I remember a time when I rarely ever let my hair flow down my back so freely, let alone half up. It was from about 3rd grade to 9th grade. My hair always needed to by tied back.
I don't exactly remember why that was or how it changed. It just was a simple recollection of how I managed to change in appearance from childhood to whatever stage of life I'm in right now.
It makes me wonder as to how such a change came about. Am I more comfortable with myself? What happened to me? And why can I not remember?
Saturday, February 23
And with the Green Fairy, I realize...
... the silliness with which I wrote the last entry.
I must say that I reach dangerously low points of emotion when lacking human contact. My roommate's jests were enough to pick me right back up.
But for how long?
I must say that I reach dangerously low points of emotion when lacking human contact. My roommate's jests were enough to pick me right back up.
But for how long?
I Bring Only Sadness Upon Myself
"You really are a hard one to impress."
Is that all too true? Certainly, I would hope not; I merely seek one thing of the boy: that he prove me wrong about the universal thought of males. For you see, being a realist, I held an almost lowly regard for all and refused, absolutely refused, to let my kneed buckle at the slightest glance.
In the recent past, I'm glad to say that I have not been broken by the selfish, lascivious ways of the majority of men. Until I, as I would like to believe, met one who has proven me wrong. Kind, gentle, compassionate, with an edginess that fortifies his self, what more can I ask of a gentleman?
Nothing, right?
This is where my cousin's statement mentioned at the beginning comes into play. Surely his gallant manner should be enough to dissuade me from self-imposed homosexuality. I believed it so. Until my one question is his simple answer illuminated one obvious factor that I chose to ignore: he's a guy. Of course, he is a much better one that most, making realize that there are those who are essentially better than the dumb majority.
And what kills me is the following statement that my inner self found it troublesome to mention: but he has not proven you wrong about the nature of men. As I've said before, he's a guy.
And I realize the reality of it all; nothing can be done to change the natural state of masculinity. Nothing I can do, that is. No amount of complaining, no amount of tears at night will change that one aspect that makes men men. Why is it then so impossible for me to just accept it? To just, basically, lower my standards in order to include at least one male into consideration instead of leaving myself in complete emotional and physical celibacy?
I don't know. Perhaps this will all blow over with a good night's rest and some soul-numbing alcohol.
Is that all too true? Certainly, I would hope not; I merely seek one thing of the boy: that he prove me wrong about the universal thought of males. For you see, being a realist, I held an almost lowly regard for all and refused, absolutely refused, to let my kneed buckle at the slightest glance.
In the recent past, I'm glad to say that I have not been broken by the selfish, lascivious ways of the majority of men. Until I, as I would like to believe, met one who has proven me wrong. Kind, gentle, compassionate, with an edginess that fortifies his self, what more can I ask of a gentleman?
Nothing, right?
This is where my cousin's statement mentioned at the beginning comes into play. Surely his gallant manner should be enough to dissuade me from self-imposed homosexuality. I believed it so. Until my one question is his simple answer illuminated one obvious factor that I chose to ignore: he's a guy. Of course, he is a much better one that most, making realize that there are those who are essentially better than the dumb majority.
And what kills me is the following statement that my inner self found it troublesome to mention: but he has not proven you wrong about the nature of men. As I've said before, he's a guy.
And I realize the reality of it all; nothing can be done to change the natural state of masculinity. Nothing I can do, that is. No amount of complaining, no amount of tears at night will change that one aspect that makes men men. Why is it then so impossible for me to just accept it? To just, basically, lower my standards in order to include at least one male into consideration instead of leaving myself in complete emotional and physical celibacy?
I don't know. Perhaps this will all blow over with a good night's rest and some soul-numbing alcohol.
One of Those Days
Having risen with less than 2 hours of sleep in each eye, it's only logical to assume that I would embrace my bed after my return from choir practice.
That's exactly what I did. Well-rested now, I'm far too late to begin any large activity and am left with the option of mere exploration. And that, really doesn't sound bad.
On days when I'm alone and half-unwillingly to see friendly faces, I feel at the most ease and the most natural. No obligations to anyone save a phone call or two when necessary. My time is my own. My world is my own. Some would argue that this sense of freedom I feel is wholly deceiving, asking me to ponder upon the metaphysical state of Freedom and Truth, and what they really are.
But in whatever honesty I can conjure up at this moment, I can say that right now, I can give a rat's ass about such things. Surely I worry enough about such questions during the week. Right now, let Apathy be my mistress and let us be.
That's exactly what I did. Well-rested now, I'm far too late to begin any large activity and am left with the option of mere exploration. And that, really doesn't sound bad.
On days when I'm alone and half-unwillingly to see friendly faces, I feel at the most ease and the most natural. No obligations to anyone save a phone call or two when necessary. My time is my own. My world is my own. Some would argue that this sense of freedom I feel is wholly deceiving, asking me to ponder upon the metaphysical state of Freedom and Truth, and what they really are.
But in whatever honesty I can conjure up at this moment, I can say that right now, I can give a rat's ass about such things. Surely I worry enough about such questions during the week. Right now, let Apathy be my mistress and let us be.
Thursday, February 21
Let Me Be at Peace for Once, California
'Tis a cruel, cruel cycle. Being a freshman, logically, I begin with only a meager amount of units due to the, well, lack of "experience." Illogically enough, that is my punishment.
The CSU system, lovely as it is and perhaps not the only one, deems it appropriate to give priority registration to those with higher unit count and/or unbelievably&disgustingly high amounts of school spirit. I suppose it's fair to give such a right to those in need to graduate and to get the hell out of college already, but due to such an inefficient amount of resources, there's nothing to be done to destroy a rather disastrous cycle.
Following the above logic, this would mean that underclassmen such as myself are left with later, far later, registration dates. As time progresses after the first day of registration, lower-division classes--high in demand, you see--metaphorically fly off the shelves in order to satiate last minute GE requirements for the older, wiser group of procrastinating super seniors. Oh joy for us younger folk. Now that would mean that there would be many upper-division classes left. But let me enlighten you with one little truth: lower-division classes are usually prerequisites to get into most of the upper-division classes. OH BOY!
So now I am left with 2 classes (still paying more than $1000 mind you!), meaning that I am not exactly fully enrolled for next quarter while one of those classes only meets one GE section. So in the end, my dear friends, I am oh-so-glad to tell you that I will be contributing to the super senior rush when I am older, angering the ickle little freshman who will scavenge.
..Just as I am doing at this very point in my life.
The CSU system, lovely as it is and perhaps not the only one, deems it appropriate to give priority registration to those with higher unit count and/or unbelievably&disgustingly high amounts of school spirit. I suppose it's fair to give such a right to those in need to graduate and to get the hell out of college already, but due to such an inefficient amount of resources, there's nothing to be done to destroy a rather disastrous cycle.
Following the above logic, this would mean that underclassmen such as myself are left with later, far later, registration dates. As time progresses after the first day of registration, lower-division classes--high in demand, you see--metaphorically fly off the shelves in order to satiate last minute GE requirements for the older, wiser group of procrastinating super seniors. Oh joy for us younger folk. Now that would mean that there would be many upper-division classes left. But let me enlighten you with one little truth: lower-division classes are usually prerequisites to get into most of the upper-division classes. OH BOY!
So now I am left with 2 classes (still paying more than $1000 mind you!), meaning that I am not exactly fully enrolled for next quarter while one of those classes only meets one GE section. So in the end, my dear friends, I am oh-so-glad to tell you that I will be contributing to the super senior rush when I am older, angering the ickle little freshman who will scavenge.
..Just as I am doing at this very point in my life.
Tuesday, February 19
It's been quite a while since I last poured my entirety onto a measly web page. I discovered that he actually does read this and I, now self-conscious, stop myself from typing down anything too revealing. But I seize this very moment in time when such inhibitions are nonexistent to live that one facet of my soul that raises only self=scorn.
Sensing his absence on the other side of the camera, I decided to verbally unload the burdens that settled into my mind this past few weeks. I don't choose to leave all else out; it is only inevitable that I forget. So here exists the most important thing.
In no way do I enjoy any overflow of emotion. If anything, I prefer emotional neutrality, deeming emotions dangerous when they manage to gain complete control. Which is why, as the most logical solution, I "told" him this:
Only for you am I willing to take a broken and battered heart. Only for you.
Sensing his absence on the other side of the camera, I decided to verbally unload the burdens that settled into my mind this past few weeks. I don't choose to leave all else out; it is only inevitable that I forget. So here exists the most important thing.
In no way do I enjoy any overflow of emotion. If anything, I prefer emotional neutrality, deeming emotions dangerous when they manage to gain complete control. Which is why, as the most logical solution, I "told" him this:
Only for you am I willing to take a broken and battered heart. Only for you.
Thursday, February 7
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