September 8, 2010
September 6, 2010
"When I say these words you know I mean them."
Here comes another theory:
Everything in life boils down to effort. Lack there of, amount put in, etc.
Honestly, people that give up bug me to no end. Believe it or not, I find myself changing myself for everyone and their mother just to please them, to make things work, to fix broken things, while in return I get ignored or stepped on.
(Side note: This reminded me of Mr. Guimond's senior AP English Lit. class while we were reading Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. One of the essential questions was, "Is it worse to be unacknowledged or ignored?" Other people took time to think and then answered carefully; I knew as soon as he asked: ignored, obviously. To have someone know you're trying so hard to please them, to let them know you exist and that you care, and them to have them ignore that....that's torture. Complete emotional torture.)
At the moment, I am actively trying to be a better person: "watch my mouth", not flirt with every boy in sight, be a more God-fearing individual, work harder, be smarter, stand up for myself, etc. Why am I doing this? Only to prove to a boy (shocker there) who lives three hours away from me that I really do care what happens to us/the potential of us. By the way, this is not the easiest thing for me to do. I slipped up this summer, started turning into the person I said I would never be, the girl I hated and had no respect for.
"TMI" time: This is the first kid I've been with/spent time with this summer that I felt I didn't have to convince myself I was doing better than my ex boyfriend. Does that make sense? This kid has potential to be better than the only serious relationship I've ever had. I want to try, and I'm really scared he's going to give up like the rest of the world.
Now back to the effort thing: after a good couple of months (after a truly good couple of years) fighting with my ex and just doing things to tick each other off and get back at each other, we were finally even. He had hurt me as much as I had hurt him. I saw the huge canyon of a break that had appeared between us and couldn't stand to let it stay that way. In my opinion, everything is fixable, and I am the type of person who looks for a solution in every situation. I saw an opportunity to start fresh, to really try to fix things instead of just letting them fester.
Theory #2: Time does not heal all wounds. It lets them sit there, lets you think about them and drive yourself crazy over what went wrong until eventually you just go numb and don't care anymore. Letting yourself go numb is the worst thing you can do. Fight for what you want.
Obviously, seeing how he's my ex now, the effort went one way. Moving on to my next boyfriend, my prom date, my, well, to put it bluntly, rebound...same story. Okay, newsflash: people argue. Cool, fix it. Don't give up on it. Lack of effort led to the end of that relationship.
This seems to be a lovely little trend in my life, and honestly it's getting really old. I would say, "Maybe I should stop trying so hard for people that don't really care." but that would be giving up, and seriously, do I have to tell you again? I hate that more than anything.
Everything in life boils down to effort. Lack there of, amount put in, etc.
Honestly, people that give up bug me to no end. Believe it or not, I find myself changing myself for everyone and their mother just to please them, to make things work, to fix broken things, while in return I get ignored or stepped on.
(Side note: This reminded me of Mr. Guimond's senior AP English Lit. class while we were reading Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. One of the essential questions was, "Is it worse to be unacknowledged or ignored?" Other people took time to think and then answered carefully; I knew as soon as he asked: ignored, obviously. To have someone know you're trying so hard to please them, to let them know you exist and that you care, and them to have them ignore that....that's torture. Complete emotional torture.)
At the moment, I am actively trying to be a better person: "watch my mouth", not flirt with every boy in sight, be a more God-fearing individual, work harder, be smarter, stand up for myself, etc. Why am I doing this? Only to prove to a boy (shocker there) who lives three hours away from me that I really do care what happens to us/the potential of us. By the way, this is not the easiest thing for me to do. I slipped up this summer, started turning into the person I said I would never be, the girl I hated and had no respect for.
"TMI" time: This is the first kid I've been with/spent time with this summer that I felt I didn't have to convince myself I was doing better than my ex boyfriend. Does that make sense? This kid has potential to be better than the only serious relationship I've ever had. I want to try, and I'm really scared he's going to give up like the rest of the world.
Now back to the effort thing: after a good couple of months (after a truly good couple of years) fighting with my ex and just doing things to tick each other off and get back at each other, we were finally even. He had hurt me as much as I had hurt him. I saw the huge canyon of a break that had appeared between us and couldn't stand to let it stay that way. In my opinion, everything is fixable, and I am the type of person who looks for a solution in every situation. I saw an opportunity to start fresh, to really try to fix things instead of just letting them fester.
Theory #2: Time does not heal all wounds. It lets them sit there, lets you think about them and drive yourself crazy over what went wrong until eventually you just go numb and don't care anymore. Letting yourself go numb is the worst thing you can do. Fight for what you want.
Obviously, seeing how he's my ex now, the effort went one way. Moving on to my next boyfriend, my prom date, my, well, to put it bluntly, rebound...same story. Okay, newsflash: people argue. Cool, fix it. Don't give up on it. Lack of effort led to the end of that relationship.
This seems to be a lovely little trend in my life, and honestly it's getting really old. I would say, "Maybe I should stop trying so hard for people that don't really care." but that would be giving up, and seriously, do I have to tell you again? I hate that more than anything.
September 4, 2010
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.
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.
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