I'm sure that most of us have been in that little whirlpool regarding our lives. Yes, the one where we're sucked into not knowing which path to take and what to do about this, that, and the other. Well, once again, I'm there, and frankly, I'm getting kinda dizzy.
I've grown pretty tired of the community college scene. Nothing against it, but damn, I hate it. I hate waiting to break loose and go for the things I'd love to do. Pretty sure I need a change of pace. I sit in some classes and wonder, "Why am I here, I hate it here. I could be off somewhere else doing something I love, but instead, I'm giving myself a headache because I don't know how to do fractions." So, I've made a choice. I'm transferring credits (but keeping a transcript, in case I should go back.. always have a backup, kids.) and I'm going to culinary arts school. There are alot of things I have a passion for (cooking, acting, music, good hair), and I'm not catering to any of those needs (yes, I see the potential for a foods-related pun there.) where I am. So, I'm taking charge of what I want and I'm going for it.
This sudden change in my course of life probably means I'm gonna have to move out sooner than I thought, so I'm gonna need a roommate sooner than I thought. I hate the idea of living alone. I can't even stand being alone for long periods of time. Hell, I couldn't hack the drive back to Kansas City from Oklahoma City without stopping somewhere and chatting with a stranger about the weather (toothless old guys in Joplin actually have a pretty good sense of humor.) I'm moving downtown off of 11th and Grand, so that'll be an adventure. I can't wait for it, but the furniture part's gonna suck. Anyone that would love to get rid of some couches and things, totally lemme know. Meanwhile.. garage sales, folks. I frickin' love garage sales. Ever since I was a little kid, I mean, I grew up in thrift stores and on garage sale driveways. It's so easy, really. The only thing I'll buy new is a mattress. Ain't want nobody's dead babies on my sheets (things that make you go.. ecghh.) SO. I have alot to consider, and alot to take in. Thoughts?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
City Dreamer
This whole week has been pretty exciting, actually. Monday and Tuesday were essentially sarcastic angsty teenager days that I was so used to back in the day, but for some reason, I felt a spark that told me that this has to turn around somehow. I kinda just let every little detail do it's own thing and let someone else drive for a while. No worries, I always wear a seatbelt. Wednesday was a short day in school, which I'm entirely grateful for, and the previous day (Tuesday), I met a friend of mine and his brother with their redhead midget friend downtown at my favorite little hipster hideout. Straight people (straight guys, really) always make me feel weird, like I have to cross a language barrier of specific grunts, groans, and ball-scratching and conserve any glow-mosexual vibes I might be radiating. When did having a different sexual identity become so complicated? Anywho.
After an odd whirlwind tour of downtown (because these kids have been caged in suburbia for ages on end, so wow! It's a city! Nothing's shrink-wrapped in vinyl and marketed for a pseudo-nuclear family with 2.5 kids and a warped plastic picket fence!), I spent a good chunk of time loitering back at the snack bar with darling Ruby. I adore the girl, really. She's spunky and quirky, something you can't find outside of a scripted independent film much. Of course, it was after hours and I felt the strange need to help with whatever chores needed to be done when closing up shop. I dunno, I just feel like a moochy slacker if I don't somehow pitch in. Day change, it's Wednesday. Another short day, which is considerably better than other days. Again, I meet with Jeremy and we're running around downtown. It's a pattern, really, spending my time in downtown driving the streets finding little adventures in which to get ourselves wrapped up.. which is precisely what happened that night.
Westport Coffeehouse. Not a place I usually hang around, but eh. It was a change of scene. There's a theater attached to the downstairs section of this little joint, and inside, a big commotion was taking place. Upon wandering down the creaky wooden stairs, I found a large crowd of strangers assimilating into groups. After questioning a strange but attractive man, we discovered that the local IFC (Independent Filmmakers Association) was holding a blind casting call for five different indie films being shot around the area. I think "Hey, it'll be a great project for my acting class if I kick it and watch how this all goes down.", and so I do. I was asked if I intended to sign up, I said "Sure, why the hell not." Jeremy was apprehensive and somewhat off put by the idea, and I asked him if there was any better idea he had. HA! Of course you don't. Let's check this out.
I'm taking mental notes as these promising young actors, actresses, and tech kids are pulled into different projects. I did not expect (but I secretly hoped) to be cast into anything, as there were some people from pretty prestigious places gunning for roles for which they had worked quite arduously. When a director and producer chose Jeremy and I, I was astounded and in somewhat of a disbelief. We were cheered on for just popping in off the street and jumping into this, and I thought it was amazingly coincidental. Perhaps it is about being at the right place at the right time. So I was called up to oversee sound and grip while doing artistic direction and production assistance. I saw this as the start to something big, something I needed to show me that I can in fact pursue something I've let smolder in the back of my mind since grade school. This truly is something big to me, something I do, in fact dream about. Shut up.
I remember a little snippet of something each time someone talks down on my aspirations: "The ones that scoff at your dreams are the ones that have already given up on theirs."
Pre-production starts soon, as today, they're scouting locations. Shooting is to begin within the week, and I really am excited. Thursday was a pretty awesome day as well, just full of friends and coffee like usual. And good shopping! Ah, outfits. My gay vice realized. Tonight is First Fridays, an art street fair in downtown, something I attend each month religiously. You never know what could happen there, because something is always happening beneath the towers of the city. It's up to you to find out what.
After an odd whirlwind tour of downtown (because these kids have been caged in suburbia for ages on end, so wow! It's a city! Nothing's shrink-wrapped in vinyl and marketed for a pseudo-nuclear family with 2.5 kids and a warped plastic picket fence!), I spent a good chunk of time loitering back at the snack bar with darling Ruby. I adore the girl, really. She's spunky and quirky, something you can't find outside of a scripted independent film much. Of course, it was after hours and I felt the strange need to help with whatever chores needed to be done when closing up shop. I dunno, I just feel like a moochy slacker if I don't somehow pitch in. Day change, it's Wednesday. Another short day, which is considerably better than other days. Again, I meet with Jeremy and we're running around downtown. It's a pattern, really, spending my time in downtown driving the streets finding little adventures in which to get ourselves wrapped up.. which is precisely what happened that night.
Westport Coffeehouse. Not a place I usually hang around, but eh. It was a change of scene. There's a theater attached to the downstairs section of this little joint, and inside, a big commotion was taking place. Upon wandering down the creaky wooden stairs, I found a large crowd of strangers assimilating into groups. After questioning a strange but attractive man, we discovered that the local IFC (Independent Filmmakers Association) was holding a blind casting call for five different indie films being shot around the area. I think "Hey, it'll be a great project for my acting class if I kick it and watch how this all goes down.", and so I do. I was asked if I intended to sign up, I said "Sure, why the hell not." Jeremy was apprehensive and somewhat off put by the idea, and I asked him if there was any better idea he had. HA! Of course you don't. Let's check this out.
I'm taking mental notes as these promising young actors, actresses, and tech kids are pulled into different projects. I did not expect (but I secretly hoped) to be cast into anything, as there were some people from pretty prestigious places gunning for roles for which they had worked quite arduously. When a director and producer chose Jeremy and I, I was astounded and in somewhat of a disbelief. We were cheered on for just popping in off the street and jumping into this, and I thought it was amazingly coincidental. Perhaps it is about being at the right place at the right time. So I was called up to oversee sound and grip while doing artistic direction and production assistance. I saw this as the start to something big, something I needed to show me that I can in fact pursue something I've let smolder in the back of my mind since grade school. This truly is something big to me, something I do, in fact dream about. Shut up.
I remember a little snippet of something each time someone talks down on my aspirations: "The ones that scoff at your dreams are the ones that have already given up on theirs."
Pre-production starts soon, as today, they're scouting locations. Shooting is to begin within the week, and I really am excited. Thursday was a pretty awesome day as well, just full of friends and coffee like usual. And good shopping! Ah, outfits. My gay vice realized. Tonight is First Fridays, an art street fair in downtown, something I attend each month religiously. You never know what could happen there, because something is always happening beneath the towers of the city. It's up to you to find out what.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
White Winter Hymnal
I suppose it's not exactly something about which I should be surprised. Fridays tend to be strange days for me, and yesterday was no exception.
Like usual, I was running late for class. No big deal, except I had to deliver a speech over an article I found in some sort of periodical. Hmm. What half-assed, bullshit college scheme could I concoct to remedy this situation? There wasn't much to do other than grab the day's copy of Kansas City's Ink and thumb around for a relevant subject. I decided to speak over the cover story, which was about local couples' choices of marriage locations, and how they were moving from the chapel to some strange places. Strange, but cool nonetheless. Class was short, but I was okay with that. I had things to do that day.
It was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that stung your face and made your nose run if you were the unfortunate soul that had to trek back to your car facing the wind. I had some time to kill, so I headed downtown like I always do when I'm just out driving. I love the view from 169 South, the city looks so inviting. I noticed a car behind me, and it looked oddly familiar. I thought it was my old boss from a recent job, but I wasn't too sure. I knew she went to school by downtown, so it would make sense with her being there, but I didn't give it much more thought. Having been sick, I haven't smoked much, but with me feeling better, I can't not do so. Driving into the garment district, I lit up as I passed loft after loft, chic office buildings and classic SoHo inspired restaurants and clubs. I made my way past the convention center with it's Hiltons and Marriots on my way into the Crossroads district, where I knew many a comfy hideout amongst the city's bohemian artists and humble hippies. After a coffee fix and a short read, I started South for a scheduled lunch with a guy that either could or could not have been an interest. Either way, I was looking forward to it. Minutes before I left, it began to snow.
Why did it have to snow. Really? After the five blizzards we've endured since December, you think the allotted snowfall would've previously been depleted. But this is the Midwest. Anything goes as far as the weather's concerned. I made my way out of the city and onto the freeway into the Kingdom of Suburbia otherwise known as Johnson County. I can't stand the place, with it's unoriginal strip malls and cookie-cutter vinyl-clad subdivisions with meant-to-be inspirational polished bronze names tacked onto brick walls at the appropriately-placed entrances. No, this is not Rolling Meadows. This is Crumbling Sheetrock, and you're not fooling anyone. Anyhow, I digress. Now, I had heard oh-so-much from the aforementioned guy about this place to which I was headed, about how comfortable it was and how delightful the food is, so I had high expectations as I drove through the drifting powder further South passing ever-increasing numbered streets and one annexed shopping center after another, making excellent time.
Five to noon, early but acceptable. Yes, I was late to school. Whatever, my own accord. But dammit, if there's one thing I can't stand about appointments, it's being late to them. I call to check up, no answer. I wait, call to check up again, no answer. Before I get flustered, I text. I wait. I wait more. I smoke. No response. I let it go and I start driving. Despite their efforts, people do arrive late, and I make room for such exceptions. I tour the three-story apartments behind the conveniently-placed strip mall that this "cafè" was stacked into. I arrive nearly ten after twelve once more, and I try to call one final time, and still, no answer. Before I go berserk, I try to dispel any possibility. Left his phone in the car? Sure. I go inside and have a look around. No show. I'm not gonna be some pathetic loser who waits and longs for someone who doesn't give a rat's ass about showing, so eh. Fuck it.
Call to Jeremy Todd:
Me: "Hey. I got stood up. Wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Him: "Huh?"
Me: "I'm not repeating it. I'm coming over."
Him: "Okay. What are we doing again?"
Me: "Food."
Him: "Broke."
Me: "McDonalds. Be a cheap date and order from the dollar menu."
Him: "Cool. I'm feelin' Taco Bell instead."
Me: "Whatever. I'll be there in five. Be ready."
Him: "Cool."
What did I think? It was shit, Jeremy. It was a dick thing to do and I was unimpressed and slightly offended. I hate spending more time in suburban exodus than I absolutely have to. Taco Bell's still cheap. Some things outlast this economy, I suppose. I'm thankful that shitty fauxican food is doing just that. When I'm with him, I question things in myself. Maybe he keeps my morals and self-preservationist ideas in check. Maybe I'm a sounding board for him. He's one of my persons. You know, a person. That person. He's one of them. And I'm thankful. We leave to go on what he calls a mall crawl, a walk around the mall with no retail-related intentions whatsoever. In my retail rat days, we called them malkers. Mall walkers smashed together. Usually, they were old people with no surviving relatives, no prevailing hobbies, and no shame for whatever they were wearing. In our case, we were former idealists and current pessimists with no goal in mind but to kill time and talk shit. Essentially, college students.
After dropping him off, I head back North, admiring the downtown view from the freeway loop like I usually do. This time, I'm bound to pick up Kaci and Chelsie. I'm not in the greatest mood. In fact, when stupid shit happens, I just revert to the sour-faced sarcastic bitter 90's kid I was raised to be. Fast food, trivial insults, and back downtown for a movie that we ended up not seeing, the night was setting in fast. Back North to a larger theater where spoiled Northland kids decked in Hollister whorefits from head to toe ran amuck while their burnt out career-obsessed hardly-involved possible alcoholic parents lazed about their California split-level homes worrying about shit they don't need. Sherlock Holmes is an awesome movie.
The snow kept falling, like God was itching his ever-aging head a' hair and the flakes of dandruff were piling all around us. Let's go get Kaci's boyfraan, but first, let's drop off Chelsie to an empty high school parking lot in the snow. Kaci turns into a righteous bitch when she's tired, and it just pisses me off. But I've learned to live with it. Drummond, Sparkman, let's go. We've got shit to do. Not really. But it's fun to pretend. We drop off Kaci so she can pass out accordingly, and it's off to downtown once more. Three times in one day, not anything out of the usual. We spent about four hours there, meeting random strangers and becoming friends. I played piano and sang to get the day's frustrations out, and driving home, I felt alot better. Basically, shit happens. Whatever. People are gonna screw you over, but don't let it get you down or whatever the writers from Chicken Soup for the Emo Sadomasochistic's Soul write. Your friends will be there. Don't let things cloud your vision. And in the face of near total misanthropy, anything can be solved with a soy vanilla latte.
Like usual, I was running late for class. No big deal, except I had to deliver a speech over an article I found in some sort of periodical. Hmm. What half-assed, bullshit college scheme could I concoct to remedy this situation? There wasn't much to do other than grab the day's copy of Kansas City's Ink and thumb around for a relevant subject. I decided to speak over the cover story, which was about local couples' choices of marriage locations, and how they were moving from the chapel to some strange places. Strange, but cool nonetheless. Class was short, but I was okay with that. I had things to do that day.
It was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that stung your face and made your nose run if you were the unfortunate soul that had to trek back to your car facing the wind. I had some time to kill, so I headed downtown like I always do when I'm just out driving. I love the view from 169 South, the city looks so inviting. I noticed a car behind me, and it looked oddly familiar. I thought it was my old boss from a recent job, but I wasn't too sure. I knew she went to school by downtown, so it would make sense with her being there, but I didn't give it much more thought. Having been sick, I haven't smoked much, but with me feeling better, I can't not do so. Driving into the garment district, I lit up as I passed loft after loft, chic office buildings and classic SoHo inspired restaurants and clubs. I made my way past the convention center with it's Hiltons and Marriots on my way into the Crossroads district, where I knew many a comfy hideout amongst the city's bohemian artists and humble hippies. After a coffee fix and a short read, I started South for a scheduled lunch with a guy that either could or could not have been an interest. Either way, I was looking forward to it. Minutes before I left, it began to snow.
Why did it have to snow. Really? After the five blizzards we've endured since December, you think the allotted snowfall would've previously been depleted. But this is the Midwest. Anything goes as far as the weather's concerned. I made my way out of the city and onto the freeway into the Kingdom of Suburbia otherwise known as Johnson County. I can't stand the place, with it's unoriginal strip malls and cookie-cutter vinyl-clad subdivisions with meant-to-be inspirational polished bronze names tacked onto brick walls at the appropriately-placed entrances. No, this is not Rolling Meadows. This is Crumbling Sheetrock, and you're not fooling anyone. Anyhow, I digress. Now, I had heard oh-so-much from the aforementioned guy about this place to which I was headed, about how comfortable it was and how delightful the food is, so I had high expectations as I drove through the drifting powder further South passing ever-increasing numbered streets and one annexed shopping center after another, making excellent time.
Five to noon, early but acceptable. Yes, I was late to school. Whatever, my own accord. But dammit, if there's one thing I can't stand about appointments, it's being late to them. I call to check up, no answer. I wait, call to check up again, no answer. Before I get flustered, I text. I wait. I wait more. I smoke. No response. I let it go and I start driving. Despite their efforts, people do arrive late, and I make room for such exceptions. I tour the three-story apartments behind the conveniently-placed strip mall that this "cafè" was stacked into. I arrive nearly ten after twelve once more, and I try to call one final time, and still, no answer. Before I go berserk, I try to dispel any possibility. Left his phone in the car? Sure. I go inside and have a look around. No show. I'm not gonna be some pathetic loser who waits and longs for someone who doesn't give a rat's ass about showing, so eh. Fuck it.
Call to Jeremy Todd:
Me: "Hey. I got stood up. Wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Him: "Huh?"
Me: "I'm not repeating it. I'm coming over."
Him: "Okay. What are we doing again?"
Me: "Food."
Him: "Broke."
Me: "McDonalds. Be a cheap date and order from the dollar menu."
Him: "Cool. I'm feelin' Taco Bell instead."
Me: "Whatever. I'll be there in five. Be ready."
Him: "Cool."
What did I think? It was shit, Jeremy. It was a dick thing to do and I was unimpressed and slightly offended. I hate spending more time in suburban exodus than I absolutely have to. Taco Bell's still cheap. Some things outlast this economy, I suppose. I'm thankful that shitty fauxican food is doing just that. When I'm with him, I question things in myself. Maybe he keeps my morals and self-preservationist ideas in check. Maybe I'm a sounding board for him. He's one of my persons. You know, a person. That person. He's one of them. And I'm thankful. We leave to go on what he calls a mall crawl, a walk around the mall with no retail-related intentions whatsoever. In my retail rat days, we called them malkers. Mall walkers smashed together. Usually, they were old people with no surviving relatives, no prevailing hobbies, and no shame for whatever they were wearing. In our case, we were former idealists and current pessimists with no goal in mind but to kill time and talk shit. Essentially, college students.
After dropping him off, I head back North, admiring the downtown view from the freeway loop like I usually do. This time, I'm bound to pick up Kaci and Chelsie. I'm not in the greatest mood. In fact, when stupid shit happens, I just revert to the sour-faced sarcastic bitter 90's kid I was raised to be. Fast food, trivial insults, and back downtown for a movie that we ended up not seeing, the night was setting in fast. Back North to a larger theater where spoiled Northland kids decked in Hollister whorefits from head to toe ran amuck while their burnt out career-obsessed hardly-involved possible alcoholic parents lazed about their California split-level homes worrying about shit they don't need. Sherlock Holmes is an awesome movie.
The snow kept falling, like God was itching his ever-aging head a' hair and the flakes of dandruff were piling all around us. Let's go get Kaci's boyfraan, but first, let's drop off Chelsie to an empty high school parking lot in the snow. Kaci turns into a righteous bitch when she's tired, and it just pisses me off. But I've learned to live with it. Drummond, Sparkman, let's go. We've got shit to do. Not really. But it's fun to pretend. We drop off Kaci so she can pass out accordingly, and it's off to downtown once more. Three times in one day, not anything out of the usual. We spent about four hours there, meeting random strangers and becoming friends. I played piano and sang to get the day's frustrations out, and driving home, I felt alot better. Basically, shit happens. Whatever. People are gonna screw you over, but don't let it get you down or whatever the writers from Chicken Soup for the Emo Sadomasochistic's Soul write. Your friends will be there. Don't let things cloud your vision. And in the face of near total misanthropy, anything can be solved with a soy vanilla latte.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Sick.
This is the third time I've been sick this winter. Either the environment in which I perpetuate myself within isn't entirely healthy, or I'm just cursed. I'm going to go with cursed. It sounds more interesting and melodramatic. I had a face-raping case of the flu back in the fall, a head cold before Christmas, and now another head cold a month later. Shit. I can't walk without my head feeling as if an angry eighties freeze-frame dancer is about to bust out of my skull, leg warmers and all. As cool as the image sounds, the feeling would be quite unpleasant. I hate winter and the illness it brings, to both my sinuses and the environment around me. The trees seem sick, and so does pretty much everything else. I miss summer's rainstorms and warm, breezy nights. I miss short sleeves. But not being embarrassed to wear them. Anywho, I suppose I should guzzle down some more Theraflu, or make myself some herbal tea. Or fall apart into a snotty ball of self-pity on the germ-infested couch I so humbly call home. Either way, I'll end up gaining weight from it somehow.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Floorplan
I proceeded to purchase textbooks for college today. A friend of mine says that I'll die in class due to the destructive overload of influential knowledge I'll be bombarded with. I'm looking forward to it. I've heard I don't know what I'm in for. Good. I like surprises. A week of innocence left, I suppose. Like an ominous dark presence says to a pre-pubescent girl, "Oh yes. There will be blood."
I'm gonna be like 84% of the American population and bitch about me being a lazy slob of a fat person, yet not do a damn thing to change it. Sounds like a plan. I'm determined to eat a meal a day (far from any thriving cost, mind you.) and walk often. I mean, I'll be traipsing about campus all damn day, so some things are bound to give. I'm thinking it'll be one of my vertebrae.
I've become a preacher.. kinda. More or less a minister of happiness. Which is mostly ironic due to my convenient lack of said specialty. Friends of mine suffering from the single life discuss with me the perils they face and fears they're burdened with. I empathize and generate the necessary compassion, but that creepy voice that visits the back of everyone's mind whispers, 'They don't know just how good they have it.'.
Straight to the point, I hate me sometimes. Much more than the government requires me to. Proceed to me receiving an outstanding citizen award. Thank you all, this means so much to me.
I'm gonna go ahead and hit the futon. I've got crap to engrave in the morning.. in about seven hours. Oh corporate world, where are you now?
I'm gonna be like 84% of the American population and bitch about me being a lazy slob of a fat person, yet not do a damn thing to change it. Sounds like a plan. I'm determined to eat a meal a day (far from any thriving cost, mind you.) and walk often. I mean, I'll be traipsing about campus all damn day, so some things are bound to give. I'm thinking it'll be one of my vertebrae.
I've become a preacher.. kinda. More or less a minister of happiness. Which is mostly ironic due to my convenient lack of said specialty. Friends of mine suffering from the single life discuss with me the perils they face and fears they're burdened with. I empathize and generate the necessary compassion, but that creepy voice that visits the back of everyone's mind whispers, 'They don't know just how good they have it.'.
Straight to the point, I hate me sometimes. Much more than the government requires me to. Proceed to me receiving an outstanding citizen award. Thank you all, this means so much to me.
I'm gonna go ahead and hit the futon. I've got crap to engrave in the morning.. in about seven hours. Oh corporate world, where are you now?
Saturday, August 8, 2009
I Offer No Sympathy For This
The mistakes someone makes tells you alot about that person. I'm talking about deep personal flaws, not about ordering garlic nachos on date night. That's just nasty. When they keep searching for the wrong people and repeating the same monotonous cycle of meaningless self-hatred and the lovely ability to opt out of personal happiness, well.. I'm just saying it gets really old after a while. Especially when you're the fool that keeps begging them to make the choice (your selfish choice) to see the person in front of you as something better than a buoy to cling to. It's not one-sided at all, really. It's the flaws of both that make this situation disastrous for your emotional health. One is impulsive and ignorant while the other is a doormat waiting to be looked down upon.
The thing is, what if that's all the doormat knows. The tattered rug knows no other purpose than to be tread upon without appreciation and second thought. If the shred of carpet is found to be gone one day, it is easily replaced and the old one forgotten. So, rather than be completely obsolete, the good ole' welcome mat will take whatever it needs to feel needed. Tell you what, there's gotta be a sense of humor involved. When you feel your face beneath someone's feet, you just have to laugh.
Two fools, running parallel to each other. One looks onward past the road and hopes for the best. The other hopes the first will remember to keep him by his side.
The thing is, what if that's all the doormat knows. The tattered rug knows no other purpose than to be tread upon without appreciation and second thought. If the shred of carpet is found to be gone one day, it is easily replaced and the old one forgotten. So, rather than be completely obsolete, the good ole' welcome mat will take whatever it needs to feel needed. Tell you what, there's gotta be a sense of humor involved. When you feel your face beneath someone's feet, you just have to laugh.
Two fools, running parallel to each other. One looks onward past the road and hopes for the best. The other hopes the first will remember to keep him by his side.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Ressurection of Communication n' Such
The fact that I haven't posted in so long is a testament to my forgetful mindset. I guess it's easier said than done, keeping up with things like these. Remembering, that is. Take your vitamins, wash your face, update your blog, up-sell at work so corporate will acknowledge your existence. All these lovely details hold, of course, complete priority over breathing. And that's okay.
I start college in a couple weeks. Paint me excited. Like most post-nineties, lost somewhere between indie and hippie classification, hyper misfits, I'm pretty kinda stoked. Far from any one thriving emotion, mind you. It wouldn't be totally awesome with a twist of philosophy or mystery or whatever the hell these kids today consider hip if I was purely excited. However, if I was dreading it, why go in the first place. Find a balance, people. Be merrily bleak so everyone else feels better about (insert life's shit here). I am a people pleaser, after all.
Shopping for school crap sucks. Yes, these are things I am just finding out. Yes, I am aware that you've probably been there, but I implore you, let me bitch anyway. At least they have book buyback at the end of the year. Remind me not to let some angry freshman rat borrow my books for anything. I refuse. The academic side doesn't really bother me that much, it's the look-good-for-something-better-than-high-school-because-you-haven't-been-in-any-sorta-school-in-nearly-two-years kinda thing. Tell me I'm pretty shut up I don't wanna know. See? Alot goin' on here. Shopping's fun, but my quirky refusal to try on the clothes I deem worthy of purchase only to find they don't fit right or something kinda sucks. I realize the stupidity in this course of action and I choose not to do anything about it.
And, like the angst-ridden Jake you evidently see in early posts, I also have jack-shit going on in the relationship world. I hope college opens up new doors. I'm sick of turning locked knobs.
I finally put my room back together after more than a year of cluttered vacancy and couch potato living. I did the best I could making it my own kinda thing, but it'll do for now. A few more wall hangings wouldn't hurt. Some say it makes the place seem alot smaller, plastering the drywall with paintings and such. I agree, but positively; it gives me beautiful boundaries in which the little world I tuck myself away becomes a slightly more colorful one. I often daydream about my future living situations, past the dorms and college parties of the school I go to after this. The idea of a loft high into the lights of downtown brings a smile to my face. I will have wooden floors, a white ceiling, and earth tones. Hues of olive green, midnight blue, and raw sienna. Nothing vibrant and loud, but on the contrary; deep with echoes, so that when you peer into the room, it glances back deeply.
I can't wait to paint shit up sometimes. And I want an overhead shower, with water falling straight down. Let me feel as if I'm bathing in rain. I belong in a converted warehouse deep in the garment district.
To be continued, I'm sure. For now, I've gotta hit the futon. Lake of the Ozarks vacation in the morning. Three hour drive into the heart of the hillbilly nation. I know, I'm excited too.
I start college in a couple weeks. Paint me excited. Like most post-nineties, lost somewhere between indie and hippie classification, hyper misfits, I'm pretty kinda stoked. Far from any one thriving emotion, mind you. It wouldn't be totally awesome with a twist of philosophy or mystery or whatever the hell these kids today consider hip if I was purely excited. However, if I was dreading it, why go in the first place. Find a balance, people. Be merrily bleak so everyone else feels better about (insert life's shit here). I am a people pleaser, after all.
Shopping for school crap sucks. Yes, these are things I am just finding out. Yes, I am aware that you've probably been there, but I implore you, let me bitch anyway. At least they have book buyback at the end of the year. Remind me not to let some angry freshman rat borrow my books for anything. I refuse. The academic side doesn't really bother me that much, it's the look-good-for-something-better-than-high-school-because-you-haven't-been-in-any-sorta-school-in-nearly-two-years kinda thing. Tell me I'm pretty shut up I don't wanna know. See? Alot goin' on here. Shopping's fun, but my quirky refusal to try on the clothes I deem worthy of purchase only to find they don't fit right or something kinda sucks. I realize the stupidity in this course of action and I choose not to do anything about it.
And, like the angst-ridden Jake you evidently see in early posts, I also have jack-shit going on in the relationship world. I hope college opens up new doors. I'm sick of turning locked knobs.
I finally put my room back together after more than a year of cluttered vacancy and couch potato living. I did the best I could making it my own kinda thing, but it'll do for now. A few more wall hangings wouldn't hurt. Some say it makes the place seem alot smaller, plastering the drywall with paintings and such. I agree, but positively; it gives me beautiful boundaries in which the little world I tuck myself away becomes a slightly more colorful one. I often daydream about my future living situations, past the dorms and college parties of the school I go to after this. The idea of a loft high into the lights of downtown brings a smile to my face. I will have wooden floors, a white ceiling, and earth tones. Hues of olive green, midnight blue, and raw sienna. Nothing vibrant and loud, but on the contrary; deep with echoes, so that when you peer into the room, it glances back deeply.
I can't wait to paint shit up sometimes. And I want an overhead shower, with water falling straight down. Let me feel as if I'm bathing in rain. I belong in a converted warehouse deep in the garment district.
To be continued, I'm sure. For now, I've gotta hit the futon. Lake of the Ozarks vacation in the morning. Three hour drive into the heart of the hillbilly nation. I know, I'm excited too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
