Sunday, January 29

See here.

When I was diagnosed with ADD, so much was explained: the frequently missed (and NEVER completed) assignments; the bizarre ability to be occupied by my own thoughts for hours; the moments when I'd simply not hear what anyone had been saying for the last twenty minutes.
But one thing I've never understood is something my dear mama calls my "hyper focus".

I don't understand how someone who is very clearly an Avid Day Dreamer can enjoy spending hours doing the same, monotonous task such as ripping paper into even squares, or copying paragraphs from textbooks.

I don't know what possesses my mind to make it believe that mastering a rubix cube, memorizing world countries and capitals, or, more currently, the periodic table of elements is without a doubt amongst the top of my priorities. (Let alone FUN).

It does take a different form though.
In my senior year of high school, there were three things I wanted more than anything:
•To be in the top a cappella choir,
•To be elected into student council,
•To be accepted into a certain university.

Within the past few months, I've become conscious of a problem: a mutated form of tunnel vision.

I think tunnel vision can be a great quality for some people: you see what you want, there are no other options. Therefore, you do everything required to reach the end of that tunnel.
But my tunnel vision mutation not only switches off, but completely disconnects the helpful reminder in my brain that says, "consider your options."

When I essentially failed to reach all of my goals, I was absolutely lost. I searched for a fall back, but there was none that I was satisfied with because I hadn't constructed any "worst case scenario" detours in my tunnel. The only exit had closed, and I was trapped in the cold and the dark without any food or books for the long trek back to the beginning.

This focus literally exhausts me. I put so much energy in the mere act of wanting something, let alone in the steps it takes to achieve it.
But 'wanting' isn't the right word.

I didn't want to be in student council,
I needed to.
I don't like learning completely trivial information,
I have to.
And I don't simply fall for someone,
I throw myself off of a cliff and then fall. Hard and fast.

It feeds on my thoughts.
It eliminates my other goals.
It numbs my reason.

Now, I'm sitting here, almost wishing that someone would zero the counter, just so I can start over.
So the smoke that was coming from the end of the tunnel of what I knew to be a brilliant bonfire will stop choking me, and seep into my clothes and furniture instead, reminding me that there was a fire. That there was warmth.
Maybe a better reason for letting the smoke permeate my mind would be to remind me that getting so high off of my hopes leaves me with virtually no one to blame but myself when I come back down.

But I know myself too well to believe that would work; Instead of turning back around the other way, I entertain the notion of waiting to see if the end of the tunnel could possibly re-open--that I might restart the fire once it stops raining.


Saturday, January 28

My face is too hot.
The rest of my body is too cold.

An icy parking lot
A wooden sealing, sculptures off hands
And soft, blue fabric.

A window shade that could be hiding anything disintegrates to a floor of expensive rugs and reveals exactly whats supposed to be on the outside: the outside.

Nudged persistently by an unwannted aid, I fall into unconsciousness over my bedspread.

I grow colder

Thursday, January 26

On the map

There are a lot of options on my bookshelf:
Mark Twain
C.S. Lewis
Some fact books about civilizations, metaphors, and the etymology of words
The Time Machine
A French Book of Mormon
Peace Like a River
Fahrenheit 451
and an atlas-that's the most tempting.

But I know what I really need to read: Confessions

It's not like there's an underlying reason why I don't want to read it, I've just always had this thing with books: I read the first chapter, and even if I love it, to get through the rest of it is very rare. For example, Peace Like a River took me about four tries until I finished it, and it became my favorite book.

I knew I was going to like Confessions when I picked it out of a few other options to read for my class. I just didn't know I'd find something like this within the first few pages:

"Have pity on me and help me, O Lord my God. Tell me why you mean so much to me. Whisper in my heart, I am here to save you. Speak so that I may hear your words. My heart has ears ready to listen to you, Lord. Open them wide and whisper in my heart, I am here to save you. I shall hear your voice and make haste to clasp you to myself. Do not hide your face away from me, for I would gladly meet my death to see it, since not to see it would be death indeed."

I mean, isn't that beautiful? I thought so, too. Anyone could be saying that and you'd believe they were sincere. I could be saying that.
That's all I wanted to share today.

And with that, I sat myself down on the couch to enjoy jeopardy and a handful of pepperoni.


Monday, January 23

Mind over Matter doesn't apply

It became surreal from the moment I realized I wasn't going to sleep tonight. When I realized that yesterday and tomorrow were the same.

I'm wearing different things today. Different boots, different jeans, different jewelry. What I'm not wearing is a coat. If I were poetic, I'd say that I didn't wear a coat to school because I need to feel the cold. To know that this was my body and that it exists. My red skin would be proof.

In literature, we're discussing Vanity with a capital 'v' and learning about how it can be a good thing. A gift from God, even.



I'm surprised by how tired I'm not. Every single one of my senses seems overstimulated. I'm not spacing out consistently, but when I do, it's for a good chunk of time. I can't remember where time goes.

Every movement is graceful.

I'm waiting for my class to end so I can go back. I don't know why. Maybe because I don't know what else to do or maybe because I'll remember that it's a dream and move on. After all, I have no proof. When I get there, I keep looking for some anyway.

There are people here, and that makes me uncomfortable. Almost self-conscious. I sit down on the couch facing the mountains and find solace in the fact they're there. I can see them. But I close my eyes, and then they're gone. A new city could be there now, or a tsunami. Blackness. I open my eyes and they exist again.

I lean forward and squeeze my head, trying to keep any more thoughts from getting in because it's too crowded in here, and I see something on the ground. My breath hovers for a moment before I reach down and take it and then look around for someone to laugh with me. The room is getting darker, and the people are disappearing. They aren't here anymore. I can't hear them, I won't see them. Out of sight, out of mind.

I feel the earring in my hand. This is not a dream.

I could be using the stairs, but I'm taking the elevator instead even though I have to wait for a long time. I hear it coming slowly from the floors below, making stops on the way. I close my eyes and run the earring over my lips. The elevator reaches the fourth floor.

And there's no telling what's behind the doors.

I open my eyes--


Monday, January 16

There's always one at hand

I've found that "the year in review" is a tradition in the blogging world.
Some of the posts I've read are about positive experiences like marriage and babies and other such items.
There are one's about negative experiences, too, sometimes with the blogger learning from the experience. They've grown, and they know better now. But sometimes the opposite, too.

It's quite a bit late, but, like many other people (I hope) I'm still getting used to not writing '2011' in the date at the top of my papers, so that means it's still pretty fresh, right?
So, in reference to the late year:
I grew out my hair.
I snatched a job.
I best-friended my best friends.
I fell in love with school.
I laughed with my family until it hurt.

But if I'm to be completely honest, I must say that I look back on 2011 with a significant amount of bitterness.
It would appear that the issues it created metaphorically rooted themselves so deep into the year that there was no way I was going to yank them out of the metaphorical soil before 2012. (Even though the weather has nearly been nice enough to spend one's time gardening.)

The new year has come rolling along without much to say for itself, and I feel the same way towards it. I have not made any goals, nor it, any promises
It's a shrug-and-move-on deal.
Which is grand, because I am quite the accomplished shrug-offer. (Note: being an accomplished shrug-offer, per se, is not good.)

"...but the worst part is looking in a mirror and forgetting that my name and my face go together," said the tortoise, and it shuddered.
The tortoise's creator said nothing and opened the blinds instead to light up the inside of the tortoise's shell until the tortoise came out and drank the glass of water waiting for it.

Tuesday, January 10

Thursday, January 5

Two more hours

Back to the grind.
Is that the saying?
Another day another dollar.
Okay, I know that one's right.

I've only finished my first class and I'm already committed to having a bad attitude for the rest of the day until I can go home to try and find something to eat other than Nutella and pistachios. And frozen waffles.
I'm sure there's some significance involved with the moment I stopped calling my house my home.

Anyways, I'm listening to this song in hopes that the earth-shaking bass will jar me awake. Or shift my brain back into gear. Or just a normal spot for that matter. That'd be excellent.
But it's just making my forehead tingle.
Did you know that the space between your eyebrows is called a glabella? I have some very stubborn wrinkles there. These are mostly from frowning, but also from squinting all the time.

Is it possible for a 19-year-old (and 5 months and 5 days) to have cataracts? What about bad knees? I feel like an old person.
Last night, I was teased for watching Jeopardy every night on KJZZ.
I kind of have an old soul. I know this and I've accepted it. I don't like partying and I like prunes and I enjoy the company of other old people. I don't think I even need to grow old now. I'm already there.
Know that I'm not being an annoying kid who thinks they've experienced all they need to and also thinks they know everything... I'm just scared of getting old.

I'm scared of realizing, 50 years from now, that I spent so much time getting music and money and boots, and I won't like that music anymore or the boots won't fit anymore--no, I'm scared of regretting the time wasted.
I'm scared of The Christmas Story on TBS not airing anymore because all the parents whose lives were like that will be gone--no, I'm scared that the next movie won't be as good.
I'm scared of the fact that I'll probably be calling my old home 'the house' for the rest of my life--no, I'm scared that all my other homes will never live up to it.
I'm scared of not being ready to die because I didn't leave anything behind for the world to remember me by--I'm scared of this mattering.

I didn't mean for this post to turn out the way it did.

"... and I'm not scared of losing my family and friends, I'm scared of missing them," said the tortoise.
"I'll look out for them. And I'm not leaving, so you don't have to worry about missing me," said the tortoise's creator and sat back listening to music with the tortoise and massaging the lines between the tortoise's eyebrows until the tortoise had to get back to work.