I was drilling a hole in a piece of wood today, it was for my 3D-art class. After that, the piece was too big, so I had to saw a piece of it off. Using a hand saw, and my weight to hold it down; I got to thinking. If slicing anything, like bread or butter [through some peanut butter in a jar even], making a sandwich would be so much more of an achievement. Maybe instead of children hating the sandwich their parents packed them for lunch, they would applaud them. And maybe, they could appreciate eachother.
I am distracted, anxious, distraught, convinced, vulnerable, tired, and more than anything else, I am quiet. I am a girl, and thus the idea of a significant other often obscures my vision of important matters. No, boys, you are not currently meeting my standards. I want that perfect someone, this kind of someone,
"What I want is to be needed.
What I need is to be indispensable to somebody.
Who I need is somebody that will eat up
All my free time, my ego, my attention.
Somebody addicted to me.
A mutual addiction."
- Chuck Palahniuk, [Choke, 2002]
Humanities homework is more important as of now. I have been wondering all day how much money I spend on coffee in the morning to keep me going, and if all that money would have bought me a Polaroid Spectra 1200si by now. I am almost certain I would have at least one, had I not enjoyed so many white chocolate mochas in the mornings. Does this mean I'm spending more money to stay awake, and learn things that bore me, as compared to a passion of mine? I hope not, that would crush me. All right, now to Barnes & Noble.
Today, L. made me feel horrible. I know she was only joking around with me. But yet, with every joke towards someone, there is some sort of underlying truth... Right? "E., everyone hates you. You're good at anything art, and people hate you for it." Oh, all right. Whatever. It will not effect me, more than it is now. I love art. I am good at it. It is one of the only things. I am not going to apologize for that.
I do not know how to feel when my teacher tells me that my art is "really improving," and that my art is "the best she's seen from me." Especially when I know this sudden inspiration, is because I am intensely sad and angry. I do not know whether to allow myself to feel this way, to stay driven and inspired. I do not know whether I would like to stay this way. Do not get me wrong, I am not depressed, I am not suicidal. Just intensely sad, for reasons unknown to myself. What I do know; it is much too warm in this room. Another thing? I am going to that coffee shop tonight, with people I do not know very well, and I am almost certain that it will end just shy of terrible. I do not know if I am afraid of that or not.
I got coffee yesterday with N., because he and J. were having trouble being in love. I am a neutral in his book, which is why he texted me to go meet him. Feeling good about this, and the idea to help out, I went. K. showed up, got upset, yelled at me in front of N. Now things are jumbled up, again. Trust me, I do not blame this whole mishap on N. and J. being in love, more so that K. cannot let go of the "love" we had.
I got up early this morning, skipped breakfast, drove to retake my ACTs. I did well, I am sure. Then driving home I started feeling intensely sad, again. I am glad that I am a wallflower, a quiet, reserved and thoughtful person. I am also glad that no one mistakes that for me being boring, or purposely detached from our rather large network of friends.
In conclusion. I would like to say, if you have ever caused me to suffer--feel pain, anger, sadness, I am grateful to you. Because without you, I would have a much harder time doing what I love.
You are almost Everything
You t aste delicious
Animals understand y ou
Your importance is unusual to look at.
The funny faces you make
are interesting to look at -
you fight for power in all
the right ways
Gratitude pours out of you
You have strong fe et
No on e can overflow as well
as you can
To the rest of my friends--It makes me sad that you do not know me half as well as you would like to imagine. When you explain us as a pair of best friends, in my mind, I picture me being honest; laughing at you and shaking my head, then politely correcting the listener, "No, they are in fact mistaken. They do not know half of who I am. That is my own fault, partially, I am sure. Again, we are not best friends." But then I think, what is a best friend? Is my best friend the best person I could find, to call my companion? Maybe the person I could best relate to? Or, even still, maybe the only person I will allow to begin to understand me? I am not this cynical, pessimistic, or anything, really. At least not often. I just think, often. Thinking often results in me typing in this blog, often.
-Back to front.