Surprised? I was.

I haven't moved

But my heart is thwacking on my insides like I've leaped a hundred miles.

An empty echo thumps behind my eyes in counterpoint 

To the piercing thready note lingering just within my ears.

Shock.

A sudden panic.

Something has changed.

That was unexpected.

ACK ACK ACK ACK ACK ACK ACK

*eagle screech of surprise/terror*

whoooooooooops.

TW: complaint

I'm writing this pathetic little song
About how much I hate being alone.
It's not a tune that will last very long.
It's mostly just me staring at my phone.
I thought that sunset meant fun times would start.
I spent the whole day lying on my bed,
Anticipation rising in my heart,
Some indistinct plan floating through my head,
But nothing came of all my falt'ring dreams.
It turns out no one wants to hang with me.
They're busy with whatever else. It seems
I'll spend the night with vids and VLC.
I'd like to shake this off with a good cry
But I'm too dead inside to even try.

Saturday nights aren't meant for solitude

BOOOOOOORED.

I've self-identified as an introvert all my life, but sometimes I wonder if that's incorrect. Tonight is definitely a wondering night.

I really want to see people. Really want to. I am growing desperate in my sadness.

Everyone else is out tonight. Even my mom is doing some shopping. I have been lying on my bed staring at the ceiling hoping someone wants to see me, or at least won't mind my presence. I even put forth inquiries, and that's rare enough.

I don't want to be alone. Not right now. I have had plenty of time to myself; don't need any more.

As for me...

I write stuff occasionally. I just can't turn most of it in for a class review, now can I? Because they wouldn't get it/would probably be a bit scandalized.

Everyone is writing such serious stuff, by the way. It's all biblical story retellings or stories about broken families or the pain of a little girl bullied or a girl who killed her best friend in an accident or a high-style play about wizards and kings or poems about what the world needs.

I'm a little person in a little sphere and I write about what I know.

Maybe that means what I say won't speak to a great audience, because it's so personalized to me, specifically. The stuff I say isn't going to ring of truth or of great experience, because I haven't got any of that. All I have is the little life I have lived. (And all the fictional lives I have watched played out in so many different permutations of what life can be.)

I suppose it's better that I don't try to make grand statements. Everyone else can have those.

To OTPs

The forger taunts his oft-besuited friend
Two gods have faced each other 'cross a crown
Their kingdom prince and wizard will defend
Detective and his doctor race through town
A genius and his mentor practice law
Wheelchaired professor calms a metal mind
The student snarks but grabs the werewolf's paw
A pair of kinsmen hopes true love to find
Young master's valet makes all wrong things right
TV's the bond between two college guys
The righteous man and angel still must fight
A captain and his first sail o'er the skies
All these and more have taken residence
Inside my heart, whose chambers are immense.

you tried

A kid in Creative Writing tried to write a sonnet today. 

I say kid because he is one of about 3 on campus who looks 13 years old. I am not exaggerating. At least now I know his name.

I say tried because he got the rhyme scheme alright, but the meter was hackneyed. 

*gold star*

I admire effort. I think it was pretty cool that he went out on the limb that he did, going full-on formal poetry like that. 

Still...

it wasn't a sonnet.

Instincts

I didn't mean to growl, though.

Is what I was trying to say.

I was startled, is all. I don't touch people, and they don't touch me. It is just how things go. Not by my choice, particularly...I have been told I am not approachable, I guess. Which is why when you stuck your hand in my face I tried to bury myself in the couch cushions and pretty much hissed like an angry cat. With words.

Then spent the rest of the evening trying to climb the couch arm to avoid contact, while you did the same with the person on your other side.

I wasn't trying to make it weird. 

I was startled, is all.

Crumbs.

Not funny.

"Get off."

It happened too fast, and I wasn't ready. One unsuspecting victim, me, of sudden physical proximity.
It was probably a joke. He knows better; his aim isn't that bad anymore. He lands square in my face every time.

So I'm pretty sure he did this on purpose. His grasp of humor isn't the greatest.

"Seriously, get off me, Cas."

You don't just go landing on top of a guy in the shower.

Assignment due

Editing is hard.

I picked the words I wanted in the first place, you know? And I'm not so full of myself as to think that there is no room for improvement. Believe me, there is so much room.

I just don't know how to fix it.
If I knew, I would have done it.

I gave you the best that I had.

Clipped Wings

When I was a child

I dreamed that I could fly.

Arms to the sides

Leaning forward

I lifted away.

With a tingle in my stomach

And the teeth of my grin chilled in the wind

I was weightless

I was happy

I was free.

And I wanted to bring you with me.

You wanted to keep me close.

I showed you how

Carried you up

I thought it worked

For everyone.

But you couldn't get the knack.

You didn't want me to go without you.

And the more I pulled

The less lift I got.

I kept trying. 

You stayed put.

Eventually

So did I.

With an ache in my arms

And the lines of a frown carved in my face

I was grounded.

I was tired.

I was caught. 

In the dream of a child

I saw our future.

Let me go.

Here goes nothing

HO BOY.

So. I think I am supposed to be writing. Or I am supposed to have been writing for the last 3 weeks, but about 3 sonnets and half a vignette are what I have to show for myself. Hmm.

I want to type up something brilliant, witty, and inspiring, but being realistic, I would settle for lengthy enough for a decent grade. The only problem is we have to workshop the piece I am going to turn in (i did mention that I have nothing to turn it yet, and it's due in the next hour or two, right? OMGGGG WHAT IF I USED THAT THING I DID IT WAS WRITTEN WITHIN THE TIME FRAME AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA not happening) and I am very bad at taking criticism. I get all squirmy and end up actually biting my sleeve to keep my mouth shut and then I mumble through it anyway.

I think best on this blog, so I thought I would warm up here and maybe even write something here. Sound okay?

Here I call upon the muse of the lazy, singer of the song of the procrastinator: hear my panicked cry!
Send me the phrases of a few desperate failures, the broken lines of the bad at time management, and all praise to thee, oh unprepared one, shall I raise. Tomorrow.

I guess it's nice.

You don't tingle like a schoolgirl, and you're not awash in a rush of warmth like a cheap novel heroine, but it does put a smile on your face.

You've done your best all day to look like you're not looking, which you aren't, not really, even if your own eyes betray you more often than not. You didn't offer the first good morning. You didn't push for conversation. You definitely didn't follow him across the hall; he was walking in front of you to start with, and you're practiced at melting into the scenery, so he didn't notice a thing. You smirked instead of guffawing because he wasn't that funny, and you talked to everyone else around before you glanced his way.

All in all, you've been as cool, casual, and disinterested as you could have possibly hoped for. You didn't have an agenda, because that would imply a level of investment in your situation you simply don't have. This isn't something you were angling for, waiting for, or even hoping for at all.

But . . . if you're being honest with yourself, it is a kind of pleasing.

He looked for a seat, among so many empty seats, and he picked the one next to you.

Don't worry; I got it.

I hate relying on other people.

It's not that I don't think they'll come through. Most will. If they don't, I don't let it get to me, because I tell myself I didn't expect much anyway.

It's more that I hate being dependent on anyone but myself. I must constantly prove to myself that I can handle my own problems, or I end up feeling weak and apologizing profusely to whoever is (I think) being horribly inconvenienced by stuff that (I think) is none of their business.

On the other hand, I've been told that it isn't bad to ask for help; that building a network of people you can count on is a good thing. I had never thought of it that way, so I'm trying to readjust a bit. Still, though. I can't help feeling like asking for help is an imposition.

How do you balance that? Being self-reliant, while allowing others to feel needed? I know I like feeling needed. It hurts when I think I'm not needed.

I will have to ponder on this more.

Woke up at 10

It is official. I can't write in the morning.

I sit here and I try, but I am so prosaic in my thoughts (need to brush my teeth)(go get a shower)(did i finish that assignment yet) that even I think I'm being boring. Hmm.

This blog is mine, though, really, so I can say what I want, and boring suits me, I guess. (i will probably qualify almost everything i say)