musings on myself and friendship.

friendship is giving someone the power to hurt you, but trusting them not to ever use it.
friendship is knowing that there are some things you can't go through alone, and that you won't have to.
friendship is giving someone all of you even when you feel like you're too broken to fix.
friendship is never giving up on each other.
friendship is you and me.

i have a tendency to run away when things get deep. i have a tendency not to trust people. i have abandonment issues. i think that everyone is constantly taking what i do and making fun of me for it. i hate typing on blogger in capital letters, but do it because that's how things are supposed to be. i worry about every little thing that could ever go wrong, and expect them to do just that. i feel guilty about just about everything. i don't let myself feel emotions until they all boil over and i end up on the ground in a ball sobbing. i know that the majority of the time, most people find me really annoying. i have a tendency to attach to people really quickly, and make snap judgments about everyone. i have a low tolerance for what i perceive to be stupidity.

A piece of semi-not suckish writing for your troubles.

They were the perfect couple that didn’t believe in marriage. She’d watched her parent’s fall apart, and his were too concerned with status to fall apart. So instead, they were happily together, but never bound by law. He made her believe in love again, and she kept him from a self-destructive state. They were the exact brand of medicine each other needed. And really, that’s what love is. Love is being able to fix someone who believed they were broken, and being willing to be fixed yourself.

            They met at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. She’d ordered a cup of black coffee, after making sure that the cups weren’t made of Styrofoam. He’d ordered a green tea. They were forced to sit together at the counter, because it was eight in the morning and the place was packed with single mothers and fathers in a hurry to get to work, and college students who were savoring the last few moments of a weekend. She had thought ahead and not signed up for any classes that met before noon on a Monday; the only reason she was up so early was because she hadn’t gone to bed. He wasn’t so lucky, and had to be at school in an hour. They sat together for a while, neither casting even a glance in the other’s direction. He was building a castle out of sugar packets; she was reading a paperback Russian novel. Sipping her coffee, she decided it needed more sugar, and, never taking her eyes from the pages, she reached towards where the sugar should be. Her fingers found an empty container, which forced her to look up. When she did, she saw that the black-haired boy beside her had taken every single packet of sugar within arms reach to construct a castle of sugar. “Excuse me,” she said, mustering all the politeness an insomniac could in the morning. “You’ve got all the sugar.”

            He looked up, startled out of his concentration. “Huh?”

            She sighed. “You’re bogarting all of the sugars. Can you give me a couple?”

            “Oh. Sorry.” He carefully extracted two from the top of his creation, making sure not to knock the rest of it down.

            Instead of returning to her book, she began studying him, and his castle. “That’s pretty intricate.”

            “Hm? Oh, I guess.” He shrugged, and they shared a glance. “I’m into buildings.”

            She nodded, and subtly rested her book down. “Is that your major? Architecture?”

            “Yeah,” he replied, turning towards her on his stool. “You?”

            “Creative writing.”

            They talked until he was running the risk of being reprimanded for tardiness, and before he left, they exchanged phone numbers and email addresses, each scrawled on a packet of sugar. He’d forgotten his cell phone at home, and she didn’t believe in them.

            Their initial meeting was over a year and a half ago, and since then, their relationship had evolved into something neither could’ve anticipated. Throughout the eighteen months they’d been together, he’d changed his major from architecture to child psychology, and she had started a novel. He’d forgotten about Valentine’s Day, and she’d had to miss his birthday for a funeral. They’d debated anything and everything over slices of pizza and wine, and told each other secrets they’d thought they would always keep to themselves. And now, on their two-year anniversary, they were getting tattoos. Their friends couldn’t understand it; why tattoos? Why not rings? But the two of them didn’t care. Tattoos were much more permanent than rings, and despite their trepidations about marriage, they wanted something that they knew would link them forever. She’d suggested a heart, but he was skeptical. It was emasculating, but in the end, she won. There was nothing else that seemed to fit.

            So on the exact date that they’d met two years ago, they blew off all of their classes and went into Manhattan, where they’d had an appointment with a tattoo artist for a month now. The end result was more than they could’ve expected. It was just a small heart on each of their left hips, but the intricacy wasn’t what mattered. What mattered is that they each had a full heart now, never to be broken or removed.

I tend to blog when I want to complain.

It probably isn't the healthiest of habits, but it works for me. Let's sort out my list of complaints for the day, shall we?

1. I had to wake up at six thirty because I had school today.
2. It was soft-core raining.
3. Even though it was soft-core raining, three cars still managed to splash me as I was waiting for the bus.
4. My size four jeans from the Gap didn't fit when I tried to put them on this morning.
5. My joints are achy.
6. My spine is achy.
7. Pretty much every little thing on my body that could be achy, is achy.
8. I had a horrible social studies class today, which I won't even go into because I should be sleeping.
9. I got home and there were people over.
10. It's ten twenty-five and there are still people over.
11. All anyone seems to be able to talk to me about is college.
12. I can't even sleep in tomorrow morning, because I have to be at work by nine.

All I want to do is sleep and wake up in the morning and be completely rejuvenated. But it doesn't seem to work that way.

They can take take take the kids from the summer...

But they'll never never never take the summer from me. 

Tomorrow is my last first day of high school, and all of a sudden I am freaking. The. Fuck. Out. I was fine before it was the night before, but now it is and... I don't know. I have issues, okay? I tend to think that people don't like me, and always want to get away from me, and that I annoy the hell out of them. I tend to be possessive of the people I love, and I tend to scare people away because I want intensity or nothing at all. It's a flaw of mine, and I'm quite aware of it. 

And I wish I could post about something in particular here, but the person I'd be posting about has been known to peruse my blog, and I don't want to scare said person, or make our friendship uncomfortable. 

It's like I can't feel anything when you're not around. I can't think of anyone I hate to miss as much as I hate missing you when you're not around. That's all I'm going to say. 

I wonder sometimes, if she asked you not to talk to me, or see me again, what that would mean. Would we be over, or would you be? 

You can tell it's been a long day and I'm so stressed out by how all over the place this is. I think I should probably try and sleep now. I'll try and have a letter up tomorrow or the next day.

rambling reflections.

It's hard for me to believe that school starts on Tuesday. It's hard to believe that just two short months ago, I was blogging about how it was the first day of vacation. It hasn't really seemed like vacation, if I'm being totally honest. I went to the beach four or five times, an all time low for me. I worked quite a bit, though not as much as some of my friends. -coughMatthewcoughcough- And now, I honestly can't believe that it's over, and soon we'll be entrapped with homework and other responsibilities that we really want nothing to do with.

If I had to write one of those stereotypical essays about what I did this summer, this is what it would consist of:
1. Working at the bookstore.
2. Scoping out cute guys.
3. Re-igniting old friendship flames and igniting new ones.
4. Making money.
5. Spending money.
6. Reading my first hard-core adult book.
7. Finding out that I really do like soft-core adult books and YA books much better.
8. Figuring out how much certain people mean to me.
9. Figuring out who wasn't worth my time.
10. Stressing out about college.
11. Getting excited about college.
12. Spending far too much time on Facebook.
13. Crying while writing something for the first time ever. [Well, no, that's not strictly true. But it was the first time I ever cried while writing something BECAUSE of what I was writing.]
14. Going to my first Jimmy Fund appointment in six months, and finding out I don't have to go back for another year.
15. Going back to the Jimmy Fund a week later.
16. Discovering new music.
17. Discovering new books.
18. Getting my hair professionally done for the second time ever.
19. Getting my first intense haircut in five years.
20. Figuring out that shouldering all of the pain doesn't make you the strongest, it's feeling able to share it and work through it that makes you strong.

But while I'm sad that summer's over, I'm rather excited to go back to school at the same time. It's my senior year, and even though I'm still in smart math, it's bound to be a good year. I'm glad to be going back with a higher level of friendship with certain people, and with the sense of knowing that after this year, I can do whatever I want. [But, as one of my favorite kindergartner's reminded me on my birthday this year, "Not if it's against the law."]