How many are left until I go back.
Good riddance to 2009.
I don't know if I can characterize any year of my life as a "bad" year, because there always seems to be a mix of good and bad. I think the best year of my life was the 18th one, full of adventure and change and new beginnings. Of course that meant that the 19th one was going to suck balls, at least kind of. Or maybe more that 2009 was going to really bite it. I'm not sure whether or not the beginning to year 20 was a fortuitous one. I got a clean bill of health, but I anticipated that, and I spent it hung over, having a nurse stab needles into my neck one by one in a bright and sterile room.
I don't think that counts as a good one.
I kind of wish I were more balanced. I feel like everything that propels me to do well is also inevitably my undoing. I am obsessive and perfectionist and thus I do well in school and can't stop working on something until it is finally done. I am obsessive and perfectionist and so I am constantly wracked by fears of inadequacy and body image issues (just like every other girl in America, but oh well). I spent a year working out and trying to eat better and lost the extra weight but now every time I eat I feel guilty. It's not useful anymore. It's just awful. I don't know how to make it stop. One's immediate reaction after a meal should not be "oh shit, I ate, now I have to go work out or I'm going to get fat." That doesn't make any sense. It frightens me that something in my brain can be going that wrong.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I am armed with the past and the will and a brick
I think 18 was the best year of my life so far. Full of everything new and success and triumph and only good things.
I'll be 20 soon, and as good as the last year was in a lot of respects, just... fuck, so many shitty things happened. I'm going to be pretty glad to say goodbye to 19. Most of them weren't even in my control. They just occurred; they forced themselves on me.
The feeling of being actually, truly sad seems so foreign, but it happens every so often lately. This summer and this year. It is such a piercing feeling. I feel like I have a strong and mostly immovable core, built up over the past five years of rapid changes and new situations and outer storms and conflagrations. That's comforting. And when some terrible arrow cuts through it all, I feel so awful I want to vomit. Each time it's a new kind of pain, foreign and surprising and mesmerizing.
I think I should stop expecting things and instead just let them happen. It always seems to work out in the end.
It's strange, the way certain songs will always be associated with certain periods of time in your mind. I've been listening to Frightened Rabbit again; the last time I did that was winter break. Hearing it again brings up so many different and conflicting emotions. I remember walking through the woods at home in the snow with my headphones in, feeling absolutely exalted and terrified and sad all at the same time. Heartbroken and euphoric, confused and enthralled. Snow always makes me feel better. It makes me want to set off into the unknown. I can remember the happiest moment of my life, one of absolute and pure euphoria and freedom. After thinking I was going to die for three months, after feeling absolutely crazy and insane and unspeakably awful, I walked home in the snow and it just broke like a fever. It fell away and I watched fat flakes falling from the gray sky; I could see them a hundred feet up hurtling toward the earth. I felt like I was dying, or melting, or falling apart into a million exalted pieces. Every so often I feel so happy that I don't think my skin can contain it.
But yeah, every time I listen to Frightened Rabbit now I'm back in the woods, feeling exalted and uneasy, happy but bitter and a little disillusioned. Tonight I just feel a little nostalgic. I want to go back to last year, before my family decided to finalize all of the fractures that had been there for so long, before the last traces of my childhood burst apart and disappeared into the ether. I always saw it coming, though, and I feel like I've been divorcing myself from home for the past four years, trying to make the final break less painful.
It's been a strange day.
I'll be 20 soon, and as good as the last year was in a lot of respects, just... fuck, so many shitty things happened. I'm going to be pretty glad to say goodbye to 19. Most of them weren't even in my control. They just occurred; they forced themselves on me.
The feeling of being actually, truly sad seems so foreign, but it happens every so often lately. This summer and this year. It is such a piercing feeling. I feel like I have a strong and mostly immovable core, built up over the past five years of rapid changes and new situations and outer storms and conflagrations. That's comforting. And when some terrible arrow cuts through it all, I feel so awful I want to vomit. Each time it's a new kind of pain, foreign and surprising and mesmerizing.
I think I should stop expecting things and instead just let them happen. It always seems to work out in the end.
It's strange, the way certain songs will always be associated with certain periods of time in your mind. I've been listening to Frightened Rabbit again; the last time I did that was winter break. Hearing it again brings up so many different and conflicting emotions. I remember walking through the woods at home in the snow with my headphones in, feeling absolutely exalted and terrified and sad all at the same time. Heartbroken and euphoric, confused and enthralled. Snow always makes me feel better. It makes me want to set off into the unknown. I can remember the happiest moment of my life, one of absolute and pure euphoria and freedom. After thinking I was going to die for three months, after feeling absolutely crazy and insane and unspeakably awful, I walked home in the snow and it just broke like a fever. It fell away and I watched fat flakes falling from the gray sky; I could see them a hundred feet up hurtling toward the earth. I felt like I was dying, or melting, or falling apart into a million exalted pieces. Every so often I feel so happy that I don't think my skin can contain it.
But yeah, every time I listen to Frightened Rabbit now I'm back in the woods, feeling exalted and uneasy, happy but bitter and a little disillusioned. Tonight I just feel a little nostalgic. I want to go back to last year, before my family decided to finalize all of the fractures that had been there for so long, before the last traces of my childhood burst apart and disappeared into the ether. I always saw it coming, though, and I feel like I've been divorcing myself from home for the past four years, trying to make the final break less painful.
It's been a strange day.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Back... again...
The whole returning home thing is becoming a recurring theme this summer. It's a little strange. Pittsburgh was nice, though. Maybe I'll write more about it later.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
OMG CUTE.
Reminds me of the dream I had the other night that was full of fluffy kittens, no joke.
Also reminds me of the baby squirrel we saw running around in that girl's hair at the Roxy.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
End, again.
Leaving NYC tomorrow, unfortunately.
Waiting around with my sister while she cleans her apartment (I keep trying to help but it doesn't seem that there's much I can do) for the person who's coming over later to maybe live with her for the next year. We'll see.
I had a great time, but I'm feeling pretty melancholy today. Maybe it's PMS, more likely it's a combination of that and Father's Day really just dredging up a ton of horrible emotions. I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel like I'm an open book about most things. I'm not really ashamed of anything, or prudish, or any of that. But when something actually hurts me or bothers me in a way that is more than superficial, I can't talk about it. It stays corked up on the inside and even if I desperately want to say something the words catch in my throat and die.
And so instead of doing something fun right now, I'm in my sister's apartment, alone, thinking about my newly broken family and trying to fight back tears. It isn't working. For some reason, having someone see me cry is absolutely mortifying.
Waiting around with my sister while she cleans her apartment (I keep trying to help but it doesn't seem that there's much I can do) for the person who's coming over later to maybe live with her for the next year. We'll see.
I had a great time, but I'm feeling pretty melancholy today. Maybe it's PMS, more likely it's a combination of that and Father's Day really just dredging up a ton of horrible emotions. I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel like I'm an open book about most things. I'm not really ashamed of anything, or prudish, or any of that. But when something actually hurts me or bothers me in a way that is more than superficial, I can't talk about it. It stays corked up on the inside and even if I desperately want to say something the words catch in my throat and die.
And so instead of doing something fun right now, I'm in my sister's apartment, alone, thinking about my newly broken family and trying to fight back tears. It isn't working. For some reason, having someone see me cry is absolutely mortifying.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
No Cars Go
Literally.
Thirty miles to Philadelphia and the car starts making a weird rattling noise. Good things. We turn around; now it's 1:30 and I'm sitting in the living room, waiting.
I find that depriving myself of sleep to the point where I don't really care about anything works really well for situations like this that involve a lot of waiting. Time just floats by without you noticing.
Ostensibly I'll be in NYC tomorrow. Ostensibly.
Thirty miles to Philadelphia and the car starts making a weird rattling noise. Good things. We turn around; now it's 1:30 and I'm sitting in the living room, waiting.
I find that depriving myself of sleep to the point where I don't really care about anything works really well for situations like this that involve a lot of waiting. Time just floats by without you noticing.
Ostensibly I'll be in NYC tomorrow. Ostensibly.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Off Again
I'm going to NYC tomorrow, the long way. Driving to Philly first (or maybe Trenton? I'm not sure) and taking the train. So I guess I'll be there tomorrow night? Even I'm not sure.
It's hard to make plans when the time frame changes every day. Still need to buy a plane ticket back.
I'm excited, but a little nervous. I'll take my film camera again. Why not? Apparently my sister isn't talking to my dad. Shit. I hope this doesn't get awkward. Maybe she was just lying to make my mother feel better. Or being lazy.
I don't know. I can't be angry or distant, can't take sides, and I hope to god she doesn't want me to do any of those things. I resent her just a little for her distance.
But still, I'm really looking forward to spending time with her.
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