He is just not that into me. And I know it. And I try to be fine with it. And I normally am. But sometimes I'm not. And I hate, as usual, being the one just sitting around with one sided feelings. I KNOW he's not that into me. I know he doesn't look me like a girl. And I hate that he's my fall back when I'm bored and don't have any other crushes, then I suddenly can't get him off my brain. I just want to slough off these thoughts. Like water. Let them run over me, then slide off and away. And until I find a distraction in the way of a blue piece of plastic [a different guy] I don't think thats gonna happen.
And I find that infuriating. Even if I find someone else, they get set up against him. I mean, he's one of the best guys I know. He always has been. I hate when you have romantic epiphanies. Everything would be so much easier if I hadn't realized he was a guy. Because he hasn't, and won't, realize that I'm a girl. And that leaves me out to dry with some cliche metaphor that has to do with creeks and a lack of paddles. Laaaaaaaame. And it's even stupider, because I don't really want to be in a relationship right now.
Except for with him. And it doesn't help that I could see myself married to him.
...Dammit.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Thirteenth
I never say this. Never. Because I never feel it. I don't bring it up a lot either way, aside from balking at compliments because I have no idea what to do with them [aside from holding them for ransom, tyler, ilu] but really. When my looks come up I'd rather hide or change the subject. Or just bat you off with a 'pshawf' and move on.
But this is me, right now. This is me after a night of accepting compliments, and having clean fwoopy hair, and lady bug finger nails. It's also me having an issue with taking pictures face on, but whatever.
And I will say it, because right now I feel it. And I almost never do. I understand, for this short time, why girls like to feel girly. Why it's fun to be called cute and pretty. Why it's something thats important to us. I feel adorable, absolutely adorable, and I can't really explain why. But it's a good thing. And because I rarely feel it, I find it worthwhile to document. That girl, right there in that picture, is adorable, and even she thinks so.
Whats the problem with our society anyways? If you are over 130 pounds, it's like you should be ashamed of yourself automatically. Why do sticks who can only frown get paid thousands of dollars to model? Why is that ridiculous, relatively unatainable standard what we are supposed to hold ourselves as young women to?! Forget it! What is it about us that we need to look at others to fashion ourselves after them, and why is society so hung up on things that lierally make everyday women sick? Girls and women should not die from anorexia or buliemia. Our country shouldn't be so obsessed with faces and body shapes. I mean, obesity, yea, thats a proper problem. But to be tall and curvy and weigh in at 147 pounds does not make a girl fat or huge.
Now, I'm not really tall though I'm damn curvy. And i'm bigger than is healthy, and I understand that. And I dont like it. But it shouldnt be what I hate most about myself. I shouldn't have been impressed with that as a kid. It shouldn't have been put into my head. And part of it was lack of male re-inforcement. My mother and other-mothers could tell me I was cute and adorable and beautiful til I was blue in the face, but my dad asks me when I have a total of three pimples if I've ever thought about that Proactive stuff. And the lack of friend-types saying things like that isn't exactly easy.
But what I hate most of all is the idea that this little girl will ever grow up to hate herself, because she lives in a society where looks are more important than almost anything else, and that she doesn't think she's beautiful. THATS what I hate far, far more than I have ever disliked myself.
I dare someone to ever try to tell me she's not beautiful.
But this is me, right now. This is me after a night of accepting compliments, and having clean fwoopy hair, and lady bug finger nails. It's also me having an issue with taking pictures face on, but whatever.
And I will say it, because right now I feel it. And I almost never do. I understand, for this short time, why girls like to feel girly. Why it's fun to be called cute and pretty. Why it's something thats important to us. I feel adorable, absolutely adorable, and I can't really explain why. But it's a good thing. And because I rarely feel it, I find it worthwhile to document. That girl, right there in that picture, is adorable, and even she thinks so.
Whats the problem with our society anyways? If you are over 130 pounds, it's like you should be ashamed of yourself automatically. Why do sticks who can only frown get paid thousands of dollars to model? Why is that ridiculous, relatively unatainable standard what we are supposed to hold ourselves as young women to?! Forget it! What is it about us that we need to look at others to fashion ourselves after them, and why is society so hung up on things that lierally make everyday women sick? Girls and women should not die from anorexia or buliemia. Our country shouldn't be so obsessed with faces and body shapes. I mean, obesity, yea, thats a proper problem. But to be tall and curvy and weigh in at 147 pounds does not make a girl fat or huge.
Now, I'm not really tall though I'm damn curvy. And i'm bigger than is healthy, and I understand that. And I dont like it. But it shouldnt be what I hate most about myself. I shouldn't have been impressed with that as a kid. It shouldn't have been put into my head. And part of it was lack of male re-inforcement. My mother and other-mothers could tell me I was cute and adorable and beautiful til I was blue in the face, but my dad asks me when I have a total of three pimples if I've ever thought about that Proactive stuff. And the lack of friend-types saying things like that isn't exactly easy.
But what I hate most of all is the idea that this little girl will ever grow up to hate herself, because she lives in a society where looks are more important than almost anything else, and that she doesn't think she's beautiful. THATS what I hate far, far more than I have ever disliked myself.
I dare someone to ever try to tell me she's not beautiful.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Eleventh
I am drowning. I am drowning and I'm doing it to myself. Not in anything so literal as water, but in life I'm sure not keeping afloat. I procrastinate and I shuffle my feet [and my iPod] and I shrug at my lack of motivation until it's a problem. Until riding the motions and putting things off becomes an active issue because there is just no avoiding it anymore. It's in your fave, it's angry, it's here to collect.
I hate the end of the semester. It's always like this. I'm suddenly up to my eyes in work I could have and didn't finish a month ago, stuff I haven't even looked at twice. But if I had, I would have had time and gotten to finish it once instead of flailing about it in dismay. I need to shape up and I know it do. But it's never til the shape I'm in is actually a problem that I actually care, or pay attention.
They don't tell you about this when you're younger. They let you be naive. And clinging to that isn't a bad thing. But it's tough to get slapped in the face. What do we condition our children with? In all honesty, we've even tried to make a game out of it. Good going by the way Hasbro. The game of LIFE. Though I might not be one to talk, I honestly love the frakking board game. I've played the board and the online version countless times. But there's nothing real about it.
According to the game, you don't even exist until college, which is either skipped over completely or breezed through. Then it's off to the hard parts. Get a job, grab a few pay days in between while you spin the multi colored wheel. Then what? Unavoidably, you have to get married. And what a grand thing it is. Everyone, at the exact same stop in their 'life' takes a pause at the stop sign to have a lovely wedding, at which point you choose your very own blue or pink colored and shaped plastic piece! It's so romantic!
What it doesn't warn you about is that maybe you got off to a bad start. Or maybe you're getting married because you have a bun in the oven. That your dad, mom, or sister might not approve. Maybe they're bad for you, or you've nothing in common. Which is going to go over REALLY well since the only thing you do is spend all your time in the car together. Maybe you didn't actually get married til you were thirty five, or he's ten years older. They never mention that.
Then! You're off again. This time you go through a few more 'trials' before you come to another stop sign. Guess what that means! It's house buying time. Sure, you can pick whichever one you like, but once again a pivotal decision hangs on a multi colored wheel. it goes round and round, and it's going to tell you how much of that tiny, funny colored money is going to go to a piece of cardboard that signifies your ownership. But once again, they don't tell you. I mean, you have such a marvelous paycheck, there's no way that you'd ever be in debt. You have no mortgage, nothing of that sort to worry about. AND if you get insurance, well, you're just set forever. Because it's not like insurance people can be completely impossible or anything. Besides. You have to land on the square for anything to happen to your car or house, or else they will ABSOLUTELY last you for your whole life without ever failing you.
And from there you proceed. You go to the doctors, if you land on the square. You go to a charity gala or a police ball, if you land on the square. You only have kids if you land on the squares. And then, just like your significant piece of plastic, you spend all of your time in the car with them. They never mention that if those little blank plastic faces had mouths you'd want to rip them after after a bajillion chorus's of 'are we there yet?' in a sure to be nasally voice. No no. That's not mentioned.
In the end, even if you never landed on the right squares to have kids, you might still land on the greatest grandparent award one, and get a little extra cardboard piece. Because that's what it's all about. It's about the little tiles with all the money. It's about having a crappy job with a ridiculously amazing paycheck. It's not about your anniversaries, or kids birthdays, or being there when a friend needs it. None of that is relevant in a game. Instead of being friends with the other players, the only other people in this little world, you're all racing to the finish. Racing to getting old. Racing towards retirement, honestly towards death.
I mean, what? What IS that?! What does that say about the people who make games for children? What does that say about how we're conditioned, or how we're conditioning them? I still hate finals. I still hate cramming and getting lost and getting stuck. I'm terrified of moving forward but frustrated with staying still. And I'm at a loss.
But I'd never give it up so I could be dictated by a spinning rainbow wheel.
I hate the end of the semester. It's always like this. I'm suddenly up to my eyes in work I could have and didn't finish a month ago, stuff I haven't even looked at twice. But if I had, I would have had time and gotten to finish it once instead of flailing about it in dismay. I need to shape up and I know it do. But it's never til the shape I'm in is actually a problem that I actually care, or pay attention.
They don't tell you about this when you're younger. They let you be naive. And clinging to that isn't a bad thing. But it's tough to get slapped in the face. What do we condition our children with? In all honesty, we've even tried to make a game out of it. Good going by the way Hasbro. The game of LIFE. Though I might not be one to talk, I honestly love the frakking board game. I've played the board and the online version countless times. But there's nothing real about it.
According to the game, you don't even exist until college, which is either skipped over completely or breezed through. Then it's off to the hard parts. Get a job, grab a few pay days in between while you spin the multi colored wheel. Then what? Unavoidably, you have to get married. And what a grand thing it is. Everyone, at the exact same stop in their 'life' takes a pause at the stop sign to have a lovely wedding, at which point you choose your very own blue or pink colored and shaped plastic piece! It's so romantic!
What it doesn't warn you about is that maybe you got off to a bad start. Or maybe you're getting married because you have a bun in the oven. That your dad, mom, or sister might not approve. Maybe they're bad for you, or you've nothing in common. Which is going to go over REALLY well since the only thing you do is spend all your time in the car together. Maybe you didn't actually get married til you were thirty five, or he's ten years older. They never mention that.
Then! You're off again. This time you go through a few more 'trials' before you come to another stop sign. Guess what that means! It's house buying time. Sure, you can pick whichever one you like, but once again a pivotal decision hangs on a multi colored wheel. it goes round and round, and it's going to tell you how much of that tiny, funny colored money is going to go to a piece of cardboard that signifies your ownership. But once again, they don't tell you. I mean, you have such a marvelous paycheck, there's no way that you'd ever be in debt. You have no mortgage, nothing of that sort to worry about. AND if you get insurance, well, you're just set forever. Because it's not like insurance people can be completely impossible or anything. Besides. You have to land on the square for anything to happen to your car or house, or else they will ABSOLUTELY last you for your whole life without ever failing you.
And from there you proceed. You go to the doctors, if you land on the square. You go to a charity gala or a police ball, if you land on the square. You only have kids if you land on the squares. And then, just like your significant piece of plastic, you spend all of your time in the car with them. They never mention that if those little blank plastic faces had mouths you'd want to rip them after after a bajillion chorus's of 'are we there yet?' in a sure to be nasally voice. No no. That's not mentioned.
In the end, even if you never landed on the right squares to have kids, you might still land on the greatest grandparent award one, and get a little extra cardboard piece. Because that's what it's all about. It's about the little tiles with all the money. It's about having a crappy job with a ridiculously amazing paycheck. It's not about your anniversaries, or kids birthdays, or being there when a friend needs it. None of that is relevant in a game. Instead of being friends with the other players, the only other people in this little world, you're all racing to the finish. Racing to getting old. Racing towards retirement, honestly towards death.
I mean, what? What IS that?! What does that say about the people who make games for children? What does that say about how we're conditioned, or how we're conditioning them? I still hate finals. I still hate cramming and getting lost and getting stuck. I'm terrified of moving forward but frustrated with staying still. And I'm at a loss.
But I'd never give it up so I could be dictated by a spinning rainbow wheel.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tenth
It's a hard thing sometimes. Generally, being single doesn't bother me. Aside from the one person I'd say yes to, who has no idea, I'm not even looking. But sometimes, just sometimes, it truly tanks.
There's this song by Snow Patrol, 'Open Your Eyes', and really I love it quite a lot. I can't seem to turn it off for the past couple of days, actually. But I also can't help that it makes me feel lonely and sad. It's like a slap in the face, and a big ol' reminder that nobody cares about me like that.
But I hate feeling like this, because it makes me feel like I'm discrediting my friends, which isn't the case at all. It's just not the point. But none of my friends needs me to open my eyes just so they can see them. Not 'because I need you to look into mine.'
Corny? Yea, maybe a little bit. A lot, even. I don't really care though. A large portion of romance is about corn. My favorite couples are the ones that kind of make me want to throw up. I actually get sad for the couples that don't nauseate me, at least a little.
I don't understand it most of the time. I don't bring it up a whole lot, I only complain about it occasionally but sometimes I can't help getting irked that I'm single. On a normal day I'd never admit it, but I'm kind of wonderful. I know I'm no looker, but I know I'm not as bad as I personally think I am. My face is pretty cute, nice enough smile, and eyes that are worth someone wanting to look at them.
And though it's highly rare for me to admit it, I have quite the personality. There is good and bad to it, I'd never claim otherwise, and yea. I'm a bit of a nutter. Still, on most days I have more good than bad. I have a big heart and spend most of my time caring about other people. I have good taste when it comes to most things, and I love to listen. I also like to love.
But it doesn't matter? No, thats not it. It just hasn't hit the right person at the right time yet. And really, thats fine. God has a plan and it's bigger than I could comprehend. But that doesn't mean I'm not sad sometimes. Nineteen years is a lot of time and bunches of waiting. And patience is a virtue because virtues aren't easy. It would be nice if he came along soon, but if he doesn't, I'll wait. I'll be fine. I might get grumpy sometimes, and sad other times, sometimes it may even make my angry, but all of that's allowed. It's not bad, it's not frowned upon, it's not forbidden. It's completely alright. And I know why, it all comes down to the end.
Because it takes a special guy to say, "I won't waste a minute without you."
There's this song by Snow Patrol, 'Open Your Eyes', and really I love it quite a lot. I can't seem to turn it off for the past couple of days, actually. But I also can't help that it makes me feel lonely and sad. It's like a slap in the face, and a big ol' reminder that nobody cares about me like that.
But I hate feeling like this, because it makes me feel like I'm discrediting my friends, which isn't the case at all. It's just not the point. But none of my friends needs me to open my eyes just so they can see them. Not 'because I need you to look into mine.'
Corny? Yea, maybe a little bit. A lot, even. I don't really care though. A large portion of romance is about corn. My favorite couples are the ones that kind of make me want to throw up. I actually get sad for the couples that don't nauseate me, at least a little.
I don't understand it most of the time. I don't bring it up a whole lot, I only complain about it occasionally but sometimes I can't help getting irked that I'm single. On a normal day I'd never admit it, but I'm kind of wonderful. I know I'm no looker, but I know I'm not as bad as I personally think I am. My face is pretty cute, nice enough smile, and eyes that are worth someone wanting to look at them.
And though it's highly rare for me to admit it, I have quite the personality. There is good and bad to it, I'd never claim otherwise, and yea. I'm a bit of a nutter. Still, on most days I have more good than bad. I have a big heart and spend most of my time caring about other people. I have good taste when it comes to most things, and I love to listen. I also like to love.
But it doesn't matter? No, thats not it. It just hasn't hit the right person at the right time yet. And really, thats fine. God has a plan and it's bigger than I could comprehend. But that doesn't mean I'm not sad sometimes. Nineteen years is a lot of time and bunches of waiting. And patience is a virtue because virtues aren't easy. It would be nice if he came along soon, but if he doesn't, I'll wait. I'll be fine. I might get grumpy sometimes, and sad other times, sometimes it may even make my angry, but all of that's allowed. It's not bad, it's not frowned upon, it's not forbidden. It's completely alright. And I know why, it all comes down to the end.
Because it takes a special guy to say, "I won't waste a minute without you."
Ninth
It's an odd thing. One day, I'm a crazy ass color scheme, and the next I'm completely grey scale. Strangest of all, I'm entirely comfortable in both. It doesn't feel chameleon or fake to be one or the other, it's just my silly moods. And, boy, am I overflowing with those. I mean, I guess no one can stay the same all the time. It's kind of a no brainer, that one.
But I feel like I should, and should be able to. I dunno. Just another of those idea's you get in your head during childhood, then startles you when you figure it out for real. Oh hey, no sorry, thats not correct. Here, have a large dose of reality and adulthood, and call your doctor tomorrow if there's any uncomfortable symptoms, bye bye now.
But then funny things happen, situational things that lift your spirits, like Joshua Radin making my life. I'm writing about this, I'm worrying about this, and his song 'We Are Okay' comes on. If thats not perfection and the epitome of what I'm talking about, then I don't know what is. Know what else? It's okay to have grey scale days too. As long as they're comfortable days. After all, we are okay, we are alright.
We sing very loud.
But I feel like I should, and should be able to. I dunno. Just another of those idea's you get in your head during childhood, then startles you when you figure it out for real. Oh hey, no sorry, thats not correct. Here, have a large dose of reality and adulthood, and call your doctor tomorrow if there's any uncomfortable symptoms, bye bye now.
But then funny things happen, situational things that lift your spirits, like Joshua Radin making my life. I'm writing about this, I'm worrying about this, and his song 'We Are Okay' comes on. If thats not perfection and the epitome of what I'm talking about, then I don't know what is. Know what else? It's okay to have grey scale days too. As long as they're comfortable days. After all, we are okay, we are alright.
We sing very loud.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Eighth
On Sunday, I spend all day feeling like a stranger. Even in the places where I most belong, it felt like I somehow lost my place. Or maybe I removed myself from my place. Maybe it was never really mine, or it didn't really exist in the first place.
My moods have been weird all week, and that effects everything around me. Suddenly all of it is strange, like it's ceased to be MY world. I can't hold it all in one place, I can't hold any of it in once place, and it puts me at a loss for what to do. So I reject everything. I have to run away, retreat, recuperate. Count my non-existent losses and heave a sigh, before I lurch back into things that I've lost my grasp on.
I hate admitting when things get difficult, because then I might have to admit I need help, or can't shoulder it alone. I'd have to break from my independence, which I generally detest maintaining anyways. Yet I've been doing it for so long giving it up is just inconceivable.
I don't know whats going on lately, I just don't. Things are being funny with my body, it's like half my feelings have either blown up or vanished, and I'm just sliding by and doing the motions.
Know what else? I hate keeping track of time. I hate the box it places you in. I hate having to keep it, I hate having to uphold it and regard it. I hate knowing when things happen or when I have to be somewhere. I want a day, all to myself, with no time pieces at all. Things get to happen at their own pace, nothing really matters when it gets accomplished or if it gets accomplished at all. A day unrestricted by time, where I can just exist and be for however long.
Just a day.
My moods have been weird all week, and that effects everything around me. Suddenly all of it is strange, like it's ceased to be MY world. I can't hold it all in one place, I can't hold any of it in once place, and it puts me at a loss for what to do. So I reject everything. I have to run away, retreat, recuperate. Count my non-existent losses and heave a sigh, before I lurch back into things that I've lost my grasp on.
I hate admitting when things get difficult, because then I might have to admit I need help, or can't shoulder it alone. I'd have to break from my independence, which I generally detest maintaining anyways. Yet I've been doing it for so long giving it up is just inconceivable.
I don't know whats going on lately, I just don't. Things are being funny with my body, it's like half my feelings have either blown up or vanished, and I'm just sliding by and doing the motions.
Know what else? I hate keeping track of time. I hate the box it places you in. I hate having to keep it, I hate having to uphold it and regard it. I hate knowing when things happen or when I have to be somewhere. I want a day, all to myself, with no time pieces at all. Things get to happen at their own pace, nothing really matters when it gets accomplished or if it gets accomplished at all. A day unrestricted by time, where I can just exist and be for however long.
Just a day.
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