Wednesday, September 23, 2009


To say that I have never loved is a lie. I have loved, and been loved in return. The problem with that is that it was all quite tangled up in lies and misunderstandings. I wish I could make legitimate sense of the whole ordeal, or even the ordeal I am currently finding myself involved in, at least internally. My brain seems to be wandering back to a simpler time. I was comfortable, I was happy, but it was strained due to immense distance. Clearly I have more options available to me now, and yet my mind wanders back. I don't particularly want it to and yet I seem to have no control of it. To be perfectly honest I don't really know what I want right now. There is so much else to experience and overcome at this point in my life. College is starting, my class starts on Monday and I have to focus hard and prove-- if only to myself-- that I ought to be here in the first place. The question of whether or not I belong here has not arisen out of lack of esteem, I am perfectly content in myself. It is more a matter of having spent the past four years vying for this place and to be here is overwhelmingly terrifying.
My own terror in this new situation is most likely part of why I am seeking comfort currently, despite the source of such being questionable at this juncture. I am so unsure of my footing in other relationships. It's daunting to build new foundations, especially when I crave reassurance now. So I sit in the library, leafing through Michelangelo books, studying form, wondering just why I am here and being utterly terrified. I know for certain I am not that calibre of an artist, if that calibre of anything at all. That daunts me. Life in general is daunting me now. I will make it through, but I need to start making decisions, which I can only hope will have positive outcomes.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The Bell Jar

I ought to be asleep, however my mind is whirring with thoughts. They keep nudging at the outermost reaches of my skull and sleep will not come. I lay in the hotel bed listening to my own breathing and my eyes are assaulted by the bright green protrusions that are the digital faces of the microwave and the smoke detector. I hear movement upstairs and observe how the orange light creeps under the gaudy curtains in broken and chaotic waves. I lay on the floor by the waves, hoping that the moving shadow of some passerby will break them. I have a race in the morning at 10 o'clock, and must be up by 7. My mind must quiet. I have to rest. I want to talk, I want to-- need to-- articulate the idle wanderings of my mind to make them real. Rationalise them, discern their meaning, and make them dissolve. What is it that I want? I hear the soft scraping and flexing of the pad of paper and the scratching of the pen tip. I am writing. I love to write. But will it be worth anything? Will the rambling I scratch onto hotel notepads be appreciated by even a singular soul?
"Well written, but it had a sort of 'so what?' effect for me..."
My mediocrity gnaws at me. Sure I can write, but what sets me apart from scores and scores of other aspiring writers and artists? I'm terrified. Every person wants to be accepted, particularly when they bear their soul. I write with my heart on my sleeve-- at least at my best-- but lately I have guarded myself. Rejection on any level is paralysingly frightening. My true opinions and emotions are instead veiled in wit and syntax. I peer into the corner of the dingy hotel mirror as I sit on the sill of the bath. Shadow surrounds my features. Hair billows freely in rippling waves around my shoulders, draped carelessly across my high cheekbones. A pretty face-- so they say-- but what more? Hips and long legs, gawky height that I have yet to master with grace. What of my mind? What of my soul? I was repulsed by every boy who sincerely recognised that a mind occupied my head. In doing so I have made myself accountable to no one. They expect nothing but soft lips moving sensuously and cleverly in time with their own. I pushed the possibility of genuine love away in a flourish of pheromones and self loathing. My eyes are red with exhaustion in my dimly lit reflection. I need to sleep. Despite the loud clamour inside of my head. Clearly I should not have gotten my hands on a Sylvia Plath novel.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Fireworks or Bust.

Maybe my standards are too high, maybe I am too picky, maybe I should be patient, but hell, life is short and I am not going to waste it on anything that doesn't feel absolutely wholly right. I want fireworks. I want a boy that sees something in me that he can't live without, and is willing to show me, to fight for me. Maybe that's overly romantic, maybe that's unrealistic, but I don't care. I don't care. I want love. I want knock me flat on my butt, butterflies in my stomach, knees to jello, holy guacamole it's love love. Bring me flowers, woo me, show me, tell me, yell it from the rooftops. Everyone deserves to find that kind of love. I will not settle. I have settled for too long, it's never worth it. Boys who spit, boys who forget to call me, boys who never write me love letters or tell me I am beautiful. I will no longer settle. I will wait, patiently. I will live without a worry about finding it until it finds me. I will snipe until I am snuck up on, and that will be the way it ought to be. Life is too short to spend worrying about such things as love, when I have so many people in my life to love and to experience life with. I'll know when I see fireworks.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Say Anything

I wish I could read minds. I have wished that so many times over the years, but I am finally convinced that the benefits would outweigh the costs-- at least mostly. Mind reading would be entirely positive if I had the option of turning it on and off at will. I can't even read my own mind right now though, there is just too much going on. The transition to college, being alone, living alone. The constant inner battle to remain ever positive and hopeful when I feel so isolated. Feeling like I can only rarely genuinely connect with people on any level. I'm not being elitist, I don't think I am different or better or any of that trite nonsense, I just find it hard to find people that seem to understand where I am coming from on a fundamental level. I want to find someone I can say anything to. I want to find someone that I can be myself around entirely, and not doubt for a second that they aren't judging me poorly. I want it to be simple. I want to feel secure and content.