It's a bad day for me. I feel sick, through and through.
I woke up feeling sick to my stomach. This isn't unusual for me, (maybe I'm hypoglycemic?) but today I just felt...sick.
I feel sick inside too. Like there's something rotting in me. It's not a good feeling. (Well duh.) I feel like I'm in pain. I should be used to not feeling "good enough" but I'm not. Never quick enough, smart enough, thin enough, beautiful enough.
Never enough.
"Mild depression." That's what they call it. It's kind of like saying "mildly poisoned" or "mildly drowned." Mild. Like salsa.
Am I still not over it?
I guess not.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Happily Ever Afters
Not simple love, not complex love.
Love in its purest form, coupled with passion.
I never knew passion was a separate entity from love.
I want him.
I crave him, stronger than any drug or cup of coffee.
There’s a hunger in my heart, in the pit of my belly.
And I wonder if he feels this too, or if I just love him too much.
I hope it’s the former.
There have been moments
When we clung to each other
Like the only two survivors
In the entire world.
Survivors of what?
The throes of teenage heartache, heartbreak, depression and love?
Broken homes, changing views, hot-as-hell opinions?
Maybe we’re just survivors of each other,
For each other.
Fairytale love.
That’s what I call it.
Not real fairytale love,
Where The Prince and The Princess meet at a ball,
Fall madly in love,
And live Happily Ever After.
No, this is the Real Fairytale,
In which the prince and princess meet
In the dark basement of a church,
Shyly admit their feelings on the Internet,
And begin dating two weeks after the princess
Was dumped by a minor duke.
Love in its purest form, coupled with passion.
I never knew passion was a separate entity from love.
I want him.
I crave him, stronger than any drug or cup of coffee.
There’s a hunger in my heart, in the pit of my belly.
And I wonder if he feels this too, or if I just love him too much.
I hope it’s the former.
There have been moments
When we clung to each other
Like the only two survivors
In the entire world.
Survivors of what?
The throes of teenage heartache, heartbreak, depression and love?
Broken homes, changing views, hot-as-hell opinions?
Maybe we’re just survivors of each other,
For each other.
Fairytale love.
That’s what I call it.
Not real fairytale love,
Where The Prince and The Princess meet at a ball,
Fall madly in love,
And live Happily Ever After.
No, this is the Real Fairytale,
In which the prince and princess meet
In the dark basement of a church,
Shyly admit their feelings on the Internet,
And begin dating two weeks after the princess
Was dumped by a minor duke.
Monday, March 9, 2009
I wonder if anybody reads these things.....
My computer deleted a blog I'd been working on for two days. FML.
Geometry is easy and hard at the same time. Like a male whore. Heh heh.
My blog should be labeled "Caution, this program may not be suitable for children. Parental guidance is advised."
It's cool to have a car of my own. It's strange and nice to have such independence. I was standing in the dark kitchen last night, drinking a glass of water, when I suddenly felt a keen awareness of my own independence, my own responsibility. "A lot of kids I know would be taking this way harder than I am," I thought. I wondered if other teens would throw fits, or be less organized. I'm sure other teens communicate with their parents about plans and locations far less than I do. For example, today I handed my mom a note with my after-school schedule for the next week or so. I figure this way she can plan dinners more easily, and she won't have to worry about where I'll be or when I'll be home.
I discovered three Beta Bucks in my room. This is a sign from God, indicating that Ben and I need to make a morning coffee run. :)
Sara and Nick and I are all very excited about State Speech. It's fun to see Nick so involved, how much he really loves Speech and how he cares for the younger kids. He's become surprisingly responsible in the past year, stepping into his role as a leader as easily as some people pull up their socks. I like how he and I are becoming better friends. I'm going to make him watch Juno on the way to State. :) He's a good kid, really.
Speaking of good kids....Ben and I are talking and hanging out more too, which totally makes me smile. I felt so proud of him, that he offered to help us move and didn't back out even when he found out I wouldn't be there. He's grown up.
Shopping with my dad was pretty neat. We went to 2 thrift stores, which were ok but not big hits. Then we went to the store my dad's friend Sharie owns, a vintage store. My dad explained as we were walking in that he had brought Sharie so much stuff that he had a crapload of store credit racked up, so I could buy whatever I wanted. The first thing I noticed in the store was Sharie's employee, Rory. Rory is blond. Very blond. And slightly tan. And dresses in suit jackets from the 1960s.
He looked like Barbie's boyfriend (Ken) circa 1965.
He was nice though. So was the other employee, Patricia. She brought me all sorts of vintage dresses and tops to try on, and I found some really beautiful things. I felt happy...I thought, "This is what it must feel like to be rich."
Sunday afternoon I packed up a bunch of clothes, stuffed animals, toiletries, etc and moved a bunch of things over to Mom's. We had fun, dancing around and watching M*A*S*H while we ate hot dogs. It felt good, to bond like that.
Everything in the Equus is going fine, though I'm a bit hurried. Deadlines fly up at me like so many flies from...well.....yeah.
I have practically zero time. I shouldn't even be writing a blog, that's how little time I have. But I have to write. That's what I do. It is who I am: a writer.
I need chocolate covered pretzels.
Geometry is easy and hard at the same time. Like a male whore. Heh heh.
My blog should be labeled "Caution, this program may not be suitable for children. Parental guidance is advised."
It's cool to have a car of my own. It's strange and nice to have such independence. I was standing in the dark kitchen last night, drinking a glass of water, when I suddenly felt a keen awareness of my own independence, my own responsibility. "A lot of kids I know would be taking this way harder than I am," I thought. I wondered if other teens would throw fits, or be less organized. I'm sure other teens communicate with their parents about plans and locations far less than I do. For example, today I handed my mom a note with my after-school schedule for the next week or so. I figure this way she can plan dinners more easily, and she won't have to worry about where I'll be or when I'll be home.
I discovered three Beta Bucks in my room. This is a sign from God, indicating that Ben and I need to make a morning coffee run. :)
Sara and Nick and I are all very excited about State Speech. It's fun to see Nick so involved, how much he really loves Speech and how he cares for the younger kids. He's become surprisingly responsible in the past year, stepping into his role as a leader as easily as some people pull up their socks. I like how he and I are becoming better friends. I'm going to make him watch Juno on the way to State. :) He's a good kid, really.
Speaking of good kids....Ben and I are talking and hanging out more too, which totally makes me smile. I felt so proud of him, that he offered to help us move and didn't back out even when he found out I wouldn't be there. He's grown up.
Shopping with my dad was pretty neat. We went to 2 thrift stores, which were ok but not big hits. Then we went to the store my dad's friend Sharie owns, a vintage store. My dad explained as we were walking in that he had brought Sharie so much stuff that he had a crapload of store credit racked up, so I could buy whatever I wanted. The first thing I noticed in the store was Sharie's employee, Rory. Rory is blond. Very blond. And slightly tan. And dresses in suit jackets from the 1960s.
He looked like Barbie's boyfriend (Ken) circa 1965.
He was nice though. So was the other employee, Patricia. She brought me all sorts of vintage dresses and tops to try on, and I found some really beautiful things. I felt happy...I thought, "This is what it must feel like to be rich."
Sunday afternoon I packed up a bunch of clothes, stuffed animals, toiletries, etc and moved a bunch of things over to Mom's. We had fun, dancing around and watching M*A*S*H while we ate hot dogs. It felt good, to bond like that.
Everything in the Equus is going fine, though I'm a bit hurried. Deadlines fly up at me like so many flies from...well.....yeah.
I have practically zero time. I shouldn't even be writing a blog, that's how little time I have. But I have to write. That's what I do. It is who I am: a writer.
I need chocolate covered pretzels.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
How To Pack A Hippo
While searching for tips on how to pack for a move, I came across this:
Yes, there is or was something posted on how to pack a hippo. Unfortunately, I got a 404 message when I clicked on the link. :( But doesn't it make you feel safer knowing that somebody out there knows how to safely pack a hippo?
Yes, there is or was something posted on how to pack a hippo. Unfortunately, I got a 404 message when I clicked on the link. :( But doesn't it make you feel safer knowing that somebody out there knows how to safely pack a hippo?
Monday, March 2, 2009
Has your face ever gone numb? No, seriously. It's happened to me only maybe 3 or 4 times ever. It's happening right now. It's because I was thinking about how f*****g pathetic I must look when I explain to people that my parents are getting a divorce.
Mom said Mrs. Loberg and Mrs. Winniger (née Albaugh) are going to help us move. Fuuuudge. I'm hoping to God I don't cry.
Mrs. Loberg gave me a hug in the hallway like the Monday after The Talk. She said "I love you." It was strange, hearing words like that from somebody who's practically a stranger. God, don't let me cry. Don't let me cry.
FML
Mom said Mrs. Loberg and Mrs. Winniger (née Albaugh) are going to help us move. Fuuuudge. I'm hoping to God I don't cry.
Mrs. Loberg gave me a hug in the hallway like the Monday after The Talk. She said "I love you." It was strange, hearing words like that from somebody who's practically a stranger. God, don't let me cry. Don't let me cry.
FML
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)