i can't win

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 not trying to waste our love

i'm just trying to save what's left of it

one day

one day, my love

you're gonna realize that you fucked up

and when that day comes, my love

i'm gonna be the same one, still loving [you]

how're you gonna cancel me out?

for the moments i feel faint

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.

And re-read it.

And damn if it didn't make me feel better.

So, for the moments I feel faint, I'll try to keep in mind everything it says.

• "You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast because they trust in You." - Isaiah 26:3

EVERYTHING is OKAY!

• it's just shark week
• THERE IS NO REAL DANGER!  THERE IS NO REAL THREAT!
• it's just ALL-OR-NOTHING THINKING!
• given enough time, everything works out :)
• be COMPASSIONATE
• people are going to say, do, think, and feel whatever they want -- it's NOT MY FAULT and there's NOTHING I CAN DO TO CHANGE THEM; all I can do is be the best version of myself NO MATTER WHAT!
• "Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction.  BREAK THE HABIT. Talk about your joys." - Rita Schiano
• don't overthink it - just let it go :)
• "NOTHING is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles." - Charlie Chaplin
• give myself a break; allow myself to accept and feel uncomfortable emotions and positively, healthily, maturely DEAL WITH THEM
• I don't have to always get it right, and that's okay
• "When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher [and stronger] than I." - Psalm 61:2
• "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain for the old order of things has passed away." - Revelation 21:4
• "DAUGHTER, be of good COMFORT for your faith makes you WHOLE!" - Matthew 9:22

can't stop, won't stop: april 2013

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"):

Great I Am by New Life Worship
Wagon Wheel by Darius Rucker (although the renditions by both Old Crow Medicine Show and Matt Andersen are fantastic as well)
Gone, Gone, Gone by Phillip Phillips
Stay by Rihanna
WOP by J. Dash (because I don't care who knows it, I want to dance like Miley)
And the majority of Ke$ha's Warrior album (no shame), but my personal favorites have got to be C'Mon and Crazy Kids.  Cannot.  Get.  Enough.

Rawr.

...

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.

Right?

the break up

Okay.

I admit it.

I am nothing if not predictable.

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 whatsoever.

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.  Obviously.

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).

to be or not to be: censored?

Well, hello!

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.

Ouch.

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.

Romance.

Some of my wonderful friends. :)

Barged.

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. :)

between the mean reds & the blues

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?

Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

Welp. I may or may not have officially given up hope, y’all.

Specifically on education, I mean, but also on a lot of other things.

I found out today that one of my references has been giving me a bad report. For the last two years. Two. Years. So, on the plus side, me feeling like I’d been black-balled or like there was a kind of dark cloud hanging over me all this time? Turns out it’s true and I’m not just crazy.

I tried to delete the reference from all my applications, but it won't let me. So I tried to delete all my district applications and just start over, and I can’t. Some stupid message just keeps popping up saying I’m already in their system whenever I try to create a new account. Perfect.

I never really wanted to be a teacher anyway.

Right?

How long will I have to keep telling myself that until I feel like it’s true?

I know a bad reference doesn’t sound like the end of the world. Perhaps it sounds like I’m being overly dramatic, making a mountain out of a molehill and all that nonsense. But you don’t understand – when over four hundred people apply for one position in a matter of hours, that bad reference makes all the difference in the world. It’s all it takes to knock me completely out of the running.

It’s no wonder I’ve never even had a call, let alone an interview.




I’m not qualified for anything else. I don’t have any skills, any special talents. All I have is a bad reference and absolutely zero willpower to pull myself out of the all-consuming depression that’s already washing over me.

Cute, right?

romping

So.

As it turns out, working two jobs is just as time-consuming (not to mention exhausting) as I thought it would be, meaning that Summer 2011 is officially The Summer of Working All The Fucking Time And Therefore Never Ever Having Any Fun Ever Under Any Circumstances Ever. Most of the time I’m too tired to even blog. WHEN DID I BECOME SUCH A FUDDY DUDDY?

I do not like this.

Anyway.

A couple weeks ago I actually had a day off (A DAY OFF! WHAT!) and spent the morning shopping with Mitch. He needed khakis that were actually khakis as opposed to cargo pants and not covered in mustard stains. Look at him! Growing up! And while at the mall, I made the mistake of venturing into Urban Outfitters where I not only spent seven dollars on novelty band-aids, but also…

Also?

I bought a romper.

I KNOW.

NBD.

In my defense, I initially grabbed a few to try on as a joke slash to remind Mitch how irresistibly sexy I look in ill-fitting onesies that show too much cellulite. But then, um, one wasn’t so bad? In fact it was kind of adorable. And, okay, fine, I bought it and I’ve worn it twice and I love it. Is that so wrong?!

Ahhhhhh I love the back! And please excuse my out-of-control lion's mane.

I immediately texted my friend Alex so she could begin judging me all the way from Houston. She has a special kind of hatred for clothing that makes adult women look like babies, a special kind of hatred I used to join her in until I became a heretic.

A heretic?

I’m operating on very little sleep these days and, as a result, not on top of my game. But whatever, y’all, I like to romp and I’m only 40% embarrassed to admit that. It’s so cute! I can belt it! Or I can NOT belt it! And I can wear necklaces with it! And SHOES! CUTE ONES! CUTE! Seriously, this is as exciting as my life gets since, besides wearing the romper on Friday for a family reunion, I can’t remember the last time I wore clothing other than Nike shorts, my camp counselor t-shirt, disgustingly loose black Bermuda work shorts, my Sonic shirt, and tennis shoes. Meaning: the romper is a big deal.

It’s cool if you all want to stop following my blog now.

In somewhat related news, here’s a quick rundown on what I’ve been up to lately if anyone even remotely cares and/or has missed me:

• Working two jobs sucks, I’m tired all the time and my feet never stop hurting
• Not having weekends off is probably one of my least favorite things ever, but that’s okay because I’ve been taking full advantage of my Tuesday nights off for kickball, ie. I threw up in a trashcan like a college girl a couple weeks ago
• Pete tore into the garbage, then ate an entire loaf of bread and a bag of cat food before exploding diarrhea all over the dining room carpet while I was at work – you can imagine the pleasant sight and smell upon my arrival
• At least I’m sort of a rockstar at (both?) my job(s?). End bragfest 2k11.
• I miss blogging. And reading y’all’s blogs. And I feel totally disconnected from, um, everyone. Not cool.
• I wear rompers now.
• I ate some vegetables last week.
• A lot has changed, but only in very boring ways.

To those of you still sticking around despite the dearth in posting, thanks. :) And on that note, I’m off to finish typing up lesson plans for camp this week because, hey, it’s 10:50 on a Sunday night and, no thanks, I don’t feel like resting.

It ain’t easy being a boss.

Or romping.


PS: Worst thing about rompers? I know everyone’s said it, but seriously, having to get completely undressed to pee. Pretty much one of the most awkward feelings ever, especially at work. Or basically anywhere.