This is my last night with a computer until August 1st. And the weird thing is, I don't know what to say.
Last night, I saw Inception with my dad. My mind was blown. I have never seen a movie that made me feel the way this one did. I've seen Dark Knight, and I've seen Avatar...both movies that impressed me, but they did not compare with Inception.
I just sat on the hood of my van for a long time after I walked out of the theatre...unable to speak, trying to wrap my head around what I had just seen and heard. I watched the marvelous heat lightning in the sky silhouetting the clouds
They talked about ideas getting into your head. They said that once an idea was placed in your head, it could shift the world and make the rules bend.
And that presented a thought to me: when we meet people, we form an idea as to who they might be to us. Someone that loves us (a little or consumingly), someone that looks down upon us, someone that intimidates us.
Therefore, when people turn out to be something that's the opposite of our idea...we end up either being hurt or being surprised. And we have to adjust our entire view of that person. It's difficult to shake an idea away.
They also talked about the subconcious and the human mind. It talked about its power and what people do to themselves in order to live the life they desire. One of the quotes from the movie explains this pretty well:
"She locked away a secret, deep inside herself, something she once knew to be true...but chose to forget."
We all have those, you know. Locked deep within our subconcious...things we've chosen to not think about anymore, and try to forget entirely. But eventually those things return to us, in some form or another. And we have to face them again. They cripple us.
It's not good, though, when you're like Mal and you lock away the sense of reality. You live in a place where you're happy and full of bliss...
In a dream. And you decide to never wake up. You can't decipher what is real and what you've fabricated yourself.
The subconcious is such an entity in and of itself. It is raw. It does not go easy on you. It is not polite, and it is not kind.
It accepts things your concious mind does not. I started to learn about the subconcious in Journalism, when Mr Wall talked about writing with your subconcious because you write better that way (and you really do). And this movie took it to a whole new level.
It's so difficult to talk about it, even with all this. I need to see it again. Because I seriously still have to think about it all.
--
And now for something completely different.
I went back and read everything I had ever written since my good friend Sascha Simpson died September 15, 2008. It was such a thing, to see how my writing (and thoughts) have gotten deeper and so much better since then.
Mr Wall said that good writing takes practice (and lots of reading), and a lot of thinking.
I've sure done a lot of thinking. I've done a lot of living, too. And loving.
I think those two things really made my writing get better.
I like to think. I like to live. I like to love.
Those are my three favorite things to do.
But mostly...I think I like to love the very most. I feel happiest and most alive when I love.
Anyway. I found a few entries in which I wrote about the trip from last year. It made me excited about this trip coming up. I'd once again be traveling to a new place with people I wasn't necessarily close to...with no cell phone and no Facebook.
To make it better...there are two things.
One, my birthday's on Tuesday.
Two, I'm going to meet Tropical Storm Bonnie. (I promise you I will not be sucked in!)
I can't wait to write. I can't wait to go on this adventure. I can't wait to escape from the world for a week. It is going to be amazing. I can feel it now. I don't think I will be sleeping a lot tonight, and that means I'll sleep a lot in the van. Which is probably a good thing. Those rides were very long, and very cramped.
(bow chicka bow wow)
Wow, I'm on a roll tonight.
I'm going to drive a nail (or a hundred).
I'm going to get a farmer's tan.
I'm going to turn eighteen.
I'm going to laugh.
I'm going to write.
I'm going to smell like stinky boy at the end of every day.
I'm going to have a blast in the French Quarter.
I'm going to take lots of pictures.
I'm going to dance and sing.
See you all when I return! I'll be thinking about you.
Caleb...Andy...Katie...Seth?...Mom...
I will be expecting your calls, which I will listen to the minute I get back.
I promise you that.
I love you all. And I'm gone.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
...You There?
Something's up. My intuition might be on high or something - either way, I'm super aware of what's going on around me, all of a sudden. Maybe I'm trying to gather all that I can before I leave and disconnect myself from the world for a week. Who knows.
--
I visited my friend Caleb Tucker two weeks ago, because he said he wanted me to record a song with him. I took my viola over to his house and from the minute I walked through the door I could tell that he was not there. Whenever he talked to me, his voice was not talking to ME - he talked to the air. He tends to speak rapidly anyway, but his voice was like a cheetah. He would not look me straight in the eye, and even though we listened to the song a few times, he was not listening to the music like I was.
I thought to myself, "What did I do? Does he...not want me to be here anymore?"
I stuck around for a while longer - and I ended up staying there all day, practically. We went out to Guitar Center, and grabbed a bite to eat afterwards at about 9:30. It was only during dinner that I saw a glimpse of the old, light-hearted Caleb Tucker that I recognized.
I visited him again on Tuesday night, even though I was pooped from the day's activities. He acted the same way - we went to the mall and I helped him pick out a necklace and a bracelet, but whenever I talked to him, his mind and his reply was always directed somewhere else. I almost said, "Yoo-hoo...can you hear me?"
So Caleb, if you're reading this...I hope none of this offended you - I don't want to do that. I'm just telling it like it is.
I miss you. I hope you're back when I return.
--
June was a weird month for me. It contained the orchestra tour to DC, which was one of the best trips I've ever taken in my entire life...but it also contained a lot of sadness, mostly fabricated from my own mind.
I remember back in May, when I told myself that Andy Sturm would not be someone that would cause negativity in my life. When I started talking to him after a week of NOT speaking to him, he was happy to talk to me again and I thought I had gotten my mind and my heart (regarding him) back in a good place.
But I was wrong.
In June, I had a nightmare about Andy that really shook me. I wondered if it was a nightmare or if it was happening in real life. I didn't know what to make of it. I knew the message clearly, and it scared me when I realized that it was the truth.
While I was in DC, I had enough. I wrote an ultimatum. I didn't end it with an "I miss you", "I love you", or "I'm here for you."
I spoke what I felt.
I got a response from him about an hour after I sent it - which meant he read it, and that made me feel somewhat heard.
He visited me a day later, after work. He came to my house at midnight, and we sat on my sofa for a hour, talking and talking. We laughed, we talked about the tough stuff, and I gave him a notebook filled with quips of wisdom from Mr Wall and little quotes I found from various sources.
I didn't speak much, during that hour. But I remember I said something, and he just looked at me with such an expression on his face. It was like his entire face softened, his mouth slightly curved into a little smile, and his eyes looked directly into mine.
I wish I could see that look every single day.
There's no way I can describe how much I wish I could look into his mind to see how he thought when he read that ultimatum.
After he read it, he kept on saying how he was going to change and how he was tired of letting people down, all this good stuff.
I reread that entire chain of conversation - not his response, but my initial note. My voice kind of threw me off-guard.
I didn't sound angry. I didn't sound sad, even.
I read it, and the only word that came to mind was this: torture.
Like my heart simply could not put up with any more promises that fell through, high hopes that kept on crashing down, me beating myself up for his false deeds, and for being unsure of exactly who I was sticking up for whenever someone said something malicious about him.
I still read it...and I still think, "Chloe, you sound so tortured."
Was that what he read, too?
I'll never know, I don't think. Unless he messages me with no fear, like he did once before.
...that's one of my three wishes for my eighteenth birthday: for Andy Sturm to speak to me with no fear as to what he feels deep within himself, in that part that he doesn't like anybody to see because he doesn't know what to make of it.
Little is he willing to believe, that part of him is what I love to see the most.
It reminds me that there really are humans left in the world. The real kind that fuck up and still find beauty in life either from their faith or from getting back up whenever they're knocked down...and still love life for all it's worth.
I understand that this might just be a small chapter of my life...him and all that comes from knowing him...
But it's worth it. It's totally worth it. My life would not be what it is without him there.
Besides - just because someone might leave your life at any second is no reason to not get to know them (or love them) at all.
Why else do you think we live life? We can't do this alone - how miserable would that be, right?
--
Well, that's one wish down. Two more to go.
I hope that the trip to New Orleans will give me an opportunity to become more in touch with ME. I won't have my family around, and I won't have my friends around - at least, not my best friends.
I'm going to be totally out of touch with all of them.
And I'm going to turn eighteen without my mother calling me at the exact minute I was born to remind me that it's my birthday, and that I will now be a legal adult.
(...why 6:58 in the morning, Baby Me? Why??)
--
I visited my friend Caleb Tucker two weeks ago, because he said he wanted me to record a song with him. I took my viola over to his house and from the minute I walked through the door I could tell that he was not there. Whenever he talked to me, his voice was not talking to ME - he talked to the air. He tends to speak rapidly anyway, but his voice was like a cheetah. He would not look me straight in the eye, and even though we listened to the song a few times, he was not listening to the music like I was.
I thought to myself, "What did I do? Does he...not want me to be here anymore?"
I stuck around for a while longer - and I ended up staying there all day, practically. We went out to Guitar Center, and grabbed a bite to eat afterwards at about 9:30. It was only during dinner that I saw a glimpse of the old, light-hearted Caleb Tucker that I recognized.
I visited him again on Tuesday night, even though I was pooped from the day's activities. He acted the same way - we went to the mall and I helped him pick out a necklace and a bracelet, but whenever I talked to him, his mind and his reply was always directed somewhere else. I almost said, "Yoo-hoo...can you hear me?"
So Caleb, if you're reading this...I hope none of this offended you - I don't want to do that. I'm just telling it like it is.
I miss you. I hope you're back when I return.
--
June was a weird month for me. It contained the orchestra tour to DC, which was one of the best trips I've ever taken in my entire life...but it also contained a lot of sadness, mostly fabricated from my own mind.
I remember back in May, when I told myself that Andy Sturm would not be someone that would cause negativity in my life. When I started talking to him after a week of NOT speaking to him, he was happy to talk to me again and I thought I had gotten my mind and my heart (regarding him) back in a good place.
But I was wrong.
In June, I had a nightmare about Andy that really shook me. I wondered if it was a nightmare or if it was happening in real life. I didn't know what to make of it. I knew the message clearly, and it scared me when I realized that it was the truth.
While I was in DC, I had enough. I wrote an ultimatum. I didn't end it with an "I miss you", "I love you", or "I'm here for you."
I spoke what I felt.
I got a response from him about an hour after I sent it - which meant he read it, and that made me feel somewhat heard.
He visited me a day later, after work. He came to my house at midnight, and we sat on my sofa for a hour, talking and talking. We laughed, we talked about the tough stuff, and I gave him a notebook filled with quips of wisdom from Mr Wall and little quotes I found from various sources.
I didn't speak much, during that hour. But I remember I said something, and he just looked at me with such an expression on his face. It was like his entire face softened, his mouth slightly curved into a little smile, and his eyes looked directly into mine.
I wish I could see that look every single day.
There's no way I can describe how much I wish I could look into his mind to see how he thought when he read that ultimatum.
After he read it, he kept on saying how he was going to change and how he was tired of letting people down, all this good stuff.
I reread that entire chain of conversation - not his response, but my initial note. My voice kind of threw me off-guard.
I didn't sound angry. I didn't sound sad, even.
I read it, and the only word that came to mind was this: torture.
Like my heart simply could not put up with any more promises that fell through, high hopes that kept on crashing down, me beating myself up for his false deeds, and for being unsure of exactly who I was sticking up for whenever someone said something malicious about him.
I still read it...and I still think, "Chloe, you sound so tortured."
Was that what he read, too?
I'll never know, I don't think. Unless he messages me with no fear, like he did once before.
...that's one of my three wishes for my eighteenth birthday: for Andy Sturm to speak to me with no fear as to what he feels deep within himself, in that part that he doesn't like anybody to see because he doesn't know what to make of it.
Little is he willing to believe, that part of him is what I love to see the most.
It reminds me that there really are humans left in the world. The real kind that fuck up and still find beauty in life either from their faith or from getting back up whenever they're knocked down...and still love life for all it's worth.
I understand that this might just be a small chapter of my life...him and all that comes from knowing him...
But it's worth it. It's totally worth it. My life would not be what it is without him there.
Besides - just because someone might leave your life at any second is no reason to not get to know them (or love them) at all.
Why else do you think we live life? We can't do this alone - how miserable would that be, right?
--
Well, that's one wish down. Two more to go.
I hope that the trip to New Orleans will give me an opportunity to become more in touch with ME. I won't have my family around, and I won't have my friends around - at least, not my best friends.
I'm going to be totally out of touch with all of them.
And I'm going to turn eighteen without my mother calling me at the exact minute I was born to remind me that it's my birthday, and that I will now be a legal adult.
(...why 6:58 in the morning, Baby Me? Why??)
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
It's So Cold In Here.
My sister Alissa once asked her boyfriend, Brian, if he had three wishes and what they were.
My mom then asked me if I had three wishes for my eighteenth birthday. Normally I think of at least SOMETHING on the spot like that, but I really couldn't think of anything.
So I sat. And thought. It's weird, because a lot of things I would've wished for in the past have already come true.
--
Past Wish #1 - To be more comfortable with my body.
I admit it: I was the early bloomer. Not the first girl to wear a bra, but the girl that always looked two years older. I remember being extremely self-concious about my body back when I was twelve - always wearing boy's clothes because I felt like those were the only things that fit, wearing huge shirts. It got better once I hit high school, but I still didn't particularly like the way I looked.
And...well, I don't know what happened this past year, but that's totally NOT the case anymore. Maybe I just grew some. Either way, this is my adult body - this is what I am going to look like. It's that simple. And I'm liking it.
I remember how totally shocked I was the other day when I went to the gas station to fill up my car, no makeup on, and the cashier said "You know, you're such a beautiful girl. You've got the eyes and your hair is divoon."
Oh, yeah, and I'm writing this sans pajamas. I sleep that way quite often now, actually.
Get it together, guys that read this blog that might've lost it with that declaration of mine.
...you good, now?
Past Wish #2 - To be in the pit for high school musicals.
I remember going to musicals at Perry for a long time. But the musical that really did it was Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
The night I saw Joseph, I remember hearing the music and watching the people on stage, so flamboyant and so fun. I saw Olas Ortwein in the pit, and I thought to myself: "I am SO going to do this in high school."
Sophomore year, Ortwein handed me the viola book for The Wizard of Oz. I was the only violist.
I still have my Oz music.
That musical...that story...will forever hold a special place in my heart. It's hard to describe it in words.
Being in the pit for musicals is such an amazing and wonderful thing. I'm so happy and so grateful that I've become a part of that like I wanted to.
--
So, I don't know what I would wish for now.
I'll have to get back to ya on that one.
I'll get it answered before I leave for New Orleans, for sure.
My mom then asked me if I had three wishes for my eighteenth birthday. Normally I think of at least SOMETHING on the spot like that, but I really couldn't think of anything.
So I sat. And thought. It's weird, because a lot of things I would've wished for in the past have already come true.
--
Past Wish #1 - To be more comfortable with my body.
I admit it: I was the early bloomer. Not the first girl to wear a bra, but the girl that always looked two years older. I remember being extremely self-concious about my body back when I was twelve - always wearing boy's clothes because I felt like those were the only things that fit, wearing huge shirts. It got better once I hit high school, but I still didn't particularly like the way I looked.
And...well, I don't know what happened this past year, but that's totally NOT the case anymore. Maybe I just grew some. Either way, this is my adult body - this is what I am going to look like. It's that simple. And I'm liking it.
I remember how totally shocked I was the other day when I went to the gas station to fill up my car, no makeup on, and the cashier said "You know, you're such a beautiful girl. You've got the eyes and your hair is divoon."
Oh, yeah, and I'm writing this sans pajamas. I sleep that way quite often now, actually.
Get it together, guys that read this blog that might've lost it with that declaration of mine.
...you good, now?
Past Wish #2 - To be in the pit for high school musicals.
I remember going to musicals at Perry for a long time. But the musical that really did it was Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
The night I saw Joseph, I remember hearing the music and watching the people on stage, so flamboyant and so fun. I saw Olas Ortwein in the pit, and I thought to myself: "I am SO going to do this in high school."
Sophomore year, Ortwein handed me the viola book for The Wizard of Oz. I was the only violist.
I still have my Oz music.
That musical...that story...will forever hold a special place in my heart. It's hard to describe it in words.
Being in the pit for musicals is such an amazing and wonderful thing. I'm so happy and so grateful that I've become a part of that like I wanted to.
--
So, I don't know what I would wish for now.
I'll have to get back to ya on that one.
I'll get it answered before I leave for New Orleans, for sure.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I Don't Slide - I Crab.
I just want to blog about something funny.
For those of you who aren't in Marching Band, or have never been in Marching Band, just...ignore my band vocab.
BUT if you are or were once in this greatly insane lifestyle for six-ish months of the year...you'll get it.
So we were doing block exercises for the latter part of rehearsal. And we got to the point where the instructors wanted to do a block-off (you know...to see who was the best and challenge them further - making the rest of us look like crap).
If you messed up, you were tapped either on the shoulder or your drum, and you had to walk away and stand at attention in a line.
We got to little over half of the band standing at attention when two freshmen clarinets were giggling and whispering.
Kevin Clay - the assistant drum major and a friend of mine who's always good for a laugh - told them to take a lap.
They drop their clarinets and continue to laugh and talk as they start to run. At that, Kevin shouted after them:
"DON'T FUCKING TALK WHILE YOU'RE RUNNING A LAP!"
I don't think there was anybody on the concrete field that wasn't laughing. I buried my head in my drum and laughed until I started to do that annoying squeak-thing I do when I really get tickled. It took all I had to compose myself when the instructors called us back to attention.
"Don't talk, and don't fidget - otherwise Kevin WILL curse at you."
For those of you who aren't in Marching Band, or have never been in Marching Band, just...ignore my band vocab.
BUT if you are or were once in this greatly insane lifestyle for six-ish months of the year...you'll get it.
So we were doing block exercises for the latter part of rehearsal. And we got to the point where the instructors wanted to do a block-off (you know...to see who was the best and challenge them further - making the rest of us look like crap).
If you messed up, you were tapped either on the shoulder or your drum, and you had to walk away and stand at attention in a line.
We got to little over half of the band standing at attention when two freshmen clarinets were giggling and whispering.
Kevin Clay - the assistant drum major and a friend of mine who's always good for a laugh - told them to take a lap.
They drop their clarinets and continue to laugh and talk as they start to run. At that, Kevin shouted after them:
"DON'T FUCKING TALK WHILE YOU'RE RUNNING A LAP!"
I don't think there was anybody on the concrete field that wasn't laughing. I buried my head in my drum and laughed until I started to do that annoying squeak-thing I do when I really get tickled. It took all I had to compose myself when the instructors called us back to attention.
"Don't talk, and don't fidget - otherwise Kevin WILL curse at you."
Sunday, July 18, 2010
I Hate This Voice.
People have said that my writing is honest. I'd rather be honest than mince my words. But for this piece of work, I'm going to make myself be especially blatant. I don't care who sees this. I need to have my thoughts be heard.
I'm going to be unreachable for a week, soon. I might as well say all that I need to say before I go for another week to clean myself up and return (hopefully) better.
So here goes nothing.
--
“A guy and a girl can be just friends but at one point or another, they will fall for each other. Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever.”
-Dave Matthews
--
It is terrible, that quote. Because it's so true. And the truth hurts...is it because we're so used to lies or short-term promises?
It took me a very long time to realize that day on the canal...that day he said he misses...was not a promise or a prologue.
I have no idea what that day was, now. Until just recently, I made myself block that day from my memory. I remember lying in bed at night, trying not to remember any of it. It crept into my dreams, and I'd wake up sobbing.
The thing is...that day in itself wasn't a bad day. It was one of the happiest days I've ever had.
But what made it so painful was the fact that I knew it would never happen again.
But I made myself look honestly into my gut...and I recollected the past year or so.
I've liked guys other than him. I've wanted to date guys other than him. Genuinely - I remember the day I cried when one of them told me they thought long and hard about it, but..."I can't."
I can honestly tell you that I've liked each of my best guy friends at least once.
I can honestly tell you that all three of them have liked me back. They'd admit it if you asked them, too.
I can honestly tell you that they're my first and foremost my best friends no matter how crazy I get with my words and/or thoughts.
It makes me wonder, though.
Is it obvious to these other guys that I have that canal day in the back of my heart?
I remember telling them about him, bragging about him. Did they hear about him and think "My chances with her are over"?
Or do they think, "She still likes him"?
...do I, and I'm making myself not?
Whenever I'd get interested in another guy, I'd think to myself "I realize why he isn't dating me - it's all about availability and attainability."
And I'd understand. It oddly made it easier. It made me learn.
It makes me feel stupid, though, when I think about this. I am in no hurry at all to find someone that'll be there, put up with my little idiosyncrasies and maybe learn to love them, and let me be there for them through their uglyness as well as their triumphs.
I am patient. I wait things out.
I wonder if that makes me stupid.
I also wonder if my trait of giving people second chances and being there for them even after they've treated me like shit (but apologized and were genuinely sorry) is also stupid and I'm just setting myself up for bad patterns.
I don't know.
But can I really change that about myself?
Those traits make me beat myself up so much...I don't know. I like it that I see people through - I take pride in it. But at the same time, I realize that your strengths are also your weaknesses.
I present my friendship in a way hardly anybody does anymore.
I make gifts - handmade gifts that require some thought.
I find four-leaf clovers.
I write random things and send them to those that read what I write and hear me.
I love my friends unconditionally and hold them close.
It makes people automatically think "Oh, you like him"
Apparently people who are "just friends" don't put such love into their gifts or presence.
That expression in and of itself..."just friends"...sums it up.
People underestimate friendship. They think it's merely the best you can get after something greater than that was rejected.
What the hell is society coming to?
When are we going to be unafraid to be honest with people about the way we feel towards them?
Will we ever?
That's the day I hope to see. Especially with my own friends.
I'm not the average girl. So therefore, I'm not sought after.
But until someone proves me wrong, I couldn't care less.
I've come to treasure my three amazing gents.
(...for some reason, I almost called them The Three Musketeers. oh, my...)
Oh, and before you think "Oh, Chloe's an insecure, needy whinyass", I have to tell you something:
I am an insecure, needy whinyass because I've got my girl problems now. Yep - you know what I mean. I blow up at the drop of a hat.
This is what happens for a week every month.
Guys, for future reference...this all goes away in about a business week. You wake up one morning and you find yourself talking to the good ol', happy-go-lucky Chloe you know and love.
Just bear with me when I'm not good and happy-go-lucky. Please...bear with me.
But this is what was racing through my head tonight.
I know for a fact that it will not be racing through my head once I'm back to normal.
I don't care if this is honest or if this is purely emotion-driven. I'm guessing it's mostly emotion-driven because it's totally irrational.
However...love is irrational, right? And that isn't bad at all.
But I digest.
Don't take everything I say in this particular entry seriously.
But if I don't say anything that makes you NOT confused, here you go, in simple text:
I love my three gentlemen in their own ways.
We've gone on different journeys together.
I have liked them all at some point. Right now, I either don't like them or CAN'T.
I hope I never lose them. I hope we can overcome the impossible.
My hope...and my thoughts, feelings...are forever beyond me.
Sorry, dear readers. In the future, disregard this as much as you can.
I am a girl, for this week. Hear me roar.
I'm going to be unreachable for a week, soon. I might as well say all that I need to say before I go for another week to clean myself up and return (hopefully) better.
So here goes nothing.
--
“A guy and a girl can be just friends but at one point or another, they will fall for each other. Maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time, maybe too late, or maybe forever.”
-Dave Matthews
--
It is terrible, that quote. Because it's so true. And the truth hurts...is it because we're so used to lies or short-term promises?
It took me a very long time to realize that day on the canal...that day he said he misses...was not a promise or a prologue.
I have no idea what that day was, now. Until just recently, I made myself block that day from my memory. I remember lying in bed at night, trying not to remember any of it. It crept into my dreams, and I'd wake up sobbing.
The thing is...that day in itself wasn't a bad day. It was one of the happiest days I've ever had.
But what made it so painful was the fact that I knew it would never happen again.
But I made myself look honestly into my gut...and I recollected the past year or so.
I've liked guys other than him. I've wanted to date guys other than him. Genuinely - I remember the day I cried when one of them told me they thought long and hard about it, but..."I can't."
I can honestly tell you that I've liked each of my best guy friends at least once.
I can honestly tell you that all three of them have liked me back. They'd admit it if you asked them, too.
I can honestly tell you that they're my first and foremost my best friends no matter how crazy I get with my words and/or thoughts.
It makes me wonder, though.
Is it obvious to these other guys that I have that canal day in the back of my heart?
I remember telling them about him, bragging about him. Did they hear about him and think "My chances with her are over"?
Or do they think, "She still likes him"?
...do I, and I'm making myself not?
Whenever I'd get interested in another guy, I'd think to myself "I realize why he isn't dating me - it's all about availability and attainability."
And I'd understand. It oddly made it easier. It made me learn.
It makes me feel stupid, though, when I think about this. I am in no hurry at all to find someone that'll be there, put up with my little idiosyncrasies and maybe learn to love them, and let me be there for them through their uglyness as well as their triumphs.
I am patient. I wait things out.
I wonder if that makes me stupid.
I also wonder if my trait of giving people second chances and being there for them even after they've treated me like shit (but apologized and were genuinely sorry) is also stupid and I'm just setting myself up for bad patterns.
I don't know.
But can I really change that about myself?
Those traits make me beat myself up so much...I don't know. I like it that I see people through - I take pride in it. But at the same time, I realize that your strengths are also your weaknesses.
I present my friendship in a way hardly anybody does anymore.
I make gifts - handmade gifts that require some thought.
I find four-leaf clovers.
I write random things and send them to those that read what I write and hear me.
I love my friends unconditionally and hold them close.
It makes people automatically think "Oh, you like him"
Apparently people who are "just friends" don't put such love into their gifts or presence.
That expression in and of itself..."just friends"...sums it up.
People underestimate friendship. They think it's merely the best you can get after something greater than that was rejected.
What the hell is society coming to?
When are we going to be unafraid to be honest with people about the way we feel towards them?
Will we ever?
That's the day I hope to see. Especially with my own friends.
I'm not the average girl. So therefore, I'm not sought after.
But until someone proves me wrong, I couldn't care less.
I've come to treasure my three amazing gents.
(...for some reason, I almost called them The Three Musketeers. oh, my...)
Oh, and before you think "Oh, Chloe's an insecure, needy whinyass", I have to tell you something:
I am an insecure, needy whinyass because I've got my girl problems now. Yep - you know what I mean. I blow up at the drop of a hat.
This is what happens for a week every month.
Guys, for future reference...this all goes away in about a business week. You wake up one morning and you find yourself talking to the good ol', happy-go-lucky Chloe you know and love.
Just bear with me when I'm not good and happy-go-lucky. Please...bear with me.
But this is what was racing through my head tonight.
I know for a fact that it will not be racing through my head once I'm back to normal.
I don't care if this is honest or if this is purely emotion-driven. I'm guessing it's mostly emotion-driven because it's totally irrational.
However...love is irrational, right? And that isn't bad at all.
But I digest.
Don't take everything I say in this particular entry seriously.
But if I don't say anything that makes you NOT confused, here you go, in simple text:
I love my three gentlemen in their own ways.
We've gone on different journeys together.
I have liked them all at some point. Right now, I either don't like them or CAN'T.
I hope I never lose them. I hope we can overcome the impossible.
My hope...and my thoughts, feelings...are forever beyond me.
Sorry, dear readers. In the future, disregard this as much as you can.
I am a girl, for this week. Hear me roar.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Men vs My Old Man?
Apparently, there's a study out there that states that we pick our partners because they have traits of our parents. For example, girls pick partners that resemble their father (personality, not appearance), and guys pick partners that resemble their mother (personality, not appearance).
It's not purposefully done - it's what we're subconciously drawn to because it's what we're comfortable with.
My mother said that if somebody told her that back when she started dating seriously, she would've taken an entirely new approach to it - and maybe her pattern of doomed relationships would've been different.
Now, I'll tell you this right now: I'm single, and I've been single ever since November of 2007. I've liked guys few and far between...for legitimately good, deep reasons as well as the stupid little crushes that had no substance.
But as of today, disregarding my relationship status, I have three important men in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything.
So when I found out about this study, I decided to take a mental peek at these fine gents to see if I caught a glimpse of my father in them.
But before I go into that, I need to tell you about my father.
Anybody that knows me well knows that he and I are not like my mother and I are. While he and I can have a fun evening together, we are not close. I do not share secrets with him, nor do I share any difficult information. It's hard to describe, and I don't want to exploit him on this blog and litter it with negativity.
I wish it was different - I remember when I was little and I was your typical Daddy's Girl. We went to breakfast and I'd want to sit at the counter so I could sit in the swingy chairs and watch the kitchen activity. We'd go to the zoo or the children's museum on Sundays. I'd wake him up to go to work, and take me to my grandparent's house before school. I remember how he and I played catch in the back yard, and how he coached my baseball team the first time I played at the Y. I remember how he'd snuggle with me before I went to sleep, and how I'd get up in the middle of the night to crawl into his huge king-size bed with sheets that were always cool and crisp. I remember me asking him to teach me how to shave my face - just in case I'd ever grow a beard. I remember the night he came home after being hypnotized to stop smoking.
I don't remember exactly when or how he and I had our falling-out. But it's gone so far now that I don't know if I should try. I just don't see him in the way I used to.
But anyway. Back to my mental analyzation. Remember - it's about personality, not appearance. Did my coveted men resemble my dad's personality even by just a margin?
Seth Worland.
Seth is opinionated - he is NEVER afraid to say what he feels about a certain person or subject. He hides his true feelings with anger. He texts just to text and see your name pop up - it's always "I'm bored", "I'm hungry", "I have to pee", "meh". He is wicked smart, but hides it. He whines, and he'll admit it. He loves Magic, and Pokemon. I have listened to him cry over the phone, and he has listened to me cry in that same conversation. He is the ex of one of my best friends, and that created more negativity than either of us wanted. He is a terrible driver...and yet, I still drive with him because I trust he won't kill me (yet). He's got a snarky, witty sense of humor. When he loves you, he's protective - but I have yet to see this quality in a negative light.
Caleb Tucker.
Caleb tries to hide his softie-ness. However, he is not afraid to say "I love you" or call you "darling" or kiss your cheek. He is always slapping his invisible bass, aka his stomach. His hair was once longer than mine two times over (now it's just only a few inches shorter). I just learned that he has a fake tooth, even though he has the best teeth ever otherwise. He does not like to wear his boxers in front of people. He just started to write. At the present time, he is so heartbroken it's making my own heart hurt a little. He held my hand when I visited him in the hospital after two days of worrying where he was and if he was okay. His hugs are all you need to feel a little better. When he loves, he falls head over heels for you.
Andy Sturm.
Andy is fearless...until you get to know him - then you see just the opposite. But even though he has fear in his heart (with good reason), he is not a coward. He is a child at heart, always playful. He jumps into things head first. He has made some of the worst mistakes you could ever make at his age. He is one of few people whom I am not afraid to look in the eye - in fact, I love looking into his eyes when I talk because he looks right back into mine. When he loves you, he grows soft from the inside out and he becomes so honest about his feelings you almost want to say it's cheesy, but it's the best thing ever. I've tried to rid him from my life more times than I can count, but it never works - he always comes back wanting me there, and even though I don't know half of what's going on in his life right now, I try to be there for him as much as he allows me to be.
My dad.
Dad is socially awkward. He says he's fine with his life where it is, but I see right through it when he tells me about these dreams he has that I know are next to impossible for him to reach. He is not the most responsible person with money (how ironic - he used to work at a bank!). He does not have a good memory, and he has no sense of schedule or order. He is playful and always cracking jokes on good days. He is EXTREMELY passive-aggressive...that's the thing I dislike the most about him, because I never know exactly how to fight back when he fires. He is having a rather difficult time dealing with the fact that I will soon be eighteen years old and therefore legal on most terms. To put it simply...he's a tormented soul that I simply don't know what to make of.
I remember how controlling Josh (my ex-boyfriend) was. I remember how he didn't like me visiting other people. I remember how it all kind of came together near the end...late in the game.
I remember telling my friend Taylor, "I don't like the way Josh is acting - he's acting like my dad."
I, of course, looked at the positive qualities of my father first, to compare to my three favorite men. The only thing I could really match up was the goofy quality all of them share - different levels and different types of goofyness, but laughs all the same.
As much as I tried, I couldn't find the negative qualities to match. That was kind of difficult, because I've very rarely seen these people angry. I'm not sure whether to be proud of that or relieved or a little worried - I don't want these men to be afraid to be angry either in front of me or AT me. I can take it. And I don't mind seeing their uglyness - I want to know them 100%
It is July 17, 2010. I will be eighteen in ten days. I expect to jump into a new kind of light when it comes to dating in the upcoming year. I will be looked at in a new way, I will date in a way that's NOT high school (thank God), and sexually speaking...who knows? You know what I mean? I'll be ready - I'm getting myself on birth control soon.
And now that I've got this to kickstart it off with...I'm ready to take on this crazy dating business. Bring it on, gentlemen.
It's not purposefully done - it's what we're subconciously drawn to because it's what we're comfortable with.
My mother said that if somebody told her that back when she started dating seriously, she would've taken an entirely new approach to it - and maybe her pattern of doomed relationships would've been different.
Now, I'll tell you this right now: I'm single, and I've been single ever since November of 2007. I've liked guys few and far between...for legitimately good, deep reasons as well as the stupid little crushes that had no substance.
But as of today, disregarding my relationship status, I have three important men in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything.
So when I found out about this study, I decided to take a mental peek at these fine gents to see if I caught a glimpse of my father in them.
But before I go into that, I need to tell you about my father.
Anybody that knows me well knows that he and I are not like my mother and I are. While he and I can have a fun evening together, we are not close. I do not share secrets with him, nor do I share any difficult information. It's hard to describe, and I don't want to exploit him on this blog and litter it with negativity.
I wish it was different - I remember when I was little and I was your typical Daddy's Girl. We went to breakfast and I'd want to sit at the counter so I could sit in the swingy chairs and watch the kitchen activity. We'd go to the zoo or the children's museum on Sundays. I'd wake him up to go to work, and take me to my grandparent's house before school. I remember how he and I played catch in the back yard, and how he coached my baseball team the first time I played at the Y. I remember how he'd snuggle with me before I went to sleep, and how I'd get up in the middle of the night to crawl into his huge king-size bed with sheets that were always cool and crisp. I remember me asking him to teach me how to shave my face - just in case I'd ever grow a beard. I remember the night he came home after being hypnotized to stop smoking.
I don't remember exactly when or how he and I had our falling-out. But it's gone so far now that I don't know if I should try. I just don't see him in the way I used to.
But anyway. Back to my mental analyzation. Remember - it's about personality, not appearance. Did my coveted men resemble my dad's personality even by just a margin?
Seth Worland.
Seth is opinionated - he is NEVER afraid to say what he feels about a certain person or subject. He hides his true feelings with anger. He texts just to text and see your name pop up - it's always "I'm bored", "I'm hungry", "I have to pee", "meh". He is wicked smart, but hides it. He whines, and he'll admit it. He loves Magic, and Pokemon. I have listened to him cry over the phone, and he has listened to me cry in that same conversation. He is the ex of one of my best friends, and that created more negativity than either of us wanted. He is a terrible driver...and yet, I still drive with him because I trust he won't kill me (yet). He's got a snarky, witty sense of humor. When he loves you, he's protective - but I have yet to see this quality in a negative light.
Caleb Tucker.
Caleb tries to hide his softie-ness. However, he is not afraid to say "I love you" or call you "darling" or kiss your cheek. He is always slapping his invisible bass, aka his stomach. His hair was once longer than mine two times over (now it's just only a few inches shorter). I just learned that he has a fake tooth, even though he has the best teeth ever otherwise. He does not like to wear his boxers in front of people. He just started to write. At the present time, he is so heartbroken it's making my own heart hurt a little. He held my hand when I visited him in the hospital after two days of worrying where he was and if he was okay. His hugs are all you need to feel a little better. When he loves, he falls head over heels for you.
Andy Sturm.
Andy is fearless...until you get to know him - then you see just the opposite. But even though he has fear in his heart (with good reason), he is not a coward. He is a child at heart, always playful. He jumps into things head first. He has made some of the worst mistakes you could ever make at his age. He is one of few people whom I am not afraid to look in the eye - in fact, I love looking into his eyes when I talk because he looks right back into mine. When he loves you, he grows soft from the inside out and he becomes so honest about his feelings you almost want to say it's cheesy, but it's the best thing ever. I've tried to rid him from my life more times than I can count, but it never works - he always comes back wanting me there, and even though I don't know half of what's going on in his life right now, I try to be there for him as much as he allows me to be.
My dad.
Dad is socially awkward. He says he's fine with his life where it is, but I see right through it when he tells me about these dreams he has that I know are next to impossible for him to reach. He is not the most responsible person with money (how ironic - he used to work at a bank!). He does not have a good memory, and he has no sense of schedule or order. He is playful and always cracking jokes on good days. He is EXTREMELY passive-aggressive...that's the thing I dislike the most about him, because I never know exactly how to fight back when he fires. He is having a rather difficult time dealing with the fact that I will soon be eighteen years old and therefore legal on most terms. To put it simply...he's a tormented soul that I simply don't know what to make of.
I remember how controlling Josh (my ex-boyfriend) was. I remember how he didn't like me visiting other people. I remember how it all kind of came together near the end...late in the game.
I remember telling my friend Taylor, "I don't like the way Josh is acting - he's acting like my dad."
I, of course, looked at the positive qualities of my father first, to compare to my three favorite men. The only thing I could really match up was the goofy quality all of them share - different levels and different types of goofyness, but laughs all the same.
As much as I tried, I couldn't find the negative qualities to match. That was kind of difficult, because I've very rarely seen these people angry. I'm not sure whether to be proud of that or relieved or a little worried - I don't want these men to be afraid to be angry either in front of me or AT me. I can take it. And I don't mind seeing their uglyness - I want to know them 100%
It is July 17, 2010. I will be eighteen in ten days. I expect to jump into a new kind of light when it comes to dating in the upcoming year. I will be looked at in a new way, I will date in a way that's NOT high school (thank God), and sexually speaking...who knows? You know what I mean? I'll be ready - I'm getting myself on birth control soon.
And now that I've got this to kickstart it off with...I'm ready to take on this crazy dating business. Bring it on, gentlemen.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
15 July, 2010
I had a random epiphany in the shower one morning. Before going to class, I wrote it down on paper and dropped it into someone's CWC bag.
The next time I checked my own bag, I found that I got my note back. On the reverse side of it, whoever recieved it wrote:
"I don't understand this. This is stupid."
--
I sent messages in bottles back in the winter, because nobody ever sends those in the literal sense anymore. I wrote happy little notes for the bottles to carry, and I'd make them for all of my friends.
I made party favors for my guests. I always give gifts to my friends.
And people think I have an ulterior motive.
--
Life is the weirdest thing God came up with.
Is wisdom that rare to find in a girl that's on the cusp of being a woman? I know I'm an oddity, but still.
Is it a reason to be afraid?
Does every act of kindness have some kind of selfish ulterior motive behind it?
Do we always do good things in the hopes of getting what we want in return?
The idea's been around long enough, certainly. Mortals have done good deeds in the hopes of getting into heaven ever since people have believed in life after death.
Does anybody do any good deed just for the hell of it, anymore? Just for the sake of wanting to make life that much more bearable?
It almost makes a person second-guess themselves before they ever say or do anything that even hints at being kind or selfless, or different. Is "different" synonymous with "kind", now?
I wonder if this'll be part of becoming an adult. Will I have to give this up, my bottles and my epiphanies?
I'm going to go to college. I'm going to learn how to budget my money so I can have a roof over my head and food in the pantry. I'm going to learn how to share my bed...my life...with someone else who doesn't care that I sing in my sleep. I'm going to share my body for nine months with a being I don't even know...and spend eighteen more years getting to know that being, who will carry a pinch of me.
I'm going to grow old, watch my skin become stretchable and wrinkly, my famously red hair turn grey. I'm going to die when I'm done living.
I am willing to do all of this. I am willing to accept "adult" responsibilites and embark on the next chapter of my life, cliche as it is.
But please don't tell me that being an adult makes you narrow-minded, selfish, and heartless. Please don't tell me that adults forget how to laugh, how to play, how to find four-leaf-clovers and love in that innocent-but-deep way a dog or cat loves...you know, the no holds barred, faithful kind of love.
On Tuesday, I was leaving my internship and it was pouring down rain, I was wearing shoes that were digging into my ankles so much they were bleeding. As I stood at the crosswalk with no umbrella, I took off my shoes and put them in my purse.
There's one good thing about being an adult.
I can walk the streets of my city in my bare feet, with the rain soaking my dress...passing business suits and umbrellas...and not care what they thought.
--
I remember thinking that I was mentally ill when I was...God, I must've been about eight or nine - about the time I started penning my thoughts to paper. I knew even back then that people don't think like I do. Except back then, I constantly thought it was a bad thing. I thought I should have my head examined, my sanity. I didn't understand myself even back then.
As I've gotten older, I finally started to think that it wasn't so bad. That maybe people liked what I thought. Or if they didn't, I knew for a fact that I wasn't mentally insane.
But I know something for sure.
I can't change this about me, I don't want to change this about me, and nobody has the ability to change this about me. Nobody can make me clay in their hands, even if they tried, because I wouldn't fit into any mold they would ever present to me, anyway.
Whatever it is that makes me who I am is my downfall.
But I've learned that the things that people consider downfalls or weaknesses are things that actually turn out to be the exact opposite.
So maybe there's hope for us, after all.
The next time I checked my own bag, I found that I got my note back. On the reverse side of it, whoever recieved it wrote:
"I don't understand this. This is stupid."
--
I sent messages in bottles back in the winter, because nobody ever sends those in the literal sense anymore. I wrote happy little notes for the bottles to carry, and I'd make them for all of my friends.
I made party favors for my guests. I always give gifts to my friends.
And people think I have an ulterior motive.
--
Life is the weirdest thing God came up with.
Is wisdom that rare to find in a girl that's on the cusp of being a woman? I know I'm an oddity, but still.
Is it a reason to be afraid?
Does every act of kindness have some kind of selfish ulterior motive behind it?
Do we always do good things in the hopes of getting what we want in return?
The idea's been around long enough, certainly. Mortals have done good deeds in the hopes of getting into heaven ever since people have believed in life after death.
Does anybody do any good deed just for the hell of it, anymore? Just for the sake of wanting to make life that much more bearable?
It almost makes a person second-guess themselves before they ever say or do anything that even hints at being kind or selfless, or different. Is "different" synonymous with "kind", now?
I wonder if this'll be part of becoming an adult. Will I have to give this up, my bottles and my epiphanies?
I'm going to go to college. I'm going to learn how to budget my money so I can have a roof over my head and food in the pantry. I'm going to learn how to share my bed...my life...with someone else who doesn't care that I sing in my sleep. I'm going to share my body for nine months with a being I don't even know...and spend eighteen more years getting to know that being, who will carry a pinch of me.
I'm going to grow old, watch my skin become stretchable and wrinkly, my famously red hair turn grey. I'm going to die when I'm done living.
I am willing to do all of this. I am willing to accept "adult" responsibilites and embark on the next chapter of my life, cliche as it is.
But please don't tell me that being an adult makes you narrow-minded, selfish, and heartless. Please don't tell me that adults forget how to laugh, how to play, how to find four-leaf-clovers and love in that innocent-but-deep way a dog or cat loves...you know, the no holds barred, faithful kind of love.
On Tuesday, I was leaving my internship and it was pouring down rain, I was wearing shoes that were digging into my ankles so much they were bleeding. As I stood at the crosswalk with no umbrella, I took off my shoes and put them in my purse.
There's one good thing about being an adult.
I can walk the streets of my city in my bare feet, with the rain soaking my dress...passing business suits and umbrellas...and not care what they thought.
--
I remember thinking that I was mentally ill when I was...God, I must've been about eight or nine - about the time I started penning my thoughts to paper. I knew even back then that people don't think like I do. Except back then, I constantly thought it was a bad thing. I thought I should have my head examined, my sanity. I didn't understand myself even back then.
As I've gotten older, I finally started to think that it wasn't so bad. That maybe people liked what I thought. Or if they didn't, I knew for a fact that I wasn't mentally insane.
But I know something for sure.
I can't change this about me, I don't want to change this about me, and nobody has the ability to change this about me. Nobody can make me clay in their hands, even if they tried, because I wouldn't fit into any mold they would ever present to me, anyway.
Whatever it is that makes me who I am is my downfall.
But I've learned that the things that people consider downfalls or weaknesses are things that actually turn out to be the exact opposite.
So maybe there's hope for us, after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)