lol.. something i can’t get over every time i think or a wolf or something hairy.
“OMG! I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE READ THAT BOOK! I’VE KNOWN PEOPLE WHO HAVE READ THAT BOOK AND SAID IT WASN’T PLEASANT! HOW COULD SHE READ THAT?!”
HAHAHA, i love the rides home.
it wasn’t even about a book. that’s the best part. i love you, jew.
annnyyywaaayyys, tomorrow will be great. i love wednesdays because wednesday means it’s mid-week.
It’s a damn shame cause he’s pretty darn beautiful. I imagine myself walking up to him and saying: “If you were my boyfriend I wouldn’t have made you shave your woolly mammoth-esque arms. ” and then walking away. Then, in my mind he would run after me, throw me over his chewbacca like back and take me to his cave where we would do it like the dinosaurs were never gonna go extinct.
Count it. 3 references that should prove you that beautiful creature is, scratch that, was the hairiest thing alive.
"I feel nervous when people casually touch me—hugs, grabbing my arm, arms around shoulder or back, playful tickling. Not that I’m afraid of people touching me, I’m just not an intimate person unless my level of comfort with whoever is very high. Feeling like I’m being pressured to do anything makes me incredibly nervous—pressure for time, to say something to someone, sexually. I don’t do well under a lot of pressure."
I get reprimanded constantly about the touching thing. I don’t like it. It makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable. I don’t mind contact if I initiate but don’t touch me just to touch me. It makes me feel gross.
Here’s to the kids who have always been lovers of words. The ones who drank coffee like water before cafes became a hipster revolution. The kids who wear glasses because they actually need them. The awkward, obsessive, two left feet kids who don’t force any reaction of clumsiness. To the kids who still write in journals and don’t upload everything they write to a social network. The kids who had to be read Where The Wild Things Are every night until they turned seven. The kids who dance alone. The kids who sing the instrumental parts of songs.The kids who still have secrets. The kids can be inspired by a glimpse of light, a change in the breeze, a rusting piece of paper… To you who only just fits in, who uses their intelligence and never plays the dumb card. No one needs to get you. Here’s to you.
“Life is not perfect, and never will be. You just have to make the very best of it and you have to open your heart to what the world can show you. And sometimes it’s terrifying and sometimes it’s incredibly beautiful, and I’ll take both, thanks.”—Graham Nash for Wisdom Book
I just want someone to see I’m sad. And that I still feel like a little kid and that I miss my old friends and I’m tired of feeling so stuck. I feel like I don’t know who God is and that he continues to bless me because He pities me. I miss church and feeling close to God and having friends that encouraged me. Everyone is moving so fast and I’m standing in the same position I’ve always been and everyone keeps running by me and people who I thought would always stop and help me pick up the pieces are gone and moved or don’t care. I’m exhausting, I lag everything down. I feel it. All I do is study. I feel safe when I study or do work because I’m busy and I can actually see the progress. I throw my self into exercising to see results and they’re not coming fast enough. I haven’t gone to church or youth or talked about God in over a month. I don’t know why. I say its the people. But it’s more than that. I’m set on this pedestal that is so high up and when I even slightly move everyone fears the world is going to fall down. I don’t know what to do.
When the Earth closes her shutters and turns her night lights on and I’m alone with a cup of coffee and an empty house I sometimes think of him. I remember when my days blurred into evenings and then into nights and finally into dewy mornings. His voice, smile, thoughts, feelings, presence or absence filled my life. I remember the cuddle names when I was getting tired, the stern voice when I’d put myself down, the desperate voice when I promised I loved him, the voice one octave too high voice if we we’re taking a break. I remember the week long periods we’re wouldn’t talk or touch. But we did think. Even then I let him steal every second of my day. I miss him occasionally. There are things I think only he would appreciate or understand. Things like I’m letting my nails grow out, I don’t drink Dr. Pepper anymore, my room has been spotless for two straight weeks, I got scared when Ms. Istre was out this week, why I don’t get along with the new German girl. Just silly, irrational, pointless things that in my mind he would have love to know, needed to know. On nights like this when I’m left to my own devices I think about him, if he’s happy, sad, smiling, well and I hope he is. He’s living, going to school, dating and breathing. But maybe tonight, he’s sitting down in his room, his little brothers are running in and out of the room like mad men, and he’s writing another song because he never moved on quiet like I did. He can’t remember the bad times like I can, just the euphoric, neurotic happy times. I don’t know. I fear that for every night I don’t think of him, he’s thinking about me and why I never wrote him that letter I promised, why I never returned the desperate phone calls… I moved on the best way I knew how. A clean break, with memories of his voice laden in my empty house and empty promises swirling in my coffee mug.
I am okay with whatever the hell you want to do, want to be, your opinions on religion, politics and sex.
If you were anyone else maybe not. But if you come to me tomorrow and say you want to be a drug dealer, you wish Bush were still president, you want to be a lesbian, you don’t think God is real:
I couldn’t love you any less.
because we is best friends. :]
I love this song. So my weekend, was quite eventful. friday, i came home from school. took a nap. got up, did laundry. rushed around getting all of my clothes together since i knew i was going to be gone for a couple days. drove to eric’s cause he wanted to see me before i left. he was really worried about me going. then off to gainsville.
I was driving. I had a freshly charged ipod, so the music was blaring. Had my bags packed, sitting in my backseat with a pillow and blanket stacked on top. My heavenly boots sitting in the front seat. because they deserve to be on a throne. hahaha. Driving north on 75, the sunset shining through the left side of my window right onto me, as i drive, the sun goes down, the sun seemed to have slid down and make night cool and dark so that the gainsville city lights illuminate the sky to where you cant see the stars, like you can here. I was so mesmerized by the city lights, and the perfect shuffle playing, that i missed the exit i was supposed to get off at. I forgot where I was for the moment. and i Loved it. This drive, as simple as it was, made me wish for my high school years to end, and my new life in a big city to begin. I belong in the middle of busy streets, too many red lights for anyone’s liking, topped off with the smog that we worry about killing our ozone layer, as scary as it can be, its where I wish i was. It’s where I know I will end up. Driving alone, as I do a lot, but just the feeling of being on my own for that split second. Like, I had my bags packed and a pillow and blanket, I could have gone all night, straight to atlanta, not feeling anything but my life beginning where I want to be, no plans. Just day to day. But, I got off at exit 390, and back on 75 going south, got off the exit, drove to Tiffany’s apartment. Dressed up. being a fresh new 18 year old, we went to a club to dance. The city life hit me again, walking arm in arm with my friends, with my favorite pair of heels on, looking fresh, walking to find a club, was amazing. just the walking got to me. But, I realized that the “clubbing” life isn’t really for me. The music was fun, and dancing a little to it, was fun. But, I don’t know if it was the guys being so incredibly forward with their feelings (sex) or me just feeling awkward, i dont know. I stayed in the club for a maximum of 35 minutes, and I was ready to leave. That is not how I imagine my city life to be. I have this picture of me in my head. Living in a crappy apartment on the corner of some random street, cars and lights and loud beeping horns of angry drivers driving below my window, and me, sitting above looking out occasionally, walking around or singing or just listening to my computer play my favorite music and eating chinese food. going out occasionally in my hippy clothes, my side satchel wrapped across my chest, and a sweet pair of heels or my boots to finish it off, walking to pick up something at the store or to a friends house to laugh. My heart beats so fast to think of this. My stomach gets rushed with butterflies, not anxious for how my money flow will be, or my “dream career”. I just do not see myself with this dream career with a flowing job. I can see little jobs to get by, I can be happy that way. I’m just not concerned with being rich and having a nice car or nice clothes. I’m not in any rush. I just want to live. Tiff got really messed up, while I stayed sober and helped her out. She was crying and falling every where and throwing up. I didn’t get one second of sleep. at all. She didn’t finally pass out until about 7:45 in the morning. I called Eric, and woke him up. Drove from gainsville to his house, showered. and went to sleep while he watched cartoons all morning. Later I got up and got ready and went with Eric and the band to jacksonville. They had a show. It was fun. There was a nice pit going. He is so beautiful when he plays and sings. He has big plans for himself, and has me going with him. His plans involve my city life. I slept the entire ride home. Got back to Eric’s house, and he carried me inside and put me to bed. I heard the shower shut off, I didn’t realize where I was, until then. I realized he carried me in. and tucked me into bed like a sweet boy would do. but he got out of the shower, and came and kissed me on my forehead, his hair is wet and long, grabs his acoustic and plays sweet sounds til I’m back asleep. Turns out hte lights and crawls in with me. We sleep. we slept all day. stayed in bed, all day. comfy and cozy and cartoons.
I don’t expect anyone to read all of this. It’s been a long time since I really wrote anything more than a couple lines, which was my plan for this blog, like any other, But for some reason, the words just kept coming.
I feel better.
This girl, I love her. We’re not even all that close and I know she gets it. The need that’s in the pit of my stomach begging to be set free in a city I can make all my own, finding a new eatery to make my usual, decorating an apartment all my own, driving down the road to just go. Sam gets it and I’m content knowing I’m not the only one.
I watched the Beatles segment on VH1 with my moms, who is 50 something or another. Every now and then they would show snips of them singing at stadiums.
I’m sitting in the rocking chair and she’s on the farthest end of the couch.
Me: I love them.
Mama: What do you mean?
Me: I love them, they’re are possibly, no definitely my favorite band ever.
Mama: Are you kidding me?
Pause Close up of Ringo playing drums and smiling
Me: Oh my, he is beautiful.
Mama: Are you kidding me?
Me: I just get a rush seeing them all together.
Pause Talking about meeting the Queen
Me: See even the Queen knows.
Mama: Knew. She knew, they’re nearly all dead now.
Me: Yeah, that;s what I meant, she knew, she knew.
After another thirty minutes of me singing along to nearly every song and rocking my chair in rhythm with the ones I didn’t know and smiling like an idiot anytime Ringo was on the screen she said this:
"That one would be you." She pointed to the television screen. The camera was focused on a girl screaming and crying and waving like a mad man hanging off a fence in a stadium, "You’d come pretty close to being the biggest idiot there. You would of died if you lived in that time. You’d have been the biggest Beatles fan, the biggest pot head and the biggest hippie around or at least the biggest one I’d have known or like to have known. I thank God you weren’t born then."