to be honest, i’m nervous, scared, worried, and a bit discouraged.  and i hate it. 

i hate that i value punctuality but i always end up feeling like its always too late.

i hate…that as open or blunt or straight forward as i try to be…i have problems putting my pride aside…and asking for help. 

i hate that i can’t call someone and cry. 

i hate that i can’t cry.

i hate who i am.  right now.  this second. 

i hate that i will look back on this entry and think, “dude, how silly am i”…and then feel the same way again two tomorrows from tomorrow.

i hate the word hate. 

such foolishness.

Its like pouring syrup on a fat stack of blueberry pancakes that you know you’ll never finish but keep piling anyway because your eyes are bigger than your stomach, because your mouth opens wider than your mind.  Because nothing speaks louder than the 40 calories per tablespoon of sweet sugary goo.  Except maybe later…..when lifting that fork feels like pushing a brand new Cadillac off the top of the Marriot with your middle toe.  But you keep going…because its the “asian” in you…that taught you to clean your plate, the guilt in you….that tells you there are starving children in some developing country that will never have what you have that you will probably never meet and never even try to help (but come now, eat those pancakes because they can’t).  its the voice in the back of your mind that resembles and resonates… poses…as your mother.  As yourself.  That tells you there is no other way. 

 

how hungry IS jack, anyway?

background:  legend says, there’s a hero that defeats the anatgonist.  Only, something happened and the hero was captured and sent to a distant island surrounded by lava.  The antagonist had possession of a dragon that kept eye on the hero.  Back in the town, there lived a messenger who was supposed to be the special chosen one to free the hero. 

 

Dream Sequence:  So I was at work with my parents…hangin out in the back of the shop like I always did, looking for something to do.  I noticed a piece of poster board on the floor…one corner was slightly folded back, and it was longer than it was wide.  it was peculiar, and I remember going, “hmm”…but I didn’t think TOO much of it. 

 

Scene change:  back to the legend.   I suddenly found myself IN the legend and i met a sketchy guy who told me story of the hero…and told me how he wanted so badly to be the messenger.  I was skeptical and didn’t really believe him.  He told me that there was this marsh/lake of whirling, swirling waters that was served as some sort of test to find the chosen.  He said he was going, and I followed.  Someone else followed to, but I can’t remember who.  Actually, I think it was the spirit of the poster board, protecting me.  But anyway, I went, but the lake was drying up…because for some reason, this lake had tides.  So it was mostly a marshy type substance.  The guardians of the lake were coming to attack us…I screamed that it was too late.  The sketch guy shouted no and signaled to jump in….and so the three of us quickly jumped face forward into what was left of the muddy, murky whirling water….because apparently, that was how the chosen was to be found.  That’s right.  We bellyflopped and plopped our faces into the mud.  And I would be she who was chosen.

 

Scene change:  back at the shop.   With the story vivid in my head…I realized I was back at the shop.  I looked at the poster…and it rose from the ground and told me to grab onto it.  I felt a strange sensation telling me to lay on top of the board and hold on.  We communicated mentally.  Suddenly, the board became my magic carpet and took me away.  Quite peculiar, indeed…because I wasn’t scared or confused….just curious.  We flew to the front of my parent’s shop….where they looked at us strangely…and I told my parents I was leaving.  I slipped my cell phone in my pocket as the poster board flew me out the door.

 

So we started to fly away and I realized that the poster board had thoughts.  It was some sort of spirit…and it was to be my guardian.  And then…it told me that we had forgotten something important and had to turn back around.  Sooo…we turned back and got my laptop because apparently, that is what gave the poster board energy and the only way we could fly.  the laptop absorbed some sort of radio signal that gave the board energy.  But anyway, we were on our way again. 

 

So then my phone started to vibrate.  It was my my dad.  this is after seeing me fly through the store and away.  he was worried.  he didn’t tell me to come home.  he had that sort of angry voice, but he didn’t tell me to come home.  he asked where i was.  i said he knew the story.  i asked him how the story went because i wasn’t completely sure.  he asked me if i knew i was just the messenger that was to save the hero…and not the hero himself.  And that i would go to some platform.  and he said something about piercing of a heart…but i didn’t understand.  the language barrier.  I didn’t understand the old tale completely.  the poster then told me it would take a day and a half to get to our destination. 

 

 while i was on the phone with my dad….we flew, but not high enough…and two very tall men who could have been basketball players tried to poke me.  they felt my leg and tickled me and tried to draw letters onto my legs.  it was…bothersome and kinda scary and I was remember thinking I didn’t want to get raped….and i asked the poster to fly higher.  I hung up on my dad.  it was then that we stopped somewhere in the middle of no where for food, i think…to rest? …so i went to the bathroom and got a key for room number three and two other people followed me in there.  i think i knew them.  i think they were with us.  i let one of them go first because i had to poo…thinking she would leave first, but she didn’t and i couldn’t poo.  and that is when i realized i had no charger and i imagined us just falling and falling out of the sky….but the poster mentally told me that we would find a way somehow.  Oh…and I said us because the girl in the bathroom was travelling with us too.  i was the first out of the bathroom and the poster, after morphing into human form….into the form of Patrick from ao, I think… was talking to someone who resembled mrs sexton, my science Olympiad coach from high school…but when i said hello, i realized that it was not.  they were talking about a little girl being in a play and the poster told them that i would like to hear that.  that i would appreciate it.  and then dana (also from ao) skateboarded by us….because she saw a friend she knew.  She skateboarded towards a creek…and jumped off the board to get to the other side….the board went plop into the creek.  The mrs sexton look alike and the little girl told dana she lost her board in the algae…and they said, “no no no..not there,” as plop went dana’s hand covered with algae.  “look, tons of algae,” pointed the girl, “little separated torn piece of algae.”   “oh,” dana said.  “oh well”.

 

 And then…..i woke up….wanting to sleep again…to finish the dream. But…I couldn’t.  perhaps later.

 

Take that for random.  haha…i think i’m more interesting when i’m sleeping than when i’m awake.  on that note, g’night. 

 

oh…and uhh….is it normal to have dreams that are that detailed? 

 

one more thing.  i also had another dream last night….where jen was mad at me because i gave dv advice.  she said it wasn’t my place.  and that people approach change on their own.  my dream state took it as her implying that i had no right to think i could change people or the world.  my dream state then remembered another instance when i tried to give advice earlier that night in reality.  i felt bad.  yeah.  that’s all.

i need focus.  I need to be able to pinpoint exactly what I want to say.  I need to realize that no matter how hard I try I will never be able to single it out I will never be able to pull scrape drag rip out of my head heart soul what it is I want to say.  The words exist…or do they?  I don’t really know.  I just want to write and write and write without stopping and see what happens.  I don’t know how I feel about being home.  I think cell phones are pretty is what she said to me today.  Paula went to Greece and Italy and she came to see me at pcj.  it’d been a year and a half.  I feel disconnected with my home.  i like home.  I miss home. 

 

I want to bike. 

 

I used to question to ramble to rant to vent to talk and talk and talk four hours at a time.  Ya know, I’m not sure if anyone ever really listened to me….or just enjoyed the fact that I was just there…on the other side.  Just there.  Yeah so its nice to be there, eh?  To have someone there.  To be that someone for someone else.  I didn’t mind.  but now…looking back….i think I learned to stop listening to myself.  I told carlie way back when that people should take their own advice.  Because 99.9% of the time, people give the advice that they need to hear in return.  I know I do. 

 

Everything I tell everyone else is something they already know.  That applies to just about everyone and everything, eh?  Well seems to me we live in a stuck up world with stubborn know it alls.  I am one of them.

 

I remember when I used to pee with the door open.  I remember when I never locked the doors and looked forward to sneaking into the shower with my mom.  i also remember my first shower, alone.  Somewhere along the lines, I hit puberty and started to long for privacy.  I shut, locked, and scowled angrily when my mom asked for permission to come in to get the windex from underneath the sink.  Knock.  Knock. 

 

I once stole all the keys and hid them.  I still don’t remember where I put them.

  

I want…..well I realize…that everything I say is i.  I.  i. I.  i prefer my other language where referring to myself makes me feel inferior to others.  Because that’s ok.  Or better yet….i prefer to just not use words.

 

If eyes speak louder than words, what do the blind say?

 

If I spoke louder than you, what would you say?

 

Would you say that I am tired of being blind?

 

 

Note:  i am not sad.  introspective does not = sad.  call it a pet peeve.

on the way back from class/work today….i saw a sad pink thong, tramped, troddened, sad on the ground.  i wonder how it lost its owner.  actually, i probably don’t really want to know.

::edit::

tonight, i saw another piece of women’s underwear…black briefs, this time, lying massacred in the street.  unc is weird.

today’s notes from music 82:

some things are just crap.
the people you meet.
the words they say.
the judgements i make. Crap.

i don’t want to write and be sad, angry or Bitter…just to compensate.
but i don’t want to be trite and say Passionate.
it’s all been said, done, written. expressed before. 
So WHAT, if not by me. 

i want. I want. I Want.
i want to be able to single my thoughts.
i want to have rhythm. to be fluid.
to be like this cello so mellow
as it tweaks and reverberates as i anticipate

i think it’d be fun to be like music 82
and pause my thoughts,
skip a track,
and still,
relish in its math
like some sort of melodious mildew.

The picture freezes.

Skip a scene, miss a scene, play My scene.
But it’s not written.

It’s crap. It’s all Crap.

 

hah.  sandy should learn to pay attention in class and not try to be a poet.  i blame vascon.  . 

i just hope that i don’t become bitter in my patience waiting for eventually.

i was telling tatum that i had nothing to say.  that i miss being random.  being a fortune cookie.  i miss how my mind used to shoot back and forth.

i talked to judy about writing.  about how i’ve stopped.  how i’m not as creative as i used to be.

i said i felt empty.  and that its been a really long time.  but tatum, her witty self, said that that means i’m more full than usual. 

or maybe, its that i don’t know where to begin.  maybe its that i’ve been suppressing all these emotions…thinking that i can handle it all myself…but i’ve seemed to have forgotten how good it feels to be lost inside myself.  to chase, to race, to face my heart head on.  i’ve forgotten how to let it all go. 

or maybe…i’ve let it all go.  and i’ve just forgotten.

maybe i’ll write a better entry later. 

or maybe, i won’t.

bombed two exams….that i know of.

wrote an essay in seven minutes during today’s exam…

didn’t get into vietnam program.

haven’t called home in a while.

been skipping too many classes.

been very judgemental.

haven’t had any real conversations lately.

i suck.

….i’m really scared that i’m going to look back on everything i ever tried to do….to accomplish…and just cry.  i hate crying.

i cry.

I keep having these random dreams set in different hotels.

This family came to visit us.  They had a young son, and we found old bananas under the bed. 

There was a bluegrass band playing.  They were selling shirts for 75% off.  The banjo had two strings, there was some strange medieval mandolin looking thing this dude was plucking on his shoulder, and the violinist was awesome.  no, not a fiddle player.  a violinist, in this bluegrass band.  come to think of it, she played the kind of music you would hear as an improvisation in a christian contemporary/worship song.  but it sounded nice over the bluegrass.  their shirts were yellow.

anyway, happy new year. 

More incoherant Rambling.

 

A few years ago, I learned the preciousness of trust.  I learned that trust isn’t just a timely matter that you gain after a lot of “deep conversations,” falling asleep on the phone together, or putting on many many miles driving around town with a friend.  Regardless of how much time you spend together, trust isn’t just something that happens.  Trust, is about risk taking, about raw honesty, about relying on nothing but your heart.  When it comes down to it, trust is a decision. “trust others until they give you a reason not to be trusted,” or “be cautious until trust is gained?”  but…trust your heart, or trust your mind?

 

Now truth.  “The voice of truth says do not be afraid.” 

 

I learned that truth, more often than not, is a multi-faceted state of being.  So maybe we live in a time when everything is relative to everything else.  Maybe we can’t get away from that.  But ya know, its because it all depends on heart.  Where your heart lies.  But, I also learned that even if your intentions are innocent, your actions can be otherwise.  And the truth, is that there are no words.  Truth explains.  Truth excuses.  Truth is what you’re supposed to live by.  But, truth is hard.  Truth, more or less, is life, explained. 

 

“Out of all the voices calling out to me

   I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of Truth”