(no subject)
I’m in the mood to write and write I shall.
I might be long-winded, but sometimes a breeze can lead to a good place.
I don’t care that I hate livejournals.
I don’t care that I constantly read them despite my disapproval of most entries.
I don’t care that often the most fun entries I read are from people I disapprove of.
I don’t care that the last sentence could get me in trouble.
Now for the body paragraphs, (the meat of the elementary school hamburger). I will attempt to go into how I feel and have been feeling recently.
The problem lies in the fact that I usually do not do this. I am out of practice at expressing myself. I do not mean the artistic “paint a painting that stands for your inner turmoil” or “dance to Enya until you feel as though a weight has been lifted from your internal self” expression. It is of actual, genuine, “be a human being” expression I write. Often I wonder why I have avoided this and frankly, curse myself for it. It is obvious to even people I simply say a polite hello to in the halls that I am putting up a “wall.” This act gets tiresome, not just to me, but to the people around me. Lately in particular, I have noticed that some of my dearest friends have grown weary of this act. This is not to say they dislike spending time with me, as I (and hopefully others) still have a fantastic time when together. Before I discuss plans to remedy this or assuage (finally an SAT word comes in to use, I might have used it correctly, too) it, I want to delve into possible reasons I have put that infamous metaphoric “wall” up around myself.
Over the last year or so, I have developed an idea of what high school should be. I have attempted to step back and view the world of high school as objectively as possible. The phrase I commonly use in describing Wootton is a “training ground for life” (I briefly mentioned this in a post I made over a year ago). For example, we all must know what it feels like to fail a test in order to be able to cope with the sensation of failure later in life, or we should know how it feels to be rejected so we can deal with it later. I have always viewed this as a positive and healthy approach to going about my life as a teenager. Only now am I beginning to realize that by stepping back from problems in an attempt to rationally think them out, I might be missing out.
There are two professions in which the professionals are notoriously hard to connect with. One is that of the professional actor. Many actors are seen as covering up their own emotional trouble and “expressing” it through characters - fake people. The other professional that shares this reputation is ironically the psychologist. Psychologists, they say, spend all day analyzing others’ problems, yet never take time to work out their own. Not surprisingly, I have considered both professions. Both involve dissecting others, but more importantly, the job description includes applying a disguise. Whether it be by acting as another person entirely, or as a neutral safety device people can turn to for help, personal biases and feelings are to be forcefully ignored.
I feel as though I have morphed myself into a kind of Frankenstein-esque mix of the two, always providing the shoulder and never asking for it. I might sound selfish mentioning this, and if I do, so be it. I am not faulting anyone in any way, and it is not a bad thing, but has led to situations in which I am floundering and wondering to myself what to do. There are other situations in which I feel a certain way, but have not voiced that particular thought for fear of the consequences. In turn, I simply find myself kicking... myself... frequently. I have been a coward in refusing to reveal my own concerns, but more than that, I have been selfish. More selfish than in this writing in which I have constantly tried to avoid starting sentences with “I.”
I have more to say, but it all feels forced. Even now, I’m looking at what I have written and am hesitant to post this up. If I saw a journal entry to this affect, I would (no exageration) laugh in it’s face. It is self-absorbent, self-indulgent, self-pitying, and reads as though it came from the pen of Ignatius J. Reilly. I never want to read it again. Who knows if I will even heed my own words and open up? My only other “serious post,” (check for the long one about 35 posts back), I thought at the time would help me by writing it, and possibly help others. In this long-winded rant, I have accomplished nothing. So, I will finish the rest in bullet form.
• No eloquence here: I get mad when girls date assholes. (I might be of some value when it’s time to meet a seemingly good dad and silver metal, but it’s high school, so the kids who aren’t hesitant to tell a girl to fuck off win)
• I can’t remember the last time I was 100% honest with someone on a regular basis. That kinda hurts.
• Frankly, I think college will be a good change of pace for me. Lord knows I need it. After living in my house my whole life, I’ve begun to get this feeling I’m just floating. In school, socially, everything has really come to a stand-still. There is no movement, and it is depressing the hell out of me.
• I haven’t been able to maintain a relationship for a long time. It has something to do with the fact that I am ridiculously self conscious. I second guess everything I do. (Like writing this fucking thing). I get bored too quickly for my own (or anyone else’s good). I consider myself a liability to anyone I would get involved with.
• Fuck it.
There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: A perfectly stereotypical livejournal entry. There are no tears, no strong message you can take with you. Just a confused teenager listening to Miles Davis and fishing for a little help. I despise this. If there is one thing I can pass along after that assault on screen space, it is this.
• Don’t try to escape the fact that you’re in high school and confused out of your mind. Because you are.
Here’s to a refreshing 2005. And by the way, good luck.
I might be long-winded, but sometimes a breeze can lead to a good place.
I don’t care that I hate livejournals.
I don’t care that I constantly read them despite my disapproval of most entries.
I don’t care that often the most fun entries I read are from people I disapprove of.
I don’t care that the last sentence could get me in trouble.
Now for the body paragraphs, (the meat of the elementary school hamburger). I will attempt to go into how I feel and have been feeling recently.
The problem lies in the fact that I usually do not do this. I am out of practice at expressing myself. I do not mean the artistic “paint a painting that stands for your inner turmoil” or “dance to Enya until you feel as though a weight has been lifted from your internal self” expression. It is of actual, genuine, “be a human being” expression I write. Often I wonder why I have avoided this and frankly, curse myself for it. It is obvious to even people I simply say a polite hello to in the halls that I am putting up a “wall.” This act gets tiresome, not just to me, but to the people around me. Lately in particular, I have noticed that some of my dearest friends have grown weary of this act. This is not to say they dislike spending time with me, as I (and hopefully others) still have a fantastic time when together. Before I discuss plans to remedy this or assuage (finally an SAT word comes in to use, I might have used it correctly, too) it, I want to delve into possible reasons I have put that infamous metaphoric “wall” up around myself.
Over the last year or so, I have developed an idea of what high school should be. I have attempted to step back and view the world of high school as objectively as possible. The phrase I commonly use in describing Wootton is a “training ground for life” (I briefly mentioned this in a post I made over a year ago). For example, we all must know what it feels like to fail a test in order to be able to cope with the sensation of failure later in life, or we should know how it feels to be rejected so we can deal with it later. I have always viewed this as a positive and healthy approach to going about my life as a teenager. Only now am I beginning to realize that by stepping back from problems in an attempt to rationally think them out, I might be missing out.
There are two professions in which the professionals are notoriously hard to connect with. One is that of the professional actor. Many actors are seen as covering up their own emotional trouble and “expressing” it through characters - fake people. The other professional that shares this reputation is ironically the psychologist. Psychologists, they say, spend all day analyzing others’ problems, yet never take time to work out their own. Not surprisingly, I have considered both professions. Both involve dissecting others, but more importantly, the job description includes applying a disguise. Whether it be by acting as another person entirely, or as a neutral safety device people can turn to for help, personal biases and feelings are to be forcefully ignored.
I feel as though I have morphed myself into a kind of Frankenstein-esque mix of the two, always providing the shoulder and never asking for it. I might sound selfish mentioning this, and if I do, so be it. I am not faulting anyone in any way, and it is not a bad thing, but has led to situations in which I am floundering and wondering to myself what to do. There are other situations in which I feel a certain way, but have not voiced that particular thought for fear of the consequences. In turn, I simply find myself kicking... myself... frequently. I have been a coward in refusing to reveal my own concerns, but more than that, I have been selfish. More selfish than in this writing in which I have constantly tried to avoid starting sentences with “I.”
I have more to say, but it all feels forced. Even now, I’m looking at what I have written and am hesitant to post this up. If I saw a journal entry to this affect, I would (no exageration) laugh in it’s face. It is self-absorbent, self-indulgent, self-pitying, and reads as though it came from the pen of Ignatius J. Reilly. I never want to read it again. Who knows if I will even heed my own words and open up? My only other “serious post,” (check for the long one about 35 posts back), I thought at the time would help me by writing it, and possibly help others. In this long-winded rant, I have accomplished nothing. So, I will finish the rest in bullet form.
• No eloquence here: I get mad when girls date assholes. (I might be of some value when it’s time to meet a seemingly good dad and silver metal, but it’s high school, so the kids who aren’t hesitant to tell a girl to fuck off win)
• I can’t remember the last time I was 100% honest with someone on a regular basis. That kinda hurts.
• Frankly, I think college will be a good change of pace for me. Lord knows I need it. After living in my house my whole life, I’ve begun to get this feeling I’m just floating. In school, socially, everything has really come to a stand-still. There is no movement, and it is depressing the hell out of me.
• I haven’t been able to maintain a relationship for a long time. It has something to do with the fact that I am ridiculously self conscious. I second guess everything I do. (Like writing this fucking thing). I get bored too quickly for my own (or anyone else’s good). I consider myself a liability to anyone I would get involved with.
• Fuck it.
There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: A perfectly stereotypical livejournal entry. There are no tears, no strong message you can take with you. Just a confused teenager listening to Miles Davis and fishing for a little help. I despise this. If there is one thing I can pass along after that assault on screen space, it is this.
• Don’t try to escape the fact that you’re in high school and confused out of your mind. Because you are.
Here’s to a refreshing 2005. And by the way, good luck.