Getting back into the groove

"It's just that that was such a wonderful time, even in its strangeness and sadness--and life isn't the same now. It's wonderful, but it isn't the same."
-Wicked by Gregory Maguire

So if you're lonely
You know I'm here waiting for you
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot away from you
-Franz Ferdinand

Guilt is the strongest stomach acid

I had a dream. I can't explain why since I haven't been thinking much about any of this lately.

I dreamt, at first, about having a cute pet, perhaps a guinea pig/bunny? It was sad because apparently I kept forgetting and neglecting it and eventually my old room mate ended up taking it away, but I continued to pine for it or for a new one.

My last dream involved Z calling me, out of nowhere, and we were just talking. I mentioned that I had had a boyfriend and he was surprised and said, "You had a boyfriend?" I could only agree. He continued, "Did you guys kiss?" I didn't expect him to ask such overwhelming questions; I could only agree.

Evidently, his voice held disappointment.

---------------------------------------------
Wow. My writing has gotten awkward again. Rusty. Sighs.

Anonymity

6,692,030,277 people in the world. Maybe even more, or sadly maybe even less.

Nevertheless, I wonder where you are.

I'm too envious of Joongbo.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a city, there's a blanket of anonymity that people appreciate. So much that when a car alarm goes off, for the past twelve hours, there is no one to take the blame.

Ah. It has become silent.

Bad quality; however, after watching W.G.M. with Hyun Joong, he's definitely my ideal. Haha. I've been watching too much Korean shows with Jojo lately--honestly, who says "ideal" anymore in correspondence to the one you dream of having.

It's funny because the other day, Jojo was saying how Taekyeon was her ideal, but I said that I didn't really have any particular type of person in mind that is my ideal. Yet, watching this makes me want someone like Joong. He's really awkward and quiet, but when he talks he's hilarious. I could go on and on why I would want someone like him, but this statement by him hooked me, "In reality, I feel that I, myself, don't have the qualifications to love others..."

Accomplished one of my new year's resolution: Straight A's baby!!!

I am no saint.

There's a great sense of satisfaction when you learn something and actually know how to apply it. It's another wonderful thing when you can apply it and other people understand perfectly what you're trying to express.

My last office hours today consisted of a bunch of students and I touching upon various subjects that connected developmental psychology and using terms that only developmental students knew how. It surprised me and renewed my faith that there are hardworking and intelligent students at BU.

By the way, if you ever pass a place that exudes an excremental odor, then something is wrong with the sewage system due to anaerobic biodegradation. HA!

Reticent.

Suck it nutface!

Caution: This may sound stupid.

I watched the Kardashian show today and Bruce Jenner said to Kim, to console her during her break up, that to get where you want to be, you have to be selfish with your time.

I should be selfish with my time. So why aren't I?

Over it. It's a good thing I don't have a heart. Whew.

I'm completely fine. Really. Maybe. Just a bit. I will be fine. I mean, I am fine.

My kryptonite is hip hop dancers. The confidence and skills they exude make my knees weak.

A life of solitude. Intriguing.

You're sick. Really.

My professor said that freedom isn't the ability to do whatever you want whenever you want; freedom is discipline, to do what you want on your own terms.

I think he's right. I lack discipline and I lack freedom. Perhaps, it's more correlation than causation, but this isn't Psych, so I can't use that excuse as much as I want.

Michael Jackson's Thriller can still make me piss my pants.

Gurpreet, in moments of weaknesses, you make me regret everything.

You still manage to break that part of me that belongs only to you into itty-bitty pieces.

I'm selfish. When someone is important to me, I want to be the only one important to them. But where you stand with someone continuously changes with time.

For FeFe

When I was younger, my mother took home a 3 week old kitten. Even then, I was very much attached with infants, of any kind, there's something about their dependence and their unconditional adoration for you that made you feel special and not so alone. So when I first laid eyes on Kitty, I was utterly smitten. I had never had a pet before.

Her fur reminded me of a ball of lint and her face, her face resembled the tiny etching of Simba in the Lion King. I would always peek in on her to catch glimpses of her napping. She was the tiniest thing I had ever seen, curled up with her tail, the length of a pinky, tucked in. She was easily the most precious thing I have ever owned.

Weeks pass and she grew. She was always mewling, always so hungry. She probably got that from me, there are times where I'm a bottomless pit. I'd rub her tummy when she roll over to play with a tassel; I loved her white tummy and grey stripes. I didn't want others to see, but I'd kiss her so often that she probably despised me.

On the day Kitty peed on me, all I could think was, 'I thought cats were supposed to be cleaner than dogs.' But those days were forgotten, replaced by memories of times where she began to pounce and play tag and jump off of the couch. And when she really started to move, she was always getting yelled at, running into the shower stall or playing with bags of garbage. She was a mischievous one.

Those memories ended when my dad gave her away. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, but I suppose if I did get the chance, I wouldn't have been able to.

But when I enter my room I still smell her and I still expect her to run out the door. Though, she's no longer there, I still expect her to wait at the door, looking at me with pleading eyes to let her out to play.

There's a point you reach in life when it's okay to say the things you want to say and express to the world what kind of person you truly are.

I'm not quite sure I'm ready to do that just yet. I suppose I hold back quite a lot in this blog and I don't branch out as much as I should or hope to, but one day I will. Perhaps, some time soon.

Gobble Gobble

I wish I didn't ever have to see that look of discontent on my grandmother's face. But what can I do? My family is on intent of living discontent lives.

Good Writing makes my Toes Curl

CarrollBlog 11.23

She said she fell in love with him the night of the flying saucers. It was one of their first dates. At the time it was obvious he was more interested in her than vice versa. She *was* interested, but he didn't make her hair stand on end. In Manhattan they went into a diner and sitting at the counter, ordered coffee. Those were the days of cigarettes and coffee at any time of the day or night. They lit up and started chatting. The waiter who served them was short and thin, scrawny. After bringing their order he walked away and began talking to a fat guy at the other end of the counter. A few minutes later the two men-- fat and thin-- began arguing. At first it was no big thing but quickly escalated into a shouting match. Everyone in the place was staring at them-- everyone except her date who kept talking to her. He stayed calm and didn't even glance at the men yelling twenty feet away. Suddenly there was a crash. Standing, the fat man smashed a saucer on the counter. The pieces went flying everywhere. The little waiter shouted You'll have to pay for that! Big man snatched up another saucer from the counter and threw it against a wall. Furious, the waiter reached out and grabbing big man by his shirt, yelled for someone to call the cops. The two fighters staggered and shoved their way down the counter until they were near the woman and her date. Any customers still in the place quickly moved to the farthest corner of the diner to get away from the action. All except her date who stayed where he was sipping his coffee. She yelled at him to get out of there-- was he crazy? He only looked at her, smiled and shrugged that everything was fine-- no problem. Luckily the police arrived and separated the fighters. The men calmed down and sheepishly tried to explain to them what had happened. With a gallant sweep of his hand, her date gestured to the empty seat next to him. As if to say-- coast's clear, come on back.
Then.
Right then she fell for him big time.

http://www.jonathancarroll.com/blog/index.php

I finished reading Bastard Out of Carolina by Dorothy Allison. I'm so angry right now, so indignant for that little girl. I want to run out and start punching out parents. God. She's such a marvelous writer.

I want to write like Tim O'Brien, Alice Sebold, and Dorothy Allison. They write with so much feeling.

I really want to hit something right now.

Trap doors & Bubbles

I didn't realize how much I missed people until now. How after a long time, the mere sight or the mere sound of their voice makes me realize how much they mean to me, how much of myself they hold in them.

He told me that he was going to be there and I got nervous and stupid and dramatic. I hadn't seen him until the end when I was walking out the door, when I was wondering if I should go over and say hi. I suppose if he had been looking my way I would have gone over and said hi, but his back was turned towards me.

I remember smiling. I could spot him anywhere. Fucking giant. He was dressed in a suit jacket and his hair was longer, almost back to his Hercules self.

I don't know why, but, during this whole semester, I wanted to stay away. He knows too much about me, things I've never shared because I never had the chance or because he could understand that side that people normally don't understand and that scares me. So I stayed away and it was fairly easy, except when I was TAing, and the lecture was taking a test and I saw this boy at the end look like him. This kid looked like a younger version of him. I couldn't stop staring (I'm such a fucking creeper). Then later, a friend says she saw him just when that class was ending and I missed, as in physically, him. Then I saw her a few minutes later and she was asking me to go with her and I could have, but decided not to since I had class. Then she texted me saying she saw him again. Close calls.

When I saw his back, it made me just melt again, reminded me of his childish nature and how he would look even without seeing his face for over a month. It brought back all these feelings that I try to keep away because honestly nothing will come of it.

My professor said something from her new novel that fit how I felt. She said, "Two halves that can never be whole." It reminds me of Z. & G. & now him, no matter how much I wish things were different, they aren't.

But this isn't just about him. It's also about Day. I haven't heard Day's voice over two months. I didn't realize how much I missed her, her laughter and her support. I felt like I could talk with her forever, but because of stupid lack of service (fucking mountain), I didn't.

I can't wait to snuggle up against her and have all the latest gossip and drama spill from our lips like wisps of smoke. Like him, she can understand me in ways no one else can. I can't wait.

I'm about to snap and I don't know why. It's like my blood is filled with hatred, so much unnatural--is it?--hatred. Everything has been getting on my nerves. I've been getting so riled up and close to becoming vindictive. I wonder if it's because I'm reading Bastard of North Carolina because that character is so angry or my little friend would like to visit me now.

But as I was coming up, back to the apartment, I looked up and there were all these puffy clouds and I just got lost in all that blue.

So two sedatives: kitty and the sky. Not too shabby.

So not thinking about work!

I want to be ambitious. I wish I had someone be ambitious with me, so that I could take that step, but that would mean being social right?

Ugh. What I need is that friend to bounce off of. That ambitious friend.

If I were God

If I were God, a lot of people would be dead. Thank goodness, I'm not. I can list some names off the top of my head that I wouldn't mind eradicating.

I'm vindictive. My muscles twitch to be a complete bitch, but karma comes back three-fold, so I'll reign myself back for now.

For now.
---------------------------------------------------------

The kitty climbed into my lap and fell asleep. I feel that only animals and babies can truly calm me down. There's a sweet innocence in them that makes me want to forget everything.

Confession

I've never been in love.

Angry Face is Beautiful

I remember reading HP at the beginning of the year and thinking about how wonderful some of the writers are. I thought that they were grad students here at Bing, but they aren't. They're writers from all over the country. If I had knew that, I would have thought how unlikely I would be associated with it.

I thought nothing of HP, just that I'm so very detached from it. And now? Now I'll be part of it next semester. I'll be one of the strands that create such a lovely literary magazine. I'm excited and scared shitless.

Sentimentality can destroy a story

It's funny how people are more brilliant when they're isolated and lack social skills. They must lack to excel. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself because I move away from what I used to want to be or how I used to feel and act. God. I know I can be really vague at times (like now).

For example, I may write better, but only in perfecting my style and storyline. The complexity and the meanings are still at an arm's length away. The farther I get to creating a story logically (as my mastery in weaving a story is better), the farther I get from writing what reaches out to people, the emotions that matter.

For example, when everything is perfectly well and I have every reason to laugh and to hang out, the less I want to write because I waste my time like that.

I'm drinking ginger tea and it's fucking strong.

I shall ravage you!

FUCK YOU LOVE & DEATH

I know. I get it. It's November 5 and I have yet to post a blog yet. It's just...there seems nothing for me to say, nothing rather intelligent anyways.

I did get my English internship. Yippee!

My Halloween? It consisted of getting lost in a corn maze with my cousins, getting red all over the boys--red hair spray--I danced with (Joker was a definitely stoned hottie), and finding out if I could I'd have my own intervention and bluntly state why everyone is a fuck up, including myself.

When I was reading The Lovely Bones, I was wondering if it was anything close to what my mom sees. I get this feeling that she's really disappointed, perhaps not in me, but in our family. You'd think time--not just years but centuries--would erase the pain of suppression, of tradition, and of goddamn stupidity. But no, we have a long way to go.

Clingstone Peaches
by Chris Haven

I am eleven in early December
on the twisty road to Crescent OK
past the gated Kerr-McGee plant that killed
Karen Silkwood I wondered if our car
ever passed hers on the way to grandma's.

My father and his eight sisters divide
the estate he has strange authority
the youngest, the only male, and the eye
of a grocer he unstocks the freezer
at dusk he spots the unpicked peach tree.

He tells me to come on and I feel strong
hands me a basket asks catch or climb
catch I say as my father in black tie
black wingtips disappears into the arms
of the tree a peach falls to my hands.

I place them in the basket the skin stings
my palms when I catch it leaves no bruise but
the ones that hit my face do I can't tell
my father it's enough I can't see his face
I can't know this is a kind of crying.

That night in the hard light of the bathroom
I still feel the peaches on my skin my
mother takes a tweezers plucks the needles
from my cheeks like splinters hundreds of cling-
stone peaches like in baskets they will rot.

Titles escape me

I would like to speak to someone right now. But all the people I know are somewhere far away, lost in their world as I in mine. I want to tell them that for one instance, I can feel it. I can understand.

I wish for one second that you were here, flesh and blood, so that I can look at your face that I don't recall and touch your hands and have you envelop me in your arms as you had so many years ago.

I finished reading The Lovely Bones.

"I realized how much I wished I could be where my mother was. His love for my mother wasn't about looking back and loving something that would never change. It was about loving my mother for everything--for her brokenness and her fleeing, for her being there right then in that moment before the sun rose and the hospital staff came in. It was about touching that hair with the side of his fingertip, and knowing yet plumbing fearlessly the depths of her ocean eyes."

P.S. I have no idea how you can make me laugh hysterically when all I want to do is sob.

Drama-rama-mama

>=[

Losing the finals in vb by one point and knowing I played my worst, making the stupidest mistakes, makes me want to scream.

Back to the Future

So. Here it is. The possibilities.

I MIGHT have an English internship for Harpur Palate, BU's nationally known literary journal, and it will hit out my major's requirement.
I MIGHT have psych research on developmental children in my senior year, something that will look good on my resume, help me gain experience, and hit out my major's requirement.
I MIGHT be winning the intramural volleyball finals tomorrow, finally getting that stupid T-shirt.

Just Might.

Connections are so fucking important. God. Imagine if I was actually social. I'd have a million opportunities then!

Love and Death in Modern Literature

Professor Pindell said, "The closer people get to the dead, the crazier they get." He said that somebody from a tribe said to "separate the living from the dead unless it brings madness upon them".

Might I be mad?

Chills & Bumps

When I study or read nowadays, I usually study on the third floor of the library. It has a sort of chilly and dark atmosphere, but a lot of the desks were relocated there because they changed the layout of the library a bit. It's lonely there, and I love it.

I've been reading The Things They Carried and The Lovely Bones. I cried reading both: the girl with the brain tumor and the dilapidation of a family. At first, I didn't know why people liked The Lovely Bones so much, but mid-way through I understand now. Alice Sebold is a pretty marvelous writer.

And as Flora twirled, other girls and women came through the field in all directions. Our heartache poured into one another like water from cup to cup. Each I told my story, I lost a bit, the smallest drop of pain. It was that day I knew I wanted to tell the story of my family. Because horror on Earth is real and it is every day. It is like a flower or like the sun; it cannot be contained.
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold.

When I'm in the library reading The Lovely Bones, I like to think I can feel my mother's presence.

Tik Tok

Your words are my bread. I become silly and desperate without them.

Nice to have my own place

I am in the suite alone for the first time (kitty doesn't count!). I am sitting at our dining table with our pink curtains blowing and the breeze filtering in, and I'm eating pasta and drinking milk tea.

I'm typing, typing away.

"It was a good day, it was a good day, it was a good day." Dog Heaven by Stephanie Vaughn.

I'm irrevocably drawn to you. Why? I have no idea. I can only see impending pain and suffering.

Would it be worth it? I think you are worth it.

I'm locked in my room

So I got back my test (this class is only based on three tests) and I got a B. It's clear cut, either A, B, or C. No A- or B+ or B-. Just a B. I know this sounds really stupid. What's the big deal? The big deal is again I'm wasting my potential because I should have done better, tried harder.

English is MY subject. I better fucking doing spec-fucking-tacular.

So now I'm in my room where productive behavior will be going down. This is how things get done bitches! Also, tortilla chips, salsa, and peanuts lay next to me for emotional support.

Late Night Rendezvous

Well, fuck. 3 AM runs to Walmart on Saturdays are always interesting. Especially with someone you haven't seen since May.

PostSecret

This isn't for or about you, but for me.

I should have dumbass on my face

I actually danced with boys tonight. I know, I know. What's the big deal. The thing is I don't like it that much when guys are grinding with me and touching me, but I was like why the fuck not? I'm not involved with anyone and I'm not going to contract some STDS or anything through dancing. So I danced.

And as I was dancing, this cute, not just cute, FUCKING cute Asian boy walks onto the dance floor. He's wearing a gray sweater and an earring and at first the only thing I can see is his back, so maybe he's ugly. But then, mind you the lights are blinking so I can only get little glimpses, he turns and he's so cute. He's so cute that I would consider him gay. And he's lost, just standing there for a second. No girl. No nothing. I knew he was in frat. I could tell. I had the courage to dance with other guys, but what I should have done was walk over to him and start to dance with him. God. He had broad shoulders and big arms. I didn't want to overreact so I just danced but when I turned, he was gone. So gone.

I was upset, but whatever right. So then after I leave, I see him outside, leaving another bar and he's hanging with other Frat boys. And he walks away to the corner. Luckily, we were walking the same way and I was showing my suite mates who he was. He was directly across the street once because he turned to walk back and I was walking in that direction. So I stared. It was weird because it was like he knew I was staring and he stopped with his friends and stared back and said stuff for a while. It was weird. I couldn't stop laughing.

God. Just god.

Cursing is redemption from society; censorship is a bitch

I hate censorship. I hate that I can't hear someone say fuck and cunt and shit and asshole and motherfucker when they want. These words can be so liberating, so real. Sometimes a curse is the only thing you can say to describe how chaotic and twisted things are. It's best to say fuck when you can't describe the situation or the emotion.

So fuck you Walmart. Fuck you legitimate "journalistic" newspapers who think that cursing here and there will degrade its status. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. So HA!

Once upon a time, there was duck named Raph who didn't have any feathers on either wing. So when the cold wind blew, Ralph said, Brr, and shivered and shook.

What's the matter? Ralph's mommy asked.

I'm cold, Ralph said.

Oh, the mommy said. Here. I'll keep you warm.

So she spread her big, feathery wings, and hugged Ralph tight, and when the cold wing blew, Ralph was warm and snuggly, and fell fast asleep.

Ralph the Duck by Frederick Busch

You Have to Believe

I don't want to live my life as a good obedient daughter, and I regret that I don't because my dad deserves it the most.

Everything that I do right is for and because of you daddy.

Day, you just have to believe.

Down in the Dumps

What's weird is when I'm upset, it pushes me to change things, to reorganize.

Passivity

Aggressiveness

I don't know why.

Only need a baby's laughter.

Do you want to know the universal answer to Life's questions?

Ready?

Everything is full of shit. No really. Think about it. It's all just shit. Poop.

Frank Warren's PostSecret

Image Source

PostSecret is a simple but miraculous project.

It's one of those things I cannot describe because to describe it is to take away from it.

A girl went up to speak. She said that her dad, due to habit and love, would change the eyes of her old teddy bear every time they fell out. Though her father is currently in the Philippines creating a new family with a new wife and a new son. Her teddy bear's head is slowly separating from its body and its eyes are falling out again, but her dad isn't there to fix it. She's scared that her dad won't be there ever to fix it again.

If only you heard her voice, choking up between phrases; she struggled to clear her voice to keep on speaking. You didn't have to look at her to know that the very thought pained her. Her voice was laced with insecurities, with the need for someone to understand what she's going through. Most of all, I think for her to say it out loud gives her hope that somehow, someway, it will get back to her father and the hope that he will come and make things right.

But as we all know, life isn't that indulgent.

"It was agony, man. Fucking agony."

Once upon a time. There was a kitten

as cute as a button

who looked like a tiger

pee-peed on my pants.

Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides Completed Boo YAH

YES YES YES YESSSSSS

And no, it's not an orgasm!

Everything that I was excited about is basically making my stomach churn.

Taking the iniative

OKAY.

OKAY.

okay.

I need to breathe

because I might be going to CALIFORNIA IN THE WINTER!! AND my hopes for who's going to be living with us next year is set! AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME!

Now...to only deal with Jury Duty =/

I got locked out of my house twice. TWICE. I've been outside only once.

In that minute second you're seen, you exist, you existed.

Overlapping and I have no idea

Okay. I was at Harpur Palate and read some incredible stories (disturbing ones). It's amazing how some people can write so well; their stories are so fluid and thought provoking.

What's strange is having to see people you think you'd never see again and then you see them. It's like great, wish I had been more social and less fucking weird last time--I have a bad habit of playing up to what I think their impression of me is. It kind of reminds me of HK actors, where you watch a movie with the same actor/actress you watched a thousand times before in other movies, except it's with people you have to associate with in real life.

Lately, everything seems to be such a coincidence, little words and actions and events. It's linked to something or other that's been on my mind. For some reason, this makes me feel like I'm close to discovering something important. In relation to but not really pertaining to, I was at Harpur Palate I overheard something that made me break out into goose bumps and chills. I thought my blood would start spurting out of my veins because I tensed up and fidgeted, knowing that I'd see a different perspective on things--the truth? I tensed up because I knew what was about to be said were going imply that there's a tendency for weirdness, close enough to be insulting. I feel rather stupid because now I see someone else's point of view.

My first instinct was to delete, delete until I could feel like I got back my dignity. I mean, really? Am I that naive and gullible? Then I tried to think about it reasonably. I can understand their opinions, but I feel like if I turn back then it's like I'm just like everyone else who judges without getting to the core.

I know and I suppose that's all that matters. Besides I'm not the one lying, just perchance being lied to.

Image Source

I hate how you can make me giddy. FUCK.

To never see your Screen Name again on AIM

I was adding all the lame, sappy, romantic sad songs to my Windows Media Player. Why? Why you ask? Because I am quintessentially female--wait that's sexist--quintessentially human.

There was only ever two people I ever wanted to be with and ever wanted to talk with and ever wanted to converge with. I didn't say my choices were great, but that they felt right though reality says otherwise. If there was no reality, if there was no society, if there was no age or distance or circumstances, then perhaps, perhaps I could have been with one of them right now.

The Past

Silly Dilly (11:04:15 PM): to be honest, when we stopped talking, i didnt really think about it much afterwards

Silly Dilly (11:04:42 PM): but then everytime we talk again its just...

Silly Dilly (11:04:43 PM): ugh

dr34m0n(2:04:46 AM): its just what?

dr34m0n (2:05:21 AM): ugh bad or ugh good

dr34m0n (2:05:22 AM): lol

Silly Dilly (11:06:40 PM): good

dr34m0n (2:08:08 AM): lmao is it ugh good right now?

dr34m0n (2:08:09 AM): hahha

Silly Dilly (11:09:57 PM): not when you keep asking all these serious questions =P

I have a billion things more important to worry over, but I can't concentrate.

Seriously, screw you; I'm eating the brownie.