913 in PM

Can’t sleep. It feels so late and yet it’s only 913 914 915. It’s so fascinating. Time, that is.
My bed is too hot. My cheeks are flushed pink with blanket-induced fever. I suppose taking my sweatpants off would probably help, but then I may be too cold.
915 916
916 917
I can write so little in a minute. My thoughts can’t collect themselves enough to form cohesive sentences in 917 918 merely a minute.
What would the world be like if time didn’t exist? It is said that time is the 4th dimension. So what happens when we lose that? 918 919 I don’t know. Would we be frozen? Would time essentially freeze all molecules–all matter–in the universe? 919 920 would all space cease to exist because the fabric of space-time will have been destroyed?
I’m so tired but I just can’t bring myself to sleep. 920 921 It has been only 8 minures since I began writing but it feels like a millenia. I wonder where our internal concept of time comes 921 922 from? It has taken me several minutes to formulate these sentences, and yet it has taken fewer, still, for you to visually devour them.
This is just a WordDoodle. I have 922 923 no idea what I’m actually saying or if it makes any sense at all. Probably not. I have an induced fever and am running on 5 houra of sleep. I’m as good as miserably drunk.
923 924 the night is a very lonely and very boring chore 924 925 when nobody is there to spend it with you and you cannot escape to 925 926 count sheep. I just keep rubbing my hands over my face (giving myself wrinkles) while 926 927 I try to coax sleep into my buzzing neurons.
I’m kinda scared of the dark 928 929 to be honest. Ha! A legal adult scared of the dark. I hate feeling as though I think somewhere is safe, but it might actually 929 928 (I think I imagined the clock moves faster than it actually did) 928 929 be quite the opposite. That is one of my worst fears, I have come to realize. Which, 929 930 I suppose, isn’t an entirely irrational fear to have. I mean, it keeps me from wandering ignorantly into dark alleys at night.
Ohhhh my god I’m so 930 931 eternally bored right now that I might as well just watch 931 932 grass grow.
This is pretty much stream of consciousness, right now. A WordDoodle. Me hoping that my slip-of-a-tongue will somehow make sense on 932 933 paper. 933; 3×3=9; I just sneezed 3 times. 933 934 934 935; 35÷9=4; at the last

“4” mentioned I was 935 936 talking about what a boring chore the nighttime is. Nevermind. 35÷9 is not 4, and I don’t know what I’m thinking. I even used the old school finger trick for multiples of 9s.
I probably shouldn’t complain so much.
936 937 there’s nothing too special about 937 to my knowledge. There probably is, I just don’t know it. Maybe it’s a Fibonacci number 937 938 or something.
938 943 time is beginning to pick up a little, but it is still moving so incredibly slow.
I suppose I should just stop watching 943 945 the clock and start sleeping.


Two Candles

I just lit two candles in my room. They’re the tiny kind that you put in the jack-o-lanterns on Halloween.

My parents are fighting downstairs. It probably has something to do with my brother getting a haircut. And by haircut, I mean shaving half of his head and getting a blonde stripe dyed in on the other side. I don’t know. I think it looks pretty cool.

Both the candles are about to go out. Their wicks aren’t very long, so the only flame they can bear is the little blue part. You know, the hottest part. There’s still a little bit of orange at the tip, though. Kinda looks like a short mountain, but instead of snow, there’s the orange flame.

I’ve never really heard my mom yell, but she just did. Something about “not giving someone satisfaction.” Something about making my brother’s lunch tonight. You know, because he’s 15 and can’t do that on his own. Maybe his haircut means he’s mentally retarded or something to them.

I wonder how long these candles will take to burn out? I mean, the packaging said something hopeful about 12+ hours, but that’s all marketing, right? It’s not like you can really validate it until you buy it.

My parents tell me that I’m not allowed to have candles in my room. Well, mainly my mom. She sees them sitting on my desk with their black wicks and tells me not to burn them in my room. Kinda like how she tells me not to paint my nails in my room when she sees the nail polish bottles out.

I might just blow these candles out. They’re not really serving any purpose. The idea of them is nice, I guess, but they don’t even smell or anything, and I’m typing on my laptop, anyways, so I don’t really need them.

I closed my door. Mainly so that if my parents were to come up and say hi to me, they’d see it closed. Hopefully they’d think I’m naked or something and knock so I’ll have time to blow the candles out. You know, so my mom can have peace-of-mind knowing that I’m not gonna burn the house down or whatever.

I keep looking at the candles. I haven’t blown them out or anything yet. I don’t know why I keep looking at them, as if they might be burning my dresser secretly behind my back or something. Like they’re playing some kind of pyromaniac game of Red Light, Green Light.

It’s also closed so I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Is there really any point of blowing the candles out? They’re not hurting anything. But, on the other hand, they’re entirely pointless.

My mom bought me peanut butter Oreos today. I wanted them last week and my dad couldn’t find them in the store because they didn’t have them there.

I just remembered that I have another candle in a glass jar that burns pretty well. The only problem is that it’s a pain in the ass to light without incinerating your finger.

I don’t really want an Oreo right now.

Well the candle in the jar was a rip. I lit it with the purple lighter my mom took from me about a year ago (she forgot about it and I took it from the drawer that she hid it in. She hasn’t noticed, or at least hasn’t mentioned anything about it. We fought about it at the time). Anyways the candle completely extinguished in under a few seconds.

I’m sure I’ll want one eventually. Especially with a glass of milk.

I did find another tiny candle similar to the last one in there, though, and it burns a lot brighter than the other two. It’s flame is more orange with no blue. Just kidding I looked again and there’s a little bit of blue at the bottom. I blew the other two candles out.

I bet if I turned off my laptop Pandora that I could hear what my parents are saying.

I tried again to light the candle in the jar with the purple lighter but no such luck. This time, the wick just turned a little orange, and died, as if it had even less life in it the second time. I also made a bunch of black stuff on the jar with the candle flame and now it just looks plain gross.

I hate this song, actually.

The only candle burning right now is the little tiny one that I found in the jar. I was gonna put the other two away, but I was scared they’d be too hot.

It’s taking forever to thumbs-down this song. I’m just gonna refresh the whole damn page.

They’re probably not hot anymore so I’m gonna put them away and throw the glass jar in the trash.

I had a dream last night that I was trying to make pizza and couldn’t because my friend was being deported to Iraq. I fell in love with a kid that I saw at a bar a few nights ago.

I threw away the jar candle. It’s trash anyways cause all the wax from the candle overflowed and filled the jar.

I can’t hear them saying much, anymore. I really like this song.

Thank God Noone Reads This Blog

Did I make a mistake breaking up with you? My friends say “no,” my heart says “maybe,” and my brain doesn’t know anything. Now that you’re leaving, I miss you more than I thought I would. For some reason, it feels good; to have been close enough with someone to miss them. But it sucks, too, because now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.

You say we can be friends, but do you mean it?  I know how easy it is to say “yes” and then just never speak to one another ever again. Is that how we will be? A shattered dream of a future together? I will miss your friendship and I can guarantee you that ten years down the road, I will still think and wonder about you.

I hope you get everything sorted out. I hope you realize how amazing you are–how amazing you can be. Please don’t be stuck in a rut the rest of your life; you deserve more than that. We were gonna fight through this together… and if you allow it, we still will.

Did I break your heart? Did it hurt so much that you threw my letters away? Do you reread them with disgust, thinking I filled your head with bullshit, crumple them up, then throw them away into your waste basket? Do you look at that waste basket often? Do they seem to glare at you even harder from that cold, metal bin? Or do you not look twice as you throw away my words? Do you even know what you’re feeling? Because I don’t. Then again, I never really have. This all started fast, and I suppose that’s how it ended, too.

I realize that I love you, and I always will. The fact that I miss you is proof enough, to me. I’m going to walk into what will soon be only a room for one, and see your once-cluttered desk wiped clean of the math we did together. Where it was once sprinkled with snow-white papers, there will be only the imitation swirls of wood on its plastic surface. Your air fresheners will be gone, too, or maybe they will linger, pushing a thick scent (that can only remind me of you) into the half-filled air. The bean bag that we cried on, laughed on, and passed out on will vanish, leaving only the gaudy, minimally thick carpet behind where its soft, cozy fabric used to be. The containers of condoms, food, and a first aid kit that I stole a BandAid from when you were sleeping will disappear, too. The drawer of silverware that jingled in sweet protest whenever it was yanked open will cease to make its cacophonous music. The bin with the animal cups will be gone. The towel hanger that indifferently sported your hats will have dispersed into the thin air. The dresser–made from that same fake wood that the desk is made of–will be undressed from the inside out–stripped of its contents. And just like that… with your towels gone from the bathroom, your toiletries removed from the sink, and your bong taken from its hiding place and stashed into that blue backpack… you’ll be gone. It’ll be like you were never even there. The room won’t know any different; kids have lived in and left that room many times, and that is how it has always been and how it will always be. But it is in this absence of you that the south-facing room that always seems so stiflingly hot, will now be cold and barren. It will be the silent type of absence that reeks with desertion and the loss of a friend–one of my best friends.

I dread going into that room and seeing that reality. And the worst will be the things unseen. The memories will be the loudest reminder of you. Those wild nights that we had there, the laughs we shared… all replayed before me, as if wanting to rub my nose in the dust that you left behind when you rushed out of my life. And all I can do is watch you leave, and wonder–or even worse, hope–that you will come back into my life.

Will I ever see those pretty eyes again? That striped hoodie you always wear? Your worn down Airwalk shoes that could definitely stand to be replaced? Will I ever smoke with you again out on those rocks outside the dorm? Will I ever hear you laugh? Even see your smile? I think all of these things and feel so guilty for openly missing you when I know that I was the one who kicked you out of my life. I love you, but I’m not in love with you, anymore. Is that a reasonable thing to say? I don’t know. I just don’t want you to leave. We are good, just not good for each other. I just want to be friends. I want to support you, and I want you to support me. Can we not be able to still lean on each other when we’re about to fall down?

Can we be friends? Do you mean it?


I’m convinced that time doesn’t exist in college. Like our clocks are just a jumble of lines and dots and when those lines and dots align in a certain pattern, we know that we need to be in some specific place ready to learn about x, y, z important things. Or, perhaps Groundhog Day is a better analogy. You know, the movie with Bill Murray? No judgment if you don’t know what I’m talking about; I don’t know much about the movie besides the basic plot. Essentially, Bill Murray’s character (I don’t even know his name) is stuck living the same day over and over again until he finally gets it right. (“Gets it right”–as seen so often in popular movies–entails “getting the girl of his dreams”). That’s what college feels like… the same day over and over again… I feel like I haven’t aged at all and no time has really passed. That sounds terrible, but it really isn’t; the day I’m reliving over and over again isn’t a shitty one at all. But still. Since I’ve been here, I’ve realized how I’ve slowly lost track of who I am and where I want to be headed. It’s a different kind of lost than I’ve ever experienced, though. It’s not the kind of panicked lost that you feel when you’re five years old and lost in the grocery store… it’s the kind of lost where you don’t notice you’re lost at all. I’d rather know I’m lost and be panicked. It’s like I’ve totally forgotten the woman I wanted to be at the end of summer and everything that she stood so firmly for. Is this who I am now? Have I changed just like that? That quickly? I hope not… I just have this funny feeling that something’s wrong and unhealthy about the way I’m living my life right now. The worst part is how difficult it is to get away from everything and really reflect on how I’m living. I suppose that’s why break exists, though, isn’t it? What do I do? I haven’t felt this personally lost within myself for a very long time, and it really just infuriates me that leaving to college could shake what I believed so harshly. It’s like I’m searching for something that I’ll never find. It’s such an obscure feeling. I suppose a schedule will help, but I entirely abhor schedules. Setting aside some “me time” would probably help more than anything. Blogging or journaling on a semi-regular basis would help, probably. Yoga and/or daily exercise… I’ll start with journaling and me time, I suppose. Since healing and self-help always starts from the inside!

Man, I hate to be so down, but today was just an entirely shitty day. Like, I don’t even know why, but all of a sudden, I was just in a terrible mood. Ugh. I’m still in a little bit of a funk. I think it’s lack of sleep and regular eating patterns. But really, I haven’t had a terrible need for a lot of sleep at college (thank the lord almighty) and I eat when I’m hungry. Today, though I can literally feel the dark circles under my eyes. It’s a pretty heavy feeling. Like, my entire head just feels heavy and I am cognitively checked out.

Anyways, on the bright side! I finally figured out my major (for now). Communication major and a Biomedical Sciences minor. 132 more credits to go, but if that’s what it takes to get myself where I wanna be, then come at me! I’m so pumped that I finally have that small part of my life figured out. Now everything can kinda fall into place! That’s how life usually works.

Man, that’s another thing about college; people worry so freaking much about their future. They don’t worry about practical things, either. They ask about the jobs they’ll have in the future, the things they wanna do… but the one that surprises me so much is how much 18-year-old kids are so focused on high-income jobs. Like… gosh… you aren’t asking yourself: man, what do I really like, what am I passionate about, what do I want to do now? It’s kinda miserable to be around, honestly, when people worry so much about something that they haven’t even gotten to yet.

I should probably be getting to work now, though… So much work with finals and all! But I suppose a busy life makes a pretty great life.


Gate A-4

Powerful stuff.

Live & Learn


Gate A-4 By Naomi Shihab Nye:

Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.” Well— one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there.

An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing. “Help,” said the flight agent. “Talk to her . What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.”

I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly. “Shu-dow-a, shu-bid-uck, habibti? Stani schway, min fadlick, shu-bit-se-wee?” The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be…

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Still Acclimating

Well… it still feels like I’ve been here for only about two weeks! Time is so concrete, but the human mind often warps it into indistinguishable sections.

Have you ever had so much to do that you don’t know what to do? You freak out a little and briefly consider doing none of it, but “it must be done” and so you crack your knuckles and with newfound determination (usually found after doing just about everything but the inevitable) you write a to-do list. Then you get started on the long journey ahead. Sound familiar? Then, at the end of the day, you feel so productive! Look at all the stuff you’ve done! But then, you look at the to-do list, and realize with a weird sort of confused disappointment that you’ve only completed about one task on the list? That’s been my whole week. Sometimes, I’ll complete assignments that I haven’t added to my to-do list and then add them on after completion, because that way I feel a little less lazy. It’s sad, I know. But it feels like I’ve been so productive!

Anyways, I somehow still feel really accomplished; I got a 92 on my Psychology test (albeit with minimal studying), finished my Psychology paper (ahead of time), did my math (but that’s fun, so it doesn’t really count), written letters to people, done online homework… So I made it through the week, and with a good test grade to show for it!

I’ve been taking my ADD medicine more, and I’ve felt happier and more even-keel with social interactions, and also fel tmore positive in general! It’s been so good. I’m scared to not take it now. This morning, I wasn’t going to take it, and I just felt useless, scattered and depressed. It was quite terrible. So I took it, and had a cup of coffee to top it off, and am no able to focus, but not on the things I need to focus on. I hope I don’t gain a tolerance or something, because I’ve been on a high for life recently.

For once, I feel secure in myself and also in my academics (even though I still disagree with the concept of education…).

Well, I suppose that’s all for now!


Going… Home?

This weekend was the first time I had been home in over a month. Places sure don’t take a very long time to not feel like home anymore, do they? I was relaxed there, sure, it wasn’t an entirely foreign place, but it definitely felt strange. My room wasn’t really mine anymore… my room is now a cramped living space with a lofted bed, a desk that might be better suited for a middle schooler with petty worksheets–not a college student with a laptop and books, and with more spiders than I would like to admit I’ve encountered. I felt so tall in comparison to my bed. Perhaps a metaphor about how I’ve outgrown that part of my life. That makes me a little more upset than I’d readily admit… I really don’t like the whole growing-up thing.

I’ve realized recently how my ideas and beliefs are now becoming more solidified. I don’t like that at all. I don’t want to have super concrete expectations and beliefs, because then I’m ignorant of all of the other views in the world, because I believe mine is best. It is becoming apparent to me how little I treasured my younger years, and I am now regretting it. I suppose I should “live it up” and cherish these younger years, too. It sickens me to think that in four years that I should have a steady 8-5 job to earn a steady income to pay all the bills and student loans, and if I’m lucky enough to have learned to budget my money by then, maybe a few shirts.

Of course, the world will (hopefully) be a lot more exciting than that; I’ll probably be living with some good friends. Maybe I’ll be madly in love by then, maybe I’ll have a fun job that I can’t get enough of. But I admit that I have a little case of Peter Pan Syndrome. I miss the little responsibility I used to have… I hate how childish that sounds, but I guess my mind really doesn’t want to grow up. But it has to; the world demands it of me. Which kills me. I just want to get away and travel around a little–see the world and all it has to offer. But the world doesn’t have a place for people like that.

This sounds like a whole lot of self-pity, I know. I’m trying really hard to press forward with life and earn good grades so that I can have a job that I love. And I do realize that school is a privilege that many kids don’t have and that I need to take advantage of it. I hope I don’t come across as completely ungrateful, because I’m not.

The drama with my friends has finally come to an end, and I don’t talk to one of them anymore. I hope this is as bad as the drama ever gets. And over a boy… a stupid boy… that gets me every time I think about it. I’m over it now, and I hope that everyone else is, too.

Oh, and now on to the whole subject of this entry! Going home left some very strange feelings inside me that I can’t quite put my finger on… I miss home a lot more than I think I realize. It makes me sad to leave my brother, dad and dogs. My mom is a different story; we never really got on too well, and even after two days together we still butt heads over stupid stuff. I wonder if that will ever be remedied. It makes me sad that a lot of my friends have incredibly good relationships with their parents, and I don’t. Kyle is a really good family to me. It’s hard for me to be away from him for so long, especially since he is such a big part of my life. I don’t know why, but it’s hard to pick up where I left off with him, sometimes. I just feel like I don’t have a lot of genuine connections with people–even ones that I’ve lived with for 18 years and love. It’s a very lonely feeling. And the worst part is that I don’t really know how to fix it, even though I wish I could. Is this even something that can be “fixed”? Am I thinking about it the wrong way? Sigh.

Other than that, though, I did have a lot more fun with them this weekend than I thought I would. My brother and I went on a bike ride and threw the football around. It was hard and taxing, but so great, and I hope Kyle had fun, too.

That’s it for now! Even with the recent struggles, I know I can pull through (somehow) and I know that people are here for me, which is super uplifting right now… I guess you could say that it’s still A Pretty Great Life.