The Fleeting and The Futile

I am a woman who understands that things are fleeting.

Since my freshman year, everything has just felt very temporary to me. My parents moved out of our house and to a new state, and are now moving back again; my college friends keep appearing and disappearing and reappearing; relationships, friendships, classes, hair colors...

Everything changes very quickly to me. I haven't felt a lot of consistency since I moved out of my parents house two and a half years ago.

Because of this, a few things have happened: I don't care about change. I tend to be overly appreciative of every friend or place or boy who enters my life. I lose ties easily because in the end I cannot stay connected. And I drift. I just am not steady.

A realization kind of hit me hard today: I don't need to cling to keep the people I love close, nor do I need to push them away once they are at a distance. People who are in my life are there because they love me and they want to be there. And people who care enough about me to still put in the effort to keep in contact with me once I'm/they're gone- that's a pretty amazing person to have.

With every semester, with every graduation, every move and every hair color- things are going to change. Sometimes distance won't mean a thing, and sometimes I am going to be left in the dust. It's the facts of life, and it's a weird one to accept.

Damn you college, damn you.

Side notes:

Watch Dexter. Seriously. Now.

I danced my ass off this weekend, and I love it

I am currently locked out of my apartment- so enjoy this blog entry.

A Day in the Hole

Today was one of the first times in a long time that I have been sick due to something other than a horrible hangover. How sad is that? Anyways, I skipped class, procrastinated on work and dreaded the fact that I have to get my sick ass up and go to work tomorrow. So really, it does almost sounds like a nice little hungover day.

I have no idea what brought on this sudden bout of sickness, but feeling as shitty as I did made me want to do a few things. First, I slept. I slept until 2. With the exception of a few praying to the porcelin God trips. I thought I might be able to catch my class at 2, but I was still sick and hating my life. Second, I called my mom. Because honestly, who wouldn't? And alas, she did not pick up her phone. I cursed the fact that working people cannot actually talk to their sick daughters when they are past the age of 20 and it's before the work day is over. And then I cursed being independent all over again. What the hell, world?

Third, I decided if I was to start to eat again, I wanted to eat nothing but soup, saltines and some good ole Canada Dry. My roommate's car was broken, everyone else was in class, and there was just no chance of getting any of my beloved sick treats. I settled for tomato soup and water. May I reiterate: What the hell, world? What the hell.

When did being sick stop being something awesome, and start being more of a pain in my ass? Sick Days were something to be cherished when I was in high school. Your parents felt sympathetic, the TV was yours and you could sleep without care. Now, all I feel is worry over missing class, pissed that no one was there for me, and stressed that I have to feel better by tomorrow so I can go to work.

This friggin sucks. That is all.

Laziness and Cornerstone

Wrote this for a class, thought it could double as a blog entry to make you all anxious in your seats. Enjoy. ;)

Trepidation crept throughout her body. She sat at the kitchen table, drumming her bitten fingernails against the checkerboard vinyl tablecloth. She heard the stove clicking off somewhere in the distance, but she didn’t waste too much of her time thinking about such things.

It must have been past midnight, must have been. What could be keeping them so long? She didn’t want to, but she started thinking about the worst possible outcomes. An accident. They’re terribly lost. They’re never coming back. Why would they even want to come back? All of these possibilities were somewhat illogical; she knew that. But then why couldn’t she stop thinking about them?

She suddenly realized that she was sitting in stark, stale darkness. The only sounds were the ticking of the stove, repeating every few seconds, and the anxious sounds of her fingers drumming against that damn tablecloth. It was a car crash. I’m sure of it.

She felt suffocated by the blackness of the room. She started breathing quicker, quicker, quicker. Too quick, too much: I won’t suffocate myself. Not now.

She abruptly left the uncomfortable, wooden chair and decided to turn3456222 off the stove. Her body burned with each step she took, but she continued on. She suddenly felt very, very old. Go back to the chair, go back to the comfort of sitting. You’re not well. She turned on the overhead lamp, which blinked on and off, as if unwilling to comfort her in her loneliest hour, and then decided to slowly emit a soft glow to the kitchen She repositioned the purple flowers sitting in a small vase on the vinyl tablecloth. The flowers were an impulsive decision. She decided that she wanted the room to look like it was out of a furniture magazine. The big Fingerhut one that made the owner look put together, classy, normal. It was all about the presentation, she knew that better than anyone. Everything is about how you present it to others.

Quickly, her head jerked up. Was that the sound of a car? It was definitely something. She knew she heard something. She peered through the blinds and saw nothing but the street lamp at the beginning of Cornerstone. She kept peering, peering. Something was coming, she knew it. She could feel it in her bones. She didn’t know if it was a car, but it was something. She could feel change, and she was anxious. This is good, things are going to be so good. I know it. She kept her eyes peering through the middle of the blinds, and the stove began to tick again.