Friday, July 30, 2010

I'm Restless

I've got all this cooped up engery, and I just don't know where it's coming from. Everybody else seems to want to slow down, while I just want to go, go, go. I feel as if I could run across the beach and back, and still feel the need to take a few laps around the house just to calm myself down. I'm always moving, but nothing ever seems to make me tired. I've tried everything. Chamomile before bed, kayaking and then swimming, but I'm still screaming inside:
I'm so bored.
I'm so bored.
I'm so bored.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

I Call it Home

Why is it that I find myself loving the crummiest places? Why is it that I wish my house were sometimes a pint-sized apartment with low-grade appliances? Why is it that I miss taking down our clothes with my mom down to the laundry room, which has no AC or heat, and smells heavily of old things? Why is it that I love going downtown, even though the air stinks of greasy fast food? Why is it that I wish I were waiting for something? Is it because sometimes we love things dearly that are imperfect, like we crave it?
Perfect things are boring, and flawless. Airbrushed faces, straw legs, pink lips, big blue doe eyes. You see that everywhere. Nothing new.
Wild unkept hair, a girl who's not obsessed with her weight, two different colored eyes, a crooked tooth here and there. Surely imperfect, definetly not in a magazine. But that's the beautiful part of it all. It's real, something simply, and utterly gorgeous all on her own.
I guess it's just those rare moments that are crappy and nowhere near beautiful that I live for. Imperfectings are perfect.

"Dear mother can you hear me whining, it's been three whole weeks since that I have left your home, This sudden fear has left me trembling, 'Cause now it seems that I am out here on my own, And I'm feeling so alone, Pay attention to the cracked streets and the broken homes, Some call it slums some call it nice, I wanna take you through a wasteland I like to call my home, Welcome to paradise."

Monday, July 26, 2010


People think they can tell me what to do. How to dress. What to look like. What I should look like. What kind of job I should get. When to get my drivers permit. When to dream the impossible or not, and drop down to reality once more. When they can finally read my story.
But here's the thing: They can't. Only I can.
"Tell my mother, tell my father, I did the best I can to make them realize this is my life; I hope they understand."
I need to move at my own pace, at my own clockwork. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. It's just that you're putting me under so much pressure, and you don't even realize it. Let me open each door in my life at the time that's right not for you, but for me.
A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
-Emily Dickinson

Sunday, July 25, 2010

They All Say the Same Thing

I try to tell my parents that it's not a joke, I'm really just miserable for no particular reason that I can define. I try to tell them that it's not funny, that inside it's killing me. I'm trapped and restless and I want out.
And they always give me the same response. "You're so cute, honey", they say, kissing me on my forehead, leaving me to let everything sink in by myself.
No, I'm not. I'm not trying to be cute at all.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Let Me Out of This Deal, Please?

Sometimes I wish I were an animal. Things are so much simpler in their lovely little worlds.
They don't need to worry about school and schedules and just pressure in general.
They don't think things out, only doing something on pure instinct. It's just so true and split-second thinking.
They don't hold grudges. Whenever one of my cats tumble around on the ground together growling and hissing at eachother, a few minutes later I can find them curled up together in one of my sweatshirts. Gotta love that.
They don't have the tube shoving spoonfulls of mindless media down their throats.
They don't obsess about their weight.
They don't need to pretend to be happy socializing with others while inside a tiny voice is screaming I hate this. Let me out!!!
They don't need to buy clothes for all sorts of occasions.
They don't need to get a job when they grow up.
They don't think about death all the time.
Sitting in the kitchen watching the falling rain, I glance over at my cat, who's tucked into a little ball on an island chair, sleeping through the storm that lulls her to sleep. I wish I were you, I think to myself. My cute little orange cat looks up at me sleepily and lets out a small purr, tucking her head underneath her paw once again.
I envy that.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010


Even when it feels as if the clock never ticks faster, and it's always winter, just remember that there's always a spring waiting for you around the corner. Things will feel better soon. Just remember that.
They will. I promise.

Monday, July 19, 2010

21st Century Breakdown

Guess what? The title of this post actually doesn't apply to me for once. But yesterday it did.
I'm just so overwhelmed lately about everything. Life, death, wasting time, family, living in the moment, my self-esteem that I'm trying to keep up with. Sometimes, it feels like there's nowhere to run. I just want to pull the plug on my thoughts, which are going at warped speed, and say "Just shut up, keep quiet, and look around you." Some days, though, I don't have that strength to pull myself out of it.
That's where yesterday comes in.
I was just... sobbing into my pillow about nothing in particular. I mean, everything was going great. Blue skies, cookout later, nice and breezy out, and I wasn't grounded or anything. It all happened so fast. One minute I was sitting at the island with my mom while she made coffee cake for the party, and then before I knew it I felt like my brain was caving in. So when I was in my room, crying about how messed up I was, someone tapped at my door. It was my dad. He told me through the door that he was going to Home Depot, and asked if I wanted to come. At first I said no, I just wanted to be left alone. But then he said, "C'mon. I know how you're feeling; we're very similar that way." He paused. "I'll give you a few minutes to get ready." And then he left me to think. The way he said it made me finally get up, splash water onto my face, and get up.
So we went to Home Depot to get some things for the yard, and then to the flower shop for some rose bushes. He offered to get me a Coolada. It was just a silent trip, with the few occasional conversations. Even though I get mad at him, my dad makes me feel peaceful. It's really wierd, and so surreal.
The cookout was good, and I went swimming with my brother in my grandma's lake behind her house. The water was so warm, the air cool and breezy. It was nice. Then I dried off laying down on a lawn chair, listening to the water and the trees blow around in the wind. Now I've just been in a good mood since then. Reality checks are good every once in awhile. I love this quote, and I think about it whenever I'm about to do something hard. "Life begins when you've reached the end of your comfort zone." I agree sometimes
I was looking at websites for school clothes, and I found these cute jeans that I adore. I first saw them back in April, and everytime my mom and I would go to the Gap, I'd just stare at those jeans. I love them so much, and you can look at them here:
Also more cute clothes that I want:
Here's a picture that makes me happy.
This picture is exactly what I love about summer. If only I could be the one lying there forever...

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Wish I Got to Know You Better

I wish I could have known my great grandma longer than I did, because of what my mom and grandma tells me, she would have liked me, vise versa.

When she was little, she was very smart and skipped two grades just to get a challange out of school, but then her mother took her out of school to work for the family. I think she could have been a great author. So much potential.

I've been thinking about her a lot lately.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Comfort Food

It's comforting to know that something so simple and lovely can bring a smile to even a tear-streaked face.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Feeding the Monster

Everyday we wake up to a society
That strives for perfection,
Driving ourselves deep into the ground,
Always sensing rejection.

The monster is our hero ine,
Taking over our souls,
Depriving us of living,
Gaining all control.
They've got the strings
Under their rein,
Parading all girls around like lifeless puppets,
Knowing they've got all to gain.
Theatrical eyeliner-rimmed eyes we've got,
Glossy waves of tumbling hair.
With the strings tied around us and their fingers, like a game,
They drive us deep into the ground, and don't really care.
It's nothing foreign,
The bitterness new,
Radiation exposed to the innocent
Living without a clue.
But lying in your bed, the tube laughing in your face,
You turn your head onto your pillow and close your heavy eyes,
Diving into shallow sleep,
Slipping away from the lies.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

In the Garret

Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
All fashioned and filled, long ago,
By children all in their prime.
Four little keys hung side by side,
With faded ribbons, brave and gay
When fastened there, with childish pride
Long ago, on a rainy day.
Four little names, one on each lid,
Carved out by a boyish hand,
And underneath there lieth hid
Histories of a happy band
Once playing here, and pausing oft
To hear the sweet refrain,
That came and went on the roof aloft,
In the falling summer rain.

"Meg" on the first lid, smooth and fair.
I look in with loving eyes,
For folded here, with well-known care,
A goodly gathering lies,
The record of a peaceful life-
Gifts to gentle child and girl,
A bridal gown, lines to a wife,
A tiny shoe, a baby curl.
No toys in his first chest remain,
For all are carried away,
In their old age, to join again
In another small Meg's play.
Ah, happy mother! well I know
You hear, like a sweet refrain,
Lullabies ever soft and low
In the falling summer rain.

"Jo" on the next lid, scratched and worn,
And within a motley store
Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn,
Birds and beasts that speak no more;
Spoils brought home from the fairy ground
Only trod by youthful feet,
Dreams of a future never found,
Memories of a past still sweet;
Half-writ poems, stories wild,
April letters, warm and cold,
Diaries of a willful child,
Hints of a woman early old;
A woman in a lonely home,
Hearing, like a sad refrain-
"Be worthy, love, and love will come,"
In the falling summer rain.

My Beth! the dust is always swept
From the lid that bears your name,
As if by loving eyes that wept,
By careful hands that often came.
Death canonized for us one saint,
Ever less human than divine,
And still we lay, with tender plaint,
Relics in this housefold shrine-
The silver bell, so seldom rung,
The little cap which last she wore,
The fair, dead Catherine that hung
By angels borne above her door;
The songs she sang, without lament,
In her prison-house of pain,
Forever are they sweetly blent
With the falling summer rain.

Upon the last lid's polished field-
Legend now both fair and true-
A gallant knight bears on his shield,
"Amy", in letters gold and blue.
Within lie snoods that bound her hair,
Slippers that have danced their last,
Faded flowers laid by with carem
Fans whose airy toild are past;
Gay valentines, all adrent flames,
Trifles that have borne their part
In girlish hopes and fears and shames,
The record of a maiden heart
Now learning fairer, truer spells,
Hearing, like a blithe refrain,
The silver sound of bridal bells
In the falling summer rain.

Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
Four women, taught by weal and woe
To love and labor in their prime.
Four sisters, parted for an hour,
None lost, only gone before,
Made by love's immortal power,
Nearest and dearest evermore.
Oh, when these hidden stores of ours
Lie open to the Father's sight,
May they be rich in golden hours,
Deeds that show fairer for the light,
Lives whose brave music long shall ring,
Like a spirit-stirring strain,
Souls that shall gladly soar and sing
In the long sunshine after rain.
-Little Women, p 623-625

Monday, July 5, 2010

Inspiring, Right?

Sometimes, when I'm driving in the car with my mom down windy green backroads, and she's blasting the radio, I can't help but feel like I'm flying. Taking a dip in the road, while the chorus to an amazing song is at its highest, I feel like I can do anything, be anything. I feel alive, excited, my adrenaline spiked. With the windows all down blowing my hair around my face, I feel like a rockstar. I know who I am when those insane punk rock songs are blaring, and I can't help but think, This is who I am. This is who I was meant to be. And then the music slowly fades away, the last of my adrenaline gone, my superpowers nonexistent. I'm just me again, confused and searching once more.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Ugly Being

"Cause I'm on the outside
I can see through you
And I'm looking in
Cause inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
I can see through you
And see your true colors."

Friday, July 2, 2010

Jade Stew

2 cups of wiseness to last a lifetime
1 pint of fresh stubbornness
3 generous handfulls of loyalty
1 ounce of strong opinions
1 1/2 tablespoons of love
2 teaspoons of pure uniqueness
a splash of old soul charm
one heaping spoonfull of sarcasm
and a dash of laughter

Combine all ingredients together in a large purple porcelean bowl and stir with an old fashioned silver spoon or a wooden one. For best results, add saltwater from the ocean and a small handfull of snow from the 1st snowfall of the year. Add a minced cat whisker that fell off from your cat and a purple flower petal as well. If you cannot find a purple flower petal, a pinch of purple food coloring is fine.
When everything is mixed, put the bowl out in the sun on a windy day at sunrise and leave it there till noon.

And that's how you make Jade Stew!