a room is not a house is not a home

I pulled into the driveway this morning and heard it within minutes: bickering. I did not miss this. Believe it or not, you do not need argue about everything just because you can. I don't care how normal you think this is; I've witnessed plenty of parents or spouses lead peaceful, happy lives where the word "compromise" is not only understood but put into use on a normal basis. No, I may not always be right, but I am with this; I have proof. Look around, look at your peers.

I hate the stubbornness I acquired from my family. It's such an unattractive quality. And I'm by no means using my youth as an excuse, because that would be such a double standard coming from me, but I understand stubbornness better coming from a "young, developing soul" such as myself as opposed to someone with children and life experience/encounters that I have yet to see. Aren't those things supposed to teach you something? open your eyes? So when your daughter is (God forbid) pointing out that nothing has changed when it comes to you and your fiancee finding it necessary to argue about every little thing, and at this rate maybe never will, why must you cut me off mid-sentence? I don't care who you are, that is just rude, and no one appreciates it. I don't care how old you are, you are still capable of being wrong...and I think you learned to take constructive criticism in what, 5th grade?

Moving on, I open the back door and see my room...my yellow is now white, my lace curtains are gone, my bed is moved and clad in ugly blue plaid, new furniture replaces my "shabby chic" dresser. WHAT?!  No, no no.  It's been a week. And my brother lives here twice a month.  And the guest room isn't even a guest room. NO.  A week in college is not an adequate amount of time to feel at home, settled in.  Even if I was terribly homesick, I don't even have a home to be sick over now.  I mean, I wrote poetry about that room, for God's sake!

Yellow

I am locked here in this tiny yellow cell,
and more than one contradiction with me:
One, I hold the key
Two, the bad is out while the good is in
         the bad can frolick while I, the supposed good, can only imagine
The supressors may roam, the suppressed may not
Again, though, the suppressed lays claim to the key that keeps her
Keeps her in and away, but all the while with her thoughts,
the only possessions besides the key to keep her sane

The yellow is not padded, although she fears it should be
Call it a sabbatical, if you will, for the troubled mind
Of the oppressed.
Of the melo-dramatic.
Of the hateful.
This tiny yellow cell, this tiny yellow sanctuary
More contradictions.
I cannot see you, one who is also bound, but I can dream.
The reason for all this yellow, this sanctuary
Outside I am angry, Inside I am hopeful

I'm a little dramatic, but I feel a little homeless right about now.  I have so many memories in an imaginary place.

If I had a nickel for every time, I'd own the bank.

First of all, I don't know why I'd assume anyone would actually want to hear me rant about my typical little college life. But whatever, I'm doing it anyway.

Secondly, I go through this horrible little trend/cycle of getting my hopes up and then getting let down. See? Typical angsty teen crap...I apologize. I have this weird personality disorder (not really) where I desperately want to be wanted. I don't necessarily need love in return, I just need to have someone let me love them. Horrible, unhealthy, immature...I know. Save it; I've heard it before.

Because of this, I don't trust at all at first, and then I trust all at once. I let myself become charmed and open myself up for emotional injury. This has happened so many times it's ridiculous. I don't know how many times I've heard the phrase "I'm not like every other guy." Oh really? Because now I expect you not to be and have amazingly high standards for you, meaning you will disappoint me and end up being the typical guy. So thanks for that. Even though I already know this, I will still stick by you until you utterly shatter me for like, a day. Then I'll essentially go out and subconciously pick another guy to do the same thing to me. They make me like them, trust them, and then they let me down. When this cycle ends, finally, well obviously that's the end of the road, meaning hopefully this is where the ring (and commitment) comes in. Thank God. Really.

However, it's funny how after I've gone through this process a disgusting amount of times, I still feel all angsty and ripped in half every time it happens. Helllloooo, Earth to Taylor. Don't be so dumb. Thanks.

I just want this:

Is that so horribly horrible? Maybe. Whatever.

Peace & Blessings; Peace & Blessings.

Hi, my name is Taylor. Don't move my stuff.

So I've been at Dominican University for a week now, perfectly content in a single-meant-as-a-double room decorated with my crappy photography and fake flowers.  I have been so okay (understatement) with not having someone I don't know living uncomfortably close to me, touching (possibly stealing) my stuff, and being outright rude (ghetto?) for no reason.  You would think that after a week, I'd be home-free. Not so much. She moves in tomorrow night, while I'll be back home for Labor Day weekend. I swear if she touches my stuff, this will be taped to her desk:

Love, the innocent little white girl.