I feel so strange right now.
Since last thursday I haven't been alone. It started Friday morning. Being with someone. Constantly. The point of Indiana was to learn how to be around others. Constantly. Now that I'm home my sister is here. She stays until I leave for Vegas. Where I'll be with someone constantly.
I can't take my fucking family right now. I can't fucking take reality right now. I just went through a Five day mindfuck and now I'm going through a weekend of torture.
My car broke down today in Horseshoe Bend on the way to McCall. Fucking burnt up the clutch. Had to get it towed back into Boise and then was at the mercy of my Uncle all day long. And when I escape finally from his clutches, I find myself cornered by my awkward and nonunderstanding sister. She does not fucking get me. I swear we have a disconnect that i never really noticed before. She likes the material world. I mean she doesn't like it, I mean that it is the only thing which makes sense to her. The second I go abstract she starts rolling her eyes and accuses me of trying to act smart. So I'm forced to cater to her. Which feels like pressure. Which I fucking hate.
And tonight, when my uncle's truck wouldn't start (which he lent to me for the next few nights while my car is out) she acted as if the whole fucked up day was my fault. That I wasn't keeping her properly entertained. She goes, "I don't think I could live her, it's way too boring, It's like you never fucking do anything or go anywhere."
I wanted to say, Get the fuck out of my car! but instead I told her it was a high stress time for me and she should get the fuck off my back. That shut her up a little but I was so pissed I thought I was going to fucking explode. Jesus Christ.
Hahaha so yeah, I'm not feeling so hot. I'm sick from Indiana, I'm still trying to get over what happened there, and now I'm dealing with an older sister who could give a shit less about the things that are important to me and feels that I'm letting her down as a brother if I'm not providing an ever constant party for her to attend, and probably complain about.
I'm happy to go to Vegas, but only as a way of clearing all responsibility for two weeks, and just concentrating on nothingness. The act of nothing. hahaha. I'm so funny sometimes. The words that I say, no one else says. They say my name is Derek Ririe. This is not my real name.
I met a girl in Indiana. I love the knowledge that the act of finding her was the only thing that I'll ever have. Nothing more. She no longer exists outside of the memory of finding her existence. Nothing prolonged. No continued physical existence. And yet no real regret. I found existence. It became conscious of itself. The shared existence of feeling, made gloriously and completely conscious, only to be separated from itself and let bleed and fade. They say my name is Derek Ririe. This is not my real name.
Hmm I need to think and sleep. Goodnight again. And again
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
collection of loosely held thoughts
I was thinking the other day about how if everyone treated me as if I wanted to be treated, nothing would ever get done in this world. Everyone would be too busy trying to figure out the apparent contradictions associated with the wants that float around in a constant and chaotic fashion inside of my brain. People would be either forced to avoid me all together or become stalker like, since those seem to be the only two modes that would make sense for them to assume when dealing with me. This would be of course based on the assumption that they somehow knew how I wanted to be treated without me verbally having to communicate it to them. Fuck.
I'm not sure if that made sense but I'd be more than happy to discuss it with any of you sometime, although if you're confused now, you'll probably be terribly more so after any sort of verbal clarification that I would attempt to provide. That being said, we shall now fall into the pattern of not-being.
Did you feel it? The very fabric of your being starting to come apart? No? Ok let's try again. All together now class, Start not being!
Still nothing eh? That's ok. Maybe it doesn't really matter.
I've been thinking about the way we view existence. We can say that things don't really exist, only that we perceive that something is existing. That it is simply in our minds, like the Matrix. Except where did those images come from? God? Why complicate things? Of course we must perceive things in order for them to exist, but that only applies subjectively! When we perceive things, they exist, but only to us! The thing exists independent of us and our perceptions, except it changes once it leaves our minds. The object is one thing inside our minds through our perceptions of it, but it is something else altogether Outside and Alone. Something we can come incredibly close to seeing, but never fulling knowing. Therefore I agree that things only exist when we perceive them, but only in the form in which they are being perceived! Not in the form in which they may truly exist. But the closer we get to understanding things as they truly exist (meaning independently from us and our first perceptions)then the closer we get to realizing the meaning of identity and existence.
Maybe it's because I think about identity quite a bit, and I hate being misinterpreted as well as misunderstood. Maybe that's what drives all existentialists (haha fuck all the non-conformists who wish to remain free from that particular label (Camus, I'm looking at you!)) to try and determine the meaning of existence in the modern age, with or without some notion of God or a higher power, as well as how to find meaning with the modern existence. Identity is tied (in my mind at least) inextricably to the dilemma of meaning and existence, in that we must have an identity in order to be in existence. They seem to imply each other. Therefore if there is an issue with one, it seems necessary that there must be an issue for the other. If existence is tentative, then where is identity? Either it too is tentative, or it is defined through existence itself being tentative. Either way it seems reasonable to suppose a direct relationship with the two.
To me it seems that once we verify the existence of something to a point of absolution, then we must also realize that the identity is there as well. Except what is absolution, and can we reach it? Probably not with some things, I'm thinking of living, organic organisms. It seems more reasonable with nonliving structures to assume that we can reach this "absolute" relationship in which we have determined that nature of that objects existence completely.
Ok I really need to work on my Hegel essay. Hopefully some of this made sense, although it isn't apparent to me yet why I felt a need to write any of it.
I'm not sure if that made sense but I'd be more than happy to discuss it with any of you sometime, although if you're confused now, you'll probably be terribly more so after any sort of verbal clarification that I would attempt to provide. That being said, we shall now fall into the pattern of not-being.
Did you feel it? The very fabric of your being starting to come apart? No? Ok let's try again. All together now class, Start not being!
Still nothing eh? That's ok. Maybe it doesn't really matter.
I've been thinking about the way we view existence. We can say that things don't really exist, only that we perceive that something is existing. That it is simply in our minds, like the Matrix. Except where did those images come from? God? Why complicate things? Of course we must perceive things in order for them to exist, but that only applies subjectively! When we perceive things, they exist, but only to us! The thing exists independent of us and our perceptions, except it changes once it leaves our minds. The object is one thing inside our minds through our perceptions of it, but it is something else altogether Outside and Alone. Something we can come incredibly close to seeing, but never fulling knowing. Therefore I agree that things only exist when we perceive them, but only in the form in which they are being perceived! Not in the form in which they may truly exist. But the closer we get to understanding things as they truly exist (meaning independently from us and our first perceptions)then the closer we get to realizing the meaning of identity and existence.
Maybe it's because I think about identity quite a bit, and I hate being misinterpreted as well as misunderstood. Maybe that's what drives all existentialists (haha fuck all the non-conformists who wish to remain free from that particular label (Camus, I'm looking at you!)) to try and determine the meaning of existence in the modern age, with or without some notion of God or a higher power, as well as how to find meaning with the modern existence. Identity is tied (in my mind at least) inextricably to the dilemma of meaning and existence, in that we must have an identity in order to be in existence. They seem to imply each other. Therefore if there is an issue with one, it seems necessary that there must be an issue for the other. If existence is tentative, then where is identity? Either it too is tentative, or it is defined through existence itself being tentative. Either way it seems reasonable to suppose a direct relationship with the two.
To me it seems that once we verify the existence of something to a point of absolution, then we must also realize that the identity is there as well. Except what is absolution, and can we reach it? Probably not with some things, I'm thinking of living, organic organisms. It seems more reasonable with nonliving structures to assume that we can reach this "absolute" relationship in which we have determined that nature of that objects existence completely.
Ok I really need to work on my Hegel essay. Hopefully some of this made sense, although it isn't apparent to me yet why I felt a need to write any of it.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
"I fell asleep beneath the flowers"
Do you ever find yourself wandering off in your own daydreams and realize that life in a daydream is so much more magical than life lived in reality? Except that your daydreams are informed by the reality of life and what you learn from it. So without the boring and the mundane, where would your daydreams be? And aren't they developed as a means to escape the natural limitations that the real world puts upon us? So if we didn't have the real world, where would our daydreams be? AND if we had nothing to compare our daydreams to (i.e. the real world) then how would we know whether or not they were better than something else, since we have never been able to experience that something else. Except that daydreams carry pain as well as pleasure. They carry scars as well as healing.
I've been thinking a lot about my daydreams lately because that seems to be the only thing I'm good at. My humor derives from what I see in my daydreams. Or rather my daydreams develop from my sense of humor. I'm not sure which one is correct, but I like to think that it's the latter. My problem is converting what I dream onto paper, or into any real-world application.
I say this because I'm terribly afraid of never accomplishing anything. I've realized lately that it is only permissible to fail once you've accomplished something great. It's perfectly acceptable that Einstein was thought to be slow witted as a child, because he did something amazing with his brain later on in life. Abraham Lincoln is also another noted early failure. Now he's one of the most revered presidents in our history. But how many other people have failed and gotten nowhere? And how many have never once failed, and yet never accomplished anything spectacular in their lives?
There's a lot more to work out here but I need to study still before I go to sleep. I have two tests tomorrow and I'm ill-prepared for both. It's been an interesting semester. I don't know what to do with myself. I am feeling more than somewhat lost at the moment, but it will pass along soon I think. For now all I can do is try my best and hope it isn't too little too late, as has been the case often in the past. Hmm. Goodnight.
I've been thinking a lot about my daydreams lately because that seems to be the only thing I'm good at. My humor derives from what I see in my daydreams. Or rather my daydreams develop from my sense of humor. I'm not sure which one is correct, but I like to think that it's the latter. My problem is converting what I dream onto paper, or into any real-world application.
I say this because I'm terribly afraid of never accomplishing anything. I've realized lately that it is only permissible to fail once you've accomplished something great. It's perfectly acceptable that Einstein was thought to be slow witted as a child, because he did something amazing with his brain later on in life. Abraham Lincoln is also another noted early failure. Now he's one of the most revered presidents in our history. But how many other people have failed and gotten nowhere? And how many have never once failed, and yet never accomplished anything spectacular in their lives?
There's a lot more to work out here but I need to study still before I go to sleep. I have two tests tomorrow and I'm ill-prepared for both. It's been an interesting semester. I don't know what to do with myself. I am feeling more than somewhat lost at the moment, but it will pass along soon I think. For now all I can do is try my best and hope it isn't too little too late, as has been the case often in the past. Hmm. Goodnight.
Monday, April 21, 2008
I dislike quotes and yet I love reading quotable material. Including song lyrics.
I had this uneasy feeling all day, which reminded me strongly of how I felt from the time I was about twelve until seventeen, for at least a majority of the time. It the feeling of being so confused, that the only plausible thing to do was to grow older and wait for time to show me out of my confusion. Not that it would be a magical and painless transition, but more that time would give me the cognitive abilities necessary to help drag myself out of this deep confusion. Although it wasn't exactly confusion. It was also frustration, and quite a bit of yearning. Sometimes I would be so bursting with this pent up yearning for an unrealized ideal that I would fantasize about jumping off buildings, just to release all the caged energy that felt physically trapped within the coils and springs of my heart. The frustration came from my continual inability to actualize whatever it was that I was yearning for. I wasn't even able to properly identify where these intensely felt emotions came from or why altogether, although I knew it had to do somewhat with several different things.
Maybe it was angst. Angst for love which I knew I had never had and therefore could not possibly understand. Angst for achievement, which I knew was the one expectation that I could never really exceed for anyone other than myself. And even then I never really lived up to the expectations I held for myself. Never the A student, nor the first one picked for anything. Always well liked, just never able to properly achieve what others had set for me to do. Never able to achieve what I used to think I wanted to do.
Maybe it was angst towards god. I never once confessed a single sin to my bishop. Never in my life that I can remember. It might have happened once when I was a child but not since puberty that I can remember. I told him that I had never even heard of masturbation, or that I tried it once and didn't like it. (hahahahaha).
I would get so nervous before meeting with him, and I would turn red and sweat and shake, but I never said a word. I told him that my language was perfect (hahahahaha). I never cussed. And since I hated being around the kids in our ward, no one could tell him otherwise.
I remember being forced to go on a camp out once as a boyscout (Which was extremely rare since it was difficult for my mom to make me do anything I didn't want to do. This is a skill I've honed almost to an art with certain people in my life, although I don't use it quite as much anymore).
Side Note: My sister acted "tough" and would yell at my mom if things weren't going her way. This only made my mom want to punish her and force her to do exactly those things. I on the other hand would listen and give my opinions, especially if I knew that they would find favor with the listener. If I was kind to her, she would be kind to me and let stop going to boy scouts and skip school whenever I wanted. But I wouldn't skip school to go smoke or anything like that. I would usually end up spending those days listening to my mom sadly reminisce about the divorce, which are some of my most vivid memories. Probably because my dad never mentions the divorce. He never even talks about my mom as if he ever loved her, or as if they were ever together.
Side side Note: I even recently asked him to tell me about meeting my mom. He told me he couldn't remember exactly when that was. He got that far-away, misty look in his eyes and barked a laugh. I waited for something more. How he forget something like that? That seems so important to me, when they first met. In every movie, even the fucked up ones, the two people can Always remember when they met, even if it's the only thing that they remember. I know that they met probably about thirty years ago, but that doesn't matter. He should remember. But he just said he didn't. Then he sat down and looked at me. He told me that it was weird because she had been dating his older brother Del, and that's how he knew her. Then they broke up but she continued to hang out all the time until one day she put her hand in his lap and grab his hand while they were driving somewhere with some other people. That was when he realized that she liked him. Then they got married. He told me that she was looking for a father and he wasn't able to be one for her, since he was still a kid. No feelings at all. It was all her. She liked him. She made the first move. She needed something.
Then he looked at me again and laughed. I looked him in his eyes and realized that he wasn't actually looking at me. He was somewhere else altogether at that moment and wherever it was, it was genuinely funny. Like realizing that the worst moment of your life was really nothing more than a gigantic and deeply disturbing joke. A joke this entire time; and you're just now starting to understand it. I didn't know what to do so I started laughing too.
Maybe the angst is over the past. Maybe I'm still trying to get over things that are perfectly normal. Maybe all my yearning and frustration still exist. I know that when I was seventeen, for a brief time everything in the world stood still and I was one with god, time, and love. There was nothing I couldn't understand or overcome. Well all moments of clarification pass. Reality sets in and the cycle begins again. And when we're at the bottom of the cycle we think we'll never make it to the top, and when we're at the top we're so sure it will last forever, even when we know that it won't. I haven't finished this up but for tonight I think that I'm done.
Physical and spiritual are equivalent to me right now. Transcendence is momentary and fleeting. That doesn't mean that it is meaningless to search for it. Just don't make it your life's pursuit. Instead focus on thinking and doing for yourself. I think by doing for ourselves, we're able to see more clearly what needs to be done for others so that they can also do for themselves. Charity should not be lifelong, only until the person in need of charity is able to start pursuing the idea of themselves.
Goodmorning.
I had this uneasy feeling all day, which reminded me strongly of how I felt from the time I was about twelve until seventeen, for at least a majority of the time. It the feeling of being so confused, that the only plausible thing to do was to grow older and wait for time to show me out of my confusion. Not that it would be a magical and painless transition, but more that time would give me the cognitive abilities necessary to help drag myself out of this deep confusion. Although it wasn't exactly confusion. It was also frustration, and quite a bit of yearning. Sometimes I would be so bursting with this pent up yearning for an unrealized ideal that I would fantasize about jumping off buildings, just to release all the caged energy that felt physically trapped within the coils and springs of my heart. The frustration came from my continual inability to actualize whatever it was that I was yearning for. I wasn't even able to properly identify where these intensely felt emotions came from or why altogether, although I knew it had to do somewhat with several different things.
Maybe it was angst. Angst for love which I knew I had never had and therefore could not possibly understand. Angst for achievement, which I knew was the one expectation that I could never really exceed for anyone other than myself. And even then I never really lived up to the expectations I held for myself. Never the A student, nor the first one picked for anything. Always well liked, just never able to properly achieve what others had set for me to do. Never able to achieve what I used to think I wanted to do.
Maybe it was angst towards god. I never once confessed a single sin to my bishop. Never in my life that I can remember. It might have happened once when I was a child but not since puberty that I can remember. I told him that I had never even heard of masturbation, or that I tried it once and didn't like it. (hahahahaha).
I would get so nervous before meeting with him, and I would turn red and sweat and shake, but I never said a word. I told him that my language was perfect (hahahahaha). I never cussed. And since I hated being around the kids in our ward, no one could tell him otherwise.
I remember being forced to go on a camp out once as a boyscout (Which was extremely rare since it was difficult for my mom to make me do anything I didn't want to do. This is a skill I've honed almost to an art with certain people in my life, although I don't use it quite as much anymore).
Side Note: My sister acted "tough" and would yell at my mom if things weren't going her way. This only made my mom want to punish her and force her to do exactly those things. I on the other hand would listen and give my opinions, especially if I knew that they would find favor with the listener. If I was kind to her, she would be kind to me and let stop going to boy scouts and skip school whenever I wanted. But I wouldn't skip school to go smoke or anything like that. I would usually end up spending those days listening to my mom sadly reminisce about the divorce, which are some of my most vivid memories. Probably because my dad never mentions the divorce. He never even talks about my mom as if he ever loved her, or as if they were ever together.
Side side Note: I even recently asked him to tell me about meeting my mom. He told me he couldn't remember exactly when that was. He got that far-away, misty look in his eyes and barked a laugh. I waited for something more. How he forget something like that? That seems so important to me, when they first met. In every movie, even the fucked up ones, the two people can Always remember when they met, even if it's the only thing that they remember. I know that they met probably about thirty years ago, but that doesn't matter. He should remember. But he just said he didn't. Then he sat down and looked at me. He told me that it was weird because she had been dating his older brother Del, and that's how he knew her. Then they broke up but she continued to hang out all the time until one day she put her hand in his lap and grab his hand while they were driving somewhere with some other people. That was when he realized that she liked him. Then they got married. He told me that she was looking for a father and he wasn't able to be one for her, since he was still a kid. No feelings at all. It was all her. She liked him. She made the first move. She needed something.
Then he looked at me again and laughed. I looked him in his eyes and realized that he wasn't actually looking at me. He was somewhere else altogether at that moment and wherever it was, it was genuinely funny. Like realizing that the worst moment of your life was really nothing more than a gigantic and deeply disturbing joke. A joke this entire time; and you're just now starting to understand it. I didn't know what to do so I started laughing too.
Maybe the angst is over the past. Maybe I'm still trying to get over things that are perfectly normal. Maybe all my yearning and frustration still exist. I know that when I was seventeen, for a brief time everything in the world stood still and I was one with god, time, and love. There was nothing I couldn't understand or overcome. Well all moments of clarification pass. Reality sets in and the cycle begins again. And when we're at the bottom of the cycle we think we'll never make it to the top, and when we're at the top we're so sure it will last forever, even when we know that it won't. I haven't finished this up but for tonight I think that I'm done.
Physical and spiritual are equivalent to me right now. Transcendence is momentary and fleeting. That doesn't mean that it is meaningless to search for it. Just don't make it your life's pursuit. Instead focus on thinking and doing for yourself. I think by doing for ourselves, we're able to see more clearly what needs to be done for others so that they can also do for themselves. Charity should not be lifelong, only until the person in need of charity is able to start pursuing the idea of themselves.
Goodmorning.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Such a beautiful song
This is called "lazy eye" by the silversun pickups. I saw this video last year when I was home for christmas and deeply depressed about the state of my life. I just remember that it came on at like three in the morning and it was the first thing in days that I had seen that gave me any sort of hope for where I was going in life. That's not to say that it gave me any sort of direction or motivation. It was just a feeling, a feeling that even though i'd been depressed for the last year and a half, that someday it would leave and I would be somehow better off in some unimaginable way for having lived through all of that. Which seems so silly to me now. I know it wasn't all because of a girl, but that had a lot to do with it.
It's almost as if I have just a few select number of abstract ideals that control the definition of my identity which would include (but are not limited to):
The intense and lingering separation from my god;
The the separation from the only girl I have ever loved;
The idea that I'm nowhere close to where I want to be in life;
And the realization that I have no idea where I want to be in life.
I don't know if that makes sense. I'll try to reorganize and clarify it later on. I've just realized that these are some of the main sources of my seemingly never-ending cycle of depression. Which is good, because depression is healthy I think. Maybe we fear depression now because no one wants to be different. We all crave individuality and freedom yet we're all the fucking same. Same nothingness. Same problems. Same fear of standing out. Being free takes courage. I'm not making a case against freedom. I'm just thinking through my writing. I like thinking philosophically, I just wish I could look at things in a more mathematically disconnected way instead of attaching emotions and feelings to my philosophical inquiries. Hmmm.
Personality = Fate.
If I live in accordance with myself, and my instincts, am I really free? Or am I instead a slave to my own genetic and environmental make-up? So is freedom an abstract ideal we use to feel superior to ourselves, or is life less fatalistic than that? Of course you can choose to go against yourself, but that seems to lead to being unsatisfied and unhappy. So is it really even a choice?
Would you rather be a content pig or a miserable man? hahahahahahahahahaha
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Everything right now is spinning as if I am a part of a dream, a dream which is on the verge of a nightmare; and although it's on the verge of a nightmare, it isn't a nightmare yet; so I continue to dream, I continue to grow more anxious and depressed, and I continue to lose myself in a maze of hyperreality.
San Francisco was extremely fun. I haven't met that many new people in a while. It reminded me of ninth grade, when I first realized that people liked me. I had put myself in a box throughout middle school, which I didn't think was escapable. I didn't think I was funny, attractive, nor particularly original. I of course defined originality as artistic. What I now realize is that I was original in the sense that I was completely different from everyone else that I was ever friends with in middle school. I wandered from group to group, never really identifying with anyone. I talked to absolutely no one about anything I found significant and I ended up adopting a personality in order to be acceptable to everyone around me. I adopted a false confidence through being offensive. I pretended not to care, which of course made me instant friends with all the "cool" kids at school. They thought I was something that I never really cared to be, and that's what they loved me for. Everything started to blend and blur. I remember waking up one morning near the end of seventh grade only to realize that I couldn't remember the last few months of my life.
I still think about that sometimes to this day, although I get uncomfortable every time I do. I didn't know of anyone else who had actually lost track of their own life/identity for that kind of time. I also wonder if losing track was all in my mind the same way deja vu is just your brain temporarily thinking that it has seen something before the moment it's actually happening. Maybe the memory resonates so strongly because it's all a figment of my overactive and highly dramatized mind.
I finally found myself in ninth grade. Or at least a part of myself that only comes out rarely now. It's the part of me that likes to be social. The part of me that likes to be liked, and loved to be loved. I like knowing people and being known. The only problem is that too much exposure leaves me tired and depressed. Especially if there is hyper exposure followed by nothing. While in San Francisco I met alot of really cool people and talked to lot's of pretty girls, who all seemed genuinely interested in me and what I said. We all became close in just a few days and now we're all separated and it's back to the same Boise routine.
I didn't feel like myself the whole time. It was me but I hadn't felt that was in so long. I was taken back to ninth grade and the discovery of laughter and the ability to make people feel at ease.
I can't figure out where I want to take this yet. I haven't slept in days.
I do know that I take everything way too personally. I mean fuck, I met more people this weekend than it seems I've met in a year, and I had an amazing time, but it doesn't feel like it was enough. I didn't meet everyone. Not everyone loved me. I had more girls hanging out with me than I've even seen in a year and I'm not satisfied in the ways that I thought I would be. I think in the back of my mind I was putting myself out there too much, or at least more than I have in a really long time, so every time people didn't want to hang out, or a girl I really liked didn't seemed to reciprocate, I took it so personally. It was like they were rejecting me as a person just because they didn't seem to find me as attractive as I found them. Which is ridiculous because it was only over the course of a few days. Who knows what they really thought. FUCK I don't know why I'm so upset right now but I can't stand it. I think I just need sleep.
I also realized today that I haven't cried since I was eleven. I've even tried to cry a few times in the last few years, but it seems that I've forgotten how. Maybe that's what keeps me imbalanced and either extremely happy or highly depressed. Maybe I'm just overly normal and I can't stand that. Maybe I'm just so mediocre that I need to point out something as silly as not being able to cry as a sign that I must be different from others. Maybe I'm over thinking this. I don't know Jodi. I want to believe in humanity. I want to believe in romance; to believe in love lasting longer two years. I want to believe that potential exists and that it can be actualized.
I'm slipping off.
San Francisco was extremely fun. I haven't met that many new people in a while. It reminded me of ninth grade, when I first realized that people liked me. I had put myself in a box throughout middle school, which I didn't think was escapable. I didn't think I was funny, attractive, nor particularly original. I of course defined originality as artistic. What I now realize is that I was original in the sense that I was completely different from everyone else that I was ever friends with in middle school. I wandered from group to group, never really identifying with anyone. I talked to absolutely no one about anything I found significant and I ended up adopting a personality in order to be acceptable to everyone around me. I adopted a false confidence through being offensive. I pretended not to care, which of course made me instant friends with all the "cool" kids at school. They thought I was something that I never really cared to be, and that's what they loved me for. Everything started to blend and blur. I remember waking up one morning near the end of seventh grade only to realize that I couldn't remember the last few months of my life.
I still think about that sometimes to this day, although I get uncomfortable every time I do. I didn't know of anyone else who had actually lost track of their own life/identity for that kind of time. I also wonder if losing track was all in my mind the same way deja vu is just your brain temporarily thinking that it has seen something before the moment it's actually happening. Maybe the memory resonates so strongly because it's all a figment of my overactive and highly dramatized mind.
I finally found myself in ninth grade. Or at least a part of myself that only comes out rarely now. It's the part of me that likes to be social. The part of me that likes to be liked, and loved to be loved. I like knowing people and being known. The only problem is that too much exposure leaves me tired and depressed. Especially if there is hyper exposure followed by nothing. While in San Francisco I met alot of really cool people and talked to lot's of pretty girls, who all seemed genuinely interested in me and what I said. We all became close in just a few days and now we're all separated and it's back to the same Boise routine.
I didn't feel like myself the whole time. It was me but I hadn't felt that was in so long. I was taken back to ninth grade and the discovery of laughter and the ability to make people feel at ease.
I can't figure out where I want to take this yet. I haven't slept in days.
I do know that I take everything way too personally. I mean fuck, I met more people this weekend than it seems I've met in a year, and I had an amazing time, but it doesn't feel like it was enough. I didn't meet everyone. Not everyone loved me. I had more girls hanging out with me than I've even seen in a year and I'm not satisfied in the ways that I thought I would be. I think in the back of my mind I was putting myself out there too much, or at least more than I have in a really long time, so every time people didn't want to hang out, or a girl I really liked didn't seemed to reciprocate, I took it so personally. It was like they were rejecting me as a person just because they didn't seem to find me as attractive as I found them. Which is ridiculous because it was only over the course of a few days. Who knows what they really thought. FUCK I don't know why I'm so upset right now but I can't stand it. I think I just need sleep.
I also realized today that I haven't cried since I was eleven. I've even tried to cry a few times in the last few years, but it seems that I've forgotten how. Maybe that's what keeps me imbalanced and either extremely happy or highly depressed. Maybe I'm just overly normal and I can't stand that. Maybe I'm just so mediocre that I need to point out something as silly as not being able to cry as a sign that I must be different from others. Maybe I'm over thinking this. I don't know Jodi. I want to believe in humanity. I want to believe in romance; to believe in love lasting longer two years. I want to believe that potential exists and that it can be actualized.
I'm slipping off.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Excerpt
Something is moving next to me. No wait, it’s inside of me. Where am I? I was just watching myself run through the freshly clipped grass with the sun on my back. I could feel the sun. I give an involuntary shudder. I haven’t actually felt the sun on me in quite some time. Nor can I watch myself. This is a dream. Again. I’m starting to fear these new dreams more than the endless years of the dark nights. No. No matter what happens; it can never be worse than that. Pain is better than nothing.
Are you really so certain of that anymore? A sly voice asks me as I lay there wrestling out of my sleep. It’s that same feeling took us here in the first place. Do you remember that? I told the voice to shut up, I didn’t have time to reflect right now. Tonight was big. Tonight was going to be important. Tonight is the night that I move.
I have been living in the same place for over six years now. Everyday almost the same; sleep all day and work all night. I turned in my two weeks notice fourteen days ago and now I’m ready to leave. I’m not sure where yet though. That’s new. I usually plan months if not years ahead of these events. It’s not that it takes that long or requires that much attention. I’m just bored and always crave the moment when I get to leave and start somewhere new. Somewhere that will excite me for a few years and turn to shit just like everywhere else. Even the move itself is becoming mundane or worse; a necessity. It feels too frequent now, with less and less reward involved.
It no longer seemed strange to me that I still dream, even though I hadn’t really slept in hundreds of years. No, the dreaming was no longer strange to me; it was the dreams.
Are you really so certain of that anymore? A sly voice asks me as I lay there wrestling out of my sleep. It’s that same feeling took us here in the first place. Do you remember that? I told the voice to shut up, I didn’t have time to reflect right now. Tonight was big. Tonight was going to be important. Tonight is the night that I move.
I have been living in the same place for over six years now. Everyday almost the same; sleep all day and work all night. I turned in my two weeks notice fourteen days ago and now I’m ready to leave. I’m not sure where yet though. That’s new. I usually plan months if not years ahead of these events. It’s not that it takes that long or requires that much attention. I’m just bored and always crave the moment when I get to leave and start somewhere new. Somewhere that will excite me for a few years and turn to shit just like everywhere else. Even the move itself is becoming mundane or worse; a necessity. It feels too frequent now, with less and less reward involved.
It no longer seemed strange to me that I still dream, even though I hadn’t really slept in hundreds of years. No, the dreaming was no longer strange to me; it was the dreams.
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