When I was younger, I used to make up stories all the time. It was my goal to write the next "Great American Novel", something that would catch everyone's attention and have an impact on society (although I guess that isn't really the definition of "Great American Novel", seeing as how that can apply to 50 Shades of Gray, but I digress). I was always cooking up something new, always working in a notebook, carrying pens and paper in my bag in case I got an idea on the go. That slowed down after I got into my first relationship, and I'm not really sure why. Maybe I just didn't need to make up love stories anymore, now that I was living my own. Whatever the reason, I stopped writing. Sometimes I would still get ideas, but I would forget to write them down, and then the next time I would pick up a pen, I would have nothing to scribble onto the page. I didn't notice it for a long time, but when I did, I felt like I had lost a part of myself. I still think about it all the time, wanting to create my own world again.
In the past few months, I've actually come up with a couple of new ideas and taken notes on them. One of them sort of faded, but I came up with another idea today that took me by storm. I took pages of notes, and when I actually typed up my start excerpt, I have 818 words. I know that really doesn't seem like much at all, not even a standard sized college paper, but it's so much for me right now. I feel like I'm coming back to myself, like I'm home again.
I hope I actually keep up with this one and finish it, or at least get even a hundred pages, not for anyone else or even the hope of a publication, but just for me. Just to say that I did it, that I came back. That I got myself back.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
My grandmother died on March 12, 2012, and it almost surprises me how much she still creeps up in my everyday life. I'm always thinking about her or remembering something small about growing up in her house. When I was driving home over the weekend, my iPod was on shuffle and Schubert's Ave Maria started playing, and I started to cry because she loved that song. The other day at work, I got a copy of the Senate newsletter that had a group picture of us interns on the first day as the back cover, and my first thought was to get an extra copy for Grandma because she would want to put me up on the fridge.
Growing up, I easily spent as much time at Grandma's house as I did at my own house. Last summer at senior week, when I got drunk for the third time ever, I cried and sobbed for no reason other than that I was talking about how much I loved her, and she wasn't even sick yet. She was such a strong figure in my life, she had always been there for me, for 18 years. When I go home, I always want to stop by her house and see her, tell her about how I got good grades in my first year in college, tell her about my job and how much I love working in DC. I want to tell her how much I miss her, and how much I love her.
My friends think I'm crazy because I make 'jokes' about Grandma, and about my aunt who died the summer before my senior year in high school. I don't do it because I think it's funny, I don't do it because I'm some kind of horrible person. I don't know how else to cope with it. A friend will say something about their crazy grandma, and my first thought is 'my grandma's dead' and that's the first thing out of my mouth, too. It comes out as a joke, but I just don't really always know how else to talk about it. I can tell stories about her and I can remember her, but it's just so hard. I'm always making smart-ass comments about everything else anyway, so slipping something in about the people that I miss is my way of keeping them around for myself, I guess. It's not a joke, not really. I just don't know how else to deal with it.
Growing up, I easily spent as much time at Grandma's house as I did at my own house. Last summer at senior week, when I got drunk for the third time ever, I cried and sobbed for no reason other than that I was talking about how much I loved her, and she wasn't even sick yet. She was such a strong figure in my life, she had always been there for me, for 18 years. When I go home, I always want to stop by her house and see her, tell her about how I got good grades in my first year in college, tell her about my job and how much I love working in DC. I want to tell her how much I miss her, and how much I love her.
My friends think I'm crazy because I make 'jokes' about Grandma, and about my aunt who died the summer before my senior year in high school. I don't do it because I think it's funny, I don't do it because I'm some kind of horrible person. I don't know how else to cope with it. A friend will say something about their crazy grandma, and my first thought is 'my grandma's dead' and that's the first thing out of my mouth, too. It comes out as a joke, but I just don't really always know how else to talk about it. I can tell stories about her and I can remember her, but it's just so hard. I'm always making smart-ass comments about everything else anyway, so slipping something in about the people that I miss is my way of keeping them around for myself, I guess. It's not a joke, not really. I just don't know how else to deal with it.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Know Your Limits
A little bit of background for this story: I live in College Park during the week, and every Friday after work I drive 2 hours home to see my friends, family, and bf. I'm in the same apartment that I had for the school year, and am the only one of my three roommates (A, C, and M) to have stayed for the summer. All three of my roommates are planning on moving out sometime this week, as we have to be out of the apartment by July 31. A moved out yesterday, Monday.
Sunday night I got back from home around 11 and pretty much went straight to bed. I was only in the kitchen to put something in the fridge and to set up my coffee maker for the next morning, and I didn't go in the living room. There's a piece of poster board under the couch, and I thought it was sticking out more than normal, but I didn't think anything of it because I knew C had been at our apt over the weekend with her twin and their friend and I figured it had just gotten bumped or pushed out or something. Then yesterday while I was at work, all three of my roommates were trying to get a hold of me with about a half hour left of work. I called C back when I got out, and she said that when A moved out, the inspector moved the couch and found a bunch of puke in the carpet, that someone had moved the couch to cover it up. The whole carpet has to be replaced, and we have to pay for it. A and M straight up said that they weren't going to pay, which totally makes sense because they haven't been in the apartment since the semester ended so obviously it had nothing to do with them. I've been there every week, but I don't party or do anything on week nights, and I've been home every weekend. So that leaves C. At first I was frantically racking my brain, trying to remember if I had smelled anything over the last few weeks, or if the couch seemed like it had been in a different place. When I got back to the apartment after work though, I could smell it as soon as I walked near the couch, and the stains were obvious enough and far enough up in the room that I knew they hadn't been there the week before. C said that she thought it was her sister, and that when she asked her about it, her sister must have lied, and that she (C) would try to get her sister to come down this week and clean it.
I haven't really touched on the subject of paying for it with C yet, because she's already worried enough about her parents. They're super strict, and they'll be angry when they find out that anyone was drinking in the apartment this weekend, let alone that it was their kids. C is moving out on Wednesday though, and she's going to have to tell her parents before then, or at least when she has to pay for the carpet. I'm definitely not paying for it, because I had 100% nothing to do with it. I don't mean to throw C under the bus, but I'm not paying for a room's worth of new carpeting because of something with which I had absolutely no involvement.
Forgetting the fact that someone is going to have to pay for the new carpet, I feel disrespected that the whole thing happened at all. I mean really, when is it EVER ok to puke on somene else's floor and then hide it under the couch? When is it ever ok to puke on someone else's floor at all? It's completely ridiculous. There is no reason to go out and get that drunk that you can't keep yourself together. And if you're going to throw up, for god's sake, at least try to get to a trash can or a toilet or something. When you're going to throw up, you know you're going to throw up. You don't just roll over and puke off the side of the couch and then cover it up in the morning. It's one of the most disrespectful things I've ever experienced. You have to know your limits. When you're drinking, you know how fucked up you're getting. You know how much you're drinking, and how fast, and how much you've had to eat, etc. You know when you've had enough that it might make you sick. Throwing up all over someone else's floor, or anything in someone else's home, is completely unacceptable. I don't care if you cleaned it up or not, there is no excuse for emptying your guts in somebody's house, unless it's in a trash can or a toilet.
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I wrote the first four paragraphs as a draft earlier today, and now I feel differently. Yes, it's disrespectful to puke in someone else's home, my feelings on that haven't changed. I still don't want to pay for it, either. But I'm not really angry about it. C and her sisters came and cleaned up today, and the stains actually don't really look bad anymore. They move the furniture around so that they're mostly hidden, and the room doesn't smell. C's sister still says she didn't do it, so now I just feel bad because we don't know who did it, but I still don't want to pay for it because though we don't know who it was, we know when it was, and it was when C was the only one here, so it's still somewhat her responsibility. I'm kind of tired of being angry and upset about things, I think. I used to get angry and upset all the time, and I used to get in bad moods all the time, and this isn't to say that that'll never happen again, because that would be impossible. I haven't had a 'bad' day at all for the whole summer so far though, so I think this is a good start for someone new.
Sunday night I got back from home around 11 and pretty much went straight to bed. I was only in the kitchen to put something in the fridge and to set up my coffee maker for the next morning, and I didn't go in the living room. There's a piece of poster board under the couch, and I thought it was sticking out more than normal, but I didn't think anything of it because I knew C had been at our apt over the weekend with her twin and their friend and I figured it had just gotten bumped or pushed out or something. Then yesterday while I was at work, all three of my roommates were trying to get a hold of me with about a half hour left of work. I called C back when I got out, and she said that when A moved out, the inspector moved the couch and found a bunch of puke in the carpet, that someone had moved the couch to cover it up. The whole carpet has to be replaced, and we have to pay for it. A and M straight up said that they weren't going to pay, which totally makes sense because they haven't been in the apartment since the semester ended so obviously it had nothing to do with them. I've been there every week, but I don't party or do anything on week nights, and I've been home every weekend. So that leaves C. At first I was frantically racking my brain, trying to remember if I had smelled anything over the last few weeks, or if the couch seemed like it had been in a different place. When I got back to the apartment after work though, I could smell it as soon as I walked near the couch, and the stains were obvious enough and far enough up in the room that I knew they hadn't been there the week before. C said that she thought it was her sister, and that when she asked her about it, her sister must have lied, and that she (C) would try to get her sister to come down this week and clean it.
I haven't really touched on the subject of paying for it with C yet, because she's already worried enough about her parents. They're super strict, and they'll be angry when they find out that anyone was drinking in the apartment this weekend, let alone that it was their kids. C is moving out on Wednesday though, and she's going to have to tell her parents before then, or at least when she has to pay for the carpet. I'm definitely not paying for it, because I had 100% nothing to do with it. I don't mean to throw C under the bus, but I'm not paying for a room's worth of new carpeting because of something with which I had absolutely no involvement.
Forgetting the fact that someone is going to have to pay for the new carpet, I feel disrespected that the whole thing happened at all. I mean really, when is it EVER ok to puke on somene else's floor and then hide it under the couch? When is it ever ok to puke on someone else's floor at all? It's completely ridiculous. There is no reason to go out and get that drunk that you can't keep yourself together. And if you're going to throw up, for god's sake, at least try to get to a trash can or a toilet or something. When you're going to throw up, you know you're going to throw up. You don't just roll over and puke off the side of the couch and then cover it up in the morning. It's one of the most disrespectful things I've ever experienced. You have to know your limits. When you're drinking, you know how fucked up you're getting. You know how much you're drinking, and how fast, and how much you've had to eat, etc. You know when you've had enough that it might make you sick. Throwing up all over someone else's floor, or anything in someone else's home, is completely unacceptable. I don't care if you cleaned it up or not, there is no excuse for emptying your guts in somebody's house, unless it's in a trash can or a toilet.
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I wrote the first four paragraphs as a draft earlier today, and now I feel differently. Yes, it's disrespectful to puke in someone else's home, my feelings on that haven't changed. I still don't want to pay for it, either. But I'm not really angry about it. C and her sisters came and cleaned up today, and the stains actually don't really look bad anymore. They move the furniture around so that they're mostly hidden, and the room doesn't smell. C's sister still says she didn't do it, so now I just feel bad because we don't know who did it, but I still don't want to pay for it because though we don't know who it was, we know when it was, and it was when C was the only one here, so it's still somewhat her responsibility. I'm kind of tired of being angry and upset about things, I think. I used to get angry and upset all the time, and I used to get in bad moods all the time, and this isn't to say that that'll never happen again, because that would be impossible. I haven't had a 'bad' day at all for the whole summer so far though, so I think this is a good start for someone new.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Beach Bummin'
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| 1. Our beach house this year, it was called Sand Trap (I think...). |
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| 2. This was the view that I got from my window over my bed every morning, can you imagine being lucky enough to actually live somewhere with that? |
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| 3. I'm actually four and a half years older than my "big" sister, Claire. |
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| 4. Clear waters as far as you can see! |
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| 5. The night of the 4th, we went into town to watch the fire works. I couldn't actually get any pictures of the fireworks, unfortunately. |
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| 6. Our cousin Abbey is about two months older than Claire, and they act like sisters when we get to be together. |
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| 7. I couldn't get a very good picture on my phone, but the sunsets were phenomenal. |
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| 8. Every year we stop in Southport on our way out of town, and my dad and Claire and I always end up sitting outside while Mom peruses her favorite place, the Christmas Store. |
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