It's funny going back "home." And I do use that word loosely. Anyways, after months of trying to find your own way, discover yourself, earn good grades, and develop yourself as a social being, it can be frustrating to return home. You find that the people you once hung out with are just...childish. Nerf guns are for junior high kids. (Okay, that's a lie, but shooting innocent bystanders in the face, repeatedly, is childish.). People you thought you could trust, and bare your soul to, are suddenly revealed to be immature and untrustworthy. Those you thought you could invest your time and care in, throw it back in your face. You might have stopped earlier, if you knew.
Meh. I'm pretending to be happy right now. I shall return...maybe. Always a maybe.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Verbally Impaired
Okay, so here's the deal, I can't tell a story to save my life.
No, no. I don't mean write a story. I could do that forever. I can and have spent several hours of my day doing nothing else. Just writing. It's not like I wrote more slowly than I speak, hence the atrocious grammatical and mechanical errors that have yet to be corrected in this blog. I don't know what it is, but my fingers speak more beautifully than my lips.
Imagine this: a bumbling, bloated, one-legged, no...quarter- legged, hunchbacked giant. It's monstrously large and entirely uncoordinated. Everywhere it goes it leaves destruction in its wake. Not intentionally, not usually. It trips and stumbles as it goes along, but it doesn't mean any harm. It tries to play with the other kids, desperately longs to be a part of the fun, but it can't. There's not even a glimmer of hope for this poor soul. It's running is neither smooth, nor swift, but slow and demented. It's companions fly by with the grace and speed of gazelles, but all it can do is stand and marvel in dumbfounded awe.
Always too slow. Too awkward. Too indirect. Too everything to work, to fit in, to succeed.
Every time, this giant comes to the same conclusion. Maybe I just shouldn't play.
Maybe, they would all have more fun if I did nothing. Maybe I could get closer to their joy if I didn't interrupt their merry making. Maybe they wouldn't mind my presence if I just stayed out of the way and watched. Maybe...
So, the giant gives it a try. But every day, while amusing and entertaining, is another slash at its handicapped spirit. It spends time wishing, dreaming for things it has already given up on doing. Even so, the giant, while sitting alone on the sidelines, conjures the most incredible fantasies. It can see itself, flying over the earth as though it were barely touching the ground at all. Such speed, such skill that its companions could not help but be swept along. Instead of being merely a witness to the creation of happiness, it acts as a herald. When the giant comes, so does the fun. And after all this time, it begins to hope, to wonder, to yearn for another chance. Maybe...maybe this time.
But it is the same every time. Its attempts are met with quiet disdain, or blatant disgust. Its failures bring sidelong glances and indirect mockery. Either no one comments on the sad attempts at freedom, or they respond with an alacrity that stings more than the irrevocable knowledge that curls up, burrowed deeply in the giant's mind.
"You will never be good enough." The voice whispers. "Never cool enough." It coos. "Never enough." It spits.
Such is the fate of the giant. One endless, spiteful circle of under-achievement.
No, no. I don't mean write a story. I could do that forever. I can and have spent several hours of my day doing nothing else. Just writing. It's not like I wrote more slowly than I speak, hence the atrocious grammatical and mechanical errors that have yet to be corrected in this blog. I don't know what it is, but my fingers speak more beautifully than my lips.
Imagine this: a bumbling, bloated, one-legged, no...quarter- legged, hunchbacked giant. It's monstrously large and entirely uncoordinated. Everywhere it goes it leaves destruction in its wake. Not intentionally, not usually. It trips and stumbles as it goes along, but it doesn't mean any harm. It tries to play with the other kids, desperately longs to be a part of the fun, but it can't. There's not even a glimmer of hope for this poor soul. It's running is neither smooth, nor swift, but slow and demented. It's companions fly by with the grace and speed of gazelles, but all it can do is stand and marvel in dumbfounded awe.
Always too slow. Too awkward. Too indirect. Too everything to work, to fit in, to succeed.
Every time, this giant comes to the same conclusion. Maybe I just shouldn't play.
Maybe, they would all have more fun if I did nothing. Maybe I could get closer to their joy if I didn't interrupt their merry making. Maybe they wouldn't mind my presence if I just stayed out of the way and watched. Maybe...
So, the giant gives it a try. But every day, while amusing and entertaining, is another slash at its handicapped spirit. It spends time wishing, dreaming for things it has already given up on doing. Even so, the giant, while sitting alone on the sidelines, conjures the most incredible fantasies. It can see itself, flying over the earth as though it were barely touching the ground at all. Such speed, such skill that its companions could not help but be swept along. Instead of being merely a witness to the creation of happiness, it acts as a herald. When the giant comes, so does the fun. And after all this time, it begins to hope, to wonder, to yearn for another chance. Maybe...maybe this time.
But it is the same every time. Its attempts are met with quiet disdain, or blatant disgust. Its failures bring sidelong glances and indirect mockery. Either no one comments on the sad attempts at freedom, or they respond with an alacrity that stings more than the irrevocable knowledge that curls up, burrowed deeply in the giant's mind.
"You will never be good enough." The voice whispers. "Never cool enough." It coos. "Never enough." It spits.
Such is the fate of the giant. One endless, spiteful circle of under-achievement.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
TBA
I wasn't sure what to call this one. I thought about adding it to the previous post, but I figured it could pretty much be stand alone.
So, I intended to take a nap, but that plan epic failed, as is its custom. Instead I wasted about an hour of my life surfing the internet. Boredom prompts me to look up weird things. Exhaustion brings out my emo (though that's technically not what emo is) side. Mix the two together, and you find me in a dark room researching the phrase "I Hate Myself." Shaun, that's what we're calling my emo side for now, Shaun was rather intrigued. I mean, what's not to like about the exploration of your own kind?
So, the search began. First, I stumbled upon someone's post on a website (since archived so no conversation could be started) where the writer went on and on about the perils of his life. He attempted to wax eloquent in his descriptions of pain and suffering. Then he complained about his soul sucking job with his so-called lousy pay. I'm not knocking his opinion about his life. Sure, I could point out a few things that he should consider being grateful for, but I did find the post interesting.
As I continued surfing the treasure trove that is Google search, I found pictures and buttons, t-shirts and messenger bags that carried the same or similar messages. Heck, when I went farther I began to find things that started talking about love.
When I started this post I'm sure there was a point. At this particular moment in time, I am at a loss for what it is, so I'll just tell you later. Or will I?
>=D
So, I intended to take a nap, but that plan epic failed, as is its custom. Instead I wasted about an hour of my life surfing the internet. Boredom prompts me to look up weird things. Exhaustion brings out my emo (though that's technically not what emo is) side. Mix the two together, and you find me in a dark room researching the phrase "I Hate Myself." Shaun, that's what we're calling my emo side for now, Shaun was rather intrigued. I mean, what's not to like about the exploration of your own kind?
So, the search began. First, I stumbled upon someone's post on a website (since archived so no conversation could be started) where the writer went on and on about the perils of his life. He attempted to wax eloquent in his descriptions of pain and suffering. Then he complained about his soul sucking job with his so-called lousy pay. I'm not knocking his opinion about his life. Sure, I could point out a few things that he should consider being grateful for, but I did find the post interesting.
As I continued surfing the treasure trove that is Google search, I found pictures and buttons, t-shirts and messenger bags that carried the same or similar messages. Heck, when I went farther I began to find things that started talking about love.
When I started this post I'm sure there was a point. At this particular moment in time, I am at a loss for what it is, so I'll just tell you later. Or will I?
>=D
'ello Lovers!
And by lovers, I mean myself. Maybe one day all this randomness will seem silly because there will be someone reading this blog, but it is not this day.
I know it's been a while since I have been here, but that's fine because I never promised you anything. I am far to tired to write anything good, so I'll just inform you that my pillow smelled like sausage for a second.
Anything else I write now will only be trash so I shall pause for a nap and to gather the scattered remnants of my tired mind.
Until later tonight, I bid thee adieu.
Slightly later...
Hold up, what? I was just looking at the stats for the blog. Apparently I've got one audience member in Alaska (on second thought, maybe they just highlighted it as part of America) and another from Australia! Man, for about two seconds, I was probably international! Now I can bask in the self-constructed glow of my awesomeness. If it is who I think it is, I may have an Australian to thank.
I know it's been a while since I have been here, but that's fine because I never promised you anything. I am far to tired to write anything good, so I'll just inform you that my pillow smelled like sausage for a second.
Anything else I write now will only be trash so I shall pause for a nap and to gather the scattered remnants of my tired mind.
Until later tonight, I bid thee adieu.
Slightly later...
Hold up, what? I was just looking at the stats for the blog. Apparently I've got one audience member in Alaska (on second thought, maybe they just highlighted it as part of America) and another from Australia! Man, for about two seconds, I was probably international! Now I can bask in the self-constructed glow of my awesomeness. If it is who I think it is, I may have an Australian to thank.
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