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| In this case, I didn't realize I miss my late-night classes. I just took the same freeway/ streets home as I would if I were to be coming home from school. It's a familiar path that I've taken day after day and I could practically close my eyes and still arrive home safely. Okay, not really. This is the first time in a long time that I've actually taken the route at night. I used to take it all the time on my way home from my 7:30-9:45pm class. I no longer have a night class, so the only time I'm only going down there is during rush hour, the wrongly named three hour stretch where every driver sits in frustration.
I digress.
I miss 3 hour night classes. I miss coming to school during mid-day, walking to class and sitting there for 3 hours, listening to a lecture. I used to be afraid of getting out of school so late because of all the stories I've heard about students wandering about the campus at night. I didn't expect to feel so free. As corny as it sounds, it felt good to walk around campus at night, walk up all 5 flights to the top of the parking structure (I parked at the very top on purpose and made sure to avoid elevators), and then to drive home with the cool air and the view of the city lights. I really don't know if the fact that all (minus one) of my favorite classes have been at night has anything to correlate. I just miss it. Maybe next semester, I'll make sure that the majority of my classes are at night.
And really, I think being in class for 3 hours makes it easier to focus. 1-1.5 hour classes are just too short and 2 hours classes are just too long (they don't have breaks). Maybe I'm just weird, but I miss being able to become so intrigued with the lectures.
Rant over, I guess. | | |
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I found out that I couldn't write on Tumblr like I did on Xanga. I've kept this blog for over 4 years now it's sort of become a part of me. I actually feel bad that I've parted with this for such a long time.
I've been unable to write for the longest time and I guess I've finally figured out that it's because I've been lacking the certain emotions that used to motivate me to write. Anger. I know I write based on my emotions but the one thing that drives me the most is anger. Although I stay quiet when I'm angry, inside my head is just raging with tons of angry sentences that I've refrain from spitting at people. Maybe it's good that I taught myself how to do that because it keeps me from saying something I would regret. So thats why, I write it, so that I can visualize my words.
Defense mechanism, maybe? Maybe I'm just afraid of speaking up, saying what I want to say because I'm afraid of the consequences. So I bottle it up, and then I explode. Which believe me, I really do. But I don't know if I'll call it that. I don't know anymore.
But I'll be back to write more often and not just to reread my blogs and wonder why I'm not satisfied with my own writing anymore.
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| When you get hurt, physically that is, the cut either heals up quickly without a trace of it ever happening, or it leaves a scar, a reminder of the past, a layer of new skin covering the exposed cut. So what happens if you were to get hurt at that exact same spot again? Does it hurt the same? Does it hurt less? Does it hurt more?
If you're telling me that it hurts the same, then I'll end up saying to you, "Maybe you have no memories of the previous hurt before so you have nothing to compare it to". Maybe you forgot about it until it happened again but the cut wasn't so deep so you've forgotten about the pain.
If you're telling me it hurts less because now that you've already learned how it deal with it the first time, it's not so bad the second time around.
I'll ask, "Doesn't it still bleed the same?".
You'll say, "But it will heal up again, perhaps not in the exact same way. Each time it heals, it becomes something different".
Then I'll tell you, "You're not talking about the process of feeling the cut. You're telling me how it heals. Some people don't heal properly, they never get to have a scar because they keep picking at the mess. If it hurts less, then how come some people can't leave it alone?"
If you're telling me that it hurts more, then I'll probably agree. I think that once it opens up, you're feeling two different things. You still have the memory of how you got hurt, and now you are hurting, that's twice as much. "The first cut is the deepest" and I used to add in, "the second hurts the worse". I never knew why. I just feel that once something causes you that much hurt, you close yourself off.
Then again, I still don't know the answer.
Maybe you can give me an answer that I won't have to question. | | |
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I hit 111,111 miles some time in April. I remember when I barely hit 100,000. It was last spring, on the way to 85C from Ontario Airport. Tracy and I drove to Ontario to pick up Liza from her flight back from Indiana and then I took them both to 85C all the way in Irvine. I think I took 5 different freeways that day.
Amanda is pretty old and has been through at least 5 different owners before me. Yes, I did my research way before I bought the car. I wonder where those five different people went and what adventures they undertook. For myself, those miles I put on Amanda stood for my trips to Riverside- to take Liza to and from UCR, to LA- to take Tracy to and from UCLA, to LAX, to drop people off or to pick them up, to Fullerton- to take myself to and from CSUF, to Irvine- to satisfy my cravings, to drop people off at school, to giving rides- just because, to my random joy rides down PCH, to the beach, to getting lost and finding my way back, to Chula Vista (that's like 50 miles away from Mexico!) with friends to see Jason Mraz, to Pasadena, to San Diego, to work and to people's houses- just to see them. I have never complained about going the distance for those whom I care about. All that mileage and the gas (I'm so sorry, Mother Earth), and the long drives are worth it if it could shorten the distance between myself and the other person.
"I will go the distance, I will go the miles, because that's how much you mean to me".
- Oliver James, "The Distance"
I walked into my parent's bathroom today to look for a scrubbing brush and it occurred to me that I hardly ever stepped into there. I've taken one bath in there because I didn't have hot water in my own tub. I walked in, and all of a sudden, I felt like a stranger in my own home. I looked around and realized that I don't know this room at all. I don't even know what shampoo my mom uses. I felt so distant from the rest of my family. As a kid, I spent most of my time in the living room, in front of the TV or lounging around. Before my brother came along, I hung out with my parents. After my brother was born, I hung out with him. Now, I hang out in my room alone or I'm not even home.
How is it, that I am willing to go the distance for others when the place is outside of home but I end up distancing myself from people when I'm at home? It was just hard to believe that I drove 120 miles south and was so close to TJ and I don't even know what's in the other bathroom. So much for taking the distance. | | |
| I was telling Kim, "I use Tumblr for my everyday crap that no one gives a crap about. I use Xanga for my well-thought out blogs."
Yes, I'm actually very careful about my word usage on here. Yes, if I'm cursing, it was intended.
#1 For the past two years, I've learned how to block things out of my head. Such things that deal with school, work, friends, boys, or family or anything that makes me uncomfortable, things that upset me, or things that I just don't want to deal with are just completely blocked out. If I'm mad at you, I just won't talk to you for a few days to avoid any sudden bursts of outrage. I don't suppose it's the best way to deal with things at all but it follows the, "if I don't see it, then it doesn't see me" theory. If I don't deal with the problem, it then my decision negates the total existence of the problem. I can't say that my decision doesn't bite me in the ass most of the time even though I sometimes get away with it. I don't really know where I'm going with this. I just know that in the midst of thinking, my birthday popped into my head. Don't get me wrong, last year's totally rocked (EXCLAMATION POINT!), but I feel like the whole occasion is jaded. I need to stop starting my sentences with "I", starting now. But, then I would have to use passive voice? Yes, these conversations with myself happen very frequently in my head.
Now that school's ended, my days pretty much consists of nothing. Well, at least it did before this week since all the UC kids were still in school. I wake up, run, clean, do some errands, cook lunch, and then that's it. I keep trying to find things to occupy my body with so there won't be much energy left for brain power. No matter how eventful my days are, the nights are spent alone. This is my explanation as to why I can not sleep- because I sit here, and think about useless crap that I've blocked out during the daytime. This blog is useless crap.
#2 Another thing, Kim and I had a talk today and she asked, "How does it feel like to be desperate?"
I replied: "Well, there's a theory that when a woman thinks that she is completely in love with a man, she makes him her everything. She subjects herself to him and tries to make herself better for him, to be worthy in his eyes. He is her master because before him, her life was complete nothing. He came into her life and gave it meaning. Think of this, her life was dull, maybe it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't as colorful. When he comes into her life, he suddenly makes it interesting. She thinks this because, as children, we were all made to believe that a perfect prince will come and save us from whatever tragedy. Those morals gave us the idea that we need to be saved so we hold the man high in our hearts because he is there to rescue is. Sadly, men will never live up to that expectation and most women end up being disappointed. Which is why, the more we desire from them, the more prone we are to being disappointed. Maybe the girl is just sitting there alone, wishing for a prince to come and when he's not coming, she seeks him, but in unhealthy ways. I don't really know how it feels to be desperate but I think the girl just wants someone there for her- who won't leave her. Someone who might just save her."
Well, I actually added a bit more than what I said to her.
#3 I've been asking myself the same damn question over and over again. I've even asked other people as well, people who are able to give me intelligent replies. I started writing and stopped on the first page because of the unanswered question. I know the answer varies from person to person, but there has to be one universal theme, for lack of a better term, that is relative to everyone. I almost want to test this out myself, but that wouldn't be wise at all. My brain finally decides to stop functioning properly. I guess I must be getting to sleep. | | |
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