when I was eight, I told people about the Kleenex boxes and cake. It seemed normal for me, but I was pulled into the counseling office and my mother was called.
I didn’t understand the problem with the fact that when Daddy wasn’t medicated it made him do strange things. Strange things like wearing Kleenex boxes on his feet for shoes and bringing me a birthday cake six months shy of my real birthday. Or the fact that one time to prevent my mother from driving he removed one of his own molars and shoved it into the ignition of our Datsun, but it was okay, because “They told him she shouldn’t leave.” And who were the “voices” anyway?
Schizophrenia and weed will do that to you though, people never realize that’s the number one reason schizophrenics fall off their rockers. Weed. They never care either, because they think the only hazard they’ll be is to a cake.
I know it’s actually quite awful when you look at it, horrifying even. But it was my childhood and every now and then it makes for some good stories. I suppose beauty of my childhood was that I was blissfully unaware. I didn’t fully grasp the horror of each of these stories until was much older. It was like how I watched Dirty Dancing every day for a year when I was 5-years-old. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that it actually clicked what the movie was about. It was literally an “Ohhhhhhh” sort of moment for me.
And then there was the day that Scottie died.
----------------------------------------------------------------
It was a normal Friday for us, my siblings and I. We were at home and my mom was rushing about organizing things for when her friends would arrive. I was excited because I loved when her friends came over. It meant I could steal sips of beer, eat all the candy I wanted and stay up late. When her friends came over, mom didn’t care what we did as long as we stayed out of her hair. But mostly, I was excited because Scottie was coming over.
Scottie was my favorite of her friends. He was tall with sandy blonde hair and a mustache that ticked my nose when we he would pick me up and kiss my forehead. He was cute and he paid special attention to me. I even changed the name of my Ken doll to Scottie.
While most of moms friends would say hello then ignore me for their poison of choice, he let me sit in his lap while he drank and passed a joint around laughing and telling jokes. I loved sitting with Scottie. It made me feel special, but he also made me feel safe.
Sometimes I would ham it up in front of my mom’s friends and tell silly jokes. And they lapped up the sarcasm I had even at a young age. Being around the adults, while my siblings preferred to find solitude in our bedrooms watching ET or other cartoons gave me the center of attention most times.
This Friday was no different. I would crack jokes and ping pong between the kitchen and people gathering a beer for a quarter tip. It made me feel important and also, the drunker they got, the higher the tips became. Sometimes I’d end a night having collected twenty or more dollars. Which is a lot to a 6-year-old. It wasn’t long before the sounds of AC/DC, Poison, KISS and other 80’s hair bands filled the air and they were all sunken into their grooves.
Then out came the mirrors, the spoons, and razors and rolled up bills. This is when I would get pushed upstairs and tucked into bed. Scottie would always volunteer to take me to bed. He’s warm and funny. He makes me laugh. He also smells like beer and cigarettes. He tells me a story about a princess in a tower and a knight in shiny armor. I imagine I’m the princess and he’s the knight. And then he calls me sweetie and then tucks me into bed. “Goodnight Princess.” He says as he turns out the lights.
I smile as he leaves but I’m angry that I’m too young to stay up even later because I just know theirs something exciting going on downstairs and I’m up in my room missing it all.
Most nights I listen late into the night to their hushed voices. Their stories about how the world is spinning and other euphoric feelings. I can’t wait until I’m older and can try the spoon trick too.
Tonight the music is so loud I can feel the beat in my mattress, it lulls me into a deep slumber. To this day, I can be at a Mega Death concert and fall asleep. Loud music and metal has a lullaby effect on me, which people always find strange.
When I wake the next morning the house is still and in my Rainbow Bright nightgown, I carefully descend the stairs. Scottie is on the couch and other bodies are scattered around the living room. I skillfully maneuver around each of them into the kitchen pretending they’re lava before I pour myself a bowl of cereal. On the way back, I weave through the bodies before I climb on the couch next to Scottie and sit behind his bent knees. I turn the TV on low and watch Saturday morning cartoons. This is how I have my breakfast.Most weekend mornings are like this. We make ourselves breakfast, lunch and dinner while mom sleeps through the weekend because she doesn’t feel good. My siblings and I are used to it and so weekends usually consist of Mayo sandwich’s, which is literally just mayo and bread, Cereal and on occasion Mac and Cheese if my older brother feels up to it, he’s nine.
We watch a lot of TV and try not to get into too much trouble. I’m the one that usually cause the most mischief because it’s hard for me to sit still and I get bored easily, especially if they wont let me watch Dirty Dancing and we’re forced to watch The Goonies or ET. I hate both of those movies and I just want to dance.
Every so often, someone will shift and grumble before getting up. They’ll croak a hello; pat me on the head and quietly slip out the door. This continues for a few hours until its only Scottie and me in the living room. I desperately want him to wake up, because he’ll watch Woody Woodpecker with me, and I’ll laugh just like the bird to get Scottie to smile.
And then I realize that there is no movement coming from Scottie and I’m horrified. I scream and then run upstairs screaming, “MOM! MOM! SCOTTIE’S DEAD!”
When I get to her room, she’s jolted awake, her eyes are wild and she seems confused. I take a deep breath and say it again as tears start to form in my eyes.
“Scottie is dead. He’s not moving at all! I don’t think he can breathe either!” I rush to her and shake her. “C’mon lets go!”
I sprint to the door and flee to the bottom of the stairs with my mom following at my heels. I run to the bowl near the TV as she begins to violently shake Scottie on the couch begging him to wake up. Her words are frantic.
“Scottie! Wake Up! WAKE UP!” She gives him a hard shake and he gives a cough.
“What? I’m awake. What is the matter?” He croaks.
I turn with the bowl in my hands and look at them, she’s hugging him, crying and he looks bewildered as he strokes her hair and tries to calm her. I stare at them mad that they aren’t focused at the crisis at hand.
“Mom, Scotties dead! Look! He’s just floating at the top! What are we going to do?” I sob as her eyes finally turn back to me.
“Jesus Christ,” she shouts, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” She seems relieved as I clutch the bowl with my now dead fish in it and begin to cry violently, causing the water to slosh from the bowl.
“But he’s dead” I manage to whimper.
Friday, March 30, 2012
The Animal Song
I've been having difficulties keeping to myself
Feelings and emotions better left up on the shelf
Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie
Which one is more human There's a thought, now you decide - Savage Garden (The Animal Song)
Today I got reprimanded verbally by a co-worker because I said that I didn’t pay attention to politics. She basically told me that because people like me didn’t pay attention to politics and fight back we’re going to be in a position where women are going to be back in the kitchen and not in the work place. That we’re going to lose our rights (as women.)
I didn't respond to her because I'm not going to play the game where you verbally abuse someone because you think it will gain you some kind of power over them. I declined to comment at the time.
I don’t pay attention to politics because I find that both side have valid points and often we get issues wrapped up in such political bullshit and propaganda that it’s just venom spit back and forth. I’d rather not partake in this type of behavior. I believe that there are no facts anymore, its just one sided opinionated bias. The only way to figure things out is to think for yourself. More often than not I see people from all ends of the political spectrum regurgitating the same propaganda bullshit they heard on their station of choice. I do not do this. I’ll learn the issues and make my own educated opinion on the matter.
So, no I don’t keep up with politics because I can’t stand the political slander that goes on. If that’s the sort of thing you’re into, good for you. But people “like me” will not be responsible for the downfall of women because we choose to not participate in the war of words.
*drops mic*
Would you like to make a run for it, would you like to take my hand, yeah.. - Savage Garden (The Animal Song)
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Fix You
Here’s something I haven’t done in a while.
I haven’t felt much like sharing any of the things going on in my life. Mostly, I’ve just been trying to keep my head above water. I’ve been more proactive in making sure I pay attention to the things I need to do and not let the focus of my goals and needs get lost in the shuffle.
After I came back from Chicago for the Waukegan family Christmas party, I fell into somewhat of a depression-induced stupor. Which is weird considering I also came back feeling a little more complete. I met family on my dad side that had always been this missing blacked out area of my life. But that is for another blog, I'm sure.
Mostly my depression was job related, so I called in and then eventually, I stopped calling in at all. It didn’t take long for that job to fire me on the account of a no call no show, but it wasn’t something that caused me to stress. It was actually more of a relief. I felt a weight off my shoulder and figured that it wouldn’t take me long to bounce back.
It didn’t.
In fact, the day I actively decided to quit my job, I went in for an interview and landed the job on the spot. Sure it’s part time. Sure it’s paying me less than nothing. It’s a job that makes me feel good. The people I work with are pretty fantastic and its right in the same line of what I’d love to do for a living. I work in the disabilities office on campus for the community college, it’s a work-study position, but I was so grateful it fell into my lap. Some of the students that come through are some of the most amazing people I’ve met. Some make my heart bleed for their disabilities. But mostly, they make me feel like I'm doing something right.
I’m happy doing what I do, working with the people I work with, but I feel like there is still something missing.
I joke that Coldplay is horrible, but the reality is, I enjoy them very much. Specifically I have an extreme fondness for the song Fix You. It seems to have a hold on my heart. It's so beautifully sung that anytime I hear it, it makes me want to cry. I’m a sucker for crying for reasons that aren’t me being emotionally unhinged.
I watch TV shows for their ability to make me cry. I’m addicted to feeling emotions, and usually I feel too much.
I digress.
This song represents me so much in my interactions with the people I allow in my life. I have this need to fix those who are “broken.” To help someone not experience things I have. The need to “fix” is the driving factor behind my wanting to get into Special Education, not that I want to fix these children, but rather that I want to fix the relationship and create a better understanding and bridge for them. The Fix-You factor makes me want to get into social work and counseling. It pushes me towards a community service field.
"Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones... And I will try, to fix you"
What I’m saying is, you know how I know I’m “gay?”
Because I totally listen to Coldplay.
And yes, I have been on a bit of a Glee music kick.
I haven’t felt much like sharing any of the things going on in my life. Mostly, I’ve just been trying to keep my head above water. I’ve been more proactive in making sure I pay attention to the things I need to do and not let the focus of my goals and needs get lost in the shuffle.
After I came back from Chicago for the Waukegan family Christmas party, I fell into somewhat of a depression-induced stupor. Which is weird considering I also came back feeling a little more complete. I met family on my dad side that had always been this missing blacked out area of my life. But that is for another blog, I'm sure.
Mostly my depression was job related, so I called in and then eventually, I stopped calling in at all. It didn’t take long for that job to fire me on the account of a no call no show, but it wasn’t something that caused me to stress. It was actually more of a relief. I felt a weight off my shoulder and figured that it wouldn’t take me long to bounce back.
It didn’t.
In fact, the day I actively decided to quit my job, I went in for an interview and landed the job on the spot. Sure it’s part time. Sure it’s paying me less than nothing. It’s a job that makes me feel good. The people I work with are pretty fantastic and its right in the same line of what I’d love to do for a living. I work in the disabilities office on campus for the community college, it’s a work-study position, but I was so grateful it fell into my lap. Some of the students that come through are some of the most amazing people I’ve met. Some make my heart bleed for their disabilities. But mostly, they make me feel like I'm doing something right.
I’m happy doing what I do, working with the people I work with, but I feel like there is still something missing.
I joke that Coldplay is horrible, but the reality is, I enjoy them very much. Specifically I have an extreme fondness for the song Fix You. It seems to have a hold on my heart. It's so beautifully sung that anytime I hear it, it makes me want to cry. I’m a sucker for crying for reasons that aren’t me being emotionally unhinged.
I watch TV shows for their ability to make me cry. I’m addicted to feeling emotions, and usually I feel too much.
I digress.
This song represents me so much in my interactions with the people I allow in my life. I have this need to fix those who are “broken.” To help someone not experience things I have. The need to “fix” is the driving factor behind my wanting to get into Special Education, not that I want to fix these children, but rather that I want to fix the relationship and create a better understanding and bridge for them. The Fix-You factor makes me want to get into social work and counseling. It pushes me towards a community service field.
"Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones... And I will try, to fix you"
What I’m saying is, you know how I know I’m “gay?”
Because I totally listen to Coldplay.
And yes, I have been on a bit of a Glee music kick.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Teach me love, I know I’m not a hopeless case
A few days ago, I had a dream that a childhood friend of mine was murdered while meeting up with me in the city. She was strangled to death by a man, because she accidentally hit him with her car door when getting out of the car. It took me back that she was in my dream, particularly because of the way things ended and changed. And it struck me funny, that the tragedy happened over something so trivial.
What I took from this was that we, in life are so easily angered over the smallest things, we often react too quickly.
I am easily hurt I find, despite the rough exterior I try to present, I crumble fast and I fall hard. And for a long while, I lay lifelessly on the ground, refusing to have hope.
I sink.
And then you think you’ll learn from situations, but then you find yourself being tempted with the same question, and you pick B, when you should have picked C.
Interesting how words written a few years back, still reveal more of me than I could ever imagine. And what does it say about me that I continually find myself in these situations, a multiple choice test that I never seem to pick the right answer. In the end, I hope to find that the reason for this is for something good, something bigger.
Burned
A child knows not
the warnings that come.
The embers burn bright,
upon a slight graze.
But I have known.
Yet like a child,
I wrap my fingers 'round
and in its wake, blistered skin maps,
the lesson I'll never learn.
J.Crawford
May 12, 2009
And I am angry.
I am angry that I keep blistering myself; wondering why? So I look back over the situation, I churn and churn it around, inspecting every corner and crease to find where the center could no longer hold. I look back at all my mistakes and changes, and wonder what all the fuss was about.
So again I find myself, obsessing over details and thinking about that friend, as I watched the interview with Gabby Gifford’s on ABC.
“Very difficult” She says, of her struggles to come as far as she has.
And for me, it’s difficult to watch Gabby and not feel what she says and to not want to amend myself and behavior. She inspires me.
Gabriel Gifford’s story is one of hope, triumph and acknowledgement, because if she’s not angry about the wrong that was done to her, a bullet through her brain and a life forever changed, how can I be angry about a paper cut?
Because that’s all these mistakes are, tiny little paper cuts that shouldn’t be life altering, but hiccups or beats of a heart.
What I took from this was that we, in life are so easily angered over the smallest things, we often react too quickly.
I am easily hurt I find, despite the rough exterior I try to present, I crumble fast and I fall hard. And for a long while, I lay lifelessly on the ground, refusing to have hope.
I sink.
And then you think you’ll learn from situations, but then you find yourself being tempted with the same question, and you pick B, when you should have picked C.
Interesting how words written a few years back, still reveal more of me than I could ever imagine. And what does it say about me that I continually find myself in these situations, a multiple choice test that I never seem to pick the right answer. In the end, I hope to find that the reason for this is for something good, something bigger.
Burned
A child knows not
the warnings that come.
The embers burn bright,
upon a slight graze.
But I have known.
Yet like a child,
I wrap my fingers 'round
and in its wake, blistered skin maps,
the lesson I'll never learn.
J.Crawford
May 12, 2009
And I am angry.
I am angry that I keep blistering myself; wondering why? So I look back over the situation, I churn and churn it around, inspecting every corner and crease to find where the center could no longer hold. I look back at all my mistakes and changes, and wonder what all the fuss was about.
So again I find myself, obsessing over details and thinking about that friend, as I watched the interview with Gabby Gifford’s on ABC.
“Very difficult” She says, of her struggles to come as far as she has.
And for me, it’s difficult to watch Gabby and not feel what she says and to not want to amend myself and behavior. She inspires me.
Gabriel Gifford’s story is one of hope, triumph and acknowledgement, because if she’s not angry about the wrong that was done to her, a bullet through her brain and a life forever changed, how can I be angry about a paper cut?
Because that’s all these mistakes are, tiny little paper cuts that shouldn’t be life altering, but hiccups or beats of a heart.
“Life is too short, thanks for thinking of me. I think of you a lot too”
Friday, October 14, 2011
You fall, my pride, Don't ever need to apologize...
I was sitting there today at work thinking about what went wrong at the wedding I went to back in May. I had a terrible time, and looking back, I placed a lot of blame on the bride-to-be and one of my Best friends.
I remember trying to be fair with my anger, I tried to look at both sides, because I pride myself on being able to do that. Interestingly enough, when feelings are involved, sometimes, there is a disconnect.
Here are the facts:
1. My flight got delayed
2. I ended up sleeping in an airport (or trying)
3. What was supposed to be seamless and flawless, turned into a nightmare
4. My relationship with my boyfriend at the time, was rocky.
5. It was high stress as this was the first time my friends were meeting my boyfriend, I wanted him to impress them, and felt like he failed to do so
6. All the above statements made me angry
7. I just wanted to be with my best friend as much as possible before her big day.
8. I was hoping to spend a day at the pool with my best friend
9. I was ditched, and left out; then ignored.
10. This made me sad
11. I spent a good 3 hours feeling pretty alone and contemplated leaving before anything else bad could happen
12. The Bride, was beyond your normal selfish for any bride, especially at her friends expense.
So here is the truth:
I was looking for a pick me up from my friend, because I had been there countless times to make her happy when she was sad. And while this was HER wedding, we had plans, we had talked and talked and talked, and in the end, she made me feel like she didn't want me there. She failed me.
My boyfriend was just as selfish; he also failed me.
But most of all, I failed me.
And now, I’m sorry for the anger I displaced on her, and I’m sad it cost a friendship.
It’s interesting, how some time, can give you perspective.
Most days I miss our friendship but mostly, I’m grateful for the learning experience.
I remember trying to be fair with my anger, I tried to look at both sides, because I pride myself on being able to do that. Interestingly enough, when feelings are involved, sometimes, there is a disconnect.
Here are the facts:
1. My flight got delayed
2. I ended up sleeping in an airport (or trying)
3. What was supposed to be seamless and flawless, turned into a nightmare
4. My relationship with my boyfriend at the time, was rocky.
5. It was high stress as this was the first time my friends were meeting my boyfriend, I wanted him to impress them, and felt like he failed to do so
6. All the above statements made me angry
7. I just wanted to be with my best friend as much as possible before her big day.
8. I was hoping to spend a day at the pool with my best friend
9. I was ditched, and left out; then ignored.
10. This made me sad
11. I spent a good 3 hours feeling pretty alone and contemplated leaving before anything else bad could happen
12. The Bride, was beyond your normal selfish for any bride, especially at her friends expense.
So here is the truth:
I was looking for a pick me up from my friend, because I had been there countless times to make her happy when she was sad. And while this was HER wedding, we had plans, we had talked and talked and talked, and in the end, she made me feel like she didn't want me there. She failed me.
My boyfriend was just as selfish; he also failed me.
But most of all, I failed me.
And now, I’m sorry for the anger I displaced on her, and I’m sad it cost a friendship.
It’s interesting, how some time, can give you perspective.
Most days I miss our friendship but mostly, I’m grateful for the learning experience.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Schoolhouse Rock....
For my Intro to Education course we’re supposed to keep a weekly journal with thoughts and evaluations relating to our potential careers in Teaching.
Our first journal assignment is to answer the question “Why Teach?”
I always joke when people ask me what I’m going to school for that I’m “getting into the family business.” My family seems to be comprised of mostly businessmen or teacher/social worker related fields. But becoming a teacher is more than just the family business; it’s something that started when I was young.
I’ve had a rough life and the people that seemed to be a constant stability was always my aunt and my teachers, well the teachers of the schools I stayed the longest in. My aunt taught elementary school for a lot of schools that were located in parts of town with a high poverty rate. I admired her dedication to making a difference in these kids’ lives. I wanted to be like her. I want the same things she’s worked hard to achieve.
In fourth grade my research paper was called “The ups and downs about teaching.” I focused on researching the career I was destine to have. Even with the “bad” I knew this was where I was supposed to be.
As I grew, my interest in teaching faded as I began exploring different interest and for a long time I was insistent upon becoming a journalist when I was in high school. But I realized it wasn’t the writing I loved, but rather the design and layouts I created with the school newspaper.
Soon after high school I got my first camera. I started snapping pictures of everything. I set up photo shoots with friends and began playing with the idea of being a photographer. (I still toy with that idea.) However, the lack of confidence in my artistic ability has atlas pushed me away from the photography career and I found myself wondering what I was going to do with my life.
About this same time I started watching two very amazing little boys while attending school. One of the boys was particularly apt to knowledge, so while we played I would talk to him about what I was learning in my history classes. The first conversation we had been about the Nile and Egypt.
He pounded me with questions wanting to know everything I knew and more. Soon, it became his fascination and I loved the positive feeling it gave me when he would tell me things he had learned from me, or something else. And sure, maybe I did have to tell him “No we will not be embalming your little brother!” even then, I felt a sense of pride.
And then it occurred to me that I should take a hint from my 10-year-old self and revisit my first ambitions, the ones I find I have the most confidence in.
So why teach?
1. Because the world needs good teachers, and I know I could be one.
2. Because somewhere there’s a lost child that was just like me desperate for some direction, and I would love to be able inspire them the way I have been inspired by my aunt and other teachers.
3. Because I enjoy leading and being looked up to.
4. Kids are funny.
5. Lots of glitter.
6. Teaching will help me gain knowledge in the things I love and even open my eyes to new possibilities.
7. I always loved school, might as well stay in it…except this time I’ll be at the front of the classroom, instead of hiding in the back.
8. I get to decide what happens; not very many professional jobs allow the creativity that teaching does.
9. I’m ready for the challenge of shaping the future.
10. Lets be honest, I love being the center of attention, if even for a minute.
Our first journal assignment is to answer the question “Why Teach?”
I always joke when people ask me what I’m going to school for that I’m “getting into the family business.” My family seems to be comprised of mostly businessmen or teacher/social worker related fields. But becoming a teacher is more than just the family business; it’s something that started when I was young.
I’ve had a rough life and the people that seemed to be a constant stability was always my aunt and my teachers, well the teachers of the schools I stayed the longest in. My aunt taught elementary school for a lot of schools that were located in parts of town with a high poverty rate. I admired her dedication to making a difference in these kids’ lives. I wanted to be like her. I want the same things she’s worked hard to achieve.
In fourth grade my research paper was called “The ups and downs about teaching.” I focused on researching the career I was destine to have. Even with the “bad” I knew this was where I was supposed to be.
As I grew, my interest in teaching faded as I began exploring different interest and for a long time I was insistent upon becoming a journalist when I was in high school. But I realized it wasn’t the writing I loved, but rather the design and layouts I created with the school newspaper.
Soon after high school I got my first camera. I started snapping pictures of everything. I set up photo shoots with friends and began playing with the idea of being a photographer. (I still toy with that idea.) However, the lack of confidence in my artistic ability has atlas pushed me away from the photography career and I found myself wondering what I was going to do with my life.
About this same time I started watching two very amazing little boys while attending school. One of the boys was particularly apt to knowledge, so while we played I would talk to him about what I was learning in my history classes. The first conversation we had been about the Nile and Egypt.
He pounded me with questions wanting to know everything I knew and more. Soon, it became his fascination and I loved the positive feeling it gave me when he would tell me things he had learned from me, or something else. And sure, maybe I did have to tell him “No we will not be embalming your little brother!” even then, I felt a sense of pride.
And then it occurred to me that I should take a hint from my 10-year-old self and revisit my first ambitions, the ones I find I have the most confidence in.
So why teach?
1. Because the world needs good teachers, and I know I could be one.
2. Because somewhere there’s a lost child that was just like me desperate for some direction, and I would love to be able inspire them the way I have been inspired by my aunt and other teachers.
3. Because I enjoy leading and being looked up to.
4. Kids are funny.
5. Lots of glitter.
6. Teaching will help me gain knowledge in the things I love and even open my eyes to new possibilities.
7. I always loved school, might as well stay in it…except this time I’ll be at the front of the classroom, instead of hiding in the back.
8. I get to decide what happens; not very many professional jobs allow the creativity that teaching does.
9. I’m ready for the challenge of shaping the future.
10. Lets be honest, I love being the center of attention, if even for a minute.
Saturday, September 03, 2011
She did the best rendition of "A whole new world"
The last time I wrote anything I lived in New Jersey and was about to embark on an interesting new life with my friend Wendy there for me along the drive to Michigan.
Things got rough within the first 20 minutes of driving.And then 30 miles from what was once my home, Daniel's car broke down. We still had 10 hours of driving to do, and hadn't even left NJ.
Getting to Michigan was rough which is partly why I've made the decision to abstain from writing - It keeps me from "woe's me" entries.
Daniel and I made the decision to leave his car in NJ (With his dad) and rented a car (with the help of Wendy) then 24 hours after we first attempted to leave NJ, we were finally on our way.
Once the road trip was underway, everything else seem to go a little smoother. But upon arriving, things weren't the greatest, and I still was struggling with things back in NJ. Which I realized I had to stop letting it bother me and just let it go. And I feel better for having made the decision to come here.
Again, I really haven't had much to write about as I tend to shut down in high stress situations. (Getting a new job, getting ready for school, moving/settling in have been really rough for me.)
I have a job, its not fantastic, but it pays me. How can I complain? School has started and I'm a little uneasy, but I'm sure I will come out on top, or at least I hope I do.
I'm moving forward, one step at a time. (And with a little help from my friends (Wendy.))
I miss the boys, I miss New Jersey, I miss driving to see the New York skyline. I miss my adventures. I miss my roommates.
But, writing this has been a bit of a struggle, but for whatever reason I've felt compelled to keep some sort of update in my life other than "I am alive."
And I am.
Hope all is well.
Things got rough within the first 20 minutes of driving.And then 30 miles from what was once my home, Daniel's car broke down. We still had 10 hours of driving to do, and hadn't even left NJ.
Getting to Michigan was rough which is partly why I've made the decision to abstain from writing - It keeps me from "woe's me" entries.
Daniel and I made the decision to leave his car in NJ (With his dad) and rented a car (with the help of Wendy) then 24 hours after we first attempted to leave NJ, we were finally on our way.
Once the road trip was underway, everything else seem to go a little smoother. But upon arriving, things weren't the greatest, and I still was struggling with things back in NJ. Which I realized I had to stop letting it bother me and just let it go. And I feel better for having made the decision to come here.
Again, I really haven't had much to write about as I tend to shut down in high stress situations. (Getting a new job, getting ready for school, moving/settling in have been really rough for me.)
I have a job, its not fantastic, but it pays me. How can I complain? School has started and I'm a little uneasy, but I'm sure I will come out on top, or at least I hope I do.
I'm moving forward, one step at a time. (And with a little help from my friends (Wendy.))
I miss the boys, I miss New Jersey, I miss driving to see the New York skyline. I miss my adventures. I miss my roommates.
But, writing this has been a bit of a struggle, but for whatever reason I've felt compelled to keep some sort of update in my life other than "I am alive."
And I am.
Hope all is well.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
It's 3 am I must be lonely....
I always used to get so angry when my grandma would literally force me to bake. I'd throw fits, spit angry words, and eventually bake or make whatever it was that she requested. Which is funny considering I’ve actually always been pretty partial to baking and mostly enjoy it. I always claimed myself more of a baker until recently when I've tried my hand in cooking.
But I distinctively remember my grandmother always wanting me to make Banana bread. If there were over ripe bananas in the kitchen, it meant I had to make bread. It used to drive me crazy, I always thought she hated me being idle and would make me do something despite the fact that whatever occupied my idleness was satisfying to me. It used to Anger me a great deal. Really I hate being forced to do anything, but who likes demands?
It’s late and I’m up avoiding sleep by talking with Wendy as we usually do, a treasured ritual and after listening to my stomach growl for the hundredth time, I turned around to grab something to snack on when I saw the bananas. I picked them up to move them out of the way and they were so ripe they were literally falling out of the peels.
And then her voice was there. “Go make some banana bread out of the over ripe banana’s in the kitchen.”
I miss her. I almost felt obligated to bang things around in protest.
And besides, 3 AM is the perfect time to bake, right?
But I distinctively remember my grandmother always wanting me to make Banana bread. If there were over ripe bananas in the kitchen, it meant I had to make bread. It used to drive me crazy, I always thought she hated me being idle and would make me do something despite the fact that whatever occupied my idleness was satisfying to me. It used to Anger me a great deal. Really I hate being forced to do anything, but who likes demands?
It’s late and I’m up avoiding sleep by talking with Wendy as we usually do, a treasured ritual and after listening to my stomach growl for the hundredth time, I turned around to grab something to snack on when I saw the bananas. I picked them up to move them out of the way and they were so ripe they were literally falling out of the peels.
And then her voice was there. “Go make some banana bread out of the over ripe banana’s in the kitchen.”
I miss her. I almost felt obligated to bang things around in protest.
And besides, 3 AM is the perfect time to bake, right?
Thursday, July 21, 2011
My Heart's Sittin' on Go
Creating a play list for the Great Epic Adventure with Wendy has been a fun little trip through all the music I have on my computer (50g.) And you know what? I’m not ashamed that I follow Garth Brooks with Eminem. Or that I have every album the Spice Girls ever released. And yes, I do have almost every boy band to ever come out in the late 90’s early Millennium) represented (5ive, BSB, N’Sync, Westlife, Soul Decision…etc.) And come to think of it I do in fact have Metallica followed by Avril Lavigne, and Evanescence and Flo Rida. Don't judge.
I also have the My Little Pony’s Theme song and Mortal Combat. So, I collect music like I collect memories (usually they coincide.)
And how could I forget The Beatles? Every album they've ever released is on there too.
What was the point of this? Oh yes, I’m incredibly moved by music and it shapes my life. It also has me feeling pretty good lately. Yes, a change in the game was exactly what the doctor ordered.
As much as I want this week to progress slowly, I also want it to pass quickly.
"My heart's Sittin' on Go"
I also have the My Little Pony’s Theme song and Mortal Combat. So, I collect music like I collect memories (usually they coincide.)
And how could I forget The Beatles? Every album they've ever released is on there too.
What was the point of this? Oh yes, I’m incredibly moved by music and it shapes my life. It also has me feeling pretty good lately. Yes, a change in the game was exactly what the doctor ordered.
As much as I want this week to progress slowly, I also want it to pass quickly.
"My heart's Sittin' on Go"
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Never really knew she could dance like this...
Shakira’s song “Hips Don’t Lie” makes me feel like I could probably dance…If I weren’t so clumsy. And of course I would never look as flawless and sexy as she does in her video…
But 3 minutes and 43 seconds I totally can.
But 3 minutes and 43 seconds I totally can.
Friday, July 01, 2011
Please don't let me go, I desperately need you.
I’m sitting at my desk eating a powdered Bavarian crème donut. Its sweet and it tastes like my youth. Instantly I am transformed back to Sundays with my grandparents.
I’m seven, maybe eight and the air is hot; I can feel the sweat pool behind the back of my knees. Its summer in Tucson, which means the weather, is unbearable. And still, children are dashing around the grass in their dresses and khaki’s while parents and friends gather in small groups talking to one another. My grandfather is giving the okay as we hurry over to select a donut that’s being sold after the service. I can see him with his pressed pants, his crisp button up, bald head reflecting the sun. He stirs his coffee as my siblings and I wait, pushing in front of each other to be the first to collect our prize. My grandmother scolds us, tells us to behave, we try, but we’re really no good at it.
Besides the donut counters are two orange coolers of lemonade, they’re the perfect combination for this hot Sunday. I try not to be greedy but I know want to grab all of the donuts, maybe sneak another selfishly away for later. They’re treats for me, and I want them all. I carefully select a powdered crème filled donut. I do this every time and it taste so good. I’m content in my life and nothing seems to matter as I smudge myself with the sugary-confection.
Looking back, It was really the only reason I ever enjoyed going to church that or the rare occasion that my grandparents would take us to a late breakfast or lunch. I was destined to be fat. I loved food even then.
Shortly after we’ll pack ourselves into my grandparent’s car, it smells like leather and when my grandma drives, I get car sick. When grandpa drives, I watch him, carefully. I watch where he turns, what roads he takes. This helps me later when I get my licenses and never really struggle with how to get somewhere. I act worried when my grandma screeches my grandfathers name and clings to the armrest, but inside I know she’s over reacting, like he’d ever hit anyone, we’re safe. I’m safe when I’m with my grandparents. And I’m happy.
I’m seven, maybe eight and the air is hot; I can feel the sweat pool behind the back of my knees. Its summer in Tucson, which means the weather, is unbearable. And still, children are dashing around the grass in their dresses and khaki’s while parents and friends gather in small groups talking to one another. My grandfather is giving the okay as we hurry over to select a donut that’s being sold after the service. I can see him with his pressed pants, his crisp button up, bald head reflecting the sun. He stirs his coffee as my siblings and I wait, pushing in front of each other to be the first to collect our prize. My grandmother scolds us, tells us to behave, we try, but we’re really no good at it.
Besides the donut counters are two orange coolers of lemonade, they’re the perfect combination for this hot Sunday. I try not to be greedy but I know want to grab all of the donuts, maybe sneak another selfishly away for later. They’re treats for me, and I want them all. I carefully select a powdered crème filled donut. I do this every time and it taste so good. I’m content in my life and nothing seems to matter as I smudge myself with the sugary-confection.
Looking back, It was really the only reason I ever enjoyed going to church that or the rare occasion that my grandparents would take us to a late breakfast or lunch. I was destined to be fat. I loved food even then.
Shortly after we’ll pack ourselves into my grandparent’s car, it smells like leather and when my grandma drives, I get car sick. When grandpa drives, I watch him, carefully. I watch where he turns, what roads he takes. This helps me later when I get my licenses and never really struggle with how to get somewhere. I act worried when my grandma screeches my grandfathers name and clings to the armrest, but inside I know she’s over reacting, like he’d ever hit anyone, we’re safe. I’m safe when I’m with my grandparents. And I’m happy.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
“I find it hard to tell you, cause I find it hard to take”
“Well I heard there was a secret chord, that David played, and it pleased the Lord but you don't really care for music, do you? “
It started with a random song that came on my Pandora, I remember hearing some of the words, the melody stuck in my head but I couldn’t remember the name of the artist who sang it so I googled the title of the song, “Hallalujah”, and got a youtube video a fan-made video featuring Kate Voegele’s vocals. I’m not even remotely familiar with her, as I’ve actually never heard of her before. But her version of the song struck a cord with me. It’s her voice, it captivates me and I wonder if people ever become so infatuated with a song because the way a certain sound. I’m sure they do, but I like to think I’m unique in my obsession with vocals. It raises hairs on my arms and I can actually feel tears well up in my eyes. And I’m positive that this is how music should be felt, heard even.
First of all, the lyrics are beautiful. The strange part is that they’re spiritual and they hit me in a way I can’t even explain. It makes me feel more glass half full in regards to my life. However, I have difficulty pulling from this cynical outlook. I feel like I’m forever feeling the “the minor fall” of life in everything that I do. I’m still waiting for “the major lift” So I can have my Hallelujah moments I know it’s just the ebbs and flow of life, but I truly believe that some people are more lucky than others and I haven’t the luck of the Irish that I should have. But I digress. There is something about this line from the song, “And Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah “ Borderline obsessed with the notion. I just know that the voice combined with the lyrics sooth me, like a pacifier does to a fussy baby.
And then there’s the flip-side to the other song that’s also been on repeat, Mad World, a slightly darker take on life. Which interestingly enough the video I found also fan-made was set to scenes from Girl, Interrupted; which is oddly fitting. But anyway, I knew I had heard it before because I recalled the melody and lyrics slightly (Tears for Fears) but the artist singing it was new to me, Alex Parks. I love her voice. It’s another one of those voices that appeals to me and draws me into the song. But this song is about how we get so caught up in life and run these circles and it all seems so tiresome. I can my fears being ripped from me and put on show in this song.
“Hide my head I want to drown my sorrows, no tomorrow…”
I relate so much to the dark and lonely lyric “And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.” It’s such a cynical outlook, and it gives off this edge of loneliness in the singer’s voice. It reaches into the darkness of me and pulls these thoughts forward.
“I find it hard to tell you, cause I find it hard to take”
It’s hard to understand the darkness that comes into me when I have these fairy tales of life in my head, my humor is twisted and dark, bleak, but my heart is princesses, fairies, magical lands and happily ever after.
The very twist of both of these songs being on my replay list back to back suggest a certain bi-polar/teenage angst feeling inside of me. And then this tug for normalcy, which explains the tears that well inside me when I hear “Hallelujah” and the sense of comfort I feel when I hear “Mad World.”
It started with a random song that came on my Pandora, I remember hearing some of the words, the melody stuck in my head but I couldn’t remember the name of the artist who sang it so I googled the title of the song, “Hallalujah”, and got a youtube video a fan-made video featuring Kate Voegele’s vocals. I’m not even remotely familiar with her, as I’ve actually never heard of her before. But her version of the song struck a cord with me. It’s her voice, it captivates me and I wonder if people ever become so infatuated with a song because the way a certain sound. I’m sure they do, but I like to think I’m unique in my obsession with vocals. It raises hairs on my arms and I can actually feel tears well up in my eyes. And I’m positive that this is how music should be felt, heard even. First of all, the lyrics are beautiful. The strange part is that they’re spiritual and they hit me in a way I can’t even explain. It makes me feel more glass half full in regards to my life. However, I have difficulty pulling from this cynical outlook. I feel like I’m forever feeling the “the minor fall” of life in everything that I do. I’m still waiting for “the major lift” So I can have my Hallelujah moments I know it’s just the ebbs and flow of life, but I truly believe that some people are more lucky than others and I haven’t the luck of the Irish that I should have. But I digress. There is something about this line from the song, “And Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah “ Borderline obsessed with the notion. I just know that the voice combined with the lyrics sooth me, like a pacifier does to a fussy baby.
And then there’s the flip-side to the other song that’s also been on repeat, Mad World, a slightly darker take on life. Which interestingly enough the video I found also fan-made was set to scenes from Girl, Interrupted; which is oddly fitting. But anyway, I knew I had heard it before because I recalled the melody and lyrics slightly (Tears for Fears) but the artist singing it was new to me, Alex Parks. I love her voice. It’s another one of those voices that appeals to me and draws me into the song. But this song is about how we get so caught up in life and run these circles and it all seems so tiresome. I can my fears being ripped from me and put on show in this song. “Hide my head I want to drown my sorrows, no tomorrow…”
I relate so much to the dark and lonely lyric “And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.” It’s such a cynical outlook, and it gives off this edge of loneliness in the singer’s voice. It reaches into the darkness of me and pulls these thoughts forward.
“I find it hard to tell you, cause I find it hard to take”
It’s hard to understand the darkness that comes into me when I have these fairy tales of life in my head, my humor is twisted and dark, bleak, but my heart is princesses, fairies, magical lands and happily ever after.
The very twist of both of these songs being on my replay list back to back suggest a certain bi-polar/teenage angst feeling inside of me. And then this tug for normalcy, which explains the tears that well inside me when I hear “Hallelujah” and the sense of comfort I feel when I hear “Mad World.”
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” -Marianne Williamson
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Helpless, Hopeless
I want badly to be a published author, but perhaps not bad enough because I can’t think of any story I want to write about more than what I know, and that’s me. I know my life, I know my story and it might sell. But it also might be just like everything else. And am I really pompous enough to think I could write to book standards? But also, I don’t think I’m completely ready to open myself up for everyone to take in.
In essence, I am a self published author by way of the internet, but I want to feel my book in a hardcover biding. I want people to read what I write and connect to me on that level, to understand, maybe even help. I haven’t the strength to do what I want.
Not yet, anyway.
In essence, I am a self published author by way of the internet, but I want to feel my book in a hardcover biding. I want people to read what I write and connect to me on that level, to understand, maybe even help. I haven’t the strength to do what I want.
Not yet, anyway.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
It's no suprise to me I am my own worst enemy...
A girl I went to high school told me she always admired my confidence in high school. It got me thinking about what confidence really meant. In high school, I was never very confident; I was just involved in my own tormented world that it was hard for much to get through my hard shell and into the core of my being. And surely that’s not confidence. Anyone can take a million pictures and find one that they look good in, after all, it truly is about angles. I'm queen of angles. My family makes fun of me for them, maybe not in effort to hurt me, but never the less, a certain photo style is now considered a "Jennie Photo" - And really? It was way of making myself feel beautiful, because no one else was going to. And surely that's not confidence? But even now, I don't feel so vain and even less beautiful.
Really, my weight has been heavily on my mind these past few weeks. I had friends in town and they wanted a tour of NYC and I felt like I was holding them back because I couldn’t walk as fast or as long. Never mind that the heat was a factor, walking caused my a lot of pain in my head. I thought my head was going to explode, I got lightheaded on several accounts but I pushed myself to move forward with breaks, but I still don’t feel as though I accomplished anything.
I make excuses that I’m more of a wanderer who likes to take things in in different spots, but its also because my body cannot handle the physical exertion. My body has hit a point where I’m no longer comfortable in my own skin and this scares me. I don’t have a whole lot of will power, though I am stubborn. And I can’t wrap my brain around the idea that you have to not have certain foods. I happen to love food and it pisses me off that I can’t eat it. I understand that everything in moderation, and I really have been trying to watch that, make better choices on what I do eat, but sometimes you just want a huge slice of chocolate cake, with ice cream.
I have a lot swirling around in my brain lately, Its taking more for me to feel good about myself than it used to. It used to be easy for me to feel beautiful or pretty and now, I feel the darker shadow of me more than the beautiful me.
It’s hard to even say these things out loud, and honestly even harder to type it. Because the feeling being that, as a writer, there is more truth in what I write then what I say. When I write, I’m allowed to say anything, without the fear of crying, or getting angry, when I talk I fear crying and getting angry. I fear people seeing the emotion on my face or hearing it in my voice, even though arguably, you can feel emotions in words, if one is a good writer or even mediocre.
I have a lot of hang-ups about losing weight, a lot of stigmas that keep me rooted in my opinions. For one, I absolutely hate sweating. And for two, I never understand the euphoria feeling people get after they’ve been to a gym or worked out. I don’t get it. I get light headed and stomach achy. I’m also a sucker when it comes to pain, I can’t tolerate it very well, at all. If you exercise right there should be pain right? I can’t wrap my brain around that Idea either. And you know, perhaps these are all just road blocks I’m putting in my way, but I’d much rather hang out in a pool any day than sweat myself to death on a treadmill. But I don’t really have regular access to a pool nor the funds to have access to a pool... Sometimes your batting Zero (That reference was for you Emily)
I’m ready for a change in scenery and a change in me, hopefully within the next few months I can truly get over myself and get on to being a better me physically, mentally and also educationally. I’m so ready for chapter *insert whatever number this is.*
Maybe then I can find the right confidence, the true kind that I feel inside and out.
Maybe then I can be more than just a pretty face.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Everything I needed to know about Love, I learned from The Beatles
"You say you want a revolution Well, you know we all want to change the world" - Revolution (The Beatles)
In light of New York's decision to allow gay marriage I've finally found something to write about that I have a passion for. Beware, here’s where I’m going to come off sounding slightly douche-y. I’m already sick of hearing about gay’s right to marry. Now, having said my douche bag of a statement, allow me to back peddle a bit.
What I can’t wrap my mind around is how this is such an issue? Seriously, what is going on in peoples minds that makes them think, you know what? Fuck people in love marrying. We wont have it.
"All you need is love, love is all you need" - All you need is Love (The Beatles)
Marriage is not what it once was; it hasn’t been for quite some time. It would not be far from the truth to say that many of our laws are dictated by what used to be considered moral and normal.
I guess what I’m really getting at is, welcome to the fucking real world people. We’re out of the dark ages, women no longer have to be in the kitchen, black people can in fact get a job and dare I say it? Become president. The world is evolving; men no longer beat a woman over the head with a stone and drag them back to the cave (well, most don’t I’m sure some where a moron has done this.)
For people of the same sex, asking for the right to a civil union or marriage is the right to declare and establish a loving and long-term relationship with another person. It is allowing them the ability to raise a family and adhere to ideals of a marriage as any other couple would. They are not asking not for special rights, but rather the same to be able to have a say when it comes to the medical emergencies of a partner. They are trying to live their life as any heterosexual would in the pursuit of happiness and is that not what the constitution states as one of our inalienable rights?
Oh yea, I’ll tell you something, I think you’ll understand, When I say that something, I want to hold your hand - I Want To Hold Your Hand (The Beatles)
As a relatively progressive Roman Catholic (or used to be), my religion is against the marriage between two people of the same sex. It however, doesn’t make me any less catholic to be able to recognize the change and movement of our nation. There are many things stated in the bible that we don’t adhere to for example, in the book of Deuteronomy 22:22 it states “If a married person has sex with someone else's husband or wife, the Bible commands that both adulterers be stoned to death.” Further evidence is in Mark 12:18-17, “If a man dies childless, his widow is ordered by biblical law to have intercourse with each of his brothers in turn until she bears her deceased husband a male heir.” These are among several things that were held true in biblical times, which we do not perceive as being acceptable in the modern world.
Dear Prudence open up your eyes, dear Prudence see the sunny skies the wind is low the birds will sing that you are part of everything, Dear Prudence won't you open up your eyes? - Dear Prudence (The Beatles)
Okay, what I’m really saying here is, get your shit together world, we’re changing, we’re moving forward, lets try not to slip back into the dark ages, I’m not that great of a cook, and I have no desire to be a house wife. If I can have that choice as a woman, then everyone should be able to have a choice on whom they marry. Because seriously? I’m tired of this being a problem. And I’m tired of it having to be a triumph when some state decides to get their shit together.
Side note… who saw that coming from Iowa? I mean if Iowa can do it what are the rest of us doing with our lives.
“Everybody's journey is individual. If you fall in love with a boy, you fall in love with a boy. The fact that many Americans consider it a disease says more about them than it does about homosexuality.” ~James Baldwin
Sunday, June 12, 2011
You can understand dependence When you know the maker's land
“So make your siren's call, and sing all you want I will not hear what you have to say Cause I need freedom now and I need to know how to live my life as it's meant to be”
I was going to write about how ridiculous I thought it was that a childhood friend deleted me from her Facebook after I went to this horrific of a time wedding shelling out thousands of dollars to be present on her magical day while she treated me like a leaper most of the weekend – But then I realized she wasn’t much of a friend. The wedding was pretty and she looked fantastic and happy, so in the end, I guess that is all that matters to her. Not the fact that I’ve been there for her through so much, the death of her grandfather when according to her, her other friends weren’t. She was vaguely there for my grandmothers death, and only if it was convenient.
Well, I suppose I did write about it after all. But it's not about deleting me from Facebook and blocking me entirely. It’s about how she never once approached me to talk to me – she never once took my feelings into consideration. And, after 16 years of friendship, you would expect more. However, given the maturity of her, it only makes sense. And I know in her mind it was probably because I “didn’t want to see her happy” – And that is bullshit, but if that’s the lie she has to weave to justify her actions there isn’t much I can do at this point. In the end I was a decent friend. Or at least I would like to think I was, however, I will never know because she wasn’t a woman enough to talk to me.
Which brings me to my next case, I have a hording problem – Not that I collect junk, but rather I collect these ‘friends’ and I keep them close to me in effort to have control over something tangible. Having moved so often as a child and losing a lot of possessions It was like I made this silent vow to keep track of the friends I did have and hold on to some sense of normalcy of getting older with some friends. I remember when my step-dad told me that the friends I had as a jr high student would not be the same friends I had in adulthood. But through my hording ways, the core people I was friends with in Jr high with, are still people I consider my oldest and best friends.
I’ve got to realize when a friendship is just junk collecting clutter in my life and taking up too much of my emotional energy, and finally have the strength to clean out my ever so junked up emotional house and only keep the things that will enrich or bring meaning to my life.
Over a conversation with my aunt she mentioned how my friends were my life, how I depended too heavily upon them my whole life, more so than most. They were/are the feet I stood/stand on, they mean everything to me, and the reality of it is – They were this because of my inability to feel the love in my own home that I sought the approval and love elsewhere. Some of my friends are crucial in my survival this long.
But when is it that I stop living for them and start living for me?
The answer is now.
Because “I’ll find strength in pain” and “I have other things to fill my time, you take what was yours and I’ll take what was mine”
“Despite my faults and despite my growing fears, I will hold on hope.”
Monday, June 06, 2011
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Change my attempt good intentions, should I? could I?
I’ve been carrying my camera with me lately; I’m hoping that by having it, it inspires me to take photos every day. I really need to get back into it. I need to get back into something- I need something to do to occupy my time, though, I don’t have much.
Isn’t that the problem though? We spend so much time trying to find time in our busy lives. I feel as though all I do is work to pay rent, outrageous rent at that. And when I get home, I just want to do nothing. Nothing that requires too much thought, I need to numb my mind and escape.
Speaking of escapes, summer has arrived everyone around me is buzzing with what they’ll do with the time. Well, everyone but me, because my paid time has been used.
My time has been spent on ridiculous snow days that render my vehicle unable to move from my street – but if I could have gone to work, I surely would have. There was a family death that for my own emotional reasons, I needed to be back in Arizona. And then there was a wedding that took much of my monetary resources, time and had so many disasters. And if that wasn’t enough, I felt unappreciated and left out of quite a bit -it took quite a bit out of me emotionally.
The bottom line is, none of this time has been used in a relaxing manner. None of my time off has been an escape. So with summer here, I feel like it’s going to be a long hard year and I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.
This and many other reasons is why I need to get back into photography, so that I can discover my creative side all over again and bring my own light and find an escape.
Isn’t that the problem though? We spend so much time trying to find time in our busy lives. I feel as though all I do is work to pay rent, outrageous rent at that. And when I get home, I just want to do nothing. Nothing that requires too much thought, I need to numb my mind and escape.
Speaking of escapes, summer has arrived everyone around me is buzzing with what they’ll do with the time. Well, everyone but me, because my paid time has been used.
My time has been spent on ridiculous snow days that render my vehicle unable to move from my street – but if I could have gone to work, I surely would have. There was a family death that for my own emotional reasons, I needed to be back in Arizona. And then there was a wedding that took much of my monetary resources, time and had so many disasters. And if that wasn’t enough, I felt unappreciated and left out of quite a bit -it took quite a bit out of me emotionally.
The bottom line is, none of this time has been used in a relaxing manner. None of my time off has been an escape. So with summer here, I feel like it’s going to be a long hard year and I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.
This and many other reasons is why I need to get back into photography, so that I can discover my creative side all over again and bring my own light and find an escape.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)