I am in love with my 16 year old self. I want to be as intuitive and in-touch with my emotions as I was then. I feel then I wouldn’t have nearly the amount of stress on myself that I do now. Here’s the problem: I grew up. I’m living this whole adult life now that’s chock full of responsibility left and right.
Love Your Mother
Talking to my mother this morning broke my heart. Now I just need to figure out why.
In her words, she is fed up with her friends. She told me that she feels all used up. In my eyes, she is the picture of generosity. All of my life I have forgiven all of her faults for this one virtue that she shoulders so valiantly. Part of me feels that she has given enouh for 30 people in one lifetime- and beleive me when I say that I understand her frustraton with lost causes. Truly, I do. But to hear her so discouraged, so enraged … It broke my heart. And I don’t know if it’s because I feel so much empathy for her or because I pity her. Or perhaps it is merely that I am afraid for her. I don’t want her to become bitter. But even as she was ranting, she said herself she felt “harsh”. Even still she feels guilty for not wanting to be more generous. Maybe I am not heartbroken. Maybe I am enraged. She shouldn’t feel that way. She shouldn’t feel guilty for not wanting to be taken advantage of – and that’s what is happening. realistically if you look at it, that’s all that’s ever come of her generousity. Yet, even as I type that I know it is not true. I know somewhere in the deepest part of me that there is a reward for this behavior. I truly and deeply believe that my moher has a tiny part of heaven waiting for her despite all the crimes she has committed in her lifetime, I believe that the acts of kindness will outweigh them. I empathize with her because I know that these little acts of kindness we commit are worth something and so I too feel guilty when I decide to hold myself back, to preserve my heart and shut people out. It is more than a fear of being hurt. I’m not afraid of it any longer, I have come to expect it. And the fact that she and I have given selfishly despite that expectation has to mean something. Yet, I worry because on the one hand I don’t want to become her. I don’t want to be used up before I hit fifty because I’ve given bits of me away to people all of my life and have nothing to show for it. And really, what does she have? Me. She told me she has me. Just typing it is making me tear up. I feel that I don’t deserve it. And I know its true and I’m furious because there are so many other people who should feel the same way that I do right now and they aren’t. I bet Ronata or Delores are not sitting around thanking God for her presence in their life as I am. And they ought to! She’s made similar sacrifices for them that she has for me and they are not her children! Or for that matter Bill! Does he realize what she’s doing for him? What she and Doug both have given to him? I don’t think so. And I realize that I was once in the same situation that he was, ignorant and selfishly blind. And I can only hope and pray that some day he’ll mature as I did enough to see her generousity.
I should call her and tell her not feel guilty for making the responsible decision; to quit enabling the people around her, to quit giving more of herself than she has. But how can I reassure her when I fear the same thing she does?
I would love to take a bubble bath. Or do anything that slightly resembled relaxing. That is just not going to happen anytime soon. =(
I hate feeling like no one takes me seriously. I talk about how unhappy I am with my education and everyone ignores my
Song Lyrics
So here’s a place I hadn’t considered media would touch: Song lyrics. Today on my way home I had the radio on, more for background noise than anything else – and the song I posted below came on. “Why Can’t I?” by Liz Phair. This song came out a couple of years ago, and I never thought much about because I just pushed it off as one of those meaningless teeny-bopper songs. However, this morning I decided to actually listen to the lyrics and was shocked. I thought this song was about innocent infatuation when in fact it’s about the excitement of an adulterous affair with a stranger. I’ll highlight in pink the only part of the song that I listend to before, and then the lyrics that shocked me this morning will be in green.
WHY CAN’T I?
Get a load of me, get a load of you
Walkin’ down the street, and I hardly know you
It’s just like we were meant to be
Holding hands with you when we’re out at night
Got a girlfriend, you say it isn’t right
And I’ve got someone waiting too
What if this is just the beginning
We’re already wet, and we’re gonna go swimming
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can’t I speak whenever I talk about you
It’s inevitable, it’s a fact that we’re gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
Isn’t this the best part of breakin’ up
Finding someone else you can’t get enough of
Someone who wants to be with you too
it’s an itch we know we are gonna scratchI
Gonna take a while for this egg to hatch
But wouldn’t it be beautiful
Here we go, we’re at the beginning
We haven’t fucked yet, but my heads spinning
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can’t I speak whenever I talk about you
It’s inevitable, it’s a fact that we’re gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
High enough for you to make me wonder
Where it’s goin’
High enough for you to pull me under
Somethin’s growin’
out of this that we can control
Baby I am dyin’
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can’t I speak whenever I talk about you
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can’t I speak whenever I talk about you
It’s inevitable, it’s a fact that we’re gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can’t I breathe whenever I think about you
Facebook Ads
I check my Facebook page pretty regularly but never take much notice of the Facebook ads on it. I guess the way they pick ads is by studying the information you provided in your profile. Because I am a female collee student, a majority of the ads are “lose weight fast!”. Many of them have picures of celebrities claiming to know their ’secret diet tip’. There is one picture that particularly irks me; it’s a picture of a girl’s stomach, that looks much like my own, but the caption underneath is a first person narrative about how she was “sooo flabby and went from this to sexy. FInd out what my secret is!” The advertisement implies that I – whose stomach mirrors that in the picture and flabby and not sexy. I know both of those are not true, but I wonder if my subconscious reads these ads, and takes them to heart.
Ugh, I hate how ‘needy’ I have become for him. I cried yesterday when he told me that he wouldn’t be home until Monday. They were tears of pure disappointment – I had mentally prepared myself for going a few days without contact and reassured myself with the thought that we would be able to spend Wednesday night together. I didn’t tell him that I was upset because I know that clingy people make him nervous. He’d be upset that I feel I need to hide something from him, but it’s not really about him. I don’t really want to admit to myself that I’m being clingy; I don’t think I could bring myself to say that aloud.
I feel pathetic and vulnerable. I don’t know how I managed to survive this summer – 3 months without seeing him – and yet can’t seem to to be without him for a whole 6 days. That pisses me off. I hate feeling weak.
I haven’t written Jones yet. He and I promised we would keep each other on our toes over the year. I left over 3 months ago – and yet, nothing. I would call it writer’s block except that I don’t think that usually lasts years. At this point it really has been years since I threw myself into a writing project. It makes me feel like a failure. Moreover, I am certain I’ve disappointed him. I’ve failed him as an accountability partner because I can’t hold myself accountable.
The Lost Art
| I had a paper returned to me for revisions last week. The only note on the page was “not enough voice”. Never in my history of schooling has that ever been an issue for me. I know it was true, I re-read the paper myself and it came off as dry as a good red. It could have been an excerpt from a research journal. I will blame it on the CRC; I am correcting grammar mistakes for 10 hours a week and therefore have become more critical of my own writing style. I can focus on a grammar, organization, and structure mistake for 20 minutes, however, forgo checking for voice because I cannot determine voice in someone else’s paper. I have lost the art of writing. I have lost my joy in it as well. I doubt that I can lay all the blame in one area though. I know that this is partially because of Beste’s criticism; his claim that I write awkwardly. How can he judge from a scribbled note? He couldn’t have known that one comment would cut deep enough to sap any creative well I had inside of me. I have not written since. Not a word - Until now. And what is this? Shit. That’s what. |
Uncertainty
I don’t know that I can do this. We just watched a video that featured five first year teachers and portrayed their struggles and triumphs in the classroom. I am not sure that I can teach. I am not worried that I would not have enough dedication to the job, or that I would not care for my kids – quite the opposite in fact: I am not sure I would be able to handle the heart break of becoming too involved, too attached, or putting my all into the job and a student — and failing. I’m afraid it would break my heart and I don’t know that I would be able to cope with that, every year of my life. My other fear is that by the time that I actually get my own classroom I will have become too jaded, too cynical to allow myself to open up. I don’t want to be a cold teacher. I don’t want to be a bad teacher either. I worry that no matter how much I study, no matter how good the words that leave my mouth sound in my education classess– that on the first day of class in my own classroom I will choke. I will forget everything I’ve learned, all the theory I’ve studied. Because nothing can really prepare you for the experience of actually teaching. On top of all of this, I’m not certain I could put up with the bloody beaureacracy of education. I don’t know that I could put up with BS from the school board, or the district, or the government policy. None of these lawmakers would know my students, none of them would understand my personal investment and I don’t know that I could stand by and watch my kids get shit on by politics and greed.
July 29th
and now I am at a lost for words. when just a few moments ago I couldn’t keep them from flooding my brain, one after another, until I felt overwhelmed and eventually weary – to the point that I’d just let them compile and eventually drown beneath them. I can’t think straight and have no idea what has been wrong with my moods lately. This isn’t supposed to be happening – - this is the reason I religiously take my medication.But the mood swings are back.
I feel worthless most of the time and don’t know why. I don’t know if it is because my life seems so disorganized right now and the sense of chaos sends me near panic, or if I am mentally ill. FS tells me that I need to appreciate myself more, and that I shouldn’t be this shy because other people should get a chance see the wonderful things he sees in me. But there’s the thing; I don’t see anything wonderful. I feel like I used to love myself, that i used to have a sense of being, know who I was and what I wanted out of life. I found myself wondering if I should give up teaching, go to Kansas for a journalism degree (after I’ve spent all of this money). These are things I never would have considered. I feel I don’t know myself at all anymore. I’ve written at least 5 journal entries in my head in the past week. I even began writing a story — but my fear has progressed to the point that I won’t do it. Simply, will not. It’s as if my body becomes paralyzed at my every attempt. I wish I knew why the sudden unrest hit me, why restlessness invaded me like a parasite, sucking away at everything I love about life and especially myself. This is miserable and I am miserable because of it. I’m beginning to lose control too= I’m crying and obviously looking off, and as Andrew likes to point out oh-so-often now, have a closed stance. Gosh- this journal is going to be so sparse and depressing if someone ever tries to read it.
I’m giving up now. I sound like shit and I don’t want to hae to deal with it anymore.
PostSecret
I started saving secrets again.
I figure I might finally have a roommate who wouldn’t mind me plastering the walls with them. I realize that having a million strangers secrets plastered upon my walls might be a tad creepy, however I really enjoy the feeling that postsecret prompts. Somehow knowing that everyone else has secrets too makes me feel closer to humanity. I think has something to do with the fact that all of these people also are leading lives that don’t allow them to express their innermost selves, they too feel it necessary to hide some of there soul, be it beautiful, shameful, artistic, vain – or for whatever their personal reasons for anonymity are, the knowledge that others have the same need that I do (or why else would I have a secret blog) make me feel more in touch with humanity. As if I belong to the human race because no matter how different we may appear on the surface this anonymous outlet allows us to unite without restraints of social class, race, gender, appearance, age, career, level of intelligence or any of the other social restrictions we face in otherwise. It brings out something beautiful in my soul and whether or not the secret is dark, perverted, silly, devastating, embarrassing or any of the other categories some of them fall under, the fact that someone owns this secret and was brave enough to share it makes me feel as if I have connected with a stranger on some deep emotional level. Thus far in my life, I have not discovered anything else to incite anything quite like it – other than when I read novels. But characters in books are not real and therefore it just makes me long for a company I can never have. This is something real I can relate to.
I want to conduct an experiment. As time goes on and I make an effort to read more and continue writing, I hope to see an improvement in my grammar, spelling, voice and organization. But especially my vocabulary. We’ll see how where I am in sixth months. Hopefully by that point I’ll be able to look back and be able to identify noticeable improvement.
When I get the time, which won’t be anytime soon, I would like to play around on WordPress and organize my pages. I would like to start three separate for my journal, my writing, and a prayer page- parts of which I’m sure I’ll keep private. But it is my own way of trying to grow closer in my relationship with God while not attending a church. Otherwise I feel I will fall away from Him completely.
