Sunday, May 17, 2015

C

I got a C in a course.

I'm an honor student.

It was my fault. I didn't do all of the homework on time.

I've never made anything other than an A or B.

After crying, drinking, and just generally getting very, very upset over it I have decided that's okay.

I'll keep my C.

I didn't fail.

Life goes on.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Things

desire to possess things. Sometimes I feel bad by this but I believe it to be a very human desire.

I unofficially live with my girlfriend, which sort of just happened without her actually asking me to move in. It sprung up out of convenience on my part. 

I feel horrible about it frequently. I say I unofficially live with her because most of my possessions are not at her place. Her place. I don't have a place. My stuff, what little I have, is sitting in my parents' mostly empty house that's been in the middle of their divorce dispute.

My car died on me about a month ago so my mother has been graciously letting me borrow her car until I am able to buy a new one. That's difficult because money is very, very tight for this college student. 

I have maxed out two credit cards and my bank account currently has $1.47 in it. I have a small sum in an envelope hid away for a car. Sadly, I had to take from it to put gas in my (borrowed) car today so that I could make it to school. 

I came up short this week because I had to go to the doctor twice and had $50 in medications. Just co-pays and medications wiped out my gas money.

My cellphone needs to be paid by tomorrow and $1.47 isn't going to cover it. So that's going to come out of the car fund. Which is now shrinking faster than a wool sweater in the dryer.

So things, I want them. Not lots of things, or expensive things, but something. Something that is mine.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Taxes

For the first time in my adult life I am attempting to do my own taxes.



I thought it wouldn't be that bad. It is. Who designed this?! Walking across Legos is less painful.

Just take my soul. Please.

Also, I have a test tomorrow that I should be studying for.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Cold, Heavy Regrets

It's cold, late, I'm tired, and I've left my S.O. in a warm, cozy bed.

Sleep evades me. In stead, I have been gifted with the highlight reel of my regrets. I have been laying, frozen in fear and pain watching them dance before my mind's eye. 

This happens too often.

My ghosts haunt me. They swirl around me and sit, heavily upon my chest. I plead with them and justify them. I ask them, kindly, to go. They scare me too much to demand such an action from them.

Most of my regrets have faces. If a particular regret does not directly involve a person then I, surely, have assigned a nearby person to it. I gave it a human face and now I must carry it with me.

I have read plenty of books that made use of magic and potions to make people forget things; sometimes by choice, other times by someone else's will. I long for a potion to make my regrets fade from memory. To take away the faces and feelings.

They are always temporarily forgotten. Until they're not.

Surely I carry them with me to learn something. But that can't be true. I have learned the lesson on some and I have corrected future similar situations. Yet I still carry the regret.

My regrets come in all sizes and severity. But come they do. At night. During brilliant, sunny days. Alone or next to my Love.

I don't know their point. I don't know their power. I just know...

This happens too often.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Muddy Dreams

The other night I dreamed I was crawling through mud. Sticky, difficult brown goop. 

People looked on offering no help even as I asked for none. I crawled and struggled, panting and sweating. I had no idea how to get out or even in what direction I should aim. 

Eventually I made my way to the edge of the mud and stood up, covered in the mess. It was quickly drying and hardening into clumps that hindered my movements. Exhausted and defeated I went walking in search of where I came from, but even that seemed to be a mystery.

The next night, I, of course, went in search of dream dictionaries.

To dream of mud tends to have a more obvious meaning, that you are being weighed down by something. And all of the frustration of walking through mud accompanies it.

I am amidst many situations that are weighing me down. This I know. Thanks, dream.

Then, after searching the Internet I found lovely tips on how to get out of mud. Everything from taking your second step before your first even lands to slithering like a snake when on the ground to evade the perilous mud holes. 

But the number one thing all the lists suggested; DO NOT go in muddy places alone. Always have someone with you. Maybe my answer cannot be found in how to think like a snake or how quickly I should take my steps.


Perhaps, most importantly, I should not be in the mud alone.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Melancholy

Melancholy is such a beautiful word for sadness. But sad isn't what I am. I suppose I don’t have melancholy. I feel like I’m trapped in a large empty house. Devoid of warmth and people but also empty of coldness and ghosts. It is nothingness. No fire burning in the fireplace, yet no storm raging at the door. No laughter, no harsh whispers. It feels empty. It feels like nothing.

I braced myself in the shower floor, steamy water raining down on me. I braced myself for tears and the pain of rejection and loneliness. Instead, I sat there staring at the wall as nothing came. I was not happy and I was not sad; I was empty. My feelings trickled down the drain. Like a defense mechanism, built from being overwhelmed by feelings too many times. Self-preservation kicks in, and this feels like a much crueler fate than sadness.

I have been sad many times. This is not sad. This is a black hole. I don’t know where my emotions have gone, but they have vacated my person.

                                                                         
The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keeps out the joy. 

                                     Jim Rohn                                     

Sunday, December 8, 2013

One Day in Paris

Terrible a thought that it is, I am terrified that I am going to die before I do everything that I want to do. (God forbid.)

It's strange how often I think about it. While I'm making my bed I run my hand over the embroidery on my pillowcase that says, "I'd rather be in Paris," and that's when it hovers over me like a dark cloud.

I've never been to Paris. The French language and culture were my first obsessions as a young girl. I tried to teach myself French and study up on all things Parisian. My great-grandmother's family is French. Of course they have been in the States since before the Revolutionary War but I was extremely proud of them. They were Huganouts who fled France for religious freedom.

I felt like I belonged in Paris. If I was quiet I could hear France call to me. I imagine one of my many times great-grandmother missed her homeland and I can feel that longing to return. Not permanently, but for a visit.

And like her, I fear I'll never see it.


(image via mariecatherine7)