Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Thursday, December 9, 2010
pajama professor.
I definitely should either be using this time to be 1) sleeping or 2) reading Shakespeare, but I kind of want to blog instead. Sleep is something I really should do, you know, log some hours. Between loads and loads of homework, projects, and tests, having little to no self control to talk or hang out with friends for hours on end, and all of the little other things that fill up my days, I have a very strained relationship with sleep. Sometimes I can go to bed at 9pm and sleep until 6am and it's wonderful, glorious, and awesome. But other times, I'm up until 11 0r 12 working on physics lab reports or like, doing whatever it was that I was doing on Sunday night until 1:30am.
Which brings me to this: thank you guys for all of your comments on my post from Sunday night. And thanks for the hugs, cyber hugs make me feel all warm inside, much like a real hug. Reading them throughout the week has helped, because this week has been a combination of busy/glowy/nice/stressful/anxious/tiring/warm and reading those helped the bad parts. I do hope you know that I don't feel like that all the time, just certain parts of the day and some days for long periods of time. I have bad days and such, but I'm not usually in a perpetual state of panic and anxiety. Which is good, and is precisely the reason that I haven't seen a doctor about it.
I'm sitting on my bed at my mom's house, with my back against the pillows, and I can look across my room and out the window and see a white world. A white world with a couple bushes and some tree branches and this house that has lights in their yard and lining their roof and it's really pretty. I like winter, or at least December. Once it gets to be maybe February or so, that depressing, lonely rut where I don't want to do anything at all sets in, but December is just so magical. The cold and snow are so new that I can't even mind them. I kind of keep looking out of the window at the snow and the lights and feeling that Christmas-y feeling wash over me. It's nice.
I look like a pajama professor. I'm wearing a combination of a t-shirt, really high (penguin) socks, wiener dog boxers, and this really weird sweater that my mom gave me. It has a collar and when I was brushing my teeth earlier, I realized that the collar made me look like a professor, for some reason. It might be my deteriorating brain playing tricks on me, but I totally looked like I was going to grade some super intense dreams later, or something. Nope, no, I can't anymore. My eyelids are drooping and I'm way too excited to sleep. Before 11pm for the first time in 2 days. Goodnight. :)
Which brings me to this: thank you guys for all of your comments on my post from Sunday night. And thanks for the hugs, cyber hugs make me feel all warm inside, much like a real hug. Reading them throughout the week has helped, because this week has been a combination of busy/glowy/nice/stressful/anxious/tiring/warm and reading those helped the bad parts. I do hope you know that I don't feel like that all the time, just certain parts of the day and some days for long periods of time. I have bad days and such, but I'm not usually in a perpetual state of panic and anxiety. Which is good, and is precisely the reason that I haven't seen a doctor about it.
I'm sitting on my bed at my mom's house, with my back against the pillows, and I can look across my room and out the window and see a white world. A white world with a couple bushes and some tree branches and this house that has lights in their yard and lining their roof and it's really pretty. I like winter, or at least December. Once it gets to be maybe February or so, that depressing, lonely rut where I don't want to do anything at all sets in, but December is just so magical. The cold and snow are so new that I can't even mind them. I kind of keep looking out of the window at the snow and the lights and feeling that Christmas-y feeling wash over me. It's nice.
I look like a pajama professor. I'm wearing a combination of a t-shirt, really high (penguin) socks, wiener dog boxers, and this really weird sweater that my mom gave me. It has a collar and when I was brushing my teeth earlier, I realized that the collar made me look like a professor, for some reason. It might be my deteriorating brain playing tricks on me, but I totally looked like I was going to grade some super intense dreams later, or something. Nope, no, I can't anymore. My eyelids are drooping and I'm way too excited to sleep. Before 11pm for the first time in 2 days. Goodnight. :)
Sunday, December 5, 2010
the things I don't tell.
There is a lot that I don't tell people. Even the people that I'm closest to. I guess it's because I know that honestly, they don't want to hear it. If they really care about me, it will make them sad and a little, screaming part of me will always believe that telling too much about the side of me that is very, very dark will push them away. Because, who really wants an unstable friend? Someone you can't depend on to just be… normal? And if they don't care, it will just make them feel awkward. I can always tell.
But the people who care… they may tell me that they want me to tell them when something is going very, very wrong, but I don't tell them. How do you explain to someone that you spend an evening shaking, with your heart beating rapidly, and your brain feeling like it's ripping apart at the seams from a mixture of dull pain and haunting images, when you can't even explain why?
I spend so many of my moments worrying about other people, so how can anyone blame me when I don't want to inflict that brain-crippling worry on anyone else? I'd be lying, though, if I said that the reasons for me keeping in my unexplainable moments of panic is purely selfless. It's not, really. I'm terrified of letting people know that I have these moments, where my heart won't stop beating and I feel my chest constrict and everything feels empty and numb and painful all at the same time. I know that weakness is a part of being human, and that isn't the point. My worry is that someday, people will start to realize that I'm more trouble than I'm worth, and leave. I'm afraid that someday, everyone will realize that they're better off without me and just… leave. And I won't have these amazing people in my life anymore. They'll just be gone, and I'll be alone.
A logical part of me knows that I'll wake up tomorrow and have very little memory of this empty and yet aching feeling in my chest. I'll wake up to my alarm at 5:45, groan, kiss my dog, and get into the shower. I'll put in my hair mousse and the whole bathroom will smell good and I'll adjust my sweater and make funny faces in the mirror. I'll eat some incredibly non-breakfast-food breakfast and watch whatever episode of South Park I'm on on Netflix Instant Play. I'll go to school and see my friends and play Angry Birds in math and listen to music that makes me smile and I'll probably have a good day. But right now, even though I know that nothing is wrong and that tomorrow holds unknown promise, I can't stop my body from twitching and shaking and sinking.
I guess the point of this wasn't to try to open up to more people about my heart-stuttering anxiety or to try and get my feelings off of my chest. I guess, to be honest, the real reason for this was because twenty minutes ago, I was laying in bed, trying so many different things to ease my mind, and none of them were working. I tried to play Fastball 2, but it got me feeling even more panic-y , and then I started to read, but the content of the book I was reading completely collided with some of the things my brain was (unnecessarily) freaking out about, and so I wrote this. As a cure for my unrelenting mind.
I think it helped. And I'm really sorry if this post made anyone feel uncomfortable, it's just that Nora has been begging me to blog for the longest time, and I decided to try and kill two birds with one stone. And I really do think it helped.
But the people who care… they may tell me that they want me to tell them when something is going very, very wrong, but I don't tell them. How do you explain to someone that you spend an evening shaking, with your heart beating rapidly, and your brain feeling like it's ripping apart at the seams from a mixture of dull pain and haunting images, when you can't even explain why?
I spend so many of my moments worrying about other people, so how can anyone blame me when I don't want to inflict that brain-crippling worry on anyone else? I'd be lying, though, if I said that the reasons for me keeping in my unexplainable moments of panic is purely selfless. It's not, really. I'm terrified of letting people know that I have these moments, where my heart won't stop beating and I feel my chest constrict and everything feels empty and numb and painful all at the same time. I know that weakness is a part of being human, and that isn't the point. My worry is that someday, people will start to realize that I'm more trouble than I'm worth, and leave. I'm afraid that someday, everyone will realize that they're better off without me and just… leave. And I won't have these amazing people in my life anymore. They'll just be gone, and I'll be alone.
A logical part of me knows that I'll wake up tomorrow and have very little memory of this empty and yet aching feeling in my chest. I'll wake up to my alarm at 5:45, groan, kiss my dog, and get into the shower. I'll put in my hair mousse and the whole bathroom will smell good and I'll adjust my sweater and make funny faces in the mirror. I'll eat some incredibly non-breakfast-food breakfast and watch whatever episode of South Park I'm on on Netflix Instant Play. I'll go to school and see my friends and play Angry Birds in math and listen to music that makes me smile and I'll probably have a good day. But right now, even though I know that nothing is wrong and that tomorrow holds unknown promise, I can't stop my body from twitching and shaking and sinking.
I guess the point of this wasn't to try to open up to more people about my heart-stuttering anxiety or to try and get my feelings off of my chest. I guess, to be honest, the real reason for this was because twenty minutes ago, I was laying in bed, trying so many different things to ease my mind, and none of them were working. I tried to play Fastball 2, but it got me feeling even more panic-y , and then I started to read, but the content of the book I was reading completely collided with some of the things my brain was (unnecessarily) freaking out about, and so I wrote this. As a cure for my unrelenting mind.
I think it helped. And I'm really sorry if this post made anyone feel uncomfortable, it's just that Nora has been begging me to blog for the longest time, and I decided to try and kill two birds with one stone. And I really do think it helped.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
the infection of love.
Hi there, good people of the blogging universe. :) I'm coming to you at 11:37pm on a Wednesday night. A school night. But I'm not rebelling, I promise, and I'm going to hop back on the sleeping-bandwagon tomorrow night, but earlier tonight I had literally a little over a cup of diet coke at a restaurant and now… so much energy. Can't sleep. But it's the story of my life, and I'm not going to dwell on it. I'll simply use this leftover energy to do something productive. Such as explore a poem by Anne Sexton.
Wanting to Die, a poem by Anne Sexton, was written to explain why poets, people, anyone like herself (and her friend Sylvia Plath) would want to kill themselves. Keep in mind, this isn't my opinion, nor is it any general truth, just her opinion, I suppose. You can read it here if you want, I don't wanna poem overload, but I just wanted to kind of… dwell on the last line. "and the love, whatever it was, an infection." Just that idea, of love being an infection, is just so beautiful, in a heartwrenching way. Love, it can spread and it can hurt and it can take you down. It's infectious.
My friend pointed out this line after we saw Inception today and there was the line about an idea being a parasite, the most resilient of them. Because we're, uh, nerdy, I whipped out the poem book we've been looking at lately (it's her's) and read that poem and that line just… I don't know. I had just come out of the movie about an hour ago, but it just struck a nerve. I wasn't emotional or anything, not really at that part of the conversation, but the idea of these things, that seem innocent enough, taking over your mind and your body and everything… it's fascinating.
To lighten the mood a little bit, I'll talk about myself a little bit. I'm not sure what's been going on with me lately, to be honest, I've been reliving the past a lot, and spending every free moment (which, alas, are few) either watching Parenthood (I am newly obsessed with this show. guys, you have to watch it. please) or reading old conversations/poems/journal entries/notes, anything from 8th grade. I feel like I just need to figure out that person I was then. Why I did the things I did and what I thought and when things fell apart and how I put them back together and… it's crazy. The lines between 8th grade and the present are starting to blur when characters from then and now collide. It's super weird.
Wow… that didn't really lighten the mood, did it? Oh well. I hope this entry didn't sound bleak, that wasn't my intention at all. In fact, I've been good lately. A warm, familiar sort of happiness. Not a crap-is-this-gonna-get-yanked-away kind of happiness but one that feels secure. I don't know. I like it. How are YOU guys?
Wanting to Die, a poem by Anne Sexton, was written to explain why poets, people, anyone like herself (and her friend Sylvia Plath) would want to kill themselves. Keep in mind, this isn't my opinion, nor is it any general truth, just her opinion, I suppose. You can read it here if you want, I don't wanna poem overload, but I just wanted to kind of… dwell on the last line. "and the love, whatever it was, an infection." Just that idea, of love being an infection, is just so beautiful, in a heartwrenching way. Love, it can spread and it can hurt and it can take you down. It's infectious.
My friend pointed out this line after we saw Inception today and there was the line about an idea being a parasite, the most resilient of them. Because we're, uh, nerdy, I whipped out the poem book we've been looking at lately (it's her's) and read that poem and that line just… I don't know. I had just come out of the movie about an hour ago, but it just struck a nerve. I wasn't emotional or anything, not really at that part of the conversation, but the idea of these things, that seem innocent enough, taking over your mind and your body and everything… it's fascinating.
To lighten the mood a little bit, I'll talk about myself a little bit. I'm not sure what's been going on with me lately, to be honest, I've been reliving the past a lot, and spending every free moment (which, alas, are few) either watching Parenthood (I am newly obsessed with this show. guys, you have to watch it. please) or reading old conversations/poems/journal entries/notes, anything from 8th grade. I feel like I just need to figure out that person I was then. Why I did the things I did and what I thought and when things fell apart and how I put them back together and… it's crazy. The lines between 8th grade and the present are starting to blur when characters from then and now collide. It's super weird.
Wow… that didn't really lighten the mood, did it? Oh well. I hope this entry didn't sound bleak, that wasn't my intention at all. In fact, I've been good lately. A warm, familiar sort of happiness. Not a crap-is-this-gonna-get-yanked-away kind of happiness but one that feels secure. I don't know. I like it. How are YOU guys?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
quotations and poems ahoy!
I haven't blogged in ages, and I'm really disappointed about that, but I mean… school started and life got crazy and life got sad and life got sidesplittingly funny and life got glorious and life got momentsofbreakdowns and life got staringattheceilingsmiling and I don't have any regrets thus far, in my seven days of my junior year, but I really ought to blog more. For me. Because right after laughter, writing is the best medicine. For me. There is this quote that I love, by Ray Bradbury. It's so beautiful that I have it committed to memory from reciting it over and over again to myself.
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."
I'm gaga for quotations. They're beautiful snapshots of life, of personality, of beauty. I'm blessed to be friends with some of the most hilarious people in the whole world, who constantly have me doubled over in laughter or sitting back in awe at something said brilliantly. I don't even… I always remember something said by John Green about spending life behind a camera, that sometimes you have to just put it down and live, but I think I've become too dependent on that notion. I want to remember these moments where I could hardly breathe or my head was just swimming with all of the possibilities of the world. The feelings I had because of them. I don't know. My Facebook quotations section is filling to the brim daily, all alphabetized and organized. Reading it just makes me smile when I want to frown.
It's really ironic how I talked about my horrible 8th grade poetry a couple entries ago, and now I'm reobsessed with poetry. It literally happened two days ago. I was hanging out at my friend's house after school on Friday, waiting for my mom to pick me up, and she randomly took her book of 100 poems off of her shelf and wanted me to read some. And then we started reading them out loud and figuring out meanings and it was… great. It was nerdy and the sun was pouring through the windows and I had to leave soon, but it was just… the words, the everything.
That night, we were on Facebook chat, and we were suddenly just changing the words to our favorite poems into things that applied to our lives and it was just nerdy. Nerdy and cool and now I'm falling in love with words again. And then on Saturday, todayyesterdayit's1:20am, we pretty much did the same thing all day. I read Love That Dog by Sharon Creech and the part you know if you've read the book made my vision blurred and eyes shiny. Just, Sky. That beautiful dog. And I read more poems and started Tuesdays with Morrie and I came home with four books, the previously mentioned, a poem anthology, a collection of Emily Dickinson poems, and Gradma Torrelli Makes Soup.
To keep from nerd overload, I'm going to stop rambling and leave you with this poem by Paul Verlaine.
Tears fall in my heart
Rain falls on the town;
what is this numb hurt
that enters my heart?
Ah,the soft sound of rain
on roofs, on the ground!
To a dulled heart they came,
ah, the song of the rain!
Tears without reason
in the disheartened heart.
What? no trace of treason?
This grief's without reason.
It's far the worst pain
to never know why
without love or disdain
my heart has such pain!
"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."
I'm gaga for quotations. They're beautiful snapshots of life, of personality, of beauty. I'm blessed to be friends with some of the most hilarious people in the whole world, who constantly have me doubled over in laughter or sitting back in awe at something said brilliantly. I don't even… I always remember something said by John Green about spending life behind a camera, that sometimes you have to just put it down and live, but I think I've become too dependent on that notion. I want to remember these moments where I could hardly breathe or my head was just swimming with all of the possibilities of the world. The feelings I had because of them. I don't know. My Facebook quotations section is filling to the brim daily, all alphabetized and organized. Reading it just makes me smile when I want to frown.
It's really ironic how I talked about my horrible 8th grade poetry a couple entries ago, and now I'm reobsessed with poetry. It literally happened two days ago. I was hanging out at my friend's house after school on Friday, waiting for my mom to pick me up, and she randomly took her book of 100 poems off of her shelf and wanted me to read some. And then we started reading them out loud and figuring out meanings and it was… great. It was nerdy and the sun was pouring through the windows and I had to leave soon, but it was just… the words, the everything.
That night, we were on Facebook chat, and we were suddenly just changing the words to our favorite poems into things that applied to our lives and it was just nerdy. Nerdy and cool and now I'm falling in love with words again. And then on Saturday, todayyesterdayit's1:20am, we pretty much did the same thing all day. I read Love That Dog by Sharon Creech and the part you know if you've read the book made my vision blurred and eyes shiny. Just, Sky. That beautiful dog. And I read more poems and started Tuesdays with Morrie and I came home with four books, the previously mentioned, a poem anthology, a collection of Emily Dickinson poems, and Gradma Torrelli Makes Soup.
To keep from nerd overload, I'm going to stop rambling and leave you with this poem by Paul Verlaine.
Tears fall in my heart
Rain falls on the town;
what is this numb hurt
that enters my heart?
Ah,the soft sound of rain
on roofs, on the ground!
To a dulled heart they came,
ah, the song of the rain!
Tears without reason
in the disheartened heart.
What? no trace of treason?
This grief's without reason.
It's far the worst pain
to never know why
without love or disdain
my heart has such pain!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
1:36am. can't sleep. SHIZ.
This is what I don't understand: last night, when I got into bed around 10, reading and fell asleep around 11:30 or midnight without trouble, I got up eight hours later and it was fine and dandy. Tonight, when I get into bed around the same time but have to be up at six instead of nine, I can't seem to fall asleep for the life of me. It's now 1am and after tossing and turning for hours, I can't get to sleep. What is that? Nerves? The fact that my muscles weren't sore today and I didn't take a Tylenol PM before bed? I shouldn't have to. I didn't have any caffeine past like 10am. This is ridiculous, I really should take my friend's advice and see a doctor.
To make myself more tired, I just went outside and took a quick five-minute spin on my bike. At 1am, with no shoes on, wearing men's boxers and an oversize purple t-shirt. With wild bedhead. It was weird, it did make me more physically exhausted and I'm hoping with that and writing to make my brain exhausted, I can finally fall asleep, but it was just weird. Halfway through I basically started to panic because I had this awful realization that I wasn't safe in my bed anymore, I was out on the street, in the cold, in the dark, and it would take me longer than a minute to get home. For some reason that really freaked me out and I turned back. It was a strange experience, I just all of a sudden realized how weird it was to be biking at 1am on a school night, how different that is from the atmosphere of summer, and I just kind of internally flipped. Became super aware of every movement I was making. Eh. I don't know.
Today was my first day of school. Yesterday, I guess I mean. Wednesday. It was only noon to two, twelve minute classes, becuase freshmen had their orientation in the morning and all that. Tomorrow is the first real day, which involves waking up early and actually learning things. I'm going to have homework tomorrow. I like my classes enough, I have some with good friends and some with casual friends and one with someone I'm really glad to be seeing again, and it should be good. Plus, if all else fails, I can spend the day doing other homework in the easy classes, playing poker on my iPod, writing notes to my best friend, or just staring off into space wishing I was a giraffe or something.
Funny text message conversation of the day:
Ashley: how was hogwarts?
Me: Missed the train. :(
Ashley: Boo, same! i rode an ostrich to hogwarts
The most brilliant girl on the planet, ladies and gentlemen.
Folks, I am proud to say that my eyelids are drooping and I'm going to try and sleep now. A cold glass of water first and then hopefully, dreamland. You know, that's something I always said to my mom when I was younger, before I went to bed, "see ya in dreamland!" Maybe I'll see you guys in dreamland. ;)
To make myself more tired, I just went outside and took a quick five-minute spin on my bike. At 1am, with no shoes on, wearing men's boxers and an oversize purple t-shirt. With wild bedhead. It was weird, it did make me more physically exhausted and I'm hoping with that and writing to make my brain exhausted, I can finally fall asleep, but it was just weird. Halfway through I basically started to panic because I had this awful realization that I wasn't safe in my bed anymore, I was out on the street, in the cold, in the dark, and it would take me longer than a minute to get home. For some reason that really freaked me out and I turned back. It was a strange experience, I just all of a sudden realized how weird it was to be biking at 1am on a school night, how different that is from the atmosphere of summer, and I just kind of internally flipped. Became super aware of every movement I was making. Eh. I don't know.
Today was my first day of school. Yesterday, I guess I mean. Wednesday. It was only noon to two, twelve minute classes, becuase freshmen had their orientation in the morning and all that. Tomorrow is the first real day, which involves waking up early and actually learning things. I'm going to have homework tomorrow. I like my classes enough, I have some with good friends and some with casual friends and one with someone I'm really glad to be seeing again, and it should be good. Plus, if all else fails, I can spend the day doing other homework in the easy classes, playing poker on my iPod, writing notes to my best friend, or just staring off into space wishing I was a giraffe or something.
Funny text message conversation of the day:
Ashley: how was hogwarts?
Me: Missed the train. :(
Ashley: Boo, same! i rode an ostrich to hogwarts
The most brilliant girl on the planet, ladies and gentlemen.
Folks, I am proud to say that my eyelids are drooping and I'm going to try and sleep now. A cold glass of water first and then hopefully, dreamland. You know, that's something I always said to my mom when I was younger, before I went to bed, "see ya in dreamland!" Maybe I'll see you guys in dreamland. ;)
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