Rules have to be understood to be effectively defied.
--Me
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Sometimes It's better to not know -- Part 2
Imaginary infatuation
She told me her name. After 36 hours of wondering, and 2.5 hours of waiting for the right moment we spoke. Her name spitefully hurled the placeholder I'd pretended, forcefully making room in my skull for reality.
One step back: I saw her for the first time, yesterday. Like all people I've seen or met, she entered my universe, unexpectedly, possibly serendipitously, and was under the mallet of my judgment almost instantaneously. I began to not only judge but to create a counterfeit of her in my mind as I saw fit. I'm wondering now if I want her to be that ideal which I made for myself, or if I want her to be herself. I shortsightedly lean to my fiction.
I've long ago fallen in love with her; the perfect girl. She sits on a pedestal in my mind. Each time I meet her, she turns out to be someone else, someone I know nothing about. Expectations, hopes, passions. This stranger has them, yet I'm unenlightened.
Another side of me is thrilled by this. Someone whom I don't understand! What can I discover? I'll try my best to learn her secrets, but not exploit them. Why does just thinking about that make me feel more complete?
I'm torn between the girl I love and trust, and someone whom I've met today. Do I keep searching the girl that is the closest possible match to my perfection, then settle, or do I learn to love a stranger?
Today I met a girl. Her name is Kylee. She has blue eyes, and she loves people. She claims she has ADHD, because her job is going to get boring to her someday.
Interesting...
She told me her name. After 36 hours of wondering, and 2.5 hours of waiting for the right moment we spoke. Her name spitefully hurled the placeholder I'd pretended, forcefully making room in my skull for reality.
One step back: I saw her for the first time, yesterday. Like all people I've seen or met, she entered my universe, unexpectedly, possibly serendipitously, and was under the mallet of my judgment almost instantaneously. I began to not only judge but to create a counterfeit of her in my mind as I saw fit. I'm wondering now if I want her to be that ideal which I made for myself, or if I want her to be herself. I shortsightedly lean to my fiction.
I've long ago fallen in love with her; the perfect girl. She sits on a pedestal in my mind. Each time I meet her, she turns out to be someone else, someone I know nothing about. Expectations, hopes, passions. This stranger has them, yet I'm unenlightened.
Another side of me is thrilled by this. Someone whom I don't understand! What can I discover? I'll try my best to learn her secrets, but not exploit them. Why does just thinking about that make me feel more complete?
I'm torn between the girl I love and trust, and someone whom I've met today. Do I keep searching the girl that is the closest possible match to my perfection, then settle, or do I learn to love a stranger?
Today I met a girl. Her name is Kylee. She has blue eyes, and she loves people. She claims she has ADHD, because her job is going to get boring to her someday.
Interesting...
Monday, April 23, 2007
Obligation
I have moments when I ask myself, "How could I possibly be this happy? Am I cheating the system, because I don't deserve this." Then like an hour later, I feel lame, or bored, or hungry etc. But at those moments, I'm confused; I have a slew of needs unsatisfied. Needs. Or at least it feels that way. Oh well.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Sometimes It's better to not know -- part 1
Two days ago, I met a girl.
Okay, in truth I didn't technically meet her. This was the situation: I've been volunteering at this mental hospital in Provo -- I know, its sounds like the start of a great story... -- I was working in the kitchen. I was mopping, drying dishes, putting away dishes; that sort of thing. I didn't yet know, but I'd be playing glance volleyball soon.
I see the girl working in the cleaning station; that's the place where the dishes are washed off. It's a rare thing, when looking at a someone or something makes one draw an extra breath. It feels tingly in the arms. I ask myself, a pretty girl? Here? ... I work near her for a while, but not in direct sight; I wait moment to moment, hoping to find a chance where I can steal another look. When I get a chance, almost each time I'm greeted by two bright blue eyes looking right back at me. In no way is this disagreeable, but I can only stand it for a moment. When I walk near her to put a clean dish away I smile and say something mildly clever but altogether brief. Then I walk away, biting my lip.
I think she smiled.
This is without question, extremely fun. Each time I saw her, it was like seeing her for the first time. Thrilling.
She is just so fun to look at, and she keeps looking back. At this point I can't understand why I'm so drawn to her. Her hair was basically messy, it didn't seem like she had very much if any makeup on. Though thoroughly beautiful, she didn't seem to have those typically lasciviously noticed features.
I really want to ask her name. But I have an abnormally difficult time bringing myself to it. Inner debate ensues: I realize that in my mind, at this point, she is perfect. Even more than wanting to get to know her, I want to eke that reality, our unpretentious relationship, as long as possible. One misconstrued word, or disqualifying phrase could break that charm for either of us. And it would never be repaired.
Yesterday, I got her name.
Okay, in truth I didn't technically meet her. This was the situation: I've been volunteering at this mental hospital in Provo -- I know, its sounds like the start of a great story... -- I was working in the kitchen. I was mopping, drying dishes, putting away dishes; that sort of thing. I didn't yet know, but I'd be playing glance volleyball soon.
I see the girl working in the cleaning station; that's the place where the dishes are washed off. It's a rare thing, when looking at a someone or something makes one draw an extra breath. It feels tingly in the arms. I ask myself, a pretty girl? Here? ... I work near her for a while, but not in direct sight; I wait moment to moment, hoping to find a chance where I can steal another look. When I get a chance, almost each time I'm greeted by two bright blue eyes looking right back at me. In no way is this disagreeable, but I can only stand it for a moment. When I walk near her to put a clean dish away I smile and say something mildly clever but altogether brief. Then I walk away, biting my lip.
I think she smiled.
This is without question, extremely fun. Each time I saw her, it was like seeing her for the first time. Thrilling.
She is just so fun to look at, and she keeps looking back. At this point I can't understand why I'm so drawn to her. Her hair was basically messy, it didn't seem like she had very much if any makeup on. Though thoroughly beautiful, she didn't seem to have those typically lasciviously noticed features.
I really want to ask her name. But I have an abnormally difficult time bringing myself to it. Inner debate ensues: I realize that in my mind, at this point, she is perfect. Even more than wanting to get to know her, I want to eke that reality, our unpretentious relationship, as long as possible. One misconstrued word, or disqualifying phrase could break that charm for either of us. And it would never be repaired.
Yesterday, I got her name.
Things I'd still do, even if there was no one left in the world but me
Dance to my iPod in the hallway.
Go running late at night.
Pick my nose.
Bite my fingernails.
Take long showers, sitting on the tub floor.
Look up words in the dictionary.
Look in the mirror and ask me what I'm doing.
Things I wish I did:
Sing in the shower.
Wear a brand new pair of socks each day.
Cool meals like my mom makes, but for me.
Go running late at night.
Pick my nose.
Bite my fingernails.
Take long showers, sitting on the tub floor.
Look up words in the dictionary.
Look in the mirror and ask me what I'm doing.
Things I wish I did:
Sing in the shower.
Wear a brand new pair of socks each day.
Cool meals like my mom makes, but for me.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Swearing
I really have no problem with people that swear. I don't. It's just a way to express oneself, and many swear words contain a lot of power. Actually, putting that way, swear words really SHOULD be used carefully and sparingly, for maximum expression, if used at all.
What IS really unbecoming are those that live a life that professes the filthiness of swearing, yet they swear. If someone believes that swearing is wrong, how can they swear? Seems like they are not being honest with themselves. And that to me is much more profane.
I'm referring to girls that love to swear. SICK.
What IS really unbecoming are those that live a life that professes the filthiness of swearing, yet they swear. If someone believes that swearing is wrong, how can they swear? Seems like they are not being honest with themselves. And that to me is much more profane.
I'm referring to girls that love to swear. SICK.
Justify
I've spent a lot of life pandering to people who don't respect me. I was hoping that if I pleased them, or pleased the group enough, I would be able to gain recognition. I've lost myself in that pursuit too many days.
The worst part is sometimes it works. There is a payoff, I get a little recognition or attention, and it feels like I have more control. It feels great! It's addicting. But just as much, sometimes, I feel made out as a fool; then I will do whatever I can to hide from that pain.
The worst part is sometimes it works. There is a payoff, I get a little recognition or attention, and it feels like I have more control. It feels great! It's addicting. But just as much, sometimes, I feel made out as a fool; then I will do whatever I can to hide from that pain.
I love
I love to be influenced by others. I love to experience those events and things where others find joy. When someone changes my mind, and I start to see from their point of view instead of my own, it induces a more complete view of humanity in me. It feels real. It's an honest feeling and I love it.
(eg -- If someone really loves something, like a certain movie, or a person, I really want to know why, and maybe I will just be able to love it/them too.)
In the same way, I really find value in knowing that I have the power to influence and alter the lives of others for good or for bad. I could destroy lives, or change them forever. It's a powerful feeling, but it makes one want to be careful. Careful to only use that influence, however much it is, for good.
(eg -- If someone really loves something, like a certain movie, or a person, I really want to know why, and maybe I will just be able to love it/them too.)
In the same way, I really find value in knowing that I have the power to influence and alter the lives of others for good or for bad. I could destroy lives, or change them forever. It's a powerful feeling, but it makes one want to be careful. Careful to only use that influence, however much it is, for good.
Sex every 9 Seconds
I've heard from some, on occasion, and usually from tv, that men think of sex every nine seconds. Others say that it happens at least every minute. I say this is a polluted stereotype which results in a self fulfilled prophecy, where many men agree with the statement because they don't want to be less of a (sexual) man.
I don't think of sex every nine seconds. Especially not the act. I have normal sexual desires; when I'm around a pretty girl, I'm attracted to her. I admire her just based on her looks; I'll even turn my head or look in a mirror, just to check out some cute girl.
In the end it's really not my main drive.
I would rather laugh with a good friend than be intimate with some random supermodel, no matter how attractive.
I don't think of sex every nine seconds. Especially not the act. I have normal sexual desires; when I'm around a pretty girl, I'm attracted to her. I admire her just based on her looks; I'll even turn my head or look in a mirror, just to check out some cute girl.
In the end it's really not my main drive.
I would rather laugh with a good friend than be intimate with some random supermodel, no matter how attractive.
I'm tired
I'm tired of fighting to be accepted. I will never fit in the way I've sometimes hope. I value even more me just being me, unapologetically. If anyone does not like me for that, I guess that is wholly your problem now.
I must demur! The work model is broken.
I go to work in twenty minutes. I very recently switched to full time, so I'll be there until two thirty. I despise the general acceptance of the work model that has been created for our society. If one doesn't love his/her job, they should not need to be there 8 hours in any given day.
I don't want to wake up in twenty years and realize that I spent 1/3 of my life hunting and gathering.
8 Hours, plus preparation time, meals, travel, and exhaust; so much more could be done with that time. Time that is meant to be had sharing with family and friends, lifting the weak, or creating whatever is meaningful to the individual.
Or find a job that you really love.
We all really could get paid more and work less. And if I ever own a business of my own, I'm going to create a way; pay my people to do the work they do, in 4 hours.
One more thing: When I hear some moan the lament of Monday, they are not actually protesting, its a mur-mur of acceptance. Complaint is only valuable when action proceeds.
I don't want to wake up in twenty years and realize that I spent 1/3 of my life hunting and gathering.
8 Hours, plus preparation time, meals, travel, and exhaust; so much more could be done with that time. Time that is meant to be had sharing with family and friends, lifting the weak, or creating whatever is meaningful to the individual.
Or find a job that you really love.
We all really could get paid more and work less. And if I ever own a business of my own, I'm going to create a way; pay my people to do the work they do, in 4 hours.
One more thing: When I hear some moan the lament of Monday, they are not actually protesting, its a mur-mur of acceptance. Complaint is only valuable when action proceeds.
Honestly...
I'm ready to start blogging. I feel like I need to be more honest.
I don't really think that anyone will read this stuff, at most it will just be glanced it over. That's okay. I could just write in a journal, and keep my thought to myself, but I feel that we people have a compulsion to share a piece of our mind.
Maybe somebody can get something out of my consummated thoughts, or at least I can hope that I'll be better understood. I do not feel understood. That ignorant hasty judgment or the more general apathy towards my life, it destroys me. I treat others the same way. That makes me part of the problem. But I'm a person; I get wounded, even if I pretend not. Oh well. I'm used to pretending.
I don't really think that anyone will read this stuff, at most it will just be glanced it over. That's okay. I could just write in a journal, and keep my thought to myself, but I feel that we people have a compulsion to share a piece of our mind.
Maybe somebody can get something out of my consummated thoughts, or at least I can hope that I'll be better understood. I do not feel understood. That ignorant hasty judgment or the more general apathy towards my life, it destroys me. I treat others the same way. That makes me part of the problem. But I'm a person; I get wounded, even if I pretend not. Oh well. I'm used to pretending.
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