If anyone has been around, I really do mean to make up for the time I forgot to write about. All of a sudden I am so busy. The holidays do that sort of thing.
I have a few things to remember, to be excited about, to clean, to throw away, etc. I really need to be more neat.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Words & Phrases to be Edited intermittently.
Whatever you do, don't start a blog.
I've missed you.
I miss you.
Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to forget about you.
Focusing on life means forgetting about each other.
Pushing forward must mean forgetting about me.
I know that isn't the sentiment, but
I guess that's the way it goes
for the both of us.
I want to tear the world apart with my small, bare hands.
I have yet to learn the trick of tearing those apples.
I've missed you.
I miss you.
Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to forget about you.
Focusing on life means forgetting about each other.
Pushing forward must mean forgetting about me.
I know that isn't the sentiment, but
I guess that's the way it goes
for the both of us.
I want to tear the world apart with my small, bare hands.
I have yet to learn the trick of tearing those apples.
Day 3
It's been months since I one of those wonderful dreams, the kind that are just too happy; one of those too-good-to-be-true's.
When my eyes slowly opened, I was surprised I didn't burst into a fit of rage. There's usually a twinge of anger if I don't want to leave a dream. This time, I laid in bed, afraid to move a muscle for fear of the dream-goodness leaving me. I was overwhelmed at its realness, but I had to let him know about it too.
I grabbed for my phone, only to find that it died during the night. So I sacrificed the Goodness to search for the charger. And to my relief, it didn't take long to locate, and the Goodness was still fresh when I slipped back into bed. I texted speedily with my hands. And so far, that has been the longest text I have ever sent without a phone freezing on me. Boy, if it had...
In my dream, I think Sam & I went to a wind ensemble concert at what was supposed to be the university, but of course as in a dream, it looked nothing like it. I showed him around campus and described the strange people I was curious enough to watch during "school days". One of them was a young man singing karaoke in a library.
Eventually, it was nighttime and the lights were glowing brightly. (I enjoyed it even though I find the nighttime to be a bit disorienting now). He and I walked arm in arm, or arms wrapped around each other.
Somehow, it turned into a sunnier afternoon, but still cool and crisp. A pair of young Asian men tried to trip us. We fumbled, but we never lost our footing. They walked ahead of us and muttered something under their breaths. I couldn't understand them, but I knew they were teasing us for being in love. We held onto each other just the same, and I even squeezed even tighter.
He felt so real. He wasn't a blur this time. Nor did he morph into someone else only for me to keep assuming it was him. He was simply himself. In high definition. His cheek was clean-shaven and soft against mine when we touched, there was a grin on his face, and his voice clearly at my right. His hair, in single curly locks (just the way it's supposed to be), was brushed against my face as I smiled and "affectionated". I could feel his body in my arms as I held him tighter.
I was about to explain something. We were about to go around a corner...
Instead I found reality before me, and as I said, I was surprised I didn't have a fit of rage... and that I wasn't clinging to my body pillow. I held an imaginary body in my mind and it felt so real without the power of suggestion from a pillow. I'm not entirely sure how to describe the feeling, but it was a bit of pride.
I will always wish for that dream every night.
I "half-fixed" my fathers Nikon FG. I'll find out of it's fully functioning after the film gets developed. I'm not sure how promising the outcome will be since the shutter works, the advancer's numbers don't change, but I can tell it's advancing the film... just after putting in new batteries, no LED lights have showed themselves as functional.
Oh, but I do love the clicking sound it makes...
[I forgot to talk about paper children, and this is simply a reminder for me in the future...]
I read that page I loved from the first time I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I loved it the first time, but today's reading only made me cry. Hot, choking, smothering my whimperings...
I'm so terrified I'll never be happy. The possibility of getting up and leaving my family seems so........... Good. I want it to happen now... before I grow older and galavanting in my own fashion is prohibited.
But I could never leave them. Not so abrupt.
Though I've always wished I had no family.
(This will be an introduction to my two-sidedness, which I hope to explain sometime).
I'm afraid I'm going to waste my time. I was robbed of my teen-years, and I was still good during my college years. I want something strange, I want something loud. I want to be able to skip in the darkest nights and scream my rage and desire to live. But...
now I feel nothing. So useless. So dead and empty. God help me find my life...
sometimes I wish I could think myself out of existence.
When my eyes slowly opened, I was surprised I didn't burst into a fit of rage. There's usually a twinge of anger if I don't want to leave a dream. This time, I laid in bed, afraid to move a muscle for fear of the dream-goodness leaving me. I was overwhelmed at its realness, but I had to let him know about it too.
I grabbed for my phone, only to find that it died during the night. So I sacrificed the Goodness to search for the charger. And to my relief, it didn't take long to locate, and the Goodness was still fresh when I slipped back into bed. I texted speedily with my hands. And so far, that has been the longest text I have ever sent without a phone freezing on me. Boy, if it had...
In my dream, I think Sam & I went to a wind ensemble concert at what was supposed to be the university, but of course as in a dream, it looked nothing like it. I showed him around campus and described the strange people I was curious enough to watch during "school days". One of them was a young man singing karaoke in a library.
Eventually, it was nighttime and the lights were glowing brightly. (I enjoyed it even though I find the nighttime to be a bit disorienting now). He and I walked arm in arm, or arms wrapped around each other.
Somehow, it turned into a sunnier afternoon, but still cool and crisp. A pair of young Asian men tried to trip us. We fumbled, but we never lost our footing. They walked ahead of us and muttered something under their breaths. I couldn't understand them, but I knew they were teasing us for being in love. We held onto each other just the same, and I even squeezed even tighter.
He felt so real. He wasn't a blur this time. Nor did he morph into someone else only for me to keep assuming it was him. He was simply himself. In high definition. His cheek was clean-shaven and soft against mine when we touched, there was a grin on his face, and his voice clearly at my right. His hair, in single curly locks (just the way it's supposed to be), was brushed against my face as I smiled and "affectionated". I could feel his body in my arms as I held him tighter.
I was about to explain something. We were about to go around a corner...
Instead I found reality before me, and as I said, I was surprised I didn't have a fit of rage... and that I wasn't clinging to my body pillow. I held an imaginary body in my mind and it felt so real without the power of suggestion from a pillow. I'm not entirely sure how to describe the feeling, but it was a bit of pride.
I will always wish for that dream every night.
I "half-fixed" my fathers Nikon FG. I'll find out of it's fully functioning after the film gets developed. I'm not sure how promising the outcome will be since the shutter works, the advancer's numbers don't change, but I can tell it's advancing the film... just after putting in new batteries, no LED lights have showed themselves as functional.
Oh, but I do love the clicking sound it makes...
[I forgot to talk about paper children, and this is simply a reminder for me in the future...]
I read that page I loved from the first time I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I loved it the first time, but today's reading only made me cry. Hot, choking, smothering my whimperings...
I'm so terrified I'll never be happy. The possibility of getting up and leaving my family seems so........... Good. I want it to happen now... before I grow older and galavanting in my own fashion is prohibited.
But I could never leave them. Not so abrupt.
Though I've always wished I had no family.
(This will be an introduction to my two-sidedness, which I hope to explain sometime).
I'm afraid I'm going to waste my time. I was robbed of my teen-years, and I was still good during my college years. I want something strange, I want something loud. I want to be able to skip in the darkest nights and scream my rage and desire to live. But...
now I feel nothing. So useless. So dead and empty. God help me find my life...
sometimes I wish I could think myself out of existence.
A Continuation of Day 2: Relationship #5: Outcry
I managed to like you the way I did even before we made our calls, yet it's difficult to tear away, even for this 1 millimeter increment. I find it amusing that this tiny distance stings my heart.
It's sort of like when you notice a paper cut for the first time. When they slip by unnoticed, one simply discovers the tiny scab from a few days (quite possibly, hours) ago. But once a fresh paper cut is seen, its pain starts to sting much sharper.
I don't want to be "degraded" back to what we once were [as if it were truly that degrading after all. Life seemed simpler then.]
Well, the obvious continues: I must find my life -- I am getting so full of sorrow.
Where am I? Who am I? Where is my job? Just please don't leave me. I have convinced myself that I need you.
I will paint a picture soon, of what I envision. Someday, I will step into the frame I created and live in my own wonderfully crisp, colorful, fresh, photographic, sweet sounding, sweet ordinary life. Just please don't leave me. I have convinced myself that I want to share it with you.
It's sort of like when you notice a paper cut for the first time. When they slip by unnoticed, one simply discovers the tiny scab from a few days (quite possibly, hours) ago. But once a fresh paper cut is seen, its pain starts to sting much sharper.
I don't want to be "degraded" back to what we once were [as if it were truly that degrading after all. Life seemed simpler then.]
Well, the obvious continues: I must find my life -- I am getting so full of sorrow.
Where am I? Who am I? Where is my job? Just please don't leave me. I have convinced myself that I need you.
I will paint a picture soon, of what I envision. Someday, I will step into the frame I created and live in my own wonderfully crisp, colorful, fresh, photographic, sweet sounding, sweet ordinary life. Just please don't leave me. I have convinced myself that I want to share it with you.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Day 2
Being that today was Veteran's day, I feel like I ought to say something for he Veteran's out there. But I was never very good in saying anything important, so I'll go with the: "Lest we Forget...", or something like that.
My parents where home. The flag waved in front of our home. There wasn't much to do today since everyone decided that going to the store wasn't necessary. My parents watched some Bourne Identity movies (my mom loves them). One of them is set in Paris and they wanted to see if they recognized anything... and they did. So that was exciting for them.
Today, luckily (or maybe unluckily) no one contacted me for movie-going... even though I disappointed my friends since I was gone during the weekend. I didn't mean to. I was in another city since I forgot there would be church practice. Which reminds me, I ought to do laundry.
When I was younger, my mum frowned upon Adidas for their lack of an arch. I usually can't deal with shoes that have crazy arches since I have very small, vague semblances of arches. As I got older, I started getting lower back pains, so I put little arch-inserts in my shoe and I am no longer in pain unless my period is coming. /Curses
I read for a majority of the day, and I'm a little sad because I started reading this book (for the second time) yesterday and now I'm almost finished. But I'm very glad that I can call this book my favorite. It is the only book I'm not ashamed of admitting that I could not put it down.
I had my bread and cheeses for the day, which I enjoy while I read... especially while I'm reading about other people eating bread.
This evening, I had the privilege of cradling my father's old camera in my hands. It doesn't function at the moment, so tomorrow I will be purchasing bat'rees in hopes it will come alive again. I'm a little concerned since I can't see through the lens anymore, and I really don't want to pay a visit to the crotchety men at the Photo place.
My mother laughed at me for the dress I purchased last weekend while I was away. She said I looked like a nurse, maid, or a nanny. I slammed the door and let my eyes water.
I could feel my heart swell when Sam didn't pick up his phone.
I could feel my heart swell when I felt suspicion.
We finally talked tonight, but nothing regarding my inner turmoil. After some shady days, one does not want to bring up the bad. Anyway. I get easily depressed now.
My parents where home. The flag waved in front of our home. There wasn't much to do today since everyone decided that going to the store wasn't necessary. My parents watched some Bourne Identity movies (my mom loves them). One of them is set in Paris and they wanted to see if they recognized anything... and they did. So that was exciting for them.
Today, luckily (or maybe unluckily) no one contacted me for movie-going... even though I disappointed my friends since I was gone during the weekend. I didn't mean to. I was in another city since I forgot there would be church practice. Which reminds me, I ought to do laundry.
When I was younger, my mum frowned upon Adidas for their lack of an arch. I usually can't deal with shoes that have crazy arches since I have very small, vague semblances of arches. As I got older, I started getting lower back pains, so I put little arch-inserts in my shoe and I am no longer in pain unless my period is coming. /Curses
I read for a majority of the day, and I'm a little sad because I started reading this book (for the second time) yesterday and now I'm almost finished. But I'm very glad that I can call this book my favorite. It is the only book I'm not ashamed of admitting that I could not put it down.
I had my bread and cheeses for the day, which I enjoy while I read... especially while I'm reading about other people eating bread.
This evening, I had the privilege of cradling my father's old camera in my hands. It doesn't function at the moment, so tomorrow I will be purchasing bat'rees in hopes it will come alive again. I'm a little concerned since I can't see through the lens anymore, and I really don't want to pay a visit to the crotchety men at the Photo place.
My mother laughed at me for the dress I purchased last weekend while I was away. She said I looked like a nurse, maid, or a nanny. I slammed the door and let my eyes water.
I could feel my heart swell when Sam didn't pick up his phone.
I could feel my heart swell when I felt suspicion.
We finally talked tonight, but nothing regarding my inner turmoil. After some shady days, one does not want to bring up the bad. Anyway. I get easily depressed now.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Day 1
Day 1 was like any other Ordinary Day. I slopped about, read, continued to make miscommunication with Sam, made my trip to the Post Office, played the ever-so addicting Restaurant City, and hid in my room.
One: I must make a point to sleep earlier and wake up earlier. But it goes against Cake's "Short Skirt Long Jacket"-- I want a girl who/Gets up early/I want a girl who/Stays up late...
Damn, I wish I were cool. I heard nights are pretty good for adventures.
Two: I am reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith for the second time and I can't seem to put it down. Again. I am very relieved that I still feel the same.
Three: He seems too busy for me nowadays.
Four: I wish they made the smallest mailing packages just slightly bigger, so the Post(wo)man wouldn't grumble at me when I'm sending my handmade earrings overseas.
Or they ought to make the Customs Declarations smaller!
Five: That's right. I play that stupid Facebook application. I breast swells with pathetic pride in knowing a lot about the game. I don't know what it is about me and my adoration for people who have a wealth of knowledge--even if it is for something that is completely useless. Entertainment is low on the 'Useful' chart for me.
Six: As messy as my room is, I enjoy it. I am able to alienate myself from the world and think about... stuff. Stuff of little importance. All the words, phrases, silly little crafts, etc.
The thing that "makes" my room is my lamp. It that gives off just the right amount of light to get my imagination started. The soft shadows that my shelf and dvds cast on my wall, little glittery paper stars that sparkle, my toy gun... It is a little weak light that I continue to read under (which is probably bad for my eyesight) and it makes me very happy. The best "redecorating" decision I made was when I put a blue paper crown on top of it. And no, I'm not crazy. The crown was made for the viewing of Where the Wild Things Are. Yep.
I hope when I have a room of my own, I will feel more at home in it.
And with no explanation at all: I wonder what it's like to really be me.
One: I must make a point to sleep earlier and wake up earlier. But it goes against Cake's "Short Skirt Long Jacket"-- I want a girl who/Gets up early/I want a girl who/Stays up late...
Damn, I wish I were cool. I heard nights are pretty good for adventures.
Two: I am reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith for the second time and I can't seem to put it down. Again. I am very relieved that I still feel the same.
Three: He seems too busy for me nowadays.
Four: I wish they made the smallest mailing packages just slightly bigger, so the Post(wo)man wouldn't grumble at me when I'm sending my handmade earrings overseas.
Or they ought to make the Customs Declarations smaller!
Five: That's right. I play that stupid Facebook application. I breast swells with pathetic pride in knowing a lot about the game. I don't know what it is about me and my adoration for people who have a wealth of knowledge--even if it is for something that is completely useless. Entertainment is low on the 'Useful' chart for me.
Six: As messy as my room is, I enjoy it. I am able to alienate myself from the world and think about... stuff. Stuff of little importance. All the words, phrases, silly little crafts, etc.
The thing that "makes" my room is my lamp. It that gives off just the right amount of light to get my imagination started. The soft shadows that my shelf and dvds cast on my wall, little glittery paper stars that sparkle, my toy gun... It is a little weak light that I continue to read under (which is probably bad for my eyesight) and it makes me very happy. The best "redecorating" decision I made was when I put a blue paper crown on top of it. And no, I'm not crazy. The crown was made for the viewing of Where the Wild Things Are. Yep.
I hope when I have a room of my own, I will feel more at home in it.
And with no explanation at all: I wonder what it's like to really be me.
The Introduction
One day, I had this incredible idea... or quite possibly, it would be one of the most useless ideas the Internet has ever seen. The intentions of this blog is simply for my (false) sense of importance. "What's the use of that?" you ask. Simple.
There is none.
The only use for this is solely for my desire to feel important.
As a young girl, I made a habit of writing in journals. I have a collection of black & white journals (you'd think after writing in so many, I'd know the brand) such as this:
There is none.
The only use for this is solely for my desire to feel important.
As a young girl, I made a habit of writing in journals. I have a collection of black & white journals (you'd think after writing in so many, I'd know the brand) such as this:
hidden under my bed (along with some Hello Kitty diaries that I am a little embarrassed about).
I don't know what made me start writing in a journals, or what it was that made me feel important enough... smart enough... to have a journal. But eventually, I always thought: "Maybe someday, after I am dead, someone will read them and think: 'So that's how life was like. ... How terrible.'" [Eventually, that changed to: "So that's how life was like. ... How boring."]
Lately, I have been getting slightly depressed (nothing serious, but it's just "the uj". You know, "the usual", but shortened), and feel as though it is about time for me to be heard. No, I don't think my friends care to hear, nor does my family. Why? The things I want to share are of no importance. I want to share my ordinary activities--my small, insignificant moments of joy & pain with the world. And the world will just.... sit.
Since I can't wait until I'm dead, I don't want to die so soon, and this is a public blog, I hope that any wandering soul might happen to glance here and maybe appreciate something of mine.
I don't know what made me start writing in a journals, or what it was that made me feel important enough... smart enough... to have a journal. But eventually, I always thought: "Maybe someday, after I am dead, someone will read them and think: 'So that's how life was like. ... How terrible.'" [Eventually, that changed to: "So that's how life was like. ... How boring."]
Lately, I have been getting slightly depressed (nothing serious, but it's just "the uj". You know, "the usual", but shortened), and feel as though it is about time for me to be heard. No, I don't think my friends care to hear, nor does my family. Why? The things I want to share are of no importance. I want to share my ordinary activities--my small, insignificant moments of joy & pain with the world. And the world will just.... sit.
Since I can't wait until I'm dead, I don't want to die so soon, and this is a public blog, I hope that any wandering soul might happen to glance here and maybe appreciate something of mine.
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