OKAY FINE ALREADY JEEZ
...gosh.
I don't really care anymore about my journal if only because I don't really care anymore about examining my life under a microscope, dissecting the tiniest middling minutae to derive meaning out of an undefined collection of harried hurricanical happenstance.
THAT, MY FRENDZ, IS TEH MAENING OF LIFE. O-M-G. I'm a feckin' jeeeenius.
Just fucking enjoy it while its good, and kick the fuck out of it when it sucks. Time flies real fucking fast and there is no point to not enjoy our short time here in this existance when we don't even know how much time we or our friends and family have got.
FECK YOU BETCH. GO SUCK SOME DECK.
One important thing to bring up. YOU GUYS FUCKING SUCK. What if I killed myself? I was pretty fucking low there. I mean, not as low as when Gramps died, but at least then I was also in an enough state of shock to prevent me from even considering suicide, yeesh. This current episode of depression, however, was me mentally kicking myself in the ass for making a series of stupid mistakes and hating myself.. especially for letting myself get to a weak enough point to let some psycho from Arizona play out his hero fantasy and hijack my life like he did with previous pathetic "oh-woe-is-me" girls. Yay! You didn't even put any effort to really be in my life. You're some lazy friends. (I'm not talking to you if we like, don't really know each other, duh, and also if your name is Janelle because you made a point of checking in on me, many thanks my friend.) Actually no, Janelle, I sort of take that back, you shoulda been around when I was moving away from the rat-infested apartment of film geeks and metalhead-WWFRAW!-a-tude and moved into the Little Whore House of Ghetto Gangster Hell. FUCK, you even saw the psycho I let hijack my life! What the fuck man, what the fuck. (Oh waitwaitwait. You -did- help me move my shit from Rat House to Whore House. Kudos to you, girlie. Weren't we drinking, too? But STILL!!!!!1) I know I hang tough, and you guys know I hang tough, but I'm feeling like you're taking my tough hanging for granted. Maybe your lazy crazy faith in my strength is really justified. I'm honored. Just, ..please.. don't take my strlifength for granted. If more of you would have been around, would have been there for me, I don't think I would have slipped so far down. Your simply being there would have stopped me waaayy before I fucked myself over three more times. Anyways. Folks know who I've got my invisible finger of pointitude at. I'm just too feckin' nice to materialize it. But maybe I should?
Thing is, I have a conscience. A SUPER conscience, if you will. Saturday I finally got back in touch with my friend Nerissa after, ohhhhh.... *counts on fingers* ..May, June, July, August.... ELEVEN MONTHS (boy time sure does fly, eh?!) of silence. Silence, man. We just stopped talking. It wasn't a forced silence either. Neither of us was doing it in some bitter scheme to make the other girl feel bad. We just simply stopped talking.
I always had her on my mind too. How was she? What was she up to? Was she okay?
You know, it's really simple to break a wall of silence, at least, the ones that just materialize out of nowhere. Just shoot an e-mail, make a phone call, write a letter, show up at work.. Although, sometimes, yeah, we make the excuse that life is just too hard, and I've got too many problems, so I need to focus on myself and sort myself out so I'm not gonna pay attention to you, mmkay? But seeing this girl again made me question that. Yes. I know that I need my space to get myself back in gear to tackle everything I want to do. But do I really have to focus on me so hard? I shouldn't be so hard on myself either way, really. The answer is "Yes, and yes": Yes, I should focus on myself and not try to be everywhere doing everything for everybody, and yes, I should also try and make myself be there for my friends even when I'm hardly even "all there" for myself. Because we got to talking and catching up, and yes, I knew it, she had a bad time.
And all I wanted to say to her across the table, over the basket of chips and salsa with guac on the side and margaritas was, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry for being so selfish with wanting to fix my own problems that I completely ignored yours. The words weren't even on the tip of my tongue. They were beating at the doors of my lips, looking for an opening, a lull, anywhere, to burst out. Silence. I dumbly didn't know how to say it without turning into a bumbling dunce.
Now maybe you're saying, "But Maria, really hun, don't beat yourself down. You've got a lot on your plate." Well, sure. Who doesn't. Everyone's got their cross to bear. Thing is, we shouldn't have to carry it alone.
"...We've gotta make it a point to be there for each other. Let's not lose touch again like that, okay?"
Okay.
I don't really care anymore about my journal if only because I don't really care anymore about examining my life under a microscope, dissecting the tiniest middling minutae to derive meaning out of an undefined collection of harried hurricanical happenstance.
THAT, MY FRENDZ, IS TEH MAENING OF LIFE. O-M-G. I'm a feckin' jeeeenius.
Just fucking enjoy it while its good, and kick the fuck out of it when it sucks. Time flies real fucking fast and there is no point to not enjoy our short time here in this existance when we don't even know how much time we or our friends and family have got.
FECK YOU BETCH. GO SUCK SOME DECK.
One important thing to bring up. YOU GUYS FUCKING SUCK. What if I killed myself? I was pretty fucking low there. I mean, not as low as when Gramps died, but at least then I was also in an enough state of shock to prevent me from even considering suicide, yeesh. This current episode of depression, however, was me mentally kicking myself in the ass for making a series of stupid mistakes and hating myself.. especially for letting myself get to a weak enough point to let some psycho from Arizona play out his hero fantasy and hijack my life like he did with previous pathetic "oh-woe-is-me" girls. Yay! You didn't even put any effort to really be in my life. You're some lazy friends. (I'm not talking to you if we like, don't really know each other, duh, and also if your name is Janelle because you made a point of checking in on me, many thanks my friend.) Actually no, Janelle, I sort of take that back, you shoulda been around when I was moving away from the rat-infested apartment of film geeks and metalhead-WWFRAW!-a-tude and moved into the Little Whore House of Ghetto Gangster Hell. FUCK, you even saw the psycho I let hijack my life! What the fuck man, what the fuck. (Oh waitwaitwait. You -did- help me move my shit from Rat House to Whore House. Kudos to you, girlie. Weren't we drinking, too? But STILL!!!!!1) I know I hang tough, and you guys know I hang tough, but I'm feeling like you're taking my tough hanging for granted. Maybe your lazy crazy faith in my strength is really justified. I'm honored. Just, ..please.. don't take my strlifength for granted. If more of you would have been around, would have been there for me, I don't think I would have slipped so far down. Your simply being there would have stopped me waaayy before I fucked myself over three more times. Anyways. Folks know who I've got my invisible finger of pointitude at. I'm just too feckin' nice to materialize it. But maybe I should?
Thing is, I have a conscience. A SUPER conscience, if you will. Saturday I finally got back in touch with my friend Nerissa after, ohhhhh.... *counts on fingers* ..May, June, July, August.... ELEVEN MONTHS (boy time sure does fly, eh?!) of silence. Silence, man. We just stopped talking. It wasn't a forced silence either. Neither of us was doing it in some bitter scheme to make the other girl feel bad. We just simply stopped talking.
I always had her on my mind too. How was she? What was she up to? Was she okay?
You know, it's really simple to break a wall of silence, at least, the ones that just materialize out of nowhere. Just shoot an e-mail, make a phone call, write a letter, show up at work.. Although, sometimes, yeah, we make the excuse that life is just too hard, and I've got too many problems, so I need to focus on myself and sort myself out so I'm not gonna pay attention to you, mmkay? But seeing this girl again made me question that. Yes. I know that I need my space to get myself back in gear to tackle everything I want to do. But do I really have to focus on me so hard? I shouldn't be so hard on myself either way, really. The answer is "Yes, and yes": Yes, I should focus on myself and not try to be everywhere doing everything for everybody, and yes, I should also try and make myself be there for my friends even when I'm hardly even "all there" for myself. Because we got to talking and catching up, and yes, I knew it, she had a bad time.
And all I wanted to say to her across the table, over the basket of chips and salsa with guac on the side and margaritas was, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry for being so selfish with wanting to fix my own problems that I completely ignored yours. The words weren't even on the tip of my tongue. They were beating at the doors of my lips, looking for an opening, a lull, anywhere, to burst out. Silence. I dumbly didn't know how to say it without turning into a bumbling dunce.
Now maybe you're saying, "But Maria, really hun, don't beat yourself down. You've got a lot on your plate." Well, sure. Who doesn't. Everyone's got their cross to bear. Thing is, we shouldn't have to carry it alone.
"...We've gotta make it a point to be there for each other. Let's not lose touch again like that, okay?"
Okay.