My best friend turned eighteen today, at 1:30 to be exact. Now, I just wrote this whole long piece on how I hate it when on posts and people's status they always refer to their "best friend", when really everyone seems to be their "best friend", and they just publicize it to show that they have friends, and I pointed out all these special things about my best friend and what she does or doesn't do, and how great she is...but none of it seemed right; none of it lived up to how she really is - so I erased it. The only thing that matters is she's my best friend, and I can't tell you how lucky I am. She's not just some old best friend that everyone says they supposedly have. She's different. Ever since we were two years old - we've been inseparable. Between playing dress up, restaurant, going through quirky phases, midnight sledding, procrastinating - we go through everything together, and nothing can come between us - even time can't change how our friendship holds - it never has. We've never had a class together in school, though that never stopped us. It's never a normal night when she doesn't come over to my house - even my family asks where she is if she's not here at home...I hate to think about college next year when it comes the time when we can't see each other every day - we can talk, yes - but it won't be the same. I can't stand the thought. I can't express the feeling I get when I think about how much I'm going to miss her. She's the most fun person you'll ever meet and always has the right thing to say - she knows me all too well - when I'm down or when I'm keeping something inside...Whenever we're together we always have the best time and laugh till we can't laugh anymore...In silence, it's never awkward - we don't have to say anything...Do we fight? - ha she's good at explaining that one...She's always positive and can honestly brighten anyone's day and find the good in everyone.
In short, she's genuinely amazing, and the best friend anyone could ask for.
Happy Birthday Kel. I Love You.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
11:00 Commandment
Oddly I was the first one at Sunday school this morning for church, as I'm usually the last. During this time we always start with high and lows and then read maybe one piece of a bible scripture and talk the rest of the time about anything and everything we can so to fit into that one hour we're all together. All of us are pretty much best friends, a close knit group. A bit of a clique I admit, but not exclusive. There are a few...not outsiders, but maybe floaters. A bit eccentric, social novices that stand apart from our faction. Although we try to tolerate them, even for the adults it's hard to collaborate and deal with their ques. We all try to cooperate and talk and interact with them, but it's hard when they ask the same questions ten times in a row, fall out of their chair every five minutes cause they can't stay still, and interrupt every single person in the room as they talk. Unfortunately their whole clan show up today. As we watched this all happen, repeatedly, my friend Jeff and I started at each other rolling our eyes, not believing this. We had a small group today along with a new teacher - Rick - we hate substitutes - mainly cause we all just have the urge to scream at him and tell him the truth about Sunday school - we do absolutely nothing. Though believe it or not, I liked the lesson. It was about miracles and what we thought when we saw them, or if we've seen them at all. But I really didn't think I'd actually been involved in or experienced seeing, a real miracle. Random people answered; "every day's a miracle", "miracle of life; birth","god saving people in all different ways", "oh this one time I saw this happen..", and so on. I sat with my mouth shut staring off into space, thinking about who knows what - anything but answering this question which in no way applied to me. We moved on and I leaned my head back on the couch staring at the ceiling, wondering when this guy was going to shut the hell up. I looked up and saw everyone doing the same thing - nothing. Not listening, playing with phones, zippers on jackets, hair. Even the pastors son, Sam was falling asleep, and mouthing to me, "get me out of here". I looked around at the circle of chairs, knowing exactly what each person was thinking...
Jeff: "..baseball.."
Chris: "..this is worse than military school.."
Rachel: "..why did I let my mom make me come today.."
Sarah: "..damn I look cute.."
Hailey: "..this guy has a weird thing on his eye-a tumor?-ew! cancer!....is that contagious?.."
Nick: "..I wonder how far I can lean back in this chair without falling.."
Trevor: "..where's Kathryn? Should I ask? No that would be weird...but god where is she??.."
Sam: "..I love how my sister is home doing nothing and I chose to come..and why?.."
We strewn away from miracles and somehow got on the topic of parents and stepparents. The love we have for them, how we show it, etc. etc. All I could think about was how half the time I hate my parents. My mom screams at me, yells at me for pretty much everything I do, makes me do all this stuff I can't stand, blames me for all mine and my sisters fights, and is extremely good at playing the guilt card. She's hard to make happy. Then theirs my dad who just annoys the shit out of me a lot of times, constantly asking me questions about everything I've done that day and the next, doesn't know how to take control, and says "no" to a lot of my plans made. Yes, I thought about this, but I also thought about what I would do without them. Rick was telling us about how his parents abandoned him when he was only two. He moved in and out of foster homes, not having his real parents, his real family. I decided I hate being an emotional person, as I had to look away to hide and hold back tears forming. What would I do without them...I honestly am incapable of reaching that far of an extent into my mind to pull out an answer that deep. Not having them, seeing them, laughing with them, talking to them, just being with them, is something I can't comprehend, can't imagine, can't live with. Thinking about it, I realized how grateful I am, lucky, for what I have, and for something Rick could never have; never experience. Whatever wrong my parents do, theirs always a good that overpowers it twice as much. For one thing, my mom's incredible. She schedules all our events and knows when and where everything happens, she fixes the most amazing meals, she helps out in every way she can for my school, church, family, anything. She always knows the right thing to say when I'm down, and can never disappoint me. I know I treat him with no respect and I can be a nasty bitch to him, but my dad cares so much about me, and I about him. What we have is special. We're always goofing around, and having as much fun as possible, laughing together all the time. It's is one of my favorite things - I don't think I laugh as much and as hard as when I'm with my dad. I can never look at him dead in the eyes and not crack a smile. It's impossible. You could say we're not as close as my mom and I, but that's not true. It's just in a different way - a great way. My parents and I have something I never want to let go of. They're not just the beholder of my necessities. They're the ones who listen, help me, understand me, hold me, know me, love me. They're my everything.
I opened my eyes, picked my head off the couch and answered today's lesson...my parents are my miracle.
Jeff: "..baseball.."
Chris: "..this is worse than military school.."
Rachel: "..why did I let my mom make me come today.."
Sarah: "..damn I look cute.."
Hailey: "..this guy has a weird thing on his eye-a tumor?-ew! cancer!....is that contagious?.."
Nick: "..I wonder how far I can lean back in this chair without falling.."
Trevor: "..where's Kathryn? Should I ask? No that would be weird...but god where is she??.."
Sam: "..I love how my sister is home doing nothing and I chose to come..and why?.."
We strewn away from miracles and somehow got on the topic of parents and stepparents. The love we have for them, how we show it, etc. etc. All I could think about was how half the time I hate my parents. My mom screams at me, yells at me for pretty much everything I do, makes me do all this stuff I can't stand, blames me for all mine and my sisters fights, and is extremely good at playing the guilt card. She's hard to make happy. Then theirs my dad who just annoys the shit out of me a lot of times, constantly asking me questions about everything I've done that day and the next, doesn't know how to take control, and says "no" to a lot of my plans made. Yes, I thought about this, but I also thought about what I would do without them. Rick was telling us about how his parents abandoned him when he was only two. He moved in and out of foster homes, not having his real parents, his real family. I decided I hate being an emotional person, as I had to look away to hide and hold back tears forming. What would I do without them...I honestly am incapable of reaching that far of an extent into my mind to pull out an answer that deep. Not having them, seeing them, laughing with them, talking to them, just being with them, is something I can't comprehend, can't imagine, can't live with. Thinking about it, I realized how grateful I am, lucky, for what I have, and for something Rick could never have; never experience. Whatever wrong my parents do, theirs always a good that overpowers it twice as much. For one thing, my mom's incredible. She schedules all our events and knows when and where everything happens, she fixes the most amazing meals, she helps out in every way she can for my school, church, family, anything. She always knows the right thing to say when I'm down, and can never disappoint me. I know I treat him with no respect and I can be a nasty bitch to him, but my dad cares so much about me, and I about him. What we have is special. We're always goofing around, and having as much fun as possible, laughing together all the time. It's is one of my favorite things - I don't think I laugh as much and as hard as when I'm with my dad. I can never look at him dead in the eyes and not crack a smile. It's impossible. You could say we're not as close as my mom and I, but that's not true. It's just in a different way - a great way. My parents and I have something I never want to let go of. They're not just the beholder of my necessities. They're the ones who listen, help me, understand me, hold me, know me, love me. They're my everything.
I opened my eyes, picked my head off the couch and answered today's lesson...my parents are my miracle.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Post Script
Who said I don't stick to anything? I've been keeping up with this pretty well. Writing every day, thoughts, feelings, I'll continue this forever. Proud of me? Yeah well who said I'm truthful.
Blank
I know it's only about noon, and too early to know how my day has been or going to be, but I honestly have nothing on my mind to share. Considering I didn't have a dream last night, and I now hate the color of my nails.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Moment of Soi-meme
I've never had a straight forward dream. No beginning, middle, end. No real plot or climax, no expository, nothing. It just comes and goes, passing through my unconsciousness. And if dreams do pass through, why do they come again? And why do some repeat?
They say our mind is the beholder of the dream.
After laying in bed for the excessive amount of hours during sleep, how do we know that the dream we just had wasn't true? Theirs supposedly a dead hour of the night, where nothing moves, nothing breathes, no engines turn, no parties beat, no music, no love, no snow, wind, rain, only dead stillness, silence, seelen. Who says during this hour we're not the beholder of our own dream? Then again, who's awake to say otherwise?
From a sleep, typically you say "the moment I woke up", but I have two. The first is instant; either the feeling of the dream still lingering like a good aftertaste, or a bad drink you try to wash down with another. The second moment; the questions, the wondering, the why, the how, the lying there staring at my ceiling trying to answer my pondering, but finding my mind blank from the dream, taking everything I had. The dream interrupting my thoughts every next hour, minute, every resemblance of an event or person from, resumes the story in my mind and the need of insight.
Ask a person on the street, and they'll answer "yes" I love, enjoy, await for dreams. But for me, although I do enjoy them during, what about after? Why would I say I love something if the full of it isn't lovable? Isn't something I wish for, or can't wait to have again; but they still return. I don't dislike dreams, but I don't like them all the same. Dreams take you to a place all your own, and give you your wildest desires and needs, then right as you fall for it, believe in it, trust it-it's taken away, and revealed as contrary-again. Untrue, false, hidden, invisible, dead, mendacious, sham, a lie. Albeit...
Dream [dreem] -noun: An aspiration; goal; aim. Why do we say we love to dream when it's something we can't reach.
Who are we in our dreams? It's not us. We, ourselves, our bodies and mind, are not there. So who is it? I do things in my dreams I would never do. I do things I wish I would have. I ask myself, why didn't I go for it? It's a dream, nothing bad can effect the real me, so why did I hold back? Who is this person making these decisions for me? Why aren't I more like them? Are we playing this character or directing them?
...theirs daydreams, why not daymares? Or is that called realism.
They say our mind is the beholder of the dream.
After laying in bed for the excessive amount of hours during sleep, how do we know that the dream we just had wasn't true? Theirs supposedly a dead hour of the night, where nothing moves, nothing breathes, no engines turn, no parties beat, no music, no love, no snow, wind, rain, only dead stillness, silence, seelen. Who says during this hour we're not the beholder of our own dream? Then again, who's awake to say otherwise?
From a sleep, typically you say "the moment I woke up", but I have two. The first is instant; either the feeling of the dream still lingering like a good aftertaste, or a bad drink you try to wash down with another. The second moment; the questions, the wondering, the why, the how, the lying there staring at my ceiling trying to answer my pondering, but finding my mind blank from the dream, taking everything I had. The dream interrupting my thoughts every next hour, minute, every resemblance of an event or person from, resumes the story in my mind and the need of insight.
Ask a person on the street, and they'll answer "yes" I love, enjoy, await for dreams. But for me, although I do enjoy them during, what about after? Why would I say I love something if the full of it isn't lovable? Isn't something I wish for, or can't wait to have again; but they still return. I don't dislike dreams, but I don't like them all the same. Dreams take you to a place all your own, and give you your wildest desires and needs, then right as you fall for it, believe in it, trust it-it's taken away, and revealed as contrary-again. Untrue, false, hidden, invisible, dead, mendacious, sham, a lie. Albeit...
Dream [dreem] -noun: An aspiration; goal; aim. Why do we say we love to dream when it's something we can't reach.
Who are we in our dreams? It's not us. We, ourselves, our bodies and mind, are not there. So who is it? I do things in my dreams I would never do. I do things I wish I would have. I ask myself, why didn't I go for it? It's a dream, nothing bad can effect the real me, so why did I hold back? Who is this person making these decisions for me? Why aren't I more like them? Are we playing this character or directing them?
...theirs daydreams, why not daymares? Or is that called realism.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Hardly Pedant
Deciding to paint my nails, I yet again found a way to convince myself that magically this time I'll be able to paint my right hand. But like always, the polish was thick and disclosed from the actual goal of filling in the boundaries and trickled down, leaving an iris colored trail on the curve of my index. And as much as I tried, it dried in a horseshoe ring around my tip. I couldn't stand to leave it like that, so I had someone fix it up for me and redo the nail, and although it had improved, I still saw a small tinted slither under the shadow of each bed. I stared at the designs and knew that if I left them, I couldn't help but be bothered the rest of the day by the imperfection of the polish work. I'm like this with a lot of things in my life. My handwriting, my hair, my meticulous daily routines, small events that I make take place that shouldn't matter. Sitting there, eyes intently fixed on the coated skin, I thought; I call myself a perfectionist, but really, theirs nothing perfect about me.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
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