Belle of the Bullshit

Monday, October 17, 2011

this story's old but it goes on and on

Sometimes I find myself thinking that some day you'll just show up where ever I am, tell me I'm the one and you're sorry, we hug and kiss and cry and then we live happily ever after. There are variations, but of course that's what it always comes down to. I think about this and my head hurts, my stomach flips, I think I'm going to vomit and cry. I realize that this is just a fantasy and you're not coming. You'll never come for me.
I feel like a complete idiot.
I'm trying to get to the point where I'm not the way I was when we dated so many years ago - I'm not that lovesick little girl anymore, and I can't keep holding on to these ridiculous romantic notions. For the most part, I don't. I am different. I am understanding of what happened, why it happened, and I know that there is no point in being mad at you or crying about it. I even recognize that getting drunk will not fix my situation. Yet I find myself thinking that we've come together so many times so there MUST be something to it - there must be something to us.
But our luck has run out. We're never going to be together again. There is no "some day." You'll never come here. I'll never be swept off my feet. You're not going to find me alone on the Clemente bridge watching boats go by with wind in my hair and tell me you want to be with me forever. That's some shit from a romantic comedy that probably made me cry when I was PMSing at 14 years old. We verged on a cute little romcom happy-ending love story, but you couldn't handle it, and we're never going to get that back.
This is over.
That makes me sick to my stomach.
I'll probably never see you again.
That scares me and makes me sad and is relieving all at once.
This is over.
This is over.
This is really, really over.

Just.. get the hell out of my head.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Texas, oh Texas.

Tony Norman (editor and columnist for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette) interrupted me in Reporting class on Tuesday after I'd spoken literally five words to ask me where I'm from. I guess I looked surprised (I was caught off guard), so he added, "You have an interesting accent." Embarrassed that someone had finally picked up on my hickish roots, I told him Austin, Texas. His response: "Really? Wow. You have an amazing accent - it's beautiful! I love it." That was the first, and probably only, time I've ever been proud of my Texas drawl.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

moving on again

In less than 48 hours, I will be moving in to my 4th dorm room at my 3rd college with my 4th new roommate, about to embark on my 3rd college orientation. Am I excited? Yes, yes I am. At the same time, though, there's a part of me that feels unprepared and scared to go back to school, especially a new school. Actually, I think that's the only thing that's making me nervous. I'm a 3rd year, technically a second-semester Sophomore (by Chatham transfer standards), and I don't know my way around campus, don't know any of the teachers, don't have any friends besides my freshman roommate who already has friends attending Chatham, and I feel inadequate & unprepared.
I think it's mostly the not knowing my teachers that gets me. I would be a hell of a lot less intimidated by my course load (Intro to Reporting, World Film History, Intercultural Communications, Elementary Statistics, Step Aerobics, and The Communique - the school newspaper) if I knew that Dr. Duder, Dr. Stayton, and Dr. Teinert were going to be my three main professors, along with Dr. Nick for stats. But they're not, and I don't know these people. What if they're real bastards? What if they don't like me like my previous english professors have, giving me buckets full of adoration and preferential treatment? What if the classes are TOO hard? What if I fall ill, physically and/or emotionally, like I'm prone to do under stress, and need a little help later in the semester but am too shy to ask for it because these new, unfamiliar teachers haven't known me for 2 years nor do they know my back story? What if I need to plop down on a pile of comfy pillows in someone's office and cry for awhile, but Dr. Stayton's comfy pillows instead of chairs aren't there and Dr. Teinert's not there to lower the lights and close the blinds so we can be alone? What if I get fed up with it all and just need to vent and talk about football, but Dr. Nick isn't there to be my psychology teacher and part-time psychologist when I refuse to get up from my seat because I'm about to explode with anger and/or tears after class ends? What if I need extra encouragement to write, but Dr. Duder isn't there to tell me I'm the best writer he's ever encountered at such a young age and to tell me I made him cry with the paper I wrote in less than an hour, boosting my self-esteem and allowing me to power through three more papers in one day? What if I'm having a bad day and just secretly want someone to recognize it, but Dr. Teinert isn't there at 8 pm to find me loitering in the hallway and give me a big hug because I "look really sad"? What if these new professors are hardasses that I can't relate to on any level, that don't see me as anything special, that don't really care?

I was SPECIAL at Concordia - I was a star student, and I truly believe a lot of that had to do with the fact that I was one of maybe 6 English majors in the entire undergrad population, so of course I SEEMED like a great writer and like I "got" everything on a deeper level than any of my classmates. But my classmates were athletes and business majors who couldn't give two shits about literary structure, symbolism, and the power of alliteration, nor could they appreciate Greek Drama for the foundation and backbone of literature that it is, even if they wanted to. I know, I'm a fucking snob, sue me. I earned my right to be a snob at Concordia. Now.. now I'm just another average undergrad with a Peterpan complex who doesn't want to grow up so is settling on the dream of being a writer because it doesn't require a career path.
I finally got comfortable at Concordia - I dug my heels in and made myself a cozy little home among professors that I loved and that loved me equally, then throw in a handful of peers I found myself in a lot of classes with that became familiar, almost friendly faces. I knew I was going to uproot myself from that place, that it was only temporary, but I found a similar comfort there to what I had at Huntington-Surrey, and now I'm afraid Chatham will become to Concordia what Warren Wilson became to Huntington: not good enough, not home enough, the crazy and the asylum. I'm scared.
It's just school. It's actually a rather easy course load, save reporting and stats (Reporting is really hard and I'm not good at it. For someone who voluntarily became a Communications: Journalism major, I am unbelievably uncomfortable and bad at reporting. And I'm not anticipating stats to be very easy, but according to my World Film History teacher, who is also my advisor, the professor is REALLY cool and REALLY understanding of us english majors and our lack of mathematical understanding), but it's intimidating nonetheless. I know it's going to be a lot of work, and I'm lazy. When it all comes right down to it, it's just that: I'm lazy. I could get away with doing a half-assed job at Huntington because half-assed was good enough and because I was a favorite. Same story at Concordia. Now I actually have to work, and I have to work hard. And I'm just not used to it. And it scares me.

Going to shut up now and find something relatively productive to do.

My tooth hurts.

The end.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I'm Sorry

Why do we feel the need to apologize when something bad happens? I mean something bad that isn't our fault, that isn't anyone's fault.
Dr. Spencer's dead and I'm apologizing to my nutritionist, to my cousin, to Jacob for random shit that's completely unrelated to Dr. Spencer just because I feel like I've done something horribly wrong. Why? What have I done wrong in this situation? Nothing. I'm reaching out to three people that I trust to help me deal. But I feel like a burden for doing it, I guess? Maybe I want them all to tell me it's okay, that it's going to be okay? Maybe I really want to apologize to Dr. Spencer? I felt the need to apologize to Kelsey for Dr. Spencer's death (and I did so, out loud in the basement). Try and figure that one out.
My head is pounding, I'm sick to my stomach, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. Probably lack of food but I feel like I need to throw up so eating is not something I feel I can do right now. I want to go to sleep. I want to be forgiven by whatever god or greater entity that I've pissed off so badly they find it necessary to punish me by letting everything and everyone around me die. I think I can do sleep.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

out of my head

I'm about to go to Accepted Student Day at Chatham. I don't know why I'm nervous about it. I'm nervous about attending that school more so than I have been about any school for a myriad of reasons (don't know anyone, all girls, etc.), but non-mandatory treat-you-like-a-baby wander-around-campus-with-a-name-tag-and-your-parents day? Lame. I do feel kind of silly knowing now that I will be attached to my mother's hip and I'm 22-fucking-years-old, but who cares my mom's my BFF and I don't look 22 for sure if I was embarrassed about being glued to my parents. I've got acne to boot and my body image is god awful, so that's not helping anything. I'm wearing a dress which ultimately makes me feel goofy, over-dressed like I'm trying to impress someone, but, again, who cares it's comfy & makes me feel okay in my own skin. I kind of almost hope my new roommate isn't there.. I don't really want to meet her yet. I'm nervous about her, she's SO pretty, talented (I assume.. she went to a fancy high school here in town, and she's for sure talented with a camera), probably has friends who are attending the school, has potential to be a giant snob (so does everyone, I just assume the worst because I AM a giant snob) or the biggest sweetheart ever (which makes me feel like an even bigger snob/bitch), etc., so delaying meeting her makes me more comfortable haha Stupid, I know. Of course, all of these things could/would be good for me: accept natural beauty, be around talent and brilliance, be humbled or be made a better person, etc. so meeting her is actually my only way of getting comfortable with my soon-to-be living situation. Whatever. I could go on and on, about the things that are probably making me nervous & why they shouldn't rationally, but it's time to go.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

I've boycotted facebook for a little while.
So I've landed here.
Wow. That's kind of pathetic.
Maybe I'll finally do my placement tests.
Maybe I'll call and harass the fuckers in health services at Chatham for ignoring my emails.
I probably won't do the second one, but it sounds nice.
My eczema's back with a vengeance. I guess it's better than the ulcer. Still don't know what's causing me enough stress to warrant bodily reaction, but apparently something.
I've got nothing else to write.