Insomnable Thoughts
Jul. 26th, 2009 03:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
exhilaration1. I've been finding myself generally sick of this. What's this? Oh, everything. This island. My job. These people - I'm sick of not having friends. I'm sick of not making friends. I'm sick of meeting people and wondering if they will make good friends - it's like I want to connect, but but then I do everything but. I'd say I'm officially no longer friends with Erica, and yet at the same time, I kind of feel like I never was. Is this what growing up is? You just get so sick of people you can't make new friends anymore, and your old friends get so sick of you that you're just pretty much alone?
2. The flesh-colored crayon - I was painting earlier today with house paint. I have all these ends of gallons and one is called... cashew, I think, and I was painting with that color and flat white, some really limited palette squares of flowers and stuff, and as I was painting I was thinking about how the color, in the light I was sitting in, looked like liquid flesh. Flesh? Not my flesh, I'm nothing like that pink-ish beige tone, and yet the first descriptive my mind picks is flesh-tone. I guess that just shows how old I am, that when I was a kid crayola still labeled the crayon "flesh" instead of "peach."
3. I had a Harry Potter dream, only it was more like a nightmare. I know, I just said I wish I still had Harry Potter dreams - in this one I was Ron, and it was during the Triwizard Tournament, and I had to get to Harry in the maze but a curse kept confunding me and I kept forgetting what I needed to tell Harry every time I got close to him, and then once I'd lose track of him I'd remember it again and start trying to find him, and by the end of the dream I was trying to call out for some to help - not help me, but help Harry, because the curse was keeping me from getting to him, but because of the curse I couldn't even do that. I woke up in a panic.
4. I was talking to Jenna the bartender at work and I had this strange, strange moment where I realized she didn't believe what I was saying. She thought I was telling a big fat whopping lie - she, somehow, got to telling me that when she was twenty-one her boyfriend at the time, who was thirty-one, proposed to her with his ex's ring, and she was disgusted and said no. She described the whole thing, how he did it in front of all her friends, and how she recognized the ring from times he had talked about it, and how she later found him cheating on her with her friend. So, in response to Jenna's story, I told my own - I, too, have been proposed to, with a ring and everything, and answered with a loud and resounding no. This is 100% true, the ring was white gold, diamonds, and sapphires and the guy was pretty much delusional, but even as I was telling her, I could tell by her face and by the way she was exchanging looks with this server who was part of the conversation, that neither of them believed me, and then even as I was talking it sounded crazy even to my ears, like nothing like that could possibly be true. And they both kept trying to finish my story - like it was all obviously just a story concocted for attention.
I was fourteen and in eighth grade. I went to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. I was in the church youth choir and we had practice on Sunday afternoons. So I spend the entire day of Sunday at church, every week. There was a boy who was always hanging around me. He was seventeen and in twelfth grade, and was joining the Navy and shipping out after his graduation. One Sunday, between the morning service and choir practice, he and I got in a conversation about marriage. I said I never wanted to get married to anyone - in my head, at fourteen, I equated marriage with a relationship with a guy, and that was something I could never even imagine myself getting into. So I assumed I'd never get married, and told myself I never wanted to anyway.
The same day I told him I never wanted to get married, he asked me to marry him. He had a ring and everything. I barely looked at it, but it had sapphires in it. I told him he was crazy. I told him I was fourteen years old and not getting married. He had it all worked out, he said. He was going to make all this money in the military and we were going to live together on the Navy base and he'd pay for me to go to college (I had said something about not wanting to get married because I wanted to go to college after school) - I mean, I left this conversation with a general impression of what the fuck was that about. He wasn't my boyfriend - of course, he didn't believe in dating. I mentioned I was raised a fundamentalist Christian, right? That's a fundie thing, not to believe in dating. So this guy, who I had never even been alone with, let alone held hands with or kissed or connected in any way with other than singing together in choir and sitting together in church, was convinced God told him to marry me.
In retrospect, maybe I should have seen this coming. Maybe instead of just liking the attention, I should have tried to figure the motive behind it rather than just feeling special. But I was fourteen. All I wanted was to be "cool," and attention from an older guy is pretty cool looking I thought. And thinking about this now, it does seem pretty crazy. But it's completely true. I've exaggerated nothing.
So I described to Jenna that Sunday afternoon when I turned down a marriage proposal in the basement of my church at fourteen, and what the ring looked like, and told her that he was seventeen and about to join the navy, and within a few weeks of proposing to me I found out he had proposed to this other girl we went to church with, who was even younger than I was, and she accepted, and then he joined the Navy and I never saw or heard from him again. When I got to the part about him shipping out and disappearing from my life, she "finished" my story, saying "and then you found out he was killed in combat, right?"
It was clear. She thought it was all a great big lie. I just kind of looked at her and was like, "No. I have no idea whatever happened to him. Just that he was engaged to his other girl and then he shipped out."
But even as I was telling it I felt like I was making it up, because that was such a long time ago - I was fourteen! That's like being a different person, it's like it wasn't even me that was happening to - I didn't even believe myself when I was saying it. And that is a strange, strange feeling, to know something is true but feel like it's a lie.
5. I was thinking earlier, just sitting around trying to figure out what I could change about my life to make me like it better - to enjoy it - to be happy, happier, whatever - at it occurred to me that that's pretty much all I ever do, try to arrange things for the maximum possibility of happiness. I don't like something? I get it out of my life. I'm a grown up, I shouldn't have to do things I don't want to, and I pretty much don't. And yet, still, I'm unhappy. I take drugs, and yet still, I'm unhappy. And it occurred to me that maybe instead of striving to change things about my life, I should try to change things about myself. How I react to things. How I think about things. I don't know. Can anyone really change, or are we stuck with what life does to us?
2. The flesh-colored crayon - I was painting earlier today with house paint. I have all these ends of gallons and one is called... cashew, I think, and I was painting with that color and flat white, some really limited palette squares of flowers and stuff, and as I was painting I was thinking about how the color, in the light I was sitting in, looked like liquid flesh. Flesh? Not my flesh, I'm nothing like that pink-ish beige tone, and yet the first descriptive my mind picks is flesh-tone. I guess that just shows how old I am, that when I was a kid crayola still labeled the crayon "flesh" instead of "peach."
3. I had a Harry Potter dream, only it was more like a nightmare. I know, I just said I wish I still had Harry Potter dreams - in this one I was Ron, and it was during the Triwizard Tournament, and I had to get to Harry in the maze but a curse kept confunding me and I kept forgetting what I needed to tell Harry every time I got close to him, and then once I'd lose track of him I'd remember it again and start trying to find him, and by the end of the dream I was trying to call out for some to help - not help me, but help Harry, because the curse was keeping me from getting to him, but because of the curse I couldn't even do that. I woke up in a panic.
4. I was talking to Jenna the bartender at work and I had this strange, strange moment where I realized she didn't believe what I was saying. She thought I was telling a big fat whopping lie - she, somehow, got to telling me that when she was twenty-one her boyfriend at the time, who was thirty-one, proposed to her with his ex's ring, and she was disgusted and said no. She described the whole thing, how he did it in front of all her friends, and how she recognized the ring from times he had talked about it, and how she later found him cheating on her with her friend. So, in response to Jenna's story, I told my own - I, too, have been proposed to, with a ring and everything, and answered with a loud and resounding no. This is 100% true, the ring was white gold, diamonds, and sapphires and the guy was pretty much delusional, but even as I was telling her, I could tell by her face and by the way she was exchanging looks with this server who was part of the conversation, that neither of them believed me, and then even as I was talking it sounded crazy even to my ears, like nothing like that could possibly be true. And they both kept trying to finish my story - like it was all obviously just a story concocted for attention.
I was fourteen and in eighth grade. I went to church on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. I was in the church youth choir and we had practice on Sunday afternoons. So I spend the entire day of Sunday at church, every week. There was a boy who was always hanging around me. He was seventeen and in twelfth grade, and was joining the Navy and shipping out after his graduation. One Sunday, between the morning service and choir practice, he and I got in a conversation about marriage. I said I never wanted to get married to anyone - in my head, at fourteen, I equated marriage with a relationship with a guy, and that was something I could never even imagine myself getting into. So I assumed I'd never get married, and told myself I never wanted to anyway.
The same day I told him I never wanted to get married, he asked me to marry him. He had a ring and everything. I barely looked at it, but it had sapphires in it. I told him he was crazy. I told him I was fourteen years old and not getting married. He had it all worked out, he said. He was going to make all this money in the military and we were going to live together on the Navy base and he'd pay for me to go to college (I had said something about not wanting to get married because I wanted to go to college after school) - I mean, I left this conversation with a general impression of what the fuck was that about. He wasn't my boyfriend - of course, he didn't believe in dating. I mentioned I was raised a fundamentalist Christian, right? That's a fundie thing, not to believe in dating. So this guy, who I had never even been alone with, let alone held hands with or kissed or connected in any way with other than singing together in choir and sitting together in church, was convinced God told him to marry me.
In retrospect, maybe I should have seen this coming. Maybe instead of just liking the attention, I should have tried to figure the motive behind it rather than just feeling special. But I was fourteen. All I wanted was to be "cool," and attention from an older guy is pretty cool looking I thought. And thinking about this now, it does seem pretty crazy. But it's completely true. I've exaggerated nothing.
So I described to Jenna that Sunday afternoon when I turned down a marriage proposal in the basement of my church at fourteen, and what the ring looked like, and told her that he was seventeen and about to join the navy, and within a few weeks of proposing to me I found out he had proposed to this other girl we went to church with, who was even younger than I was, and she accepted, and then he joined the Navy and I never saw or heard from him again. When I got to the part about him shipping out and disappearing from my life, she "finished" my story, saying "and then you found out he was killed in combat, right?"
It was clear. She thought it was all a great big lie. I just kind of looked at her and was like, "No. I have no idea whatever happened to him. Just that he was engaged to his other girl and then he shipped out."
But even as I was telling it I felt like I was making it up, because that was such a long time ago - I was fourteen! That's like being a different person, it's like it wasn't even me that was happening to - I didn't even believe myself when I was saying it. And that is a strange, strange feeling, to know something is true but feel like it's a lie.
5. I was thinking earlier, just sitting around trying to figure out what I could change about my life to make me like it better - to enjoy it - to be happy, happier, whatever - at it occurred to me that that's pretty much all I ever do, try to arrange things for the maximum possibility of happiness. I don't like something? I get it out of my life. I'm a grown up, I shouldn't have to do things I don't want to, and I pretty much don't. And yet, still, I'm unhappy. I take drugs, and yet still, I'm unhappy. And it occurred to me that maybe instead of striving to change things about my life, I should try to change things about myself. How I react to things. How I think about things. I don't know. Can anyone really change, or are we stuck with what life does to us?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 01:36 am (UTC)I can't possibly believe that we're stuck with what life does to us...it would be too depressing. You have changed, you're working hard to get yourself out of a negative situation.
Going to France didn't make me happy. Taking an advantage of an opportunity made me happy, although it wasn't roses all the time. I missed Remi, my friends, and my family all the time and not to mention that I was dirt poor and hungry due to the exchange rate!
Anyway, sorry (again) for the epic long post and for being AWOL for a week or so. I was on vacation, but didn't feel like announcing it to the anonymous internet. On second thought, making it friends-only only would've solved that problem. Lol, oh well.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 02:42 am (UTC)I think... I feel like I cause negative situations, and if I could just stop doing that I wouldn't feel like the world is doing me dirty all the time, you know? I mean, yeah, bad things happen to people, but when they just pile up... at some point, ya gotta look at your own role in it.
Anyway. Yeah, traveling isn't one big whirlwind of happiness, I know. Easy to get lonely, and then think, why am I not having a good time? I should be livin' it up!
Welcome back again :P