Tiny_DancerEm06's Xanga

8 Billion Years Ago...

Mon, 25 May 2009 00:58:01 GMT

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.

"Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write kind of turn themselves into knives."

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 17:40:57 GMT

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.

"If I was crying in the van with my friend, it was for freedom from myself..."

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 00:14:47 GMT

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.

Neglect?

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 19:24:54 GMT

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

Don't Give Up

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 15:07:52 GMT

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.

Just Assume that Every Cute Boy You Meet is Gay

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 23:09:12 GMT

Damnit!

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Wed, 05 Sep 2007 06:16:53 GMT

Sidenote: I'm losing my mind. I have so much going on and I don't realize it until it's too late. I need about 20 planners. I got locked out of my room today b/c I thought I had my keys w/me but they mysteriously disappeared a few hours later. Also, I have a DVD out that is now 6 days overdue. I drove to 9th St. Video to turn it in and forgot it on my bed. I ALSO forgot that I had homework for my first class today. Joy. Am I suffering from premature amnesia or just a really hectic schedule?! Gah.

Why Does Coffee Grow Mold?

Mon, 03 Sep 2007 21:00:26 GMT

I wrote this Saturday morning, but didn't post it until now. Sue me.

Sitting at the desk on a Saturday morning. Listening to Regina Spektor. Eating Cinnamon Life cereal. People walk by and wave. Frustration builds. I cannot get Internet service. It's not a real problem, but I perceive it as such. The people, they all awkwardly shuffle their weight from one foot to the other, waiting for a friend, a lover, an opportunity. The coffee burns my tongue as I scold its flat, boring taste. Now onto the lips it leaves its scalding mark as I sit in silence, watching, waiting, hoping. Finally the page that is loading tells me there is no connection. Obviously. My eyes ache with longing for the sleep that a good night took away from me. A wonderful night of dancing alone to Frank Sinatra's sweet crooning voice lifted my spirits to the heavens. A night of inspiration and reflection. I woke up from a deep sleep and instantly regretted those wonderful fleeting hours. How can I drive home like this? The mail arrives. Nice distraction, yet monotonous. I am going through the same routine. I sit in silence once again. People ask pointless questions and I grow increasingly agitated. Or is it merely apathy in disguise? Tricky tricky apathy. Why have you come to stay for the morning? Still no Internet. I feel disconnected from the world. Sitting here in silence. I'm trapped at a desk, watching life pass me by. I am deprived of the sun's wonderful rays and the gentle wind that accompanies my walks as of late. It's starting to cool down. Fall is on the way. One of my favorite times of year. Of course I say that about every season. It's not fair, really. They all deserve proper respect for their own unique qualities. I find entertainment formatting an Excel spreadsheet for an hour. This is what my day amounts to. Deriving enjoyment from an Excel spreadsheet. A boy approaches the desk. He is good looking. But I know better. He speaks as if he is annoyed and rushed. I respond with a smile, a sweet, sugar-coated, deceiving smile. "How can I help you?" He wants to move into his new room. I hate room moves. I feel his eyes watching my every movement, I feel as if they are criticizing my very existence. I grab all the necessary paperwork and read over every step twice, to reassure myself that I know what I'm doing. I hear his fingers impatiently tapping the ugly salmon countertop. I ask if he's made an appointment with the peer advisor on his floor to check him out of his room. No. I call a new peer advisor, who subtly hints he doesn't know what he's doing. He charges this guy for a scratch in his desk and a bent towel bar. Meanwhile, the coffee gets cold. Another package arrives, and this one's not for me either. I knew that before it arrived. I sit for another hour, contemplating life and questioning my own apathy. I ignore the weighty burden of homework resting on my shoulders and desperately seek another distraction. I am finally rescued by Megan. I am actually glad to see a familiar face, and we chat for a few minutes. She leaves for lunch. Again I am left to my own solitude. This continues for the rest of the hour, until Nick shows up for his shift. I know that he has been through a rough time recently, so I try to cheer him up with light banter. I depart somewhat relieved, and the day continues.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 01:32:29 GMT

It is only the second week of school and I already have a 5-10 page paper due tomorrow. I think I might cry.

Those Songs

Fri, 24 Aug 2007 04:07:40 GMT

"I had an amazing feeling when I finally held the tape in my hand. I just thought to myself that in the palm of my hand, there was this one tape that had all of these memories and feelings and great joy and sadness. Right there in the palm of my hand. And I thought about how many people have loved those songs. And how many people got through a lot of bad times because of those songs. And how many people enjoyed good times with those songs. And how much those songs really mean. I think it would be great to have written one of those songs. I bet if I wrote one of them, I would be very proud. I hope the people who wrote those songs are happy. I hope that they feel it's enough. I really do because they've made me happy. And I'm only one person." -The Perks of Being a Wallflower

My first Starbucks of the school year warrants a celebratory note of life, love, and finding oneself. It's official: I belong to this school. This town. This life. As I stroll down 9th Street, tall Cinnamon Dolce Frappuccino in hand, "Slide" by The Goo Goo Dolls blaring in my ears, and the wind dancing upon my cheeks and tousling my curly locks, I feel at peace with the world. I'm invincible. After my highly entertaining TDP 2040 class, I can do anything. I'm so happy that my teacher who is teaching me how to teach (that's a mouthful) makes me want to learn. I know I'll learn a lot from him. He's funny, not afraid to make fun of himself, and respects his students w/o that snooty air of self-absorbence and arrogance. After meeting two Marks, an Adam, George, Ellie, Zach, Stephanie, etc., I barely manage to stifle a huge applause at his willingness to familiarize his students with each others' friendly faces. How can you not appreciate a dorky guy who has such a unique love for people, who passes by any opportunity to critique and judge people before really getting to know their many layers? A guy who uses witty nesting people as an analogy to the depth of students' personalities. A guy who demands that we get to know one another and become best friends, and casually throws in a "bullshit" along the way. I'm going to actually WANT to attend class.

My choir teacher is a fruit. Now I don't use the word "fruit" in that connotation frequently, so it must mean something when that's the only adjective I can find to describe him. He seriously creeps me out. Let's see if I can instill this feeling in you - he's got black, slicked back hair, dresses well, and has the softest looking face I've ever seen. His dark eyes are very pretty, and I'm sure they're the most defining feature of his face. They say a lot: When I look at his face I hear, "Isn't it just lovely today?" and "Miraculous. That chord was simply amazing." and "Ah, can't you just hear that perfect harmony? It's wonderful!" He's so soft spoken, and it seems like not much bothers this laid-back, suave, well-dressed, probably gay former-hippie. I can't help but stare at him and wonder what's wrong with him. He's so attractive, but at the same time I can't stand how smooth he is. Really, make us laugh or something. Or talk louder. I don't think I'm doing such a good job at explaining this. Picture something beautiful. Anything intriguing that holds your gaze for a good five minutes. But then all of a sudden, it does something really unexpected. It's tempting, and you know you should look away, but you just can't. You know that if you do whatever it wants you to you'll end up regretting it instantly. It seduces you with its beauty, but you know at some point reality will smack you in the face, and it'll just go on being beautiful and you have to question why it doesn't contain a single flaw. The only thing I can compare him to are the veela in Harry Potter. If you're not a fan, then I can't really help you there, but if you do know what I'm talking about, then you know that veela are appealing to the eyes, but can get you into some serious trouble. On that note, I don't think my choir teacher is going to "get me into some serious trouble," and I'm probably describing him like he's some sex-symbol, but I don't mean to. Don't get the wrong idea here...I'm not sexually attracted to my teacher. But there's something about him that makes me stare. I think it's just wonder. I've never met someone as "fruity" and soft-spoken as him, and I can't figure out what's his deal. It's like he's not even human. And that is seriously scary. I have to look away from this robot or his intense gaze will pierce my soul and render me crazy.