love-fucked

How can I be his world, when he can't make my heart melt?
Is that a prerequisite for true love? That warm, tingly, numbing feeling in your heart? If it is, I'm very much not in love.
I'm lost, confused, scared...
Do I have feelings for someone else or is the grass just greener? How will I ever know?

Why is life and living so synonymous with love to the world? There's more to life than love, but why can't I live it?
I thought I was ready for the life he's pushing on me, but I see more each day that I'm far from ready and I may never be ready. Why put your heart into something with a 50% failure rate. If it were money I was investing, would I do it?? Nope, definitely not taking the 50/50 chance, so why with my heart and my life?

This writing is as confused as my head and my heart... shifty, scattered...

I know no one has the answers. I know I am the only one that knows what is in my heart.

I can't stand the idea of breaking his heart, but how ridiculous am I to just hold on because I'm afraid to hurt him. Yes, it's going to hurt me too, badly. Over a year and a half... he's the closest to me, he's my comfort when I'm sad or hurt, my punching bag when I'm angry. But it just doesn't feel right. I wish I could hate him. Loving someone makes it so much harder to tell them the truth. The simple sentence... I'm not in love with you anymore. It breaks my heart to say it, so I can only imagine what it will do to him.

I hate this feeling. Nothing is worse. I'd rather not wake up tomorrow then go through this. Fuck love.

just rambling

Lately time has been passing so slowly, yet I feel my age every day. I can feel myself sinking into the day by day monotony that I've worked so hard to avoid. I read too much. I read stories of fantastic love that lasts forever; I read murder mysteries; I read fantasy novels of vampires; I read historic fiction and how-to books. I read to escape. I am screaming inside for a bit of cultural stimulation. Yet nothing comes to hand. Little things. Little seconds of joy have become the definition of life for me. I live for the weekend or day I can spend with some good friends. I love the way your hand feels in mine when I hold it. I love sleeping next to you... I've missed it for four years. Riding on the subway back from a bar. I'm a bit buzzed and I'm sitting down next to a couple who are, of all things, reading. I try to catch pieces of sentences but I don't want to be found out so mostly I stare at the floor. You are standing above me talking to a friend and holding my hand at the same time. I feel everything in this little memory I've stored. The sway of the subway. The hard plastic seat with the awful carpet-like covering. The smell of too many people in too small a space. I feel so connected to everything in that moment, simply because I'm connected to you. And I feel safe. This breaks the monotony. A simple connection to someone or something. And I find that I crave and need it. To connect. It's strange and ironic that I can't be myself until I'm connected to something else. I've even taken up knitting because I need something to do with my hands and it wastes time during the days I'm not working. In a strange way I feel connected to the string because my hands are shaping the scarf or sock it will become. I hope someday I won't need any connection to survive. But for now it's all I have.

100

Willowchronicles just had its 100th post and i think its perfect average

average

Am I a sick pessimist for not agreeing with the feel-good concept that everyone "has a purpose" on this earth?
I don't care if that's what I am, because I don't buy into that bull.
Some people are here just to live and die. I hate how our culture feeds into children's minds that they will grow up to be some great deal of a person. Society is doing them more harm than anything.
Am I saying we tell the kids they're destined for an average life? No. But we can tell them the truth: that some people become something great-mostly due to good timing and a stroke of luck but that not everyone is going to grow up to be a famous singer/dancer/politician/millionaire. They should know that the vast majority of people are just that-people who live their normal lives and accept the luck of others surrounding them.
Furthermore, we should tell them that skill or talent is never enough. You must also be beautiful, and if not-well forget. Fame.

Cosmic mis understanding

This title popped up when i went to type a title into the box so i guess its fate. I've been going through so many emotions lately, that i feel like i'm on the verge of tears. Being home reminds me so much why i left and at the same time why i miss it. I actually sometimes miss the things here more than the people. Thats not to say i don't love and appreciate my friends because i do its just weird to be this flaoting figure that pops in and out randomly throughouth their lives. I'm never home long enough to get used to being back and to get into the flow of things. I can't talk to my parents for fear of judgment or fear of me going off on their narrow minded ignorance. I can't talk to my brother because i'm afraid he wouldn't understand. Also i'm afraid our relationship as i want it is beyond repair. I've been staying with my parents yet i havent had a real conversation with my mom yet. My little sisters sit home and it hurts me to know that i won't see them for 3 years. The one sibling i can relate to is 3000 miles away. I feel like a stranger in my own home. I don't belong here anymore. This is not my home i'm not sure where i belong or if i ever will. Maybe this is my role in life to always be out of place.

Habit

I wish I was a smoker so I could be high right now. It's either that or three glasses of pinot noir. That'll do the job.
I'm sitting here and you're fighting with someone who's going to end up hating you if we continue talking. I don't understand it; I never will. I feel responsible and sad and a small part of me doesn't care. Because I've come to the decision that I need to be a bit selfish every now and then. And not everyone is going to like you, no matter what you do.
Life has been hard to us. And yet isn't it just decisions we've been making all along? Does fate even intervene? Or do we make our own destiny? Maybe someone up there is laughing at our plight.
Talking about anything and everything can be dangerous. Giving your opinion can be even worse.
I'm your California. You're my Europe. Does it matter if we don't live to see them? I would kill to sit in a cafe with you in Florence or Barcelona or Nice and discuss the meaning of life, lack thereof, or the weather. I would give anything to drive the 101 all the way to Seattle, cross the Bixby Bridge and take in the Redwoods. I'd buy you a Fedora and we could live off of cups of coffee and good conversation. You always did seem to have the gift of making the sun shine a bit brighter. I feel more alive, more connected. To something. I may never know what that something is. I know two things: Life is short. And I could make a habit out of you.

These Are The Days

Above my closet door is a sign that says "LIVE" in big block letters.
I thought I was being sophisticated when I bought it for $35 on sale at Pier 1.
I put it above the closet because I was told it would fit there nicely.
And I was too afraid to put it above my bed-
Where it could (and would) somehow come off the nail, fall on my head and kill me in my sleep
[It weighs about ten pounds]
Strange and ironic, that.
To be killed by a sign that says "LIVE." Also ironic: the fact that I put the sign where someone told me to put it. Hope I don't actually live that way in the future.

In about 17 minutes I'm due across town at my grandparents' house.
To wash all of their windows.
Vinegar and newspaper. I found out that this is an old Italian remedy for washing your windows. Apparently newspaper doesn't leave streak marks and your windows will be nice and shiny.
I'm going to smell like Vinegar and newspaper for the rest of the day.
They paid me for the job. But it's almost not worth it to have my 78 year old 5'2" Nana watching me and handing me pieces of newspaper as I wash her windows. Have you ever had someone watch you while you're doing a job? Not entirely comforting. Just leave me in peace and let me do what I have to do. That's what I brought the IPod for- So I woudn't have to listen to you critique me because I missed some moisture on the bottom of the sill there. Next week I'm supposed to clean all of their rafters. Oh boy. Can't wait.
I forgot to mention that I'm jobless at the moment. This is their way of handing me $100. "Clean our house, Leila. We'll give you some money." They know I wouldn't take it for nothing. Or at least this is what I tell myself to make myself feel better.
I have about $300 to my name and a credit card that I've hidden so I can't use it anymore. I have a doctorate and no job. Glad I spent all of those years and all that money studying so that I wouldn't be able to have a sizeable income when I get out. I've been slowly coming to terms with that; I have no qualms about waitressing in the mean time. Oddly enough having no life plan has been liberating in some way. I want to travel and see the world. Yet here I am stuck at home at 25 living with my parents and resenting the fact that I feel like I'm back in highschool. And the fact that I have no money to do said traveling.

This morning my mother said she doesn't buy anything from Costco anymore because there is too much food for only her and my dad. Literally she said "It's only me and your father here now."
I've been living at home for more than a month. Thanks for including me. Really appreciated that one, Mom.

So here I am. In dire need of a day job. In fact it's the afternoon and I'm still in pajamas. Loving Life. These Are The Days. Better get dressed so I can get around to those windows.
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