"Still I always feel this strange estrangement; nothing here is real, nothing here is right."

Today's Title: Once More With Feeling

Back blogging again. Dunno what triggered it. Just sorta happened. Was rereading some other things I have previously written here. Strange combination of misplaced optimism, moments of extreme whiny angst, and pointless musings. Oddly, I like the pointless musings the most. Perhaps because I can still seem to relate. Imagine that, consistent thought.

And so the world goes on. A year passes and I am still unemployed and completely inept with the opposite sex. So it goes. People return from their sojourns to the unknown lands of four-year university. As soon as they do, life goes back to its norm (aka. feeling slightly left out). So it goes.

In discussions with people lately, I've been told I'm not confident enough. This doesn't seem to compute for some reason. I guess it never occurred to me that I wasn't confident or, at least, didn't portray myself as such. I mean, I'm not claiming to be completely comfortable in my skin. No one is at my age so I feel that's quite fair. Yet, apparently people think I lack confidence. I suppose it explains more than it doesn't, namely my issues with people. All the same, I don't really know how to react to that news. How do you fix a problem you don't know you have? I don't know how else to carry/present myself because this is how I have always been. I don't feel as if I lack confidence. Quite to the contrary. I guess it has to do with the fact that a great deal of the things I feel are never said. Seriously, my internal monologue is smarmy as all hell. It all goes back to my musings on whether or not any one of my friends really knows me all that well. I'd like to think they do, but then at the same time I think of all the things I never say. And now anyone who reads this, if in fact there is anyone left who does read this, is thinking "Oh, so are you finally going to say something then?" To which I reply "No, are you kidding? I'm a bloody coward." And then I realize that maybe I do lack confidence in myself. If hanging out more with Sara has taught me anything, it's the fact that I never actually say what I mean. When she has a thought, she expresses. I have the what-if-I-sound-stupid syndrome that Sara obviously lacks. I wish I could say things that easily. There seems to be some sort of detour between my brain and my mouth that reroutes such things so rapidly that I don't even think about it anymore. And therein lies the reason why I type whenever I am contemplative.

It doesn't help that no one really talks to me about much. Is that just me again? I dunno. I like to be in the loop on stuff, yet no one likes to come to me for just the random. Serious or just for kicks. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but there is a considerable amount of data in defense of my claim that I am often forgotten about if it is not a large group activity or in some way instigated by me. Perhaps that's just me being slightly sullen at being, evidently, the only person home alone tonight on the internet. Am I not fun? I guess that's a question that nags on my mind, so I'm throwing it out there. Look at that, I'm growing already. At the moment, I blame it on group dynamics. Let's face it, the Circle is about as much a unified group as the E.U. We share a common title and currency. We think we're better than all those other nonsense nation. Yet, when it comes right down to it there are alliances that underscore the whole. Queue my common analogy of me being Switzerland. No allegiances. (Note: Don't jump on me if my analogy isn't exactly perfect. To be quite honest, I'm not sure how the E.U. works, but I make assumptions in the name of creative license. I'm creating a simile here people, work with me.)

Anywho, now I've really lost my train of thought so I'm going to stop before I get people telling me to shut up and stop being so self-centered. That seems to happen quite a bit when I get on rants of this nature. Sorry folks, I can only see life from one lens and I calls 'em as I sees 'em.

"I don't want to be
Going through the motions,
Losing all my drive.
I can't even see
If this is really me
And I just want to be alive."

Tonight, tonight... it all began tonight. I saw you and the world went away.

My room is the epitome of me. I'm trying to remember if it has always been so. I suppose at different times in my life "me" meant different things.

The earliest I can remember of my room, it was pink in essence: the bunk bed with matching quilt patterned comforters of pink and purple with hearts, childrens' toys in bright colors (a doll house, a fake kitchen and washing machine, etc.), tens of one-time diaper wipe boxes labeled with names and filled with collections of toys sorted by theme. There was even a rug at one time, if I remember correctly, that matched the comforters and the valence above the window. I have no idea what happened to that rug. Later, we added a boat-shaped book shelf bought at an unfinished furniture store. Toys littered the top shelf, the lower ones were occupied by Nancy Drew, Harry Potter, and Disney movies retold in book form. It was a good room for a child, but I don't think it was me per se... probably because I didn't decorated and shared it with my sister.

I got a room of my own sometime after my 8th birthday, I suppose. That time period is a bit fuzzy for me with obvious exceptions. Logically, I assume it was around that time anyhow, perhaps a bit later. For a while that room was fairly bare, but I was allowed to decorate it how I wanted. That's where the blue furniture and wall-shelves joined the picture. My room back then had fish pillows hanging from the ceiling from fishing wire and was, if I do say so myself, one of the coolest rooms I ever had. It transferred to our new house with the move, though I think that's when it began to lose its appeal.

After an older me began to take down the fish, my room was once again bare, once again resembling the majority of teenagers rooms, which is to say scattered with random fragments of a life filled with many interests. Truly enough, it's still like that now...yet, I feel a sort of cohesiveness to my design that cannot be explained with any other idea but the "me" essence that this rant is about.

From the planned Jackson Pollock wall to the randomly scattered school supplies on the ground, this room is a haven. In fact, I think it is damn near perfection in my eyes. My Doctor Who and Half-Blood Prince posters need to go up and the tarp needs to go, but then it will be complete. My long sought after treasure, Eowyn's sword, hangs in the corner near the blue shelf remnants of a former life, covered now more in books than knick-knacks (though the knick-knacks persist). Nearly five shelves out of six are filled with books, only one untouched by their presence for now. Arrayed in one corner are the awards I gathered in elementary and middle school. Dragon figurines and stuffed toys periodically appear. Half way down, my Lantern Corps rings are arranged strategically around my Spock and Clockwork Man action figures. I should really find room for all my Harry Potter action figures, or at least some. On the lowest shelf is a strange combination of my television, Wii, and a build-your-own Stonehenge kit arranged at the feet of Wendelyn, the largest of my stuffed dragons. Beneath all this lies the bed of a certain pig-dog who likes to take up residence in my room. Next to that, two storage bins: one of school papers, the other of old stuffed toys. Just in front of that, a dilapidated box of comic books and a stack of currently unused notebooks and my lab goggles. Looming above this, my desk, on which the blue tank of the ironically named Ophelia the fish, my small collection of computer games and TV shows on DVD, a speaker set, a model garden gnome, a big shell full of smaller shells and rocks, and my yearbook on which is perched a Lord of the Rings themed calendar and in which is cradled my coveted signed picture of Leonard Nemoy. Just above the desk, my windowsill houses my high school diploma, a lucky cat, and some candles which are never lit. On the other side of the desk, there is the jumbled corner for which there is no name, which is partway hidden by a large white/cork board which displays my to do list and ninja stars respectively. Above that, my dresser is home to my framed Sorcerer's Stone poster, the Circle's prom photo, a lava lamp, two piggy banks, and a teddy bear with other assorted items scattered in front. Then my bed, at the moment unmade and home to me, my laptop, and a big brown dog warming my toes. On my right, my bedside table has my long-time clock radio, three beanie babies of varying age, a drawer full of CDs (also varying in age), a stick of chapstick, my current book, my cell phone, and a glass of water. Adorning the walls are works of art (famous and non), a dragon tapestry that runs almost all the way down the wall, a Kingdom Hearts wall scroll, and a signed Spring Awakening poster.

I'm quite proud of it, if you couldn't tell. It's been a long time in the works. I think everyone should have a place like this...somewhere that completely creates the essence of home. Everything so familiar, yet so enthralling. Sometimes I wonder what someone who knew nothing about me could tell from my room and possessions. If they were to walk in now, would they look past the scattered items and memories and see who I am? Can we be so defined by the possessions we gather and choose to surround ourselves in? I think we can. This environment that surrounds me connects with something deep inside me. This is me in a way. It feels like me. Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way. I feel connected to a great many places that I've been or seen...or even just ones I remember.

I remember a long time ago, while hiking with my dad and Taylor, we found a little water fall deep in the woods. Only one other man was there, though he quickly left. I don't know what I connected so deeply with this place, but I did. I remember it so clearly that I could reach out and touch the small lake that formed at the base of the waterfall. I've wanted to go back since we left, but I never have. Next time I go to Yosemite, I want to go there, to that waterfall, and sit...and think...and see if I can find myself.

"Good night, good night,
Sleep well and when you dream,
Dream of me...
Tonight."

"I would like to be Christ, Mohammed, Buddha... but not have to believe in God..."

Today's Title: Nine

So tonight I was thinking while plucking my eyebrows (of all things) and randomly arrived at something we discussed in my religious studies class. We read an article on Islam and a certain focus they had on the "secret heart". It has to do with the idea that who a person is can be found in the secrets that they do not tell rather than those that they do. It seemed like something obvious to me at first, that this could be easily defended. The more I think about it, though, the more I seem to understand.

So, for reference, this train of thought sprung from driving home from seeing Sherlock Holmes with Sara for the second time and our conversation turning (via convoluted roads, mostly involving New Year's Eve) to the "Never have I ever..." game. This, bouncing off of a very angsty post that aired on my blog for all of ten minutes before I became self conscious and took it down, to bring me to this rant.

Anywho, so I got to thinking about the things I leave unsaid and what they say about me, and I realized that they say a lot. Maybe I was wrong to jump to my emotional conclusions made in my angst blog about how I am out of the loop with all my friends and the things that they do. I thought about all the things that float around in my head that I don't say and I wonder what people think of me. Am I as distant as I fear? Perhaps that's just what I do.

Despite how tragically this post sounds, I'm actually quite content at the moment. I was thinking even before the movie about all the things that make me who I am (of course then I was focusing on the outward things as expressed in my room). It kind of gives me a happy feeling. Even if I am deluding myself by thinking of myself one way and portraying myself in another, I think that's a good thing. I like who I am. Strange, but true.

The funny bit is every time I try to share things that are "secret" about me, I never actually do. Like when everyone was doing that 100 things about me thing on facebook. I had a good 60 up, but I never posted it. Then there was angst blog, but I'm trying to forget that exists.

'Til next time.

"I want to be young, and I want to be Old.
I would like to be wise before my time
And yet be foolish and brash and bold...

And you know I mean it with all of my Heart.
It's the end if something important
Doesn't start."

"Everybody loves a winner, so nobody loved me; 'Lady Peaceful', 'Lady Happy'...that's what I long to be."

Today's Title: Cabaret

You win universe. I've already dealt with the fact that I'm a quitter and a coward...do you have to rub it in?

Win some, lose some, I guess. One evil or another. Lonely or annoyed. Looking at it that way makes my argument seem petty. Definitely the lesser evil.

I'm sorry. I need to do this. In my own way and my own time. It's not them I need. It's the comfort I get from feeling like I fit in the universe. A feeling I got accustomed to. I guess I wasn't ready to face up to the fact that I can't make friends again.

Been there, done that. See you on the other side.

"All the odds are in my favor
Something's bound to begin
It's got to happen, happen sometime
Maybe this time I'll win."

I got a feeling there's a miracle due, gonna come true...

Today's Title: West Side Story

This was an odd and interesting week. Things have changed more than I ever thought possible. It's partway between wonderful and terrible.

Well, I suppose the main terrible parts were me being sick and emotionally fragile on a very stressful day. I cried two times in the last two days. Once when I dropped off my dogs and once about and hour and a half after my parents left. Don't know why then, but I did. It just took time for it to sink in I suppose. The fact that I won't see them again for two months. Granted there are some things I won't miss (like the arguing and the nagging), but in retrospect, these are minor things. It's normal to feel this way though. I mean I did live with them for all of my life.

All things considered, I'm definitely looking forward to Thanksgiving.

Doesn't help of course that as we drove away from the AV I looked at places and things and thought about all the good memories of life. I remembered the Circle and my family and good times. I figure time will help me adjust to a new life; it always does.

Anywho, I miss everyone right now like the Olsen twins miss food (a little fun way of expressing love that I learned from Mikael, expect more fun analogies).

"Gentlemen, welcome to the first day of the rest of our lives."

Well put, Brendan (and, consequently, An Extremely Goofy Movie), even if it meant something different for you.

If you don't mind takin' it like it turns out, it's a fine life!

Today's Title: Oliver! (in all the awesomeness from my childhood that it is)

Not entirely sure why I am posting today. Seems like everyone else has been making all these deep and contemplative posts about the past and future. Kinda feel like jumping on the band wagon. But that's not all it either. I think it partially 'cause I'm bored out of my mind. I also kind of feel like writing...but I don't have any good ideas and I know perfectly well that I'd be too self-conscious to share anyways, so why bother.

I suppose most of the contemplation comes from everyone getting ready for the plunge of starting a new phase of life.

I also feel I should put in a disclaimer here. This is just me being bored and musing, so don't expect anything particularly interesting or deep. Read on only if you want to listen to me think.

Anywho, back to college. I'm looking forward to it mostly 'cause I'm sick of the same old thing. I've always been like that. I have problems with being stuck in ruts. It seems to happen all the time and it always makes me want to do something unusual and unexpected. Unfortunately, most of the things people don't expect me to do are actually things I won't do so there goes that idea. This year hasn't been as bad as others. Last year was the worst for being stuck in ruts. Last year sucked balls. Not that my family has completely pulled its shit together again, but its less dysfunctional than before. Amazing how that works isn't it. Still wouldn't stay here if you paid me. Getting out for the better part of a year is something.

But enough of that. I've complained far too much about that in the past and it doesn't seem to be changing any time soon, so why bother. The thing I've really been thinking about lately is what I'm taking with me. Not just physical items either, but emotional baggage as well. It seems to go hand in hand to a certain extent. The items I take kind of show what parts of my personality I'm willing to put on display. Those that stay behind I don't necessarily have to show to the new people I meet. To a certain extent, college is a chance to start over. Maybe I don't have to be the awkward kid who can't seem to get a date. Not that I'm unhappy with who I am, but really, who doesn't want to dump some of the images they've gathered over a lifetime?

Other thing of late: Disney movies. I remembered just how awesome they are. Might also have led to unrealistic expectations in people. Never thought of it that way, but its true.

Why can't life have more adventure in it? Stupid imagination. Makes me want things I can't have.

I'm just ranting now. Then again, I did warn you.

Maybe I should write. I put together a rough sketch of a couple chapters, but it seemed like crap so I stopped. The problem is I feel bad. Everyone else writes things that mean something. Mine are just stories. Nothing necessarily lingering under the surface. Is that bad? I suppose not. But still.

I'm kind of tired, but I don't want to sleep. Seem to do that a lot.

Could read. Maybe will. Maybe not. S'not like I don't already know the plot by heart. Not much else to do though.

Blogs are such a stupid idea. Why am I even doing this? As if people want to listen to me decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my night.

And on that note I'm going to sign off. I probably wouldn't even post this, but I wasted an hour on it so I might as well.

G'night.

If I speak, I am condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned!

Today's Title: Les Mis

Its been a while. I hate that I only seem to blog at times when I'm annoyed.

Why can't I leave now? One moment things are fine and I can stand living at home, then one wrongly timed statement and BAM! it all explodes in my face.

Lesson one of today is that my father does not handle stress well. I swear, a little bit of illness and he becomes 5 years old. Now he's in a cycle of not sleeping and not feeling well that's left him "tense". Welcome to my life dad. Take a walk in the lives around you. I know plenty of people with more reason to be stressed than he is. I'll admit I don't see the full picture, but I can say that I know that I handle stress better than him.

Just because I'm stressed out doesn't make me bite everyone's head off every 10 minutes. Then that backfires on my mom and makes her snappy. Oh, how I love the cycle. And no one will admit that their pissed off at each other even though "fuck" and "shit" are every other word they say.

Its grating on my last nerve.

Frost out.