-------------------------------------------Mood: Juggling TasksIt is nearly time to go to work. Work I love, but exhaustion I am not as fond of. Exhaustion is something that sleep cannot cure, that eating right cannot remedy, and that drags on your mind, making it useless. It stiffles laughter, comfort, calmness, and creativity-- a culmination of the leftover sludge of being busy, of being wrung dry and tossed to an anxious world every day. Nope. I got seven hours in last night, and my exhaustion isn't going anywhere....Created 2012-03-23 10:04:22
-------------------------------------------Mood: ObservantI’ve never seen anyone run as fast as that guy. Not around Colonial Lake anyway. The joggers here are usually white and lazy, but this one has guts. He must be going nine miles an hour, and he’s maintained that for three laps already. Add three more considering I just got here and that’s crazy talk. I’d be lying if I said I’m not impressed. Looking closer it all makes sense. He can’t afford to go any slower with that build. His legs are twice as long as my whole body; a genetic lotto winner if I’ve ever seen one. But even then I suppose he could have relinquished it all to eating Big Macs and watching South Park reruns. His mother can give herself a pat on the back. They say our life habits are engrained by age seven or so and she clearly did her job.
Sadly, all of us have mothers. I wonder how many almost-gold-medalists have fallen short of their potential that way. It's hard. There are some things that no one really appreciates anymore, and athletes are one of them, particularly the non-professional kind. I'd venture the collegiate-level is the hardest of all. Picture yourself with nothing to do. Now picture yourself with nothing to do but schoolwork and pull-ups until your arms fall off and your brain short-circuits. That can't make the recruiter's job easy.
Not to mention health is becoming a rarity and physical talent was more common when sports were entertaining for the players. Now life’s all one big lure to sit still — TV, internet, and cities built around the automobile. Moving dulls in comparison when you can catch a competition on television and remain stagnant. It’s a miracle we have anyone running around this lake at all today. Who am I kidding? It’s a miracle we haven’t devolved and lost our limbs, though I confess, we're probably still headed in that direction.
On my daily walks to school I see dozens of people who could care less about those extra twenty pounds, or some cellulite here and there. So what keeps them from disliking themselves? More importantly, what keeps speedy Gonzales over here flying around this track like a mad man all afternoon? Could it be that he has something others lack, aside from great muscle tone? Certainly his goal isn’t weight loss. He’s got no excess weight to shed, unless he wants to keel over. It shouldn't be a lack of confidence. He’s a six and a half foot monster with pride in his eyes and the height we admire in American men.
Maybe this guy just loves to sweat. Maybe his parents were just hyper-critical.
...Created 2011-10-10 10:38:50
|Journal: Look At Me|
-------------------------------------------Mood: In Love He looked at me, just for a moment or two, just long enough to make my cheeks burn an obvious shade of red. I was ready, knowing our eyes would meet only in that second, but it didn't matter. A sensation of pure joy shot through me faster than I could bear, ripping up my organs and making its final impact on my heart, which was more like a sponge in this case. Quickly the destructive rose colored bullet did its damage within me, but my heart, delicate and organic as it was, did not shy away and did its best to absorb the blow and keep on beating. Unaware of all that, he would show nothing more, and continued doing what he always did, which was look me over a final time, up and down, up and down, and then turn back to his work, which seemed more like an instinct than a decision and left me stranded in an pool of unfulfilled aspirations.
Stranded in an ocean was more like it actually. I sat there glued to my seat in Geology praying for just one more rapid, silent exchange with him. Yet, it couldn’t have been more clear that he had an uncanny ability to forget about me altogether when our souls no longer touched from behind our eyes. As much as I tried to deny it, I was not so lucky. Every moment that passed I was aware of him, his beautiful smile, his breathing, his laughter, as if he were just an extension of myself, and in a more distressing way, I could feel it all burning me up in the most violent way possible: slowly. Flame by flame, ember by ember, I was being melted down from the inside out, and I had no idea what I would become, if the flames ever reached the surface and consumed me. I was not the one to be strung up by my delusions, but he had me bound so tightly that the ropes threatened to destroy me, and even then I would not fight them. I dragged a ball—a crushing weight on a chain—that was the need for his love, and I told myself he would arrive soon with the key of I just kept on my way without complaint.
It had to be madness really. It had to be foolishness or idiocy. Even in my lust for him I did the reality check from time to time, and had to admit that I wasn’t even so sure that a heart existed in that sturdy chest. He was scarred, having taken all the bad in the world in and spat it out again, but never being able to get rid of the bitter taste. It seemed impossible that love returned was even a chance at times; more specifically when I was left alone, left vulnerable, and careless for anything but him, by him. That’s when the air seemed to go from the room and leave me gasping, craving just one more breath to sustain me. Just one more look; one more high to keep me going. Yes, I couldn’t want anything more than for him to look at me.
...Created 2010-03-11 22:36:07
-------------------------------------------Mood: The Usual JB carried sorrow with him everywhere he went, as if he picked it up one day and just couldn’t bear to part with it. Maybe he just didn’t know how to live without it, maybe he didn’t want to, but regardless I began to see that it tagged along with him; a constant guard keeping his words in check. It was an ironic discovery really. That first day in Biology I had been so transfixed by his quirky grin that it took me until the first morning he walked me back to my dorm, two days later, to see beyond the faulty expression. Fog hung low, that day, concealing the church steeples, and the city was just barely beginning to stir, but suddenly as we passed a closed deli, I understood the sorrow in his lengthy stride for what it was. It clung to him wholly, and fell behind us in his shadow while we walked down the warm sidewalks. I was transfixed.
From there on I recognized the emotion more easily, everywhere we went. Sometimes I caught it rolling off J’s tongue as he spoke, but most often I saw it in his round eyes—two symmetrical orbs that betrayed him despite his best efforts. All I had to do was stop to look, and there it was, some kind of sadness that I could not begin to explain, spilling out of two brown orbs, so light they sometimes looked orange. That was all anyone had to do to get JB: stop and look.
But I began to think maybe no one had ever looked at JB before. Behind a scruffy beard and a 6 foot 3 frame, was a man more complicated than my high school chemistry class, and though I could not help but blossom in his presence, he often opened up only to recoil back into his depths again like a frightened rabbit to its hole. There was something in me—some minute quality perhaps—that made him hesitant. Something about my pursuits reminded him of a previous regret…a long-lost sorrow…and only when he snapped back at my attempts at humor in agitation was I reminded of the fragile creature the lurked just beneath his masculine exterior. It was as if the vibrant tattoos on his arms had been put there to keep the world from looking any further.
...Created 2010-02-07 12:36:59
|Journal: Of Gods and Men|
-------------------------------------------Mood: Observant and Creative! She was in the realm of the Gods she observed, as she shielded her envious eyes from the sunbeams streaming outward from their dark porcelain skin. That blinded her mortal eyes, made her meek as she should be, and the long worn crown tumbled from her cultured head. Along with her joy, it hit the ground and promptly shattered, leaving behind her unpolished brown locks, exposed to this new-found heaven of an earth. And maimed in the street—a million pieces in the mud— the shattered crown left her head unprotected from their deadly neglect. It seeped into her pores from where they all turned up their noses and she felt it in every step she took, in every pore in her body—they swirled by her, gliding, and left her there on purpose to walk alone and stumble. Walking alone, down an unfamiliar street, in an unfamiliar world, the lust for life wore out quickly, and the cobblestones remained all that was left behind—crooked and out of place reminders that tripped her no matter where she placed her size 6 shoes.
How could it have come to this? She was a queen bread and born. She held the grace and poise of royalty, but did so and looked clumsy on this new path she walked. In fact, she was staring straight down the barrel at immortality, perfection, omniscience, with nothing to offer in defense but a smile and a cheerless laugh. She had to face the truth: without her jewels, without her bloodline, she just could not shine in the way she had before. Why, nay, how, could the people she so needed and so fantasized about her whole life, ever love her more than their own displays of sacred, unyielding, unfaltering divinity?
...Created 2009-09-24 18:28:19
|Journal: My Sisters|
-------------------------------------------Mood: Thinking...Just sitting here with my littlest sister, watching her struggle with long multiplication and such, makes me feel a lot like I've gone back in time. Sure, the two of us look the same--like twins born seven years apart actually--but who knew we would both be so similar in our personalities? I love being here to see that. It's like being able to view a little eight-year-old version of me walking around the house, and I still rave that she inherited such a distinct attitude towards life. She has no sense of organization, hates math, loves art, cannot for the life of her follow the crowd, or pay attention well, and she can even cock her eyebrow, all the same as me. The likeness is uncanny!
And usually, I probably wouldn't be journaling about such a common thing, but with college coming up I want to remember every last minute I have with my siblings. And perhaps I would not be musing so much about Erin and mine's similarities, if it had not been for the birth of my other sister Alex five years ago. Likely to reach 5'8" by the end of puberty, she is only ten and surpassing me in height. Not to mention she's blonde, sweet as sugar, and a natural introvert, she is the opposite of Erin and me in almost every way. There was never a quieter baby in the world. While Erin and I were throwing fits left and right, Alex and her big blue eyes were sizing up the world and loving every thing in it. Feeling sick? Alex brought you soup. Need a hug? Alex again. I remember her first-grade obsession with holding hands with everyone in our family--the most unconditional, untainted love in the world.
Truly what this is coming down to is, I love them both for the two extremes they are and I'm going to miss them more than anything when I leave this August <3...Created 2009-01-08 00:28:58
|Journal: Not worth it!|
-------------------------------------------Mood: Ugh... I hate my life.You know what...why bother? Why even try to do your best in this messed up life? No one cares. No one wants you to do better than them! Everyone is too concerned about their own lives to give any recognition to anyone else...
I'd just like to warn everyone now...don't even both working your butt off for something. If you think it will make people choose you over someone else who's prettier/ more popular/ more eloquent of a speaker, you are wrong. In fact, they might even pick someone completely unqualified for a position before they consider your hard working butt. Because they're jealous, or stupid, or some combination of the two. You could swim for four years, get up at 5 AM for weight training sessions by yourself, stay later for extra help, encourage everyone!!! And you still wont make captain. Everyone would rather give their pity vote to the girl who begged for the position so that she could have something pathetic to put on her college resume......Created 2008-11-20 19:48:55
|Journal: Catholic School|
-------------------------------------------Mood: Frustrated Ahh, journalism class...one of the most trying classes of the day, mostly because my teacher never stops being obnoxious, and no one ever gives any good critiques. They're too worried about their own pieces as usual. On top of all that, I should love this class because I am allowed to speak my mind (freedom of speech), but apparently, as I recently discovered, we give up all of our rights under the constitution when we pay to go to a Catholic Private School...go figure. I can't write about sex, religion, or anything that will offend the school board of 100 year old nuns and lawyers.
At least if I were Catholic I could say that getting to learn under the influence of Jesus justifies all that. I want to write about things that matter and I want to tell these people, who have been brainwashed into their religions since they were children, stop being so closed-minded! Think for yourselves a little!...Created 2008-11-05 19:06:57
Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
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