Once upon a time there was a girl who had everything. Or, more specifically, she had a boy who meant Everything to her. Everything was exactly what she wanted. He paid attention to her. He kissed her when she needed it. He loved her. At least, he told her he loved her.
Then, all at once, Everything was gone. He left her, and the reality crashed through her world and demolished all the things she worked for. Confidence. Self-esteem. Purpose. She felt lost and hopeless. Each new day was more long and painful than the last. Then, just as suddenly as he had gone, Everything was back.
Life was renewed to the girl who lost Everything. She was happy. She was beautiful. At least, that's what he told her. Everything had changed and become better. This time, things would work out.
When things did not work out, she hurt more than last time. Could that even be possible. The loss of Everything seemed too great to bear. She thought her body would shut down from the pain of it all. Everything could not be gone. He would come back, just like last time.
And he did. He came back, apologetic. Telling her all the beautiful words she loved to her. "I love you." "You are the one for me." Filling her with his beautiful lies. He kissed her, touched her, held her in all the ways he used to. And then, when the night was over, he was gone.
Three weeks passed, and she was in a trance. Food didn't taste. Sleep didn't welcome her each night. The only thing that she could do to pass the time was run. Run until her body dropped those pounds that might be keeping Everything away. Five pounds. Ten pounds. Fifteen pounds. Then he came again.
Hours and hours they lay together, whispering their sweet nothings that were, as always, really nothing at all. He breathed his wonderful lies into her soul and they renewed the dying spirit that had resided there for three weeks.
And then the truth came, as it always does.
"This was a mistake. I can't see you anymore. This won't happen again."
But she knew better. This time, only two weeks passed before he was back, with his sweet tantalizing words of praise and his increasingly wandering hands. There are no limits on a relationship that doesn't exist. She let the hours crawl by as she waste away her time with the one that could do no wrong in her eyes. And then he was gone again.
She couldn't contain the excitement of these visits. She told. And they told. Soon the World knew about the nighttime wandering and hours of bliss. And the World interfered. He was reprimanded and was forced to feel the guilt that confused her. What was there to feel guilty for? He was merely showing her how much he loved her. That he really was her Everything.
But the end would come, now that the World knew. He came to her, shamefully, with only a moment to spare, as he told her how things would be.
"You can't be in my life anymore. Don't try to talk to me. Don't be around me. Don't come to places I will be. I will never come back. Stay away from me and forget about me."
As she clattered to the ground, he walked away. Everything turned to nothing. And nothing feels like hell. She scraped against the ground as her body writhed in pain. She felt her body disappearing into nothing as the escaped into the Death that was so surely coming to claim her. Death can be the only thing waiting on the other side of pain like this. She felt like the smallest thing in the world. And she wanted that merciful master of Death to come take her from that floor and remove the sorrow that threatened to tear her apart.
As the weeks passed, Death did not come to get her. And neither did he. She didn't see him at all. Only heard of him. Heard of his new Everything. The one he whispered to "I love you." At least, that's what they said.
At last, the shadow was lifted from her eyes. And she understood what it meant. Hours of loving bliss to her were merely passing of time and a sick release of passion and lust. The body she had worked on, for him, felt ugly, used, and dirty. And then the realization came. The lies. The facade. The love that she had participated in was never to be reciprocated. For in that grand game of love, she had played alone.
And she, alone, had suffered for it.
She stands on the other side of it now. Alive and whole. And knowing that it is only her who can change herself from the one who tolerates Everything to the one who knows for herself what it is to be truly loved.
To love herself.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
I am thankful for . . .
Lately I have been so impressed with how blessed I am. I don't mean to rub it in anyone's face, but I am crazy blessed. So many times in a week, I just have to stop and think to myself, How in the world is all this working out so well? Normal people's lives cannot possible work out like this. I just am so amazed at all the things that God has given me. Besides the most obvious one (an amazing husband), I have been so blessed with my family, finances, and, well, just me. God blessed me with a perfectly functional body, a capable mind, and talents that have helped me achieve success for myself.
The other day I was reading in Mosiah, chapter 2, and I read the verses about how we could do everything we could to praise and thank God, serve him every second of every day, and still be unprofitable servants. I definitely know that I am an unprofitable servant, and that I have screwed up so many times its not even funny. Yet, He still blesses me so much.
I am so grateful that I have the truth in my life and that I am able to receive such love from God and that I am able to serve Him to the best of my abilities. Even if, after all of my life spent serving Him, I am still indebted to Him.
The other day I was reading in Mosiah, chapter 2, and I read the verses about how we could do everything we could to praise and thank God, serve him every second of every day, and still be unprofitable servants. I definitely know that I am an unprofitable servant, and that I have screwed up so many times its not even funny. Yet, He still blesses me so much.
I am so grateful that I have the truth in my life and that I am able to receive such love from God and that I am able to serve Him to the best of my abilities. Even if, after all of my life spent serving Him, I am still indebted to Him.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Let me tell you about this piece here . . .
Something I have noticed while working in an art gallery: Art brings out the pompous, know-it-all in some people. Often times, this makes them appear like a blithering idiot (Harry Potter insult). Maybe I just don't know these people and they are actually like this all the time, but it sure seems like a lot of people come into the gallery and feel like they need to explain everything to the poor people in their insufferable company.
"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."
"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")
"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)
"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)
"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")
Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.
I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.
"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"
Thanks for that.
Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.
UPDATE
Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.
I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.
So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.
UPDATE
Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.
Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.
(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"
(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"
"Where would you even hang that?"
"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)
I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.
"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."
"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")
"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)
"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)
"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")
Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.
I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.
"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"
Thanks for that.
Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.
UPDATE
Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.
I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.
So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.
UPDATE
Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.
Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.
(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"
(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"
"Where would you even hang that?"
"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)
I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The greatest fiction ever written . . .
Two posts in one day. I'm on a roll. (Serious spoilers in this one.)
Tomorrow night I am going to go see "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2" with my husband. This is a monumental day, although it was more of a monumental day when the book series actually ended.
It marks the ending of a generational bonding moment really. When people talk about cohort effects in psychology classes years from now, maybe we will be referred to as the "Harry Potter" generation. We were the ones that were young while it came out. We were the perfect age to read the first one, still considered child-young adult fiction, and yet mature enough to read and understand the Deathly Hallows when it came out. Personally, I am glad that I apart of this generation. Harry Potter is so dang amazing.
I don't know how to even express it sometimes, but I think that Harry Potter is one of the most masterfully written book series of all time. I feel this way for several reasons.
Firstly, there is something exciting about reading stories that are monumental. There are plenty of books about everyday life. But Harry Potter is about the eternal fight of good vs. evil. Saving the world from evil is a lot more interesting to read about than breaking up with someone or junior prom. I like reading books that have a real purpose and meaning to them.
Second, I love the intricacies of the series (cannot believe that is a word.) There are so many tiny pieces of this series that fit together so nicely and make the story really seem realistic. J. K. Rowling is the queen of tying up loose ends. I am so impressed with the way she works in little things from the earlier books so they become significant in the last books.
Third, and perhaps I will step into controversial ground here, the symbolism in this book is amazing. Everytime I read the Deathly Hallows, I can't help being reminded of Christ. Yes, Harry is far from perfect and he is not the best Christ-figure in literature, but when he walks into death, willingly, lead by his white-haired father figure, I am reminded of the terrifying and painful sacrifice that Christ made to save us. Not to mention the whole resurrection thing. But I love that something that so many people deem as "evil" and banned it from libraries reminds me of the higher purpose in life.
So tomorrow night symbolizes the end of a long journey for me. From reading the Sorceror's stone in elementary school, to closing the final page of the Deathly Hallows, from watching the first movie, with its awkward children and sub-par visual effects, to experiencing "the motion-picture event of a lifetime" (that just happened to gross $100 million on opening day), it has been a great ride.
I will forever love Harry.
Tomorrow night I am going to go see "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2" with my husband. This is a monumental day, although it was more of a monumental day when the book series actually ended.
It marks the ending of a generational bonding moment really. When people talk about cohort effects in psychology classes years from now, maybe we will be referred to as the "Harry Potter" generation. We were the ones that were young while it came out. We were the perfect age to read the first one, still considered child-young adult fiction, and yet mature enough to read and understand the Deathly Hallows when it came out. Personally, I am glad that I apart of this generation. Harry Potter is so dang amazing.
I don't know how to even express it sometimes, but I think that Harry Potter is one of the most masterfully written book series of all time. I feel this way for several reasons.
Firstly, there is something exciting about reading stories that are monumental. There are plenty of books about everyday life. But Harry Potter is about the eternal fight of good vs. evil. Saving the world from evil is a lot more interesting to read about than breaking up with someone or junior prom. I like reading books that have a real purpose and meaning to them.
Second, I love the intricacies of the series (cannot believe that is a word.) There are so many tiny pieces of this series that fit together so nicely and make the story really seem realistic. J. K. Rowling is the queen of tying up loose ends. I am so impressed with the way she works in little things from the earlier books so they become significant in the last books.
Third, and perhaps I will step into controversial ground here, the symbolism in this book is amazing. Everytime I read the Deathly Hallows, I can't help being reminded of Christ. Yes, Harry is far from perfect and he is not the best Christ-figure in literature, but when he walks into death, willingly, lead by his white-haired father figure, I am reminded of the terrifying and painful sacrifice that Christ made to save us. Not to mention the whole resurrection thing. But I love that something that so many people deem as "evil" and banned it from libraries reminds me of the higher purpose in life.
So tomorrow night symbolizes the end of a long journey for me. From reading the Sorceror's stone in elementary school, to closing the final page of the Deathly Hallows, from watching the first movie, with its awkward children and sub-par visual effects, to experiencing "the motion-picture event of a lifetime" (that just happened to gross $100 million on opening day), it has been a great ride.
I will forever love Harry.
I Like Screamo Music . . .
Yeah, I really do. I am here today to defend it. Because I know the usual labels. "Emo." "Devil music." Etc. But I will tell you why I love it (you meaning the inside of my head because I have no followers.)
When I was younger, right after Britney Spears became a whore and I didn't know who to listen to anymore because I was NOT going to listen to a whore, I was super lost in the music world. I thought that listening to music was fun, there was just nothing out there that I really liked. Except blink-182. But there's only so many times that you can listen to the same album before it starts getting old. And there are only so many times that I can steal my brother's CD before he starts getting really mad.
So began my aimless wandering through the music world to try to find something I really liked. My dad had The Eagles, The Bee Gee's, Pink Floyd. My mom had Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I wanted something that I really loved listening to. It took a while to find it.
High school consisted of piggy-backing off of my friends. They liked popular music. Things with a loud bumping beat and a woman trying to hit every note in an 8 octave range. Mostly it was irritating. I found Green Day but a lot of their stuff is, well . . . questionable. Continual emptiness of the music world.
When I was a Senior in high school, I finally found something I really liked. John Mayer. He fit my mood so well and he sang about things that mattered, much unlike the artists playing in my friend's cars. Okay, so now I have blink-182 and John Mayer. Still only amount to about 60 songs. There has to be more out there, right?
During college, I was introduced to the insanity that is screamo music. By a group of return missionaries, no less. It took some getting used to, but when I was with them, that was all we listened to. And I was finding that I really liked it. I know what you are thinking. . . brainwashing, right? No no
Reasons why I like screamo music:
*Energy: I have never listened to anything that has made me want to get up and move around and wakes me up and want to start punch dancing or something. I just love how excited I get when I listen to it. Its like a legal drug or something. (Yeah, that's me showing off my complete ignorance of the drug world. No worries.)
*Depth: I have never heard such amazing lyrics than while listening to screamo. These people don't just write about sex, drugs, and money (thanks, rap). They have so much to say on the most complicated and deep subjects. No one exemplifies this better than Thrice. Dustin Kensrue is not the immature, idiotic narcissist that other musicians are.
*Musicality: You can't be an "okay" musician and be in a good screamo band. There is no such thing as DDDD EEEE AAAA GGGG riffs with these guitarists. And I have never heard such amazing drumming in my entire life. I love the complexity and the talent that these bands have. This is especially true with The Devil Wears Prada (approach this band with caution, they are a little wild). "With Roots Above And Branches Below" is one of the most intricate, complex albums I have ever heard. I feel like I could listen to it over and over (like I already do) and find something new about the music that I had missed before.
*Worship: Though this is not true for a lot of screamo bands, a lot of the ones I listen to are Christian bands. These means no perversion and a lot of worshipful, thoughtful lyrics. I can tell that a lot of these bands have come unto Christ and love Him just as much as I do.
I know that many people think that these bands are awful, crazy devil-music. But, at least for the bands I love, that is far from true. The sound is hard and emotional, but there are many bands that are far from devil-worshiping. Don't get me wrong, they are out there.
Just thought I would share my message of how much I love this music and give you some solid reasons why you should, at the very least, not hate it.
When I was younger, right after Britney Spears became a whore and I didn't know who to listen to anymore because I was NOT going to listen to a whore, I was super lost in the music world. I thought that listening to music was fun, there was just nothing out there that I really liked. Except blink-182. But there's only so many times that you can listen to the same album before it starts getting old. And there are only so many times that I can steal my brother's CD before he starts getting really mad.
So began my aimless wandering through the music world to try to find something I really liked. My dad had The Eagles, The Bee Gee's, Pink Floyd. My mom had Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I wanted something that I really loved listening to. It took a while to find it.
High school consisted of piggy-backing off of my friends. They liked popular music. Things with a loud bumping beat and a woman trying to hit every note in an 8 octave range. Mostly it was irritating. I found Green Day but a lot of their stuff is, well . . . questionable. Continual emptiness of the music world.
When I was a Senior in high school, I finally found something I really liked. John Mayer. He fit my mood so well and he sang about things that mattered, much unlike the artists playing in my friend's cars. Okay, so now I have blink-182 and John Mayer. Still only amount to about 60 songs. There has to be more out there, right?
During college, I was introduced to the insanity that is screamo music. By a group of return missionaries, no less. It took some getting used to, but when I was with them, that was all we listened to. And I was finding that I really liked it. I know what you are thinking. . . brainwashing, right? No no
Reasons why I like screamo music:
*Energy: I have never listened to anything that has made me want to get up and move around and wakes me up and want to start punch dancing or something. I just love how excited I get when I listen to it. Its like a legal drug or something. (Yeah, that's me showing off my complete ignorance of the drug world. No worries.)
*Depth: I have never heard such amazing lyrics than while listening to screamo. These people don't just write about sex, drugs, and money (thanks, rap). They have so much to say on the most complicated and deep subjects. No one exemplifies this better than Thrice. Dustin Kensrue is not the immature, idiotic narcissist that other musicians are.
*Musicality: You can't be an "okay" musician and be in a good screamo band. There is no such thing as DDDD EEEE AAAA GGGG riffs with these guitarists. And I have never heard such amazing drumming in my entire life. I love the complexity and the talent that these bands have. This is especially true with The Devil Wears Prada (approach this band with caution, they are a little wild). "With Roots Above And Branches Below" is one of the most intricate, complex albums I have ever heard. I feel like I could listen to it over and over (like I already do) and find something new about the music that I had missed before.
*Worship: Though this is not true for a lot of screamo bands, a lot of the ones I listen to are Christian bands. These means no perversion and a lot of worshipful, thoughtful lyrics. I can tell that a lot of these bands have come unto Christ and love Him just as much as I do.
I know that many people think that these bands are awful, crazy devil-music. But, at least for the bands I love, that is far from true. The sound is hard and emotional, but there are many bands that are far from devil-worshiping. Don't get me wrong, they are out there.
Just thought I would share my message of how much I love this music and give you some solid reasons why you should, at the very least, not hate it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Middle Place . . .
No, not the lame attempt at a memoir by Kelly Corrigan. The place in between my childhood and my adulthood. Still in school, though working half the time. Still in my hometown, though not living with my parents. Still in contact with some high school friends, but not really.
When is my life going to start? When am I going to get out of here? When am I going to spend more time picking up toys and changing diapers than painting my nails and shaving my legs? When am I going to get a job that pays more than $7.50/hour? When will I leave what is still my childhood/adolescence and enter adulthood.
Step 1: Get married. Check.
Step 2: Graduate from college. So close!
Step 3: Attend graduate school. Nooooo! I don't wanna!
Step 4: Have a baby. Yikes.
Step 5: Move to where our life will be, wherever Jacob can get a good job. Wait, what?
Step 6: Start a career. No thanks.
Step 7: Buy a house. With what money?!
Step 8: Live your life. Finally
When is my life going to start? When am I going to get out of here? When am I going to spend more time picking up toys and changing diapers than painting my nails and shaving my legs? When am I going to get a job that pays more than $7.50/hour? When will I leave what is still my childhood/adolescence and enter adulthood.
Step 1: Get married. Check.
Step 2: Graduate from college. So close!
Step 3: Attend graduate school. Nooooo! I don't wanna!
Step 4: Have a baby. Yikes.
Step 5: Move to where our life will be, wherever Jacob can get a good job. Wait, what?
Step 6: Start a career. No thanks.
Step 7: Buy a house. With what money?!
Step 8: Live your life. Finally
Friendship is . . .
. . . I don't know. Can't think of a word that encompasses it all. Probably because the state of friendship varies so much from person to person, friendship to friendship. I have been thinking a lot lately about those people that were such a large part of my life a few years ago, and what in the crap happened to them.
I hate losing touch with people. But sometimes I feel like its inevitable. I can't think of a single person that I remained friends with for more than 6 or 7 years. Why is that? Maybe its that people can't stand being around me after that long. I don't know. It bothers me.
Someday I very much hope to track down some friends that will actually stick with me. Not these people who are "fair-weather" friends. There when things are fun and exciting. Disappear when your world is falling in. Why can't people just be consistent? Why can't people "be there for you?" People can't be bothered, I guess.
People change. This is nothing new. One person in particular was stalwart and amazing when I first came to know her. She was valiant and strong in her convictions, fearlessly honest, and knew where her priorities were. Where is she now? I don't know. Somewhere far away, making half-hearted suggestions that we should "get together sometime" (could a statement be more vague?). Married to a guy she shouldn't be married to because her mind is fleeting and she doesn't care what she does anymore. She's not responsible for anything. I don't even know her anymore. This is why I don't really follow through on the "getting together" suggestion.
Even some of the friends I have managed to stay in contact with, I am bewildered by. Who are you? Do I even know you? You weren't like this when I knew you.
So now I am here. My best friend is my husband. My next closest friend is hundreds of miles away with very limited contact. When my husband is working, I clean the house, watch The Office, and read Harry Potter. Hoping one day I will find someone who is actually worth getting to know and actually worth inviting over. Someone who won't leave when the trauma comes, when I am sobbing, when I need them most.
I hate losing touch with people. But sometimes I feel like its inevitable. I can't think of a single person that I remained friends with for more than 6 or 7 years. Why is that? Maybe its that people can't stand being around me after that long. I don't know. It bothers me.
Someday I very much hope to track down some friends that will actually stick with me. Not these people who are "fair-weather" friends. There when things are fun and exciting. Disappear when your world is falling in. Why can't people just be consistent? Why can't people "be there for you?" People can't be bothered, I guess.
People change. This is nothing new. One person in particular was stalwart and amazing when I first came to know her. She was valiant and strong in her convictions, fearlessly honest, and knew where her priorities were. Where is she now? I don't know. Somewhere far away, making half-hearted suggestions that we should "get together sometime" (could a statement be more vague?). Married to a guy she shouldn't be married to because her mind is fleeting and she doesn't care what she does anymore. She's not responsible for anything. I don't even know her anymore. This is why I don't really follow through on the "getting together" suggestion.
Even some of the friends I have managed to stay in contact with, I am bewildered by. Who are you? Do I even know you? You weren't like this when I knew you.
So now I am here. My best friend is my husband. My next closest friend is hundreds of miles away with very limited contact. When my husband is working, I clean the house, watch The Office, and read Harry Potter. Hoping one day I will find someone who is actually worth getting to know and actually worth inviting over. Someone who won't leave when the trauma comes, when I am sobbing, when I need them most.
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