I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way again. I wonder if I’ll ever feel this way again.
It is my own heart, twisted and knotted, that I must feel beating in my own chest. It is my own heart that I break, willingly, and it is my own heart that I let be broken.
I’ve built a wall around my heart, and I think I’ve forgotten how to let myself really be vulnerable.
Nothing changes.
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.
It’s been a lazy day probably because it’s been so rainy. I went grocery shopping with a friend before going to lunch, and then, I baked a little. I didn’t make everything on my list because I didn’t have a mini muffin pan, and I was craving the peanut butter cookies more than chocolate chip. Peanut butter cravings. While I was baking, I listened to a couple episodes of Radiolab.
I went to get some drinks with a couple of friends, and it was nice to catch up.
The only downside to today was a caramel overflow all over my stove and floor, which lead to a little bit of frustration. My dog kept licking the floor and then was crazy hyper.
Gooey caramel overflow piece that perfectly captures my evening. It also demonstrates that food photography is not my strong point.
I started a tumblr to organize my links/articles I wanted to remember that I had previously posted on Facebook but can’t find anymore without way too much work. This required digging through several years of my wall since I don’t think there’s a way to easily access the links I posted. If there were, well then I wasted a good portion of my day loading older posts and older posts and older posts. Oh well.
Getting together things for my applications has been so stressful. I’ve notified all of the people filling out my recommendations, which has been an ordeal since every application is different. Some of them I had to fill out the application form and others I had to find the recommendation section. On top of that, I had to deal with systems that made me change my password every single time because it was messed up and then others that just wouldn’t let me log in period. I need to really finish up this application process within the next month because I don’t want to deal with any of it anymore. Even still, I had to search high and low and send out emails for paper recommendations, which really isn’t that difficult but difficult enough that I don’t know what I would do without the internet.
It’s nice because some of the forms are already complete, and I can really see the progress toward being done the application process, which is exciting and terrifying. I still have to write a lot of statements and edit a lot of poems, but I’m making progress. Tomorrow, I’ll fill out a lot of envelopes and forms, and then I’ll start figuring out which poems are done, which seems like an impossible task because I don’t think any of them are done. I need to finish up final revisions so I can at least feel like I’m sending out the right stuff.
I’m so hopeful.
Bad Sara for not writing more on life. I haven’t touched my journal in a couple of days, and I haven’t really written on my blog. It’s okay.
This weekend was overly social, and I was sort of burnt out by all of it on Saturday. Wednesday evening I went to Bodega after work. It was a beautiful night. On Thursday, I went to a reading and then to the bar afterward, which was fun, but I am so terribly socially awkward. I didn’t expect my best friend to come, so when she did show up, I was so excited and happy. We put songs on the jukebox. (I’m not a thief.) Friday, I went to Heatwave, which was a lot of fun. I wish more people ballroom danced, and I wish I were better at dancing. Then, on Saturday I worked, worked on a poem, briefly went to a housewarming party, and then went back to writing. By the time I was at the party, I wasn’t really in the mood to socialize or hang out even with my closest friends because I was so stressed out about writing and writing and writing.
I’m not sure what I think about the poem. I’m not sure what I think about anything. I guess I’ll see tomorrow.
At Heatwave, I knew so many people, which was a strange and bizarre feeling. I’m not the type of person who knows a million people even though I’ve been in this city for 5 years. A lot of the people I once knew don’t live here anymore. Either way, it was a strange feeling looking around and seeing all these people I knew. I have a lot of really great friends, but I don’t have a lot of friends. I felt like I was surrounded by a lot of great friends.
Today, I had a lunch with one of my friends, and throughout our conversation about school, poetry, and life, I kept thinking, “This is without a doubt the life I want to live.”
Although I’ve read my journal entries before piecemeal, I never read each and every entry all in one sitting, which was admittedly, a pretty painful process. It’s hard remembering those feelings, but there were also surprising moments full of happiness and hope. Somewhere along the way, I forgot those feelings. Maybe October is really the happy month for me. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they’re all happy.
It’s really cold in my apartment because I’m trying to avoid turning on the heat. Really, it’s just a momentary cold snap. It reminds me of a couple of years ago, and I let Maddy sleep in my bed for the first time. When I woke up, we were all snuggled together, and that made me really happy. My favorite part of my day is waking up with my dog. How pathetically warm and fuzzy and bleh.
The strangest part about reading through everything is remembering the conclusions I would make about things like being overwhelmed about happiness, realizing my ability to love, and believing in myself. I don’t know. It’s so easy to forget these things and the fact that I don’t need to figure out how strong I am because I already know I am strong. Really, I’m not articulating this well.
It’s also hard realizing the things I knew all along like he was going to break my heart, that he was using me. I need to trust my gut more, but I guess it’s not really my gut.
And at the same time, I really should take some time for myself right now. October is a great month being alone. I want to write. I need to study for the GRE. I need to get my applications done. I’m overwhelmed, but I’m excited
I think overall, even though there are so many painful memories, reading through my journals has been positive. I can see how far I’ve come and how much I’ve grown. I’m not really that terrible of a person. I wonder what someone reading my excerpted words would think. I wonder if I really come across as childish and silly or sees some trend that I can’t because I’m living it. It’s strange to think about.
I just need to remember all these overwhelming happy and hopeful emotions that I have, which was the original reason why I started this blog again, but I think I’ve forgotten about that being lost in my memories and other thoughts. Over the past year, maybe I lost sight of myself but from now on only forward progress.
I’ve been sad, but I’ve also been happy. I’ve been heartbroken, but I’m capable of so much love. I’ve been completely hopeless and lost in despair, but I have been overwhelmed with moments of happiness. That’s life.
I feel like my heart is lighter.
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.
Technically, this is my 100th published post, with a few private ones (poems and recipes), but I’m reaching this milestone a little over a year after beginning this blog. I guess, it really isn’t that great because it demonstrates how infrequently I write on here, but I don’t mind.
I can’t stop thinking about this year and last year. As my 23rd birthday gets closer, I remember how hopeful I was last year, but at the same time, nothing has changed. I have more direction than I did last year. I have something I feel passionate about. I have a really cute dog, but there are still those moments of paralysis and sadness, which was apparent last week.
My emotional paralysis is starting to take a toll on me. I’m tired all the time, and it’s strange being so indifferent to everything. I feel like every time I pick up my pen and look at the page, I can’t write about anything that matters. There’s a strange block between me and the life I’m living. Maybe I’m just shutting down emotionally, and I feel like I’ve experienced it before.
I’ve been trying very hard to work on my poetry and write in the hopes that my own words will inspire me. I find myself rereading poems that I love by other people and turning their words over and over in my mind. I’m not the first person to obsess over memory. I’m not the first person to experience loss.
It’s weird because the other day I read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and nearly cried several times. I can’t stand all this September 11th remembrance because listening to Fresh Air in the car the other day I nearly started crying. I can’t look at The New York Times special. The pictures always make me sad. I’m not completely emotionally detached, just detached from the things in my life and myself.
This entry isn’t happy like how the blog is supposed to be, but life isn’t always how it’s supposed to be. I’m indifferent.
I wish I could just wake up from this haze.
My obsession with memory as of late is really annoying, but aren’t we all afraid of forgetting? In moments of complete happiness and despair, it’s easy to think, “Oh, I’ll never forget this,” but as time passes, the intense feelings of that moment fade. We forget because our minds are not capable of storing each and every thing, so we’re left with vague memories and feelings.
I am afraid of forgetting the moments in my life that have made me happy, but I realized as I was writing in my journal that I was documenting the things that I will remember because they’re written down unless there’s a fire or a flood. I often flip back through the current notebook and reread things, and I’ve opened up old notebooks when I can’t remember things quite correctly or at least my perception of events. That happens less often, but it does happen. I do remember writing certain entries quite clearly. Anyways, as I was writing in my journal trying to remember things, I realized that I had difficulty recalling specific days (because god knows I’m not the most diligent at writing in my journal), and that lead me to realize that what I was writing down will be the memories that I retain the most because I was recalling them, writing them, and later will reread them.
It’s strange in a not quite Momento like way to remember select things. I certainly have the ability to store new memories, but the ability to remember is not the best. Having this handwritten record makes it so much easier to recall things like standing in the water and holding my dress, the night before I cut my hair, another entry on memory.
The hardest thing is opening up the notebook before this one. The pages are filled with so much hurt and disappointment. How did I forget that I felt this way? I haven’t. There is so much pain written between the covers. Every time I start a new notebook, something drastic changes in my life. When I started the previous notebook, I broke up with my boyfriend at the time, then April 22nd, and then all the pain and heartbreak. I should have known better. It’s a notebook filled with regrets. I should have known he was using me.
Why do I care so much about memory? I guess I’m worried as I am writing that I’m remembering the wrong things. When I first started this blog, I wanted to catalog more positive things because it was what I needed to do, but now it’s just the thoughts I’m willing to share. I wonder if I’ll forget things if I omit them from my journal entries, but I can’t possibly write down everything. My entries used to be so much longer and detailed.
Maybe I don’t want to remember.
This week is a week of memories, and every waking moment is living in the past. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’ve involuntarily turned this blog into a countdown to the one year. It’s not an anniversary because that makes it sound too endearing. It is not endearing. On Friday, it will be one year. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I guess I’m glad that I’ve made it this far because it means that I’m still alive. I wonder which date is most significant. I wonder why the events of my life ruin random holidays. The Fourth of July was ruined years ago (6 years ago) and then ruined again (4 years ago) and then again (2 years ago) and then again (last year).
I can’t stand thinking about Earth Day. In all honesty, it is driving me to the brink. All I could think about all day is the quiet street and the walk back to my car. My shoes were undone. I don’t remember which shoes I wore, which is a strange detail because I remember the leggings, the (new) blue dress, the sweater. Was I wearing the boots? The boots I couldn’t wear all winter because the soles had no traction on the slippery sidewalks? Maybe those uncomfortable d’orsay pumps (I remember buying them in Maryland) that dig into the outside of my ankle. That would make sense because by that point in the evening, they would have chaffed my skin. The inside of the leather had already been stained red.
I still have that dress. I probably only wear it because I want to convince myself that by still wearing it I’m stronger than what happened, but really, I don’t think I am.
That Sunday was the ballroom dance competition and I think the last time I saw my dance partner because I stopped dancing after everything. It’s sort of a sore spot because I loved dancing and I miss it, but I still don’t have the courage. I wonder if it’s some sort of lingering psychological guilt or something. Something arbitrarily associated. I can’t overcome it. Maybe I should just do it. A year without dancing is too long, but a year isn’t long enough.
He told me he loved me. I told him not to love me.
So I went to the bar to drink, eat garlic bread, and watch my friends play pool because that’s what they did on Monday nights, and he was there playing pool just like he would show up a few days later. The weather was like this, like today. On Earth Day, I would walk down that quiet street to my car parked on the street.
I guess there’s too much that hasn’t been reconciled even now. I hoped that by now, nearly a year later, I could move on with my life, but these past few weeks, the memories have been haunting every moment. I will live my life doing whatever I’m doing, but in the back of my mind (it feels like it is actually physically located in the back of my mind), the memories play on repeat projecting over what I am doing now.
At the very least, I’m not working on Earth Day, which isn’t really any comfort. My friend is coming in town, which will be good and at least I hope his visit will distract me from my constant thoughts. Right now, this week feels impossibly long. I guess if I’ve made it nearly a year, I can make it one more week.
And then another year.
I haven’t been writing very much lately, blog-wise. Lately, I have been writing quite a bit of poetry, and in general, I like my work. There’s another round of applications due this Friday, and I’ll probably work on that most of the week.
This past weekend, I had a poetry party. It was the second one I’ve hosted, and it was a lot of fun. It’s cool listening to other people’s work and other people’s favorite poems. I think it’s a good atmosphere overall, and while I know I need a lot of improvement, I like being around other people who have similar interests. It was a potluck, and I made this garbanzo bean salad, which was quick and easy since I had to clean my apartment and make my dish after work.
The weather has turned warmer, but today was a rainy day, which is fine. I don’t mind the rain so much except I left my umbrella in my friend’s car and my shoes were soaked through. Last night, biking home from work, I felt a strange sort of sadness. It was strange because the weather was beautiful, and I didn’t really need my jacket. I guess, it’s getting to be that time of the year, and every time I look at the bottle of Southern Tier 422, I frown a little. I have nothing against the beer nor the bottle, but every time I pull it out of the cooler, I pause for a moment.
I’m not sure how I feel. I try not to think about it. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been writing personal poems lately. Maybe I need to write something personal.
I’ve definitely grown as a writer. I wonder if I’m ready to write about what matters the most.
