1.1.11

a day to remember.

The Love of My Life.

I was fourteen.  I wore plaid and polos.  I was horribly unaware, but completely self-conscious.  I had little time for nonsense, I only tolerated my peers when shenanigans occurred.  

He was seventeen.  He also wore polos, and on occasion, a bright green silk tie with his white collared shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  He meant business, and I appreciated his seriousness.

I wanted so badly to talk to him, to know him, to be his friend.  I would take the long way to class just to pass by his locker, in the off chance that he was there. 

I want so badly to be with him, to hold his hand, to hold his heart. I will take the long way around if it means we can have forever together.

is this really my Saturday night?

There is nothing more pathetic than my e-mail drafts folder. Half written notes used as a catharsis for some emotional surge that plagued me at some very specific moments in life.  I'm happy I never actually sent any of them, but they did help while I was writing them.  And kind of like those old diaries that contain silly secrets, I can't bring myself to throw them away.

I think it would be interesting to create a blog using those messages left unsent, those text messages we write with no intention of sending, but really really want to.  I think a similar theme could be found in all of mine: please help me, I'm hurting.  I'm pretty positive that many people would have a similar message.  Sad to think that it will never be heard.  Sad to think some people don't even care.  Sad to think some people can't care because they don't have the ability to.  Sad to think I have time to think of all these ridiculous scenarios.

Of This I am Sure.

"Thank God that this world is the only Hell we'll ever have to know."


Oh that followers of Christ may have this great hope, this blessed assurance that we are not permanent residents of this planet, rather we are merely pilgrims on our way to a much greater destination. Praise be to God.

decisions, decisions.

I have three options for tomorrow:

1. Kill myself.
2. Run away from home.
3. Sob until my body runs out of tears, and I make myself utterly sick.

they all seem pretty plausible in this moment...I halfway hope the inclination for number one decreases because I'm sure I would regret it on Monday morning...then again, next week is finals.

Navigation.

Now that I've done it, I can navigate through the city alone just fine...but I don't really think  I'd want to, I like sharing it with my Man.

PS: Guggenheim is pretty inspirational, and headache inducing.

mindless chatter.

The shear curtains swayed gently as the crisp fall breeze danced through the window.  It was only half past five in the evening, but it felt much later.  Exhaustion fooled my body once again.  I glanced down at my phone and reminded myself that there was still work to be done before night got away from me, again.  In the not so distant downstairs I could hear my siblings argue meaninglessly about who was to wash the dishes, and who was to dry them.  "It's all the same," I thought to myself with a silent laugh, "I could probably do it all in less time than it takes them to fight about it."  But who am I to get in the way of their chores?  I had just completed making dinner, setting out the dishes, and cleaning up the left over food.  I deserved a break, right?  I quickly made my escape up to my hideaway as soon as everyone was preoccupied.  Perhaps that was deceitful, but quite frankly, I like being alone more than being in the company of others, even when that company is my own flesh and blood.  At least this isn't a new pattern.  Ever since I could remember being alone in my room was better than being with people.  I'm no good at small talk, I'm reluctant to start conversations, and if I could choose I would never bring myself to a party.  People bother me.  It's not that I'm afraid of them, I just don't like them.  With all their problems, and pains, quirks, and smells...I find it much easier to deal with one person: me.  I am a comprised of all the things which I do not like, but at least I'm familiar with my shortcomings, my hidden secrets, my annoying habits, and distasteful aroma.  I brought myself out of this cloud of mindless chatter an back into the world beckoning me from inside the pages of my psychology textbook.  I reached for it, but fell short.  If I haven't read it by now, am I really going to read it right now?  Perhaps tomorrow, when it isn't quite so dark outside.  Let's hope it rains again.