“By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing.”
― Emil Cioran
Tired of barely having enough to get by.
Tired of living paycheck to paycheck.
Tired of struggling and stressing.
Tired of being asked to make adult decision but continued to be treated like a child.
Tired of my heart hurting.
Tired of working.
Tired of school.
I’m just tired. Sometimes it all seems insignificant since we’re all going to die anyways.
“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older”.
― Abraham Sutzkever
I did gymnastics in high school for four years and I loved it! I miss it. Lately, I’ve been considering getting back into it.
But for the first time I feel old. I’d never felt older than when I was researching local gymnastics classes and noticed that most of them have a cut off age of 18. I’m 20 but I’d never felt like it till now. And I’m only getting older.
The oldest female Olympic gymnast is Oksana Chusovitina. She’s preparing for her 7th Olympics at 41 years old. I guess that should give me hope that it’s never too late to do something I love. I just feel way behind the curve if I ever decide to compete in collegiate gymnastics. Those girls have been doing gymnastics at a younger age and for longer than I have.
I’ve been trying to research alternatives to gymnastics because it is hard on the body and I’m not getting any younger. My top choices are aerial silks and acroyoga. Both seem like great substitutes. I just wish there were more and cheaper options in my area.
Corpses in the sky
By time their light reaches us
They’re already dead
“In the end, everyone is aware of this: nobody keeps any of what he has, and life is only a borrowing of bones.”
― Pablo Neruda
I guess even adults sometimes don’t know what’s the right or wrong decision.
My aunt. . . . is not doing well. She’s currently on dialysis. If she ever stops getting her treatment, she’s got maybe two weeks to live. She has a habit of refusing her treatmeant. If she refuses it one more time, they’ll stop giving it to her. The nurse asked us what quality of life is it for her to live in a nursing home and having her life dependent on a machine. My aunt repeatedly says she wants to go home. The nurse thinks she means it in more ways than one. My grandmother doesn’t know what to do. I have no idea what I’d do in her place.
My sister has been offered an ultimatum from her school. If she attends their school for the incoming school year, she’d be placed on some sort of probation. If she gets in trouble just once, then she automatically gets expelled and will be unable to attend a public school in our city. She would have to go to an alternative school which would put her behind another year. She could face aging out of school. On the other hand, she could start fresh at another school. And reapply to her former school next year with a clean slate. It’s her decision. She’s 13 years old. How is she to decide what’s best for her?
Today has been a rough day. After the talk with the nurse, I burst into tears after seeing my aunt’s face.
I lost my uncle about 4 years ago. My grandmother was so strong. That was not the case today. She’s already lost two children and one is incarcerated. Now she could possibly lose a third.
Life. . . can be so cruel, so harsh. I have a cousin that’s pregnant. I couldn’t possibly consider bringing a child into this world today. I’ve got a feeling that it’s not going to get much better.
“Partly I was honing my self-consciousness into a torture device, sharp and efficient enough to last me the rest of my life.”
― Lucy Grealy
For as long as I could remember, I’ve never liked the sound of my voice. Some say it doesn’t fit me. One teacher told me that my voice surprised her because I’m such a small person but I have a “big” voice. I didn’t tell her how embarrassed and ashamed she made me feel about my voice.
For as long as I could remember, I’ve been self-conscious. I’m usually anxious in public places, wondering what people think when they look at me. I hate walking into big stores alone, like Wal-Mart. I feel so. . . . I don’t know. I feel like a thousand eyes are on me.
Maybe because I’m self-conscious, I try to draw as little attention to myself as possible. It’s why I dislike my voice. It’s distinct, noticeable, loud. Well, last night my manager said that I must drive my family and friends crazy with how “soft-spoken” I am and how reluctant I am to repeat my words louder when someone express confusion over what I’ve said.
I don’t know. If I could change my voice. . . . I’d jump on the opportunity. I’ve always disliked it and I cringe everytime someone comment on it, even if it’s a compliment. They’re drawing attention to one of the things I dislike most about myself.
I wish I could more easily disappear into the background. And yet. . . . the romantic in me want there to be one person, the one for me, to notice me whereas everyone else would just look over me.
Its reassuring that I can still hope for love, true love, despite what a fiasco my last relationship was. In the words of Alexander Pope, “Hope springs eternal in the breast of man.”
“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.”
― William Goldman
We’re still in touch. We still hangout. We still spend time together.
If I lived in the world of Sex and the City, you would be my Mr. Big.
The first time we broke up and continued to stay in touch, I met Superman. Shortly after, you told me you loved me. And then you proceeded to break my heart again.
Now, we’ve done a 360 and we’re back where we were before there was Superman. I can recall myself quite clearly a few months ago, riding in your truck in the passenger seat, still desperately in love with you and lying through my teeth when I said I didn’t want to date again or be in another relationship. The “unless it’s you” went unspoken.
I’m building a wall. I’m hoping you will be on the opposite side.They say that when the right person comes along, you’ll let them in and lower your wall for them.
I can see it so vividly that it’s almost like its bound to happen. I can see myself months or years later, riding in your truck and finally no longer being in love with you but in love with another guy. I’ll be terrified and vulnerable and I’ll cry in your arms over another guy. I’ll wonder aloud if he’s another you or Superman. And of course you’ll tell me that I can always do better.
I can see myself building a wall that will make it almost impossible for another guy to scale it. But I can’t imagine you not being in my life, you’ve become that integral to me. I can see us being those exes that are broken up but still care for each other and have an awesome and supportive friendship.
I can see it. I can visualize it. But we’re not there yet. It hasn’t happened yet. I have to remind myself not to get ahead of myself. First, I need to successfully build my wall. The rest will follow. Hopefully.
“Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares.”
― Aman Jassal
I was foolish to fall in love.
Regret. I regret opening my heart to someone.
I wish I was still ignorant of what it’s like to love someone. Being out of love seems so much simpler.
Once you’ve known love. . . . Do you ever forget what it’s like?
The past never really goes away. Those memories never evaporate into thin air. I wish I could just open my skull and give it a try, see if they disappear.
You never know till you tried. Well, I tried. Multiple times. Each one was like a stab to my already battered heart.
I just want to get rid of this feeling, this longing. I don’t want to write about you, dream about you, think about you, love you. I just can’t seem to stop. I wish I could. How much easier my life would be!
I longed to be in love. Now I long to be out of love.
I feel pathetic from even writing this.
“And in the end, we were all just humans… drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.”
― F. Scot Fitzgerald