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Tiny_DancerEm06
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Name: Emily
Country: United States
State: Missouri
Metro: St. Louis
Birthday: 5/20/1988
Gender: Female
Interests: Music (anything and everything), piano, food (pasta is the best), soccer, funny movies, Xanga, hopelessly searching for free printable piano sheet music online (which is very hard, by the way), computer, looking at magazines, talking on the phone, taking pictures, flirting w/cute boys, staying up way late, driving around w/friends, going out to eat,
TPing late at night, trying to learn guitar, sleeping, drinking lots of caffeine! :D
Expertise: Piano!
Occupation: Full time MU student!
Industry: Music education
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  Smackrz
Member Since:
2/6/2005
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| 8 billion years ago I wrote every mundane detail about my life down on paper. Nay, I typed them into an online weblog. This one here. It's always fun to go back and read a random post. Some make me laugh, some make me reminisce, still others make me think. I had a few intelligent blogs. It was an inspirational time. I had some deep, profound thoughts. Blogging prompted me to dive deep into my mind and let my innermost secrets out. Well, some of them. Those that are appropriate for public viewing. But it also forced me to see things and people in different ways. I was always looking for deeper meaning in the way someone walked to class with their head hung low or the way that a group of girls passed by but none of them seemed to be listening to what the other was saying. Or the way that people lingered on the edge of telling someone they really cared about how they honestly felt.
I don't write much anymore. I do keep a journal, but rarely do I write in it. I think everyone should have a journal. Just so that if they ever need to tell someone something but there's no one around they can write it down and let out whatever it is they are feeling at that time. It might be something sad, or happy, or maybe thought-provoking, or maybe it's just a random grocery list. But whatever you're feeling is important to you, and you are someone. You are important. Why shouldn't your thoughts matter? I think thoughts are sometimes meant to be shared...if not with a real person, then at least yourself...a few years down the road. Your future self. I think it's also good...maybe good is the wrong word here...smart...? I think it's smart...necessary...to go back and read what you wrote about yourself 2 years ago. Maybe you were really sad one day and thought that things weren't going to get better. You remember that day. You cried and cried and just couldn't stop feeling miserable. But now, two years later, things are so much better than you could ever imagine and you are happier than that time. Maybe, if it so happens that you were happier then than you are now, reminiscing can make you want to acheive that same happiness. So you'll go to that same park and swing on that same swing. Or you'll walk down that same road and do cartwheels just for the hell of it.
I'm a fan of thoughts and emotions. I think that being aware of oneself is the only way to truly understand life. Not that life can ever come close to be understood. But you're one step closer to getting the big picture. I keep thinking of this quote from P.S. I Love You. It's more about being creative and finding understanding through contributing something meaningful to this world - "All I know is, if you don't figure out this something, you'll just stay ordinary, and it doesn't matter if it's a work of art or a taco, or a pair of socks! Just create something...new, and there it is, and it's you, out in the world, outside of you and you can look at it, or hear it, or read it, or feel it...and you know a little more about...you. A little bit more than anyone else does..."
So I guess my creative contribution, at least at this moment in time, are my thoughts and words. And my thoughts and words, at least at this moment in time, center around the issue of love. But not love. Lust. I am incredibly "in lust." Not just now, but have been, many times in my past. I think this may be a problem. I am a rather impulsive person, and if I don't get what I want when I want it, I tend to throw myself a Pity Party. Pity Parties usually involve (depending on the severity of this issue, and let's say for the sake of this blog that it's severe...but that may just be my tendency to embellish talking...) lots of crying, eating, TV watching, music listening, and walking around aimlessly. How will I cure myself? I guess for starters, get a job. I would say (and hopefully I don't contradict myself here) that I have ample time to ponder my current relationship status. Maybe too much time. I guess I'm bored and want something to make me feel like there's nothing I can do about being single because hey, I'm working too much. But would having a job really take my mind off it? I guess it would stop me from checking my cell phone every 15 minutes. What I'm getting at here is that I have the chance to turn this situation around but I'm already afraid I could be ruining it. I text him, he texts me, back-and-forth in a random order. I want to show him I'm interested, and with the amount of physical contact from both of us Friday night, I think it might be obvious, but that could've just been the alcohol making us act in strange ways. Tricky alchohol...always making things complicated. But I don't want to seem desperate. So do I text or not? Sometimes I hate technology. Well, that's not fair. Technology makes things easier, sometimes, it's just people that choose to abuse. Texting, IMing, facebook, twitter, pick your favorite. Today's generation relies too heavily on these non-confrontational methods of communication. They replace human contact and real conversations. Sometimes I just want some good old conversation...is that a crime? But I guess when you and the one you wish to talk to are miles apart it does get difficult to have those face-to-face talks. I just feel ridiculous trying to "play the game" right and then getting upset when I don't get the proper feedback. I'm sick of waiting around for a response, and because I'm so impulsive and lustful the feeling is magnified 100x, and four hours feels like four days.
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| Wow oh wow...xanga sure has been whoring itself up. I don't even know what's going on anymore!
I return to my beloved old skool (yeah, I just spelled it like that) blog in hopes that I will start writing again. Every once in a while I get in the mood, but it goes on a random piece of paper in the middle of my five star, five subject notebook only to be forgotten in a few days. Inconsistency has been my style as of late. Generally I'm moodier, which is usually a precursor to a blog; yet facebook, myspace, email, flickr, Jason Mraz, postsecret, youtube, and threadless have consumed my life; and therefore I neglect the blogging.
I don't even know if anybody but Ashley and Jenny is using xanga these days...I always get an email when people have updated, but almost always skim through it, asking myself why I still have one.
I can't promise that I will be proud of my future posts, because I sense a lot of ranting coming up soon, but I will try. Maybe the reason I've been so emotional is because I don't have this outlet anymore, and I let things build up until I break down. Topic in consideration: roommate.
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| Today I went and saw Juno again. It left me yearning to be creative. Again. I came home and played my piano. It started off good, but I think I let the little things irritate me. I decided I wanted to record something, but nothing original...no, I can't do that. So I opted for Regina Spektor's "Samson." I only know the very beginning of it, but I decided that was better than nothing. I started to sing, and it sounded...ok. Not great, just ok. When I listened to it afterwards I decided I'd better do it over, just for good measure. Well needless to say, "good measure" got the better of me, and I ended up re-recording no less than 12 times. I kept hearing all of these little imperfections and got increasingly frustrated. I thought I'd better switch to something else before I got really irritated. When I opened up my book of Christmas songs and started "What Child Is This?," a beautiful rendition of a beautiful melody, I couldn't focus my attention on the notes, instead it was shifted to the annoying squeaking sound coming from under my right foot. I use the sustaining pedal far too often, and as a result, it squeaks like crazy. I'm saying, if you didn't know it was coming from a piano, you might feel slightly embarrassed for overhearing your neighbor getting it on. I've mentioned it to the people who tune my piano, and I think they may have done something to it a year ago or so, but the squeaking didn't go away. My dad has tried WD-40, but to no avail. Also, I have found myself using my soft pedal a lot lately, because "quiet" just doesn't seem to be in this piano's vocabulary. So here I am, dealing with a squeaky pedal, a lack of creativity because I am limited to one Regina Spektor song, and a hurt ego because my voice sounds like crap. I think I'll stick to reading for now.
I just want to know that one day, after a lot of hard work, I'll be great. I think I can do it. | | |
| Is it that I don't have enough patience or there's simply too much to write? I need an appropriate update. Give it time, fellow bloggers, give it time.
In other news, I'm great. :D | | |
| In the narrative of my life, I paint myself as this very hippie-like, reflective girl who walks around with a very confident air of self-satisfaction, who tries desperately to understand all of the people around her without judgement, refusing to listen to negative comments about them and trying to defy stereotypes. Never in any of those lyrical chapters did I imagine that I'd have to face something of this enormity. Little me, who believes in fairness above all, and who strives to implement that into the core of her very being, was getting yelled at for upsetting her roommate to the point of changing the living arrangements. Maybe I don't know anything. Maybe I'm too mature for my age. Maybe I'm more judgmental than I had previously supposed, but whatever it is, it slapped me hard in the face. And it stung. I'm learning to be more cautious with what I say, because not everyone I meet knows my quirks and can appreciate my sarcasm right off the bat. I wish that people could understand me and the fact that I don't mean to offend anyone because I strongly believe in treating others how you would have them treat you. I guess sometimes I'm just not fully conscious of other people's feelings. And I deeply regret that. Maybe I'm too opinionated. I really hadn't considered myself strongly opinionated, but maybe I don't realize that a lot of things I say can be construed as opinions, and harmful ones at that.
Last night's encounter burned brightly in my mind during my slumber, and woke me with a bitter attitude. Not only a bitter attitude, but worse - an injured spirit. I couldn't focus on happiness today, because I was continuously aware of what I said or did. I take things personal. Maybe that is a huge character flaw, but maybe not. Don't you want to be the best that you can be? But then again, if you go around listening to everyone else's criticism of yourself, won't that change who you are? And then aren't you just reflections of everyone else's expectations and not true to your original being? Who else thinks about this stuff? Am I really that different from everyone else? I just wrote this, but I'm not even sure what it means: I feel like nobody understands me, yet I'm exactly like everyone else. At the same time, I'm struggling to be different because I can't fathom anything more insulting than to be labeled as "just like everyone else." Why is life this huge contradiction? Why do things like this capture my attention for the longest time and pop up ALL THE TIME? It's ever-present in my mind and drives me crazy.
I let songs either affect or enhance my mood, which can either be a disturbing or beautiful thing. This afternoon, Josh Groban's gentle, pure voice told me, "Don't give up, it's just the weight of the world. When your heart's heavy I will lift it for you. Don't give up because you want to be heard. If silence keeps you, I will break it for you. Everybody wants to be understood; well I can hear you. Everybody wants to be loved; don't give up. Because you are loved." I felt the strongest urge to sob uncontrollably, because first of all, I couldn't figure out who "I" was in the song...obviously Josh Groban, but not in my own life version. Is it representative of God speaking to me? Telling me to just hold on, don't give up, because he will always be there for me through thick and thin? Or a potential lover? In which case, a blank face appeared in my mind, and I realized that if it's intended in that sense, I'm basically fucked (excuse the expletive, but it's the only thing harsh enough to convey my depressing and unfortunate situation). Secondly, as those powerful notes overwhelmed me I couldn't help but notice every face passing me by and wonder what they were thinking and wonder if they ever felt that same way - immensely sad, yet hopeful that there's someone or thing out there to comfort them in their greatest time of need.
It's amazing what the brain can process in such a short span of time. | | |
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