curlyheadedeff's random pukefest

gave out my tumblr to a couple people last night so all my thoughts will now be posted to LiveJournal

"I caught something in the air, it reminded me of your house. The dog hair-covered blanket that you kept in your basement. We wrapped ourselves on office chairs after wintry school days, playing monkey island and listening to guybrush talk over the hum of the dehumidifier. We'd eat granola bars or oatmeal and joke about likening my digestive system to a bovine's. We'd laugh and smile and sit quietly, pleasantly, like we had done the days before. But like other days, we'd get the call, right around sunset. My mom saying it was time to go home. I'd grab my backpack and button up my coat, reluctantly standing around for any few extra moments. I'd smile again, say a simple 'bye' and walk out the door into the biting briskness of twilight."

"Your whole life you're looking for a best friend, someone who matches your personality so perfectly that you don't know how you ever lived without them, until you do and you feel unwhole but you survive and find that the only person quite like you is yourself and you are your best friend but you aren't because you hate these things about yourself like how you always eat that extra cookie or stay up later than you should but you know you love these things even though they make your life worse. And then you meet someone else you think could be the one who fits in the nooks of your heart and the crannies of your mind that you didn't know existed. But, just like yourself, you can't spend enough time with them, until you do and you learn to hate them too and you push this person out of your life or even worse, they push you and all these places in your heart start hurting as your brain can't get of the tracks it's gotten so comfortable with. And then it's just you again. Good-old, reliable you. At least you don't get on your fuckin' nerves. Right? Right?" -something I found in an old notebook

and just like that, her name pops into my head but she's gone. there's no sign of her, as if she really was ethereal as her name suggests

We just move stuff around until we die.  My mom's particularly good at it.  She makes these things she likes to call "stacks" where she places t shirt after jean after textbook after jacket until there is an impressively tall stack making its home in my living space.  I have several of these stacks in my room at this moment; one on my dresser, one on my desk, and one on an old computer I had lying on the ground.  Ya see, the problem with the stack is that it gives the illusion of tidiness but is actually one of the most impractical structures of things one can make.  Oh, you want that pair of jeans near the bottom of the Leaning Tower of Pissed-off?  Try to play that bad game of jenga without the balled pair of socks falling down and rolling somewhere unreachable and forgettable.

I wake up from a long nap and walk to the bathroom. I sit down and on the wall in front of me I see an orange spot on the off-white wall.  After a few blinks, my eyes focus and I see that it's a lady bug.  I quickly pull a length of toilet paper and fold it a couple times.  But I pause, thinking of what I am doing. Who am I to kill this bug? Do I have that control over its life? If so, should I exercise it? I ponder and speculate, and then the lady bug falls off the wall. I pick it up with a sheet of T.P. and throw it in the toilet.  I wash my hands and get back into bed.

This kinda sucks. I've been wanting to write more so I carry my new,  empty notebook with me everywhere. I always find myself listening to music when I'm not with friends and I feel like it gets in the way of my thoughts, and in lieu, writing. I desperately go on walks to try to un-clear my head but I inevitably get bored and listen to music. And when I realize I'm not doing myself any good, I take off my headphones and unknowingly hum a tune in my head until I realize I'm not actually thinking about anything. Maybe thought comes from experience and I haven't written anything because I hardly do anything. Maybe I don't want to write anything in my notebook for the same reason I hated arts and crafts as a child: the second I alter the page, construction paper, or popsicle stick, it becomes imperfect, non-refundable, and worthless. I hoped walking 3 miles out of town, into the beautiful countryside would provide inspiration in a supernatural way that couldn't be matched by writing in my disorganized, ordinary room. But I didn't think about what inspiration really was. Either with or without it, I still have to be the person that writes.

Reminding myself: I must make actions on my thoughts or intentions for others to understand. Many of my actions may go unnoticed or misread, so more actions may and will be necessary. Love others, and treat everyone with respect. Do not hold myself higher, as we are all just human.

I hardly give myself time to think about stuff. Not just thoughts in passing, but more of reflection or ideas.  When I started listening to podcasts as I fell asleep in my early teens, I had no idea that my listening habits would progress to the point where audio (music, podcasts) replaces my thoughts. Even as I right this, I'm listening to HypeMachine's currently popular songs.  It doesn't feel right,  or it feels "less productive" somehow. I don't feel like anything is lost by listening to music while doing other tasks, but that very well may be because I haven't listened to the void of audio in so many years. I want to think more.  I want thoughts to race through my mind and feel creative again. I have a knack for thinking in the way of solving puzzles or problems, so I feel like there could be so much potential. But what I hardly think about is thinking of stuff I don't want to. Being overly skeptical or playing out senseless scenarios over and over does not sound fun. I want to be able to write about my life,  experiences, fiction, poetry, journalism, or whatever. I want to write and write until I'm better than I was the week before. I wanna be funny and know how to write a joke that others can enjoy. I wanna read books that will expand my mind. I've got a lot of work to do. But I gotta start somewhere.