tell me, what did i do to make you hate me so much?
why're you angry all the time? why do you wanna run from me?
we used to make love
when you called, i would follow
now the only thing you love is a bottle
the only thing you've got left is a shadow
don't let this shit come between us
i'm wrong, you're right
it's okay with my heart
but it's not how it's supposed to be
you always say, "i'm done, we're finished"
fuck it: i'm wrong, you're right
please, God, help us
i guess i'm gonna leave it up to you tonight
[he] ain't bluffin'
[he's] gonna do it
i think it's time for me to face to the music
i could really give a damn about my pride but the way you're acting is stupid you're going back and forth with the lies, never compromise
if you love me better, prove it
i can't win
i can't win for losing
it don't even matter if you scream and yell you don't love me you don't love yourself
but it don't matter if you're raising hell: i miss you
i wanna kiss you
i can't remember who you are remember when your heart used to say, "love me, baby"?
love me, baby
I'm in the middle of packing right now and I stumbled across a note I wrote to myself a few months ago. My initial instinct was just to throw it away along with all the other papers and notes and miscellaneous receipts I keep for no real reason whatsoever. But then I stopped and read it.
Okay, so, I haven't even put one of these together in a long time -- like, what? 2 years? -- and it's only the second day of April, but I can't stop/won't stop listening to the following jams (so, duh, I had to "share"):
In other news, guess what's really hard? Being an adult. And trying to figure out where I want to live or who I should slash should not date. Because, basically, every time I think I know my ass from a hole in the ground, I realize that I most certainly do not.
And it's normal to be discouraged slash frustrated slash overwhelmed by that.
Sure, I may seem out of control – crazy, even (but, omg, don't even get me STARTED). And sometimes I feel like I don’t even know
what to expect from myself, but the reality is I’m just a creature of habits, good and bad.
It’s been a long time – four years, actually – since I’ve
found myself here in The Break Up. I was
naïve enough the first time around to think I’d never be here again but, like
clockwork, all my old ways and wanderings have returned like no time has passed
And I can’t decide if that’s depressing or amusing.
The Break Up: Health
Adopt a strict diet of Spaghettios, fudge brownies from the
neighborhood 7-Eleven, and medium cheese pizzas ordered from the Domino’s located
so close to your house that it might actually take less time to walk there as opposed
to waiting for delivery, but walking anywhere would require that you get
dressed and that’s just something you cannot be bothered with (see more under
The Break Up: Fashion). Keep a full
bottle of Advil PM by your bed so, you know, should you get tired of being
awake and wallowing, you can dream-wallow instead. Weeeee!
The Break Up: Beauty
Stop showering (let’s be honest – how often did you really
shower before?) and stop tweezing your eyebrows. Don’t even bother pretending you have the energy
to go out and get them waxed (again, this would require putting on real
clothes, which is stupid). Occasionally
wash your face. Occasionally brush your
teeth. Occasionally apply mascara in the
dark before running down to check the mail.
Wear your hair in a ratty bun for seven days straight – briefly consider
adding a headband, but then don’t.
The Break Up: Fashion
You’re clearly not working on your Post-Break Up Bod yet, so
who gives a shit? If you absolutely must get
dressed, pull on fat jeans, a long-sleeved Nike dry-fit, plus those old, worn out
Sperry’s that usually sit in the back of your closet. If it’s cold, throw on that camo Columbia
fleece you bought on sale at Academy in the little boys' section last Christmas
– don’t obsess over the fact that you bought it in preparation for a trip to
your ex’s friend’s ranch because you wanted to look like you in any way whatsoever
belonged on a ranch around dirt and guns and nature (when you, in fact, don’t). If it’s hot, trade the dry-fit and fleece for
the gray and white striped Target v-neck.
You only wear it when you’re depressed, anyway. Don’t bother with a real bra – rock the
bright green racer-back because it’s more comfortable and no one’s looking at
your boobs anyway.
Above all, avoid changing out of the oversized Mayde Creek Cross
Country 2004 t-shirt. Avoid
putting on pants as well.
The Break Up: Lifestyle
Sleep late. Sleep all
day, if possible. Think very seriously
about exercising, but then don’t.
Finally feel guilty and fat enough to do some squats. Alternate between napping on the couch and in
your bed. Contemplate hiring a maid so
someone will wash your sheets and rinse out all those bowls of dried soup –
they’re really starting to clutter up your kitchen counter. Start making to-do lists. Throw them away as opposed to actually completing them. Google "cheap local therapists." Wade through the disappointing results and accidentally end up with the most expensive option, then find a way to deal with it because she's awesome.
The Break Up: Entertainment
I know you’re not into How
I Met Your Mother, but since you (for some ungodly reason) own seasons 1-4
on DVD, watch them. DVR old episodes of Entourage. Attempt to watch Khloé & Lamar, but turn it off if (okay, when) you find
yourself crying during the opening credits because you’re too jealous of their
love (wtf). Clueless and Mean Girls
are fail-safes. No matter how much you
want to, never watch The Last Kiss –
it’ll make you cry even more than Khloé & Lamar. Re-read teen novels you loved in high school. Re-read The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series (yes, all four of them). Skip over all the parts with Bridget and Eric and Lena and Kostos. Listen to any and every song
by M.I.A. and dream about one day making an I’m Back, Baby playlist to
celebrate your emersion from The Break Up.
In the meantime, give in and listen to Imogen Heap on repeat.
Okay, so maybe it’s slightly more amusing than depressing.
Here’s to hoping I make it through The Break Up this time
around (no promises, though).
Haven’t see y’all around these parts in quite awhile!
Or is it me who’s been MIA?
Oh. That’s right. Well, hello nonetheless! I realize I went missing on a pretty grim note (can you blame me?), but I’ve had some time to think, some time to process, and obviously some time to cry while sorting everything out. I wish that meant that I now have answers, but it doesn’t. It simply means I’m learning daily to accept my life for what it is (something I’ve been learning daily to do for nineteen months but, hey, who’s counting?).
After the whole reference-debacle (update: there’s nothing I can do about it because of some kind of a federal law where all my dirty laundry, once aired, must remain posted for a full two years…WOMP), I hit a bit of a low point. Just a teeny tiny low point. Low enough for me to mope around and say things like WHAT’S GOING TO BECOME OF ME?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1?!!!!11111 while hoping for an actual answer to an overly-dramatic question. This is the part where I normally turn to my parents (read: mother) for some direction, something I’m not always (read: usually) terribly fond of doing. And while I’m not saying everything she brought to my attention this time around wasn’t true or important, I didn’t like any of it.
I especially didn’t like hearing about how parts of my life are a disappointment.
Parts of my life like…this blog?
And by disappointment I also meant embarrassing.
I come from a Christian, conservative family. And I would consider myself Christian & moderately conservative, but I suppose I do write like I’m…common street trash? Okay, a bit extreme, but perhaps I am a little juvenile. Perhaps my stories are immature and, wow, maybe this blog IS standing in the way of me being hired by a district (to hear my mother tell it, she wouldn’t trust me with influencing America’s youth based on my written words…double ouch).
I get that we’re in an age of Extreme Technology, an age where everything I say or do can be blasted out onto the internets and ruin my life, should I make a wrong move. That’s daunting. And maybe I should have been a little more careful.
Maybe I should have censored myself more.
Maybe I should henceforth censor myself more.
That’s a shock to my system. I see the value in protecting my online persona – people who don’t know me from Adam could read my blog and have a totally wrong impression of me because while, sure, I'm 24 and like to do all the things that 24-year olds like to do, I’m also responsible. I don’t spend every waking hour wasted or finding a way to get wasted. My number one priority isn’t partying or sleeping until noon or finding new, creative ways to use expletives (I wish). And I admire writers/bloggers like Heather Armstrong and The Bloggess and The Frenemy. I admire that the have the balls and fuck-all to say what they want to say, how they want to say it, when they want to say it.
But maybe that’s just one of many luxuries I can’t afford right now.
I just don’t know.
And while I continue to mull that over, you’ll notice I have a new blog address so as to not make it quite as easy to simply Google my name and be directed to this slophole.
Oh, and because it’s been way too dreary around here as of late, please enjoy some fun recent pictures that I’m posting for zero real reason at all:
My best friends and I ready to embark on a party barge for the day (Lake Travis, Austin). EXCELLENT.
Some of my wonderful friends. :)
Mitch & I out on 6th Street, our last night in Austin.
PS: Seriously, though, if anyone hears about any teaching openings for 4-6th generalists or 4-8th English language arts/reading let me know! I’m expanding where I’m applying (I’m looking at you, Houston…sigh…).
PPS: Y’all are the greatest. I just can’t quit you, friends. :)