Last night I was lying in bed relishing in the fact that it was Christmas Eve and then in the fact that it was almost New Years, and then my thoughts rested on resolutions. 2011 took a lot away from me and I lost a lot of who I was. I don't know how I could reconcile some of the events of the past year, but I know how I can make sure that 2012 will not be the same. It's kind of lame, but I think that every night this week I'm going to post a resolution. Mostly because it'll give me something to hold myself to.
We all have our nights,
1 - write every day.
p.s. Childish Gambino's new album was disappointing — Drake's was not.
I think that it is really fucking great that there are kids out there who can quote pages from the dictionary. If you know the entire english language, all the etymologies and definitions of all the words that we've ever spoken, I think you are brilliant and I'm sure you have an incredibly high IQ and I am sure that many, many colleges will welcome you into their outstretched arms. I commend you. However, you are missing the point.
Writing a novel is not stringing together meanings. Writing books and poetry has nothing to do with loving to learn new words and to use them profusely and to prove your vocabulary before everyone else's. It is about using beautiful lies to illustrate truth. That is what telling a story boils down to.
On Friday, I almost didn't go to initiation for the sorority my roommate and I joined. I got cold feet and I called to say I wasn't going. The president called me and tried to convince me to, and I told her I would consider it. Then, I realized that if everyone was freaking out so much about me not going, I might as well go. When I called back the president to tell her I was going, she literally started crying with happiness. If there is anything I will remember for the rest of my life, it will be that, if only because it is such a beautiful example how people are wonderful.
Right now I am sitting in the office eating a muffin for breakfast at 2:31 p.m. and contemplating doing anything that might actually be considered productive. This weekend I realized that I lost something a long time ago, and I think I might have found it again. My stress has been a bit subdued, but now it comes in waves, so for a while I feel great and then suddenly my stomach is turning.
National Novel Writing Month was a fail. So are my academics.
I believe that the world is full of beautiful things.
Two nights ago a friend and I were talking about getting hurt, and she told me that something about me makes people comfortable, makes them understand that I don't expect much in return for friendship. It was probably one of the nicest things anyones ever said to me.
I think that my favorite part of being alive might be becoming close with people. I love the process of bonding, the little situations that don't seem important at the time but you end up remembering, like sitting on someones lap riding shotgun and feeling really aerodynamic or waiting for people to show up to your party and watching your guy friends flop around like goofballs or sitting cross-legged outside someones apartment, talking about yoda. The people in those situations, the ones that you feel comfortable around, are the ones that make you who you are. I don't remember most of yesterday evening, but I do remember one thing that I won't let myself forget. Last night is going to end up being very important in the grand scheme of things, if I've learned anything since I moved into this apartment complex.
I think that God works in very mysterious ways.
Hope you had a good Halloweekend,
P.s. 24 hours until nanowrimo begins- get ready for frantic updates.
She paints her fingers with a close precision. He starts to notice empty bottles of gin, and take a moment to assess the sin she's paid for. A lonely speaker in a conversation, her words are swimming through his ears again: there's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you paid for. He senses something, call it desperation, another dollar, another day and if she has the proper words to say she'd tell but she'd have nothing left to sell him. Say what you mean, tell me I'm right and let the sun rain down on me. Give me a sign, I wanna believe. Mona Lisa, you're guaranteed to run this town. Mona Lisa, I'd pay to see you frown. There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you paid for.
Wherever you found it, it's none of my business, now wherever you go, it's not my concern. But for a second, your attention just belonged to me, and it passed so fast which is scratchin' off my cool. I'm not broken hearted, I'm just kinda pissed off.
You sang to me in a whisper, a capella, cross-legged on andrew's bed and I, drunk beyond my fifteen years, wished to be anywhere else instead, 'cause I was still terrified of you and oh, I was to scared to dare to do, so I slid, unsprung, off the mattress and crumpled to the floor, and the sad fact is, you said you were protected, I thought you meant you had a gun.
I wonder if I'd be so good if I saw you again? Listen, miss, you've got me, you should've taught me such naughty things.
My favorite part of the daytime are the occasions when I manage to wake up early, and I walk to class while the air is still coolish and I listen to music and I let the songs make me feel the way I did the first time I heard them. My favorite part of the nighttime is when I get back to my apartment complex and I realize that it really does feel like home.
On an entirely different note
There is a night that happened over a month ago that I would like to discuss because something that happened this weekend reminded me of it and I would like to get this all out of my system (I promise there is a moral at the end). If you know me at all there is a chance you have heard about this particular night, and if you know me well then you most certainly have because I ranted about it a shitton, particularly if you live in Austin (sorry, MC). I like to call it "the night of the akward goodbye." I don't necessarily want to go into detail about the night itself, but it was back before a lot of shit went down with my neighbors, and at the time I was hooking up with one of them on and off. Now, a disclaimer, here's my thing- I'm really, really, really, I cannot express to you how bad I am at emotional stuff and relationships, and the thing that I am worst at is "having a thing." I am horrible at it. One night stands, I'm great at! I love having no strings attached. I almost never go back for more, but when I do, I start getting confused and overanalyzing and I never know quite how to handle myself because I hate/am terrible at all the emotional bullshit that happens in the very beginning of relationships, which is probably why I've been in so few of them.
Anyway, this particular night was a milestone for this "thing" because we had hooked up three times in a row, a hat-trick, one night after the other, which never ever happens, and on this night, the fourth night, this guy and I hadn't even kissed at all and instead of hugging me goodbye, he gives me this bullshit wave and I didn't know what the fuck was going on. He didn't even actually wave his hand, it was just like a raised palm. After that, there were a few more nights and moments but the "thing" was effectively over because what the fuck, a wave? Not even a fucking hug? The ranting isn't really the point though. What I realized tonight is that I am sick and tired of having to try and figure out what people are thinking. Please just tell me, I do not read minds. This applies to everyone, not just guys who want in my pants, but it especially applies to them, because to be straight up, if you do not want anything serious, I am okay with that. If you are not straight up, you will leave whatever girl or boy or whoever you wanna get with looking like this ---------------------------------------------------------------------->
Okay so prob not really that sad, but seriously. I love casual, or if I think your cool enough I could probably handle dating you, but you need to tell me what you want or I won't know what the fuck is going on. What I would like to say, I guess, is this- if you would like to get what you want, then you need to open your mouth and tell the person who you want to get it from. Otherwise, I guarantee that whatever "thing" you had going on will be donezo.
Thaaaaaaaaaaaaanks, OH OH OH and
I wrote a whole lot the other night, and I decided that I am going to participate in national novel writing month :)
I know I don't usually type this much but it's been a week and I missed this. I don't even know who follows this anymore, hah. I'll prob post again in the next couple of days.
hey hey hey I love you,
There are few things in life that don't have words attached to them, but they exist, and they are always the things that I have the most trouble dealing with. The way I feel when I see my baby twin siblings, the safe notion I get when I curl up under the covers in Julia's room at home, the internal quiet that used to settle over me while I drove to and from a particular boy's house late at night last winter, the nostalgia of walking through my old elementary school's playground, remembering all the things that happened there. The strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realize that I don't know what I want, and I'm going to have to make a real decision soon.
I don't want to become the kind of old person who lays awake at night wondering "what if?"
Once when I was young, a boy in my algebra class who I'd hardly spoken to looked at me and told me that he'd dreamt that the world was ending, and everyone was sitting at their algebra desks during the apocalypse and everyone was panicking and the only face in the whole room that he could focus on was mine.
I don't know who's face I'd have liked to see in that dream, but I hope one day I do. I won't dread I won't dread I won't dread,
Before this week, I had probably not eaten an omelet in a year. Suddenly, everyone's competing to make me the most fucking delicious omelet in the world.
Not that I'm complaining, but all of a sudden omelets have become a thing. I had a particularly fancy one earlier today. There were sauteed tomatoes on the side, it was a fucking serious omelet, and it made me think a lot about a way I could choose to go, eating fancy omelets and feeling a certain way I forgot I could feel, a particular kind of honesty I haven't allowed myself to indulge in since high school, since I began planning. If I can be totally weird with you, the omelet put me in this kind of intoxicating state of mind, a place where I could say whatever I wanted with no repercussions, something I've never really allowed myself to do. But while I was eating it, I kept thinking about this particularly endearing one I had a week ago today. I've gotta be honest, it looked super shady- it was more like a bacon burrito thing and the kid who made it filled holes in the egg with cheese. It was enormous, I couldn't even finish it. If I'm gonna be straight up though, it was probably the best omelet I've ever had.
I can't tell what but something about my apartment feels different from yesterday.
My nightstand is shaped like an octagon, it takes up almost a whole corner of my room. It used to be on my mother's half of my parent's bedroom, but now it's not because my mother isn't there either. It once held camera boxes full of photos she packed away, catalogued like priceless memories even though most of them were simple, me playing soccer or her and my dad looking nice, the nights she smelled like perfume. It has seen my parent's first apartment, and Columbus, Pittsburgh, Midland, Norman, Plano. Now it sees me, sprawled across a quilted mattress with no bedframe, trying to turn a piece of furniture into poetry. It holds the things I could not find a place for, nothing priceless, the things I forget. Upon it sit a yellow lamp, an overpriced candle in a baby blue teacup, a picture of my best friend, a girl my mother never met. The nightstand has seen her come and go, has seen the things she could not throw away, has smelled her perfume. Now the octagon is empty in a new city, and maybe someday soon I will fill it with things I cannot throw away, and I will learn to catalogue too.
I'm not going to lie- I have a lot of friends.
Not bragging or anything, I just really love people and I know a lot of them. I don't have a lot of close friends, but people tend to ask me when they're looking for parties or they need to get in touch with someone because I have the most connections, and I'm always the one who brings three or four too many people along with her. I've always been loud and obnoxious, particularly in situations where I should not be talking, like class- I had a love/hate relationship with almost every single one of my teachers in high school for commentating on what we were talking about that day with usually relevant but often unnecessary thoughts. I got in trouble in like, literally every class and there was always a point in the year when my teachers would just give up trying to keep me quiet after I would respond to their last ditch effort of moving me across the room from my friends by A)yelling across the room instead and B)making friends with my new neighbors. I am an extroverted person, and while I require alone time and I often get annoyed or bored if I'm around the same people for too long, I am inherently social.
I think though, that I gravitate toward people who aren't. I guess I never paid attention until recently, but the people who I don't get bored of, who I really let in and who I'm fascinated by, are the quiet ones- the ones who don't wear their heart on their sleeve, which is something I have an unfortunate habit of doing. It's a challenge getting to know them, and I guess once I do something tells me not to let it go. While I've had close friends who are just as outgoing and crazy as I am, the people who I really, really trust and who I'm genuinely loyal to are always the ones who I have to break out of their shell a little bit.
I think maybe I might be a little bit jealous- they have mystery, and have probably spent a lot more time thinking than I have. Mostly, though, I think it's because I know that I can really truly trust them with the dark things that I keep to myself, and that's hard to find.
This weekend I saw kanye west and stevie wonder, showered myself in glowstick juice, and resisted the urge to buy a $57 pair of shoes. I have learned, through it all, that there are never, ever going to be enough pictures of me drunk in a sombrero- never.
There really isn't a point to this post.
I started writing something new again. And I wrote a poem.
I can feel it in my bones that people will read this one day.
Who is the man I see where I'm supposed to be? I lost my heart, I buried it too deep under the iron sea. Lines even more unclear, not sure I'm even here. The more I look, the more I think that I'm starting to disappear. I don't know where I am, and I don't really care. I look myself in the eye, there's no one there. I fall upon the earth, I call upon the air, but all I get is the same old vacant stare. Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball, save us all, tell me life is beautiful. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I'm fading out. Everything I know is wrong, so put me where I belong.
Why am I online right now? It is four in the morning on a Friday. Of all the things I should be doing in Austin, it should not be facebook creeping.
No but seriously. This has been a good Friday.
I think I'm chill with having a long to do list... for now
p.s. I am actually writing and working, I promise. I know I haven't talked very much about it lately. Lo Siento. Updates soon! Probably on fictionpress too... even though no one seems to keep up with that well enough to comment or provide any actual feedback.
Hah no but forreal. Updates soon. Love you!
There is something in my bones that tells me when something is or isn't right, and I only get the feeling every so often but when I do it always follows through. I look at someone or something and I know that things are or aren't going to end in my favor, and to be honest it's usually hell getting there one way or the other, but I'm almost always right on the mark.
This semester, however little of it has happened so far, has been strange. I've barely gone in to work, my apartment complex has been up in arms because of a recent tragedy, and friends are grieving and one of them is gone. Last Saturday I went to a birthday party and this Saturday I went to a funeral. Labor day and Richard's birthday are over now and the world will really start back up tomorrow.
I'm not really sure what point I'm trying to make to be honest. I think a lot of times I start off stories like that and end with some kind of moral, but I really don't have one this time. I guess I just need to type because, don't get me wrong, I've dealt with a lot of change over the years, but this time everything happened so fast and it's a little harder to think on my feet, you know?
Through all of this though, there are a few lights at the end of the tunnel, if you will. I can assure you, I'm sprinting towards them. This week has been exhausting and entirely too void of activity.
Now, just for fun, here is a stupid picture I took God knows when with photo booth. Note the classy ass beer can.
If anything has become distinctly apparent to me in the past three weeks, it is this: when I'm old and drinking a glass of whisky with my cereal when I wake up at three in the afternoon, and when I do book signings and other fancy things, I will most definitely have written something about my time in this particular apartment.
p.s. for the record, I am not dumb. This is for someone specific. You know who you are, and if you don't then you should.
I am awake and I think I'm probably going to stay that way. I might clean my apartment.
I don't know why I'm blogging right now hah. I don't really have a lot to say. I guess I really don't want to be alone.
High energy pencil skirt wearing journalist Loch is back with a mug of coffee inside her and a bottle of Jack Daniels waiting at home. I forgot how much I missed this. Sorry I didn't write yesterday, I've been at the office non-stop.
Have you ever had that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you are exactly where you're supposed to be?
"For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us how to live and die."
Sorry I was gone so long, my macbook had to have the keyboard replaced so it was at the apple store and while I did have access to computers, it just didn't feel right rushing to post something, and certainly not on a computer that wasn't my baby. I am writing this sitting by my ridiculously cluttered bookshelves and my huge window in my classyass sixth floor apartment in West Campus, looking across at an apartment complex I had a drunken revelation at late last semester while I wait for my bed to get delivered so my room will finally be finished. Yesterday I said goodbyes and left Plano and the past two days have been full of shopping and lugging things up six flights of stairs and the most ridiculous amount of unpacking, and it's so close to being finished, and all that I have been able to think since I got here is that I belong in this city more than anywhere else in the world.
Tonight my friends and I got milkshakes at the whataburger by my best friend's old apartment complex. We drove through the parking lot of my old high school and past the elementary school park where I was bridged to a brownie and had my first cigarette, but we didn't stop to get out.
Today was long and amazing in a lot of ways. I met people I've only ever dreamed of meeting and I was terrified that they wouldn't like me or I wouldn't be who they thought I was but it was the most normal feeling in the world. I also realized that Plano doesn't feel exactly how it used to. It's weird being homesick for a different city.
On a side note,
I am not sad because I am not done with you yet but I am also not an idiot. Now is not a good time.
This is not for who you think.
The only thing that stays the same is change
I love you and I can't wait to go home again,
Today I got the worst headache of my life.
After hiding out in the bathroom at work half crying for at least a half hour, I went home and watched true blood until I fell asleep for forever and ever and I had like eight of these weird dreams. I think that this summer gave me a whole lot to think about and I realized that I'm feeling so, so homesick for Austin. Only two more weeks!
I want a million different things, and no matter what the plan is to get what I want.
p.s. writing is going well, I'm working a lot on character development :)
We were always alone, and I didn't even question. I couldn't see room for anyone else. Sometimes, we wake up. I had dismissed the me that once was, I was so delicate and so easily torn. It was unfair for us to deprive ourselves. I wanted to be together,
Yesterday, someone told me my IQ was high but my EQ was low. I had never thought about it that way before.
There is honestly only one thing that I am good at and that is writing and it terrifies me to think about what could happen if I don't succeed, which is exactly why I will, because failure is absolutely under no circumstances ever going to be any kind of option. I would give up everything to win.
I wish I knew how to go about things but no one gives me the advice I want and I always want to do what I want instead of what I should. I wish I could just leave everything and go somewhere far and wear oversized flannel and tights for pants and sit outside in 60 degree weather and alternate between taking out a canoe and working on eight novels at once, but instead I have to deal with college and obligations. I hate obligations because our purpose is most definitely not to pay the bills and mow the lawn and go to work and file our taxes, it is to love and be loved and die happy, and I can't do that when I'm doing everything else. I wish someone would just be okay with me doing what I want? Especially if what I want is not what I need?
There are some people that make me really sad because I am afraid to die, but they are afraid to live.
There are moments when I get so restless and the only thing I can do is reread and edit and tear apart old things, and I think those are the moments when everything is moving and I wouldn't trade them for the world. Last night it really, really hit me that I am not the same girl I was this time last year, and it also hit me that I am so, so very okay with that.
I keep falling into the same trap of forgetting what I should be doing and getting off track, but I think this summer has been good for me. It's made a lot of things a lot clearer.
You know, I'm doing aiight :)