Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
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Drive until you lose the road

I am having a strange week during which I am learning that I never want to live alone because the world is a scary place and I am a scary person when I have to keep all of my thoughts inside my head all the time, but this year taught me very clearly that I suck at living with people.  So basically I am a disaster.  But I've got this romantic and therefore unrealistic notion that my soulmate (which is a romantic and unrealistic idea as well and therefore I believe in it) will allow me to be alone and not alone at the same time, because my soulmate is/will be a part of myself and therefore will not be someone whom I feel like I constantly have to impress or attend to, which is how people often make me feel.  I haven't been here in a while because I've been writing a ton of words in other places and trying to make myself feel like I've accomplished something, when all that I've really done is pretty much nothing.

So these are my thoughts this week: nothing I think ever makes any sense; I want to have kids because oh god they are wonderful but what if I never get married because I am a disaster and nothing I think ever makes any sense?; I want to finish my fucking novel; I am terrified to return to school because it is going to be a shitton of work that I'm not ready to do; I cuss too much in my mind and use too many semicolons.  And a ton of other things I don't want to admit on the internet because I spill enough of my mind here already.  
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I know the city only breaks you down and it gets ya lonely

I'm home and it's fine (I can't remember if I've posted since I've been home yet) but my mind is working overtime and it's all in a muddle, which is a phrase that doesn't really make any sense.  I'm happy, mostly, and I feel mostly accomplished and mostly intelligent and mostly like I'm not a total waste of space, but I don't want to spend my life alone, and I think I've read so many stories about love that not finding it has become one of my biggest fears, and I'm not sure I can sleep alone for my entire life.  I want to believe in fate and destiny and soul mates and the way that your hand maybe fits perfectly in someone else's but real life has divorce rates that scare the shit out of me, because somewhere in the depths of my mind that's been warped by fiction I believe that marriage is a lifelong promise, which totally clashes with my thoughts on how charges of adultery are so ridiculously old-fashioned that they shouldn't exist any more because of the public and the private and your own bedroom in your own house.

And now that I'm without my friends and I've been talking to people who used to be my friends about how much they don't particularly love their current friends, I've realize that I got damn lucky with my friends, because they are amazing genuine intelligent kind brilliant people and I miss them.  

I haven't been reading enough and I haven't been sleeping enough or writing enough because goddamnit why can I never finish anything?  When it comes down to it I am lazy and insecure as fuck and insecure about cussing even though I cuss in my head all the time so why can't I cuss out loud?  And by out loud I mean on the internet somewhere that no one ever visits.  I'm going to be alone forever because (repeat of anxieties I've probably already outlined here) I am introverted and too quiet and not particularly likable and sort of a shit friend.  And I can't spell worth a damn and my bedroom still looks like a child's and it's full of words that I wrote a million years ago, back when I was confident that I would be a famous published author, because I believed not only that I was good enough but that I had the strength to live that life of fame mixed with isolation, and what a strange life that seems to be?  So many people reading your inner thoughts which you type on your laptop when inspiration strikes and probably when it doesn't, but you never see those people probably, because you work where you live and how do you cope with the silence?      

I think I'm losing my head these days, but isn't this kind of madness supposed to fuel creative endeavors?  But I'm lazy and an asshole and I don't want to see any of my high school friends because when I'm in a bad mood I feel like spending time with Republicans is a waste and I'm an asshole.  I meant to read those goddamn books that I got from the library, I really did, and then my brain and the internet and 11,666 words of a story that probably isn't very good because I'm 18 fucking years old (19 next week) and how can I write anything worth reading if I haven't lived anything?  This is a monster of a post, but it's due time, I suppose, because I haven't done this in ages and when was the last time I really dumped everything out of my head?  Speaking of, it just popped into my head that it's going to be pathetic if I start defining my summers by which fan fiction couple I'm reading that year.  Jesus, I need to get a life.    
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So tell me why we're talking when we dance so good

I like superhero movies because (I need to go to sleep because I have a headache but I want to write down this thought before I forget it) they deal with these big, huge, monumental problems, world-ending, life-or-death problems.  And the hero always wins.  Superhero movies allow you to forget about your little problems, the kind that have to do with the price of gas and test scores and text messages and whether or not you're completely wasting your life studying something that's not going to get you a job.  I'm at home and I'm slightly bored but mostly content to be completely isolated from basically everyone besides my family but kind of including them.  I've been watching too much tv and reading too much fanfiction but I've been writing a bit and I made a playlist and I read two chapters of a book and why do those things feel like huge accomplishments when they so obviously aren't?  I just want to listen to Wakey!Wakey! for hours and write fantastic things and not need to sleep.  
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The sun made stripes of shades

I tend to only blog when I'm upset or bored, but I want to blog right now because I'm happy.  I've had two good days in a row, which will hopefully be followed by two more good, although slower, days.  Sometimes I really hate it here, and sometimes I really love it, and I really want the times that I love it to make up for the times that I hate it.  This is a feeling that I have trouble holding onto, and I want to record it so that I can try to remember it later.
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On the broken radiator

There is snow outside my window and I laughed a lot tonight and things are good, except I haven't really figured out how to tell my roommate's boyfriend to gtfo because I want to go to sleep, and I haven't figured out how to dress for this weather or how to talk to people or what it means when someone speaks to me directly by name even though I've barely spoken to them before.

And also I want a boyfriend but I'm not sure why, and I think it might be because my roommate has one and I feel like she's slipping away from me a tiny bit every day, and because I don't know how to act around him, and because I don't have to impress him but I want someone of my own to impress, and because I don't want someone who is nice to me all the time but someone who is kind to me and interested in me and wants to spend time with me and is okay with who I am.

So really I'm at that point again where things are settling and I really just want something to happen, I guess.
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Someway baby, it's part of me, apart from me

I just watched "The Breakfast Club" and I'm feeling sort of iffy about the ending and it's nearing 11 so I know I should go to bed soon.  But I'm here blogging because I want to paint or write or something, or something, so really I'm just feeling antsy, because I know I only have a few more days at home and it's sort of scaring me that I don't want to go back to school.  There's nothing for me at home, really - I'm just wasting time.  But I'm enjoying wasting time, and I'm not bored even though I swore I'd be, and I'm not sure I'm ready to go back to being productive.  There are so many more movies I want to see, and I want to finish "Numb3rs" and read a million more books and go through my dresser drawers.

I miss my friends.  I do miss them.  But Reed is so much a bubble, and just thinking about it makes me feel a little bit claustrophobic.  So I guess I just don't think about it?  I'm sure everything will be fine once I'm there.  It has to be.  Five more months and then summer, and then repeat all over again.   I'll just have to find some ways to make next year significantly different from this year, so I don't get stuck in this monotonous thing like I did in high school.

Tomorrow I'm having lunch with Simone, which I'm trying to stop worrying about, and I have to buy fishing line and finish my mobiles and figure out what to do with the last one and why is it tripping me up so much?
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We won't get very far flying circles in a jar

It seems like whenever I want to blog, like I'm not really doing anything but there are words running through my head and they need to be blogged, I'm without a computer.  This week I went to New York City and I wanted to write about how much it doesn't make sense to me that people feel the need to take pictures of every famous and/or large painting they see, even if the painting holds no meaning for them.  I've been thinking about writing and personalities and what I'm doing with my life and the direction(s) I'm heading in.

New York City terrifies me and I don't think I could ever live there, but it's the city where Starry Night lives, and so I wish I could visit it every day.
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Make you feel my love

Weird thoughts night:
1. Time here passes really strangely.  Days are really long but weeks are really fast.
2. I am going to fail bio.
3. I can hear noises through the wall and I'm never sure if it's someone crying, laughing, or having sex.
4. Andy Rooney talked about how everyone has so many chairs and there are just too many chairs in the world and there are more chairs than there are people to sit on them, but there seems to be this reoccurring problem in college of there never being enough chairs for all of the people who want to sit down.
5. I want to write.  Also, not to fail bio.
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Maybe we were made for each other

I've been reading a lot about introvertedness online and I'm learning that certain things about me are just the way they are because that's the way I am, and also that for every six hours I spend with people, I need almost double that amount of time by myself recharge so I can repeat the cycle.  What I can't seem to learn via the internet is how to be an introvert when there's an extrovert living six feet away from me.

So I'm watching a show I don't care too much about yet and I'm sitting on a smelly couch and I want to call my mom but I left my phone in my room and don't want to go back in there to get it.  Tomorrow I'm going to go to breakfast and then I'm going to spend all day in the library, doing the homework that I could've done today but didn't.  But now I want to write and sleep and be alone and that's really hard to do here and I think it'll be really good to have a single next year.
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How do you find your reasons in my deepest darkest night

I've been thinking about space, shared and separate and sacred, and the idea of compartmentalizing and rationalizing and lying versus omission.  I've been thinking about personality types and modes of behavior and being observant versus being open versus being both observant and open and also closed.  And what the word "shy" means and how it's related to observantness/awareness/I can understand what you're saying even though you're not making any sense/etc.  And about this promise that I made to myself to be more outgoing in college and how maybe that's not possible for me because I've come to see that when someone's telling a story I like to listen to it and think about it and not say anything unless they want me to say something because I can't say things I don't mean.  That sounds bad.

I guess maybe I don't like psychology because it makes me think too much about why I think so much and why I think the way that I do, and I think about those things anyway and I can't help it, and I'm sure psychology has something to say about that too.  I miss my dogs.  
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And your heart is a stone, buried underneath your pretty clothes

I keep thinking about Stockholm Syndrom and how sometimes things are labeled so easily and what about case-by-case basis, and good people and bad people and in-between-the-word-is-a-zillion-shades-of-gray people?  Today we went to the mall and I was trying on jeans and they fit perfectly and I was just standing in the dressing room, looking at them in the mirror and wondering how they were so different from the jeans I already had at home, when one of my favorite songs came on the radio.  And I thought, these are the jeans, I have to get these jeans.  So I did, in every color they had.  But now I'm sitting here and the window's open and i can hear crickets and I can't help but wonder about fate or coincidences or random occurrences of undeniable magicalness.    

I am leaving for college in a week.  I don't know what to think about it, so I don't.  I talk about it like it's an abstract thing.  It's happening on Wednesday, but it's not really.  I don't think it'll hit me until I'm lying awake in my dorm room bed at 3 am because everything smells different.
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Lost in a maze of a thousand rainy days

I've started to think about what books I want to bring to school with me, and I've also been considering the fact that no matter what I bring, I probably won't have time to read it.  And I've been thinking about how British terms are so much better than American terms ("ice lolly" for "popsicle", "jumper" for "sweater") and about details and how some people (like my mother and certain writers) find it necessary to provide too much and how when you're reading you can skim and skip over it, but when someone's talking to me I have to listen to them.  And that's all completely obvious, isn't it?  I think myself in circles sometimes, and forcing myself to blog everyday is really just forcing myself to write it down and try to make sense of it, even though it'll never make any sense.

Right now I'm thinking about cliches in storytelling and how you can break them, or how you can use them and twist them around so they don't seem cliched anymore.  That probably doesn't make any sense.  How does apparition work in the rain?  What if it's snowing?  Sometimes I forget that magic, at least in that sense, isn't real and I start to pick out all of the things that the books never actually explained.  All the little technicalities.  I keep bumping my hip on the counter in my bathroom, and today I nearly knocked over a lamp.  And now I think I've accurately depicted what the thoughts in my head look like.


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I set fire to the rain and I threw us into the flames

Things that I find utterly ridiculous today:  when a character in a book says, "well, that's an interesting plot twist" because it obviously is because the writer planned it that way; the phrase, "I find you much changed" because it sounds bizarre and antiquated; that tv news anchors find it appropriate to interview the families of dead soldiers only hours after the deaths; how I can read the same story a zillion times (or hear the same song) and still be fascinated by it; the overused expression, "I know, right?" that holds really not a lot of meaning at all; the fact that the word "fuck" doesn't bother me anymore.

I've been thinking about war a lot, not any one war specifically but mostly just the abstract concept of it, and how it's so fascinating in books and movies but so absolutely sickening in real life.  But it continues to happen again and again and we continue to write about it and tell stories about it and what if we just stopped?  If everything related to war just went away and it was just a distant memory, like cholera or the guillotine.  Of course that's impossible, because people suck.  Sometimes I'm trying to explain something to myself, or to my little sister, and the only reasoning that I can come up with is that people suck, and they're emotional and impractical and stupid, and that they don't know any other way to be.

I will never understand why fan fiction writers insist on killing Luna Lovegood.
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Then who the hell was I

This is going to sound completely ridiculous and I swear I'm not clinically depressed or anything of that sort, but what's the point of working so hard for the future and for my career and for the life I eventually want to have if I could die at any minute?  There is a fly in my room.  It's teeeeeeeeny tiny and it's flying around in front of my computer screen, which I love to death, really, but it is really reflective so sometimes I can see myself, which is kind of off-putting, and also it shows any and all dirt - including this stupid fly, which just flew way too close to my face.

Don't you think that the phrase "like looking for a needle in a haystack" could be easily replaced with "like finding a dropped contact on a carpet"?  Because that's what I just did.  Today I had lunch with M and L and J because M is leaving for Europe on Monday and by the time he gets back, I'll be packing to leave for Portland.  It's so weird to think about not going back to high school, about how we're adults now.  M said something today about how he wishes he was 30, because then he'd get to skip all the school and stuff and go right into having a job and a wife and kids.  But honestly, I don't want that.  Okay, so I guess the point of all the hard work is the experiences that you have along the way and the people you meet and the things you learn.

Where do flies go when they can't get back out side?  Is this tiny little fly just going to drop dead during the night somewhere in my room, where it'll be until it gets vacuumed up next week?  I wonder how many dead flies are already in here.  How creepy.


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We'd waste our weeks beneath the sun

So basically I've done absolutely nothing this week besides read a few chapters of The Odyssey and go to the movies once.  And I continued that trend today and I'm not even thinking about anything very interesting right now so I'm not sure what I'm going to write, but I promised myself that I would anyway.  There is something going on outside my window and it's loud and sounds vaguely like construction, which is ridiculous considering it's 10 o'clock and can't be the workers on the freeway because it's too close.

Okay, so what I'm thinking right now is - is the frozen food section different in Britain?  I feel like that's a dead giveaway in writing, a way to let your readers know that you're crap and they should just give up now - when your setting feels unauthentic.  Or when your characters stay stupid things or use cliches that no one ever uses or behave too well.  How do you make what you're writing feel real?  Or at least not completely ridiculous.

I think I need to start school now.  I need a routine and other things to think about besides Odysseus and stupid romcoms on Netflix.
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Go on, film the world before it happens

Today/tonight/last night I've been think about death in the middle of summer and the cruelty of war and the way droplets of Febreeze stick to your legs if you walk through a room right after you spray it and the parts of ourselves that we insist on keeping hidden from everyone.  I've been thinking about being eleven years old and how when I was eleven years old, I thought I was invincible, at the point where things can only get more exciting.  But now eleven seems so young, so naive and now I'm at this point where I'm sitting here with my laptop burning my legs, thinking that "Northern Downpour" by Panic at the Disco is one of the sweetest songs I've ever heard.

I have no idea what to say now.  My head is full of all these things that I haven't done and want to do, things I want to experience and feel and learn, and of course there's this lingering fear of what if I can't?  I'm not sure if I believe in God but I think I believe in fate and maybe the idea of fate working against you, of circumstances that aren't in your favor, of luck and unluckiness and the possibilities of what if?  I'm afraid of boxing myself in somewhere and then getting stuck when I change my mind and decide that it's not what I want anymore.  I think I'm running out of get-out-of-jail-free cards when it comes to changing my mind.

 
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Karen dit que Paris c'est grand

What if I blogged every day in August, at least until I leave for school?  And I mean substantial posts.  With thoughts about things and more than just lists of daily activities.  So today is August 1st and it's the beginning of my last month at home and so it's the beginning on 23ish posts in a row.

I just finished watching a romcom called "Someone Like You" and it was adorable, like all romantic comedies are, but there always comes a point when I'm watching one of these movies where I have this sort of out-of-body experience where I realize that what's making me so happy, what I'm enjoying so much, is crap spewed out by Hollywood big wigs and Nicholas Sparks and whoever.  And I know that's really cynical, and I guess what I'm saying is that I really enjoy watching relationships develop in movies and novels and such because when you're living your life and forming bonds with people you don't realize you are until one day you look at who you're sitting next to, and suddenly think, how did I become friends with you?

That's how I've been looking at everything lately, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.  To clarify:  I'm studying everything and everyone and it all seems like something I could write about.  That's the object, isn't it, a really good story?  But the problem is that every time I think of something and begin to write it down, I realize I've seen it played out a million times in bad movies and poorly written novels.  Which begs the question:  if I rewrite Twilight, or the essence of it at least, changing the names and the vampire into a mermaid and whatnot, and if I write it well, as in really effing good, does that make it okay?  Or am I stealing someone's original idea?  Are any ideas really original?  I once had this quote on a post-it not stuck to my computer screen, something about how if you wanted to bake a totally original apple pie you'd have to go back and plant the first apple tree yourself, or something like that.

So everything is just a recycling of old ideas.  I guess my main question here is, if that's true, why are we wasting our time with crap?  Why do I watch so many bad movies and read so many crappy books when there is so much more out there?  Why do we default to what's easiest?  Why do you have to search really hard to find the good books at the bookstore, but the crappy bestsellers (not to generalize that all bestsellers are crappy, because they definitely aren't) are right at the front, on the buy-one-get-one-half-off table?  Why is the bookstore the most crowded when everything is 40% off because the store is closing?  That makes me really sad.  But that's not the point.

The point is:  I want to write a really good book.  But first I have to read and watch and listen and learn everything I can.  So should I be wasting my time with bad romcoms because they're easy to get, or should I work harder to find the good ones?  And more importantly, is there such a thing as a good romcom?  Who came up with that word in the first place?
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How would you cope if the world decided to make you suffer for all that you are

Today my mom mentioned that I can take dance classes in college, and while I really have no desire at all to take dance classes, the whole idea of taking a dance class, just the idea of it, is kind of appealing.  I have five tests in three days next week, which is next week but it's kind of scaring me anyhow.  I've been trying to write this for about a half hour now, but I'm in such a good mood that I have nothing to say, and I just went and reread some of my posts from December and for some reason sentences always sound better in my head when they don't have any commas.  I have new favorite songs and a pretty solid A in math and a B+ in French but I think I can fix that, and I made cookies the other day and also hamentashen, and I got four acceptances today which brings the total up to five, and so basically I can't think of anything to be sad about right now.  But I think I'm going to start getting rejections at the end of the week, probably as many as I've gotten acceptances.  Which is all part of the experience, I guess.

I'm going to do more homework tomorrow than I did today.  I promise. 
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But I can't move the mountains for you

I really need a haircut but I'm trying to grow it out and also I guess I've given up my curling iron and straightener and blow dryer for Lent, even though I'm not Catholic and have no plans to be anytime soon.  I've watched more movies in the last week ("Sweet Home Alabama") than I have in the past three months, and I went to the library yesterday to get Pride and Prejudice but I couldn't find it, which was kind of upsetting, but then I came home and found my copy on Gillian's bookshelf.  So now I'm rereading it for the billionth time and it gets funnier and more right every time I read it.  It makes me so happy.

Time is going by really fast now, and I'm losing track of what day it is and tomorrow's Thursday already even though I'm pretty sure yesterday was Monday, and I have the ticket stub from "The King's Speech" on my picture board above my desk and the date on it is 12/29/10, and I can't believe it's been that long.  But all that means that graduation is so much closer.  God, I can't wait.
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Roll away your stone I'll roll away mine

I think I'm predisposed to be pessimistic, or at least realistic, in the sense that people make me sad and I keep expecting the worst from everyone and I can't seem to finish good books because I know they're going to break my heart.  I'm sitting here listening to Mumford & Sons and what I really want to do is go run through fields of daisies and forget about college letters and math tests and Macbeth.  My head is full of the imagery of winter, grays and blues and clouds and long hair and scarves and cold noses and big piles of leaves.  I'm so excited to live where it snows. 

Tonight I went to dinner with my mom at a vegetarian hippie sort of place in Fullerton where she used to go when she was in college.  Then we went to the bookstore and didn't buy anything, and came home and watched "The Romantics", which wasn't very good but was pretty nonetheless and kind of related to Arcadia because isn't that how things work, things in life always relate to what I've read in class?  Just one of those laws of nature, like it always rains when I really don't want it to and math tests are always hard.  Tomorrow Gilly and I are going to the movies.  As much as I'm so ready to graduate, I love this time right now that I get to spend with my little sister and with my favorite fictional characters and with myself.  I like being alone.  Will I ever get to be alone next year? 

I should go to sleep but I know I won't.  Another one of those rules of life.