so why bother
It’s extremely frustrating. I am just the wrong mixture of things that I can’t seem to do much of anything.
Being 23 is overrated anymore.
Cher Voice: “If I could turn back tiiiime”
I don’t have my own words to explain this. I don’t need them.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
~ Falsely yours”
“My father could have been a great comedian, but he didn’t believe that that was possible for him, and so he made a conservative choice. Instead, he got a safe job as an accountant, and when I was 12 years old, he was let go from that safe job and our family had to do everything we could to survive. I learned many great lessons from my father, not the least of which is you can fail at what you don’t want, so why not take a chance at doing what you love?”
“If you really want something, you don’t stop for anyone or anything until you get it.”
— Blair Waldort
“You have to be odd to be number one.”
— Dr. Seuss
“But there are moments when one has to choose between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely — or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands.”
— Oscar Wilde
“So many things are possible just as long as you don’t know they’re impossible.”
— Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth
“There is only one success… to be able to spend your life in your own way, and not to give others absurd maddening claims upon it.” -Christopher Morley, Where the Blue Begins, 1922
“You must never be fearful about what you are doing when it is right. ”
“She’s figured out all her doubts were someone else’s point of view”
“If success is not on your own terms, if it looks good to the world but does not live in your heart, it is not success at all.”
“Cherish your best hopes as a faith, and abide by them in action. Such shall be the effectual fervent means to their fulfillment.”
“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
I just want to take some form of a writing class. Yet it seems impossible.
I can’t even handle the frustration right now to allow me to vent here. I want an outlet or independence. I can only do so much to get these things. I don’t feel like myself these days. I am not used to having a resting rage at all times. It takes a toll on my thought processing.
I need to work on letting go.
Maybe I will fell less frustrated.
I have been trying to find a solution that’s not applicable to the question. I was debating changing my major.
But I realized my problem had nothing to do with my major. My problem was my lack of freedom; emotional and physical. Every change I make is me trying to reclaim myself.
The cause you ask?
I need to be independent and I will do anything to get there.
While my summer has proven to be shockingly eventful, I have found time to almost complete the entire series that is Californication.
All this insanely addictive show has done for me is make me want, need, to write. I find solace in words somehow but at the same time I feel that reading is ultimately a way to escape real life and in that respect it is not something I want to indulge myself in. Unless, of course, I choose to read as a way to pass time on a train. Other than that situation, it appears to be nothing more than a waste.
I like to think this is why I sound better in song lyrics. Short. Sweet. Inspiring. And it gets you to move and the majority of the time it isn’t an all-consuming experience. People use music as background inspiration. They don’t touch and flip pages, they don’t watch the music note from note on a page. The don’t smell the book (or perhaps the nook).
And yet what few books I have run away to were emotionally draining in the best possible ways.
I’m not sure if this inner conflict will ever resolve itself. It’s just that image I have of that English teacher trying to preach to all the English majors and nonmajors of how amazing books and writing are. All because they let you live time and time again.
It pissed me off so much that I changed my major. Again.
You’re not living in books, you’re escaping. At the very most they are inspiring you to stop fucking reading books and find your own story worth telling.
I think I’ve found my answer and alas, I have another question…
Is it wrong/illogical to greatly enjoy writing but for the most part hate reading?
I’ve always heard writers need to read read read. No commas. No breaths.
But maybe they’ve got it wrong.
Or maybe I am insane and an increasingly terrible writer.
Perhaps I can remind myself of all the high school teachers who were frustrated with me and my intelligence and my lack of participation.
I was called a sponge from time to time. As I never did anything but listen and absorb.
But in my defense, if you saw what some of those participants said, it was just frustrating.
As someone who has always wanted to be a teacher, for as long as I can remember, I would be bored in class and play out various scenarios in my head.
These scenarios were of two main varieties:
First, me predicting a student’s question due to the teacher’s lack of clarity, lack of pronunciation, lack of specifics, or due to the student fiddling with their pen or sneezing, or most likely- just having terrible listening skills.
Second, were class discussions. I wasn’t too good at predicting the teacher’s initial question, but from there I could predict what someone, not a specific student as I really didn’t care, would respond with. Then I would see a counter-argument by another student. Then I could hear the first student’s response to him/her. Then I could hear the teacher intervene and say they both make good points, or whatever.
I’m not saying I was bored because I was some kind of literary genius, I’m saying I was bored because I had spent most of my days in a classroom understanding both the student’s and teacher’s perspectives and was so bored with the dynamic and lack of any real development.
Most of my English classes were so frustrating because I didn’t care about allegories or understanding what some song lyrics by Modest Mouse were about.
I’m not too great at getting the deeper meaning of certain kinds of writing.
I suck at Bible references as I have never read more than a tiny bit of it. The bits I have read were for school. I didn’t know the story of Adam and Eve until I was 14.
I guess more than anything, I feel like some literary devices need to be left in a quiet slumber. Left to leave us in a unclear awe as we focus on the key elements and the big picture of books and shows like Californication. Those little bits are great and maybe some people become great writers by dissecting art, but it just sounds scientific and all too insignificant to any author whose work was being broken down and exposed in a half-hazard manner.
All I know is Californication is a stunning show and inspires me.
I doubt there’s much else I really need to extract from my emotions towards it.
I’m not trying to be an asshole, it’s just I need motivation to move out.
With that in mind, let us begin:
1. He gets furious at the amount of toilet paper we (the girls of my family) use!!! Like WHAT THE FUCK?!
2. He gets mad if you trip and make only a high pitched noise. If it is a loud ass grunt you’re ok. But NOT any growling “cause it scares him”.
3. He likes to starve us and not buy food. In the last month I have spent 300 on food. We sometimes have bread. He doesn’t like to buy soy milk even though my stomach can no longer really handle milk.
4. He will let us run out of soda. Soda is my only caffeine source. I NEED caffeine. I’ve tried to stop but it is so hard when it’s cheap and makes the rice you eat 10x a week taste like more than just white rice.
5. He lied about our new house. My sisters and mom can’t have tv’s in their room because it would cost too much to hook up.
6. He referred to my brother as his step-son to his brother on the phone. I wanted to murder him.
7. He can’t remember my major or what I want to do.
8. He lied for a year about buying me a car and I could have saved up and bought one already. I didn’t do this because it could/would have pissed him off.
9. He own’t trust my mom with a credit card ever since she bought my sister and I lunch one time 8 or 9 years ago.
10. We must keep our cats in our rooms at night so he doesn’t get woken up. Needless to say they scratch at the door and cry so much that none of us are getting enough sleep.
11. He is cheap about every fucking thing.
12. He doesn’t listen
13. He is almost always condescending.
14. He interrupts everyone
15. He asks what you said when he enters a room even when the conversation was not directed towards him in any way.
16. He gets mad if you’re in anywhere he wants to be EVEN IF YOU WERE THERE FIRST
17. He gets mad if you eat dinner before him. Basically we HAVE to wait for him to eat before we do.
18. If you eat anything from 4pm to 6pm he will say “well aren’t you eating dinner?” or “didn’t you eat lunch?” Coming from an obese man here!
19. Inconsistent parenting throughout my life
20. It’s a daily effort not to fucking hate him.
21. My mother inherited a house from her friend years and years ago. He told her not to pay some sort of fee and I was like 4 or 5 and we got EVICTED.
22. He has evaded taxes before many many years in a row.
23. Because of this I couldn’t get the fafsa for YEARS
24. I can’t apply for medical *obamacare* because i would need his Drivers license as i am under 25.
25. He told my sisters they could move in and has been a complete asshole ever since/
26. He has screamed at me when a computer stops working. He then got mad when I cried. He then got mad when my mom got mad at him. Then he said I was spoiled. And for my mom to let him raise his daughter.
27. He never sees his now 30 something year old son. And hasn’t since he was 12. I can’t understand that.
28. He got mad when I wanted to see a psychologist. I was diagnosed bipolar. After i decided to stop seeing my psychiatrist, my parents both decided I wasn’t bipolar. So three years later when I wanted to find a way to see a psychologist he got mad. AGAIN. I still haven’t seen one since.
29. HE IS SO FULL OF SHIT WHY AM I STILL LIVING HERE? I’D rather have crippling arthritis (cause i wouldn’t afford rent and my doctor bills) and living in a fucking alleyway.
I desperately want to use this blog as a place to write fictional stories or any stories for that matter, but every time I think to enter into this blog world that is not just tumblr, I don’t seem to have a creative bone left in me. I guess this blog is more of a diary on when I write and how I write and the research I do for stuff. It is also a place for me to put small things I have written just so they have a home.
I guess it is just a mess.
But I digress…
I desperately need a new project, or to pick up where I left off on Forgive Me City. I feel like I’ve changed too much to complete it. I need to write. At least it sure seems like it. I do not think the same way as everyone else. I absorb things differently. I feel like I can imagine people who need a person like me to write things down. I feel like I’ve been looking for someone to see things the way I do. I can’t imagine that there aren’t people out there like me. The thing is, people like me never finish things. People like me become someone else in the process of trying. I think this because it feels as if I am. And I don’t know if that’s the procrastination, now five years strong, or if it’s the truth.
That’s the real dilemma.
I think I may try and crash an English class this semester.
Lots of boring things have happened and here I am still up at 1am alone on the internet. I am happy to say I have avoided refriending my friends from January. I am all alone and much better off, perhaps with the exception of excessive nights spent on netflix. The sum is better than the parts… or whatever people say. I am still just as confused and crazy as always. I get to start college for the third time! I have transfer orientation on monday and THAT WILL BE A GREAT SUCCESS OF COURSE. I will get amazing classes and not fall asleep and maybe not sweat in the Sacramento heat.
Is sarcastic positive thinking a way in which to at least encourage future positive thinking if not a form of positive thinking itself?
I can only hope.
But I try and put something here whenever I think of this blog. OH I KNOW!
I got accepted to CSULB.
Which is insane. I barely stood a chance at getting in, yet here I am thinking of how impossible it will be.
I am trying so hard, hopefully something pays off. Sending myself good vibes for the future!