Thursday, March 29, 2012
Blogger, What Have You Done To Yourself?!
What is this blasphemy? Also, where the fuck are my drafts?
Sunday, March 25, 2012
My Own Infinity
I am now officially part of the tattoo club!
It's on that little indentation right beside my hip bone, don't worry, the photo contains no actual nudity.
I like knowing that world has, and always will go on. Time will continue infinitely. No matter what's going on in my life, I feel like the idea of an infinite universe will always keep me in perspective.
Plus, tattoos are hella sexy, if I do say so myself.
;)
Julia
It's on that little indentation right beside my hip bone, don't worry, the photo contains no actual nudity.
I like knowing that world has, and always will go on. Time will continue infinitely. No matter what's going on in my life, I feel like the idea of an infinite universe will always keep me in perspective.
Plus, tattoos are hella sexy, if I do say so myself.
;)
Julia
Saturday, March 24, 2012
I Am Sick Of Suicide
Alright, I am going to be honest here: If you are clinically depressed, bipolar, or have any other mental or emotional predisposition to feel suicidal, DO NOT READ THIS POST. It will be triggering. You have been warned.
Another warning: I am about to get all kinds of bitchy and insensitive up in here. But I have to write about how I'm feeling because if I don't, I am seriously going to explode. This is probably going to be a longer post than usual.
SO.
Last chance to turn back.
Seriously.
I just, as in not five whole minutes ago, almost called 911 because I thought that a friend of mine was going to kill himself. What had happened was that I posted something on Facebook that called him an absolute prick. I was doing it to be funny, to give him shit, because honestly, he is an absolute prick. He instantly replied with what sounded like a suicide note, and then he posted a status that said only "Goodbye."
Cue me freaking the fuck out. It was never my intention to elicit that sort of a reaction. I knew that he had been sort of depressed, but never to the point where I'd actually thought he would do anything. I called him to apologize and he screamed at me and hung up.
I deleted the post, called a few other people to check on him and he texted me saying he was with people now. But I'm still semi-worried that I may have just prompted any harm that he may try to inflict on himself.
I would say, "caused his death" except that I am not the cause of his unhappiness. At all. I am in no way responsible for his misinterpretation of my actions. I am not a 'cyber bully' for antagonizing this kid one time.
In fact, the whole 'cyber bully' thing has been blown way the fuck out of proportion. Constant, pointed harassment, public humiliation, and online victimization of one person? Yeah, sure, that's cyber bullying. But when someone says one thing, or does one thing? Not bullying. At all.
In the end, a bully is never the sole person responsible for any suicide. It's the person who actually commits it. Bullying can be ignored, culled, stopped, and at least avoided. The urge to self-harm is self-generated. It is not a bully's fault that their victim takes their own life; ever.
And can we take a second to scoff at those people who commit suicide in stupid, obviously unsuccessful ways? These people may need help, but their little dramatic show is taking the attention from people who are in actual danger of themselves.
If someone is genuinely hurting and genuinely wants to die, then they do. I have lost three friends to suicide. It really, really sucks to see someone go out like that. Those people were in such a world of pain and suffering that they did what they needed to to end it. I miss them terribly, but no one was at fault for their deaths beside themselves.
That's not to say that if I had a chance to stop them, I wouldn't have, because if I could rewind time and go back to each of their deciding moments respectively, I would, and I would do my best to talk each one out of it.
I am good at that. I have talked countless friends down from harming themselves. When needed, I have gone to check on them. The last time this happened, I found one of my friends with his wrists slit lying in the bathtub, almost unconscious from lack of blood. If I hadn't cared enough to drive to his house and check on him, he would be dead.
That being said, I am so fucking sick of it all. Sick, absolutely sick.
I am 16 years old and I have had a friend die for every year I have been alive. That is all kinds of fucked up. At this point, you'd think I'd be numb to loss, but each time a friend dies I feel like they are taking part of me with them.
Which is why I think that suicide is the stupidest, most selfish, most disgustingly attention-seeking thing a person could do. The world is not about you, cry yourself a river and then get the fuck over it. We are not all out to get you, nor do we particularly care that you feel like shit today. Everyone feels like shit today.
I think that blaming every problem in your life on those around you is a complete cop-out. Blaming all of your problems on your mental illness is beyond a cop-out, it is just weak, nay, spineless. You know you can live and be happy, but you choose not to. You wallow in self-pity and starve for the love of others when all the while, you make yourself unlovable.
Stand up. Open your fucking eyes, people. Live for yourself and make yourself happy, because honestly, no one's going to care! There are 7 billion other people in this world, many of whom are too preoccupied with trying to survive to even contemplate the idea of killing themselves. Don't think that your problems are so terrible that you can't even try to fix them.
It's time to put on some big-kid pants and grow up. Accept responsibility, nut up, and DO SOMETHING to fix your life. Quitting should never be an option.
To those whom I have pissed of with my opinions:
Get off your collective, over-sensitive high horse.
Julia
Another warning: I am about to get all kinds of bitchy and insensitive up in here. But I have to write about how I'm feeling because if I don't, I am seriously going to explode. This is probably going to be a longer post than usual.
SO.
Last chance to turn back.
Seriously.
I just, as in not five whole minutes ago, almost called 911 because I thought that a friend of mine was going to kill himself. What had happened was that I posted something on Facebook that called him an absolute prick. I was doing it to be funny, to give him shit, because honestly, he is an absolute prick. He instantly replied with what sounded like a suicide note, and then he posted a status that said only "Goodbye."
Cue me freaking the fuck out. It was never my intention to elicit that sort of a reaction. I knew that he had been sort of depressed, but never to the point where I'd actually thought he would do anything. I called him to apologize and he screamed at me and hung up.
I deleted the post, called a few other people to check on him and he texted me saying he was with people now. But I'm still semi-worried that I may have just prompted any harm that he may try to inflict on himself.
I would say, "caused his death" except that I am not the cause of his unhappiness. At all. I am in no way responsible for his misinterpretation of my actions. I am not a 'cyber bully' for antagonizing this kid one time.
In fact, the whole 'cyber bully' thing has been blown way the fuck out of proportion. Constant, pointed harassment, public humiliation, and online victimization of one person? Yeah, sure, that's cyber bullying. But when someone says one thing, or does one thing? Not bullying. At all.
In the end, a bully is never the sole person responsible for any suicide. It's the person who actually commits it. Bullying can be ignored, culled, stopped, and at least avoided. The urge to self-harm is self-generated. It is not a bully's fault that their victim takes their own life; ever.
And can we take a second to scoff at those people who commit suicide in stupid, obviously unsuccessful ways? These people may need help, but their little dramatic show is taking the attention from people who are in actual danger of themselves.
If someone is genuinely hurting and genuinely wants to die, then they do. I have lost three friends to suicide. It really, really sucks to see someone go out like that. Those people were in such a world of pain and suffering that they did what they needed to to end it. I miss them terribly, but no one was at fault for their deaths beside themselves.
That's not to say that if I had a chance to stop them, I wouldn't have, because if I could rewind time and go back to each of their deciding moments respectively, I would, and I would do my best to talk each one out of it.
I am good at that. I have talked countless friends down from harming themselves. When needed, I have gone to check on them. The last time this happened, I found one of my friends with his wrists slit lying in the bathtub, almost unconscious from lack of blood. If I hadn't cared enough to drive to his house and check on him, he would be dead.
That being said, I am so fucking sick of it all. Sick, absolutely sick.
I am 16 years old and I have had a friend die for every year I have been alive. That is all kinds of fucked up. At this point, you'd think I'd be numb to loss, but each time a friend dies I feel like they are taking part of me with them.
Which is why I think that suicide is the stupidest, most selfish, most disgustingly attention-seeking thing a person could do. The world is not about you, cry yourself a river and then get the fuck over it. We are not all out to get you, nor do we particularly care that you feel like shit today. Everyone feels like shit today.
I think that blaming every problem in your life on those around you is a complete cop-out. Blaming all of your problems on your mental illness is beyond a cop-out, it is just weak, nay, spineless. You know you can live and be happy, but you choose not to. You wallow in self-pity and starve for the love of others when all the while, you make yourself unlovable.
Stand up. Open your fucking eyes, people. Live for yourself and make yourself happy, because honestly, no one's going to care! There are 7 billion other people in this world, many of whom are too preoccupied with trying to survive to even contemplate the idea of killing themselves. Don't think that your problems are so terrible that you can't even try to fix them.
It's time to put on some big-kid pants and grow up. Accept responsibility, nut up, and DO SOMETHING to fix your life. Quitting should never be an option.
To those whom I have pissed of with my opinions:
Get off your collective, over-sensitive high horse.
Julia
Monday, March 19, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
So you know that paramilitary organization I work for? And how I went to encampment (air force boot camp) last summer?
I just found out that I get to be staff at this year's encampment!!
Yay me! I'm really psyched to have the responsibility of training a whole flight of basic cadets, plus this is going to look soooo good on my college resume!
I just found out that I get to be staff at this year's encampment!!
Yay me! I'm really psyched to have the responsibility of training a whole flight of basic cadets, plus this is going to look soooo good on my college resume!
Party Like An Irishman
I love it when holidays fall on the weekend. It's like a sign from God; divine mandate to party it up.
I spent my evening in Denver, per usual for a Saturday night. I went to a hookah bar for the first time, which, for those of you who don't know, is just a loungey place where people sit around and smoke hookah, which is fully legal. No actual alcohol consumption involved.
The hookah bar was on Colfax Ave, which is notorious for being Denver's busiest and sketchiest street, especially on Saturday night. Plus it was St. Patty's Day. So take the usual amount of drunk clubbers, concert-goers, and bar-hoppers, multiply it by three, and dress them all in green.
Needless to say, simply walking the six blocks up Colfax to reach the hookah place was an adventure in itself. I'm used to getting cat-called, especially walking in Denver; when you're blonde and alone and in tight clothing, it's to be expected. But during the six blocks it took to get from point a to point b, I got cat-called and hit on a ridiculous amount of times, even by my standards.
One guy driving a minivan offered me a ride. What did he think, I was going to accept?
Can we briefly assess this situation?
A) Ok, you're like 40 and I am obviously 16. I am not stupid enough to take rides from men I don't know. Calling me gorgeous after every sentence is not helping your case here.
B)Dude, you're driving a minivan.
I even had one supremely creepy dude follow me for a few blocks, trying to get me to go back to his house and smoke weed with him. I got offered free drinks and cigarettes like every ten feet.
Every guy started with "Hey baby, how you doing?" or some variation thereupon. Why do men do this? What if I'm having a terrible night? Do they really want to know? Pshhh. Nah. Also, do they honestly think that offering me a free drink is going to lead to me sleeping with them? Seriously?
Like, I am going to jump into bed with some random drunk 40 year old black guy. Because that's safe and intelligent.
Aside from getting creeped on, the drunk-watching was superb. To my new readers, drunk-watching is a little hobby I created for myself when walking around cities at night for one reason or another. When I am sober, but everyone around me is drunk, it is prime time for drunk-watching. It's like bird-watching, but infinitely more entertaining.
Finally, at the end of my epic six-block journey through the drunken masses, I reached the hookah bar, where Shpongle was waiting for me. He is possibly the most adorable human I have ever met in my life. We proceeded to smoke hookah and discuss life for a good three hours.
I was texting Plb the whole time. Shpongle may be adorable, but charismatic he is not. I think the friend-zone is where I shall permanently place him. But he was still good company for a Saturday night in Denver. I'm not totally going to write him off because I know I'm going to see him at raves and things, but any prospect of further romance? Nahhh.
Anyway, over all I had a fabulous, substance-free night. I'm very proud of myself.
How was your St. Patrick's Day?
Julia
I spent my evening in Denver, per usual for a Saturday night. I went to a hookah bar for the first time, which, for those of you who don't know, is just a loungey place where people sit around and smoke hookah, which is fully legal. No actual alcohol consumption involved.
The hookah bar was on Colfax Ave, which is notorious for being Denver's busiest and sketchiest street, especially on Saturday night. Plus it was St. Patty's Day. So take the usual amount of drunk clubbers, concert-goers, and bar-hoppers, multiply it by three, and dress them all in green.
Needless to say, simply walking the six blocks up Colfax to reach the hookah place was an adventure in itself. I'm used to getting cat-called, especially walking in Denver; when you're blonde and alone and in tight clothing, it's to be expected. But during the six blocks it took to get from point a to point b, I got cat-called and hit on a ridiculous amount of times, even by my standards.
One guy driving a minivan offered me a ride. What did he think, I was going to accept?
Can we briefly assess this situation?
A) Ok, you're like 40 and I am obviously 16. I am not stupid enough to take rides from men I don't know. Calling me gorgeous after every sentence is not helping your case here.
B)Dude, you're driving a minivan.
I even had one supremely creepy dude follow me for a few blocks, trying to get me to go back to his house and smoke weed with him. I got offered free drinks and cigarettes like every ten feet.
Every guy started with "Hey baby, how you doing?" or some variation thereupon. Why do men do this? What if I'm having a terrible night? Do they really want to know? Pshhh. Nah. Also, do they honestly think that offering me a free drink is going to lead to me sleeping with them? Seriously?
Like, I am going to jump into bed with some random drunk 40 year old black guy. Because that's safe and intelligent.
Aside from getting creeped on, the drunk-watching was superb. To my new readers, drunk-watching is a little hobby I created for myself when walking around cities at night for one reason or another. When I am sober, but everyone around me is drunk, it is prime time for drunk-watching. It's like bird-watching, but infinitely more entertaining.
Finally, at the end of my epic six-block journey through the drunken masses, I reached the hookah bar, where Shpongle was waiting for me. He is possibly the most adorable human I have ever met in my life. We proceeded to smoke hookah and discuss life for a good three hours.
I was texting Plb the whole time. Shpongle may be adorable, but charismatic he is not. I think the friend-zone is where I shall permanently place him. But he was still good company for a Saturday night in Denver. I'm not totally going to write him off because I know I'm going to see him at raves and things, but any prospect of further romance? Nahhh.
Anyway, over all I had a fabulous, substance-free night. I'm very proud of myself.
How was your St. Patrick's Day?
Julia
Thursday, March 15, 2012
It's 3 in the morning and I just got home. I know it's a Wednesday night (well... Thursday morning) but because of state testing for freshman and sophomores, I don't have to be at school until noon tomorrow.
I just drove around for about two hours on rural back roads exploring and talking and listening to fantastic music with Plb. He is so utterly fantastic when he's not putting up a front. I wish he was like that all the time.
We were going to go stargazing, but it's all cloudy.
Anyway, here's a picture of me with my hair all blonde again. Excuse the lack of make up; I mostly just wear mascara these days. I'm going to make my hair more white-ish in a week or two after letting it recover from the onslaught of bleach, but here's what it looks like now:
Have a lovely day.
Julia
I just drove around for about two hours on rural back roads exploring and talking and listening to fantastic music with Plb. He is so utterly fantastic when he's not putting up a front. I wish he was like that all the time.
We were going to go stargazing, but it's all cloudy.
Anyway, here's a picture of me with my hair all blonde again. Excuse the lack of make up; I mostly just wear mascara these days. I'm going to make my hair more white-ish in a week or two after letting it recover from the onslaught of bleach, but here's what it looks like now:
Have a lovely day.
Julia
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Things I Secretly Love:
the way rain smells
lying in grass
discovering secret places
city lights at night
American Spirit cigarettes in the black pack
red lipstick
having bleached hair
when I lose weight without even trying
stealing my mother's sweaters
being awake late at night
black coffee
combat boots
wearing leggings 24/7
walking in the sunlight right beside shadows
old buildings
boys who are unavailable in one way or another
modern art
my tiny hands
cloth bracelets
hickies
alone time
driving with no where to go
drawing shitty pictures
giving/getting light shows at raves
painting my nails
working out for a ridiculous amount of time
being the cause of a double-take
braiding my hair in weirdly intricate patterns
slouchy flanel shirts
waking up to a text
Julia
lying in grass
discovering secret places
city lights at night
American Spirit cigarettes in the black pack
red lipstick
having bleached hair
when I lose weight without even trying
stealing my mother's sweaters
being awake late at night
black coffee
combat boots
wearing leggings 24/7
walking in the sunlight right beside shadows
old buildings
boys who are unavailable in one way or another
modern art
my tiny hands
cloth bracelets
hickies
alone time
driving with no where to go
drawing shitty pictures
giving/getting light shows at raves
painting my nails
working out for a ridiculous amount of time
being the cause of a double-take
braiding my hair in weirdly intricate patterns
slouchy flanel shirts
waking up to a text
Julia
Monday, March 12, 2012
Drawing An Obvious Comparison
Alright, I think I've figured out some of the boy situation. It's due to texting, which sounds stupid, but hear me out:
I've been texting all three important guys all day, and the difference between our conversations has been enough to weed out who cares, who may share my feelings, and who's actually worth my time.
The following are excerpts from conversations:
Fsb:
Him - what's bothering you?
Moi - it's not important
H - let's hear it! I want to help
M - promise?
Shpongle:
H - Hey
M - Hi
H - What's up?
M - trying to survive the most monotonous day ever
H - cool
Plb:
M - I am the muffin master! Muahahaha
H - *picture of a pile of muffins*
M - my dominion!
H - your endless kindgom
M - indeed, for I rule over every flavor
H - blueberry is a classic ;)
Let's anaylze shall we?
Fsb: Cares, sometimes.
Shpongle: Is not worth my time.
Plb: Can have a witty conversation about anything.
At least, I know that Shpongle is just too boring for me. Fsb will perpetually be in my life, so I'm still undecided about him. And Plb, whose conversation never dulls, can be a magnificent human being when he's not being a douche or lying.
I think my choice is obvious.
Julia
I've been texting all three important guys all day, and the difference between our conversations has been enough to weed out who cares, who may share my feelings, and who's actually worth my time.
The following are excerpts from conversations:
Fsb:
Him - what's bothering you?
Moi - it's not important
H - let's hear it! I want to help
M - promise?
Shpongle:
H - Hey
M - Hi
H - What's up?
M - trying to survive the most monotonous day ever
H - cool
Plb:
M - I am the muffin master! Muahahaha
H - *picture of a pile of muffins*
M - my dominion!
H - your endless kindgom
M - indeed, for I rule over every flavor
H - blueberry is a classic ;)
Let's anaylze shall we?
Fsb: Cares, sometimes.
Shpongle: Is not worth my time.
Plb: Can have a witty conversation about anything.
At least, I know that Shpongle is just too boring for me. Fsb will perpetually be in my life, so I'm still undecided about him. And Plb, whose conversation never dulls, can be a magnificent human being when he's not being a douche or lying.
I think my choice is obvious.
Julia
Sunday, March 11, 2012
A Indefinitive Delcaration
Well, I've just woken up from sleeping all day and should probably be doing my homework, you know, because I need good grades to get into Harvard. I really am kidding myself with this whole Harvard thing, aren't I? Well, I'm just going to procrastinate a tad further to distract myself from this and its many fellow inherent realities.
On the chill scale, last night's random adventures ranked at around a 6.5 out of 10. I started at Philly's, and was going to go down to Denver with her, then Fsb called. I ditched Philly and went to him, like a good little puppy. Except he was with this other kid and they just wanted to aimlessly hang out. My domestication screwed me.
I angrily ditched Fsb and drove down to Denver to meet back up with Philly. The crew we had was quite fantastic. It was me, Philly, Philly's boy toy, Philly's actual-but-she-won't-admit-it boyfriend (she over-complicates her own love life when she's bored), Dreadlocked Beauty #1, and Dreadlocked Beauty #2 (both female).
I remember there was boxed wine, chain smoking, a trip to the most exciting playground ever, a period of awkward separation where Philly and Dreadlocked Beauty #1 had like, an existential crisis or something and ditched the rest of us, then we all met up again at this 24-hour cafe called Leela's at 4 AM.
Leela's is this glorious restaurant thing where, in the wee hours of the morning, late-night partiers and general weirdos sit around eating good food and drinking coffee and playing chess. It was glorious.
After Leela's, we all went back to Dreadlocked Beauty #1's house to sleep for a few hours.
Woke up at noon and drove home and that was that.
After sleeping all day, I've realized that I have a bit of homework to do before I can return to sleep. It's ok.
Moreover, I have realized in this past week that if I don't get my shit together academically, extracurricularly, and attitude-wise in a big way, I'm not going to even have a chance of achieving any of my future goals for myself. I've been far too relaxed about things that I should really be caring about.
In truth, I'd rather remember my junior year as it was, and not as a giant ball of stress, but it's over half-way through the second semester, and though last semester was good, this semester is possibly the most important one of my entire life. And here I've been, slacking.
I have a small amount of time to pull my grades up and prepare for all the AP tests and finals. I also have to use this time to set myself up for the summer with things to do.
I don't want to turn into one of those IB nerds who spends their entire existence freaking out and trying to be perfect, because that is ridiculous and I will never lose sight of my own personality like that, but I can't allow myself to turn into an apathetic stoner-like kid who stops caring and thereby fucks their own future.
In truth, I have honestly got to find some motivation somewhere, because it's getting really hard to not just throw my life away with bad grades. I need to refocus my energy from boys to school. Do you realize how difficult this is?!?
Gah.
Julia
On the chill scale, last night's random adventures ranked at around a 6.5 out of 10. I started at Philly's, and was going to go down to Denver with her, then Fsb called. I ditched Philly and went to him, like a good little puppy. Except he was with this other kid and they just wanted to aimlessly hang out. My domestication screwed me.
I angrily ditched Fsb and drove down to Denver to meet back up with Philly. The crew we had was quite fantastic. It was me, Philly, Philly's boy toy, Philly's actual-but-she-won't-admit-it boyfriend (she over-complicates her own love life when she's bored), Dreadlocked Beauty #1, and Dreadlocked Beauty #2 (both female).
I remember there was boxed wine, chain smoking, a trip to the most exciting playground ever, a period of awkward separation where Philly and Dreadlocked Beauty #1 had like, an existential crisis or something and ditched the rest of us, then we all met up again at this 24-hour cafe called Leela's at 4 AM.
Leela's is this glorious restaurant thing where, in the wee hours of the morning, late-night partiers and general weirdos sit around eating good food and drinking coffee and playing chess. It was glorious.
After Leela's, we all went back to Dreadlocked Beauty #1's house to sleep for a few hours.
Woke up at noon and drove home and that was that.
After sleeping all day, I've realized that I have a bit of homework to do before I can return to sleep. It's ok.
Moreover, I have realized in this past week that if I don't get my shit together academically, extracurricularly, and attitude-wise in a big way, I'm not going to even have a chance of achieving any of my future goals for myself. I've been far too relaxed about things that I should really be caring about.
In truth, I'd rather remember my junior year as it was, and not as a giant ball of stress, but it's over half-way through the second semester, and though last semester was good, this semester is possibly the most important one of my entire life. And here I've been, slacking.
I have a small amount of time to pull my grades up and prepare for all the AP tests and finals. I also have to use this time to set myself up for the summer with things to do.
I don't want to turn into one of those IB nerds who spends their entire existence freaking out and trying to be perfect, because that is ridiculous and I will never lose sight of my own personality like that, but I can't allow myself to turn into an apathetic stoner-like kid who stops caring and thereby fucks their own future.
In truth, I have honestly got to find some motivation somewhere, because it's getting really hard to not just throw my life away with bad grades. I need to refocus my energy from boys to school. Do you realize how difficult this is?!?
Gah.
Julia
Friday, March 9, 2012
A Cracked Windsheild On A Clear Night
My life is all parallels and conflicts right now.
It's like in Orwell's 1984 how there's this phenomenon of doublethink, which is when a person thinks two completely opposing things at once. Except, instead of doublethink, it's more like I have doublefeel; I feeling conflicting emotions in harmony with each other.
Take last night and tonight, for instance. Last night, I texted Plb until about 2 AM. We've been texting a lot these past few days and having meme-wars via picture message and I feel like maybe I was mistaken that he's dating the girl from AP Lang again. I could see myself with him, which sets him apart from like 99.99999% of the guys I know. Of course, if I get my hopes up and actually make a play for his affections, it will turn out that he's been dating her all along. I'll be disappointed and alone, probably end up finding some random to guy to screw. Because my life is like that.
And then there's Shpongle, who is adorable, but uncertain and inconsistent. I don't know what to do with him.
And of course, there is Fsb, whose place in my web of boys just keeps twisting tighter and tighter. He and Qv have had a falling out to end all falling outs and I honestly think he could be moving towards a break in that cycle. I don't know. What I do know is that he and I are tight buds now, and I probably still care too much about him.
I scrutinize his vulnerabilities and criticize him for being Qv's little domesticated boy-puppy, and yet, whenever he calls on me, I go running. I still think his pussy-whippage for Qv is ridiculous, but I'm such a hypocrite because I'm like, friend-whipped for him.
I just want him to be happy. It worries me when he isn't. Why I care this much about this kid is beyond me, especially because he is so far from being a romantic pursuit. I don't know why I value his happiness and approval so much, it's extremely disconcerting.
I feel like a cracked windsheild on a clear night; split. I feel damaged and confused, but even so there is still an underlying implication of inherent clarity in every course of action that I choose to take.
I feel as if I am stuck in a constant battle between feeling introverted and existential crisis-y and feeling social and wholly productive. There is a division in my priorities between what is ideal and what is comfortable.
Worst of all, my already broken-beyond-repair-but-still-stupidly-hopeful affections can't decide whom it wants to bet on. My head says 'go for Plb!' My head then replies snarkily to itself with a 'oh wait, he's probably interested in someone else par usual' My gut enters the conversation with 'Shpongle is really the best choice here' and then my gut and my heart bicker for a while. Finally my heart joins in with a 'You want Fsb'. It says only this, knowing the weight of this simple, concrete statement. And with that, the battle of head, gut, and heart is over; damage done.
I know what I really want but I can't admit it to myself. I want the most dangerous, emotionally-unavailable, uninterested, illogical choice. Naturally. But I want the easiest, most secure choice. Because that is what is best. With this doublefeeling, I am left and a crossroads and I don't know where to aim my efforts.
Some Hollywood scriptwriter needs to pen in a definitive but equally satisfying ending. It needs to be utilitarian and beneficial to the lives of everyone. Most of all, it needs to be cute and happy and show promise for the future.
Why can't my life be written by someone else? Why can't I listen to my head instead of my gut? Why is my heart being so difficult about all of this? WHY IS MY LIFE SO COMPLICATED?
I am a crack on an otherwise pristine windsheild on a cool, clear night. I am a crux in my own potential.
Can someone maybe sort out my priorities and love life so that I don't have to?
On a completely unrelated note, this is my 400th post. Yay me?
Julia
It's like in Orwell's 1984 how there's this phenomenon of doublethink, which is when a person thinks two completely opposing things at once. Except, instead of doublethink, it's more like I have doublefeel; I feeling conflicting emotions in harmony with each other.
Take last night and tonight, for instance. Last night, I texted Plb until about 2 AM. We've been texting a lot these past few days and having meme-wars via picture message and I feel like maybe I was mistaken that he's dating the girl from AP Lang again. I could see myself with him, which sets him apart from like 99.99999% of the guys I know. Of course, if I get my hopes up and actually make a play for his affections, it will turn out that he's been dating her all along. I'll be disappointed and alone, probably end up finding some random to guy to screw. Because my life is like that.
And then there's Shpongle, who is adorable, but uncertain and inconsistent. I don't know what to do with him.
And of course, there is Fsb, whose place in my web of boys just keeps twisting tighter and tighter. He and Qv have had a falling out to end all falling outs and I honestly think he could be moving towards a break in that cycle. I don't know. What I do know is that he and I are tight buds now, and I probably still care too much about him.
I scrutinize his vulnerabilities and criticize him for being Qv's little domesticated boy-puppy, and yet, whenever he calls on me, I go running. I still think his pussy-whippage for Qv is ridiculous, but I'm such a hypocrite because I'm like, friend-whipped for him.
I just want him to be happy. It worries me when he isn't. Why I care this much about this kid is beyond me, especially because he is so far from being a romantic pursuit. I don't know why I value his happiness and approval so much, it's extremely disconcerting.
I feel like a cracked windsheild on a clear night; split. I feel damaged and confused, but even so there is still an underlying implication of inherent clarity in every course of action that I choose to take.
I feel as if I am stuck in a constant battle between feeling introverted and existential crisis-y and feeling social and wholly productive. There is a division in my priorities between what is ideal and what is comfortable.
Worst of all, my already broken-beyond-repair-but-still-stupidly-hopeful affections can't decide whom it wants to bet on. My head says 'go for Plb!' My head then replies snarkily to itself with a 'oh wait, he's probably interested in someone else par usual' My gut enters the conversation with 'Shpongle is really the best choice here' and then my gut and my heart bicker for a while. Finally my heart joins in with a 'You want Fsb'. It says only this, knowing the weight of this simple, concrete statement. And with that, the battle of head, gut, and heart is over; damage done.
I know what I really want but I can't admit it to myself. I want the most dangerous, emotionally-unavailable, uninterested, illogical choice. Naturally. But I want the easiest, most secure choice. Because that is what is best. With this doublefeeling, I am left and a crossroads and I don't know where to aim my efforts.
Some Hollywood scriptwriter needs to pen in a definitive but equally satisfying ending. It needs to be utilitarian and beneficial to the lives of everyone. Most of all, it needs to be cute and happy and show promise for the future.
Why can't my life be written by someone else? Why can't I listen to my head instead of my gut? Why is my heart being so difficult about all of this? WHY IS MY LIFE SO COMPLICATED?
I am a crack on an otherwise pristine windsheild on a cool, clear night. I am a crux in my own potential.
Can someone maybe sort out my priorities and love life so that I don't have to?
On a completely unrelated note, this is my 400th post. Yay me?
Julia
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Liberation
Yesterday was the kind of day that in comparison to today, makes today look shitty even though it's been a perfectly adequate day. Today has been grey and blah, which would be fine if it weren't that yesterday, the sun was out and I was productive and I spent a ton of time with friends being silly and making trouble.
The most fantastic part of yesterday was at approximately 9 PM, Philly, her boy toy of the moment, and I walked into a little coffee shop/hookah bar in Denver. After some witty banter with a barista in a 1950s dress and pin up hair (which are two things one generally doesn't encounter at the average coffee shop), we headed to this secret downstairs area where there were couches and and a little stage space where people were slamming poetry.
Shpongle was there because I told him to be, but he had to leave after like ten minutes. My God, he's just too adorable. Although I was testing him today and he dropped the d-word (date) which I am not sure how I feel about. He then proceeded to drop the s-word (sex) and my guard went way up. I like the kid too much to have sex with him... how fucked up is that? BUT I shall continue that tangent another day.
Poetry slam. Right.
SO Philly's boy toy signed up to read, and I was like "screw it" so I put my name on the list too. I figured I still knew my poetry interp from last season, I could just un-censor all the stuff that I had censored for debate season and be a little sassier about things and shit would turn out ok.
Philly's boy toy went up and was quite good.
Then I went up. I was probably the youngest person in the entire place and I probably looked like a ridiculous outsider; me, this tiny teenaged white girl among mature black women, grad students, and old-school hipsters. But then I slammed my poems and I had the black women on their feet and the hipsters coyly snapping their fingers in approval in an effort to show approval without ruining their carefully crafted façades of aloof detachment.
Philly and her boy were quite surprised. Evidently, they had not expected much from me. I am, first and foremost, a performer. My home is a stage (when it's not a hospital bed, lol) and when I am in the zone, I FUCKING KICK ASS. Just saying.
I was quite proud of myself; I think I'm going to drag Philly back for another slam or two.
Anyway, the end result of all this is that now, for the first time in a while, I'm inspired. Slamming was such a liberation, I can't wait to write something of my own and do it again. I've found a new avenue to enlightenment and I can't wait to walk down it.
The thing is, I've never really written poetry for anything other than class. I don't know where to begin.
Suggestions?
Julia
PS: The white-bleached-blonde hair is making a reappearance this weekend. I just missed it too much.
The most fantastic part of yesterday was at approximately 9 PM, Philly, her boy toy of the moment, and I walked into a little coffee shop/hookah bar in Denver. After some witty banter with a barista in a 1950s dress and pin up hair (which are two things one generally doesn't encounter at the average coffee shop), we headed to this secret downstairs area where there were couches and and a little stage space where people were slamming poetry.
Shpongle was there because I told him to be, but he had to leave after like ten minutes. My God, he's just too adorable. Although I was testing him today and he dropped the d-word (date) which I am not sure how I feel about. He then proceeded to drop the s-word (sex) and my guard went way up. I like the kid too much to have sex with him... how fucked up is that? BUT I shall continue that tangent another day.
Poetry slam. Right.
SO Philly's boy toy signed up to read, and I was like "screw it" so I put my name on the list too. I figured I still knew my poetry interp from last season, I could just un-censor all the stuff that I had censored for debate season and be a little sassier about things and shit would turn out ok.
Philly's boy toy went up and was quite good.
Then I went up. I was probably the youngest person in the entire place and I probably looked like a ridiculous outsider; me, this tiny teenaged white girl among mature black women, grad students, and old-school hipsters. But then I slammed my poems and I had the black women on their feet and the hipsters coyly snapping their fingers in approval in an effort to show approval without ruining their carefully crafted façades of aloof detachment.
Philly and her boy were quite surprised. Evidently, they had not expected much from me. I am, first and foremost, a performer. My home is a stage (when it's not a hospital bed, lol) and when I am in the zone, I FUCKING KICK ASS. Just saying.
I was quite proud of myself; I think I'm going to drag Philly back for another slam or two.
Anyway, the end result of all this is that now, for the first time in a while, I'm inspired. Slamming was such a liberation, I can't wait to write something of my own and do it again. I've found a new avenue to enlightenment and I can't wait to walk down it.
The thing is, I've never really written poetry for anything other than class. I don't know where to begin.
Suggestions?
Julia
PS: The white-bleached-blonde hair is making a reappearance this weekend. I just missed it too much.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
I Live In The Hopitals
Sometimes I think that my body has a personal vendetta against me. Like, I'll be totally fine, then BAM. Coughing up blood. Or like today, when I went in to get a prescription to help battle my insomnia, and the doctor's like, I think your thyroid is starting to deteriorate oh a btw, you might have another tumor.
Meanwhile I'm sitting there like tha fuck?! I just wanted some sleep meds! SO what I thought would be a half hour in-out thing turned into blood tests and an MRI and various needles being stuck in me. Ain't life grand?
So, it looks like no more tumors. SCORE. But we won't know about my thyroid for a few days. Joy.
After my first tumor ordeal, I'm used to being at the hospital and having needles stuck all over the place. I know many of the people who work in the cancer section of the hospital by name and I'm buddies with the radiologists and stuff. I have gotten blood drawn so much that I shouldn't care, but I still hate the big needles they use and all that. I've practically lived in the hospital for 6 months when I was in 7th grade.I don't care, I still don't like it.
After I was released (with some prescription sleeping pills, SCORE AGAIN) I stayed in Boulder and bought myself some jasmine milk tea with boba to cheer myself up.
Now I'm listening to Elephant Gun by Beirut (which is one of my favorites at the moment) and chilling.
Bluck.
Julia
Meanwhile I'm sitting there like tha fuck?! I just wanted some sleep meds! SO what I thought would be a half hour in-out thing turned into blood tests and an MRI and various needles being stuck in me. Ain't life grand?
So, it looks like no more tumors. SCORE. But we won't know about my thyroid for a few days. Joy.
After my first tumor ordeal, I'm used to being at the hospital and having needles stuck all over the place. I know many of the people who work in the cancer section of the hospital by name and I'm buddies with the radiologists and stuff. I have gotten blood drawn so much that I shouldn't care, but I still hate the big needles they use and all that. I've practically lived in the hospital for 6 months when I was in 7th grade.I don't care, I still don't like it.
After I was released (with some prescription sleeping pills, SCORE AGAIN) I stayed in Boulder and bought myself some jasmine milk tea with boba to cheer myself up.
Now I'm listening to Elephant Gun by Beirut (which is one of my favorites at the moment) and chilling.
Bluck.
Julia
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Cue the "Ugh"
I didn't qualify for state. As soon as they called the last name in my event during the announcements, and it wasn't mine, everyone on my team said "whaaaaat???" all at the same time. It was nice to know that they shared the same sentiment that was going through my head.
My ego is not that big, honestly, but I have placed consistently all season. I have placed above many of the people who qualified numerous times. I have made judges cry (which, believe it or not, is a good thing in dramatic interp) and my competitors feel inferior the second that I've stepped into a round.
But today I didn't even make the alternate spot.
I don't know what happened. I thought I had been doing as well as I usually do, but when I got my ballots back, the highest ranking I received was a 2.
The worst part is that all of my friends, even Lionboy, who is only on his first year on the team, qualified. I'm super proud and happy for him, but it still sucks.
I've been chain smoking and driving around back roads and not even a trip to Pearl Street could cheer me up.
I'm going to watch obscure foreign films on Netflix until I fall asleep and this disappointing day can just be over with.
Julia
My ego is not that big, honestly, but I have placed consistently all season. I have placed above many of the people who qualified numerous times. I have made judges cry (which, believe it or not, is a good thing in dramatic interp) and my competitors feel inferior the second that I've stepped into a round.
But today I didn't even make the alternate spot.
I don't know what happened. I thought I had been doing as well as I usually do, but when I got my ballots back, the highest ranking I received was a 2.
The worst part is that all of my friends, even Lionboy, who is only on his first year on the team, qualified. I'm super proud and happy for him, but it still sucks.
I've been chain smoking and driving around back roads and not even a trip to Pearl Street could cheer me up.
I'm going to watch obscure foreign films on Netflix until I fall asleep and this disappointing day can just be over with.
Julia
Friday, March 2, 2012
OH DEAR GOD
This post comes to you from a small high school in rural Colorado where I am waiting for my next round of competition to begin for speech and debate. My first round just ended, and I feel like I did well enough to not detriment my rankings too much. OH AND BTW IT'S THE STATE QUALIFIERS. Haha.
I went to state last year, and it was glorious, so I'd like to do it again. This year, since my PF partner is sick, I'm only competing in dramatic interp. I'm hopeful for what the rest of the day holds.
Unrelated note: Does anyone watch BBC's Sherlock? I just watched all of season two last night (it's only three episodes) and I AM DYING ON THE INSIDE. I'm such a fangirl, it's a little ridiculous. Besides, Benedict Cumberbatch has a rather nice tush.
SO Yeah. Perhaps partying or adventures shall ensue tonight...
I don't know.
Julia
PS: My friends have started sing "Hey Jew" to the tune of "Hey Jude" by the Beatles, but with much more NPC lyrics. I adore my surroundings right now.
I went to state last year, and it was glorious, so I'd like to do it again. This year, since my PF partner is sick, I'm only competing in dramatic interp. I'm hopeful for what the rest of the day holds.
Unrelated note: Does anyone watch BBC's Sherlock? I just watched all of season two last night (it's only three episodes) and I AM DYING ON THE INSIDE. I'm such a fangirl, it's a little ridiculous. Besides, Benedict Cumberbatch has a rather nice tush.
SO Yeah. Perhaps partying or adventures shall ensue tonight...
I don't know.
Julia
PS: My friends have started sing "Hey Jew" to the tune of "Hey Jude" by the Beatles, but with much more NPC lyrics. I adore my surroundings right now.
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