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b0red4lyfe56
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Name: ...monica...
Birthday: 7/15/1991
Gender: Female
Interests: sleeping, photography, thinking about random things, reading, acting like a cat...
Expertise: being unhappy when nothing's wrong, being happy when everything's wrong, being lazy, procrastinating, laughing my head off at the tiniest funny things, being serious when i should be silly, being silly when i should be serious, thinking too much, metaphors & analogies, cynicism, sarcasm, ambivalence, contradiction...
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  wolfgurlfire
Member Since:
1/16/2004
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| all i ever wanted was to be strong
anger tastes metallic, like blood. sadness is faintly sweet. happiness is light, like cheese popcorn.
and as cliché as it sounds, loneliness is ice cold
or maybe our air conditioning is just turned too high
i think my language has devolved as i've gotten older
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| I wish I felt like it were okay to feel this way. Irrational anger? There's always a reason. I lied when I told you I didn't know. But that doesn't mean it's a good reason. I'm scared. | | |
| 16 years
2 weeks
2 days
13 hours
26 minutes
That's how old I am. Turning thirteen holds significance because you become a teenager. Sixteen is celebrated because it's a "sweet sixteen," and because you can get your driver's license. Eighteen is when you graduate high school and leave your parents. After twenty-one, you can legally drink, you're an adult, and you can get rid of your pesky parents and be free - free to pay your own bills.
When I was little, still in maybe second or third grade, I looked up to those middle and high schoolers and thought they were so sophisticated, so smart, so in control. They seemed certain, and purposeful. College students were as up there as full grown adults - totally out of my realm, something I just couldn't imagine myself as.
So there I was, seven or eight. Everything would be so clear when I was older, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Not that I would be smarter, but that... I would know what I wanted, what I was doing. Perhaps a more defined look on life.
But here I am, 16 years, 2 weeks, 2 days, 14 hours, 2 minutes old. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know what I want. If possible, I'm even more confused than that 8-year-old girl I was eight years ago. And really, I wonder if I've changed. Is it possible, to live eight years and not change? Oh sure, my hobbies are different. I know what a derivative is, I can recite you numbers in French, and I know that if someone asks you to pick out one number that stands out from a list, it's either the prime or the square. But really, I'm still that cynical, unconfident girl who second-guesses herself, who hates confrontations, who just doesn't know what she wants.
Maybe that's what identity is - character traits? But people change. Identity changes. Character traits change. I've seen it myself - and not only through literature, or television, or other mediums that can't be trusted - but of course I have, because that's the first rule of life, isn't it? Everything changes. And even if something doesn't change, all change is relative.
"All motion is relevant, Matt. Perhaps it was you who moved away by standing still."
So really, I have changed, just minutely and insignificantly so that I can't tell or I'm lacking self-awareness and I really have changed.
But really, what was I thinking? That everything would be so clear? It seems that every year I get older, I look back and think of what a fool I was. And this will continue, and when I'm fifty I'll look back at when I'm 30 and think "oh god what a moron." How depressing.
I thought time would do the job for me. And maybe it did - just not the way I wanted it to. I was waiting for time to bring me something new, something different, something exciting.
"If we talk about nothing, nothing will change."
"It might."
"How?"
"Time. Time changes everything."
"That's what people say, it's not true! Doing things changes things; not doing things... leaves things exactly as they were."
I don't even know what the conclusion I'm trying to reach is. Life goes on if I do nothing? Maybe I'm trying to find further motivation for me to do something, to stop just letting time take its course, to stop being so damn passive. 'Cause being unsatisfied...and then waiting to become satisfied has a small probability of you becoming satisfied in the end.
What am I waiting for?
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| The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.
By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well
into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.
-Elizabeth Bishop | | |
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