Mine.

I never gave you this one. Which is good because it wouldn't be special anymore. It was always my secret. Though I may have been on the verge many times, I never gave it up. It's mine. Not yours, not ours, but mine.
xo

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

- E. E. Cummings

The caring meter dropped two whole points!

I know that it's totally uncool to care about people, and not to be looking out for NUMBER ONE!!!!!!1! I'm sure I would be way more awesome if I could just make snide remarks about people who care. I wish I could chant "Drill, baby, drill," without any worries floating in my head. But I can't do that anymore than I can restrain myself from fleeing to Canada if there is even a somewhat likely shot that Sarah Palin will be my president. Now, Barack may not be our great white hope or our silver bullet or our force of change. He's not Yoda, for shit's sake. It seems like everyone on tv thinks that I, and other Democrats, believe that Barack Obama is perfect and infallible. I don't believe that he poos flowers, or that his morning breath smells like sunshine. But I do believe that he brings people together, because he does. People are excited about this election because it is really amazing when people connect with each other. We realize that maybe we actually do care about each other and want to make the world a more beautiful place to live. I'm voting for Barack Obama because people can be forces of change, and people can make this country better, not because I'm putting all my faith in one guy. And I should reiterate that I'm also voting for Barack Obama because Sarah Palin scares the crap out of me. Word.

their sad story of harmony and divergence

"I have not broken your heart-- you have broken it"
Heathcliff to Cathy, Wuthering Heights

You don't want to be the type of girl who uses tricks and schemes to trap a boy. So, you don't. Besides, games aren't any fun unless you really know how to play. You love yourself unconditionally, and hope that it's enough. You like being alone, or at least, you're used to it. To be honest, it's the only way you know how to be. And there's the thought in the back of your head, that old rhyme that if you learn to love yourself, then love will find you. But it doesn't find you, because the Disney movies lied, and there is no perfect person anyway, because there are no perfect people. Then you try to think logically, and you consider that maybe this takes work. What kind of work? You don't even know how to date, for heaven's sake. You're not afraid of getting hurt, in fact, you want to get hurt, because at least then you'll have felt something stronger than apathy. So, you try something with the boy you think might finally be worth the bother. And it works, it's almost scary how easy it is. But it's just a game, it's a trick, it's a scheme, and you knew from the start that it wasn't the way to go. Predictably, it falls apart, not because of him, but because the whole thing was fucked from the start. You sit there, feeling empty, and you are completely, maddeningly aware that it's all your fault. You have broken your own heart, and it hurts. So what do you do now? Do you put your own picture on the bullseye?

Sway

Since I find you will no longer love,
from bar to bar in terror I shall move
past Forty-third and Halsted, Twenty-fourth
and Roosevelt where fire-gutted cars,
their bones the bones of coyote and hyena,
suffer the light from the wrestling arena
to fall all over them. And what they say
blends in the tarantellasmic sway
of all of us between the two of these:
harmony and divergence,
their sad story of harmony and divergence,
the story that begins
I did not know who she was
and ends I did not know who she was.

-Denis Johnson

Connect the dots.

I wonder if this is really the way it is supposed to be. Am I supposed to be here, now, doing what I'm doing, feeling how I'm feeling? What if at some point in the past I had spoken up or kept my mouth shut or done the opposite of what I did? Would my life be completely different? Or would all the pieces fall into an identical path? I'm going to be 25 this year. It feels older than it sounds. Or does it sound older than it feels? Whatever, I suddenly feel like I should be somewhere else doing something else. Again. But is anyone else any better off? Should I even compare myself to other people, isn't that kind of futile and stupid? I don't have a lot of regrets, but I think I'd be egomaniacal if I didn't have a few. I wish I'd spoken up in the past about a few things. Damage done by saying too much can be controlled. But remembering what was left unsaid is terribly depressing.

"How am I not myself?"

I think I might be through with you.

My holiday was filled with a hacking cough, a fever, and a congested nose. I've had bronchitis for almost two weeks now. But when I did decide to get out of the house, some good things happened. Some bad things happened, too, though. And I've decided that I'm finished. I'm finished going after boys that don't care about me and won't. I don't know why the only guys that are interested in me are the ones I'm not interested in. I don't know why that happens. And I don't know why I constantly put myself out there for people that don't reciprocate my feelings. But I am le tired. Tired of being let down over and over again. I know that I am good enough, and I know that I deserve to get what I want. That's why I usually don't let myself get too upset about the bullshit, and I pick myself up, and I try again with someone new. I'm just so frustrated. Not sexually, mind you, just frustrated with things that can only be blamed on my bad luck. And with my latest attempt, I was complaining about how nothing I was doing was working, and my friend asked me if I could afford to keep making the effort. I thought, yeah, of course, I have a lot of free time, and not any other prospects I want to pursue right now. But that's not what I have to worry about affording. It's not a matter of time, it's a matter of the emotional toll that this crap is taking on me. And I decided that I can't afford the emotional costs, I really can't. And so I'm done. I'm finished. And if you're reading this (which you're not because you're not interested enough to read my damn blog), fuck off.

And to my actual readers (both of you. . . ), sorry for this post, really. I feel like a teenager because I'm bitching about this shit. Either that or a divorcee. Anyway, I don't post whiny shit normally, I just needed to get this off my chest, you know? This is one of those times when I'm kind of glad I have a blog.

Apparently Britney will have to wait, too.

Realizing that everything I do is in my control made me realize that everything I don't do is out of my control, as long as I make a conscious choice about what I do or don't. It's really difficult to stand up for your beliefs, especially when your beliefs are more like a viscous liquid, changing, rather than carved in stone. I don't know what my beliefs are. I like the idea of a higher power. It's comforting to know that someone is looking out for me. But then again, how do I know that he/she/it is doing so? With all the terrible things that happen in this world, how can a perfect being that should provide protection neglect that duty? And it seems that this so-called omnipotent being is pretty imperfect, truth be told.

I think my personal truth is that power resides in earthly beings. In you and me, hell, even an ear of corn holds power, if you think about it. The power to feed another living thing. So what's the reason? The big why we're here? I'm not talking about any new-agey shit like 'The Secret'. That stuff is horse-shit. Mainly because it's all about improving your own life. Where's the good in that? Help your fellow living things. Fuck doing stuff for yourself. I guess the point is to do it right. Live life in the correct manner. And I suppose the way you know whether or not you're doing that is by judging yourself. I judge other people all the time. But to sit down and take inventory of myself is an arduous task. I mean, who wants to do that only to determine that they suck at life? But, that's the thing, I don't think I suck at life. I think I do an alright job of living my life. I make mistakes, and I make bad choices. That's okay. I know what I need to do, and knowing is half the battle, right?

Can't we all just get along?

I hate it when someone is mad at me, but won't be honest about it. I think there's a way to be truthful about your feelings without hurting anyone else's. Maybe there's not. But more than anything, expressing what you're angry about will help clarify what that actually is. And then perhaps you'll realize that your frustration isn't with me, but with yourself. I wish this would happen, but I won't speak up about it. I'm a chicken and I don't like it when people are mad at me. Just know that this is real, this is honest. And I love you even if you don't hold the same opinion of me right now.

"Lack of money is the root of all evil."

I found the quote above attributed to George Bernard Shaw. However, it is also attributed to Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), so who the hell knows? I do think it is apropos to this entry, regardless of who said it. It's been awhile since I posted an entry. I haven't been feeling very prolific lately. The mindless crap on myspace does not count as an actual blog. Anyway, here we go. . .

My financial situation took a change for the worse yesterday. I am really bad with money. Honestly, MC Hammer is probably better at budgeting than me. Anyway, this has completely stressed me out. I don't spend very much money; I just don't know how to pay my bills. On time. And that's bad. Another problem is that I'm kinda lonely. I don't really have any friends here in Knoxville, except for my sister. I have acquaintances, but surface relationships are not what I'm after. I need some real human contact, and right now I have zilch. Everytime I say this, people (who live in Nashville) tell me to move back to Nashville. But that won't fix things. I'm out of college money (that's not related to the aforementioned financial sitch), and even if I get more money, it won't be enough to go to college there.

So, what do I want to do? Besides crawl into a hole and die? Pretty much my only option is to find a full-time job working for the university. That way, they pay for my tuition, I'll be making enough money to pay my new bills, and hopefully I will be smart enough to pay my old bills. On time. So that's the deal. I know that this is depressing, but damnit, I'm pretty fucking depressed right now.

Unravel the paper flowers 'til the colors look neat.

So, I quit smoking. Two, maybe three weeks ago, I'm not really sure. Not good at the whole "concept of time" thing. I really wish I could say that it was difficult, because that would mean I have awesome willpower, but it really wasn't hard at all. I don't crave cigarettes, I don't think about it, I don't really even care. I remember once, long ago, I bought a box of nicotine patches to help me quit. Umm, it didn't work because they made me sick. Like nausea, the shakes, et cet. Turns out I didn't smoke enough to require the use of patches, gum, and the like. Kind of sad actually. Plus, those things are expensive, shit.

Anyway, I guess the question is, why did I quit? Why now? My dad gives me disappointed looks every time he sees a pack in my car. He tells me that I'm going to die of cancer like my Uncle Steve. (Yeah, he really says that.) But that wasn't enough. I can deal with disappointing my parents, I've been doing so since I was about seven. Here's the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back: a kitten. See my sister's cat was never spayed, so when she snuck out, she got knocked up. She had FIVE kittens. Poor thing, she was gigantic. Anyway, I said I would take one of the boys. Two were going to her roommate, one to her other roommate, and one to a friend. So one went to Nashville with the friend. It died. I was so mad for awhile, I thought maybe they didn't take care of her, or something. Then we took the rest of the kittens for their first check-up. They have feline leukemia. I cried for about two days. Basically, it's like AIDS. It will eventually become active and will destroy their immune systems until they die from a disease they get because their immune systems can't fight it. If this innocent kitten can be born with something that will kill him, why am I purposefully increasing my own chances of dying? Anyway, it sounds way stupid now, but that's what it was. I'm going to keep Rocky (named after Balboa, because he's a fighter) until the virus becomes active. They can test him periodically, and I'll watch him for symptoms. He is an amazing little guy, and just so I don't end this on a completely depressing note, here are some gratuitous kitten pictures:

And I promise my next post won't be so dreary.

I don't have to. All I know is it happened.

So, yesterday Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. died. In a 2003 interview he said, "One kid said he had the key to all my books and he put it in a sentence. He said, 'Love may fail but courtesy will prevail.' Love does fail all the time, you know, and it makes people vicious."

He was the author who got me interested in reading. I used to go to the library a lot after class in high school. I would pick a random book, and start reading it. If I liked it, I'd check it out. I read a couple of chick-lit books, (it was Bridget Jones heyday, shut up) but I got bored with that really quickly. That was when I learned that just because I like one book, I won't necessarily like the whole genre. So anyway, I would just walk down the fiction aisles waiting for something to pop out at me. One day I walked past the Vonnegut section, and I picked up Cat's Cradle. I stood in front of the bookshelf and read the first few chapters. I finished that in a few days, and then I read Galapagos, then Breakfast of Champions, then Slapstick, and Welcome to the Monkey House, and Slaughterhouse-Five, and Hocus Pocus.

About four years later, my dad loaned me his copy of Bluebeard. I still haven't given it back. It's my all-time favorite. I don't really know why, maybe I just think one-eyed Armenian painters are awesome. Anyway, somewhere along the way I had switched from the library to the bookstore. So I began to build my collection of (legitimately purchased) Vonnegut books.

When talking about his decision to stop writing novels, he said, "I felt as I did when the Second World War ended: Please, I've done everything I'm supposed to do, can't I go home now?".