Due to a variety of reasons, I haven't had the heart to post in awhile. One of the biggest is that my love people/hate people balance has tipped alarmingly to the "hate people" side and is only now leveling back off.
Mostly because when I'm online and people instant message me, they can't talk about anything interesting, relaxing, or fun. No, they have to be aggressively annoying and bug me about "why you don't have a job yet", offering millions of stupid suggestions and possible explanations. I don't want to think about it! I have been dying for an SLR for months now, and if I don't get a job, I can't afford one. Period.
People, don't stress out your already stressed-out friends. They will retaliate in kind as soon as they get an opportunity.
Two nice things: I bought Albert Camus' "The Stranger", and Agatha Christie's "The Murder of Roger Akroyd" a few days ago and will settle down to read them sometime soon. They're two books I've been longing to add to my (small) collection for months now. I am also going to order Rafaella Barker's "Summertime" off Amazon, and then call it quits...that "no job" thing getting in the way once more.
My room is near completion, but at a total standstill.
I need to get my portrait framed and hung before I can hang my bulletin board - and yet the picture is mysteriously "missing".
I need my bookcase mended so that it can be moved in and filled with my books, which are currently being kicked around the living room floor - but there is no time for that, even though there is plenty of time to lounge in the pool with a beer.
I need assistance to hang my mirror - but everyone is busy when I bring the matter up.
I need a screw placed in my ceiling so that my lantern can be hung from it - but it is never the right time to put a screw in the ceiling!
I should also like a shoe-rack to hold my 26 pairs of shoes that now sit all around my bed, and one of those square-shelved "bookcases" to keep my magazines in, as well as a computer chair so that I can sit at my desk without intense back pain from being at the wrong height...but everyone disappears when I mention a trip to Target or Ikea.
Funny, isn't it?
Ah. Apparently now is the time to go prepare the fish for dinner! I can only wonder when the time to prepare my room for completion will come...
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
what happens now?
Raine Maida sings so eloquently, "And if I don't make it, know that I loved you all along - just like sunny days that we ignore because we're all dumb and jaded. And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong!"
Then so many people fall to their knees and bow their heads in shame and humility because it's exactly what they were so desperate to express and had no idea how to, because he gave them the release they longed for.
Yet...what happens when you've made it? What happens when the world threw you curve ball after curve ball and you fell down over and over, and you resorted to the bottles and the pills and believed you needed a Prozac world to come out on top, and held up your friends' heads as they vomited and forced water down their throats so they wouldn't die of dehydration and shook them when they were sober and told them this was not the way to be, and realized it yourself: and then the impossible happens - you make it.
You make it, you can drink and not get trashed four times out of five, you stop the pills, you make the good decisions, and you can breathe and laugh and love without the Prozac.
And the world is beautiful.
But even though you've made it, your friends haven't. The ones you love, the ones you would gladly sacrifice almost anything for. What if you're on top of the world and singing, and they're still on their knees with the beer bongs in their mouths and the ecstasy growing warm and sticky in their hands?
How do you stop them? How do you give them what you have? How do you tell them that Superman isn't dead?
How can you stop them from killing themselves - from dragging you back into the bottles in the process?
For no man - woman - is an island, and with five friends already buried I know that turning my back and letting my heart break as they're lowered into the ground would destroy everything that I've worked and fought and suffered for.
And yet - how do I make them want what I have? And what's worse - how do I tell them how to get it, when I shouldn't even be alive to have it?
How can I make them believe in something I don't want to remember?
Then so many people fall to their knees and bow their heads in shame and humility because it's exactly what they were so desperate to express and had no idea how to, because he gave them the release they longed for.
Yet...what happens when you've made it? What happens when the world threw you curve ball after curve ball and you fell down over and over, and you resorted to the bottles and the pills and believed you needed a Prozac world to come out on top, and held up your friends' heads as they vomited and forced water down their throats so they wouldn't die of dehydration and shook them when they were sober and told them this was not the way to be, and realized it yourself: and then the impossible happens - you make it.
You make it, you can drink and not get trashed four times out of five, you stop the pills, you make the good decisions, and you can breathe and laugh and love without the Prozac.
And the world is beautiful.
But even though you've made it, your friends haven't. The ones you love, the ones you would gladly sacrifice almost anything for. What if you're on top of the world and singing, and they're still on their knees with the beer bongs in their mouths and the ecstasy growing warm and sticky in their hands?
How do you stop them? How do you give them what you have? How do you tell them that Superman isn't dead?
How can you stop them from killing themselves - from dragging you back into the bottles in the process?
For no man - woman - is an island, and with five friends already buried I know that turning my back and letting my heart break as they're lowered into the ground would destroy everything that I've worked and fought and suffered for.
And yet - how do I make them want what I have? And what's worse - how do I tell them how to get it, when I shouldn't even be alive to have it?
How can I make them believe in something I don't want to remember?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
