And it makes me wonder.
And it makes me sad.
And it makes me nervous.
And it makes me mad.
-The Decendants
And it makes me sad.
And it makes me nervous.
And it makes me mad.
-The Decendants
Monday, September 22, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Stay, please stay.
My life is going through so many changes and I find myself torn between what I used to value and what I'm beginning to value now.
I'm confused.
Sometimes I just want to run away. Meet new people every day, be a vagabond. See the world, live out of a suitcase, eat crazy food, see amazing places, learn enough of a language to get me by, then run off to the next place. Not being tied to anything or anyone. No reason to stop running, no reason to stay still.
The idea of walking through Italy, the sun shining on me, the breeze wafting on my face, the smells...the sounds. I want to walk over the bridges and peer into the water, I want to close my eyes and throw my hands in the air, spin in circles until I am dizzy and fall to the ground, then I want to lay there and feel the grass grow itchy under me, I want to get warm and uncomfortable with the heat, I want to sip cold tea and eat cookies under umbrella covered tables on a promanade, I want to wink and smile at Italian boys and skip down brick covered streets...steal a flower and give it to a child playing in the market, pose for pictures being taken by strangers, sleep in motels with white sheets that smell like starch and are stiff against my skin, I want to eat fresh fruit that I buy with my last lire and flirt my way to free meals. I want to try on Italian clothes and do dramatic poses in the mirror. I want to leave behind a legacy when I leave each shop, each park, each eatery because I just touched people there to the point that they remember me. I want to be free, to have fun. Then, once I've gone all the places I can, seen all the things to see, meet all the people to meet, I want something.
I want something that means enough to me to make me stand still. To make me permanant.
My dad has always told me that I was born in the wrong decade. He said that as a child I was what he would call "a flower child" I was a free spirit and I was so laid back that most anything just rolled off my shoulders. I floated around happily and found enjoyment in the smallest, most obscure things. I did things at my own pace and my own way.
But when I get in situations that stifle that spirit, that trap me into routine, that go against how I am inside, I get stressed. I hate stress, I don't understand it and I dont know how to handle it.
It's my style to be ever changing. I move to different places. Get-quit-and get new jobs. Shed old friends, and meet new ones. Cut off all of my hair, only to grow it right back. Give away all my clothes. Love something and then leave it. Make something and then destroy it. I am enthusiastic about something for a while, then my attention shifts and I'm onto the next thing. It's trying and stressful but it's who I am. I urge people not to care about me too strongly. I refrain from telling people how I feel because I know that in time I'll leave. I hurt people. I dont want to, but I do. I guess I'm selfish in that sense.
I know I'm leaving soon, I know I'm going somewhere. I get an idea in my head and I can't get it out until I do it. And moving is something I've been obsessed with since I moved back here a few years ago. I want to find something, anything, someone, anyone who will make me stay. Something that can grab me. Something that will last.
I'm tired of running, I'm tired of never expecting anything to last. I'm scared I will always run. I'm scared I won't find anything with which I can be content. I think I run to protect myself. People hurt you. People let you down. People disappoint you, people turn on you. When I sit still too long I'm going to form relationships with people, I'm going to get feelings for someone. I'm going to get deep into both and I'm going to panic.
God, help me.
I'm confused.
Sometimes I just want to run away. Meet new people every day, be a vagabond. See the world, live out of a suitcase, eat crazy food, see amazing places, learn enough of a language to get me by, then run off to the next place. Not being tied to anything or anyone. No reason to stop running, no reason to stay still.
The idea of walking through Italy, the sun shining on me, the breeze wafting on my face, the smells...the sounds. I want to walk over the bridges and peer into the water, I want to close my eyes and throw my hands in the air, spin in circles until I am dizzy and fall to the ground, then I want to lay there and feel the grass grow itchy under me, I want to get warm and uncomfortable with the heat, I want to sip cold tea and eat cookies under umbrella covered tables on a promanade, I want to wink and smile at Italian boys and skip down brick covered streets...steal a flower and give it to a child playing in the market, pose for pictures being taken by strangers, sleep in motels with white sheets that smell like starch and are stiff against my skin, I want to eat fresh fruit that I buy with my last lire and flirt my way to free meals. I want to try on Italian clothes and do dramatic poses in the mirror. I want to leave behind a legacy when I leave each shop, each park, each eatery because I just touched people there to the point that they remember me. I want to be free, to have fun. Then, once I've gone all the places I can, seen all the things to see, meet all the people to meet, I want something.
I want something that means enough to me to make me stand still. To make me permanant.
My dad has always told me that I was born in the wrong decade. He said that as a child I was what he would call "a flower child" I was a free spirit and I was so laid back that most anything just rolled off my shoulders. I floated around happily and found enjoyment in the smallest, most obscure things. I did things at my own pace and my own way.
But when I get in situations that stifle that spirit, that trap me into routine, that go against how I am inside, I get stressed. I hate stress, I don't understand it and I dont know how to handle it.
It's my style to be ever changing. I move to different places. Get-quit-and get new jobs. Shed old friends, and meet new ones. Cut off all of my hair, only to grow it right back. Give away all my clothes. Love something and then leave it. Make something and then destroy it. I am enthusiastic about something for a while, then my attention shifts and I'm onto the next thing. It's trying and stressful but it's who I am. I urge people not to care about me too strongly. I refrain from telling people how I feel because I know that in time I'll leave. I hurt people. I dont want to, but I do. I guess I'm selfish in that sense.
I know I'm leaving soon, I know I'm going somewhere. I get an idea in my head and I can't get it out until I do it. And moving is something I've been obsessed with since I moved back here a few years ago. I want to find something, anything, someone, anyone who will make me stay. Something that can grab me. Something that will last.
I'm tired of running, I'm tired of never expecting anything to last. I'm scared I will always run. I'm scared I won't find anything with which I can be content. I think I run to protect myself. People hurt you. People let you down. People disappoint you, people turn on you. When I sit still too long I'm going to form relationships with people, I'm going to get feelings for someone. I'm going to get deep into both and I'm going to panic.
God, help me.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
We Feel Fine.
These guys Jonathan Harris & Sepandar Kamvar have created a website that tracks blogs with the posting of the word “feel”, any post from all over the world gets routed to this site and becomes a feeling.
I warn you, you can spend hours here.
I think this is incredibly beautiful!
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