Sometimes, I take a look at my friends and realize that I'm the normal one. I don't love them any less. I probably love them more after I think about what they've gone through, what they've done, who they are versus who they used to be and how they've grown.
It's scary. It's scary in more ways than one. It's scary because I never thought of myself as particularly normal. I'm weird. I'm quirky. I'm not boring, or at least I don't think I am. But then I look at the people I love and realize that compared to them, I am SO normal. I am so well-adjusted and adaptable that I'm just so average.
It's scary because I learn things about people that I'd never have imagined were true. For example, some of the most amazing people I know were suicidal at some point in their lives. These are people who make me laugh until I cry, people who are perfectly lovely and thoughtful and honestly some of the best friends you could ever have, people who I cannot imagine not having in my life without wanting to vomit. People who would never appear suicidal.
I have learned so much about some of my friends in the past year or so. Some of them have come out of deeply troubled times, which makes them all the more valuable to me. I love them. I'll never stop loving them. I hope they know that, and selfishly I hope they love me, too.
It's important to value the people you love and to let them know how much you value them. Even more important than what I've learned about certain individuals is that people need to know someone cares. You have to hope the respect they have for you outweighs the disrespect they have for themself and stops them from doing something stupid or dangerous. It's important to listen to people. It's important to listen beyond just the words they're saying and listen to what they really mean. It's important to listen to what they really want you to hear.
There are people who are so wrapped up in their own drama that in all likelihood won't even matter in a few weeks. I have never been one of those people. I've discovered I kind of like being the normal friend. It allows me to listen. It allows me to see people and understand them in different ways. It allows me to love them more. I would be missing so much without them. They have no idea how much they've taught me and how much they've changed me and how much I love them for it. It would be impossible for me to express it, so they can never truly understand. But I do my best.
Don't be afraid to love. Tell someone how you feel. And if you don't have anything to tell, listen.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
"This I Believe"
Recently, I've been reading a book my parents got me for Christmas called "This I Believe." It's a collection of essays from well-known people; short little things that detail their personal philosophies on life. It's a pretty cool book, I'm pretty sure it's through NPR, which is how my mom heard about it.
This morning, I was reading it in study hall and I got kind of tired of reading, so I decided to write one of my own. I started thinking of all the things I believe in: friendship; small, lovely, irreplaceable moments; love. Then I realized that there's something that I believe in that encompasses all of that. This was the end product. It's quite a bit shorter than the essays in "This I Believe," but I'm pretty sure I said all I wanted to say:
"I believe in the beauty of idiosyncracies. Perfection doesn't exist. There are no real measured standards for perfection. I love my family and friends because they're weird. It is their adorable quirks that make me like them.
A few nights ago, one friend burst into tears because she couldn't understand why someone would put gummy bears in their ice cream. Another good friend, we have come to realize, does this thing where she keeps taking until she gets a laugh out of somebody. She also deeply fears sticky fingers and awkward social situations.
We all have these irrational fears that we mock each other mercilessly because of. For instance, I
have an inexplicable fear of tomato seeds. I also have a friend with a severe fear of male genitalia, as well as a friend who fears pregnant women. One of my friends refuses to take free samples of anything because he has somehow convinced himself that they are infested with AIDS. This is the same friend who can't eat things in even numbers (I honestly believed he was making that up when he first told me about it, but there are so many rules and exceptions that there's no way he could have just made it up).
It is the imperfections that make someone endearing to me. Their quirks give them individuality and the fact that there is only one of them in the entire world population makes me feel incredibly lucky to have them in my life.
Life shouldn't be about conforming; rather it should be about celebrating and sharing what makes us unique. There are friends I have that I love who have bizarre obsessions with somewhat obscure and often British TV shows. I also have a friend who comes up with really random, awesome metaphors for life that never fail to amuse me or get me thinking.
By hiding our quirks from the world, we are doing everyone - including ourselves - a grave disservice. Part of living is being brave enough to share our idiosyncracies with them people around us. Chances are, our quirks make people love us even more. I can only hpe that my friends love me in spite of my fear of tomato seeds, or my penchant for petting hair, or my fascination with sappy cabaret songs.
I believe it's those funny little quirks that make us adorable, and only the ones who really love us can accept."
This morning, I was reading it in study hall and I got kind of tired of reading, so I decided to write one of my own. I started thinking of all the things I believe in: friendship; small, lovely, irreplaceable moments; love. Then I realized that there's something that I believe in that encompasses all of that. This was the end product. It's quite a bit shorter than the essays in "This I Believe," but I'm pretty sure I said all I wanted to say:
"I believe in the beauty of idiosyncracies. Perfection doesn't exist. There are no real measured standards for perfection. I love my family and friends because they're weird. It is their adorable quirks that make me like them.
A few nights ago, one friend burst into tears because she couldn't understand why someone would put gummy bears in their ice cream. Another good friend, we have come to realize, does this thing where she keeps taking until she gets a laugh out of somebody. She also deeply fears sticky fingers and awkward social situations.
We all have these irrational fears that we mock each other mercilessly because of. For instance, I
have an inexplicable fear of tomato seeds. I also have a friend with a severe fear of male genitalia, as well as a friend who fears pregnant women. One of my friends refuses to take free samples of anything because he has somehow convinced himself that they are infested with AIDS. This is the same friend who can't eat things in even numbers (I honestly believed he was making that up when he first told me about it, but there are so many rules and exceptions that there's no way he could have just made it up).
It is the imperfections that make someone endearing to me. Their quirks give them individuality and the fact that there is only one of them in the entire world population makes me feel incredibly lucky to have them in my life.
Life shouldn't be about conforming; rather it should be about celebrating and sharing what makes us unique. There are friends I have that I love who have bizarre obsessions with somewhat obscure and often British TV shows. I also have a friend who comes up with really random, awesome metaphors for life that never fail to amuse me or get me thinking.
By hiding our quirks from the world, we are doing everyone - including ourselves - a grave disservice. Part of living is being brave enough to share our idiosyncracies with them people around us. Chances are, our quirks make people love us even more. I can only hpe that my friends love me in spite of my fear of tomato seeds, or my penchant for petting hair, or my fascination with sappy cabaret songs.
I believe it's those funny little quirks that make us adorable, and only the ones who really love us can accept."
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Mindless Chatter
Why. Hello, there.
Guess what!
It's MAY.
Guess what else!
I'm kind of a blogging failure.
(For the month of April, at the very least. Which, basically, is a blur that I'm going to attempt to recap here in a moment).
Welcome back to my life. I know you (my 0.04 average readers) have been lost without me.
So let's talk about April. I remember it starting off awesomely, what with spring break being upon us and all. I spent a lot of time at Starbucks (still do, actually...seriously considering taking up permanent residence there...expect a change of address card sometime soon)(also, do people still send those/do they actually exist or did I just make them up in my head?) with really awesome people. There was one night that I was particularly fond of when we accidentally ran a red light, froze our asses off at a playground at 9:00 at night, and sat in the Starbucks parking lot cuddling and eating curly fries.
After the spring break part of April was over, I threw myself into school stuff, which I apparently did a really good job of blocking from my memory, because I don't remember much of it now.
Mid-April is marked by the fabulousness that was our NYC trip.
It. Was wonderful. I may have slept only 12/65 hours we were gone, but I'm okay with that, because every hour I was awake counted as a new memory. There were many pictures taken, many laughs, many new inside jokes, two Broadway shows, much coffee, very little sleep, quite a bit of singing, some dancing, very little sanity, and excessive amounts of cuddling. I loved every second of it. In my mind, I'm still there, and it was three weeks ago.
The end of April... mostly just a smear of time that I don't remember. I remember a lot of studying. I remember a lot of being alone. I remember being REAL tired. But other than that, I don't remember much. I think I was like, roofied, or something during the end of April. But I think I liked it?
Yeah, that was my April. Now it is May, and AP exams have crept upon us (hee - crept upon us) and so has the last newspaper issue, and my Heritage Society old person story deadline, and seniors graduating, and exams, and Editor-in-Chief interviews/applications, and Prom drama, and other drama, and HEY it's almost summer. Thank the non-denominational creator.
It's late now. I'm finally sleepy enough to sleep.
The weatherman promised me a thunderstorm. I'm a little sad I didn't get one.
Wow, that was a little bit profound. Or maybe I'm just tired.
Goodnight. Happy May.
Guess what!
It's MAY.
Guess what else!
I'm kind of a blogging failure.
(For the month of April, at the very least. Which, basically, is a blur that I'm going to attempt to recap here in a moment).
Welcome back to my life. I know you (my 0.04 average readers) have been lost without me.
So let's talk about April. I remember it starting off awesomely, what with spring break being upon us and all. I spent a lot of time at Starbucks (still do, actually...seriously considering taking up permanent residence there...expect a change of address card sometime soon)(also, do people still send those/do they actually exist or did I just make them up in my head?) with really awesome people. There was one night that I was particularly fond of when we accidentally ran a red light, froze our asses off at a playground at 9:00 at night, and sat in the Starbucks parking lot cuddling and eating curly fries.
After the spring break part of April was over, I threw myself into school stuff, which I apparently did a really good job of blocking from my memory, because I don't remember much of it now.
Mid-April is marked by the fabulousness that was our NYC trip.
It. Was wonderful. I may have slept only 12/65 hours we were gone, but I'm okay with that, because every hour I was awake counted as a new memory. There were many pictures taken, many laughs, many new inside jokes, two Broadway shows, much coffee, very little sleep, quite a bit of singing, some dancing, very little sanity, and excessive amounts of cuddling. I loved every second of it. In my mind, I'm still there, and it was three weeks ago.
The end of April... mostly just a smear of time that I don't remember. I remember a lot of studying. I remember a lot of being alone. I remember being REAL tired. But other than that, I don't remember much. I think I was like, roofied, or something during the end of April. But I think I liked it?
Yeah, that was my April. Now it is May, and AP exams have crept upon us (hee - crept upon us) and so has the last newspaper issue, and my Heritage Society old person story deadline, and seniors graduating, and exams, and Editor-in-Chief interviews/applications, and Prom drama, and other drama, and HEY it's almost summer. Thank the non-denominational creator.
It's late now. I'm finally sleepy enough to sleep.
The weatherman promised me a thunderstorm. I'm a little sad I didn't get one.
Wow, that was a little bit profound. Or maybe I'm just tired.
Goodnight. Happy May.
Friday, March 26, 2010
This is Weird
Sooo. I recently realized that I have this fear that people don't actually like me. It's weird. I've never really had that kind of insecurity before. I guess I used to not really care if people liked me or not. But I think I've finally realized how catty and awful high school is (I know. Really? I'm a junior in high school and I'm just now seeing how ugly it is? Don't worry - I'm super perplexed too). I've mostly been trying to figure out why people like me. If they like me, as they claim to. I feel like I have some friends that I'm really unsure why they like me. I don't really know if it's a self-esteem thing, or if I'm reading too much into everything and being too over-analytical, or if people are just as fake as I fear they are. (There might be some people out there reading this who are thinking it's in reference to them. Don't worry. It's not. I hope?) This is sounding entirely too emo and I hadn't planned on that happening. My original intention was to write something at least semi-amusing, but it's not really coming out that way. I'm going to keep trying. So I've been wondering why people put up with me. And if they put up with me simply because they feel obligated to put up with me, or if they genuinely like me and my weird quirks. Like my irrational fear of tomato seeds. And my penchant for screaming whenever my Pop-Tarts pop out of the toaster. Or the bizarre fact that I seem to kind of have a little bit of my own language and that I sometimes make weird and random noises. Or that I have too many Tweets/Facebook statuses. Or that I write nonsensical blog posts like this. I don't know what I was hoping to accomplish through this post, but I've come too far just to delete it, so I guess I'm going to publish it... If you're reading this, I apologize. I don't like that this is one huge block of text, but Blogger is apparently deciding to be a little bitchy today and not let me start different paragraphs. Oh well. I'm going to stop talking now.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Yep, You Put Me Right Back in My Place
There are some days when I wake up and I don't really give a shit what anybody says about me.
These are few and far between. There used to be a time when I woke up like this every day. I used to have some semblance of something kind of like self-confidence.
Before I get too far off topic, let me finish that self-depricating tangent by saying, "today was one of those days."
Really. I was happy. I let loose. I had two cups of coffee, so I was giggly and outspoken and most like the me that I like. I was happy with what I was wearing. I was happy with my face. I was happy with my hair. Everything seemed to be working in my favor. My English teacher called me 'hilarious.' The world seemed to like me.
And then, as I was sitting with my mom, eating a bowl of Samoa ice cream (satisfying at the time), we began discussing prom.
Mom: So has any of the prom drama started yet?
Me: Not really.
(silence for a moment, as we watch 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban')
Me: I'm not really looking forward to it.
Mom: Prom drama? I don't think it'll affect you much.
Me: Any of it. I know I'm going to have a really hard time finding a dress...
Mom: Yeah. I mean, anything you find will probably require major alteration.
Me: Wow. Thanks, Mom.
Mom: I mean, like, in terms of length. I mean...even with heels...
Me: Uh-huh.
(more silence)
Me: I'm not going if I don't have a date. Just saying.
Mom: (laughs) WHERE are you going to get a prom date?
Me: Wh...
Mom: You don't even like any of the boys.
Me: Wow. Ouch. Okay. Goodnight, Mom.
Yeah.
I have been remissed.
These are few and far between. There used to be a time when I woke up like this every day. I used to have some semblance of something kind of like self-confidence.
Before I get too far off topic, let me finish that self-depricating tangent by saying, "today was one of those days."
Really. I was happy. I let loose. I had two cups of coffee, so I was giggly and outspoken and most like the me that I like. I was happy with what I was wearing. I was happy with my face. I was happy with my hair. Everything seemed to be working in my favor. My English teacher called me 'hilarious.' The world seemed to like me.
And then, as I was sitting with my mom, eating a bowl of Samoa ice cream (satisfying at the time), we began discussing prom.
Mom: So has any of the prom drama started yet?
Me: Not really.
(silence for a moment, as we watch 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban')
Me: I'm not really looking forward to it.
Mom: Prom drama? I don't think it'll affect you much.
Me: Any of it. I know I'm going to have a really hard time finding a dress...
Mom: Yeah. I mean, anything you find will probably require major alteration.
Me: Wow. Thanks, Mom.
Mom: I mean, like, in terms of length. I mean...even with heels...
Me: Uh-huh.
(more silence)
Me: I'm not going if I don't have a date. Just saying.
Mom: (laughs) WHERE are you going to get a prom date?
Me: Wh...
Mom: You don't even like any of the boys.
Me: Wow. Ouch. Okay. Goodnight, Mom.
Yeah.
I have been remissed.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Give Me Pain, If That's What's Real
So.
Today.
It was really awful to start. I don't know why. I was in a really tired, melancholy mood that I just couldn't snap out of for some reason. I was just super quiet (a rarity) and I was just exhausted and kind of disillusioned by everything.
After I left school, I had an orthodontist appointment. Let me just explain that going to the orthodontist makes me act like a hugely bitchy, hormonal teenager. It might have something to do with the fact that I've had my braces for almost five years (five! FIVE!) and that my original orthodontist has since passed away (I know, right?). Nothing makes me act more like a teenager than orthodontia. Anyway, since my orthodontist, who I loved, died, this new guy took over. I do not like him. I get weird vibes from him. And he's rather large, and he breathes really heavily, and his fingers are big and my mouth isn't all that big (sounds kind of dirty)(just saying) and it's just a really awkward experience every time he works on me. Like, why is the heel of your hand doing in my eye socket? I do not know, but please remove it.
So, anyway, I had to wait to be called back for 45 minutes, and the next 45 were spent battling two of my brackets because they wouldn't close or something and it really hurt and they had to try like three different things. Yes. I was in my sketchy orthodontist office for an hour and a half. Then I came home, gathered some things, and had to take off for voice, where both my teacher and I were in terrible moods and pouting.
Then I left voice and flew to the school to munchkin sit, because the middle school is doing "The Wizard of Oz" and I get NHS hours for munchkin sitting. Cool.
That's where the fun began.
All the middle school kids had entirely too much energy, and all us high school kids just did not. We munchkin sitters actually ended up putting together a 24-piece Winnie the Pooh puzzle and coloring more than the munchkins did. It was comical.
Then Chelsea and I went on a Starbucks run and were making weird gargling noises at each other in line when the guy in front of us turns around and says, "You guys are really scaring me."
It was hilarious.
Then we got back and had to reassemble the choir room and sit on some munchkins and middle schoolers (not really) while we discussed Chelsea's love life. We were all just really exhausted, but it was really fun, and we laughed a lot, and usually far too loudly (or, I did, at least).
"It looks like two green flamingos had vigorous sex in the hallway, because there are feathers all over the place."
(See what I mean?)
Today.
It was really awful to start. I don't know why. I was in a really tired, melancholy mood that I just couldn't snap out of for some reason. I was just super quiet (a rarity) and I was just exhausted and kind of disillusioned by everything.
After I left school, I had an orthodontist appointment. Let me just explain that going to the orthodontist makes me act like a hugely bitchy, hormonal teenager. It might have something to do with the fact that I've had my braces for almost five years (five! FIVE!) and that my original orthodontist has since passed away (I know, right?). Nothing makes me act more like a teenager than orthodontia. Anyway, since my orthodontist, who I loved, died, this new guy took over. I do not like him. I get weird vibes from him. And he's rather large, and he breathes really heavily, and his fingers are big and my mouth isn't all that big (sounds kind of dirty)(just saying) and it's just a really awkward experience every time he works on me. Like, why is the heel of your hand doing in my eye socket? I do not know, but please remove it.
So, anyway, I had to wait to be called back for 45 minutes, and the next 45 were spent battling two of my brackets because they wouldn't close or something and it really hurt and they had to try like three different things. Yes. I was in my sketchy orthodontist office for an hour and a half. Then I came home, gathered some things, and had to take off for voice, where both my teacher and I were in terrible moods and pouting.
Then I left voice and flew to the school to munchkin sit, because the middle school is doing "The Wizard of Oz" and I get NHS hours for munchkin sitting. Cool.
That's where the fun began.
All the middle school kids had entirely too much energy, and all us high school kids just did not. We munchkin sitters actually ended up putting together a 24-piece Winnie the Pooh puzzle and coloring more than the munchkins did. It was comical.
Then Chelsea and I went on a Starbucks run and were making weird gargling noises at each other in line when the guy in front of us turns around and says, "You guys are really scaring me."
It was hilarious.
Then we got back and had to reassemble the choir room and sit on some munchkins and middle schoolers (not really) while we discussed Chelsea's love life. We were all just really exhausted, but it was really fun, and we laughed a lot, and usually far too loudly (or, I did, at least).
"It looks like two green flamingos had vigorous sex in the hallway, because there are feathers all over the place."
(See what I mean?)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Suspended Reality
Hi. It's been awhile. I'm sorry. Also I should be sleeping right now (why do I feel like a lot of my blog posts open with that?) but I felt the need to reach out...into that black, dark hole of nothingness that I send my thoughts into.
Anyway, I've realized that I've been confusing my dreams with reality a lot lately. Which, honestly, is kind of depressing. It says that I dream about stuff that's mundane enough that I can easily get it mixed up with my reality. Like school. The other night, I had a dream that I went to do my Chemistry post-lab questions and there was only 1. I was really disappointed when I went to do them for real in study hall the next morning and there were 4 instead of just 1.
That same night, I dreamed that I read the wrong English essay for a homework assignment. It was the same title, but the completely wrong essay. I read the one that was 12 pages long, and we were supposed to read the one that was a page and a half long. I remember being really perplexed in my dream. Why were there two essays named the same thing? That's misleading.
Yeah, the following day was a little like "Groundhog Day," only not really.
But I also got to thinking...you know that state you fall into where you're not sleeping, but not NOT sleeping? Where everything is peaceful, and calm, and simple? The one where everything seems perfect, or at least until you start falling?
I like it there. And for all intents and purposes, I'm going to call it 'suspended reality.' I'm sure it has a technical dreamology-related term, but I prefer to think of it as suspended reality.
But doesn't it seem like everything is better in suspended reality? It's better than reality. It's better than dreaming, even, because sometimes, as I've come to realize, reality infiltrates your dreams. We use dreaming as an escape from reality, but what happens when reality takes over, especially when we don't particularly want it to? I mean, it's one thing if your reality is perfectly wonderful, and everything you want it to be. Then it's okay if you want to spend all your time there. It's understandable. But I feel like that's not really all that realistic. Or common. I'm starting to think suspended reality is our only escape from our reality, which we often can't control, and our dreams, which can't really be controlled either.
I can't control suspended reality, or anything, but it sure is quaint there.
Anyway, I've realized that I've been confusing my dreams with reality a lot lately. Which, honestly, is kind of depressing. It says that I dream about stuff that's mundane enough that I can easily get it mixed up with my reality. Like school. The other night, I had a dream that I went to do my Chemistry post-lab questions and there was only 1. I was really disappointed when I went to do them for real in study hall the next morning and there were 4 instead of just 1.
That same night, I dreamed that I read the wrong English essay for a homework assignment. It was the same title, but the completely wrong essay. I read the one that was 12 pages long, and we were supposed to read the one that was a page and a half long. I remember being really perplexed in my dream. Why were there two essays named the same thing? That's misleading.
Yeah, the following day was a little like "Groundhog Day," only not really.
But I also got to thinking...you know that state you fall into where you're not sleeping, but not NOT sleeping? Where everything is peaceful, and calm, and simple? The one where everything seems perfect, or at least until you start falling?
I like it there. And for all intents and purposes, I'm going to call it 'suspended reality.' I'm sure it has a technical dreamology-related term, but I prefer to think of it as suspended reality.
But doesn't it seem like everything is better in suspended reality? It's better than reality. It's better than dreaming, even, because sometimes, as I've come to realize, reality infiltrates your dreams. We use dreaming as an escape from reality, but what happens when reality takes over, especially when we don't particularly want it to? I mean, it's one thing if your reality is perfectly wonderful, and everything you want it to be. Then it's okay if you want to spend all your time there. It's understandable. But I feel like that's not really all that realistic. Or common. I'm starting to think suspended reality is our only escape from our reality, which we often can't control, and our dreams, which can't really be controlled either.
I can't control suspended reality, or anything, but it sure is quaint there.
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