im unable to use capitals or certain characters on my phone with this site. bear with me readers...
sometimes when im on the bus or in a carride, especially at nighttime, i feel like i could ride on forever. put on some music that pairs well with the stars and an empty highway, and ill be a good passenger. after a while, you see the clock and you stop caring about what time it is. theres no time in the world of cruise control. there are no deadlines on a dead road. and there are certainly no countdowns in your mind when you want nothing but to go on into eternity.
i remember lying late into the night in the passanger seat or even just in my own backyard under the stars hoping morning would absolutely never come. those stars gave me hope. now i get helplessly lost in them, wondering what they really mean to me. do i still admire their beauty the way i used to long ago, or are they just a nostalgic reminder of something ive lost touch with and tried to forget?
that night on the beach under the stars was one of the best nights ive had in a long time. it was one of the nights i felt myself falling in love. a night that brought together a place in my heart, a person i was admiring, and the awe and wonder of the sky, all together into one memorable evening. when we felt it was time to go, i knew it was late but i couldve frozen those couple hours in time for as long as father time wouldve given me a deal. but father time doesnt make deals. we just have to enjoy moments we have and deal with it. i could deal with it that night, because i knew it wasnt just that night. it was a night that would turn into many more. i was certainly ok when i was granted the hope of more.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
9-5 doesn't always sound so terrible
As much as I like my freedom from over-the-table bullshit, I miss people. I miss talking to people throughout the day, even if it's just for a moment. Sometimes I really liked retail, especially when I worked at the lingerie boutique and I would give women advice on what looked amazing on them and have a laugh or two. When the day would get really lonely (I used to open and close on my own) I would lean on the doorframe at the threshold and watch the vacationers of Newport walk by. Little kids holding Daddy's hand, teenage girls walking the dog or pushing their bike along, the occasional soccer mom who would come into the store take one look at a price tag and then walk out... I didn't really blame them for leaving, I wasn't even making enough to buy things from my own store, but I was happy to have their company for a few minutes.
Every job has its bullshit moments. Waitressing has about a hundred a day, but I have to say five pounds ago and I'm missing the running around for hours at a time and feeling an adrenalin rush of memorizing drinks and orders. Flirting with a group of hungover college guys at brunch and you get a great tip, or complimenting the earrings of an otherwise snotty ceo woman and she'd want to know your whole life story. I could've gone without the complaints about mixing up a side, or how someone's beer was slightly too bubbly, but at the end of the day I could say I made about a hundred people smile.
Now I work in a home. I leave my home, and I go to a home. Some days like today, I'm in the house. all. effing. day. And the baby will also be in the house all day. He's teething now, and today I just wanted to take him for a walk to distract him from the repetitiveness of his room. But no, folding sheets and towels was more important this afternoon, and I still got almost none of it done because the baby decided he was going to have a fit since we were cooped up. I'm not looking forward to winter.
I just wish I could figure out more for him to do, or maybe I just need more advice on what'll make the kid happy when his gums hurt, blah blah blah. One thing is for sure, my company all day is my boss, a baby, and a dog. Sounds like a great gig, and most of the time it is. But today I found myself in tears because I'm going stir crazy. I was really looking forward to "crawling cuties class" so I could go hang out with a bunch of soccer moms and their babies for an hour. Then the baby slept through the class and we didn't end up going. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! I'm 22 years old, and that's what I look forward to.
My job is not as awful as my complaining may make it sound. In fact, I really have grown close to my boss as a dear friend, and advice giver, and the baby clings to me like a little orangutan. BUT again, I miss people during the day, and I miss variety in a job. I sometimes think my boss doesn't know that she's cooped up in the house all day because she works from home and is used to it, and she doesn't get when I laugh a little at her obsession with what shade of cream to paint the baby's room... Ok, so it's my job to listen to that part, but I really hate cream.
Also, I want to point out that several nannies have told me they make more than me and they don't do any of the housework that I do.... I'm at a loss about what I should do with that. How do you talk to someone that has been treating you well, getting really close with you, and giving you the time off when you need it blah blah blah --- about the fact that they're technically not paying you to be a housekeeper and you weren't hired for higher than the description of "light housework" but it's slowly become something unexpected without you realizing until it's too late?!? I feel sick to my stomach every time I look at her and think about bringing it up, but I feel sick with annoyance every time I have to scrub the countertops or iron a curtain.
Lately I've been thinking A LOT about going back to school for a brief period to become a medical assistant. Maybe I'd make more or about the same money per hour but I'll actually have 40 hours a week like I desperately need, and I'd see people all day. That's what I think the solution to my inner frustration is: I'm not social enough throughout the day, and I'm obsessing over towels and a teething baby. (ok, a really effing adorable teething baby)
Every job has its bullshit moments. Waitressing has about a hundred a day, but I have to say five pounds ago and I'm missing the running around for hours at a time and feeling an adrenalin rush of memorizing drinks and orders. Flirting with a group of hungover college guys at brunch and you get a great tip, or complimenting the earrings of an otherwise snotty ceo woman and she'd want to know your whole life story. I could've gone without the complaints about mixing up a side, or how someone's beer was slightly too bubbly, but at the end of the day I could say I made about a hundred people smile.
Now I work in a home. I leave my home, and I go to a home. Some days like today, I'm in the house. all. effing. day. And the baby will also be in the house all day. He's teething now, and today I just wanted to take him for a walk to distract him from the repetitiveness of his room. But no, folding sheets and towels was more important this afternoon, and I still got almost none of it done because the baby decided he was going to have a fit since we were cooped up. I'm not looking forward to winter.
I just wish I could figure out more for him to do, or maybe I just need more advice on what'll make the kid happy when his gums hurt, blah blah blah. One thing is for sure, my company all day is my boss, a baby, and a dog. Sounds like a great gig, and most of the time it is. But today I found myself in tears because I'm going stir crazy. I was really looking forward to "crawling cuties class" so I could go hang out with a bunch of soccer moms and their babies for an hour. Then the baby slept through the class and we didn't end up going. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! I'm 22 years old, and that's what I look forward to.
My job is not as awful as my complaining may make it sound. In fact, I really have grown close to my boss as a dear friend, and advice giver, and the baby clings to me like a little orangutan. BUT again, I miss people during the day, and I miss variety in a job. I sometimes think my boss doesn't know that she's cooped up in the house all day because she works from home and is used to it, and she doesn't get when I laugh a little at her obsession with what shade of cream to paint the baby's room... Ok, so it's my job to listen to that part, but I really hate cream.
Also, I want to point out that several nannies have told me they make more than me and they don't do any of the housework that I do.... I'm at a loss about what I should do with that. How do you talk to someone that has been treating you well, getting really close with you, and giving you the time off when you need it blah blah blah --- about the fact that they're technically not paying you to be a housekeeper and you weren't hired for higher than the description of "light housework" but it's slowly become something unexpected without you realizing until it's too late?!? I feel sick to my stomach every time I look at her and think about bringing it up, but I feel sick with annoyance every time I have to scrub the countertops or iron a curtain.
Lately I've been thinking A LOT about going back to school for a brief period to become a medical assistant. Maybe I'd make more or about the same money per hour but I'll actually have 40 hours a week like I desperately need, and I'd see people all day. That's what I think the solution to my inner frustration is: I'm not social enough throughout the day, and I'm obsessing over towels and a teething baby. (ok, a really effing adorable teething baby)
Saturday, October 15, 2011
bitches and liars like to burn matches and spread fire, but can't deal with the heat when everything burns up around them
*disclaimer: this does not talk about ONE person, just a lot who have contributed to hurting my feelings as of late whether it was by blatant or subtle action.
I find that throughout my life since about the middle of high school, I have had trouble making and keeping friendships with girls. Guys, not a problem, and a lot of the time I figured it was because I just don't care about the same things that girls always care about. I don't like to gossip about girls that I don't know, I never know who "so-and-so" just broke up with, and I have no idea which girl can't stand some other girl.
First of all, I don't even bother asking. If you're not a friend of mine and we don't talk on a regular basis, it's none of my business which guy friend of ours you have a crush on, and who you've just broken up with. So honestly, people can't be mad that I don't know these things. That's the other thing, girls can be deemed nosy or bitchy for asking too many questions and getting into other girls' personal lives, or they can just be labeled as a snob for not caring.
Here's my main reason for not always being able to initially connect with other girls: I don't know how to approach them and actually talk to them to show them that I'm a nice girl who really would love to be friends with them. It's essentially the same way that a science geek boy feels about approaching a cheerleader and ask her to prom. I get nervous, I automatically assume that a girl will not like me or doesn't want to talk to me, and sometimes maybe I might be right because I find no problem or hesitance with speaking to the men we know.
Fast forward to something that has happened to me many times: girls that don't know me, often tell other people that I must be sleeping with these guy friends of mine that I laugh and act somewhat flirty with. With an open personality like mine, I often have flirty tendencies. I'll admit this fully, and I will say that I find nothing wrong with it, but could this possibly be that a girl who has no connection with me would rather assume that I'm a slut instead of bothering to get to know me?
This used to make me really angry, but as of late it just plain hurts my feelings. In college I would say, "fuck you I'll never have to talk to you again and we're in a temporary state of our lives". Nowadays I'm trying so hard to fit in to this group of people in the scene I've fallen in love with in Boston, and these girls would just as soon assume that a guy who drives me home or walks me to the bus stop because they're my friend and are being NICE and not letting me go home ALONE in the ghetto of Charlestown or wherever else, that I just must be a slut and I'm fucking them. Sorry for trying to be safe and having guys for friends.
But then again, we all know some people are gossipers and find any excuse to stir things up whether they are male or female because they get a kick out of it and don't realize how much it hurts your feelings. I've even had guys tell other people we know that they've fucked me or that we had something going on between us even though it literally was the opposite of true. Most groups I've been a part of, at some point people start making things up when they don't bother to be friends with me in the first place, they assume I don't like them when I'm kind of just afraid to approach them because girls can be so mean and judgy, and at some point I feel like I can't trust anyone and I tend to give up which is why I quit my sorority when I could barely connect with anyone due to my shyness and their inability to care. People will lie and accuse and assume, but they will never admit to half of their own shit that's probably worse, or logically admit that they never took the time to talk to the parties concerned and find out the truth.
I don't know what goes on in a guys mind when he thinks it's ok to just make things up. Or girls for that matter when they just assume things without bothering to ask you in the first place. People in general don't realize how much it hurts another person when they're using them as a form of entertainment in a negative and piercing way. You don't consider feelings or circumstance or reality when you want something to talk about to distract you from a shitty day, right? You don't consider that maybe it causes a whirlwind that's uncontrollable gossip and can do permanent damage to how a person is viewed by others because people would rather believe negative shit and enjoy it than think they're just some person and haven't really done anything worth talking about, especially nothing that concerns you.
Long story short, I've done a lot of dumb things in my life, but one thing I can pride myself on is that I'm not a gossiper or a bold face liar, and I don't bother with other people's shit unless it concerns me. If someone wants to fuck half the people we know, I don't care unless they got knocked up or they're trying to fuck my boyfriend. Then it's either funny or they might get punched. But I also know what it means to be a fucking professional and I'm trying to be an actor. I went through my crazy college days, I don't need more mistakes following me around, and I'm attempting to be an actor and a fucking professional human being.
Most of my friends are dudes, I get along with them better than judgmental and girls who care about dumb things that I don't care to even consider unless you care enough to be my friend and you tell me it's important to you that I should care about them. Your past, your feelings, your past relationships, your things that annoy you, I will never know these things so you can't expect dick from me and then shut me out. Guys don't give a crap about this stuff either, maybe I should just start telling people I'm a lesbian and they'll get that my concerns are not those of a cliquey high school chick. I don't watch other people and guess who they're hooking up with, I just like to enjoy my life and be good to other people and not intentionally slander them or hurt them and that's it.
So deal with it.
I find that throughout my life since about the middle of high school, I have had trouble making and keeping friendships with girls. Guys, not a problem, and a lot of the time I figured it was because I just don't care about the same things that girls always care about. I don't like to gossip about girls that I don't know, I never know who "so-and-so" just broke up with, and I have no idea which girl can't stand some other girl.
First of all, I don't even bother asking. If you're not a friend of mine and we don't talk on a regular basis, it's none of my business which guy friend of ours you have a crush on, and who you've just broken up with. So honestly, people can't be mad that I don't know these things. That's the other thing, girls can be deemed nosy or bitchy for asking too many questions and getting into other girls' personal lives, or they can just be labeled as a snob for not caring.
Here's my main reason for not always being able to initially connect with other girls: I don't know how to approach them and actually talk to them to show them that I'm a nice girl who really would love to be friends with them. It's essentially the same way that a science geek boy feels about approaching a cheerleader and ask her to prom. I get nervous, I automatically assume that a girl will not like me or doesn't want to talk to me, and sometimes maybe I might be right because I find no problem or hesitance with speaking to the men we know.
Fast forward to something that has happened to me many times: girls that don't know me, often tell other people that I must be sleeping with these guy friends of mine that I laugh and act somewhat flirty with. With an open personality like mine, I often have flirty tendencies. I'll admit this fully, and I will say that I find nothing wrong with it, but could this possibly be that a girl who has no connection with me would rather assume that I'm a slut instead of bothering to get to know me?
This used to make me really angry, but as of late it just plain hurts my feelings. In college I would say, "fuck you I'll never have to talk to you again and we're in a temporary state of our lives". Nowadays I'm trying so hard to fit in to this group of people in the scene I've fallen in love with in Boston, and these girls would just as soon assume that a guy who drives me home or walks me to the bus stop because they're my friend and are being NICE and not letting me go home ALONE in the ghetto of Charlestown or wherever else, that I just must be a slut and I'm fucking them. Sorry for trying to be safe and having guys for friends.
But then again, we all know some people are gossipers and find any excuse to stir things up whether they are male or female because they get a kick out of it and don't realize how much it hurts your feelings. I've even had guys tell other people we know that they've fucked me or that we had something going on between us even though it literally was the opposite of true. Most groups I've been a part of, at some point people start making things up when they don't bother to be friends with me in the first place, they assume I don't like them when I'm kind of just afraid to approach them because girls can be so mean and judgy, and at some point I feel like I can't trust anyone and I tend to give up which is why I quit my sorority when I could barely connect with anyone due to my shyness and their inability to care. People will lie and accuse and assume, but they will never admit to half of their own shit that's probably worse, or logically admit that they never took the time to talk to the parties concerned and find out the truth.
I don't know what goes on in a guys mind when he thinks it's ok to just make things up. Or girls for that matter when they just assume things without bothering to ask you in the first place. People in general don't realize how much it hurts another person when they're using them as a form of entertainment in a negative and piercing way. You don't consider feelings or circumstance or reality when you want something to talk about to distract you from a shitty day, right? You don't consider that maybe it causes a whirlwind that's uncontrollable gossip and can do permanent damage to how a person is viewed by others because people would rather believe negative shit and enjoy it than think they're just some person and haven't really done anything worth talking about, especially nothing that concerns you.
Long story short, I've done a lot of dumb things in my life, but one thing I can pride myself on is that I'm not a gossiper or a bold face liar, and I don't bother with other people's shit unless it concerns me. If someone wants to fuck half the people we know, I don't care unless they got knocked up or they're trying to fuck my boyfriend. Then it's either funny or they might get punched. But I also know what it means to be a fucking professional and I'm trying to be an actor. I went through my crazy college days, I don't need more mistakes following me around, and I'm attempting to be an actor and a fucking professional human being.
Most of my friends are dudes, I get along with them better than judgmental and girls who care about dumb things that I don't care to even consider unless you care enough to be my friend and you tell me it's important to you that I should care about them. Your past, your feelings, your past relationships, your things that annoy you, I will never know these things so you can't expect dick from me and then shut me out. Guys don't give a crap about this stuff either, maybe I should just start telling people I'm a lesbian and they'll get that my concerns are not those of a cliquey high school chick. I don't watch other people and guess who they're hooking up with, I just like to enjoy my life and be good to other people and not intentionally slander them or hurt them and that's it.
So deal with it.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
50th post
This weekend a lot of stuff happened. I felt mad, ditched, and unappreciated for different reasons and by different people. But I also felt achieved, loved, and helpful to others for a few different reasons and different people as well. Let me rant first and then I'll gloat.
Here's a tip to any male readers that are thinking of me in any romantic or inappropriate capacity: if you want anything from me, you will not even get a hint of the color of my panties unless you also want to know what my favorite color is. Or my favorite food, what I like to do in my free time, what my hobbies are, what makes me laugh, annoyed, sad, mad, or anything related to the above. I'm a girl who's all the over the place with my likes, dislikes, emotions and creativity. I do a lot of things, I like to be busy, and I'm a giant ball of energy that's going to be in your face and never misses a beat, especially if it's a beat of bullshit waiting to be called out.
Long story short: a date. Girls want dates. It has nothing to do with money. It has nothing to do with being spoiled. It has to do with the fact that two people who are interested in each other should get to know each other on an intellectual level of intimacy before getting intimate, *ahem* on other levels. If a guy makes an effort to show that he has respect for a woman that he admires, then he gains her respect in return. By hanging out with a female before 10pm in public, you are saying that you are proud to be with this girl for all the world to see that you have positive intentions. And a date does not mean girlfriend, it just means you're being a decent human being by getting to know someone and going about it in the proper order. I went to college, and hookups and backwards "relationships" that are nothing like having an honest and real connection with someone, are just not my thing anymore. Pretty sure I quit my sorority days of making myself a little too available. The next guy that says to me, "Hey come over to my place" I just want to punch you in the dick.
I guess it would be mildly appropriate that this 50th post is a post of a new beginning. I post a lot of those. I usually say, "This time I'm serious" or "I really mean this this time." But what are you gonna do, right? You live and you learn to make the same stupid mistakes over and over again until your head hurts to much to get back up and make the mistake again. Your tears dry up and you just can't even cry anymore over the things you used to cry over, even though you really want to and maybe being sad was a comfort of familiarity. Being happy is almost too foreign to enjoy. Something is bound to go wrong when you're this happy. Then somehow you're right. But that's the lesson of stupidity. Hit yourself in the head with a rock enough times and thinking that the rock will squeeze out water is just giving you a headache. (I'm not always good with metaphoric rants at 2am)
OK done with this subject. I'm moving forward with myself and I refuse to get into the nasty habit of dwelling anymore. IN OTHER NEWS I ran a 5k this weekend. There is nothing better than doing something you thought you could never do, and actually succeeding without fucking up. The first mile, I was basically pulling The Tortoise and The Hare routine. I started off much slower than most people around me, but ended up passing them by maintaining the speed and then ran the first mile in under eleven minutes, and ended up power walking a lot of the second mile, but then started running again in the third. I could barely believe it!!
I was convinced I was in terrible shape, and there I was doing something to prove that I had it in me. As I'm jogging along and squeezing my side to hold in a cramp, I thought, "It's just you and me, God. We doin this thing? For everyone else who's running and for the homeless coalition, it's just you and me keeping this pace." An older gentlemen came up alongside me as we had been passing each other a good deal of the second mile, and he says, "Come on now, you have to beat ME!" We finished together, as I decided we were in the same team of attempting to not puke or lose a lung. (It wasn't that bad...)
Running has always been something I thought, "I can't do that. I'll never have the stamina or lung power to run." Guess what? I proved myself wrong. Maybe I'll keep doing more of these. Maybe I'll even keep running as something I do on a regular basis instead of the elyptical.
Crazy times for Miss India Pearl changing herself in a lot of ways this past year. We're all here to find happiness whilst running along the road of life, right? Is that the finish line? Well I'm getting there, no matter how many times I fall on the pavement on the way.
Here's a tip to any male readers that are thinking of me in any romantic or inappropriate capacity: if you want anything from me, you will not even get a hint of the color of my panties unless you also want to know what my favorite color is. Or my favorite food, what I like to do in my free time, what my hobbies are, what makes me laugh, annoyed, sad, mad, or anything related to the above. I'm a girl who's all the over the place with my likes, dislikes, emotions and creativity. I do a lot of things, I like to be busy, and I'm a giant ball of energy that's going to be in your face and never misses a beat, especially if it's a beat of bullshit waiting to be called out.
Long story short: a date. Girls want dates. It has nothing to do with money. It has nothing to do with being spoiled. It has to do with the fact that two people who are interested in each other should get to know each other on an intellectual level of intimacy before getting intimate, *ahem* on other levels. If a guy makes an effort to show that he has respect for a woman that he admires, then he gains her respect in return. By hanging out with a female before 10pm in public, you are saying that you are proud to be with this girl for all the world to see that you have positive intentions. And a date does not mean girlfriend, it just means you're being a decent human being by getting to know someone and going about it in the proper order. I went to college, and hookups and backwards "relationships" that are nothing like having an honest and real connection with someone, are just not my thing anymore. Pretty sure I quit my sorority days of making myself a little too available. The next guy that says to me, "Hey come over to my place" I just want to punch you in the dick.
I guess it would be mildly appropriate that this 50th post is a post of a new beginning. I post a lot of those. I usually say, "This time I'm serious" or "I really mean this this time." But what are you gonna do, right? You live and you learn to make the same stupid mistakes over and over again until your head hurts to much to get back up and make the mistake again. Your tears dry up and you just can't even cry anymore over the things you used to cry over, even though you really want to and maybe being sad was a comfort of familiarity. Being happy is almost too foreign to enjoy. Something is bound to go wrong when you're this happy. Then somehow you're right. But that's the lesson of stupidity. Hit yourself in the head with a rock enough times and thinking that the rock will squeeze out water is just giving you a headache. (I'm not always good with metaphoric rants at 2am)
OK done with this subject. I'm moving forward with myself and I refuse to get into the nasty habit of dwelling anymore. IN OTHER NEWS I ran a 5k this weekend. There is nothing better than doing something you thought you could never do, and actually succeeding without fucking up. The first mile, I was basically pulling The Tortoise and The Hare routine. I started off much slower than most people around me, but ended up passing them by maintaining the speed and then ran the first mile in under eleven minutes, and ended up power walking a lot of the second mile, but then started running again in the third. I could barely believe it!!
I was convinced I was in terrible shape, and there I was doing something to prove that I had it in me. As I'm jogging along and squeezing my side to hold in a cramp, I thought, "It's just you and me, God. We doin this thing? For everyone else who's running and for the homeless coalition, it's just you and me keeping this pace." An older gentlemen came up alongside me as we had been passing each other a good deal of the second mile, and he says, "Come on now, you have to beat ME!" We finished together, as I decided we were in the same team of attempting to not puke or lose a lung. (It wasn't that bad...)
Running has always been something I thought, "I can't do that. I'll never have the stamina or lung power to run." Guess what? I proved myself wrong. Maybe I'll keep doing more of these. Maybe I'll even keep running as something I do on a regular basis instead of the elyptical.
Crazy times for Miss India Pearl changing herself in a lot of ways this past year. We're all here to find happiness whilst running along the road of life, right? Is that the finish line? Well I'm getting there, no matter how many times I fall on the pavement on the way.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Librarian(ism) is a SCIENCE... right?
As most of my friends know, I like to tell stories. I love to tell big, tall tales, and see how many people I can get to believe them before I say halfway through the story, "just kidding, I'm making this up!" and we have a laugh. Of course this isn't mean-spirited, it's all in good fun and I never make things up to hurt people's feelings. But my favorite stories are the ones that I tell to complete strangers. Like the math teacher that I met at the bar a few weeks ago and told him I was a librarian. I felt that this was a perfectly boring thing to be in a man's eyes, and he wouldn't ask me more questions before buying me a drink. Boy was I wrong!!!
I had to remember everything I had ever learned about becoming a librarian when I was supporting this scheme I had come up with for a free cocktail.
"Where did you go to school? What did you major in to become a librarian??" he asked.
"Well, I went to Simmons of course, and I studied... library... science?" Somehow, that part was actually true. Librarians go to school to be librarians. It's not the easiest job in the world, and apparently there's a science to it. And maybe there was another reason why I knew all about this...
My grandmother was a librarian. Was? IS, she is a librarian I should say, because I don't think that when you are something for thirty-plus years you can just give it up and not be that thing anymore. She still socializes with her librarian friends, reads more books than I can possibly imagine, and is so smart and articulate. She's also fair, has a mind for equality, not the least bit racist or prejudice, (except maybe she doesn't like Muslims, but who can blame her when our family came to America after the Christian Massacre in Turkey? Don't comment on that) and an all-around great woman to have for a grandmother.
When my grandpa Henry died 23 years ago, that was it. She still wears his ring and she'll meet him in Heaven. What a love she must've had for him, right? So admirable.
I think it's because I hate the idea of her getting old when she wasn't always that old, or because my Nana is so young in comparison, but I just can't believe she's almost 80! I mean, she's perfectly fine and doesn't seem inhibited in any way so far as I can tell. I hate to even think about it when she says, "I'm old, this isn't my real hair color you know!" and she's laughing while I'm already sad. I'm a very pathetic human being when it comes to sadness. Nostalgia creeps up on me before there's a real reason to get nostalgic. It's like I'm revving up for what I know is coming, and pre-programming my thoughts for what they should be about for when I'm sad and missing the moment that I'm in right now.
The fact that my grandmother reads so many books, is one of the things that I admire most about her. I wish I had the time to read more, because even though I read the paper every day, I want to read so many things that I probably should have already! I've never read Jane Austin, I've only seen the movies. Lord of the Rings? Nope, never did it. The Great Gatsby? I could keep going all night with all the classics that "everyone's read" and I haven't. She's not even a working librarian, and she's still reading all the time! What's wrong with me??
While I work on my time management skills and my polish up on my common literature, I think I need to make the following thing a goal of mine: Before my grandmother passes away, I want to write a book. I want to write a book that everyone will want to read. As she sits in her backyard on a nice warm sunny afternoon and sips lemonade, my grandmother could be reading my book that I wrote, and that's one of the things that i want the most. She'd really be proud of me.
(And for those doubters out there, her mother lived to be 94 so I think I might have a realistic amount of time to complete this goal.)
I had to remember everything I had ever learned about becoming a librarian when I was supporting this scheme I had come up with for a free cocktail.
"Where did you go to school? What did you major in to become a librarian??" he asked.
"Well, I went to Simmons of course, and I studied... library... science?" Somehow, that part was actually true. Librarians go to school to be librarians. It's not the easiest job in the world, and apparently there's a science to it. And maybe there was another reason why I knew all about this...
My grandmother was a librarian. Was? IS, she is a librarian I should say, because I don't think that when you are something for thirty-plus years you can just give it up and not be that thing anymore. She still socializes with her librarian friends, reads more books than I can possibly imagine, and is so smart and articulate. She's also fair, has a mind for equality, not the least bit racist or prejudice, (except maybe she doesn't like Muslims, but who can blame her when our family came to America after the Christian Massacre in Turkey? Don't comment on that) and an all-around great woman to have for a grandmother.
When my grandpa Henry died 23 years ago, that was it. She still wears his ring and she'll meet him in Heaven. What a love she must've had for him, right? So admirable.
I think it's because I hate the idea of her getting old when she wasn't always that old, or because my Nana is so young in comparison, but I just can't believe she's almost 80! I mean, she's perfectly fine and doesn't seem inhibited in any way so far as I can tell. I hate to even think about it when she says, "I'm old, this isn't my real hair color you know!" and she's laughing while I'm already sad. I'm a very pathetic human being when it comes to sadness. Nostalgia creeps up on me before there's a real reason to get nostalgic. It's like I'm revving up for what I know is coming, and pre-programming my thoughts for what they should be about for when I'm sad and missing the moment that I'm in right now.
The fact that my grandmother reads so many books, is one of the things that I admire most about her. I wish I had the time to read more, because even though I read the paper every day, I want to read so many things that I probably should have already! I've never read Jane Austin, I've only seen the movies. Lord of the Rings? Nope, never did it. The Great Gatsby? I could keep going all night with all the classics that "everyone's read" and I haven't. She's not even a working librarian, and she's still reading all the time! What's wrong with me??
While I work on my time management skills and my polish up on my common literature, I think I need to make the following thing a goal of mine: Before my grandmother passes away, I want to write a book. I want to write a book that everyone will want to read. As she sits in her backyard on a nice warm sunny afternoon and sips lemonade, my grandmother could be reading my book that I wrote, and that's one of the things that i want the most. She'd really be proud of me.
(And for those doubters out there, her mother lived to be 94 so I think I might have a realistic amount of time to complete this goal.)
Saturday, September 24, 2011
cold is the water, it freezes your already cold mind (but you are not alone in this)
I think I should delete Mumford and Sons off of my computer, out of my phone, and hide the cd away in my Europe box with my other memories. Some people love the band so much, and I won't lie and say I don't think they're an amazingly talented band with great tunes. But I will say that I have too many memories attached with that music, and right now I need not remember them. Sometimes music can alternate your mood so much, that it affects you for days. I'll listen to some country tunes and feel ramped and happy, but I'll turn on The Weepies and wonder why I even bother. I think bands are ruined when I share them with other people. Some of my favorite songs used to make me smile and now I have to skip over them in my playlist.
One year ago, I went to England. It's about the one year anniversary to the Fresher's Ball. There's a picture of me and my two French friends, such great and wonderfully goodhearted girls. And now they are living in France, and I am here. Laicia loved Mumford, and so did practically all of our friends.
There was someone I dated briefly, before or in between when I was seeing my Irish boy (I don't always like to talk about the Irish one, it's a very long story on its own). I'm almost ashamed to bring it up, because this English one really was such a nice guy, but I wasn't ready for nice. He played guitar at the church, big buff blue eyed blonde, and on our first date he bought me the Mumford & Sons cd. I had never heard of them, and according to him, that was unacceptable. I really got into them, and was very impressed that he played guitar so well because he played a few of their songs almost to a tee. He didn't take our split very well. A part of me wishes I had gotten along better with him, but life can't be about what-ifs. Maybe I just wish I could apologize. Or maybe the music is messing with my head. Oh goodness, my church friends I miss entirely too much as well.
This week has been especially hard because not only have I been wishing I could go back, but I've been dreaming about my friends and hanging out with them in our kitchen, drinking cheap wine and getting terrible Domino's pizza, laughing about playing "Never Have I Ever..." with bad English. We told secrets, shared stories, laughed, cried, fought, got drunk, had goodnight kisses at the back door, did homework, avoided homework, cooked, people-watched, and squeezed as many people as we could into this little tiny kitchen of our flat that had no livingroom and a couch.
That was what I dreamed about twice this week, at least. Our awful, bare, cheap kitchen, that ended up being our favorite room in the house. We'd knock on the back door and enter each other's flats through these kitchens in the complex of Park Wood, making faces through the window until someone came to answer. We had a Thanksgiving dinner with what may have been almost 30 people, and multiple goodbye parties the last couple weeks of school. I remember my first cup of tea at the table was with Auggy, and I felt so grownup talking about our new friends over a cup of tea. Many cups of tea were poured over discussions and one-on-one sitdowns. That was our social life outside of the pub, gathering in all of our kitchens, maybe bringing a guitar and keeping the back door open for all the smoking and drinking that would go on outside. The table saw every kind of cheap alcohol, roasted birds, pancake and egg suppers, and more junk food and baked goods than we needed to take note of. And it was ours. Our little kitchen.
I hope I don't dream tonight. My friends are living all over the planet, and I don't know why I miss Kent so much when it's all lost now. Not so lost in our hearts, but we graduated and most of my closest friends are no longer students there, so it would never be the same. A part of my life really is over, so I hope I don't dream about it because my dreams are always so real. As much as I would love to see my friends, I'll wake up and our kitchen will be my bedroom, with no electric kettle, no curry-stained dishtowel, no plexiglass uncomfortable chairs that I miss even though I hated those too, no sink that always seemed to splatter water all over everywhere, and no laughter from those that I wonder if they miss me as I miss them.
They'll never know how much joy they really gave me by being such great friends. And sometimes it's painful to try to stay in touch; who can keep up with schedules 6 hours apart? But really, my sanity was found when I was there. Sure I missed home, and I was sad for it around the holidays, but I'll say it again I found out what a real friend is when I got away. I had support for all my acting shows, hugs and kisses and tea when I was crying over a boy, motivation and cookies when we all had ten or twenty page papers, and everything in between.
I had fun and friends at UMass, but looking back at Kent I know exactly how my friends felt when they were sad at graduation. I won't miss Amherst like I miss Canterbury. I was free at that college, and not shut up in a cage with no growth in my skills in school or begging for friends like a lost puppy in a meaningless house. I mean at least the few friends I did make at UMass I still have here, because if they were thousands of miles away I would have absolutely noone.
God, I hope I don't dream tonight.
One year ago, I went to England. It's about the one year anniversary to the Fresher's Ball. There's a picture of me and my two French friends, such great and wonderfully goodhearted girls. And now they are living in France, and I am here. Laicia loved Mumford, and so did practically all of our friends.
There was someone I dated briefly, before or in between when I was seeing my Irish boy (I don't always like to talk about the Irish one, it's a very long story on its own). I'm almost ashamed to bring it up, because this English one really was such a nice guy, but I wasn't ready for nice. He played guitar at the church, big buff blue eyed blonde, and on our first date he bought me the Mumford & Sons cd. I had never heard of them, and according to him, that was unacceptable. I really got into them, and was very impressed that he played guitar so well because he played a few of their songs almost to a tee. He didn't take our split very well. A part of me wishes I had gotten along better with him, but life can't be about what-ifs. Maybe I just wish I could apologize. Or maybe the music is messing with my head. Oh goodness, my church friends I miss entirely too much as well.
This week has been especially hard because not only have I been wishing I could go back, but I've been dreaming about my friends and hanging out with them in our kitchen, drinking cheap wine and getting terrible Domino's pizza, laughing about playing "Never Have I Ever..." with bad English. We told secrets, shared stories, laughed, cried, fought, got drunk, had goodnight kisses at the back door, did homework, avoided homework, cooked, people-watched, and squeezed as many people as we could into this little tiny kitchen of our flat that had no livingroom and a couch.
That was what I dreamed about twice this week, at least. Our awful, bare, cheap kitchen, that ended up being our favorite room in the house. We'd knock on the back door and enter each other's flats through these kitchens in the complex of Park Wood, making faces through the window until someone came to answer. We had a Thanksgiving dinner with what may have been almost 30 people, and multiple goodbye parties the last couple weeks of school. I remember my first cup of tea at the table was with Auggy, and I felt so grownup talking about our new friends over a cup of tea. Many cups of tea were poured over discussions and one-on-one sitdowns. That was our social life outside of the pub, gathering in all of our kitchens, maybe bringing a guitar and keeping the back door open for all the smoking and drinking that would go on outside. The table saw every kind of cheap alcohol, roasted birds, pancake and egg suppers, and more junk food and baked goods than we needed to take note of. And it was ours. Our little kitchen.
I hope I don't dream tonight. My friends are living all over the planet, and I don't know why I miss Kent so much when it's all lost now. Not so lost in our hearts, but we graduated and most of my closest friends are no longer students there, so it would never be the same. A part of my life really is over, so I hope I don't dream about it because my dreams are always so real. As much as I would love to see my friends, I'll wake up and our kitchen will be my bedroom, with no electric kettle, no curry-stained dishtowel, no plexiglass uncomfortable chairs that I miss even though I hated those too, no sink that always seemed to splatter water all over everywhere, and no laughter from those that I wonder if they miss me as I miss them.
They'll never know how much joy they really gave me by being such great friends. And sometimes it's painful to try to stay in touch; who can keep up with schedules 6 hours apart? But really, my sanity was found when I was there. Sure I missed home, and I was sad for it around the holidays, but I'll say it again I found out what a real friend is when I got away. I had support for all my acting shows, hugs and kisses and tea when I was crying over a boy, motivation and cookies when we all had ten or twenty page papers, and everything in between.
I had fun and friends at UMass, but looking back at Kent I know exactly how my friends felt when they were sad at graduation. I won't miss Amherst like I miss Canterbury. I was free at that college, and not shut up in a cage with no growth in my skills in school or begging for friends like a lost puppy in a meaningless house. I mean at least the few friends I did make at UMass I still have here, because if they were thousands of miles away I would have absolutely noone.
God, I hope I don't dream tonight.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Something I have noticed (or not noticed)
I have somewhat been realizing that when I go go go for a long period of time, my days feel so rushed and anything I do while I'm doing it, (cooking dinner, having a conversation, doing comedy) it's over so fast that I barely remember it happening. It's like I'm waiting to be done with everything, so much so that I don't take the time to be present and enjoy anything. I don't even like being drunk anymore, because this effect is put into hyperdrive. When drunk, it's almost like I'm pushing fast forward on my entire night and it was already going by very fast to begin with.
I find myself barely becoming engaged with anything, and when I think about the past few weeks, it seems like it all happened months ago. Staying present in a moment is like grabbing onto something inches away that keeps inching further and further away until my brain gives up all hope of sanity. It's scary, I think about how I don't remember things and enjoy the memory as if it were today, it's as if I think of something recent and struggle to feel as though it just happened because it's all cloudy.
I've felt this before, where I feel like I'm floating and barely conscious; am I overtired? anxious? dead and don't remember dying? having a mental breakdown? on drugs?
Well I'm alive, and I haven't had any anxiety lately, and I'm certainly not on drugs. So overtired and mental breakdown seem to be going neck and neck.
My current theory is this: I am alone A LOT throughout the day, and a lot throughout this past summer I was alone. This is due to always going going and more going. Go on the bus, go on the train, go to work, go to make a bottle, go to get something to eat, go to use your phone, go to dinner, go to the bar, go up onstage, go home, go to bed. When I'm around other people it's so easy to be present, but I also find myself to be tired and I don't always have interest in keeping all the conversations that I have, and somehow want to just go to bed or do something else. Then when I'm alone I'm upset with everything because my brain seems to be malfunctioning and I'm trying to remember someone's name I just met and if I had fun when I was at the comedy club. Yes, it's that bad.
So I'm aware there is an issue, right? Why am I not seeking help? Because I have a distinct feeling that if this is related to being overtired or having some sort of crazy bipolar disorder, then I will have to be on meds for something and that will just make my floating feeling get even worse. So then what? Well, I find my mind much more snappy when I am conversing with others and around people, so my solution is to get out and force myself to be more social I suppose... thought I was doing enough already. I've gotta be overtired, that's probably key here somewhere. Isn't there something written somewhere that says your brain barely sucks in information when you're overtired? So that's it then, right? Or maybe I'm slipping away slowly but surely. Who knows. But it's very hard to find motivation to do anything lately and I'm very upset about that.
I find myself barely becoming engaged with anything, and when I think about the past few weeks, it seems like it all happened months ago. Staying present in a moment is like grabbing onto something inches away that keeps inching further and further away until my brain gives up all hope of sanity. It's scary, I think about how I don't remember things and enjoy the memory as if it were today, it's as if I think of something recent and struggle to feel as though it just happened because it's all cloudy.
I've felt this before, where I feel like I'm floating and barely conscious; am I overtired? anxious? dead and don't remember dying? having a mental breakdown? on drugs?
Well I'm alive, and I haven't had any anxiety lately, and I'm certainly not on drugs. So overtired and mental breakdown seem to be going neck and neck.
My current theory is this: I am alone A LOT throughout the day, and a lot throughout this past summer I was alone. This is due to always going going and more going. Go on the bus, go on the train, go to work, go to make a bottle, go to get something to eat, go to use your phone, go to dinner, go to the bar, go up onstage, go home, go to bed. When I'm around other people it's so easy to be present, but I also find myself to be tired and I don't always have interest in keeping all the conversations that I have, and somehow want to just go to bed or do something else. Then when I'm alone I'm upset with everything because my brain seems to be malfunctioning and I'm trying to remember someone's name I just met and if I had fun when I was at the comedy club. Yes, it's that bad.
So I'm aware there is an issue, right? Why am I not seeking help? Because I have a distinct feeling that if this is related to being overtired or having some sort of crazy bipolar disorder, then I will have to be on meds for something and that will just make my floating feeling get even worse. So then what? Well, I find my mind much more snappy when I am conversing with others and around people, so my solution is to get out and force myself to be more social I suppose... thought I was doing enough already. I've gotta be overtired, that's probably key here somewhere. Isn't there something written somewhere that says your brain barely sucks in information when you're overtired? So that's it then, right? Or maybe I'm slipping away slowly but surely. Who knows. But it's very hard to find motivation to do anything lately and I'm very upset about that.
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