It's hard for me to not start a blog post on a downer-note. Bad habits die hard.
For my birthday, Emily gave me a collection of Bukowski that's over 500 pages long and full of everything I could have ever wanted. I've been flipping pages in it for over a month now, but I've finally started reading it from the beginning through. I'm up to around 220, and I plan to get to at least 280 before I go to bed.
Poetry is addicting to me. I love just sitting and going through page after page of someone yelling at me or pleading or pledging or giving up. I can't seem to stop once I've started.
Ellen gave me a clean book she'd bound herself for my birthday and I love it. I've been using it as a place to write poetry when the mood fits, which I love. I've recently rediscovered things I loved in the seventh and eighth grade, and the nostalgia has overtaken me. Everything was so different the first time around with these musicians, these hobbies... But these songs mean so much more to me now.
Right now, I'm talking to Emily about how I grew up a long time ago. I may be bitter about a lot of things, but I'm not about that. Sure, it bites me in the bum every once in a while, but I don't regret it. I don't dwell on it. I guess that's strange to hear after I've spent the whole year practically wallowing in myself, but I can be positive depending on the topic. Right now, I'm listening to a band I gave up on a year ago, and I remember how little I was when I first heard them and how I had still seen too much for an eleven year old, but I was still so happy. Those are the memories I want to keep. I want to give myself the chance to remember the satisfaction of finishing something I'm proud of for me. I want to do the things that make me feel like sunlight. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
I Don't Need This
In middle school, I had three people who I considered my closest friends. Emily, Michelle, and Manjot. I still consider these girls to be some of the most intelligent people in my life, and I'm exponentially proud to call them my friends. On Friday night, I had the longest conversations I've had in a while with Michelle and Manjot due to an irritation with the people I usually talk to, and I realized how much I miss these girls. They were my roots, and I had gone running back to them. Sometimes I forget how much I value them.
I wouldn't know these girls if it wasn't for Mr. Coleman. I really really hate when something bad happens and people start having existential crises, like when a teenager commits suicide and the entire school goes to the funeral when, really, the kid had a handful of good friends because they were bullied so extremely. But when I heard Mr. Coleman had died, my first thought was where would I be without him. I wouldn't be friends with who I'm friends with, I wouldn't think of myself as a 'writer', I wouldn't be in STAC. I guess that's the only justifiable reason I think it's okay to talk about on here.
I was irritated with my friends on Friday because no one had talked to me. No one messaged me, texted, etc. A not-so-well-kept secret of mine is that I get unjustly paranoid when people don't contact me. I won't go into it, but I have a rejection complex. So, when people don't contact me my first instinct is that they don't want to talk to me. 95% of the time, the fact that I interact with people with who don't like initiating conversation or are extremely busy is the reason, but I digress. It cyclically pisses me off. For example, Julian usually gets the brunt of my irritation because he hates being the first one to say 'hello' and I've yelled at him for it over three times in the past few months. I'm kind of clingy. I Hate Being Clingy. But a distaste for an aspect of my personality doesn't extinguish the trait, and thus I still have my moments. When I can, though, I try to thwart showing how upset I am.
That is a nice way of saying that I avoid them. Mostly because I think they're avoiding me. I'm crazy, don't question the crazy. So this time, I avoided them by talking to Manjot and Michelle.
The thing is, I wasn't expecting them to make me feel better. Not knocking them, they're great, but when you don't want to drink orange juice you don't expect to like it. But they did, they made me feel great. They both write, and Michelle does art, so it's not like they're any less messed up than the people I usually hang out with, but it was honestly like a breath of fresh air. And after talking to them, I feel a bit more level-headed. Full disclosure, I still haven't talked to my normal group. I'm still upset with them. This is kind of my passive aggressive way of saying it because I hate confrontation yet I feel like I need to get it out.
"You Get So Alone at times that it Just Makes Sense" is the name of a collection by Bukowski. I feel like the title explains me pretty well. I get this way where I think I don't need anyone, or, if I do then it's none of their business if I need them. When I'm upset with people, I get pretty freaking depression. Sorry. But it's also a bit empowering, because I give up for a little bit on talking and sometimes it's good to rely on yourself and your own walls to hold you up. Sure, I went to Manjot and Michelle, but it helped me realize I don't need the people I thought to save me. No one is completely necessary. Not saying I'm dropping anyone, but taking a few days alone isn't bad. I guess this is me saying I don't feel like a package deal anymore.
I wouldn't know these girls if it wasn't for Mr. Coleman. I really really hate when something bad happens and people start having existential crises, like when a teenager commits suicide and the entire school goes to the funeral when, really, the kid had a handful of good friends because they were bullied so extremely. But when I heard Mr. Coleman had died, my first thought was where would I be without him. I wouldn't be friends with who I'm friends with, I wouldn't think of myself as a 'writer', I wouldn't be in STAC. I guess that's the only justifiable reason I think it's okay to talk about on here.
I was irritated with my friends on Friday because no one had talked to me. No one messaged me, texted, etc. A not-so-well-kept secret of mine is that I get unjustly paranoid when people don't contact me. I won't go into it, but I have a rejection complex. So, when people don't contact me my first instinct is that they don't want to talk to me. 95% of the time, the fact that I interact with people with who don't like initiating conversation or are extremely busy is the reason, but I digress. It cyclically pisses me off. For example, Julian usually gets the brunt of my irritation because he hates being the first one to say 'hello' and I've yelled at him for it over three times in the past few months. I'm kind of clingy. I Hate Being Clingy. But a distaste for an aspect of my personality doesn't extinguish the trait, and thus I still have my moments. When I can, though, I try to thwart showing how upset I am.
That is a nice way of saying that I avoid them. Mostly because I think they're avoiding me. I'm crazy, don't question the crazy. So this time, I avoided them by talking to Manjot and Michelle.
The thing is, I wasn't expecting them to make me feel better. Not knocking them, they're great, but when you don't want to drink orange juice you don't expect to like it. But they did, they made me feel great. They both write, and Michelle does art, so it's not like they're any less messed up than the people I usually hang out with, but it was honestly like a breath of fresh air. And after talking to them, I feel a bit more level-headed. Full disclosure, I still haven't talked to my normal group. I'm still upset with them. This is kind of my passive aggressive way of saying it because I hate confrontation yet I feel like I need to get it out.
"You Get So Alone at times that it Just Makes Sense" is the name of a collection by Bukowski. I feel like the title explains me pretty well. I get this way where I think I don't need anyone, or, if I do then it's none of their business if I need them. When I'm upset with people, I get pretty freaking depression. Sorry. But it's also a bit empowering, because I give up for a little bit on talking and sometimes it's good to rely on yourself and your own walls to hold you up. Sure, I went to Manjot and Michelle, but it helped me realize I don't need the people I thought to save me. No one is completely necessary. Not saying I'm dropping anyone, but taking a few days alone isn't bad. I guess this is me saying I don't feel like a package deal anymore.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Who's in Charge, here?
I am currently working on a movie. What first started out purely as a writing project has somehow gained enough horse-power in my mind to warrant a visual medium equivalent. A few months ago, Luke was trying to get me to film a movie without any background and put meaning to it as I went. Looking back on it, it was torture. In the moment, I was okay with being frenzied and worried because that's what I was used to, to be honest, but now I realize that having no backstory just made me anxious. I need to feel some connection to what I'm doing in order to get it done. Even when I'm older and given projects I'll hate, I'll find a way to put my own stamp on it if it's the last thing I do or else I just won't be able to produce a final product. I'm rather stubborn, even when I don't mean to be.
Anyways, the film started out with me blabbering on about light and dark. I find how people interpret these things quite interesting and ultimately quite different than my own ideas. I started out trying to make each line short, under 140 characters, in a short-lived attempt to turn it into a twitter monologue. That has lead to a bit of my dialogue sounding a bit cheesy and rather serious in order to get to the point quickly. If you have spent five minutes talking to me, I just don't talk like that. (Getting to the punch line has always been a difficult task when I can't stop questioning WHY the monkey walked into the bar. (Was it of his own accord? Is this legal?)) I talk like half of my thoughts are meant to be in parenthesis. MOVING FORWARD. I spent quite a few days rewriting all of my notes and putting everything on one piece of paper. Giving myself that time was kind of necessary, I've realized, because that kind of intense OCD organization is something I really enjoy doing. I love filing things down, which I don't really get a chance to do anymore. Lex and I have shared our room her entire life, and she still hasn't figured out how I organize the closet. Also, my iTunes library is pristine. I once spent seven hours straight just sitting and finding out the years songs were released and their track positions etc. Bottom line, I'm broke, someone hire me to clean their house or something. I'd be down.
On Saturday I finally got to filming with Sarah, which a fifth of what I wanted to do couldn't be filmed due to the weather. Tomorrow I'll be working with Matt and Emily for a quick bit, which shouldn't prove too difficult at all seeing as they're lovely. The only problems I face is that I hate bossing people around. I swear, I wish on a daily basis I could communicate telepathically. I was taught to respect people and never put yourself above anyone and I've taken that to heart everyday. This is an insane problem with filming. I don't feel more important, even though I'm the only one who knows what we're doing. I should take public speaking. Or have a child. I need to learn how to be bossy.
That is probably the worst concluding idea I've ever had. It's one forty AM and I'm sorry.
Anyways, the film started out with me blabbering on about light and dark. I find how people interpret these things quite interesting and ultimately quite different than my own ideas. I started out trying to make each line short, under 140 characters, in a short-lived attempt to turn it into a twitter monologue. That has lead to a bit of my dialogue sounding a bit cheesy and rather serious in order to get to the point quickly. If you have spent five minutes talking to me, I just don't talk like that. (Getting to the punch line has always been a difficult task when I can't stop questioning WHY the monkey walked into the bar. (Was it of his own accord? Is this legal?)) I talk like half of my thoughts are meant to be in parenthesis. MOVING FORWARD. I spent quite a few days rewriting all of my notes and putting everything on one piece of paper. Giving myself that time was kind of necessary, I've realized, because that kind of intense OCD organization is something I really enjoy doing. I love filing things down, which I don't really get a chance to do anymore. Lex and I have shared our room her entire life, and she still hasn't figured out how I organize the closet. Also, my iTunes library is pristine. I once spent seven hours straight just sitting and finding out the years songs were released and their track positions etc. Bottom line, I'm broke, someone hire me to clean their house or something. I'd be down.
On Saturday I finally got to filming with Sarah, which a fifth of what I wanted to do couldn't be filmed due to the weather. Tomorrow I'll be working with Matt and Emily for a quick bit, which shouldn't prove too difficult at all seeing as they're lovely. The only problems I face is that I hate bossing people around. I swear, I wish on a daily basis I could communicate telepathically. I was taught to respect people and never put yourself above anyone and I've taken that to heart everyday. This is an insane problem with filming. I don't feel more important, even though I'm the only one who knows what we're doing. I should take public speaking. Or have a child. I need to learn how to be bossy.
That is probably the worst concluding idea I've ever had. It's one forty AM and I'm sorry.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Darling's for the Puppies, Love.
I'm going to write a blog post on everything I've been doing as of late tomorrow, but I just realized something about myself I've never thought about before and I just thought I'd share.
So, fairly recently I realized I overshare a lot in new relationships with people. When I meet someone, I jump in rather quickly to talking about various aspects of my life that would usually take months to address casually. Also, a few months ago, Emily and I were talking and she brought up that a few people that I knew quite a bit about because I'm a chronic listener felt like I knew more about them than they knew about me, and it's true. And these were people that I spent copious amounts of time with and consider close friends. It's not that I actively don't talk, it's just I talk a lot about the same things.
What I just realized, though, is that when I'm over-sharing I'm basically trying to steer the conversation. I will tell someone anything and everything about me I'm comfortable sharing if that means they won't have the opportunity to ask me about the things I'm not comfortable with. It's this strange paradigm where if I can get in as much as I can about my cats, we'll be forced to talk about my cats. Now, I'm not actively trying to keep people away from what I keep hidden, but if something gets too close I get agitated and paranoid. I'm a rather shy person (some might say cripplingly so), but with people I feel that I might have to deal with for long stretches of time, I spew. With short term relationships, like cashiers, I still have to whisper to my mom what I want. But that's not the point.
I'm just thinking about when we did those charcoal drawings and how Luke kept asking Megan about hers and how terrified that made me. I still have my drawing. I know what it means, and I don't want to tell anyone, because I honestly feel like I know everyone has misconstrued it. It wasn't about anxiety or stress or anything like that. Matt made a joke about it being like a Georgia O'Keefe, it wasn't. It might seem like I give a lot away, and I especially think that if people were to read a lot of the posts I have up here they would definitely come to that conclusion. But, I don't feel like I do.
I feel like I've paid a price. That I'm willing to give up all that I have on here and to basic strangers in order to keep the deepest parts of me sacred. Not to my parents, not to my therapists, not to my closest friends who I've told the most. I think everyone has those moments where they think "you think you know me, but you don't", but I think it reaches deeper for me. I don't let people know me. I don't want to be known.
So, fairly recently I realized I overshare a lot in new relationships with people. When I meet someone, I jump in rather quickly to talking about various aspects of my life that would usually take months to address casually. Also, a few months ago, Emily and I were talking and she brought up that a few people that I knew quite a bit about because I'm a chronic listener felt like I knew more about them than they knew about me, and it's true. And these were people that I spent copious amounts of time with and consider close friends. It's not that I actively don't talk, it's just I talk a lot about the same things.
What I just realized, though, is that when I'm over-sharing I'm basically trying to steer the conversation. I will tell someone anything and everything about me I'm comfortable sharing if that means they won't have the opportunity to ask me about the things I'm not comfortable with. It's this strange paradigm where if I can get in as much as I can about my cats, we'll be forced to talk about my cats. Now, I'm not actively trying to keep people away from what I keep hidden, but if something gets too close I get agitated and paranoid. I'm a rather shy person (some might say cripplingly so), but with people I feel that I might have to deal with for long stretches of time, I spew. With short term relationships, like cashiers, I still have to whisper to my mom what I want. But that's not the point.
I'm just thinking about when we did those charcoal drawings and how Luke kept asking Megan about hers and how terrified that made me. I still have my drawing. I know what it means, and I don't want to tell anyone, because I honestly feel like I know everyone has misconstrued it. It wasn't about anxiety or stress or anything like that. Matt made a joke about it being like a Georgia O'Keefe, it wasn't. It might seem like I give a lot away, and I especially think that if people were to read a lot of the posts I have up here they would definitely come to that conclusion. But, I don't feel like I do.
I feel like I've paid a price. That I'm willing to give up all that I have on here and to basic strangers in order to keep the deepest parts of me sacred. Not to my parents, not to my therapists, not to my closest friends who I've told the most. I think everyone has those moments where they think "you think you know me, but you don't", but I think it reaches deeper for me. I don't let people know me. I don't want to be known.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)