I am plagued by being accidentally offensive. Things that, when framed by the context clues in my mind, seem harmless and, in fact, rather hilarious, suddenly become poison darts that wound the hearts of my companions.
I assure you, my intent is only to make you laugh. I seek not to offend, but to amuse. Instead, the parting of my thrice accursed lips yields naught but unspoken hurt and pain. They may end up laughing along with the joke, but the mood is spoiled, ruined, defiled by my flagging wit. Supposedly I'm a ball of sunshine. A spark of good humor on a cloudy day. That little bit of sarcastic humor that can turn even the most depressing of circumstances into a belly-clutching, knee-slapping bit of hilarity, but I know. I know that it is not so.
I can see it in their eyes. In the halfhearted smiles of those outside of the interaction. In the way they carefully avoid eye contact while uttering lies about how it's okay, how they're not really offended, how they misunderstood the joke. I know. I noticed the subtle stretching of distance between us. The way the rest of the group clusters together more tightly while I lag behind.
What's worse, sometimes I know exactly who I'm going to offend. Not that the moment is intentional, but I know who, it's only a matter of when. Gift or curse I can read people while being completely oblivious. I know well enough how people's temperaments will likely react to each other, or to my own. Even so, in that moment, in the rush of conversation, my flurry of wit knows no filter, no censor, no sense. Before I can somehow stop the words, capture them and sentence them to incineration, they have escaped to pollute the entirety of the universe.
Am I whining? I don't think so. Should I buck up and fix this? Probably. I try, I really do. Fasts of silence, separating myself from those I may hurt, but time after time I relax my vigilance and then the poison-tongued demon in me strikes out again. If I could but tame this beast, my undoing...
Enough with the doom and gloom. Give me an hour or so and I'll be back with something funny to say, I hope.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Lateish Night Schtuffinz...
So...I could do my homework. OR I could realize I'm demented and left it in the Cafe at dinner. Awesome. Never mind the test I have tomorrow. Oh, and we can just ignore the project, excel datasheet, and homework questions I have due tomorrow. It's whatever.
So, what do we do when you're screwed? You stay up as late as you would if you WERE studying and waste time on the internet. That's not true, I did what I could without my notes, but that's severely limited. In case my parents happen to stumble upon this blog, I did study and I AM getting up early tomorrow to get my stuff and finish everything up...ideally.
I suppose now I should talk about something that resembles depth of content, right? Okay, easy enough.
How about we discuss the yearning to speak on an event, to share an experience, to commiserate, to gain comfort from a shared suffering. The Bible calls it sharing the yoke.Unfortunately, as much as we might like to do that, sometimes the wounds is simply still too raw. We had to write a personal essay/memoir for one of my classes. I had a topic, the perfect topic which may just have to be my next post. Heartbreak. And I could see, so clearly, what experience I could shape the piece around to make it really hit home with the reader, and with myself. I knew just how I would want to capture the moment to do it justice, but I knew it would hurt too much to frame my moment of heartbreak and place it on a mantle for others to gaze upon, judge and critique.
Now, some of you may be able to separate yourself from the piece in these processes, and typically, I am the same way. But, when you write about something that takes you back to a place of such vulnerability, something so fresh there is hardly a scab to keep it from bleeding over into the rest of your life. When something is still that raw for you, then their honest judgement and critique of your writing seems to turn their words into an attack on the validity of the experience. They're not correcting grammar and syntax, their criticizing your emotions. A compliment is reduced to a perfunctory task, in your mind, and each assessment of your literary skill becomes an arrow, carved and crafted to cut the memory into shreds that will tear you apart.
Yeah...I would continue, but I
m falling asleep just writing this. Rest assured (lol, so sleepy) there will be an update.
So, what do we do when you're screwed? You stay up as late as you would if you WERE studying and waste time on the internet. That's not true, I did what I could without my notes, but that's severely limited. In case my parents happen to stumble upon this blog, I did study and I AM getting up early tomorrow to get my stuff and finish everything up...ideally.
I suppose now I should talk about something that resembles depth of content, right? Okay, easy enough.
How about we discuss the yearning to speak on an event, to share an experience, to commiserate, to gain comfort from a shared suffering. The Bible calls it sharing the yoke.Unfortunately, as much as we might like to do that, sometimes the wounds is simply still too raw. We had to write a personal essay/memoir for one of my classes. I had a topic, the perfect topic which may just have to be my next post. Heartbreak. And I could see, so clearly, what experience I could shape the piece around to make it really hit home with the reader, and with myself. I knew just how I would want to capture the moment to do it justice, but I knew it would hurt too much to frame my moment of heartbreak and place it on a mantle for others to gaze upon, judge and critique.
Now, some of you may be able to separate yourself from the piece in these processes, and typically, I am the same way. But, when you write about something that takes you back to a place of such vulnerability, something so fresh there is hardly a scab to keep it from bleeding over into the rest of your life. When something is still that raw for you, then their honest judgement and critique of your writing seems to turn their words into an attack on the validity of the experience. They're not correcting grammar and syntax, their criticizing your emotions. A compliment is reduced to a perfunctory task, in your mind, and each assessment of your literary skill becomes an arrow, carved and crafted to cut the memory into shreds that will tear you apart.
Yeah...I would continue, but I
m falling asleep just writing this. Rest assured (lol, so sleepy) there will be an update.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Bugs
What. The. Heck. It would appear that my dorm has a bug problem, or maybe just my room. I mean, I'm not an exceptionally dirty person, and they're not the kind of bugs attracted to trash anyway, so that's not the point. The point, dear ladies and gentleman, is that they keep appearing! There must be a bug spawn point or something! And there are almost always two of them, always in the same place. On my window. Now, I'm not the sort to freak out about bugs every time I see them, but that doesn't mean I enjoy this invasion of my personal space. I don't even kill them. I find a container and help them relocate, but that is it. They have THE WHOLE WORLD! The least they could do is allow me my room. It's not even like my entire dorm is having this issue. Just me.
Simply to annoy me they seem to be multiplying asexually by sporing! Okay, so maybe they're not exactly doing it that way, but you get the point. It's like there's some quota they have to fill. There must be two bugs on this window at all times. Yeesh. It's not even like I need to worry about them crawling all over me at night. They just pick a spot on the window and stay there. They don't even move. What the heck?!
Sorry, I just really wanted to rant.
*UPDATE*
I just threw three of them. THREE! Then I left to go eat for about twenty minute. There are now TWO MORE! I ask you, why?! Where are they coming from? Why this room? Why did no one mention this from last year? Bah! I don't even have the necessary words! Maybe there were just...*counts* seven behind the blinds the whole time and they just took their time coming out. Maybe that's it. But why are there a million times more bugs in my room than in anyone else's? Why does that sound like it's grammatically incorrect? Why is Calculus II so hard? The mysteries of the universe can be fracking annoying. Eh?
Simply to annoy me they seem to be multiplying asexually by sporing! Okay, so maybe they're not exactly doing it that way, but you get the point. It's like there's some quota they have to fill. There must be two bugs on this window at all times. Yeesh. It's not even like I need to worry about them crawling all over me at night. They just pick a spot on the window and stay there. They don't even move. What the heck?!
Sorry, I just really wanted to rant.
*UPDATE*
I just threw three of them. THREE! Then I left to go eat for about twenty minute. There are now TWO MORE! I ask you, why?! Where are they coming from? Why this room? Why did no one mention this from last year? Bah! I don't even have the necessary words! Maybe there were just...*counts* seven behind the blinds the whole time and they just took their time coming out. Maybe that's it. But why are there a million times more bugs in my room than in anyone else's? Why does that sound like it's grammatically incorrect? Why is Calculus II so hard? The mysteries of the universe can be fracking annoying. Eh?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Missing Someone
I'll be honest. I miss him. Sure, I know it;s ridiculous and preposterous. One could even claim that it's impossible to miss someone you've never met, but I can;t lie and say I don't notice his absence. It's nothing so dramatic as to say that my world has lost its color, or my existence no longer has purpose, but it us there all the same. Like a single pixel missing from a beautiful picture, it seems as though it's no big deal, but the picture is never quite as great as it once was. The rest of the picture may still be admired and enjoyed, the world does not stop, but some part of the mind will always wonder exactly what it missed out on. What was supposed to be? What could have been? Would the picture have been all the more perfect, or maybe even a little worse, had the piece been finished?
If pictures aren't your thing, then imagine with me a morning stroll through a lightly wooded area. The sunshine lights the trees, the path before, even the air itself seems bright. A gentle breeze swirls around you, setting the perfect temperature so that you may stay warm without overheating. It runs its fingers through the branches of the trees, the light rustle of leaves follows in its wake. Everything seems perfect, but there are no animals. No chirping of birds, no pretty flitting of butterfly wings, nothing. Sure, the walk is still peaceful and beautiful, but the silence taints the experience just the slightest bit. So, you whistle, hoping to fill up the emptiness, but it only sounds creepy as the sounds s absorbed into the listening trees.You wonder, where did they go? Did something scare then off? Are they afraid of me?
Maybe I'm reading too far into this. Maybe I'm romanticizing the whole experience. Maybe it's nothing more than this bothersome emptiness that nags at me while I stare at this blasted Physics book and try to do homework I've had for a week. Maybe it's the little niggling in my mind that has me opening and closing the same tab on my browser window, hoping he's there. Maybe it's the little push that made me write this instead of a memoir or personal essay for Creative Writing. Maybe it's that sporadic and annoyed scratching of the head, shifting of position, sighing and glancing at the computer that shows me the same, steady blankness as I saw the last time I looked four minutes ago.
Missing someone is annoying. Missing someone is inconvenient. Missing someone is stupid.
The fact remains that I miss him.
--------------
UPDATE:
Ask and you shall receive. He e-mailed me while I was writing this. XD I just thought that was funny. See, being whiny CAN get you places.
Disclainer: That's not true. No one likes whiny people unless they are also hilarious. =P
Saturday, September 25, 2010
About this Blog
So...what about this blog?
The incredible thing about a blog is it can be about anything. Incredible? I know. Then again, anything can be about anything, but I'll save the philosophical debates for when you've been reading so long you couldn't quit this if you tried. Good plan, eh? Where was I...
Oh yes, the fantasticness of a blog. Well, I could take this in any direction I could possibly conceive. I could lay it at the feet of the Internet cult of those who eat, breathe, speak and write about Love, or something like it. I could allocate my skill points towards turning this means of communication into a gamers paradise, riddling it with references like the bullets from an old-time Gatling gun. I could transform it into the enlightened sanctuary of a writer's dream, until every pixel oozes creative energy and a passion for the craft. I could be exact and precise, measuring and analyzing the world through an engineer's eyes, interpreting it as I see it and translating it into a language more palatable to the tastes of both sides of the geek line. I could accost you with humor and wit so you laugh so hard your teeth fall out of your ears and your hair turns purple. I could explore the depths of my spiritual psyche and take you with my on my walk with God. I could also share with you the burdens of my soul, the things that draw the long and weary sigh from my tired frame. I could explore and expand my somewhat limited musical knowledge and induce intense head banging which, admittedly, might make reading the screen a bit hard. I could make dumb jokes and stupid references to appeal to my fellow collegiate minds. I could paint pictures so beautiful of my favorite culinary experiences, turning word into scent and wreaking havoc on your disappointed stomach.
I could try to please you. I could try to please me. I could impress my mother, brother, sister, friends, teachers, whatever. I could be deep, or shallow, or funny, or lame, or serious, or noncommittal. I could share my life with you, or I could be a funny place to stop by and check out a funny picture.I could be your fantasy friend, or I could be the one you love to hate.
So...what about this blog?
I don't know. We'll just have to see. =P
The incredible thing about a blog is it can be about anything. Incredible? I know. Then again, anything can be about anything, but I'll save the philosophical debates for when you've been reading so long you couldn't quit this if you tried. Good plan, eh? Where was I...
Oh yes, the fantasticness of a blog. Well, I could take this in any direction I could possibly conceive. I could lay it at the feet of the Internet cult of those who eat, breathe, speak and write about Love, or something like it. I could allocate my skill points towards turning this means of communication into a gamers paradise, riddling it with references like the bullets from an old-time Gatling gun. I could transform it into the enlightened sanctuary of a writer's dream, until every pixel oozes creative energy and a passion for the craft. I could be exact and precise, measuring and analyzing the world through an engineer's eyes, interpreting it as I see it and translating it into a language more palatable to the tastes of both sides of the geek line. I could accost you with humor and wit so you laugh so hard your teeth fall out of your ears and your hair turns purple. I could explore the depths of my spiritual psyche and take you with my on my walk with God. I could also share with you the burdens of my soul, the things that draw the long and weary sigh from my tired frame. I could explore and expand my somewhat limited musical knowledge and induce intense head banging which, admittedly, might make reading the screen a bit hard. I could make dumb jokes and stupid references to appeal to my fellow collegiate minds. I could paint pictures so beautiful of my favorite culinary experiences, turning word into scent and wreaking havoc on your disappointed stomach.
I could try to please you. I could try to please me. I could impress my mother, brother, sister, friends, teachers, whatever. I could be deep, or shallow, or funny, or lame, or serious, or noncommittal. I could share my life with you, or I could be a funny place to stop by and check out a funny picture.I could be your fantasy friend, or I could be the one you love to hate.
So...what about this blog?
I don't know. We'll just have to see. =P
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Beginning
As I learned in Physics II: Electricity and Magnetism today, not everything starts in the beginning. Sometimes life gives you some know-it-all who decides to ruin the surprise ending and make you figure out how in the world you got there. Sometimes you start in the middle, often for dramatic effect, to pull you into the action and stuff your mind to overflowing with questions and speculation about where these people came from and where they're going. Sometimes, life plops you somewhere in a wrinkle in time and you've got no idea about anything whatsoever, but you're pretty sure that the jerk who made up MapQuest is laughing his rear off because he told you to drive 6.4 miles down a road that doesn't actually exist.
Well, here's what I say:
When life gives you lemons, squeeze them in life's eye and kick it in the shin.
I could write more and impress you with my incredible comic wit or my stunning intellectuality, but I'm feeling pretty good about what I have and I'd rather not spoil your, undoubtedly awesome, mental image of me.
So for now, I bid thee adieu, till next boredom may bring us together.
Well, here's what I say:
When life gives you lemons, squeeze them in life's eye and kick it in the shin.
I could write more and impress you with my incredible comic wit or my stunning intellectuality, but I'm feeling pretty good about what I have and I'd rather not spoil your, undoubtedly awesome, mental image of me.
So for now, I bid thee adieu, till next boredom may bring us together.
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