more smiles

my day started with a "high five!" as i had just avoided a cop pulling me over on a road that is 25 that i usually do 40. i don't know why i got so excited, but i just was. it's amazing how one little thing can get someone excited. it's like when i'm at work, going through the monotony of my day and there comes this old lady. she's quiet and polite, but when she gets the exact change or receives a coupon, this smile illuminates her face, and i can't help but smile to see how such a little thing, 50 cents in change can bring a smile to someone, who can no longer do the crazy things that some teenagers insist is the only way they can be happy.
then of course there's the little two year old who gets so happy by pushing the green button to allow their parents credit cards to process through the EFT machine. or the baby who gets to hold a little carton of gold fish, and that's what keeps them happy.
and then I look around myself, and it's so hard to find the happiness in the little things, or how I take for granted my life, and get upset over everything. maybe i should reverse my own standard, my own stupidity. get excited of the regular ordinary things/everything and get upset over practically nothing.
maybe if everyone did that there'd be more smiles in this world, and less bitter hatred towards teachers or things we can't control.


the example of a pleasant existence, a humble existence with nothing to prove, with no agenda but to exist with a smile throughout the week.-Zach Gehring

when writing meets the devil

So I'm in writer's workshop class and there's this teacher. She needs to know everything. I'm at this laptop, trying to write something, and BAM there she is hovering over my shoulder. We're supposed to have three things done by next Friday and it's a litle hard when she's hovering over my damn shoulder asking "who is the boy you're referring to there?" "what's that site you're on?" "how is your family doing after your cousin died?"
She believes in expressing yourself, and be inspired by everything. I get inspired by music, yet I can't listen to music in this class. She jots notes down and wants to know what we're doing and, I suppose, that's her job. Keep us all in line, know what we're doing. But isn't this class supposed to be expressing our thoughts in writing? I don't think my thoughts are the same ones as a 15 year old jack ass who is obsessed with politics and buffalo chicken wraps made by 80 year old cafeteria ladies.
That's what she wants.
And she likes talkingabout our feelings on depressing topics.
Take the VA Tech shooting:
She wanted to make us watch the gunman's confession on the computer. Maybe she doesn't realize that not all of us want to watch the depression with random people I barely know, and quite frankly don't want to share my opinions with 2 jocks, 1 hippy, 1 dumbass blonde, 3 freshman, 1 girl who wants to be popular, and 1 girl I can actually stand. A group that cares less about the fact 33 people died. Or the fact that the world does not revolve around lunch food, NCAA, or Geo-Physics.
Cool.

I'm not even in a bad mood. The class I used to stand is what is making my day just get a lot of angered fulled.
Oh and now she spies on our facebooks and shit. SWEET.

( )

Take my hand and let us travel away
Away from the spinning images that haunt
Haunt our dreams and sleepless nights
Nights I would rather be in your arms
Arms so strong they suffocate my my lungs
Lungs burning with desire and passion
Passion to be someone else and achieve more
More out there than this ordinary life
Life becomes harder than I thought
Thoughts of futures and pasts
Pasts become my present dreams
Dreams of you and me together
Together where we're safe
Safe from those that I could never trust
Trust in you to take
Take me away from this life...into the next

love & happiness & god

it is better to have loved and lossed than never have loved at all.

an age old saying that i can't bring myself to agree with at this certain time. i used to believe it. i used to believe in everything: the power of laughter, god, friendship, and of course...love. i suppose it's the cynic in me that drove everything i have ever cared about down into this sinking hole. this world where nothing is real and nothing lasts. the optimist in me used to believe in doing anything that meant having fun. suddenly, as i look at the shootings at VA tech and death all around me...i see fun isn't the only thing. appreciating, and understanding play a big fact in all of that. the cynic in me is having a hard time with the fun part when all i can see is bitter unhappiness in everyone i am around.
i used to love god. saying that feels odd now. do i love Him? or do i even believe in Him? or does just believing someones out there = understanding. or me even questioning His existence does that = hate. or does that mean i'm just lost...trying to find myself back to the naive 10 year old me who believed in everything, laughed for hours, and had fun...because fun was all that matters.
the days where depression was cool came and swept that 10 year old away. then, she came back, and life was good.
but...as i said before, nothing really lasts does it?

so now here i am wondering whether god exists, whether love exists, whether fun can bring happiness or understanding does it. and it's kinda weird because i'm entering college in a matter of months, i'm supposed to be well educated, opionated and smart and all of that jazz...and myself at 10 years old in 5th grade was so much more smarter and wiser than me.


sucks.

Unclear

I'm not too sure what was going on with that one. Well I do know, and in all honesty, I'm not sure why I did what I did, and do what I do. No matter how much I make fun of those kids, and say I don't understand who would want to be like them, it's me.
It hit me like a brick when I realized how uncomfortable I am with myself. I don't like it when people make assumptions about me. I don't like it when they say things that they know nothing about. I get offended easily, and I want to stand up for myself, but I just don't have any guts. I should be open and accepting of their thoughts, beliefs, and opions. I should be open to criticism, but I can't. I take every little thing as an insult. It's not good. I should love how God made me, but I'm not sure I am. My personality jumps up and down like a yo-yo. And the sad thing is I'm really happy. I have the best friend in the world. I'm fortunate to have a family who is still here and alive. And I'm alive. I'm not sick. I'm not at risk of being bombed or murdered. My country is at war, but what am I doing? Nothing. I'm sitting here in the comfort of my home for the holidays.

So what's my problem?

That's a good question.

I think it's come down to the fact that I just think too much about everything. Nothing is simple. And it's my own fault.

I'm just hoping and waiting for it all to pass, and maybe I can go back to seeing how lucky I am and quit my whining once and for all.

Here We Go Again

I'm starting one of these things, because I miss writing. And I created this, and this is the first thing that came out. I'm just an emo cool kid like that, what can I say?



Here we go again, back to where it all began. Back to two years ago. Back to the same room I stood in with the same tears. Here we go again, with everything I said I’d never go back to. I promised myself. I repeated a mantra over and over again with “It’s stupid, it doesn’t help, don’t do it.” But here I am. Back for my own redemption. Back to prove I’m not alright. Back, because I just can’t get by. Here we go again, but with some new phrases in my head, “Fuck up, loser, liar, and failure.” Nothing could get it out. Not a friend pleading me not to do it. Not a gravestone with a reminder of what will become of me. Not all the progress that I cleared away with all the junk I shoved off the table as it revealed the broken glass underneath.
Here we go again, and I’m wondering if I should. I knee myself down to face the broken glass. To face my past. To face a tomorrow, which will hold nothing but regret. To face a disappointed friend. To face the scorn of a parent. To face expectations. To face hope. To face questions. To face myself. The tears trickled down my face, more and more. “This isn’t me, I’m not like this, I’m better then this. I can get over this, I can get by.” I heard the yelling, the backstabbing, the lies, all in my head from the whole day. I couldn’t tell anyone about it because they just wouldn’t understand anymore. They wouldn’t know because they see me as someone else. I’m trapped in a lie, trapped in a body that isn’t mine, trapped in expectations that aren’t meant for me.
Here we go again, and I’m grasping the table in front of me, hysterically crying. I want to run away. “This isn’t the answer.” I know that, but I need it. I need to know, and have a reminder that this is who I am. I need to feel something I deserve for once. I need to see that I deserve this pain. I need to not breathe for a few moments in time. I need to yell. I need to know that I’m not who I’ve said, and this is who I am. This mess. This worthless, useless, mess, on her knees, in a room that’s not hers, crying. This is me. This is what I am, and nothing else.
Here we go again, and I know I’m not who they say. Not someone who is brave. Not someone who is funny. Not someone who can handle pressure easily. Not someone who is intelligent. Not someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s all a fake. It’s all a lie. It’s what I have become. A faker. A liar.
And here we go again, and I’m about to take my wrist against the broken glass. “I just can’t get by, I just can’t get by.”
And here we go again, and I know this isn’t worth it.
And here we go again, and I just want to drift away.
And here we go again, and I don’t want to.
And here we go again, and I need to.
And here we go again, and I can’t breathe.
And here we go again, and I cry uncontrollably.
And here we go again, and I hate myself.
And here we go again, and I am ashamed.
And here we go again, and I became everything I hate.
And here we go again, and I am not worth this.
And here we go again, and I cannot believer what I just did.
And here we go again, and I wipe away the tears.
And here we go again, and I pull down my sleeve.
And here we go again, and I promise myself, never again.
Here we go again….