REPORT A PROBLEM
February to do list:
Make the gym your second home
Make a move – preferably with you know who
Give a shit
Speak your mind
Limit your vices
Do not feel bad about getting sleep
Do more to help others
Do more to help yourself
Run eight laps without complaining
Improve your writing skills
Get an A on a lab (even though it is impossible for anyone)
Work on your screenplay
Pick yourself up if you fall – do not laze around
Be satisfied with who you are
Improve upon the things in yourself you do not like.
Last night ended with me talking to some old friends about a potential reunion. I had a feeling the WPP may never again unite but that did not stop me from checking my Facebook this morning.
Open browser. Type “fac.” Hit enter.
The familiar red box appeared above the envelope with a one in it. Just as expected.
After I click on it, it takes me a few seconds to register that the message is not from the expected sender. Inside was a message from a classmate asking if I was interested in writing for his blog.
Count me in!
It is not that the situation is complicated. It is that it is uncomfortable.
Not only are my hints being overlooked, but complete conversations that we have had are being completely ignored.
Why am I again in this situation? Help...?
On top of that, my biggest fear was realized yesterday: I am not going to be able to accomplish part of one of my February goals unless I want to appear as a home-wrecker. Oh well. I guess it is time to wait another four years before I become interested in someone again.
Why must I be so picky?
Holding hands by fireside.
I never thought that would happen.
Sure I got the
"I would date you but..."
but I am glad I somehow managed to step on that ledge.
In other news - my alarm went off and I decided it wasn't enough to get me out of bed. That is a first for sure.
What was so important that my head had to be lain for another half hour?
Also, that whole eating healthier schtick is one that I am not able to stick to for some reason.
That cheese quesadilla has me holding no regrets.
Emptiness is not what fills my being, yet I cannot help but feel like nothing will ever be whole.
No question will ever truly be answered - just filled with piles of bullshit accepted as truth.
Never will we know the inner workings of another's head. We may not even have a full grasp of what is going on in our own. Often times I attempt to piece together why I have done what I have done but I can never find the Director in my brain.
I just do what I do.
Do you know from where your actions stem?
I guess I have never been attached enough to anyone to get hurt. Sure, I've found rejection in many forms but the last time a tear met my cheek from this regard was in elementary school. My lack of understanding makes it difficult for me to conceive that I have the capability to hurt others. It turns out I am very strong in the field of bringing misery to others.
Because I have never been hurt I feel I have this false mentality that I am invincible.
I am now just waiting for a wind gust to knock me down.
Once again I find my fingers hovering over the worn keyboard unable to decide which letters to place pressure on.
Abundance of choice makes life more complex and there are many thoughts floating through this deranged noodle of mine.
Which ones do I attempt to pen?
- my speculation on the universal, war-initiating why?
- my pitiable emotions (or lack thereof?)
- my cluttered and unfiltered stream of consciousness?
It does not help that the thoughts in my head and the words I write are cousins at best.
I will never be satisfied.
(I feel like I've written this post before... oops)
Night after night. Weekend after weekend.
This scene is played out. Everywhere.
Go to any night club and you will bear witness to the beginnings of this story.
Attend the anticipated music festival and perhaps you will become a lead role.
Why, when we know the spoilers, do we find ourselves trapped by the mundane plot?
In the morning after my eyelids flutter open (discouraging the light) I will likely regret having typed these words.
Perhaps because they might get personal. Perhaps because I want to for once spend time on my select 100.
It does not matter, for now I sacrifice the content state of my future self for the satisfaction of the one who is current.
Sometimes you have to do that for the ones you love.
Sometimes you have to do it for yourself.
Currently I lie in bed, a witness to a couple who only care for personal satisfaction.
Wind is rustling through her hair. Between her toes she feels the smooth scars created by those who have already done what she is about to do. She realizes others have had the same idea, made the same motions. It only furthers her reasoning.
“I am not an individual,” she whispers so that he can’t hear.
Only she will know these last words.
She wonders if others have shared these exact thoughts at this exact spot.
‘What about this one? Or that…’ She stops herself before thinking herself into an infinite loop.
She mustn't make him wait too long.
Suddenly, she feels her muscles relax and her heart rate slow as she lifts her leg and dangles it over the ledge.
Her eyes are shut. She wants him to be the last one to ever have seen her- the only one to ever have the image of this event stained in his memory.
Her dress tickles her around her stomach and knees as she un-wraps it and lets it float down around her ankles. She wants him to be the last one to ever look at her scars and contusions- the only one to remember why they exist.
The wind lifts her hair and lets it fly- pulling at the nape of her neck. She wants him to be the last one to ever witness her body in motion- the only one to know that he’s the reason it no longer is.
The weight of her body is shifting ever so slightly. ‘Ironic,’ she thinks. This is the one thing in her life she can control.
She hears his whimpering behind her; he no longer wastes his energy clanging the handcuffs together in an attempt to break free.
She feels her cheeks rise, forming a foreign smirk.
He'll never again see the smirk on her face.
She wishes she could see his when he stares at her body
contorted and shattered-
just like her nous.
She tosses the key in the direction of his fear. The momentum allows her to float over the edge.
His cry has intensified as now it rings through the valley.
She is serene, significant and satisfi-
Ehh, I guess I tried something and it did not work out the way I intended. 'There's always room for improvement blah blah blah.' But yuck. I wish I would Take back my last 300 words.
Day of hearts.
Some broken, some whole, some cracked.
Mine? Never touched.
Yes, I'm loved. (evidence being the many chocolates I received throughout the day) But it's surface and friendly. I would not have it any other way.
My day has been filled so this post is a stream of consciousness- sorry it gets no more love.
In fact I am leaving the computer after every written sentence. This does not have my full attention. I almost wish it... but.
Nothing really has my full attention today. I really hope to eventually use this as a venue to improve.
It has been two weeks.
Did he miss his shot?
Is he even holding his bow?
I spy no arrow.
Neither visible scar nor contusion marks my flesh.
Yet, why. does. it. feel. like. I. got. hit?
ho hum, I guess I'll move along. I'll eventually find another archer not sporting camouflage.
I kid. I'm not bothered- glad actually- that I did not have a true valentine. Any interest shown to me on the gaga holiday would be assumed as fake and forced in my mind. Only loneliness is incentive for finding a valentine, correct? I'll stick to friendly flirting.
The place where dark circles rest under my eyes signify that I lack rest. Droopy Dog would probably be my doppelganger this night.
The clock reads 12:41 a.m. and all I want to do is sleep.
Unless I want to sleep on the couch in the company of those who may as well live here I must type on.
I would find my way to my bed but the door to my room may as well be locked so I must type on.
Coincidentally my door just opened. Should I give into my urge and close my eyes?
It turns out the archer was holding his bow but was waiting for his commanding officers to give the "go." I almost feel he shot begrudgingly so.
Mon amie- (tu sais qui tu es) J'ai besoin de vous parler avec moi sur l'Internet. Mon portable est mort et j'ai informations intéressantes au sujet de moi. (Si vous parlez français, je suis désolé si il y a grammaire mauvais.)
Things I want to do right now
1- go back to sleep
2- go to the gym
3- watch a TV show for an article I am writing
To me this is the most intimidating job in the studio.
Have me on audio, graphics, video? I'll be (nervous but) fine.
Have me on a camera or teleprompter? I'll be shaking in my boots. (Yes, it is finally cold enough!)
Somehow on this day, even though it was my first day on it ever, I was able to overcome my fear of failure and scroll the words for the anchors to read. I am glad I did because I learned that I love controlling the teleprompter and the anchors were relieved that I knew what I was doing.
Gliding through the days
In - Out - In - Out
Rest - Work - Rest - Work
It all seems routine yet-
Just a step out the door
I’ll be a different person
Just staying inside
I’ll be a different person
For the person before had a decision to make
and the one I am now already made it.
It is no lie that I am a fan of Heraclitus' river quote. "Man never steps in the same river twice..." Is it odd that if I have an epitaph I want it to read "She steps in rivers no more?"
could be ironic...
Ten minutes ago one would have found me on my couch with my arms wrapped around my knees and my eyes wandering around.
My ears picked up some key sounds
- the air conditioning shutting off
- cars in the parking lot
- muted laughter of one roommate
- tossing and turning of the other
- hints of conversations being held outside the window
- neighbors unlocking and locking their doors
but they could not pick up the thoughts inside my head
Today is one of those days where a life-pause button would be utilized. Would I ever go back and press play?
and Guilty Mistakes
have defined my past 24 hours.
Enjoyment seems to weigh down on life's scale more so than responsibility as of late.
That being said, it is time for a turn-around. Time to wake (although all I want to do for the moment is close my eyes.)
For now I continue to refresh YouTube the way a hungry person continuously opens the fridge knowing food does not magically appear. That reminds me- I have a cake to bake. My thoughts are so scrambled right now, as is my life. Good day-
If I could describe February in one word it would be:
I love it.
Yes, I am aware that on here my words come across as rushed and stressed; Yes, I am aware that while it is great to be involved in many different activities it is better to be efficient in one. I just am thriving by having so much on my plate.
Last night was enjoyable to say the least. This morning has been filled with me spilling words on different pages- and I'm enthralled.
I've been writing non-stop since nine. It is currently after one.
There she stood, stoic and silent. Her back ached but she dare not uncrane her neck. She could not fathom viewing anything else in this world that was not that leaf on that branch on that tree.
What was so significant about that leaf on that branch on that tree?
Why, it held all of her secrets. Her mind was telepathically telling that green leaf on that twiggy branch on that Oak Tree of all her guilt and fear.
Suddenly a droplet fell from the leaf on the branch on the tree as if it had been crying with her.
Sun beams cling to his exposed skin as he lays out in his private sanctuary. He finds the solitude refreshing yet eerie. Thoughts that if exposed would leave his mother in tears were not what he intended to have cloud his mind. As if his skin is a pot of water set to boil, madness curdles. How could she do that to him?
then shred his heart into a million pieces?
The sun starts to set but he doesn't notice. Hours go by- the sun clings to his skin again.
He wishes it was her instead.
Drained of energy, she attempts to make her way up the staircase. She feels gravity pulling her limbs to the ground.
It wouldn't hurt to just lay here for a second, would it?
Her body quenches and shapes itself into a ball, only filling three of the steps.
Bubblegum, her Pomeranian is excited by her owner's new form and dances around her as if they are playing possum. After a few minutes the novelty wears off and Bubblegum prances to the living room in hopes of a new distraction.
Little did Bubblegum realize, that
was the last they'd play.
I am craving that feeling where the stomach is so full that even breathing causes pain.
So here I sit eating crackers. The box will likely be barren soon.
I really want a salad.
Oh my, ranch, croutons, tomatoes, onions, how they make my mouth water and my tummy rumble.
I could make another burrito but I don't want to waste my tortillas. I also don't want to eat so unhealthily. Another reason to cease stuffing my face is that I can get a full night's rest. Tomorrow is going to be yet another day overflowing with unnecessary chaos.
It is not that I am stressed out, it is that I am overworked with little reward.
By reward I do not mean tangible. I mean that I do not find self-reward.
I write a paper and am not satisfied.
I am in the studio and I constantly critique myself.
Most words that find their way out of my mouth are ones I wish I had been able to trap in.
With the show, the screenplay, the project, the research, the articles, the social life, the attempts at sleep etc. it is a wonder I have written every day.
I may not have accomplished every item on my February checklist but I am still satisfied. My least successful venture for the month is health. Unhealthy food, unhealthy vices are all contributors to my "failure."
I can however celebrate what I did accomplish.
I made a move- it may be leading to more.
I did not crumble under pressure- my life has been busier than ever.
blah blah blah.
I have a lot I need to accomplish in the coming months but I do not think I will make a list again.
Unfinished lists highlight lapses that don't really matter.
The Tip Jar