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(no subject) [Jul. 11th, 2009|09:41 am]
I'm determined to make some good use of this weekend. I really have no huge problem with my current schedule but when I am home, I still just don't really want to do anything majorly productive. I was having a lot of emotional issues over my dad getting surgery next week too.

I need to start my new painting this weekend.

I want to organize my finances.

I have a writing project in mind that I've started a bit but have to work through on a more clean-cut manner than just scribbles on the bus.

I need to catch up.
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listening to "William Shatner-Rocketman - " on Blip [Jun. 19th, 2009|03:53 am]
[Current Music |Shatner - Rocket Man]

How I wake up with "Rocketman" in my head as a blend of the Elton John version and Shatner version is beyond me....

It starts off in Elton and ends up in a very slow Shatner, his exact voice in my head. Considering I don't know much more than one line, it is quite annoying. I wake up, start coffee, then get in the shower so nothing could influence me before I started singing it in there.

Excited for today.
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Not exactly what it seems but that's okay... [May. 27th, 2009|07:11 pm]
Every time I step out of the box and try to look at what is going on, I panic and feel insane. Why am I doing this? Am I supposed to be doing this? How did I get here? Do I know what the hell I am doing?

I am a pro at the "talking down" and calming myself and all the key phrases that you're supposed to do because yes, everyone gets overwhelmed at times. I can't help but to feel that doing those things makes me feel even more wonky because, then I begin to question whether I'm lying to myself. Am I really going to be okay or am I just lying because what other choice do I have other than taking the chance? If I don't, then I am scolded for being over-protective and letting fear take over. I am not afraid of change, the idea of change and wild escapes excites my romanticizing mind. If the opportunity was "right," wouldn't I run away from everything? I'd pick up and leave and never look back with guilt, but just with that poetic longing of what once was and might have been. It is all so childish.

Obviously I am going to end up reading and writing stories and living through fictional characters. I am a joke. Something tells me that I shouldn't be seeking out trouble when I am certain to face it regardless of whether I choose to or not.

My ways are not set, I feel the pull. How will I be broken? Will my strength lie in resistance or in succumbing?

Attempting to be an "artist" and have fun again is doing all of this crazy crap to my mind.
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(no subject) [Apr. 27th, 2009|03:43 pm]
I just feel lost lately. Lost and exhilarated. I know what I need but right now I can't really have it, so I'm taking one step at a time. I really believe a job would be quite a blessing right now and would help get me out of this crazy foggy limbo.

I'm working through it.
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(no subject) [Apr. 11th, 2009|05:43 pm]
At times like this I need either 1) someone to talk to or 2) comedy.

Number one doesn't seem to work for whatever reason so I'm filling up on http://www.funnyordie.com videos. Any other suggestions please share.

Went to Durham's Farmer Market this morning, and so glad Chris was actually willing to go (as he is unwilling to do almost anything but play games or watch his shows). It was huge, the weather was beautiful, and there was so much local food there and everyone seemed genuinely happy. Live music too. I just wish Chris would have let me buy even one thing. They had tons of plant seedlings, homemade creams, homemade food, crafts, etc.

Otherwise, I'm in a funk and I really really really want it to go away.
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(no subject) [Mar. 28th, 2009|02:38 am]
The truth is that I want to live a thousand different lives. I want to give the most tenderest of caresses. To help others feel loved, really truly loved and appreciated. Happy - if only for a day.

I want to laugh rocking in a chair on a porch in the country side. Shuffle through the busy streets of the cities overpopulated by diversity. Someone to spazz out in the pouring rain with, dredging through the puddles. i want to crash and burn, smoke with you in bed. Listen to music in the dark and play hide and seek in the backyard. Swim in the pool at night, lurking in the deep end.

I am loyal and I love truly and fully but I can't help but to think there are too many fascinating people in the world to simply exist with the very few I have stumbled upon so far. To believe myself worthy of only the one who I know will love me back and accept me seems almost maddening.

My dreams tease me with alluring strangers and past familiars. We're always escaping and exploring the world and connecting with words, laughter, music, touch. Time slows and minutes become as lengthy as hours and days and the stress and minor complications of the world evaporate and it is just you and me. Me and you. I feel your touch a thousand decades after you have left. Lost in trying to understand what I can read from your movements, expressions, words. But I don't care. I don't care if you love me back or if you're going to leave, I just want to learn and experience. I don't want to hurt or harm.

I can't imagine anything better in life than that kind of freedom but perhaps a love that is genuine enough to satiate.

then again maybe i have no idea what i am talking about
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daydream [Mar. 12th, 2009|01:41 am]
i am restless
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Baptism [Mar. 7th, 2009|07:32 pm]
It must've been the summer before 5th grade - it's hard to pinpoint those years accurately but I was ten years old, five foot six and painfully aware of my already sprouting breasts. That was the year that development was physical and mental. The younger girls I played with became painfully annoying, wet noodle smacking competitions with boys became somehow erotic, and I was envious of cleavage. What the hell was I doing those days? Riding a bike around from friend's house to friend's house, crashing at a young brat's house because she had more to mess around with. My brother Thomas, a year older with shaggy blonde hair, rode up one day to tell me I was getting baptized with my father.

The amount of anxiety I felt is still traceable today. I really had no clue what a baptism really meant.

Thinking about where my church performed baptisms made me tremble. During sermons, it was a picturesque glass cage with a painting of nature behind the podium, center stage to the rows of pews filled with strangers. I used to analyze the details while the pastor spoke. My dad, getting baptized? The drunk cursing violent buffoon. What do you wear to a baptism? What do non-religious white lower middle class girls wear? A tight pink and purple (never my favorite) one piece pulled tightly over my shoulders expressing the small peaks on my chest, torn jean shorts. Scuffed sneakers battered from neighborhood exploration. My long and thick hair was pulled back, a large unmanageable knot caught at the center. A comb sliced through my scalp as I tried to prepare for an event that before the moment I heard about it, meant absolutely nothing to me and still in some uncanny way meant nothing but terrified me.

Perhaps the most tremendous factor of that day was the idea of my dad being baptized and him choosing for me to be baptized with him. The closest he ever came to being religious was the one time he taught me the "As I Lay Me Down to Sleep" prayer before bed. He was the type of dad who crushed beer cans on his forehead, hung lizards from his ears, spun black racer snakes around in a jug until they became dizzy, and somehow convinced my siblings and I to let him test his: taser gun, paintball gun, bb gun - on us. He loved (and still loves to this day) the fact that GOD is DOG backwards. The fact that he was such a prick, was the main reason I despised Sunday school where lessons and signs proclaimed that one must always "honour thy father and mother." Generalizing such powerful statements made me skeptical. Faintly though, there was a glimmer of hope I felt that day. Like this was the turning point for my family. This is when we would go from dysfunctional to functional. A sick feeling swelled inside as I tried to figure out whether I wanted that or not. What was on the other side? I'm pretty certain the image I had of "religious families" was close to Stepford style families.

Eventually as the day worn on, I'd find out that we weren't getting baptized. I'm not certain about the technicalities but we weren't qualified - something along the lines of the church needing to vote for our acceptance. I was relieved and mortified, and it was never brought up again. About a year later during a visit to a random church while seeing a friend's grandma, I was asked if I wanted to be saved. Dumbfounded I mumbled yes, and they mumbled some prayers and told me I was saved. I can't describe how blown away I was at how easy becoming "saved" was, like it was magic or something. I had my first hot pocket that day and balloon in a tube! Those were better memories.

I attended that church where I was nearly baptized until I was possibly about fourteen years old. At that point, I was the only person in Sunday school who didn't wear a cowboy hat or was rumored to be knocked up by my cousin. The girls were separated from the guys for outside church events and the girls were forced to have sleep overs where we did each others' nails and hair. I was scolded for asking to play football instead. Shorts had to be past the knee. My cousins and I would usually skip out on the sermons and instead walked to nearby stores to entertain ourselves. My brother was the big fat kid that sat in the little kid chair and broke it - the legs flying down the aisle in all directions.

My last memory there is of my cousin Mike's wedding to my childhood best friend. I was seventeen and though I had stopped attending and was underage, the pastor allowed me to sign as a witness. As the maid of honor, I found myself nearly center stage in front of rows of pews of strangers and family. And again later - as I had to perform my first wedding toast at a wedding reception where no alcohol and no dancing were allowed. I didn't enjoy weddings. I remember taking off to the back of the building, laughing somewhat hysterically. Woowie, here I am allowing my cousin to marry the one psychotic bitch who never seemed to vanish from my life no matter what happened - the one couple who encouraged my weekly hardcore partying at their house because they loved me so much. At a church where you couldn't dance or drink alcohol.

Good stuff. The speech I gave is somewhere in this journal's archives.
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Retrospective [Feb. 22nd, 2009|10:58 pm]
I try to stop myself occasionally and readjust my perspective of life by thinking about how others have existed. I understand the way life works - we live, we die - but it still fascinates me to think about what might've happened beneath my feet decades or centuries ago. It mystifies me, humbles me.

I'll be 24 this year, and it doesn't feel "old" to me at all.
By the time my mom was my age, she had two children, been married and divorced.
By the time my dad was my age, he had two children and married a woman who had two children from a previous marriage.

Us & Cousins in Cali
Originally uploaded by crysd724

It may seem odd but despite the traumatic childhood I had, that each of my parents had, and the obstacles we're going through now... I can't help but to think that things could be much worse. I can't help but to think that we all have our traumas and demons, and we all have the possibility for our enlightenment. I just want to be in touch with that reality. I want to accept all of it as who I am and stop seeking the character I should or could be. I am nothing but simply me.

And that's okay...
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(no subject) [Jan. 7th, 2009|04:53 pm]
I understand that it really is just me, my fault, my foolish attempts. I'm working on it, working on an improved me. I have to disassociate from the past habits that made things difficult for me to be honest with myself and others. But, I know it's all in my head. I can make this work. If I can't, then we'll just see what happens and deal with it then. I guess I just didn't want to feel guilty, or apologetic. I always feel that way, regardless.

I'm just a doofus.
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