I'd rather wake up beside you, and breathe that old familiar smell....
I never thought you could leave me, I figured I was the one
but I understand your sadness, so I guess I should just hold my tongue.
I just have one last question, will it be my heart, or will it be hers?

Moved!

Moved!

go here:
http://epiphanyofsunshine.wordpress.com

^^

I love you.

     ^hope something eats

...

meh.

Socks.

So I have a vendetta against socks. I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but it's true. Ever since I was a little girl, I've hated socks. The dirty color they turn when I wear them around all day... I mean, eww. It's like this gray color of filth and despair hanging out on the bottom of my feet. Just no. No thank you. Oh and that awful restrictive, confining feeling? It's like my feet are suffocating, which I know is impossible, but what is possible is me shriveling into a curled up ball of sadness and self-hate.

It's not like I never ever wear socks. Socks are a necessity, and I realize that in my own good sense. I will, of course, wear socks with sneakers. I mean, otherwise, that's just gross and sweaty and smelly, and oh my god disgusting. So yes, I will wear socks, when it is needed, or just plain despicable without them. But I WILL NOT wear them unless it really an absolute requirement to life... and hygiene.

Anyway, as you can see, I hate socks. However, my feet are also in a state of constant cold. Not just cold, it's like they have no ability to maintain any form of body heat. It's like Ryden says in Post Grad, "My feet are always cold. I have the feet of an eighty year old man." I also have the inability to fall asleep when my feet are -3 degrees. So most nights, I lie in bed, desperately trying to warm up my poor feet- sticking them between blankets, folding one of my feet between my knees, which really only makes my whole leg feel like an icicle dangling from the rest of my body... nothing really works. Mostly, I lie there and think about how a pair of socks would probably be the key. However the family I have come from also has ingrained in me the ability of being completely stubborn, hence why I would rather lay awake at night freezing my poor feet off, because I openly refuse to bend to that level... whatever level my delusional, masochistic brain thinks that is.

ugh. No. I hate socks.

A short (albeit very short) story

A short story from the episode mentioned in yesterday's post::

It was summer. It was hot.

Rachel was there.

A lonely grey couch. 

"Oh look cried Ned!"

And then the kingdom was his forever, the end.

Musings of Writing

So last night, while I was lying in bed staring up at my glow-in-the-dark-starless ceiling, I was contemplating a particular scene in Friends. For those of you who actually read this and happen to also be unfamiliar with the show, the incident happens as such:

    Ross has been in love with Rachel since she was in ninth grade. Rachel finds out about his feelings for her, and realizes she returns his feelings as well. She decides to tell him when he returns from his trip to China, but when he disembarks from the plane, he is with another girl, Julie.

    When Ross realizes Rachel's own feelings for him, he decides to make a list with Chandler and Joey on Chandler's new computer, of the pro's and con's of each woman. Actually, it's more of a con's list which begins with Rachel and goes over some of the negatives of her personality. Julie's con list is supposed to say, "She's not Rachel" but, of course, Chandler actually types out "She's not Rachem."

    Then, Ross breaks up with Julie, and he and Rachel plan to go out on a walk to start their relationship, when the list (dun dun dun...) happens to print out from Chandler's computer. Rachel demands to see it since she notices her name on it, and after an improvised story from Chandler, and a very short game of keep away, Rachel gets her hands on the paper.

    Anyway, as I was saying, I was lying in bed, thinking about the improbability of this situation and how differently it may have gone if it was in real life. I also realized how important to the story line this incident was, and what the authors were doing with the characters, plot line and humor of the show.

    This is where I get to the main point of this post. (I know, I know, finally right?). See, I realized that these authors were manipulating the situation, developing the characters, and throwing themselves into the humor of what they were writing. Writing is really all about the author and the audience. It is a dance between what the author is communicating about themselves, and what the reader is experiencing from the piece.

    Writing gives the author the ability to be in complete control, to take over the situations and provide the details which the author, and the author alone, thinks are important. It allows the author to be manipulative of the characters and situations involved. We can be mean- destroying a character and their lives, twisted, drama filled, humorous, loving, gentle- anything we want to be or everything we're not.

    It's a self-centered act, a cry of "Listen to me! I have something to offer, I have something important to say!" It is a search for fame, of reaching out of the world that we know, to connect with people we have, and may never, meet. It is a journey of development, a finding of a creative outlet, and a sharing of ourselves. Writing lets us leave a part of ourselves behind in the world. So here I am, starting my own journey, sharing a piece of myself, and letting who will listen (or, well, read) know that I have thoughts to share, and writing to create. As Julie says in Julie and Julia, "I can write. I have thoughts!"