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June. Lovely June. Summer starts this month, and it's been a good spring. I would say that this spring hasn't been as hot as previous springs. Most of the time, where I live, we don't even have a spring. It's like we go straight into summer on April 1.
This month heralds the start of Camp NaNoWriMo, which I will be participating in. If I feel particularly lazy, I might post some of my story here, so that can be my 100 words of the day. But I don't think I'm going to be lazy this month. No excuses.
There's a certain song I fell in love with lately, and I swear it has subliminal messages. Maybe I was making love to the song on that night. Maybe the song was the soundtrack to every crazy emotion I was feeling. It was there for me. It wound silver strands around my heart and tied it up with a bow. The beat pounded in my heart, the whispers of the vocalist betrayed my soul, and when the song faded, I was left empty, with nothing in my hands, nothing in my ears, nothing in my heart. A most painful moment.
I had a Facebook account for somewhere around eight months, from September to May. My birthday is today, June 3. One of the reasons I deleted Facebook was so that I wouldn't have to witness everyone wishing me happy birthday - people who would never have known it was my birthday had Facebook not reminded them. I told nobody at work it was my birthday. I told nobody at church. My family knows. My best friend knows. My boyfriend knows. That's it. That's how it's going to stay. And well, since I made this short post, everyone on the Internet knows.
I think I had a dream where I was watching myself in third person last night. I don't know why I have those dreams, but I do have them fairly often. In the other dream I had, I was waiting on a table of twenty people. I think it was a mother, a father, and 20 kids. It was confusing because the kids kept running around the restaurant and the father was trying to get them to sit down and order their drinks. By the time I brought out all the drinks, they had left. What a waste of time.
When I first got a checkbook, I kept writing "divident" instead of "dividend." I don't know why I remembered that randomly.
I feel like writing about love. The person I love now is not the person I expected to fall in love with. I really did not believe I would end up with such a person. He is not a bad person, by any means at all; he's just so different from the person I had initially envisioned myself with. We get along and everything's good between us. We have loved each other for a long time - seven years.
The writing of my NaNoWriMo novel may get interrupted by the arrival of a four-legged creature. She might have to be housebroken and leash-trained, so that will obviously take some time. I don't like how some people just lock dogs up in kennels all their lives; it's not right. Puppy mill dogs have a hard life, and there is no excuse for using living creatures to make money. If you're not a legitimate breeder looking out for the best interests of the breed, do not breed animals. Spay and neuter and enjoy the love of a family pet.
Who would be so deeply offended by a pig that they'd give 100 Words 100 dollars to get rid of it? That's peculiar. Maybe that's not the story at all, but I can guess, right? If I had more money, I'd give to 100 Words and to all the lesser-known sites I frequent on a daily basis. I'd give to all kinds of organizations, help the hungry, the homeless, etc. I'd give to the church, to animal welfare groups (but not PETA) and to my friends and family. I'd share the wealth. I'd have no reason to be stingy.
What to name my dog? Maybe Ruby. Or something Chinese. Like Xao Ling. (I actually have no idea if that's a legitimate Chinese name or not.) I wanted to name her Ruby because my old dog's name was Pearl. Ruby's the name of a Southern belle; it's dignified. I was thinking of naming her Ayu, but that's Japanese. Or Bulma, but that's stupid; it's the name of a cartoon character (a Japanese cartoon character, at that). Opal, but that's too dignified. Sapphire takes too long to say. Emerald wouldn't fit. Diamond... nah. Onyx, but that sounds like a boy name.
Yesterday, (well, I'm writing on the 10th) I didn't turn my computer on at all. I sat in the kitchen and worked on my mom's laptop, which is somehow less distracting than sitting in my room and working on my normal computer. I think I want to get rid of the desktop computer in my room and get a laptop in there, so I'm not chained to my desk all the time. But I have to add that to the list of things I want, the most important of which would be a car, which I actually need. Prioritize, prioritize.
I feel close to God, but some days, I feel estranged from him. I feel as though he doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm finding it hard to pray, and I have been finding it hard to pray for the longest time. I don't know what kind of words to say to someone who already knows me inside and out. I have no idea what to tell him that he doesn't already know. I don't know what to ask him for that he already knows I want or need. I don't know how to ask him for help.
I remembered something random from my childhood. My brother used to call a bra a "boob case" or a "boob cage." Why I thought of that, I'm not sure.
On a completely unrelated note, I had a mental cramp yesterday. It's like a physical cramp, or a waking nightmare. All these bad thoughts pour into your mind and you think you can't do anything anymore and all you want to do is live a lonely, monastic existence. But then the cramp disappears and all the worry seems utterly ridiculous. So it's all as unsubstantiated as a nightmare. Very strange.
Popular music is nice to listen to if you want to be in an upbeat mood, but if you listen too much, the songs get stuck in your head and stay there for what seems like all eternity. I woke up at three in the morning the other night hearing that Ellie Goulding (sp?) song in my head, and then I imagined I heard my cell phone ringing, but when I went over to it, it was as silent as a tomb. All the sounds were all in my head. Needless to say, I felt like I was slightly crazy.
I knew what I was doing when I was waiting for him. I was practicing for when I would have to wait for the right one. All that waiting was nothing but practice, experience to be gained. A lesson in patience. I don't know whether or not I passed the test, but I hopefully have more patience than I did before. We may hurt each other with the things we do and say (or the things we don't do and don't say), but in the end, I will always be waiting for him because he is the one I love.
I hate when the Internet is slow. It's weird because "slow" on the Internet is anything more than a microsecond. I usually have a lot of patience with most things, but there are a few things I really have no patience with. I can wait forever in traffic, or at the doctor's office or in line at the grocery store. But when it comes to little kids, my patience wears off quickly. When it comes to waiting for a website to load, my patience wears off. I don't know. I guess that's just the way it is with certain things.
It's funny how people who perceive themselves as tolerant absolutely do not tolerate people who have opposing points of view. Liberals and conservatives. Christians and atheists. I see arguments go on between them all the time. Christians who profess that they love everyone are sometimes so cruel to those who differ from them. People who profess that they are never misogynistic often act that very way. Human nature is so flawed. It's humbling to realize that no matter how hard we try, we will never be perfect. Perfection is unattainable. We may strive, but we won't get there. Not ever.
You wanna know something that makes me think a lot (and probably shouldn't)? The Goth culture, or dress sense, or whatever you want to call it. When teenagers rebel, they sometimes go Goth or punk or scene or whatever you want to call it. But if they stay in that phase after they're teenagers, then what is it? Is it still rebellion, or has it become their lifestyle?
I think it's sad that people who dress like that are looked down upon, and they're not taken seriously by mainstream society. It's bothersome, but I suppose there's reason for it.
I'm a career-minded person, but I don't feel like I'm doing enough to work on my career. I'm a writer, but I don't feel like I'm doing enough to work on my writing. I'm someone's girlfriend, but I don't feel like I'm a good enough girlfriend. I'm a daughter, but I don't feel like I'm good enough as a daughter.
Basically, I constantly feel inadequate, and I don't understand why. I know that there's no such thing as perfection. It's hopeless to strive for it. But I feel like I have to be doing better than everyone else.
Arguments... I hate 'em. Bleh. But whatever. I'm pretty sure I'm over it, but I can never think of what I really want to say in the moment. It always comes to me afterwards, when I'm lying in bed or driving. Then I feel like calling back the person I started arguing with and resuming the argument so I can use my powerful comebacks. Sometimes I don't like being an introvert, but most of the time, I think it has more perks than drawbacks. It's nice to not need the time and attention of others. It's nice to be quiet.
If you say you want to marry me, you better be damn serious about it. Don't say you want to marry me, then go around doing nothing with your life. How do you expect to support us? Or if we ever have kids, how do you expect to support them? If you give me a ring and tell me you want to marry me, then you'd better be damn serious. You were serious enough to spend the money for the ring, serious enough to spend a good six years of your life with me... so don't be a little boy.
Urgh, sometimes it's better to tell a while lie than to tell the truth and seriously hurt someone. But there are some people you'd rather not lie to at all. Like the ones you love. Like the person you're going to marry. Because a white lie might balloon into another, bigger lie. Soon, you could make lying a habit, and it will prove very difficult to break.
Some people can't accept truth, though. No matter how nice you try to break it to them, no matter how you sugarcoat it, they just don't want to hear the truth. Sad.
"I need that like I need a hole in the head."
I used to think that saying was funny because it made me picture someone with a hole literally in the side of their head. Like maybe they got shot with a pellet from a BB gun. Speaking of which, I have never shot a BB gun. One of these days, I want to shoot a BB gun, ride on the back of a motorcycle, go to a shooting range, go fishing in the ocean... so many things and so few vacation days, I suppose. Sometime in the future, perhaps.
I like remembering things that nobody else remembers. I met this guy once, and then I met him again. I don't think he remembers meeting me the first time, but I remember every detail, mostly because of his last name. He had an unusual last name, which is why I remembered him. Not because he was attractive, or because he was captivating. He's married now, at any rate. I'm tempted to ask him if he remembers the first time he met me... not in the Wal-Mart parking lot, but at the high school, when he was in ROTC uniform.
Some books have the power to make you cry. Some books even have the power to change your life, to make you more courageous and resilient than you might have been before. Movies can do this, too, but I think books have a greater power. There's nothing like being able to picture for yourself what goes on. Then seeing the movie after reading the book is a disappointment. Nothing is ever how you imagined it in your head. It's never as good. Colors are not as crisp. Characters are not as alive. So to me, it's always better to read.
When I think you don't care, I will move away from you. I will dare you to come after me and hold me tight, prevent me from ever moving away again. Because I don't want to go away. I don't want to be apart from you. But when I don't feel loved, when I don't feel appreciated, I will slowly drift away. Come and get me when you realize I'm moving, even though I may kick and scream and push at your chest to get you away from me, you just have to hold on tighter. Hold me in place.
Fortunately, I get paid on Thursday. Unfortunately, I have to spend most of my money paying bills. Fortunately, I'm getting good experience at being an adult. Unfortunately, being an adult is nowhere near as fun as being a kid. Fortunately, I can actually do what I want now that I'm an adult. Unfortunately, I still live under my parents' roof, so I technically still have to listen to them. Fortunately, I live with two very cuddly dogs and a beautiful cat. Unfortunately, I have to clean up after all three of them. Fortunately, that is the least of my worries.
Yesterday I was super busy. Although, I should say "today" since this is the entry for the 26th and I am writing on the 27th. That's why I didn't get my 100 words. I don't even think I wrote 100 words yesterday, really. Emails that I send at work don't count. I wrote a sentence for my blog. I didn't write in my Camp NaNo novel at all. I felt lazy in terms of writing, but I guess all writers (and other creative types) have those lazy days where you don't feel like writing much. Such is life, I guess.
"This is the part of me
that you're never gonna ever
take away from me"
Those are the words to a Katy Perry song. I never particularly liked Katy Perry until I heard that song and it resonated me with so deeply. We all have those parts of us that are intrinsic to us... they're buried so deep that nobody can take them away. They can be happy memories, or talents, or friends or anything within us that we consider special. I know what those parts of me are. They are the secret parts, the parts I share with very few people.
It's extremely hot outside. I can't believe it's the end of June... police cars are everywhere, the cops trying to get their quotas. I feel funny that I wrote "cops" instead of "police officers," but I'm not trying to be politically correct. I was politically correct all day at work, especially when I wanted to yell and scream and punch through walls like the Incredible Hulk. OK, that's a funny mental image; a 87-pound girl punching through a brick wall... now that I made myself laugh, I think I can move on with my life and write my blog.
I'm going to name my son Peter. (Not that I'm pregnant or married or anything, I just like to think about what to name my kids.) Peter is my uncle's name, my great grandfather's name, and the name of the first pope. Saint Peter is the one who stands at the gates of heaven, supposedly. The first question I'm going to ask him is what happens to all the people who don't go to heaven. What's hell like? But if I ask, he might send me there. There aren't any guarantees that any of us are getting to heaven.
I made it all the way to June. I survived a month at my new job and I'm not sure I really like it all that much. It's still kind of "meh" to me. I guess I should have asked a certain question in the interview: How long does it take the typical new hire to get accustomed to how things work here? But for some reason, I didn't ask that question. In every single interview I ask it... and for some reason, I get the job and I didn't ask that particular question. It's funny how things go sometimes.
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