Hatred and love will bend before me. Fear will flee from my obdurate countenance. Cowardliness will be swallowed in eyes chafed with thought.
From now on there will be no conjecture. Varying reports will not clash in my mind, fighting for precedence. One word will not contradict another. The proper source will speak and there will be only truth. Hated or tolerated, I will know what is thought of me.
Singing, swimming, swinging in solitude. Reading, writing, reorganizing past attempts at writing. Talking to myself--and responding.
These are the things that calm me. But they also aggravate me:
I get so angry when I can produce nothing, no matter how long I stare at my papers.
I fight the urge to throw my books until they damage the wall when I cannot focus. When my eyes blur the page, when I reread one sentence over and over, when it is too loud to funnel my mind.
I get annoyed sitting in a pool with someone. When someone will not actually swim, but stands in the way of my laps. Sitting in a pool unproductively.
I get angry with myself singing in front of others, even should it be an accident. I cannot reassure myself that it is not detestable; that what calms me is not an annoyance to others around me.
But there is still so many of them. Did I do that purposely? Incorporate so many things into my life specifically designed to calm me? And then did I decidedly allow myself to be easily frustrated or hurt from sheer lack of will, knowing I had the tools to clean myself up again?
Human nature, oh how you astound me, even within myself. But this is okay. After all, it doesn't really matter anymore. Only that I should plan different twists and turns. Triumph the things I need to do, the things I want to do, the things I should do:
I need discipline beyond just getting my homework done.
I need to finish the stories I set out to create.
I need to worry less.
I need to stop relying on people to keep their word.
I need to learn what others fail to teach me.
I want to be able to believe Sarah in the wonderful things she tells me. The compliments she's prone to giving.
I want to be able to care about another being.
I want to know that the things I do with my friends don't just slowly rot.
I like being told amazing things.
I like someone calling my presence comforting (little though it often is) when I often wonder how to give back the comfort given to me.
I like when others don't speak as though they k now what goes through my head.
- Do I look like I'm plotting something? That is the general consensus. I always appear to be plotting, but have I ever done anything diabolical? Is it possible that the treachery I have committed wasn't intended?
I shouldn't shy from telling the entire, blunt truth to people.
I should seek out Sarah and spend time with her.
I should take the car when my mom offers it to me.
I should go to Barnes & Noble and read some of my books in the cafe.
I should write at a little table while I drink my drink that's being sold at various Starbucks around the world.
The many things that would benefit me, lists not yet complete. . .
Today I am worthy of my Guy Fawkes mask.
1 comment:
Never have I seen unintended treachery wound another at your hand. The only things I've seen you create have been wonderful things, to amuse your self and/or your friends.
Your presence is a comfort, to me at least. (Though, I'll admit that most everyone's presence is a comfort to me. Yours is though, spectacular and much better than that of many.) A simple hug at the beginning of lit has the ability to turn my day around. :)
Also, there were a few mentions of a girl named Sarah. It's safe to assume being mentioned by name made her day.
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