Spiders
Fuck, it's been a while since the last update. When was it, this weekend? Shit. Nothing really's been happening, except for today something did.
I wonder if I'm repeating myself...
Well you see, this is an instance of a friend growing tired of a friend, and neither were me. This time, however, I'm seeing it from the other side. The opposite point of view. The eyes of the girl lost, lonely, and scared. This saddened me deeply, for she's a good friend of mine. She told me she's hit rock bottom, that she can't escape.
And I had to ask, really? Is this really rock bottom? Didn't you say you were at rock bottom when your god-knows-how-long relationship ended? Rock bottom seems to keep getting lower. And I tried to tell her a cute little metaphor I thought up for rock bottom, I called it "Puddles on the Beach". Hitting rock bottom is like falling into a huge pit at the beach. Either someone laid a clever trap for you, or you've been working for quite some time to get there. No matter how you got there, getting out seems to be the big problem. You try scaling the walls- the sand gives way underneath you. So, you have two options- you can sit there hollering for hours and hours before someone pulls you out- and rely on others to get you out of your messes- or, or you can sit there and ask yourself, how the fuck did I get here? And you can wait. And wait. Because at some point, the tide is going to come back, and it will gradually fill your hole back up with water- you need the patience to wait, and the perserverance to stay afloat- but if you make it, you'll find that each time after that, it becomes easier and easier.
And you know what she said?
"Every time I go to the beach, I can never swim"
That just crushed all my thoughts of sunshine and oceans in one fell swoop.
So this was running fresh in my head, and I thought to myself, damn. I got shit here for an update. What do I do with it? It took me a few hours to actually start writing, and all I got was shit. Then, I started talking to a friend via AIM, and this bit came out, and then I started writing all this shit:
Mathias:
the world is a brutal place.
Mathias:
it's saddening, to many degrees
Kristen:
yeah.
Mathias:
but at the same time, it's only in that position because that's what people make of it. they make themselves worry, they make themselves care; they wrap up their entire universe into a little parcel and call it their life they seek to control, to create order, and to plan the ways of eternity; all in their own little parcel; and when the destructive/creative forces that be decide something different, that their plans, the best of mice and men, mean nothing. they become scared. and they run. they hide. they cry. they forget that, even though unwrapped, their universe still exists and continues to exist. they start believing the wrapping paper is the item inside; and that when it's torn, the contents suffer likewise. they frantically struggle to re-tape it, or in some situations, re-wrap the gift entirely. 'cause they never, ever realise; no matter how you wrap it, no matter how it looks; it's not yours-you're its; and that wrapping paper means nothing-a dime for thirty rolls.
And the title, "Spiders",
My friend pointed out I have spiders in my cieling. I wouldn't leave the covers for five minutes.
I wonder if I'm repeating myself...
Well you see, this is an instance of a friend growing tired of a friend, and neither were me. This time, however, I'm seeing it from the other side. The opposite point of view. The eyes of the girl lost, lonely, and scared. This saddened me deeply, for she's a good friend of mine. She told me she's hit rock bottom, that she can't escape.
And I had to ask, really? Is this really rock bottom? Didn't you say you were at rock bottom when your god-knows-how-long relationship ended? Rock bottom seems to keep getting lower. And I tried to tell her a cute little metaphor I thought up for rock bottom, I called it "Puddles on the Beach". Hitting rock bottom is like falling into a huge pit at the beach. Either someone laid a clever trap for you, or you've been working for quite some time to get there. No matter how you got there, getting out seems to be the big problem. You try scaling the walls- the sand gives way underneath you. So, you have two options- you can sit there hollering for hours and hours before someone pulls you out- and rely on others to get you out of your messes- or, or you can sit there and ask yourself, how the fuck did I get here? And you can wait. And wait. Because at some point, the tide is going to come back, and it will gradually fill your hole back up with water- you need the patience to wait, and the perserverance to stay afloat- but if you make it, you'll find that each time after that, it becomes easier and easier.
And you know what she said?
"Every time I go to the beach, I can never swim"
That just crushed all my thoughts of sunshine and oceans in one fell swoop.
So this was running fresh in my head, and I thought to myself, damn. I got shit here for an update. What do I do with it? It took me a few hours to actually start writing, and all I got was shit. Then, I started talking to a friend via AIM, and this bit came out, and then I started writing all this shit:
Mathias:
the world is a brutal place.
Mathias:
it's saddening, to many degrees
Kristen:
yeah.
Mathias:
but at the same time, it's only in that position because that's what people make of it. they make themselves worry, they make themselves care; they wrap up their entire universe into a little parcel and call it their life they seek to control, to create order, and to plan the ways of eternity; all in their own little parcel; and when the destructive/creative forces that be decide something different, that their plans, the best of mice and men, mean nothing. they become scared. and they run. they hide. they cry. they forget that, even though unwrapped, their universe still exists and continues to exist. they start believing the wrapping paper is the item inside; and that when it's torn, the contents suffer likewise. they frantically struggle to re-tape it, or in some situations, re-wrap the gift entirely. 'cause they never, ever realise; no matter how you wrap it, no matter how it looks; it's not yours-you're its; and that wrapping paper means nothing-a dime for thirty rolls.
And the title, "Spiders",
My friend pointed out I have spiders in my cieling. I wouldn't leave the covers for five minutes.