The magnolias are blooming. Is this my last spring here?
I have nothing to say.
beauty
silence carved
I haven’t posted much on my blog this month, which is fine I suppose. I’ve written enough in my journal. 2011 has been far better than 2010, which isn’t saying much, but I’m happy. I’ve made so many new friends and it has been a reminder of the strong friendships I already have. How cheesy.
Somewhere along the way these past 12 months, I’ve discovered that I’m no longer a girl. I still have the XX. I mean I knew I wasn’t a child and I knew I was age-wise an adult, but now, somehow I know with confidence that I’m an adult and some sort of woman, which I still don’t quite understand. This is something I’ll have to write out and I already have started.
The best parts of this year were love, moving past one year, foggy mornings driving Ohio roads, feeling like a somewhat legit poet, seeing the stars, seeing Florence + the Machine, dancing for fun (a step closer to real dancing again), meeting so many wonderful new people. I don’t think it’s possible to encapsulate how wonderful this year has been. It’s silly to say that I’m lucky because I really don’t think it’s luck.
Resolutions? I’ll think about it tomorrow. Right now, it’s the perfect day reflecting on this year and this life because I’m trying to write a biographical personal statement. My name is Sara. I’m 23. I love this life I’m living. 2011 was wonderful. I want to go to x school because I know it’ll be a big component of making 2012 even better. I am so hopeful.
My Latin teacher once told the class that carpe diem really meant “pluck the day” rather than the popular (and somewhat violent) “seize the day.” (I really don’t like the little graphic image thing on the internet that says “carpe the fuck out of this diem“, which I’m sure has good intentions.) He brought this up because my friend walked into the classroom with a shirt that said “carpe DNA.” Anyways, this wikipedia article summarizes it a little bit better.
Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero
I guess I trust the future because I’m always so silly and idealistic and hopeful, but this moment, this day, I’m enjoying it. I’m not seizing it. I’m picking this moment now. I’m savoring it. This entry is disjointed.
December was a perfect ending to a perfect year, and I’m glad that I’ll be celebrating the end of a wonderful year with wonderful friends.
I don’t need a New Year’s kiss.
light of day
To say that December is already off to an amazing start is an understatement. I guess every entry is yet another entry on how apparently wonderful my life is, but you know, it’s not always all ups. It just helps remembering happy things when you write about the wonderful things.
On Thursday, I tried to finish my application before leaving for Chicago so I could mail it out in the morning. I couldn’t get my formal sonnet to end correctly, so I took my application with me to Chicago and finished the poem on the bus. The bus ride was fine, but it’s really difficult writing in a moving vehicle because my scribbles would just be all over the place.
Once I got to Chicago, I had my friend look over my poems and the order of them, which I was fretting about, but eventually, I just hit the point where I was like, I don’t care. I can’t care anymore. I’m mailing this out. I feel so silly or taking my application all the way to Chicago to mail it back to Columbus.
On Saturday, we went to M. Henry for breakfast, which was delicious. It was a little bit further away than I thought looking on Google Maps, but it was worth the trip and short wait for a table. I decided to load up on carbs and ordered the Blackberry Bliss Cakes, and we split the bread pudding. Everything was delicious, and I was so stuffed that I had to lay down before we went ice skating in Millennium Park.
I haven’t been ice skating since the last time I skated on Mirror Lake. My blades desperately need sharpening, but I had so much fun skating around. After a couple of laps, I stood by the boards and tried to figure out how to go backwards again and go into a spin. Surprisingly, my body remembers more than I expected including those three-point turn patterns.
While we were skating around, a couple got engaged in the middle of the ice, which made me feel all warm and fuzzy and in love with winter. It was really sweet.
On Sunday, we went to the Adler Planetarium, which was fun, and we went to downtown to try and find a Christmas present for my friend. It didn’t seem as busy as it did when we passed through the previous day, but it was still quite crowded. After some meandering and dinner, we went to the Chicago Theater, which is incredibly beautiful.
The entire time I was waiting for the show to start, my heart was pounding. To say that this was the best concert of my life isn’t really saying much because I’ve only been to three, and this was the only one I really wanted to go to. I had an aisle seat, so I could dance in the aisle. I don’t know. I can’t explain the feeling. There are a couple of reviews of the concert (here and here). I guess really I loved it so much because I could dance to the music and sing along. They played every song I love and the ones they didn’t, it’s okay.
I was so excited she sang “Never Let Me Go” for the encore because I had been listening to the song on repeat on the bus trip over. I don’t know. It’s beautiful. I loved this show. I had such a euphoric feeling afterward.
I love Chicago, but I’m glad to be home because I missed my dog. I’m not working as much as I should, but I need to get stuff done. I’m so excited for the rest of the month.
More applications to do.
burying
Stressed, as usual. Today, I met with a professor just to catch up and talk briefly about programs. He was very encouraging and said that I had strong recommenders and a lot of experience that most people applying from undergraduate don’t. Cross my fingers. Work harder. I’m running out of time.
I will admit that I sort of took yesterday off because I was pretty burnt out. So many days of caffeine and staring at the same words over and over again. I have more poems than I think I do but I want a couple more. I’m finishing up a couple to send to a few people who said they were willing to read. I need to start working on my personal statement. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.
Today, I had lunch with a friend, which was nice, and then I went to a coffee shop for a little bit. I’m struggling with a line. I don’t think it’s poetic.
When I get hung up on something, I’ve started writing in cursive on blank parts of my page. I don’t think it really helps, but I like writing in cursive even though it’s so impractical. One day, when I was writing on the board at work, an older lady said I had very nice print, and then the other night at the bar people said I have nice handwriting. Then, when they try to read what I’m writing, they say they can’t read it. I don’t know what it means. I wonder if it’s genetic because my mom has very nice handwriting, but it is impossible to read. I always assumed it was her “doctor” handwriting that can’t be forged, but I wonder if it’s something else. Could handwriting be genetic? I always assumed it was learned. Maybe it isn’t genetic but subconscious.
I haven’t been writing on my blog very much. I think it’s because I keep thinking about all these poems. I have a headache. I wonder if it’s from all the caffeine.
I think I’ll get a couple of poems to a point where I think they’re done/I’m stuck/giving up, and then I’ll read for a little.
Cursive excerpts: I wish I said things poetically. Everything will change. The world she once knew. bright against the snow. snow. bright against the snow. and bright. at night, the streetlights. silence through winter. winter red. winter green. unfettered. ugh fucking flowers. in a way. experiment. forming words. smells like glue. lemon rice soup. gumball machine. saying goodbye. how to say goodbye. Here? flowers. blood. Fuck. All bleat fleet meat. call keep. orange. give. cat. chicken. tell me something true. tell me. can’t escape iambs. lying. I like to write in cursive, but what does it mean?
my own secret
There are really only a couple of artists that I really really love. I like music as much as most people, but I’m not crazy about following music probably because I think it’s too much work. I’m terrible with names so I can’t keep bands and artists straight. I pretty much find a song and listen to it on repeat for a week or month or several months.
Anyways, a couple of weeks ago I discovered that Florence + The Machine will be playing a show in Chicago, and I am so excited to be going. Something about her music just strikes me. It creates this amazing euphoric feeling, and the lyrics are perfect. Every song burrows into my heart and creates this feeling that I want to articulate and convey, and she’s done it in her music.
I love to listen to her songs on repeat for months. When I first discovered Lungs, I probably listened to it on repeat for 6 months sitting at home, walking my dog, driving. I’ll admit that during difficult times I get incredibly attached to certain songs/albums and just listen to them repeatedly. Two and a half years ago, “Inland Territory” by Vienna Teng. A year and a half ago, “Lungs” by Florence + The Machine.
So far, I really like Ceremonials. Really, I want to kill the environment and drive and drive so I can just sing along. I can see myself listening to this for months, which is a good because I just reached a point where I was tired of the music I have.
I love it. I hope my neighbors don’t mind.
only
Checking PostSecret several days late, I stumbled across this secret:
I am starting to believe that true love is only for thin and beautiful women.
This is incredibly heartbreaking. Not to be completely full of myself but I know I am quite thin for however much I eat, and I’ve heard from other people that I am attractive enough like that one time you told me I was beautiful. I told you not to say it because I wanted to be more to you. It sucks that people think because of my appearance things in life (like love) are easy.
One night, I was walking with a guy, and he said I was an attractive girl. I cried because I didn’t want to be attractive. He asked why I was crying. Days later, I told him it’s because I want to be anything but attractive. I wish someone would be like, “You’re smart,” or “You’re a lot of fun.” While I would still deny it, that wouldn’t make me cry. We stood in the glow of the streetlights.
I’m lucky enough to have been in love before, but I guess it’s not really true love since it disappeared.
And you left him, just like that?
It’s the only way to leave. “I don’t love you anymore. Goodbye.”
Supposing you do still love them?
You don’t leave.
You’ve never left someone you still love?
Nope.
I know I left, but in the end, you left me.
He said it’s true that pretty girls get their share of problems (like all the boys I end up liking but I was just a pretty girl or that night in the parking lot as the streetlight buzzed and buzzed), and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t change the way I look so the first thing people think when they look at me is not my appearance. When we see someone walking down the street, the first thing we think is appearance because that’s how we operate. Eyes see. There’s nothing I can do except for blindfold people before they see me so that the first impression isn’t my appearance.
And looking like this doesn’t lead to love. It leads to heartbreak and disappointment and pain and so much effort to convince people that I am more than my appearance.
I have heard so often that when people first see me or meet me they think that I am intimidating, which is so far from the truth. I’m shy and nervous and terribly socially awkward. I can’t even fathom being intimidating, but the reason why I might even come across as intimidating is because I had to learn to avoid creepers since I was 16. Is this my fault or society’s?
So maybe I am unintentionally intimidating, but it’s the last thing I want to be. I don’t want to be intimidating nor pretty. I just want to be me. Does this make sense? Maybe not.
Either way, even if I am theoretically attractive (I am admittedly thin and perhaps skeptically attractive), I’m not finding true love. If anything, I’m giving up on anything of the sort for the time being. What’s the point?
Maybe I’ll turn into my mother and believe that true love doesn’t exist. Maybe like how my hip will go and how I won’t look my age in 20 years, belief in love is genetic.
But I do believe in love because I’ve been in love and I know my capacity to love. It was before I came to my senses. Before we hurt each other. I still believe love is a possibility because when the air conditioner flickered on and off, it was the most beautiful moment of my life even after all that pain, and I feel I’ll be able to find that again. I’m only 23, and there are so many moments to live still.
Maybe I’ll find true love, but I doubt my appearance helps with anything. In fact, I feel like I have to sift through more crap trying to figure out if a guy actually likes me or he just thinks I’m attractive, and when a relationship ends, there’s always that lingering question if he actually cared about me or if I were just pretty enough, which is difficult to deal with sometimes. I have my own set of problems. My life wouldn’t be on the track that it is now if it weren’t for my appearance because I know that’s all he saw when he kissed me in the parking lot. I would be a very different person.
We had an interesting conversation in class yesterday that assholes don’t realize they’re being assholes. They probably perceive themselves as a good person or an okay person. They don’t think they’re being selfish or rude or hurting other people. The thought almost broke me in front of all these people I hardly know. Maybe he didn’t think he was a jerk, but I was the victim of it. Maybe I am no better.
I’m not really talking about that. When we left the coffee shop, you yelled something at him, but I neither heard nor turned back because I was shaking. It was so hard. My heart could not stop pounding. I can’t believe how calm I sound in the recording. I wonder what the woman who asked to use the other part of the table thought during our conversation.
When we got to my car and sat down, I asked you how he looked, and you said he looked broken and disappointed in himself. Maybe then he realized how he was hurting people.
I still can’t live with these memories. I’m not finding true love. I’m only accumulating pain, and I can’t let it go. Maybe eventually.
memories pressed into these pages
2 Comments
After taking my time getting out of the house, I went to a coffee shop in the attempt to get some writing done. Reading through old notes scribbled on a page produced no inspiration or ideas, but there was one note that made absolutely no sense to me.
Things without an H
hat at
hair air
Normally, I can recall why I wrote something down (ie. asparagus), but I can’t figure that one out or why I wrote it.
So now I’m reading through my old journals with the hope that some thought or memory will trigger something.
MWF French 101 CC246 1030-1148
MW PoliSci 541 SM1005 1230-218
TR PoliSci 550 SO0004 1130-118
January 12, 2009: I have never felt that way when dancing with anyone…I love salsa dancing…
March 14, 2009: In all honesty, last night was certainly without a doubt my first real date and my first first date, which makes me smile because my friend and I were talking about how weird it was that I’ve been in love and had all these long invested relationships but no first date.
March 20, 2009: I’m waiting to board my plane to New York. It is slightly delayed. Even though I’m here at the airport with bags packed, I don’t really feel like I’m leaving. I don’t feel like I’m going to Madrid.
March 24, 2009: We went to a bar. They got this wine and coke drink, but I couldn’t really taste it since I’m sick. The bar was super tiny and crowded…Later, we went to a discoteca. I talked to one of her friends from Switzerland. It was interesting because we talked in a combination of French, Spanish, and English. We danced a little bit. As the night went on, the music switched to American songs like I Kissed a Girl, Disturbia, and Single Ladies.
My friend offered to walk me home, but I declined being relatively competent in cities. I figured I could make it two blocks back to my apartment, and I felt bad since he had to walk back to his place. When the door to the building was closing, a man pushed the door open and followed me in. I went up the stairs, and at the first floor, he grabbed me saying something in Spanish…
The next day we went to the police station to file a report. It was okay, and now I have an interesting souvenir. I had a lot of interesting experiences. It was the first time getting into a scuffle. The first time someone has physically hurt me. First time in a police car. First time in a police station.
All in all, I’m pretty proud of myself for being capable of fending off a mugger. Yes, I was pretty dependent on my friend to walk me to and from home a lot for the rest of the trip, but I feel kind of independent to be able to function and protect myself in 4.5 inch heels.
March 28, 2009: We went to the Prado. Overall, I liked the museum a lot, but my favorite part was the Francis Bacon exhibit.
The train to Valladolid was a large relatively modern train, but to Carbajales de Alba was about two cars long and at least 10 years old. The conductor was slightly surprised that we were going there. When we came to the stop, the conductor let us know and opened the door. An abandoned train station greeted us.
I had seen on Google Maps that the town was a bit away from the train tracks. The sun was already going down, but it was daylight when we started walking. We passed cows grazing in stone pens with cowbells. It was dark by the time we made it to town.
We went to the bar to get some food. We stuck out because we were the youngest people there by about 30 to 40 years, and then, I’m Asian. The woman said they had some tapas. The food was amazing. I had the best food I’ve ever had in Spain and the best cafe con leche ever.
We walked back to the train station in the night guided by the flashing red and white lights of the wind turbines. It was a really long and cold night.
On the way back to Valladolid, we fell asleep on the train, much to the dismay of most of the elderly passengers, but I was too tired to process it.
English 202 MQ161 MW 1130-118
History 515.02 BE198 TR 930-1118
Art 300.02 HK 211 TR 1130-118 CM 200 R130-2218
April 8, 2009: My hands reek of butter, which smells good, but it’s kind of gross. There’s icing on the inside of my right sleeve.
April 12, 2009: I’ve fallen in love with Vienna Teng’s new album Inland Territory. My favorite song is “Kansas”…I think it’s simply a matter of time before he breaks my heart too.
April 22, 2009: I burned myself twice at work today taking brownies out of the oven and onto the speed rack.
May 6, 2009: My arm is covered in cupcake batter.
May 28, 2009: I had an interview today for a front of house position. She said I would have to take out my lip ring while I was working. I was super confused, and then I realized she was talking about my mole. Haha. Oh well.
June 20, 2009: I’m back in Columbus with my car and a dog.
July 15, 2009: I have been reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower. There is a quote that struck me when I read it. “We accept the love we think we deserve.” I had seen it before through PostSecret, but reading it in the book was different because of the context. I suppose it struck me because I realized why I tolerated the relationships I had. I thought it was what I deserved.
July 27, 2009: This past weekend we went to a party where I ate icing from a tube and danced. There was a kid there who salsa danced with me doing tons of dips.
I’ve been feeling weird lately. I told my friend that I saw on Facebook that he was married. Apparently, he’s actually married, but he’s only known her for two months. I just didn’t understand any of it.
August 7, 2009: My favorite part about flying is the ability to see the roads and buildings you know from a different perspective. I saw the construction for 95 at 695 from above. I know that road. I’m right above my mom’s office, and I can trace the road to the Ft. McHenry Tunnel. That’s the road that would take me home. I know the area so well. Will another place truly be home if I can’t trace the roads from above?
September 3, 2009: Almost a year has passed since I first got this notebook. So much has changed. Who would have thought that I would be here now sitting in my apartment alone with a dog. When I first bought this Moleskine, I was one day from twenty. In ten days, I’ll be 21. I wonder where I’ll be in a year. I wonder who I’ll be in a year. I wonder if I can find someone to love me. I wonder if I’ll be heart broken again.
February 2, 2006: I lost my old journal. I am 17.
February 16, 2006: On Valentine’s Day, I went to see the PostSecret exhibit at the American Visionary Museum with my friend.
April 9, 2006: I’ve spent the past few days visiting Ohio State. It was weird visiting the school with the knowledge that I’ll be spending the next four years of my life there.
April 27, 2006: I got my ears pierced on Saturday with my mom.
September 11, 2009: It’s two days from my 21st birthday and 3 years since I’ve written anything in this notebook. People change, but the words and memories written on these pages never will even though it’s faded in my mind. It seems the time around my birthday is the time to start again in a journal.
I thought about ripping out the pages before this one because I was appalled at my immaturity and my terrible and awkward handwriting, but that was the person I used to be. There’s no way to change that.
I might like butter way too much.
September 15, 2009: So my birthday has come and gone with little interest except for an awesome game and loss on Saturday to USC, my first trip to Out R Inn, and work all day.
September 23, 2009: In the back of the Moleskine, I have two senior portrait wallet cards or whatever. It’s sort of interesting or fitting I suppose for the start of my senior year of college.
Today I bought a $14.25 book for $4.54.
October 12, 2009: I am, as Hardy described Tess, happier than I have ever been in my life. I feel silly for being so happy because I’m generally quite level headed about these things, but I can’t help but be happy. I wonder where I’ll be in a year.
October 15, 2009: We went to Mac’s where I had an embarrassing episode shoveling onion rings into my mouth.
October 20, 2009: I was putting some bags in my car when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I looked up to see my neighbor and two women walking up the stairs. I paid little attention, but little did I know, I was most likely the last person to see them before they were shot. Luckily, I wasn’t home during the shooting. For some reason, my roommate didn’t hear the shooting, but apparently, my neighbor shot his mother and his sister. My roommate texted me saying there were paramedics at our apartment building.
November 23, 2009: This past week was Ohio Star Ball, which was a ton of fun. We were called back for Foxtrot, Jive, America Cha Cha, and Rumba.
He said that I had been rather distant as of late, but I guess I’ve been incredibly stressed lately.
November 28, 2009: This past week was Thanksgiving. It was nice except Maddy made a mess of herself. On Thursday, she ran through the mud puddles chasing the ducks. Later, she got herself tangled in a ton of burrs. She was a wonderful dog the entire time. After dinner on Thanksgiving, she fell asleep on my chest, and yesterday afternoon, she slept on his chest while he was reading.
December 27, 2009: I’m running out of days in December, this year, this decade.
December 29, 2009: I went home with him for Christmas, or, as I’ll call it from now on, Maddymas! It sounds a thousand times better–Merry Maddymas!
I’m impressed with my ability to love. I never knew I could love so much, but knowing that I can is a wonderful feeling.
February 22, 2010: He said he hoped that I didn’t write angry poems about him. I haven’t yet because I don’t think I’ve ever really been angry at him. He hasn’t left me.
February 25, 2010: It doesn’t feel like this is temporary. I’m running out of pages in this notebook.
March 10, 2010: This past weekend was the Arnold Classic. We had call backs in every dance except mambo and foxtrot. If I continue dancing, I want to work on Latin and Standard. This notebook is almost finished. I’m apathetic about life.
March 18, 2010: I feel as though I’ve been propelled into the past. I went to The Library to meet people for drinks. At some point, my friend and I went to the jukebox.
The past few months, I’ve buried the memories to the point that it seems as though it was another lifetime. I’m not sure I have come to terms with everything last year.
no date (December 2007): I bought this at a paper store in St. Helena, and this book is probably overpriced. I’m in seat 21D, window on an exit row. My Campers are nearly destroyed now since I wear them to work so they’re crusted in pizza sauce. The soles are so worn.
March 26, 2010: Last night it snowed. I’m on Spring Break. There is no break for me.
March 29, 2010: I feel like I’m limiting myself quite a bit. I’m not entirely sure I’m doing the right thing. I need to figure out my life.
April 2, 2010: The weather is beautiful, but it’s nearly too hot. I wish it were different.
April 12, 2010: I don’t think I’m ready to leave Columbus.
April 19, 2010: I thought the first time I saw him that he wouldn’t be interested in me. I’m not his type. What a disaster. I miss the way he holds me.
May 5, 2010: I haven’t written much lately. I have been avoiding it for better or for worse. I don’t know. I bought a bike yesterday.
May 13, 2010: I guess I’ve been avoiding everything. If I were to title the little I’ve written in this journal, it would be “My Life is a Disaster.”
It’s strange. Everyone said that I was very brave to confront him, but I don’t feel brave nor strong. I feel empty, very empty.
May 18, 2010: I strained my wrist. I shouldn’t be writing probably. On Sunday I could hardly lift a coffee mug.
June 4, 2010: I’ve been reading this poem a lot lately. I guess it is just too perfect for me right now.
June 9, 2010: I hope he isn’t just because I feel that he is a better person than that, but I don’t know.
June 22, 2010: It’s been two months now, which is a strange thought. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I guess I’m realizing how much of a person I actually am. Maybe I’m starting to come to terms with it.
I got my haircut. My bangs are a little short.
July 7, 2010: This past week has been incredibly difficult. I’ve been intending to write about it, but I’m not really sure I can. I cut off my hair. I miss it, but my hair did nothing for me. It didn’t define me as a person. It’s strange how little consideration I really give my appearance. It’s strange how little opinion I have. I don’t care about my hair cut. It’s just my hair. It’s just hair.
The day before my hair cut, Friday [July 2], I felt my absolute lowest. All day until I cut my hair, I was a disaster, and I was working.
I need to be stronger, but being strong is difficult. Maybe when everything is different (my hair, my house, my future) I can be the person I want to be.
August 30, 2010: It’s strange that this month is almost over because I feel as though it has passed without notice. I suppose that’s fine, and I really don’t mind. I’m done with this month, with summer, with this, and I really feel that the changing month will help.
Things are better than they have been. I can’t make someone love me. I learned that long ago.
I’m excited to go to San Francisco. I think I really need this break. I think doing different things will be nice.
September 2, 2010: I’m flying with Maddy to San Francisco. It hasn’t been as bad as I imagined it would, but I always fear the absolute worst (ie. Maddy jumping out of my arms going through security). I’m lacking in leg room, which sucks, but that’s not awful.
September 17, 2010: I came to Chicago on a whim even though I’m broke. Since I wasn’t scheduled to work this week, I decided to go.
September 30, 2010: Reading over my previous entries has been so hard. I want to be better person. I hope I can be. I hope I am a better person now.
October 5, 2010: Yesterday, I was completely overwhelmed by how wonderful my life is, which is so strange. Everything was so awful and depressing for so long, and now I see how happy I am and how exciting each day is. I’m incredibly happy.
All of this came barreling out of nowhere with no warning.
October 20, 2010: I saw him running, but he didn’t see me on the street. It was like the scene from the falling episode of Radiolab, and I understand perfectly.
November 17, 2010: Since coming back from Chicago, I’ve pretty much been incredibly tired. After the Penn State game, I went to a dinner party gluten free style.
November 19, 2010: It’s a long list of guys to make a girl bitter. Look at you, Sara. All kinds of bitter. How embarrassing. 22 and bitter.
December 9, 2010: I’m tired, and I don’t know how I got through this past week. I don’t think I failed any of my finals. I’m definitely worn down after working 40 hours and super stressing over my classes. I’m glad I’m done. I hope my portfolio was acceptable.
December 14, 2010: I’m nearing the end of this journal, and I wonder what monstrous change awaits me.
I ran into him Christmas shopping, which was incredibly awkward and difficult seeing him and talking to him. It was so hard because there were so many things I wanted to say and ask, but I didn’t and couldn’t. I guess the memories are still heavy for me. I wonder if he thinks of me, but I guess it doesn’t matter if he does. It was strange and almost surreal. I felt rattled as I walked away.
December 24, 2010: I didn’t really finish the last entry in the last journal. I meant to but didn’t particularly care about it. I guess I’m still not comfortable dwelling on it. I’m not prepared to really think about it even though I should just get over my life.
I am without a doubt the happiest I have been in months.
There are a lot of things I want to tell him, but I’m not sure any of it matters.
December 25, 2010: Today is Maddymas. She’s sitting in my lap and awkwardly resting her head on the table. It’s rainy in San Francisco, but I’m okay with it. I’m determined to do as much reading as possible while I’m here.
March 8, 2011: I haven’t written in here in quite a bit, at least not a proper entry. I’m slightly concerned I’m thinking too far into the future.
June 13, 2011: Why am I writing in cursive? I really don’t know. In my mind, I want to be able to write in cursive. Really, I don’t see the point, but I do think about my words much more–the spelling, how to shape each letter. Right now, it’s an exercise in a lot of thinking because it’s not natural How much work for just a few lines of words.
Lately, I’ve been lost in my memories. In all honesty, it’s paralyzing.
July 11, 2011: One day, I’ll write about what really matters, but for now I’m avoiding it because I always run away. I always run. always run away. Why?
July 12, 2011: It seems that I haven’t even been entirely truthful even in my journal. I used to confess everything in these notebooks. Maybe I am hesitant knowing that they are a record of everything I have done. I guess it really doesn’t matter because no one is perfect, and I really don’t want to be perfect anyways. That would be boring. I do feel bad for anyone attempting to decipher my handwriting, especially now that I’m trying to write in cursive. By the time anyone is unfortunate to try and read this, I’m sure nearly no one will know how.
The rain started as a sigh, and I could see the rain falling in the light of the streetlights. Streetlights is a good word. Maybe I can’t write anything substantial in cursive.
July 13, 2011: I don’t want to write about it. I only write about things that aren’t relevant, and it’s frustrating. What am I so scared about? The truth? The lies? Maybe the silence–the words unsaid are still lies? A silent lie? Does the truth matter? Always back to the truth. Maybe that’s why I like writing poetry, but it’s not really like I know why.
What is the truth that I want to know?
What is the truth that matters to me?
Will I ever know?
What is the truth I want to share?
What truth is important?
Will I ever know?
July 16, 2011: I’m not sure how I feel about everything. I think all the thoughts for the past year are catching up to me, and honestly, I’m not sure what to do with them…about them…
What will make this go away? I’m not sure I can write through this. I like to deal with things, think about them, and then write. So what do I do now?
I wish my words were enough.
July 17, 2011: I miss the girl I was, but I don’t know who she is. There’s one photo where I think I look completely beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever look like that ever again. Does it matter?
July 22, 2011: Lately, I’ve been feeling really good. I think the only way I could be feeling better is if I started dancing again. I want to dance again. I miss it so much.
July 31, 2011: It’s weird feeling sort of lonely. I guess I’m tired of connecting with people on the surface. I want to connect more.
August 10, 2011: I remember the horses snorting and startling me, walking through the sand, and laying on the bench looking up at the stars. Jupiter bright behind us. I dared to wade into the water holding my no longer new blue dress up to my hips and tilting my head up to see the stars. Stupid sentimental stars. I never want to forget it. Will I remember just because I wrote it down? I guess only time will tell because if I forget remembering it, then it won’t matter. Just another trivial thing that doesn’t really matter in life, that doesn’t really make a difference.
August 23, 2011: Screw being a modern woman. I want men to offer me cigarettes and light them for me.
I need to just figure things out. I should just do my own thing for a while. That made me happy last year.
August 26, 2011: I’m finishing the last pages of this notebook, which means that something will change, and I hope it’s for the better. I don’t think this year has been all that bad. 22 has been a good year, at least way better than 21, and it’s almost fall, which seems like the time for beginnings. I’m ready.
This notebook is filled with the new direction my life has taken this past year–poetry, independence, and so much hope. I can only hope this all gets better because I feel like I’m trying to begin a new journey or a new step. I’ll end this here…my heart is pounding. I’m so hopeful.
don’t remember
I’ve been working a lot for the past few days, which has been good and not so good. I like working because it keeps me from being anti-social, but if this weekend were any indicator, I like being social enough. I also have a bit of time to think, but my thoughts have been incredibly disorganized lately.
For some reason, I find myself missing the girl I used to be. Of course, when you look back you think of the good times, and you don’t really remember the small miseries that plagued you–homework, roommates, work issues in that moment. I think of the general things like back then I had no idea how much I would live my life. I was innocent, and all my thoughts were small and trivial, which doesn’t make sense at all.
At that moment in my life, something else was probably plaguing me and driving me crazy. What about all those sleepless nights listening to music on repeat until the sky turned gray? What about the broken heart back then? Oh, it was nothing compared to the broken heart I felt in a moment later, but is it all just perception? Broken heart A was further back in time than broken heart B, so B feels worse than A because the memories are more recent. Maybe. I wish I had some sort of scientific evidence about memory perception. I feel like I might have read something once about this in a book.
Either way, I’ve been incredibly hung up on memory and memories the past few weeks. It’s actually really irritating because I feel as though I’m longing for a past happiness that didn’t exist, which is my logical side arguing, but at the same time, there were moments when I know for certain that I was so incredibly happy, my emotional side. It’s time consuming and wasting my brain power on something stupid when I should just be happy in the present, logical side, but isn’t it good to remember the past?
Not really since thinking about happy things that happened in the past leads to why those things don’t make me happy now, how those people disappeared, the pain that came after the happy moments. Life moves in waves.
There are times when I’m like I was happier then. I was more focused. I was more beautiful, which is really absurd because I’m only 22. How much could I have possibly changed in those one or two years? I’m certainly not old and wrinkled. I doubt my brain wanders that much more now. I doubt that I really was happier then, but I have this confusing perception of what was and is and how I felt then and now.
There’s one photo that I mentioned previously where I think I look beautiful, which is strange because I don’t think I look particularly good (especially lately since every time I get off from work I’m drenched in sweat and I have hat hair and blah blah blah) nor do I think I look beautiful, but when I look at this picture, I think that I look really pretty. Doesn’t the girl in the photo look nearly identical to me now aside from hair length? I suppose I could post the photo for a comparison, but I won’t because this picture I hold close since it means so much to me.
The girl in the photo is me before all the pain and all the heartbreak, which instantly makes her more happy. Maybe she’s beautiful because she really doesn’t care about the fact she looks okay not like how I worry now that my appearance might draw too much attention. It’s all too confusing.
Sometimes I long for the girl I used to be.
I’m sorry.
of snow I dreamed
It’s been snowing quite a bit lately but not enough to stick. I like it a lot. Riding my bike hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. The snow has speckled my coat and clung to my lip, but I certainly like riding my bike in snow rather than rain. The cold hasn’t bothered me very much either.
I have a lot of work ahead of me, and I think I’ll probably spend most of tomorrow in a coffee shop somewhere working on my revisions before going to work. It’s strange to think that I only have four more days of this ridiculous stress, and then I can move on with my life. There are a lot of things I’m looking forward to once I finish with finals.
- Cleaning my apartment — I spent a brief amount of time yesterday doing dishes, and I already felt better about my life so I think a good vacuuming and cleaning the carpets will make me very happy.
- Cooking — I’m certainly in the mood for quite a bit of soup.
- Baking — I want to make cookies!
- Reading — I have so many books I want to read! Maybe I can finally make a dent in all those piles.
- Writing — I want to improve my poetry so much, and I’m going to push myself to write in blank verse.
If I get through the next few days, I will certainly have lots of fun things to do in the coming weeks. I’m excited!
the girl in the mirror
I always wonder how other people see me, which is very strange. I guess it’s natural to wonder what other people think of you, or maybe people aren’t as insecure about this as I am. There are very rare instances when I have insight into what other people think, but mainly it comes from significant others because you disclose why you like someone or whatever. I often think people don’t like me very much or they’re rather indifferent to my existence, which is probably more likely. One thing that I never really wonder about is what people think about my physical appearance. This post seems already incredibly narcissistic, which is not at all my intention. I can insist, dear blog, that I generally think very little of my appearance, which doesn’t make sense because I’m writing about it.
I don’t know why I was thinking about it. I was trying to take a nap about an hour ago, and I was still awake thinking about things I generally try not to think about if I can help it. I was thinking about that night. I was sitting at the bar with my friends, and he was late. He walked over, ordered a beer, and said that I looked nice that night. I’m fairly certain I said thank you, but inside I wasn’t very happy because it wasn’t my intention to look nice. Little did I know. Little did I know. I remember I chose what I wore so I would be covered up and warm, but I think I was misguided. An ex-boyfriend said that leggings are not really a good way to go about deflecting attention from legs because they still show the shape of your legs. I wear leggings when my legs haven’t been shaved, but I still want to wear a dress. I think I look frumpy when I wear leggings, if that makes any sense. My intention is for no one to look at my legs since they’re covered up, but clearly, I’m going about this all wrong.
I guess one of the biggest mistakes of my life is not equating the comments of other people with the possibility that I might have some sort of physical attractiveness. I still don’t really think that I look particularly good, but I’m fine with it. Since I don’t think I am attractive whenever someone comments on it, I’m always thrown off guard, and it makes me a little bit uncomfortable. I don’t want my appearance to be a focus so I don’t think other people focus on it.
One thing that always lurks around in the back of my mind after the end of a relationship is whether or not this person or that person dated me because I’m pretty, which always makes me a little bit disappointed. It’s one of the numerous questions that I never will be able to ask. There are a couple of people in particular I would like to ask, but I think I already know the answer. I like to believe that I’m more than my appearance. I might have some intelligent thoughts (unlikely right now because all I can think about is “Cold War, Soviet Russia, Cold War, Soviet Russia”). I might be interesting (unlikely because I know I’m very boring) or maybe even funny (I think quirky would be closer to the truth). I have a bad habit of saying what’s on my mind or voicing strange thoughts. “Are you going to get fat since you stopped running?”
I guess this desire to be something more than my looks gets me into trouble more often than not. I like to think a guy likes me because of some trait that I would like to have (ie interesting), but more often than not, I think people are actually interested in me for my appearance. This throws me off guard because it’s not something that I consider, and months later when it’s over for one reason or another, I think maybe he only expressed interest because he thought I was pretty. That sounds very petty and sort of mean for thinking that guys can be so shallow as to think only of physical attractiveness, but sometimes I don’t think very much of the opposite sex.
That was sort of a rude comment, but I think it’s justified. I know there are good people out there who care more about things other than physical appearance. I know they exist, but sometimes it’s hard to believe when I overhear conversations from people commenting about legs this long, boobs out to here, and an ass like that. She’s hot. Blah blah blah. I feel nauseous thinking about it and knowing that people might have even thought something similar about me makes me completely disgusted, but I guess I can’t really say anything since I’ve thought that guy walking down the street is pretty cute. Is it different? Maybe not. I guess the distinction is saying that someone is cute and saying that you want to bang that person over there.
Someone once told me when I was wearing a hair net and folding deli meat that his momma told him if he saw something nice he should say something. His momma should have told him to keep his thoughts to himself and not take cell phone pictures.
I feel very bitter right now thinking about all of this, but I guess the way I started thinking about all of this sort of put me on a bitter track. How am I not supposed to be bitter about all of this when it’s this mindset and this thought process that one select person had that has caused me so much hurt over the past 6 months? but if you add up all the relationships or lackthereof that were probably based solely on my appearance, we’re probably into a year or so of hurt. All of this over something that I don’t have any control over. I thought I did. I cut my hair, but when I go over to clear a table and someone tells me that I’m very attractive, I freeze. That panic catches in my throat, and fear grabs my heart.
I can’t change society, so the only thing I can do is try to change how I think about it. I should think that it’s good I’m not the scourge of society and someone thinks I look attractive. It’s a compliment. I should say thank you, which I do no matter how disgusted I am with the situation, and I should be grateful. But I’m not, and I don’t think I will ever be. I think most people don’t ever really think about it. When they give a compliment such as “You look nice tonight”, they probably think they’re being nice, but I guess it doesn’t register that not everyone takes it as a compliment. (Well I guess nowadays if someone said, “You look nice tonight” I’ll probably punch them in the face.) I’m just one of those people that don’t because I think it is shallow. I would rather someone said, “Sara you’re a really nice person” (that might not be true) or “That was a really intelligent thing you just said. You might have a brain” (also probably not true because I’m not very intelligent). I think I’ve dated one or two people that said he wished I would just accept the compliments he gave. It sounds really simple, but I can’t probably because they’re not the compliments I want (still picky even though I’m not spitting out baby food).
Could I have more parenthesis? What a waste, but I think that last paragraph is a pretty good indicator of my general thought process.
There’s one memory that I think about sometimes. The air condition hummed. We were lying on my bed side-by-side. You said I was beautiful, and I told you not to say that. I didn’t say it because I didn’t want you to think I was beautiful, but I wanted to be more than that to you. It doesn’t matter now.
