Monday, May 30, 2005
My Camp Has a First Name ...
so i'm out in gonzales now to work. have been since saturday. here are some new developments that kinda rule:
1. I quit smoking. I. Fucking. Quit.
2. I am running again.
You know what's weird about being here, and was kind of hard to admit? Camp's always been the regrouping time of year for me. It's always been the thing I do that happens to fall right when everything else in my life seems to be going to shit, or when I'm burning out.
I don't feel that way right now, and I'm not sure what to do with it other than have a really excellent time. Which is not something to complain about by the way, and I'm so not. It's just different.
Now all I hope is that the life I loved and had to leave for awhile won't fall to pieces before I get back. That fear seems natural to have when you're not used to feeling happiness consistently over an extended period of time. But I'm not actually that worried. It's just like I get to enjoy another life for a little while.
I didn't come here last year, but this place still feels like home, even though the fact that I didn't come last year means it has actually been two years since I was here last. So it's got me thinking, just a little, about the me from two years ago, since that's the me quite of few of my coworkers knew. It's kind of interesting. There really have been a lot of changes ...
I'm so rambling. But ...
Good night.
so i'm out in gonzales now to work. have been since saturday. here are some new developments that kinda rule:
1. I quit smoking. I. Fucking. Quit.
2. I am running again.
You know what's weird about being here, and was kind of hard to admit? Camp's always been the regrouping time of year for me. It's always been the thing I do that happens to fall right when everything else in my life seems to be going to shit, or when I'm burning out.
I don't feel that way right now, and I'm not sure what to do with it other than have a really excellent time. Which is not something to complain about by the way, and I'm so not. It's just different.
Now all I hope is that the life I loved and had to leave for awhile won't fall to pieces before I get back. That fear seems natural to have when you're not used to feeling happiness consistently over an extended period of time. But I'm not actually that worried. It's just like I get to enjoy another life for a little while.
I didn't come here last year, but this place still feels like home, even though the fact that I didn't come last year means it has actually been two years since I was here last. So it's got me thinking, just a little, about the me from two years ago, since that's the me quite of few of my coworkers knew. It's kind of interesting. There really have been a lot of changes ...
I'm so rambling. But ...
Good night.
Monday, May 23, 2005
If happiness is a warm gun ...
Then my backyard's a shooting range.
And I'm happier than I've been in a long, long time. I live in my favorite part of town. I got a 4.0. I'm not broke, nor broken. I've met this really wonderful guy, whom I oddly enough, already knew. I'm about to leave for the summer to work as a camp counselor for the fifth time. I'm quitting smoking, and can't wait to start running again. I just can't see how I could fit any more awesomeness into this glass.
And I'm not going to feel guilty. I'm not. Because I put in my time. I've often said 2004 was the best and worst year of my life. I cried when the clock struck 12:00 on New Year's for the sudden dramatic relief of it being over. I never understood the holiday before.
The weird thing is, the more I think about that time, the more I think about how lucky I was. It could have been worse, but I don't know much about what's worse than being so lonely, even when you're surrounded by friends who love you. And wondering where you're going to sleep at night. All your things piled up in your car. Or being so tired or hungry, or wanting a shower, but not having a key to a home or a bed, and being on everyone else's schedule and needing time to yourself so badly.
I was so sad for so long, and it seemed like happiness was all around me. But for some reason, I wasn't bitter. Because I just knew everything would pass. And love is so wonderful: just picking up on it in people-watching glances made me happy and hopeful.
Even when I wrote about The Good Life lyrics repeating in my head. The ones about being lonely while the rest of the world was in love. And just trying to fill the hole with another drink or some random, warm body at the end of the night. Or some empty conversation.
I realize now that it works both ways. The pull of energy in the universe, I guess. Because in my darkest hours, when I couldn't get up, most of the time I did feel inspired. But what I didn't count on was the other thing. The nievity I had that in a cynical world when you finally found happiness there would be so many around to share it with.
Because every day so much of what I encounter is sorrow and bitterness. Maybe attributable to my bar room occupation, but nonetheless.
Or maybe there's some crazy karmic explanational ratio in this world: like only 1 per every 10 persons can be happy at a time to balance things out. And that may even be a generous estimate.
I don't know. And I'm so sorry because I don't like to see people hurting. And I'm also so sorry because there's nothing I can do to help them, except be their friend. And I'm so selfishly sorry, because I want nothing more than to celebrate, while so many just would rather be numb for awhile.
I'm not better. I've been there. I'm just saying it's an interesting turn of events. How our moods can affect our perceptions that much about what's going on everywhere else when we go to sleep at night.
Then my backyard's a shooting range.
And I'm happier than I've been in a long, long time. I live in my favorite part of town. I got a 4.0. I'm not broke, nor broken. I've met this really wonderful guy, whom I oddly enough, already knew. I'm about to leave for the summer to work as a camp counselor for the fifth time. I'm quitting smoking, and can't wait to start running again. I just can't see how I could fit any more awesomeness into this glass.
And I'm not going to feel guilty. I'm not. Because I put in my time. I've often said 2004 was the best and worst year of my life. I cried when the clock struck 12:00 on New Year's for the sudden dramatic relief of it being over. I never understood the holiday before.
The weird thing is, the more I think about that time, the more I think about how lucky I was. It could have been worse, but I don't know much about what's worse than being so lonely, even when you're surrounded by friends who love you. And wondering where you're going to sleep at night. All your things piled up in your car. Or being so tired or hungry, or wanting a shower, but not having a key to a home or a bed, and being on everyone else's schedule and needing time to yourself so badly.
I was so sad for so long, and it seemed like happiness was all around me. But for some reason, I wasn't bitter. Because I just knew everything would pass. And love is so wonderful: just picking up on it in people-watching glances made me happy and hopeful.
Even when I wrote about The Good Life lyrics repeating in my head. The ones about being lonely while the rest of the world was in love. And just trying to fill the hole with another drink or some random, warm body at the end of the night. Or some empty conversation.
I realize now that it works both ways. The pull of energy in the universe, I guess. Because in my darkest hours, when I couldn't get up, most of the time I did feel inspired. But what I didn't count on was the other thing. The nievity I had that in a cynical world when you finally found happiness there would be so many around to share it with.
Because every day so much of what I encounter is sorrow and bitterness. Maybe attributable to my bar room occupation, but nonetheless.
Or maybe there's some crazy karmic explanational ratio in this world: like only 1 per every 10 persons can be happy at a time to balance things out. And that may even be a generous estimate.
I don't know. And I'm so sorry because I don't like to see people hurting. And I'm also so sorry because there's nothing I can do to help them, except be their friend. And I'm so selfishly sorry, because I want nothing more than to celebrate, while so many just would rather be numb for awhile.
I'm not better. I've been there. I'm just saying it's an interesting turn of events. How our moods can affect our perceptions that much about what's going on everywhere else when we go to sleep at night.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Oh My God!
I'm a fuckin' scholar! holy shit! I got a fucking 4.0. A 4.0. Dude, I got a 4.0. I'm sorry. That's just never happened before, and I've tried so hard.
I just found out. What the fuck. This is fucking awesome. All right, I ... this rules.
...
yes. if this were a song there would be a repeat sign after this rules. It would go like this:
Oh my god! I'm a fuckin' scholar! holy shit! I got a fucking 4.0. A 4.0. Dude, I got a 4.0. I'm sorry. That's just never happened before, and I've tried so hard.
I just found out. What the fuck. This is fucking awesome. All right, I ... this rules.
Oh my god! I'm a fuckin' scholar! holy shit! I got a fucking 4.0. A 4.0. Dude, I got a 4.0. I'm sorry. That's just never happened before, and I've tried so hard.
I just found out. What the fuck. This is fucking awesome. All right, I ... this rules.
I'm a fuckin' scholar! holy shit! I got a fucking 4.0. A 4.0. Dude, I got a 4.0. I'm sorry. That's just never happened before, and I've tried so hard.
I just found out. What the fuck. This is fucking awesome. All right, I ... this rules.
...
yes. if this were a song there would be a repeat sign after this rules. It would go like this:
Oh my god! I'm a fuckin' scholar! holy shit! I got a fucking 4.0. A 4.0. Dude, I got a 4.0. I'm sorry. That's just never happened before, and I've tried so hard.
I just found out. What the fuck. This is fucking awesome. All right, I ... this rules.
Oh my god! I'm a fuckin' scholar! holy shit! I got a fucking 4.0. A 4.0. Dude, I got a 4.0. I'm sorry. That's just never happened before, and I've tried so hard.
I just found out. What the fuck. This is fucking awesome. All right, I ... this rules.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
If I need you I'll just use your simple name.
All is well, I believe. I must admit I went through a brief depression the last couple weeks, but I'm OK now.
It was the weirdest thing. One night I was in this horrible mood. Just couldn't shake it. My boss asked me if I was OK.
I told him, "You know I love my life." Because I say that all the time, and mean it. I do. "I love my life. I go to school. I listen to pop-punk a lot. I love my friends. I keep a relatively drama-free existence. But then it was like Drama knocked on my door, and I was like 'Come on in. Everything's fine in here.' Just opened up my door and let it in."
And I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. Or hypocrite. Or the saddest. Like someone who gives up.
Some things are worth giving up. I gave up smoking once.
After smoking for five years, I quit. May 20, 2002. I'll never forget it. The first few weeks of learning to do without it. The way beer tasted differently. And going to parties. And restaurants. And just being social in general. And waking up in the morning. Because smoking, like so many other things, becomes a status thing. Becomes a routine. And I had spent so much of my young life as a smoker I wasn't sure whom I would be if I wasn't one.
For awhile I was a better me. I ate right. I had lots of energy. I started working out. I hung out with "healthy" people. I loved the first time I dated a guy who didn't smoke after years of being a smoker and then dating a smoker after I quit. We could both go sit in nonsmoking and have a margarita. It was just nice.
It had been so long since I'd had a cigarette that I didn't get why my friends smoked anymore when we'd hang out. I'd forgotten what it was like. In my head I was like, What are they doing? What are they getting out of that?
When I started again I remembered. I liked smoking. I always smoked a lot. Doesn't help that it's a legally addictive substance. I enjoyed smoking for a while. But I know why I quit. And I know I will quit again. And for good. Because I liked having energy. I liked feeling good about myself. And not smelling the smoke on my own clothes.
So sometimes, it's easy to think of what you're missing. The grass is always greener, some type of thing. But the beauty of being a human instead of a fish is that if you want you can have more than a three second memory, or something like that. I'm no expert on fish.
The beauty is in that you can remind yourself. You can keep those memories real tight in your chest and find strength in them at the exact moment you need it no matter what external force is present, and no matter who else understands, or fails to understand.
I had a moment like that. An epiphany I guess. And I am better now.
Just needed to take a moment to remind myself where I was going and where I had been. It's OK to look both ways now.
All is well, I believe. I must admit I went through a brief depression the last couple weeks, but I'm OK now.
It was the weirdest thing. One night I was in this horrible mood. Just couldn't shake it. My boss asked me if I was OK.
I told him, "You know I love my life." Because I say that all the time, and mean it. I do. "I love my life. I go to school. I listen to pop-punk a lot. I love my friends. I keep a relatively drama-free existence. But then it was like Drama knocked on my door, and I was like 'Come on in. Everything's fine in here.' Just opened up my door and let it in."
And I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. Or hypocrite. Or the saddest. Like someone who gives up.
Some things are worth giving up. I gave up smoking once.
After smoking for five years, I quit. May 20, 2002. I'll never forget it. The first few weeks of learning to do without it. The way beer tasted differently. And going to parties. And restaurants. And just being social in general. And waking up in the morning. Because smoking, like so many other things, becomes a status thing. Becomes a routine. And I had spent so much of my young life as a smoker I wasn't sure whom I would be if I wasn't one.
For awhile I was a better me. I ate right. I had lots of energy. I started working out. I hung out with "healthy" people. I loved the first time I dated a guy who didn't smoke after years of being a smoker and then dating a smoker after I quit. We could both go sit in nonsmoking and have a margarita. It was just nice.
It had been so long since I'd had a cigarette that I didn't get why my friends smoked anymore when we'd hang out. I'd forgotten what it was like. In my head I was like, What are they doing? What are they getting out of that?
When I started again I remembered. I liked smoking. I always smoked a lot. Doesn't help that it's a legally addictive substance. I enjoyed smoking for a while. But I know why I quit. And I know I will quit again. And for good. Because I liked having energy. I liked feeling good about myself. And not smelling the smoke on my own clothes.
So sometimes, it's easy to think of what you're missing. The grass is always greener, some type of thing. But the beauty of being a human instead of a fish is that if you want you can have more than a three second memory, or something like that. I'm no expert on fish.
The beauty is in that you can remind yourself. You can keep those memories real tight in your chest and find strength in them at the exact moment you need it no matter what external force is present, and no matter who else understands, or fails to understand.
I had a moment like that. An epiphany I guess. And I am better now.
Just needed to take a moment to remind myself where I was going and where I had been. It's OK to look both ways now.
