I couldn't wait for college. All summer I was just waiting impatiently to jump into the college life and take my college classes, but now I just want everything to freeze. Class starts Monday, it's opening weekend and I just don't want to take the next step anymore.
Don't get me wrong, I've had my reservations about the future all summer, but I've gotten over them and moved on because I always figured, 'Everything's going to work out, don't sweat it.' Except what if it doesn't? What if I'm not driven enough to get a story published? What if I'm not good enough to become a writer? It's all I've ever really wanted, and I just can't see myself doing anything else.
Well hell, why can't we just freeze it like I said? I'd stay here, my friends would stay here, I'd continue writing with the hopes for tomorrow and I'd never have to risk having my heart broken when it didn't happen.
Sometimes I feel like life would be better if it were a movie.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Yes I'm Drunk! Why aren't you?!
Had my graduation party tonight. Met my third cousin who is also a writer (and a good one if the information I've managed to gather is correct). I have a feeling that if we had ever lived in the same state, we would've gotten along quite well, and been close friends.
I spent the majority of the time with her, though I avoided her in the beginning since everyone was pushing for us to chat. I'm not fond of being pushed, but I'll admit I was extremely curious as to what her stories were about.
Uncle Gunther and Aunt Ericka (my grandmother's siblings) came out and chatted happily about old times. Gunther got drunk, as did most of the adults at the party. Kids ran about playing in with the slip and slide, dogs rushed under tables for scraps. My friends each stopped by in turns to laugh, eat and be on their way.
I didn't expect to have so much fun with everyone, but it was a blast, and I think that Allie (my third cousin) and I could really benefit from one another, bouncing ideas back and forth...editing a little.
And God, to see so many German-Americans standing around a keg laughing and accidentally slipping German words in with their English. It's a scene you'd have to live through.
I spent the majority of the time with her, though I avoided her in the beginning since everyone was pushing for us to chat. I'm not fond of being pushed, but I'll admit I was extremely curious as to what her stories were about.
Uncle Gunther and Aunt Ericka (my grandmother's siblings) came out and chatted happily about old times. Gunther got drunk, as did most of the adults at the party. Kids ran about playing in with the slip and slide, dogs rushed under tables for scraps. My friends each stopped by in turns to laugh, eat and be on their way.
I didn't expect to have so much fun with everyone, but it was a blast, and I think that Allie (my third cousin) and I could really benefit from one another, bouncing ideas back and forth...editing a little.
And God, to see so many German-Americans standing around a keg laughing and accidentally slipping German words in with their English. It's a scene you'd have to live through.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Red Lights, Hopeful Dreams and the Hell that is Science Class
Brandon is constantly running red lights after work. We watch him and warn him laughingly that he's going to get pulled over one day. Well I guess last night was the night because he ran the red light with me behind him. I waited for it to turn green and start to go, nearly getting T-boned by a cop car who then takes a right following after Brandon.
The ironic part? He just finished his 'Safety Class' after getting a speeding ticket. I had to laugh.
In other news, I've sent out six query letters to Literary Agents. Two have replied with 'not interested' and the other four have decided to keep me holding my breath for a while longer yet. Still anxious to get away, still resigned to sitting in my room.
I wish someone would at the very least call and ask me out or something. Anything to get away from the boredom that is my room. I've a few books under my bed and I've been going through them in whatever spare time I have between work and sleep. I'm panicking over Chemistry class for my first real semester of college. I hate science and yet I decided to sign up for one of the most difficult ones. Bravo.
The ironic part? He just finished his 'Safety Class' after getting a speeding ticket. I had to laugh.
In other news, I've sent out six query letters to Literary Agents. Two have replied with 'not interested' and the other four have decided to keep me holding my breath for a while longer yet. Still anxious to get away, still resigned to sitting in my room.
I wish someone would at the very least call and ask me out or something. Anything to get away from the boredom that is my room. I've a few books under my bed and I've been going through them in whatever spare time I have between work and sleep. I'm panicking over Chemistry class for my first real semester of college. I hate science and yet I decided to sign up for one of the most difficult ones. Bravo.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Art of Not Existing
It seems that half year lull in the arguments between mom and I has come to an end. We are fighting again. Not as bad as before, but bad enough that I've been flat out leaving and not coming back until it's time for bed. Then I show up, say five words or so and close my door.
I don't want to be here. Maybe it's just my age, not a child but not quite an adult. Every other night I find myself wondering if they would even worry if I were to go rent a hotel room. Could I? Am I old enough? Sometimes I know you have to be twenty-one to rent a room.
I want to disappear for a night or two. I want to not have to hear about everyone's problems, everyone's expectations, their favors.
I just want to not exist even more than I already do for a day or so. I'm not big on silence but maybe with no one to talk to I can get some things straight, make some decisions, do something to help my future.
We'll see how it goes.
I don't want to be here. Maybe it's just my age, not a child but not quite an adult. Every other night I find myself wondering if they would even worry if I were to go rent a hotel room. Could I? Am I old enough? Sometimes I know you have to be twenty-one to rent a room.
I want to disappear for a night or two. I want to not have to hear about everyone's problems, everyone's expectations, their favors.
I just want to not exist even more than I already do for a day or so. I'm not big on silence but maybe with no one to talk to I can get some things straight, make some decisions, do something to help my future.
We'll see how it goes.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Damn Good Stalker
So there's this guy (sorry I've not been writing, been busy with stuff and other stuff) in creative writing workshop that I'm sure I've told you about. Being me, and considering I know myself fairly well, I knew the day I saw him that he was just going to be one of those guys I moon over, crush on, consider asking out and then run away because I know I'll never get the words out of my mouth. So I just stare at them, listen to what they say, read what they write, and try to decide if I can continue to like them based on the words that come out of their mouths.
He, bless his cheery little soul, passed the talk test. Meaning he actually had decent things to say, and I could tolerate his opinion because he seemed genuinely open-minded.
Until that dreadful, 'don't mess with the writer' day occured and he made the mistake of not liking my story. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect everyone to like my stuff, but when he was the only one to say something really negative about it, I got pissed. And then the guy that happened to skip class that day, the idiot who is narrow minded and idiotic, e-mailed me some crap about how my story lacked plot and a conclusion and character development...I'm not going to drag you through the details because they are unimportant for this particular story.
Anyway, I send the cute guy (the guy I like, remember?) an e-mail because the other guy managed to push me to my limit. I e-mailed him a long angry e-mail basically demanding to know what he thought my story was missing, and how I could 'perfect' it. And when I hit the send button I had one of those, "I'm going to regret this for the next three weeks until I forget about it" moments.
I get back from work later that night, still shaking my head because I knew I sounded like a moron and what do I find? An equally long apology from that cute guy from class.
So I started slowing my pace or speeding my pace up so that I could leave class with him and we could talk. About anything really, I just enjoyed talking to him, you know?
Then today we did his story in class, workshopped it I mean, and I was all ready to tell him what I thought. Except I didn't. I just couldn't think of anything 'brilliant' to say and I didn't want him to think I was a moron.
And after class? I booked it. I was out of there.
Buuuut I slowed down as I was walking out. I knew he was about twenty feet behind me and I knew he walked slow, at a kind of lazy pace. I am not fond of lazy pacing unless the situation calls for it. I was curious to see if he'd catch up to me this time. He did.
"My God, you just would not shut up would you?" he asked. "Hard to get a word in edge-wise, it was kind of embarassing."
I laughed, "Yeah, I tried to contain myself, but sometimes my mouth just gets away from me, sorry." He laughed and I added, "I really liked your story, I was going to say something but Kirk (that guy I don't like who said I lacked a conclusion) was doing his thing and I just didn't want to interrupt."
"Yeah, but I have to admit that Kirk was...." blah blah, about Kirk.
I smiled and looked over at him. "Yeah and I have to admit that while he was talking I was busy trying to come up with the loudest song I knew to drown him out."
"And how did that go?"
"Poorly," I admitted. "I kept switching stations."
Made my day, right? Right.
But then I used my detective skills (which no one seems to think I have) and looked him up in the student directory. It only gave his number, his e-mail and where he was living. Nothing of interest (what am I going to do with his number? I know the line between creepy and acceptable, calling him when he didn't give me his number would be creepy) there...so then I looked him up on google. JACKPOT!
I knew he lived in Michigan, but I was trying to determine his age. If he was in GSW (which he happened to mention he was) he was likely a Freshman, maybe a sophmore. Then google, my lovely search engine friend, directed me to a paper from his old high school. He got an award in 2009 for something with Boy Scouts. Translation? He graduated last year. Meaning? His age was from 18 to possibly 20, but he's smart so no older because he wouldn't have had to repeat a grade.
I just don't understand why people don't think I could be the next Sherlock Holmes. That's got to prove something, doesn't it?
He, bless his cheery little soul, passed the talk test. Meaning he actually had decent things to say, and I could tolerate his opinion because he seemed genuinely open-minded.
Until that dreadful, 'don't mess with the writer' day occured and he made the mistake of not liking my story. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect everyone to like my stuff, but when he was the only one to say something really negative about it, I got pissed. And then the guy that happened to skip class that day, the idiot who is narrow minded and idiotic, e-mailed me some crap about how my story lacked plot and a conclusion and character development...I'm not going to drag you through the details because they are unimportant for this particular story.
Anyway, I send the cute guy (the guy I like, remember?) an e-mail because the other guy managed to push me to my limit. I e-mailed him a long angry e-mail basically demanding to know what he thought my story was missing, and how I could 'perfect' it. And when I hit the send button I had one of those, "I'm going to regret this for the next three weeks until I forget about it" moments.
I get back from work later that night, still shaking my head because I knew I sounded like a moron and what do I find? An equally long apology from that cute guy from class.
So I started slowing my pace or speeding my pace up so that I could leave class with him and we could talk. About anything really, I just enjoyed talking to him, you know?
Then today we did his story in class, workshopped it I mean, and I was all ready to tell him what I thought. Except I didn't. I just couldn't think of anything 'brilliant' to say and I didn't want him to think I was a moron.
And after class? I booked it. I was out of there.
Buuuut I slowed down as I was walking out. I knew he was about twenty feet behind me and I knew he walked slow, at a kind of lazy pace. I am not fond of lazy pacing unless the situation calls for it. I was curious to see if he'd catch up to me this time. He did.
"My God, you just would not shut up would you?" he asked. "Hard to get a word in edge-wise, it was kind of embarassing."
I laughed, "Yeah, I tried to contain myself, but sometimes my mouth just gets away from me, sorry." He laughed and I added, "I really liked your story, I was going to say something but Kirk (that guy I don't like who said I lacked a conclusion) was doing his thing and I just didn't want to interrupt."
"Yeah, but I have to admit that Kirk was...." blah blah, about Kirk.
I smiled and looked over at him. "Yeah and I have to admit that while he was talking I was busy trying to come up with the loudest song I knew to drown him out."
"And how did that go?"
"Poorly," I admitted. "I kept switching stations."
Made my day, right? Right.
But then I used my detective skills (which no one seems to think I have) and looked him up in the student directory. It only gave his number, his e-mail and where he was living. Nothing of interest (what am I going to do with his number? I know the line between creepy and acceptable, calling him when he didn't give me his number would be creepy) there...so then I looked him up on google. JACKPOT!
I knew he lived in Michigan, but I was trying to determine his age. If he was in GSW (which he happened to mention he was) he was likely a Freshman, maybe a sophmore. Then google, my lovely search engine friend, directed me to a paper from his old high school. He got an award in 2009 for something with Boy Scouts. Translation? He graduated last year. Meaning? His age was from 18 to possibly 20, but he's smart so no older because he wouldn't have had to repeat a grade.
I just don't understand why people don't think I could be the next Sherlock Holmes. That's got to prove something, doesn't it?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Barbie and Tutors and Jobs, Oh my!
So I have an unhealthy obsession with Barbie movies, and I will freely admit that. I am quite fond of watching the movies, I find them interesting. What I find amazing though, what really boggles my mind is that when talking to my manager, John (the 38 year old with daughters) he admitted to watching and enjoying them too! Yeah, I thought it was a joke, until he started listing them off and saying which were the best and which needed work.
How could I not stare at him in wonder? It would've have been extremely difficult.
So then we went from Barbie to talking about jobs. I want to switch from night to morning during summer vacation so that I can get a second job at Walmart, not a bad idea right? I mean I do have to pay for college and everything, I could use the money. He says that they'll likely throw a fit and refuse, and he'd hate to lose such a hard worker (I'm not making it up, I really am a hard worker...when I see cause), but at the same time, I needed to do what I had to do, and Walmart would most definitely pay better.
So you get the part in my title about jobs and Barbie, but what is this about tutors? Do I need a tutor? Am I finally losing my brain? No. Don't be ridiculous I don't need a tutor.
What happened is I got a 60% (D) on my last chemistry exam. Yes, that's a bad grade, no I don't usually suck that much. I just got bored with the class and ceased paying attention. My mistake, and I'm fixing it. My parents seem to think I need a tutor...or well they did. Mom suggested it, but I explained what went wrong and she just shook her head and asked what I learned from this and what her concerns were. Dad on the other hand, keeps pushing it. I said over my dead body would I go meet a tutor for tutoring that I do not need, and he decides he's going to tutor me.
Not only am I not okay with that, but I hate when dad teaches me anything. He can't use simple, understandable terms, he has to teach you by telling you a number of extemely complicated things before he even gets to it, and by that time you're too confused to learn anything anyway.
Oh, the joys of living under your parent's roof. Boy I tell you...
How could I not stare at him in wonder? It would've have been extremely difficult.
So then we went from Barbie to talking about jobs. I want to switch from night to morning during summer vacation so that I can get a second job at Walmart, not a bad idea right? I mean I do have to pay for college and everything, I could use the money. He says that they'll likely throw a fit and refuse, and he'd hate to lose such a hard worker (I'm not making it up, I really am a hard worker...when I see cause), but at the same time, I needed to do what I had to do, and Walmart would most definitely pay better.
So you get the part in my title about jobs and Barbie, but what is this about tutors? Do I need a tutor? Am I finally losing my brain? No. Don't be ridiculous I don't need a tutor.
What happened is I got a 60% (D) on my last chemistry exam. Yes, that's a bad grade, no I don't usually suck that much. I just got bored with the class and ceased paying attention. My mistake, and I'm fixing it. My parents seem to think I need a tutor...or well they did. Mom suggested it, but I explained what went wrong and she just shook her head and asked what I learned from this and what her concerns were. Dad on the other hand, keeps pushing it. I said over my dead body would I go meet a tutor for tutoring that I do not need, and he decides he's going to tutor me.
Not only am I not okay with that, but I hate when dad teaches me anything. He can't use simple, understandable terms, he has to teach you by telling you a number of extemely complicated things before he even gets to it, and by that time you're too confused to learn anything anyway.
Oh, the joys of living under your parent's roof. Boy I tell you...
Monday, March 15, 2010
Mom's Magic Logic
So I liked this guy who everyone said liked me, aaaand I asked him out. His response? "I have plans with my girlfriend that night." Well okay...awesome. So I shrug it off and deal. Then he tells a friend that he broke up with his girlfriend...that same day. I spent the entire weekend trying to figure out when exactly he broke up with his girlfriend. Before I asked him out, which means he's not interested, or after which means there is still hope. I have always needed to hope whole heartily or not at all, so I wanted hopes dashed or I wanted to be able to hope with little doubt.
Turns out (if my source of information is correct) that he broke up with her a month ago.
Well...that sucks. When I found out, I sort of laughed, shrugged my shoulders and went, "Well see? Now I know for sure, and I don't have to sit here hoping. What a relief!" My idiot friends just looked at me and went, "It's not okay, it's not a relief. You're not okay." Really Sherlock? Is that right?
I know I'm not okay, I know it's not a relief. I'm telling you something that is obviously a lie because I don't want to think about it now, I want to drop it. I am pretending because if I pretend to be okay, I will be okay for as long as it takes to get out of this public place, go home and cry. I don't want to cry in front of you. So do me a favor and accept my lie for the time being okay?
So I take Andrew home, drop him off and head back to my home. Alone, I do start to cry and feel sorry for myself. I barely get into my driveway when he calls and asks me to pick him up...so I do. He comments on my 'purple' face. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it, I just want to go home and go to bed.
I take him where he needs to go, dropping something off, and while he's in that house, I call my sister and tell her what happened. We don't cry in front of eachother, or share any feelings beyond "I'm pissed at..." But she's my sister, and I wanted to talk to her. Andrew gets back in the car, I hang up, drive him home and go home. Mom and her boyfriend leave and my sister walks into my room, ready to make me feel better. She never shares, never spends money on anyone but herself and friends, and never tries to make you feel better, but she did then. She offered to buy me ice cream, offered to let me have one of her Fruit by the Foots, and offered to beat him up for me.
But whatever, that's not what this is about. Yesturday I spent half the day analyzing and feeling sorry for myself, thinking "What's so wrong with me? Why do the creepy guys like me, but the guys I actually like...they're completely uninterested?" Which is not always the case, but I'm allowed my few dramatic moments. After the analyzation, I reassured myself with the never failing, always present, mom logic. I just told myself everything my mom has ever said to me in my more depressing moments. He's not the only guy I'll ever like, they're not all going to say no, and guys aren't the center of the universe, if one hurts your feelings and pride (which is what he did, he didn't break my heart, don't be ridiculous we didn't even date) you move on and get on with your life.
Like magic, Mom's advice and logic made me feel better. Feelings are easy to fix, pride heals, and guys come and go. Even without saying a word, Mom helped. It happened yesturday, and I'm sitting here today, completely content and ready for another round (not that I'll be doing anything rash when it comes to guys any time in the next...two or three years). Mom is MAGIC.
Turns out (if my source of information is correct) that he broke up with her a month ago.
Well...that sucks. When I found out, I sort of laughed, shrugged my shoulders and went, "Well see? Now I know for sure, and I don't have to sit here hoping. What a relief!" My idiot friends just looked at me and went, "It's not okay, it's not a relief. You're not okay." Really Sherlock? Is that right?
I know I'm not okay, I know it's not a relief. I'm telling you something that is obviously a lie because I don't want to think about it now, I want to drop it. I am pretending because if I pretend to be okay, I will be okay for as long as it takes to get out of this public place, go home and cry. I don't want to cry in front of you. So do me a favor and accept my lie for the time being okay?
So I take Andrew home, drop him off and head back to my home. Alone, I do start to cry and feel sorry for myself. I barely get into my driveway when he calls and asks me to pick him up...so I do. He comments on my 'purple' face. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it, I just want to go home and go to bed.
I take him where he needs to go, dropping something off, and while he's in that house, I call my sister and tell her what happened. We don't cry in front of eachother, or share any feelings beyond "I'm pissed at..." But she's my sister, and I wanted to talk to her. Andrew gets back in the car, I hang up, drive him home and go home. Mom and her boyfriend leave and my sister walks into my room, ready to make me feel better. She never shares, never spends money on anyone but herself and friends, and never tries to make you feel better, but she did then. She offered to buy me ice cream, offered to let me have one of her Fruit by the Foots, and offered to beat him up for me.
But whatever, that's not what this is about. Yesturday I spent half the day analyzing and feeling sorry for myself, thinking "What's so wrong with me? Why do the creepy guys like me, but the guys I actually like...they're completely uninterested?" Which is not always the case, but I'm allowed my few dramatic moments. After the analyzation, I reassured myself with the never failing, always present, mom logic. I just told myself everything my mom has ever said to me in my more depressing moments. He's not the only guy I'll ever like, they're not all going to say no, and guys aren't the center of the universe, if one hurts your feelings and pride (which is what he did, he didn't break my heart, don't be ridiculous we didn't even date) you move on and get on with your life.
Like magic, Mom's advice and logic made me feel better. Feelings are easy to fix, pride heals, and guys come and go. Even without saying a word, Mom helped. It happened yesturday, and I'm sitting here today, completely content and ready for another round (not that I'll be doing anything rash when it comes to guys any time in the next...two or three years). Mom is MAGIC.
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