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.