Not paying attention.
Truthfully speaking, I consider myself a decently smart person. I can get A's in my classes with generally only a modest effort, I read books in a moderately quick fashion, and I can score over 200,000 points on Tetris. It's a bunch of little things that trip me up. Like how you can't schedule a nap and a study time at the same time during the day and expect to get them done. Or how if you put off writing a 5 page paper until 11 pm the night before, you can't expect to get it done before your bedtime at 1. Or how when you're living on a fixed income, blowing all of your money around Christmas means you'll have to actually look around and find something later.
Really it all comes from not paying attention, which is possibly my biggest weakness. When I think of my hardships in school, it's more or less the same. My relationship with Martha? Could have been saved a lot of heartache if I'd paid more attention. Hell, I don't even pay attention to all of the sites I visit (like Livejournal).
My granddad gave me two extremely large pots that were sitting around my house. I'd been making comments about wanting a very large pot to my mother, and when my granddad heard, he handed them to me before I left. I'm not sure what it says about my life that I am so ecstatically happy at having large soup pots, but I am. To break it in, I decided to use the smaller of the two, quadrupling my mother's potato soup recipe. This was 10 pds. of potatos, 2 pds. of ham, 8 cups of milk, and 4 onions among several other ingredients. The result? I have potato soup for DAYZ... actually, rationed out, I could possibly make this last a week or two and still eat it everyday. I have given thought to the idea that I might get sick of it after a couple days, but so far I "crave" the stuff. It's unnatural, and, truth be told, a little scary.
I may be making a trip to London this summer. Such a trip would mark the first time in 20 years that I stepped outside of the country. I fully expect to overlook buying a passport or something. I'd already have, but people keep reminding me that I need one to leave the country. It'll cost another few thousand dollars with interest, but in the wake my ever-enlarging school debts, that's really only going to be a drop. I'm not paying attention to how I'll pay for it, but hopefully it'll work out.
I started writing something...for here. It's not finished yet, and truthfully I don't know if I will finish it. Even if I did, I'm not sure I'll actually post it. The problem with a public journal of your thoughts and feelings is that you don't actually post your thoughts and feelings, just the censored ones you wish to allow other people to see. The nature of your real fears or hopes remain unlit until you choose to disclose them. For me, this means leaving off portions of my thoughts so that no one can find them, while desperately hoping someone does. Everyone I know has access to certain portions of my life, but no one has access to all of the same parts. Meanwhile there's a few parts that I tell no one, because no one has cracked the puzzle of them, a puzzle which I sometimes wonder if I even know the answer to anymore.
I don't mean to sound morose. I'm really not. Truthfully, I feel like, short of one or two problems, I'm close to everything I want for the time being. If anything, this isn't anything morbid or depressing, it's simply the truth bubbling up. Someone once said that every criminal subconsciously leaves clues behind because part of them wants to be caught, that they want to pay for what they've done. I don't agree with that last part. I think we leave clues because we want to be chased. The Riddler could evade Batman any time he wished if only he didn't try to make it a game. But that's no fun, so he breadcrumbs a trail, and watches to see (hoping) that Batman will follow.
Nicholas
Really it all comes from not paying attention, which is possibly my biggest weakness. When I think of my hardships in school, it's more or less the same. My relationship with Martha? Could have been saved a lot of heartache if I'd paid more attention. Hell, I don't even pay attention to all of the sites I visit (like Livejournal).
My granddad gave me two extremely large pots that were sitting around my house. I'd been making comments about wanting a very large pot to my mother, and when my granddad heard, he handed them to me before I left. I'm not sure what it says about my life that I am so ecstatically happy at having large soup pots, but I am. To break it in, I decided to use the smaller of the two, quadrupling my mother's potato soup recipe. This was 10 pds. of potatos, 2 pds. of ham, 8 cups of milk, and 4 onions among several other ingredients. The result? I have potato soup for DAYZ... actually, rationed out, I could possibly make this last a week or two and still eat it everyday. I have given thought to the idea that I might get sick of it after a couple days, but so far I "crave" the stuff. It's unnatural, and, truth be told, a little scary.
I may be making a trip to London this summer. Such a trip would mark the first time in 20 years that I stepped outside of the country. I fully expect to overlook buying a passport or something. I'd already have, but people keep reminding me that I need one to leave the country. It'll cost another few thousand dollars with interest, but in the wake my ever-enlarging school debts, that's really only going to be a drop. I'm not paying attention to how I'll pay for it, but hopefully it'll work out.
I started writing something...for here. It's not finished yet, and truthfully I don't know if I will finish it. Even if I did, I'm not sure I'll actually post it. The problem with a public journal of your thoughts and feelings is that you don't actually post your thoughts and feelings, just the censored ones you wish to allow other people to see. The nature of your real fears or hopes remain unlit until you choose to disclose them. For me, this means leaving off portions of my thoughts so that no one can find them, while desperately hoping someone does. Everyone I know has access to certain portions of my life, but no one has access to all of the same parts. Meanwhile there's a few parts that I tell no one, because no one has cracked the puzzle of them, a puzzle which I sometimes wonder if I even know the answer to anymore.
I don't mean to sound morose. I'm really not. Truthfully, I feel like, short of one or two problems, I'm close to everything I want for the time being. If anything, this isn't anything morbid or depressing, it's simply the truth bubbling up. Someone once said that every criminal subconsciously leaves clues behind because part of them wants to be caught, that they want to pay for what they've done. I don't agree with that last part. I think we leave clues because we want to be chased. The Riddler could evade Batman any time he wished if only he didn't try to make it a game. But that's no fun, so he breadcrumbs a trail, and watches to see (hoping) that Batman will follow.
Nicholas