I don't want to grow up.
I don't mean that I wish to forever remain eighteen. Much as I love it here, I don't want to be in college forever. I do want to get older, gain experience, go on with my life, do things, learn things, meet people. I just don't want to grow up.
I don't want to lose the child-like joy I find in simple things. I don't ever want to feel like I can't play. I don't want to give in to the idea that, because I am a grown-up, I cannot play certain games, watch certain movies, or read certain books.
I don't want to grow up.
I want to read books all day, carefree. I want to play pretend games. I want to take my plastic, collapsible lightsaber and have a duel with my Big in the middle of campus. I want to be silly and stupid in ways that won't ruin my life. I want to play videogames and board games and watch Disney movies.
I want to remain a child.
Some days, I stop for a moment and I think about what I've done. Today, I worked in a theatre for four hours. I did my homework. I had a meeting about housing for next semester. I got my medication. I signed up for an Amazon selling account, so I can get rid of my textbooks. I made appointments for tests. I made a doctor's appointment. I have nothing but responsible. On days like those, I feel proud of myself. I have managed, so far, to stay afloat in a world that rejects people like me: the depressed, the socially anxious and backwards, the troubled, the lost. But, too, I feel disappointed. I look at my accomplishments, my adult-ness. and I'm sad, because, in all that responsibility, I haven't truly done a thing for myself. I haven't read, I haven't written, I haven't drawn, I haven't played.
On these days, I have grown up. I am not a child.
I don't want that. I accept that, to be totally independent of my parents for the rest pf my life, I have to be responsible. I have to make and keep appointments, work, take care of myself. I understand that I have to be an adult. But I want to be able to stay child-like, at the same time.
It's a matter of happiness. Children are happy with small accomplishments, with little things. Most children are easy to please: a little attention, a small gift, a short, silly story, and they are content. That is what I want. I want to remain easy to please. I want to keep my happiness at a nice day, a new book, a random hug from a friend.
And I want to be able to cry. I have been told that I am a rock, a source of strength for my friends. Much as I love that, I want it to be okay for me to break, to fall apart. I don't want always to have to hold myself together, until I am so fragile that the smallest touch will shatter me. I want the option of a good, therapeutic cry when I need it. I want be able to throw a fit, to punch pillows and break things, because it makes me feel better.
I want the option of being childish. I don't want that door closed to me. I promise to be responsible, to think and to do the right thing, but I want to be a child sometimes, too.
In the words of the good Doctor, there's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes.
Showing posts with label random crap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random crap. Show all posts
03 April, 2013
02 July, 2012
I Used to Dye My Hair...
...but then I took an arrow to the knee.
...
...
I get nothing for that? Man, you have no sense of humor.
Granted, with it being me and all, that was probably the more obvious route I could have taken that.
On a more serious note (Serious? Me? Really?), I've stopped dying my hair. I tell people that it's expensive, and I'm probably just going to be playing with my tips (get your mind out the gutter!) from now on. For a while, at least.
That's not really true. I seem to be pretty good at that. Telling people the not-really-true stuff, I mean. I suppose I do it because it's easier, because it doesn't get me angry, doesn't make me shout, doesn't goad me into saying things that I'll regret later.
The truth? The honest-to-god, I'm-saying-this-because-this-is-my-blog-and-I-don't-really-care-anymore truth? I stopped because it was making me feel stifled.
Crazy, right? Free expression, stifling someone? Doesn't make any sense. But then, a lot of things in this world don't make sense.
The problem with expressing yourself is being the one who dares.
So many people look at you and think, "Damn, I wish I had her confidence! She is walking around with bright pink hair. She must be awesome and just not care what other people think!" And it's true. I dyed my hair blue and pink and purple and red and blonde because I didn't care what other people thought, and I wanted to show it. It was never a confidence thing, because god knows I have absolutely jack shit in the confidence department.
The problem is being one of the few who dare.
So many people see you, and wish that they could dare, too, but they think they can't, for some reason. So they want to live through you. I'd never be able to count to amount of times people have told me, "Oh, you should do this with your hair next," or "Maybe that tattoo would be cool."
They don't get it.
What I'm doing here, with my hair and my tattoos and wearing guys' clothes and staying up until sweet fuck all at night, isn't me trying to be different from most people or fit into another group of people. This is me expressing myself. Sure, having black hair with pink underneath would look cool (Romana Flowers, anyone?), but it isn't me. I am bright colors and positive words and comfort over looks and functioning better at night.
Yes, suggestions are nice. People can give me ideas that I might not have come up with on my own, but resonate with me in a way that makes me want to use them. But they have to stay suggestions. I'm not going to spring for every crazy idea, because that isn't me. Yeah, I do crazy things, but everything I do has a reason that makes sense to me, even if the reason is "Why the hell not?"
So if you think that your friend would look good with electric blue hair, by all means, tell her! But don't follow it up by asking every week, "So when are you going to dye your hair blue?" IT GETS FUCKING ANNOYING. We do what we do because we want to do it, not so that we'll look cool or be more popular, or just have people talk about us. If you're pushy about your ideas, what we do will stop being fun.
Let other people ruin our fun; there are enough assholes out there to do it for gits and shiggles, that we don't need our friends doing it, too.
</rant>
...
...
I get nothing for that? Man, you have no sense of humor.
Granted, with it being me and all, that was probably the more obvious route I could have taken that.
On a more serious note (Serious? Me? Really?), I've stopped dying my hair. I tell people that it's expensive, and I'm probably just going to be playing with my tips (get your mind out the gutter!) from now on. For a while, at least.
That's not really true. I seem to be pretty good at that. Telling people the not-really-true stuff, I mean. I suppose I do it because it's easier, because it doesn't get me angry, doesn't make me shout, doesn't goad me into saying things that I'll regret later.
The truth? The honest-to-god, I'm-saying-this-because-this-is-my-blog-and-I-don't-really-care-anymore truth? I stopped because it was making me feel stifled.
Crazy, right? Free expression, stifling someone? Doesn't make any sense. But then, a lot of things in this world don't make sense.
The problem with expressing yourself is being the one who dares.
So many people look at you and think, "Damn, I wish I had her confidence! She is walking around with bright pink hair. She must be awesome and just not care what other people think!" And it's true. I dyed my hair blue and pink and purple and red and blonde because I didn't care what other people thought, and I wanted to show it. It was never a confidence thing, because god knows I have absolutely jack shit in the confidence department.
The problem is being one of the few who dare.
So many people see you, and wish that they could dare, too, but they think they can't, for some reason. So they want to live through you. I'd never be able to count to amount of times people have told me, "Oh, you should do this with your hair next," or "Maybe that tattoo would be cool."
They don't get it.
What I'm doing here, with my hair and my tattoos and wearing guys' clothes and staying up until sweet fuck all at night, isn't me trying to be different from most people or fit into another group of people. This is me expressing myself. Sure, having black hair with pink underneath would look cool (Romana Flowers, anyone?), but it isn't me. I am bright colors and positive words and comfort over looks and functioning better at night.
Yes, suggestions are nice. People can give me ideas that I might not have come up with on my own, but resonate with me in a way that makes me want to use them. But they have to stay suggestions. I'm not going to spring for every crazy idea, because that isn't me. Yeah, I do crazy things, but everything I do has a reason that makes sense to me, even if the reason is "Why the hell not?"
So if you think that your friend would look good with electric blue hair, by all means, tell her! But don't follow it up by asking every week, "So when are you going to dye your hair blue?" IT GETS FUCKING ANNOYING. We do what we do because we want to do it, not so that we'll look cool or be more popular, or just have people talk about us. If you're pushy about your ideas, what we do will stop being fun.
Let other people ruin our fun; there are enough assholes out there to do it for gits and shiggles, that we don't need our friends doing it, too.
</rant>
11 November, 2011
A Conversation with Myself (I'm Not Crazy, I Swear)
Hey there.
Hey, kiddo. How's things?
Not too good at the moment, I'm afraid.
What's up?
I'm having trouble with some of my...worse instincts.
That again, sweetie? But you've been doing so well!
Yeah, well, I saw the razor in the tub, and it took a long time to convince myself not to touch it.
You didn't, then?
No, I stayed safe.
I'm proud of you, sweetie. Wanna talk about what happened?
I s'pose. D'you have any idea how hard it is to try to explain to your parents why you're a part of GSA without coming out and admitting that you're gay?
I can imagine that it would be difficult.
Try nearly impossible. I mean, how am I supposed to make up reasons that sound intelligent when I can't words in the first place? At least Mom took pity on me and gave me some questions to answer. I mean, shouldn't they know by now, seventeen and a half years in, that I have trouble with satisfactorily answering vague questions? Haven't they seen my utter frustration enough to know that I need more specific parameters for what they want to hear? Saying that does kinda seem like I'm tailoring my answer to them. Maybe that's true. That's probably true, actually. But maybe instead I should say "what they want to know". It sounds more accurate.
And you wanted to...?
Well, I've been dealing with stupid all day, and I'm pretty fed up with it. And Mom was preaching about how we're supposed to just accept the stupid and the logic-less and move on. Obviously, seventeen and a half years haven't been enough to learn that I thrive in order, when everything is in its correct place, and things make sense. I mean, I sometimes have to force things into order just to stay sane. It's all that practice that makes me so good at retconning.
At least you can always hide in your room.
Yeah, but that comes with problems of its own. Mom always nags at me when I spend too much time up there. And Dad gets pissed off when I'm in my room and listening to music and can't hear him calling.
But he knows that it helps, doesn't he?
You'd think. But I tell them so many things that help, and it gets better for a little while, but then... they forget or something and it goes back to the way it was.
Try telling them again.
Then I feel like I'm nagging.
Sometimes you have to. You know that.
Doesn't stop them from yelling at me...
I know.
Maybe I should just live in my bedroom from now on.
That'd be impractical. You have to eat and go to school. I'm sure you can wait until next August.
Yeah, I probably can. Maybe I'll whine a lot more, so that I don't self-destruct, but I'll get through.
If you tell your friends, I doubt they'll begrudge you weekly whining sessions.
Yeah, they're awesome like that. Hey, thanks for listening.
It's what I'm here for.
Have you ever had a conversation with yourself like this? You're not crazy. Well, if you are, I am, too, but at least we're sane enough to admit it, right? In any case, I often find it helpful to talk to myself, because I know the solution to a problem, and I know I know it, but I just can't figure it out. The back and forth of conversation always helps. Try it sometime, why don't you?
Hey, kiddo. How's things?
Not too good at the moment, I'm afraid.
What's up?
I'm having trouble with some of my...worse instincts.
That again, sweetie? But you've been doing so well!
Yeah, well, I saw the razor in the tub, and it took a long time to convince myself not to touch it.
You didn't, then?
No, I stayed safe.
I'm proud of you, sweetie. Wanna talk about what happened?
I s'pose. D'you have any idea how hard it is to try to explain to your parents why you're a part of GSA without coming out and admitting that you're gay?
I can imagine that it would be difficult.
Try nearly impossible. I mean, how am I supposed to make up reasons that sound intelligent when I can't words in the first place? At least Mom took pity on me and gave me some questions to answer. I mean, shouldn't they know by now, seventeen and a half years in, that I have trouble with satisfactorily answering vague questions? Haven't they seen my utter frustration enough to know that I need more specific parameters for what they want to hear? Saying that does kinda seem like I'm tailoring my answer to them. Maybe that's true. That's probably true, actually. But maybe instead I should say "what they want to know". It sounds more accurate.
And you wanted to...?
Well, I've been dealing with stupid all day, and I'm pretty fed up with it. And Mom was preaching about how we're supposed to just accept the stupid and the logic-less and move on. Obviously, seventeen and a half years haven't been enough to learn that I thrive in order, when everything is in its correct place, and things make sense. I mean, I sometimes have to force things into order just to stay sane. It's all that practice that makes me so good at retconning.
At least you can always hide in your room.
Yeah, but that comes with problems of its own. Mom always nags at me when I spend too much time up there. And Dad gets pissed off when I'm in my room and listening to music and can't hear him calling.
But he knows that it helps, doesn't he?
You'd think. But I tell them so many things that help, and it gets better for a little while, but then... they forget or something and it goes back to the way it was.
Try telling them again.
Then I feel like I'm nagging.
Sometimes you have to. You know that.
Doesn't stop them from yelling at me...
I know.
Maybe I should just live in my bedroom from now on.
That'd be impractical. You have to eat and go to school. I'm sure you can wait until next August.
Yeah, I probably can. Maybe I'll whine a lot more, so that I don't self-destruct, but I'll get through.
If you tell your friends, I doubt they'll begrudge you weekly whining sessions.
Yeah, they're awesome like that. Hey, thanks for listening.
It's what I'm here for.
Have you ever had a conversation with yourself like this? You're not crazy. Well, if you are, I am, too, but at least we're sane enough to admit it, right? In any case, I often find it helpful to talk to myself, because I know the solution to a problem, and I know I know it, but I just can't figure it out. The back and forth of conversation always helps. Try it sometime, why don't you?
18 July, 2011
A Privileged Dip into the Mind of a Teenager
So I made a mistake earlier today, and the person who the mistake affected asked me, "What were you thinking?"
I shrugged half-heartedly, and said, "I wasn't thinking."
But, my dear readers, this was a lie.
Do you want to know what I was thinking? Well, even if you don't, I'm gonna tell you anyway.
Remus
Tonks
Severus
Fred
Colin
Moody
Hedwig
Sirius
DumbledoreDammit, Rowling!
So now that I've managed to work up the stones to actually tell Krysta, how the everliving fuck am I going to do it?
What, exactly, is wrong with my knee?
Am I going to have enough money to go to TARDISCon?
What am I going to get Anne for her graduation?
What am I going to get Grace for her birthday?
How am I supposed to help Kayla when the answer she's looking for is one I'd kill to know myself?
I don't think I can manage AP Euro this year. How can I get out of it?
My laundry needs doing.
I need to call Mrs. Garcia about babysitting the kids.
I need to call Dad about the weed whacker.
I need food.
My head hurts. Am I getting another migraine? I'm nauseous, too. I think I might be. Damn. So, with the migraine, including nausea, should I eat? What if the reason I have a headache is that I haven't eaten since nine this morning?
To watch, or not to watch?
Also, why am I misquoting Shakespeare again?
When should Zeckra and Duren's relationship move past "just friends"? How do I make Gethin less one-dimensional? I mean, I don't want to pull a Meyer and be all "He's evil because I say he is so there." I need to be more Jacques-like and actually show that he's one vicious bastard. Also, when the hell will Hazel start acting like a normal person? And when does Zeckra tell Duren and Mikal about her "evil plan" to influence Hazel's personality? Who am I going to dedicate it to, anyway? Christina? Emily? Mom? Brian Jacques? Dude, I don't even fucking know.
I'm a stitch away from making it, and a scar away from falling apart. Why do these lyrics always seem to fit me way too closely?
It is okay to let your eyes wander, right? Especially when you're not actually in a relationship? I mean, it doesn't mean you're any less in love with the first person, yeah? Or maybe I should be asking myself if this ridiculous crush is finally waning, 'cause sometimes I wish it were.
Did Dad make my appointment yet? I really want to find out what's wrong with my knee. I want it to heal, too, because I want to ride my skateboard. Also, what about my sports physical? I need one of those. Swim starts in less than a month.
I should probably ask Abby and Stefanie if they need rides in August. I mean, Stef's almost eighteen, and it's only, like, ten or fifteen minutes of driving. Plus I obey all the other laws, so I shouldn't get pulled over.
So, sir, if you want to yell at me for what I did, go ahead. If you think that that should be my highest priority, by all means, do so. However, I have enough to worry about, and I really can't think about cutting your lawn in a goddamn straight line. It's all cut, isn't it? So fork over my money, and let me be on my merry way, with all my worries still intact.
People. Jeez.
I shrugged half-heartedly, and said, "I wasn't thinking."
But, my dear readers, this was a lie.
Do you want to know what I was thinking? Well, even if you don't, I'm gonna tell you anyway.
Remus
Tonks
Severus
Fred
Colin
Moody
Hedwig
Sirius
DumbledoreDammit, Rowling!
So now that I've managed to work up the stones to actually tell Krysta, how the everliving fuck am I going to do it?
What, exactly, is wrong with my knee?
Am I going to have enough money to go to TARDISCon?
What am I going to get Anne for her graduation?
What am I going to get Grace for her birthday?
How am I supposed to help Kayla when the answer she's looking for is one I'd kill to know myself?
I don't think I can manage AP Euro this year. How can I get out of it?
My laundry needs doing.
I need to call Mrs. Garcia about babysitting the kids.
I need to call Dad about the weed whacker.
I need food.
My head hurts. Am I getting another migraine? I'm nauseous, too. I think I might be. Damn. So, with the migraine, including nausea, should I eat? What if the reason I have a headache is that I haven't eaten since nine this morning?
To watch, or not to watch?
Also, why am I misquoting Shakespeare again?
When should Zeckra and Duren's relationship move past "just friends"? How do I make Gethin less one-dimensional? I mean, I don't want to pull a Meyer and be all "He's evil because I say he is so there." I need to be more Jacques-like and actually show that he's one vicious bastard. Also, when the hell will Hazel start acting like a normal person? And when does Zeckra tell Duren and Mikal about her "evil plan" to influence Hazel's personality? Who am I going to dedicate it to, anyway? Christina? Emily? Mom? Brian Jacques? Dude, I don't even fucking know.
I'm a stitch away from making it, and a scar away from falling apart. Why do these lyrics always seem to fit me way too closely?
It is okay to let your eyes wander, right? Especially when you're not actually in a relationship? I mean, it doesn't mean you're any less in love with the first person, yeah? Or maybe I should be asking myself if this ridiculous crush is finally waning, 'cause sometimes I wish it were.
Did Dad make my appointment yet? I really want to find out what's wrong with my knee. I want it to heal, too, because I want to ride my skateboard. Also, what about my sports physical? I need one of those. Swim starts in less than a month.
I should probably ask Abby and Stefanie if they need rides in August. I mean, Stef's almost eighteen, and it's only, like, ten or fifteen minutes of driving. Plus I obey all the other laws, so I shouldn't get pulled over.
So, sir, if you want to yell at me for what I did, go ahead. If you think that that should be my highest priority, by all means, do so. However, I have enough to worry about, and I really can't think about cutting your lawn in a goddamn straight line. It's all cut, isn't it? So fork over my money, and let me be on my merry way, with all my worries still intact.
People. Jeez.
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