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Captain's Log: 2008.0404.02.08: Did You Just...?You should never have to ask your neighbors if they just heard a pterodactyl, and have them nod. After that, I spent the better part of last night curled up out in the hallway and talking with various floormates... again. At least the security guard didn't come around this time, not that I would of cared since I was still on cloud nine from the Explosions In The Sky concert. Unfortunately, I lacked the height required to have the optimal view of the stage, but the lights and sound kept me occupied, even though I felt bad that I had to be so squished against the people I went with. They probably weren't very thrilled, but I didn't want some guy using my chest as an armrest. Whatever, I'm still carrying a residual happiness from hearing them live. Sometimes I forget how deep my music addiction runs. I can't think of the last time I went a day without listening. I mean, I don't usually memorize the names, places and other factoids beyond what's necessary to find more music, since I usually focus a lot more on the sound. Honestly, my behavior will probably differ depending on what I'm listening to at the moment. If I think about a song, I obsess until I hear it play. That can bother me quite a bit if I'm, say, in class, or before I got my mp3 player and was toting around my inane amount of CDs, which I still hold some deep attachment to for one reason or another. Back in Rockford, I used to get so ticked when I'd drop one while on the treadmill, since it'd end up scratched to hell before being shot towards a wall. Uhg... I got caught either jamming or belting out lyrics on the treadmill so many times. I don't know why people would come into that room, because I'm the only one who uses the exercise equipment. Eeeh. On another note, tonight I learned that you ought not try to punt a laundry bag full of jackets and jeans. Doesn't go very far and your foot bends in such inappropriate ways. I need to stop consuming so much caffeine. Maybe I could finally get rid of my tired-looking eyes. They might be permanent at this point, since I rarely moisturize my face. Though, I do have five new lotions now, so I don't have much of an excuse. I must have possessed a deliciously strange scent after walking out of that store. The base lotion's lavender and vanilla to match my soap, and the four others are black raspberry with vanilla, lavender extract, vanilla extract and something I can't remember the name of that smells like my favorite flower, tiger lilies. Shame that I can't have some growing here... they're a bit too big, as much as I adore them. Moreso, I miss having them in my yard. I can understand why my mother didn't want the house anymore, but I liked all the cone flowers, ivy, lilies and sunflowers. :/ Oh well, I could get them when I'm older, perhaps. Looking at the future stings a bit. I can just picture myself in a house all by my lonesome, surrounded by dark wooden and dusty bookshelves, crumpled papers, felt-tip pens and mechanical pencils, just like the others I know. I guess it should be enough. ...Not that I'd ever actually believe that. Are we not formed, as notes of music are, Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822) 04.03.08: Typos and SlipsUh, thanks to everyone who pointed out that glaring grammatical mistake in yesterday's post. I didn't get a chance to correct it 'til late... so I got of huge inbox full of my mistakes, which was fun to come home to. (<_<) Mistakes and missed chances and slips and the stupid idea that this is (I swear) for the best when I know deep down it's just some sick, idealistic rationalization to avoid the one kind of hurt nobody's ever gonna be able to handle, like saying, "I'm fine," because it's the socially acceptable answer and you know no one wants to hear about your trite daily devastations. Grammar in pieces, tossed onto the city winds... That's how us fools roll, balancing doubtful hope with the known facts. You don't frequently find me at the "what if" scene, but I bolt for the center when I do show up. Not that I don't ask for it, I suppose, since I tend to keep people I find potential in at an arm's length until I can feel them pressing to get closer. Moments exist when I want to just say something, anything that might make them look over, but I'm equally dead set that unless they come over on their own, I'll never know for sure if they wanted to, and I will end up waiting until they decide to leave. The ultimate of my bad habits... or maybe the cheapest of self-defense mechanisms. Completely lame, immature and unfair, either way. I guess another viewpoint would be that I need people who would complement my personality enough to be able to understand that. Maybe this summer I'll just pedal away, music pumping, as far as my lungs can take me. Who knows where I'll end up and with cell phones who cares? My image of the world needs to expand; there has to be substance outside of this. It could be a meadow or a ghetto, hell if I know, but I'll just grab more breaths until I reach the point where I cannot step further. I doubt there will be anyone to carry me further... probably just somebody to come and drag my spent body back to purgatory, but that's okay, because I'd know I've done as much as I can. The inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away. Dinah Craik (1826 -1887) 04.09.08: SleeplessLast night I had a dream about a boy, though I don't remember who. I knew he was trapped in someone else's body, perhaps over time, but he became devastated when he learned of it, and tried so hard to escape. He clawed away at himself. I kept telling him to stop but he wouldn't, and I couldn't watch the blood spill anymore. I woke up with my nails buried into my side, knowing that he did find something to confront, but not the outcome. Am I changing for the worse, I wonder? I've watched friends become completely different people and lose themselves, but what if one day I wake up and realize I'm holding on to nothing I care about? Midway through first semester, I spent a dream (I ended up with six pages of drawings from it) with a group of people, ranging from lifelong companions to people I'd just met in college. We walked through rooms of large glass bottles, each containing different but beautiful scenes from all corners of the world. Every so often people would stop and mention to me which their favorite was, and I would stand with the person, completely calm. When I woke up, I wanted to tell the people about their choices, but telling someone you dreamed about them can be taken so awkwardly. I won't tell anyone which my favorite was, but I think a life spent looking for these beautiful moments would be a well spent one. Ever since my relationship route went south, I've thought about just traveling and perhaps keeping a photojournal. I don't really have any goals in life anymore, and I've always loved listening to others' stories, so I think becoming an adventurer would suit me. I'd probably need someone to make sure I eat and such, though, or to be the more sociable one. Dark forests intimidate me much less than cities. People either bore, confuse or frustrate me, and I want to shout because I love some but hate relying on them. What's the point where you realize you like someone? Maybe it's different for each relationship. I tend to be a little backwards by discovering some aspect of a person that interests me, and then going back to find attractive things about them. These things build up, and then one day it all hits me with one cheesy sentence, or catching someone humming quietly or even a twinge of jealously over something ridiculous. Oh well, I better get my three hours of sleep in before I become completely delirious. Some of the secret joys of living are not found by rushing from point A to point B, but by inventing some imaginary letters along the way. Douglas Pagels 04.14.08: I'm So DesensitizedRight now, my friend is traversing a certain western state trying to track down our strung out buddy before we completely lose contact with him. The whole situation has turned into an extreme example of why no good comes from procrastination. Or, you know, getting involved with drug dens... This could've been prevented if I hadn't been so caught up in juvenile BS, and I can't foresee it finishing too happily now. When I got the news Saturday night, I'd actually wanted to vent about several other things, but this reminded me that I pretty much never get positive news and to stop whining about life not fitting my ridiculous ideology. Yesterday and today didn't bear better news either, for that matter. Though, to be fair, I knew those three things weren't going to end well in the first place. Oh well, what will be, will be. I won't pretend to know what's best. I just... eh... Maybe I should go hermit-style again for a while and work on my writing and art. People seem to like the worlds inside me as long as they've been tamed into the second dimension. Choices are the hinges of destiny. Edwin Markham (1852 -1940) 04.22.08: So...Tired...
Gee, I look so fantastic right after waking. (>_<) My collarbone tattoo from Saturday refuses to wash off, even moreso than the Sharpie all over my arm. Oh well, I certainly never reached peak attractiveness this weekend, anyway, so it's not worth scrubbing my one ticklish area. Hell, I couldn't stay up on Sunday, I kept falling asleep and waking to my ring tone, which is a sleepy post-rock song that makes me want to snuggle into my blanket even more. Unh... I just... had one too many things on my mind, and none of them are going well. In my sleep-deprived delirium, I did manage to catch my roommates talking about MySpace, so I decided to look through some of my old blogs from the beginning of high school. Bad plan, and even worse poetry. At least I've gotten better over the years, though I probably wouldn't tackle writing a villanelle. This one makes me shudder, but it's the best example of my pre-teen lameness. "Wake up," That phrase you calmly rehearse Blankets covering a heart freshly nursed, We have our own worlds yet to traverse, We're fallen ones, wings clipped as angels cursed. We've plunged just to climb, your theory's adverse. Enclosed in our own walls we stay immersed, Heh, I'd call myself emo, but I was legitimately depressed about something... Now I just play it off before I start remembering. Those types of things tend to have a domino effect with me. Actually, at one point during last semester, I literally shrugged the topic off when someone asked about it, but after that point I couldn't focus on anything else and probably came off as either slow or rude. Then again, I can't remember much of that night, and it truly was no time to form some judgment of me. :P ...Oh well. I'm going to trust him when he said life's worth a shot. Plus, every few months I get little reminders that I most likely won't live as others anyway, so what's the point in worrying? Then again, knowing my luck, I'll probably live well into the triple digits like most of my relatives, haha. I'd at least like to outlive my immaturity, though this is coming from the person who forgets to eat and refuses to sleep without at least three blankets. Hopefully next year I'll find someone who enjoys conversation that's not about gossip, parties or other such decadence. That might give my slipping sanity a hand. History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon. Napoleon Bonaparte (1769 - 1821) 04.28.08: Well, Everything Used To Make Sense
Some days everything seems broken and blurry and bad like some screwed up hallucination. Wrong place wrong time wrong world. Where did those moments disappear to, when we were smiling through our broken lives? Sure, pages will turn, heartstrings will vibrate with new songs and mouths will ramble on with kisses, curses and whole other stories, but until then, I've got to forget about these things. There's more to life than this lunacy. Don't expect too many updates until my finals finish. I won't possess coherence.
Footfalls echo in the memory T.S. Eliot (1888 -1965) All ramblings of Erica Feggestad 2000-2008 |
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