When on a sleep schedule as screwed up as mine, it's not unusual to still be awake come 6 am, having not slept all night. But what's there to do at 6 am? Normal people are still sleeping and video games have become so mind-numbingly boring, that staring at the wall is more fun. Obviously, the only logical thing is to go to Netflix and watch Charlotte's Web.
Who doesn't want to watch a young Dakota Fanning play the naive little farm-girl trying to save the runt of a pig from his destiny of bacon? And this same tiny little pig running around and playing in mud - eventually befriending an admittedly nice, but nonetheless hideous spider that made me cringe every time I saw her face. The spider who then writes words in her web to save silly little Wilbur from being turned into a Christmas-stuffed pig.
And now, at 8:30, I've sat on the stairs with my old pup, scratching her sides and petting her ears while she gets overly excited and sneezes all over my feet. Quite unwelcome sneezes, I might add. From the sneezing and scratches downstairs we went; where Echo was graced with a delicious doggy snack. I let her outside for her morning relief, where she ran around nosing the ground after peeing.
At that point it was close to 8 and I'd yet to eat since around 2 am, so a sandwich was in order. Sliced honey turkey bread put on a gargantuan whole wheat hamburger bun, topped with a small personal bag of Doritos. Decadent, if I do say so myself.
And of course, having had an eventful morning, who wouldn't blog about it? I mean, it's the only logical thing...
Stories and misc. writings
Monday, November 4, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
A Skewed Sense of Breakfast
Through my awful sleeping patterns, I am often awake at the early hours of morning. When you're up at 7 or 8 AM and haven't eaten anything for 6-12 hours, it's not unusual to be hungry. Several days ago, I found myself in exactly this position. It was probably closer to 7 am, I'd had dinner around 12 hours previously, and I was absolutely famished. My stomach gurgled and groaned; making noises not unlike that of a dying whale.
So from my throne upon which I sat, I rose and left the warm comforts of my room and ventured through the early morning light - navigating through the rec room to the stairwell where I could creep forth to look for present parents. Having seen that none where home - both having left for work - I stole to the kitchen to look for food. Leftovers! I found garlic bread to reheat in our bread basket, and frozen chicken patties in the freezer. I popped both into the toaster oven to heat and went venturing into the pantry to look for a snack to hold me over for 15 more minutes. Lo behold, I found a Chewy granola bar, dipped in chocolate. I of course then dunked it in the peanut butter jar; because everyone knows chocolate is better with peanut butter.
So now, I've got 2 slices of garlic bread and a chicken sandwich, plus a granola bar. But I was still hungry after my granola bar, so I opened a thing of Easy Mac and tossed it in the microwave. While it was cooking, I wanted something else. Applesauce was the obvious choice here. Drinking my applesauce from the jar made perfect sense to me, while my easy mac was cooking.
Finally, I never knew 3 minutes could take so long. My microwave doesn't work for the instructions on the container - water boiled over the edge and made a mess everywhere inside the microwave - ew. I had to clean that up while attempting to shovel fake macaroni and cheese down my throat. Between these two adventures, I'd forgotten about my garlic bread (sad) and it was overcooked. I ate like half of it, but it tasted like char plus a little bit of butter. Plus it was hard, so into the trash it went.
Finishing my mac, my chicken had finished. So I popped it onto a bun, smothered it with ketchup and took a massive bite. Too much; so I run to the fridge, grab the gallon of skim milk and take a nice gulp - once again too much, as it overflows from my mouth and drips down my chin, off my neck, and onto the floor. Oops, I forgot to clean that up.
And so ends my first skewed breakfast. The next morning, I was in the same situation. So of course, the logical choice was to rewarm leftover pizza, have more granola bars, additional applesauce, but also an ice cream sandwich and a twin Popsicle. I feel as though I ate something else the second morning, but at the moment, I can't recall.
The end.
So from my throne upon which I sat, I rose and left the warm comforts of my room and ventured through the early morning light - navigating through the rec room to the stairwell where I could creep forth to look for present parents. Having seen that none where home - both having left for work - I stole to the kitchen to look for food. Leftovers! I found garlic bread to reheat in our bread basket, and frozen chicken patties in the freezer. I popped both into the toaster oven to heat and went venturing into the pantry to look for a snack to hold me over for 15 more minutes. Lo behold, I found a Chewy granola bar, dipped in chocolate. I of course then dunked it in the peanut butter jar; because everyone knows chocolate is better with peanut butter.
So now, I've got 2 slices of garlic bread and a chicken sandwich, plus a granola bar. But I was still hungry after my granola bar, so I opened a thing of Easy Mac and tossed it in the microwave. While it was cooking, I wanted something else. Applesauce was the obvious choice here. Drinking my applesauce from the jar made perfect sense to me, while my easy mac was cooking.
Finally, I never knew 3 minutes could take so long. My microwave doesn't work for the instructions on the container - water boiled over the edge and made a mess everywhere inside the microwave - ew. I had to clean that up while attempting to shovel fake macaroni and cheese down my throat. Between these two adventures, I'd forgotten about my garlic bread (sad) and it was overcooked. I ate like half of it, but it tasted like char plus a little bit of butter. Plus it was hard, so into the trash it went.
Finishing my mac, my chicken had finished. So I popped it onto a bun, smothered it with ketchup and took a massive bite. Too much; so I run to the fridge, grab the gallon of skim milk and take a nice gulp - once again too much, as it overflows from my mouth and drips down my chin, off my neck, and onto the floor. Oops, I forgot to clean that up.
And so ends my first skewed breakfast. The next morning, I was in the same situation. So of course, the logical choice was to rewarm leftover pizza, have more granola bars, additional applesauce, but also an ice cream sandwich and a twin Popsicle. I feel as though I ate something else the second morning, but at the moment, I can't recall.
The end.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Life is a storybook
Life is a book with pages being added every day. Every moment of our life is a sentence written in ink on our lives. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years all mark the passage of words, sentences, paragraphs, pages, and chapters in the storybook of our lives. But are we chapters in a several-hundred page book, or are we more like children's books, with pictures marking memorable moments; snapshots in special events pocketing our lives?
Everything we do is recorded in who we are and it's written in ink so that it may never be erased. We carry the deeds we do with us for the rest of our lives and every action we take in turn transforms us into who we are. There is no undoing the past, only atoning in the future for the mistakes we've previously made.
Our lives are books, and no one but ourselves decides the story our book will tell; for not only are we books, but we are also the authors. What will your story say?
Everything we do is recorded in who we are and it's written in ink so that it may never be erased. We carry the deeds we do with us for the rest of our lives and every action we take in turn transforms us into who we are. There is no undoing the past, only atoning in the future for the mistakes we've previously made.
Our lives are books, and no one but ourselves decides the story our book will tell; for not only are we books, but we are also the authors. What will your story say?
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
A list of life: Family
Family is ... well, family. Often times, when asked to rank the things most important to their life, people put family in the first or second slots of the top ten things most important to them. People have families, be it their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters; their cousins and grandparents and everyone else. Or those unlucky not to have a family in their blood, who must reach out and create a family in their closest friends.
I imagine there are many others, who like me, never had a family. As hinted before, blood does not mean family and family does not mean blood. Family is much more than simply sharing blood relations with someone. As an individual, I didn't experience family growing up. I had an abusive older brother, one whom hated me and wanted for nothing more than me to disappear. My parents were neglectful. My basic needs were taken care of: I had food, shelter, I went to school and got picked up from daycare. But as a child, the bond I needed with parents wasn't there. They favored my brother to the point that I was nothing. He could do no wrong and I could do no right. Everything was always my fault and that does not breed to family.
Also starting at an early age, was my lack of friends. Younger children are often more social than their elder counterparts turn out to be, but some, like myself, are shy even during the young ages. I didn't know how to talk to other kids well. I kept to myself and read my books or watched from afar. Family didn't come to me through friends either. At least, not for many years. I was thirteen years old when I finally started to make some friends. I had Ian, who was my best friend at the time and through him, I met a few girls who became some of my closest friends. Those same people were the first ones to offer me a sense of family and belonging. It's a shame that they all left in the end.
Ian decided we weren't friends anymore the next year, during freshman year of high school. The following year, Laina ditched her old friend-group to start afresh in high school as a freshman. Also during sophomore year, I found out Kacy had been lying to me and I told her to fuck off; not wanting a compulsive liar as a friend. At fifteen, I lost the first family I had. After losing my friends who doubled as my family, I kept to myself; avoiding people.
I didn't really find a family again after that until a year ago, during my freshman year of college. My roommate was a guy named Danny. We didn't exactly get along, but we didn't dislike each other either. Seemed as if to the both of us, the other wasn't there. We didn't talk, we didn't hang out, we didn't do anything but ignore the other. But then, I met a guy from down the hall, living a few doors away. Matt. A lonely freshman encounter, oddly enough, in the bathroom. As a sophomore, Matt had already experienced freshman year. I couldn't tell you why he extended his saving grace to me, but he did.
Through Matt, I found a family again. I met some new friends. People who instantly accepted me into their fold and treated me as if I'd always belonged with them instead of having just moved in. We'd hang out most weekends and I was always sure to keep an eye for them around campus. Come second semester, though, my family fell apart for the second time. Introversion left me unable to deal with people very well. And I can't personally stand physical contact. So when after winter break, and Chelsea started hanging out with Matt and I a lot more often, they grew close and I was pushed to the outside edge as the third wheel. Everyone who has ever been a third wheel knows how much it sucks, and I lost my place.
Luckily for myself, I met a girl second semester. Her name was Erika. She was immediately nice to me, and was quickly one of my favorite people to talk to in class. One day, as I was leaving the basement - having just shaved my hair off - she invited me to do my homework with her, for German class. That started our study sessions, which led to her telling me of her feelings, and eventually my asking her to be my girlfriend.
Now, more than 5 months later, we're still dating, and she - Erika - is all the family I need.
I imagine there are many others, who like me, never had a family. As hinted before, blood does not mean family and family does not mean blood. Family is much more than simply sharing blood relations with someone. As an individual, I didn't experience family growing up. I had an abusive older brother, one whom hated me and wanted for nothing more than me to disappear. My parents were neglectful. My basic needs were taken care of: I had food, shelter, I went to school and got picked up from daycare. But as a child, the bond I needed with parents wasn't there. They favored my brother to the point that I was nothing. He could do no wrong and I could do no right. Everything was always my fault and that does not breed to family.
Also starting at an early age, was my lack of friends. Younger children are often more social than their elder counterparts turn out to be, but some, like myself, are shy even during the young ages. I didn't know how to talk to other kids well. I kept to myself and read my books or watched from afar. Family didn't come to me through friends either. At least, not for many years. I was thirteen years old when I finally started to make some friends. I had Ian, who was my best friend at the time and through him, I met a few girls who became some of my closest friends. Those same people were the first ones to offer me a sense of family and belonging. It's a shame that they all left in the end.
Ian decided we weren't friends anymore the next year, during freshman year of high school. The following year, Laina ditched her old friend-group to start afresh in high school as a freshman. Also during sophomore year, I found out Kacy had been lying to me and I told her to fuck off; not wanting a compulsive liar as a friend. At fifteen, I lost the first family I had. After losing my friends who doubled as my family, I kept to myself; avoiding people.
I didn't really find a family again after that until a year ago, during my freshman year of college. My roommate was a guy named Danny. We didn't exactly get along, but we didn't dislike each other either. Seemed as if to the both of us, the other wasn't there. We didn't talk, we didn't hang out, we didn't do anything but ignore the other. But then, I met a guy from down the hall, living a few doors away. Matt. A lonely freshman encounter, oddly enough, in the bathroom. As a sophomore, Matt had already experienced freshman year. I couldn't tell you why he extended his saving grace to me, but he did.
Through Matt, I found a family again. I met some new friends. People who instantly accepted me into their fold and treated me as if I'd always belonged with them instead of having just moved in. We'd hang out most weekends and I was always sure to keep an eye for them around campus. Come second semester, though, my family fell apart for the second time. Introversion left me unable to deal with people very well. And I can't personally stand physical contact. So when after winter break, and Chelsea started hanging out with Matt and I a lot more often, they grew close and I was pushed to the outside edge as the third wheel. Everyone who has ever been a third wheel knows how much it sucks, and I lost my place.
Luckily for myself, I met a girl second semester. Her name was Erika. She was immediately nice to me, and was quickly one of my favorite people to talk to in class. One day, as I was leaving the basement - having just shaved my hair off - she invited me to do my homework with her, for German class. That started our study sessions, which led to her telling me of her feelings, and eventually my asking her to be my girlfriend.
Now, more than 5 months later, we're still dating, and she - Erika - is all the family I need.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
About: Nostalgia
Nostalgia is a funny thing. It can strike suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving you longing for the past.
Close to two weeks ago, I was back at Hope college campus, no longer as a student, but as a visitor. At first, it didn't bother me. I was glad I wasn't going back; happy I no longed needed to deal with school and had an extension to my summer before I ship off to boot camp. However, as I spent time with Erika, walking around campus and seeing all the new, little freshies, I was surprised to find myself feeling nostalgic. Don't get me wrong, I hated orientation. I hated going through all of that crap as a freshman. But knowing I could be back and not be a freshman was almost a fantastic feeling.
I've made my decision, however, and I must follow through on it. Though there are parts of Hope College life I'm going to miss. I won't get to see Matt or Chelsea as often, two of the only friends I made on campus. I'm going to miss spending nights going to the Science Center with Erika or pulling last-minute all-nighters in the basement with her. Donut runs never really happened, so I can't say I'll miss those much. But definitely going to miss having all the time I had last year with Erika. That's what I'll miss the most, though in a way, it's probably a good thing I'm not coming back this year, considering I'm a bad influence that leads to less work than should being completed.
Close to two weeks ago, I was back at Hope college campus, no longer as a student, but as a visitor. At first, it didn't bother me. I was glad I wasn't going back; happy I no longed needed to deal with school and had an extension to my summer before I ship off to boot camp. However, as I spent time with Erika, walking around campus and seeing all the new, little freshies, I was surprised to find myself feeling nostalgic. Don't get me wrong, I hated orientation. I hated going through all of that crap as a freshman. But knowing I could be back and not be a freshman was almost a fantastic feeling.
I've made my decision, however, and I must follow through on it. Though there are parts of Hope College life I'm going to miss. I won't get to see Matt or Chelsea as often, two of the only friends I made on campus. I'm going to miss spending nights going to the Science Center with Erika or pulling last-minute all-nighters in the basement with her. Donut runs never really happened, so I can't say I'll miss those much. But definitely going to miss having all the time I had last year with Erika. That's what I'll miss the most, though in a way, it's probably a good thing I'm not coming back this year, considering I'm a bad influence that leads to less work than should being completed.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Zombie Apocalypse
What bugs me about zombies and all paraphernalia, is that in almost every scenario, the zombies magically appear out of nowhere and are suddenly taking over the world. No attempts are made to figure out where the zombies came from or how to cure them - it's always just KILL THE FUCKING ZOMBIES. WIN THE FIGHT. I should also mention that a cure for the zombie disease is almost always magically discovered No, that's stupid, cliche, and annoying. Makes a horrible story. Three zombie movies I've seen out of far too many have been good in my book. Well, perhaps I should say stories instead of movies, since the Resident Evil collection was several movies long. As for the other two, the recently-made World War Z and an older, but still semi-recent, I Am Legend. In Resident Evil, it explains where the zombies come from, the story tells the viewers who created the zombies, for what purpose, and what they plan to do about them. Incidentally, it's nothing. But a story is created where a fight against the zombies ensues, but a cure isn't developed. They simply form a new defense and learn to live away from the zombies, if I remember correctly. It's been a while. In World War Z, Brad Pitt attempts to discover where the zombies came from, following a trail across the world. I Am Legend's zombies originate from a plague that mutated the survivors into zombie-like creatures, Will Smith being the exception. He works for years, studying, surviving, and attempting to develop a cure for it. Not magically appearing or "10 years later..."
Hands down, my favorite zombie action ever, is in an Anime called One Piece. The main character, Luffy, is such a simpleton that it's just hilarious. He hasn't got half a working brain cell and his reactions in certain situations are priceless.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Lies for the Lost
As it's been quite a while since I wrote, I've been trying to think of something to write about. The book I'm reading found a dead person, so they held a funeral for him and I found what I wished to rant about. Funerals and their processions.
When someone dies, whether they are buried or cremated, there's always a funeral. At funerals, the person's life is most always hallowed and only good things are said about the person - regardless of if they lived their life as a nice person, who tried to take care of everyone or if they were a cruel, sadistic and bitter old fool who lashed out at all around themselves. Regardless of how their lives were lived, all speeches and words said for them are only kind. When a friend of mine took her life close to a year ago now, my school district exploded. All the students that had hated her and treated her like awful shit - the ones who bullied and made fun of her, suddenly proclaimed that Faith, as was her name, was smart, beautiful, kind. They tried to be her best friends in death, when the reality was they were the reason she felt driven to kill herself.
I understand why we feel the need to speak well of someone in their passing, but why do we feel the need to make up lies about people in their deaths? They could be bitter and angry, someone who hated and bit at all who saw them, but the moment they die, suddenly they're saints.
One of my favorite books, Ender's Game, had a sequel called Speaker of the Dead. I loved Speaker of the Dead in particular, because Ender took it upon himself to speak for the dead. Not in false truths of only kind words, but to lay out the whole, pure truth of who the dead was. If the person had lived a life of vice, indulging in too much food and drink, who gambled too much and took advantage of others - those are the things Ender would speak of, instead of trying to portray them as someone who did no wrong.
Why can't our society be that way? Respect for the dead isn't given through creating the illusion that the dead were much better people than they were alive. Nor is it taken from them by telling who the dead actually was.
When someone dies, whether they are buried or cremated, there's always a funeral. At funerals, the person's life is most always hallowed and only good things are said about the person - regardless of if they lived their life as a nice person, who tried to take care of everyone or if they were a cruel, sadistic and bitter old fool who lashed out at all around themselves. Regardless of how their lives were lived, all speeches and words said for them are only kind. When a friend of mine took her life close to a year ago now, my school district exploded. All the students that had hated her and treated her like awful shit - the ones who bullied and made fun of her, suddenly proclaimed that Faith, as was her name, was smart, beautiful, kind. They tried to be her best friends in death, when the reality was they were the reason she felt driven to kill herself.
I understand why we feel the need to speak well of someone in their passing, but why do we feel the need to make up lies about people in their deaths? They could be bitter and angry, someone who hated and bit at all who saw them, but the moment they die, suddenly they're saints.
One of my favorite books, Ender's Game, had a sequel called Speaker of the Dead. I loved Speaker of the Dead in particular, because Ender took it upon himself to speak for the dead. Not in false truths of only kind words, but to lay out the whole, pure truth of who the dead was. If the person had lived a life of vice, indulging in too much food and drink, who gambled too much and took advantage of others - those are the things Ender would speak of, instead of trying to portray them as someone who did no wrong.
Why can't our society be that way? Respect for the dead isn't given through creating the illusion that the dead were much better people than they were alive. Nor is it taken from them by telling who the dead actually was.
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