This year... Oh boy. Rang it in with my family, as tradition dictates, though this year might mark a modification of that tradition. Then, there was all of the tumultuous adjusting for me.
January - February: Hailstorm of confusion.
March: Double that. Plus, a really fun spring break, thanks to some great college friends who, even though I haven't been as close to recently, are still pretty awesome. (I.e. Bill's Cape house, the ziggarut, Choi's featuring Dakota v. A and yummy Italian sandwiches also)
April: Like I even remember. Marathon Monday weekend was wild. Staying up until 7 a.m., Wild. April Fool's day was epic, and not without a fair amount of seran wrap.
May: Started with a bang, ended with me watching all of West Wing, never to be the same again.
June: Internship. Misery. Lamenting my unpaidness, having first world problems, being a brat, yadayada, not really seeing anyone except Choi in the city and for an hour after work.
July: The Boston Goth Club trip--never made it to the Goth club. The three musketeers, Intercontinental Boston, Parrot Bay, 7-Eleven bought mixers and snacks, 2 40's Bud Light. Oh, and going off of 2 hours of sleep, thank you HP7PII MIDNIGHT PREMIERE. Caroline's visit, epic meal times, all in all pretty awesome. Also, possibly the month I was accosted by a 'psychic,' thus prodding me to visit a Wiccan store in E Vill.
August: Ahh, sweet freedom--barely worked because the schedule was too airtight, traveled across the East Coast (to ME and CT, anyway) partied hardied--saw Friends With Benefits 3x, hot-tubbed and had a shore time in OOB, saw the palm reader whose predictions didn't come true, went to CT and ran around a beautiful house while wine-drunk and stepping on glass--the fab 4 was that one.
September: The month of horrifying weekends, during which I was much too intoxicated to be awake, but remained awake, unfortunately, and therefore humiliated myself just about beyond repair, thank god for forgiveness and hazy memories, and probably just the general willingness to let things go. My goodness. The things I would change about this month... Where to even begin...
October: Calmer, but still stormy seas.
November: Starting to reach some kind of normalcy, routine, etcetera. Thanksgiving break was much needed this year...also chock full of work. Stopped sleeping at night. Slept in, skipped too much class (it was just the one! and it turned out fine...) Lots of drama, though. 11/11/11!!! Awesomeeee... kind of.
December: Decided to train for the marathon. Still training, but extremely bored with running. Have decided to begin alternate, more exciting workout plans...
Overall, I think I've gone through some pretty significant emotional changes, though not really. I guess it's more like I've become more aware of the way I handle situations, for better or worse. I've learned more about myself, certainly, and come to the conclusion that I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I don't think there is, in so many words. I have, however, acknowledged that I can make rash decisions when it comes to the pursuit of men, and that the fact it is a 'pursuit' is perhaps a fundamental flaw. On the other hand, I believe I deserve a great love, a challenging, but greatly rewarding love that will inspire a novel, the bestselling instant classic I will someday write, though it will be the type that is passed around the literati, read over champagne and pretentious murmurs, because that is the audience I want to impress.
I stopped making official resolutions a while ago, and I've come to realize that over the years, I've become less sentimental about objects, and more about events and moments and things that I'll always try to relive in my mind, like that one time... Wall. Oh, nostalgia. Sweet, sweet monster.
I suppose, if I were to make any resolutions, it would be to take better care of my body, my mental health, and my self-worth, to love my family more and better, to be less paranoid and slower to jump to conclusions, to continue training for the marathon (this one's not really an option. At this point, I have to run it), and to, of course, continue striving to become a better person.
With the highest (but not too high) hopes and greatest belief for the upcoming year,
Happy New Year to all.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
On their wonted haunt exiled...
I have been alive for nearly a quarter of a century. Okay, "nearly" might still be somewhat of an exaggeration, but I'm nearly, nearly a quarter there. I have not learned a single thing. Well, that's also a big of a hyperbole, but to be honest, I don't think I've learned the right lessons in terms of romantic interests.
Earlier this year, as in sometime during the summer as I was lamenting my unpaid existence and my lack of a social life thanks to my daily 6 FREAKING AM wake-up call, I went through some of my old blog posts. You know, on el-jay and stuff. And lo and behold, I was struck by a frightening realization. I could have been talking about anyone. Those pathetic, angst-ridden posts about the Boy of the Year/Season/Week were devastating, and so, so apropos, even now. Of course, I like to think that as I go on, I do make progress. Which I do. It's just that, along with the progress comes an increased level of insanity. I guess I wouldn't actually consider myself to be mentally unstable, or anything like that, but I would like to admit that it is unhealthy, to follow patterns this way and have no intention of really changing things because I have a hard time truly convincing myself it's bad for me. So I just spend the time conjuring up horrifying scenarios and glaring at people with preemptive suspicion and indignation. Completely uncalled for...Most of the time. But you never know.
I guess I should just openly come out and say that I apparently do have jealousy issues. I always fancied myself one of those girls who would be above it all, who would have the greatest of faith in all her friends, to the point where I can sit back and relax, and honestly believe that none of my girls would go for the Guy. Then I hit puberty, met some bitches who changed my views for the worst, and decided that I actually trust no one. Also, it's been done before. Yeah, girl who is the BFFFFFF, not going to halt something she thinks might be real for your benefit. Lo siento, mamacita, pero novios estan mas importante que sus amigas. No matter what your coffee mug says. Hos over bros? Yeah. Right. Enter Bro. Sure, I'm a little biased by my bitterness, but I don't think it's too far from the truth.
The truth is, girls will, for the most part, do anything for a guy. She won't admit it, but it's completely true. Of course, she'll still be there for her drunk and crying best friend, but right after she finishes holding her hair as she pukes up the last of her vodka shots and puts her to bed, she will go find the guy. She will stay up for him, no questions asked, until whenever. If she really can't keep her eyes open and it hasn't reached that level of sleeping on the shoulder, possibly sleeping over/under, then she'll reluctantly say a prolonged goodbye. But that's only if shereally, really can't stay awake. She will not stay up for her friend, who she knows will be there in the morning, probably, and who also cannot give her the action she so desperately wants, except under extreme circumstances... i.e. a drunk crisis. This is awful. This is the fulfillment of a stereotype that makes feminists cringe. This is basically built into girl DNA. As for the exceptions, it's just because they haven't given into their nature. That's my firm belief. I stand by it. Guilty until proven innocent.
As hypocritical as it will make me sound, I'm sick of talking about boys. Mostly because I don't want to, (read: can't comfortably) think about boys. Thinking about boys means thinking about negative things and thinking about negative things means staring blankly at a wall/ceiling/computer screen waiting for the melancholic nostalgia to wear off. It means not being able to concentrate on the anatomy of the brain and the functions of each part, something I very much need to know for my upcoming class, which I did not take the prerequisites for. Which I will probably certainly regret, but I'm willing to give it a shot so that I might possibly gain some insight as to why people do the things they do. Why I do the things I do. I'm very good at psychoanalyzing myself, or so I like to think. I think I'm very aware of what I'm doing wrong, which Aristotle would say makes me closer to morality than the fool who doesn't know.
I'm ranting a bit at this point. I haven't done it freely in so long, and honestly, I'm still holding back. If I let everything just free fall from my fingertips into the ether of the internet, well, I don't know what I'd do. I'm trying to figure out what I want.
I want reciprocity. I want ease. I want passion. I want something that far transcends mediocrity.
Earlier this year, as in sometime during the summer as I was lamenting my unpaid existence and my lack of a social life thanks to my daily 6 FREAKING AM wake-up call, I went through some of my old blog posts. You know, on el-jay and stuff. And lo and behold, I was struck by a frightening realization. I could have been talking about anyone. Those pathetic, angst-ridden posts about the Boy of the Year/Season/Week were devastating, and so, so apropos, even now. Of course, I like to think that as I go on, I do make progress. Which I do. It's just that, along with the progress comes an increased level of insanity. I guess I wouldn't actually consider myself to be mentally unstable, or anything like that, but I would like to admit that it is unhealthy, to follow patterns this way and have no intention of really changing things because I have a hard time truly convincing myself it's bad for me. So I just spend the time conjuring up horrifying scenarios and glaring at people with preemptive suspicion and indignation. Completely uncalled for...Most of the time. But you never know.
I guess I should just openly come out and say that I apparently do have jealousy issues. I always fancied myself one of those girls who would be above it all, who would have the greatest of faith in all her friends, to the point where I can sit back and relax, and honestly believe that none of my girls would go for the Guy. Then I hit puberty, met some bitches who changed my views for the worst, and decided that I actually trust no one. Also, it's been done before. Yeah, girl who is the BFFFFFF, not going to halt something she thinks might be real for your benefit. Lo siento, mamacita, pero novios estan mas importante que sus amigas. No matter what your coffee mug says. Hos over bros? Yeah. Right. Enter Bro. Sure, I'm a little biased by my bitterness, but I don't think it's too far from the truth.
The truth is, girls will, for the most part, do anything for a guy. She won't admit it, but it's completely true. Of course, she'll still be there for her drunk and crying best friend, but right after she finishes holding her hair as she pukes up the last of her vodka shots and puts her to bed, she will go find the guy. She will stay up for him, no questions asked, until whenever. If she really can't keep her eyes open and it hasn't reached that level of sleeping on the shoulder, possibly sleeping over/under, then she'll reluctantly say a prolonged goodbye. But that's only if shereally, really can't stay awake. She will not stay up for her friend, who she knows will be there in the morning, probably, and who also cannot give her the action she so desperately wants, except under extreme circumstances... i.e. a drunk crisis. This is awful. This is the fulfillment of a stereotype that makes feminists cringe. This is basically built into girl DNA. As for the exceptions, it's just because they haven't given into their nature. That's my firm belief. I stand by it. Guilty until proven innocent.
As hypocritical as it will make me sound, I'm sick of talking about boys. Mostly because I don't want to, (read: can't comfortably) think about boys. Thinking about boys means thinking about negative things and thinking about negative things means staring blankly at a wall/ceiling/computer screen waiting for the melancholic nostalgia to wear off. It means not being able to concentrate on the anatomy of the brain and the functions of each part, something I very much need to know for my upcoming class, which I did not take the prerequisites for. Which I will probably certainly regret, but I'm willing to give it a shot so that I might possibly gain some insight as to why people do the things they do. Why I do the things I do. I'm very good at psychoanalyzing myself, or so I like to think. I think I'm very aware of what I'm doing wrong, which Aristotle would say makes me closer to morality than the fool who doesn't know.
I'm ranting a bit at this point. I haven't done it freely in so long, and honestly, I'm still holding back. If I let everything just free fall from my fingertips into the ether of the internet, well, I don't know what I'd do. I'm trying to figure out what I want.
I want reciprocity. I want ease. I want passion. I want something that far transcends mediocrity.
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