I guess being young/naive/female kind of let me forget that things come to an end, like seasons, say, or relationships.
For this being only a two month deal, I feel like I'm overly torn up about it. And hell, it hasn't even ended yet... although it seems like it already has.
I guess, though, I'll just go batshit crazy for a month when school starts (in a couple weeks) iso I don't have to think about how shitty all this timing is. I'll always wonder what this might have been like if we had met earlier...
But who knows if it would have worked out a few months ago. How many more adventures would I have had? How many would I have missed out on? Would we get annoyed with each other as quickly? Would we be closer? How did this even work in the first place?
He hates labels, I hate being in limbo and there we go, a nice, basic conflict. It's kind of hilarious how different we are, when we sit back and think about it. He's a real engineer and has always been, and I can't even pretend to be one for two years. He's hip hop, I'm indie rock. He's Iron Monkey and Swordfish, I'm Eternal Sunshine and Big Fish. He's street smart, I'm a naive little yuppie. He reads Barack Obama and Robert Jordan, I'm into Sedaris, Murakami, and Bradbury. He goes to mass every Sunday, I haven't been in years. He's close to his family, has a good work ethic, and is a great dancer. I'm not, I don't, and I try but not really.. He's real world, I'm still a little stuck in high school. He puts defenses up, I don't and probably never will.
And despite all of our differences, I miss him already.
But it's not as bad as last April. It doesn't feel like someone is sitting on my chest this time, maybe just chopping onions nearby just a little too often. Maybe it's because we actually care about each other. There's a sad kind of understanding behind everything happening and a mutual sense of loss which, in a twisted way, makes things a little better.
And I think we both know we'll remain friends after, so I think things will be okay.
It's been a surprisingly good summer. It's thanks to him.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Sheeple
As much as I hate that term and its absolute overuse (especially by the reddit community), it completely applies to about 80% of my peers... who apparently believe everything they read on the internet.
I just got invited to the facebook group "Prevent the 'Artistic' Death of an Innocent Animal-SIGN THE PETITION!" thats protesting the recent story about an artist allegedly starving a dog to death as art. After I declined, the *five* (yeah, what?) friends who had invited me were sending me messages criticizing me for my "lack of soul". I tried to explain to them that it could very possibly be a hoax... and that they had kind of walked right into the point he was making anyways.
Mostly, however, I'm a little worried about all the "Kill Guillermo Habacuc Vargas" websites out there. Even if this really happened, bringing down the death penalty on this man is not by any stretch of the imagination fair. (I love how some of these people also claim to be against capital punishment when its a human who is killed. Because that's not the same thing at all, apparently...?) I've been pouring over the internet and can't even seem to find a trace of the artist... not even a picture of his face, his previous exhibitions, or the "newly created Myspace" everyone keeps referring to.
I have a feeling that all of the information is being fabricated and circulated... the more you say something, the truer it becomes. And the angrier people get.
I think this is the only perpetual motion machine that humans can create: Rumors on the freaking internet.
I just got invited to the facebook group "Prevent the 'Artistic' Death of an Innocent Animal-SIGN THE PETITION!" thats protesting the recent story about an artist allegedly starving a dog to death as art. After I declined, the *five* (yeah, what?) friends who had invited me were sending me messages criticizing me for my "lack of soul". I tried to explain to them that it could very possibly be a hoax... and that they had kind of walked right into the point he was making anyways.
Mostly, however, I'm a little worried about all the "Kill Guillermo Habacuc Vargas" websites out there. Even if this really happened, bringing down the death penalty on this man is not by any stretch of the imagination fair. (I love how some of these people also claim to be against capital punishment when its a human who is killed. Because that's not the same thing at all, apparently...?) I've been pouring over the internet and can't even seem to find a trace of the artist... not even a picture of his face, his previous exhibitions, or the "newly created Myspace" everyone keeps referring to.
I have a feeling that all of the information is being fabricated and circulated... the more you say something, the truer it becomes. And the angrier people get.
I think this is the only perpetual motion machine that humans can create: Rumors on the freaking internet.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Bones
Notes: It's six in the morning and I'm still awake. ASLKFJS. Four cups of coffee and sad music after midnight is not a good idea.
* I believe it's eight perfect (faro) shuffles that will reset a deck... if I remember my discrete math problem sets correctly lol
This is both related and unrelated to one of my favorite chapters in one of my favorite books.
---
The Summer of Couches has fucked me up.
After being a vagabond for three months, I can't bring myself to comfortably sleep in a place of my own. It's always someone else's sofa, someone else's floor, someone else's bed. I don't have a broken-in pillow or a favorite blanket, hell, I barely have sheets on my mattress.
Maybe it's because I still have untold stories, unshared thoughts, and unsettling dreams about this past summer and no one to relate them to. Should I be selfish enough to ask someone to sit down with me and listen for however long it takes? Can I even ask anyone that? Is it really going to help?
I'm wary.
The last time I let someone in they turned around and screwed me out of time committed and the understanding we promised to each other. The stories that I told him sit tired in my bones, sharing weight with my marrow, preventing flight. All those little vignettes have lost their voices and therefore their power to soothe, so now they dissolve into myself and are undefined.
I often speak of last summer as one of adventure and daring, full of clarity, beautiful skies, and tranquil hours of driving in the warm open air, my arm hanging out the window getting funny tan lines. I rarely mention the darkness; it was a time of uncertainty in everything except the nagging knowledge that this is no longer home and never will be again. After all, I was healing a still-raw heart, which was left unfinished by August.
I find it kind of funny that for the past two years, always around this time, I complain about feelings of homelessness, restlessness and my yearning for belonging or attachment. Heraclitus claimed "everything is flux", so why does it feel like nothing has changed? I figure it's like that old card trick: shuffle a deck enough times and it'll return to how it was*. Or maybe its like that adage of history repeating itself; a coil, a pendulum, switchbacks up (down?) a mountain. Probably, though, I just never solved the original problem.
Perhaps I'll have better luck this summer, in a town where it's just as cold outside in April as it was in December. The skies are smaller here, darker, and less blue. But I wonder if containment, not infinite spaces and diffusion, is the answer. I've settled on this familiar-foreign place and my arm is still sticking out the open window, but this time I'm getting goosebumps and a head cold.
* I believe it's eight perfect (faro) shuffles that will reset a deck... if I remember my discrete math problem sets correctly lol
This is both related and unrelated to one of my favorite chapters in one of my favorite books.
---
The Summer of Couches has fucked me up.
After being a vagabond for three months, I can't bring myself to comfortably sleep in a place of my own. It's always someone else's sofa, someone else's floor, someone else's bed. I don't have a broken-in pillow or a favorite blanket, hell, I barely have sheets on my mattress.
Maybe it's because I still have untold stories, unshared thoughts, and unsettling dreams about this past summer and no one to relate them to. Should I be selfish enough to ask someone to sit down with me and listen for however long it takes? Can I even ask anyone that? Is it really going to help?
I'm wary.
The last time I let someone in they turned around and screwed me out of time committed and the understanding we promised to each other. The stories that I told him sit tired in my bones, sharing weight with my marrow, preventing flight. All those little vignettes have lost their voices and therefore their power to soothe, so now they dissolve into myself and are undefined.
I often speak of last summer as one of adventure and daring, full of clarity, beautiful skies, and tranquil hours of driving in the warm open air, my arm hanging out the window getting funny tan lines. I rarely mention the darkness; it was a time of uncertainty in everything except the nagging knowledge that this is no longer home and never will be again. After all, I was healing a still-raw heart, which was left unfinished by August.
I find it kind of funny that for the past two years, always around this time, I complain about feelings of homelessness, restlessness and my yearning for belonging or attachment. Heraclitus claimed "everything is flux", so why does it feel like nothing has changed? I figure it's like that old card trick: shuffle a deck enough times and it'll return to how it was*. Or maybe its like that adage of history repeating itself; a coil, a pendulum, switchbacks up (down?) a mountain. Probably, though, I just never solved the original problem.
Perhaps I'll have better luck this summer, in a town where it's just as cold outside in April as it was in December. The skies are smaller here, darker, and less blue. But I wonder if containment, not infinite spaces and diffusion, is the answer. I've settled on this familiar-foreign place and my arm is still sticking out the open window, but this time I'm getting goosebumps and a head cold.
Friday, April 11, 2008
There are times....
When you'll neeeeed someone. I'll will be by your siiiide.
AHHH I HAVE THIS SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD. Bobby Caldwell is very very awesome though haha. Much better than the Fuck Buttons/Caribou concert. And although I love Caribou and all of its Canadian experimental psy-electronic goodness, THE CROWD WAS DEAD. I have officially decided that people in Urbana-Champaign suck at concerts. Everyone was so fucking self-conscious about moving with feeling that no one did at all... wtf? People, if the music rocks, rock with it. *sigh* I was like that one renegade drugged up dancer tonight, despite how many real crack whores were out there (as well as real dancers...?)
Also, I'm more awkward than I remember. And this is with pretty much everything: conversation, introductions, text messaging, blowing my nose, ordering coffee, walking... if there was something I could have made strange this evening, I did, and I did it with style. Not to mention I ran into a weird smattering of classmates, AIESEC kids, randoms from PAR/FAR, Formula people, and 50% of Jonestown at the Union... which really helped me get my bearings. Ahaha yeah right.
Well, eh. The night ended up swimmingly:
AHHH I HAVE THIS SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD. Bobby Caldwell is very very awesome though haha. Much better than the Fuck Buttons/Caribou concert. And although I love Caribou and all of its Canadian experimental psy-electronic goodness, THE CROWD WAS DEAD. I have officially decided that people in Urbana-Champaign suck at concerts. Everyone was so fucking self-conscious about moving with feeling that no one did at all... wtf? People, if the music rocks, rock with it. *sigh* I was like that one renegade drugged up dancer tonight, despite how many real crack whores were out there (as well as real dancers...?)
Also, I'm more awkward than I remember. And this is with pretty much everything: conversation, introductions, text messaging, blowing my nose, ordering coffee, walking... if there was something I could have made strange this evening, I did, and I did it with style. Not to mention I ran into a weird smattering of classmates, AIESEC kids, randoms from PAR/FAR, Formula people, and 50% of Jonestown at the Union... which really helped me get my bearings. Ahaha yeah right.
Well, eh. The night ended up swimmingly:
- Finished three more chapters of economics!
- Got to know some awesome people a lot better
- Slowly, awkwardly earning my friend back.
- Discovered that, like most non hipster humans, I don't like industrial drone noise. And...
- I have plans for tomorrow night! Yay! ^____^
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
PSA:
I still have game!
Sunday evening was rather successful, with me coming away a little braver, happier, and full of good music and giggles. I'm not sure if anything is going to come of all this, but it was nice to be out to prove to myself that last-last weekend was a mere anomaly in the overall "Stephanie is an awesome person and therefore can get boys" scheme of things. Plus this one is cute and seems like a lot of fun ^__^
At the same time though, the other boy still isn't talking to me... and it's confirmed that he doesn't want to. I don't get it, isn't it worse not having me around at all? I'd rather hang out and deal with whatever awkwardness ensues. Whatever. Time heals all wounds, our friendship is hopefully stronger than this, yadda yadda yadda.
Sunday evening was rather successful, with me coming away a little braver, happier, and full of good music and giggles. I'm not sure if anything is going to come of all this, but it was nice to be out to prove to myself that last-last weekend was a mere anomaly in the overall "Stephanie is an awesome person and therefore can get boys" scheme of things. Plus this one is cute and seems like a lot of fun ^__^
At the same time though, the other boy still isn't talking to me... and it's confirmed that he doesn't want to. I don't get it, isn't it worse not having me around at all? I'd rather hang out and deal with whatever awkwardness ensues. Whatever. Time heals all wounds, our friendship is hopefully stronger than this, yadda yadda yadda.
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