Monthly Archives: August 2012

The Awkward Act of Blogging in Hospitals


Today, my diaries, I have my health health check up and a sports physical. This takes place at a hospital, of course, and so here I am, sitting in a waiting room that smells faintly of sweat and sickness, and strongly of the cleaner that every hospital in the entire world seems to use.

Being in hospitals is about the worst thing that I can imagine. After my scary run-in with death back in my Freshman year, I don’t feel as if being in a hospital is something that I ever want to do, even if it’s for something as minor as a physical. Nothing good ever happens in hospitals for me.

We’re moved from, the waiting room into one of those tiny exam rooms where you feel as if they’re trying to make you have a claustrophobic panic attack. Something I don’t understand is why the urgent cares rooms in this hospital are at least five times the size. I guess you deserve luxury if you think you might be dying. 

There is a woman in the next room laughing very loudly. Because that’s just what I want to hear, the sounds of someone either enjoying torturing people, or someone being tortured. Now, I understand that my viewpoints on this are a little extreme, but hospitals are a place for misplaced and hopeful optimism and for dying. You’re either told that you’re healthy, or that something is wrong with you. This is a place where people you don’t know get to know everything about you, and also where they have the right to tell you: Hey, eat less, exercise more, and take these pretty little pills so you don’t die.

That’s why it’s so awkward to be posting a blog here. It’s like, oh, yeah, maybe I’ll just slip in a little bit of pursuing one of my passions right in the middle of my panic attack and worst nightmare. That seems like an excellent idea. 

As I was laying on my back allowing a nice female doctor to probe my stomach, I noticed that someone had torn out a picture of a sandy beach scene from a magazine and taped it to the ceiling. Because, of course, on a basics level, the idea that someone would want to see something pretty should seem rather calming to a patient.

But really, that’s silly. Because when I look at that picture, I think: I’m going to die in this hospital before I ever see that sandy beach in Fiji or Morocco or wherever the hell it happens to be.

I am now awaiting my very last hoop to jump through, the shots. Ohhh,needles piercing my skin, and now that I’m 18, I was the one to sign that slip of paper saying that was okay with me. See? Hell in a health facility.

I must go now, we are leaving this terrible place and going for food and less terrifying things. 

Love ya!

 

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Bless me, Bloggers, For I Have Sinned.


It has been four days since my last blog post. I am willing to scream ten Hail Mary’s, drop onto the ground, and beg for forgiveness. I will kiss the feet oh Oh Holy Blog, and I will say I am sorry for everything having caused the community this much harm by not gracing you with my presence.

It simply has not been a good time around here. I am not going to go into details, as I feel that would further agitate the situation. I would like to state to everyone that I know personally that reads my blog: You have no right to assume anything, you have no right to look at my parents in a more negative light because of anything I say, and you really just need to stop telling my family how horrible I am. 

I don’t want to go into counseling, I don’t have anger management problems, I don’t hate my parents to the point of wanting to kill them. I am a teenager, you assholes. I am posting a blog about my feelings, and emotions, and experiences.

I have the right to express myself dramatically on a blog that I have created. I have the right to blow things slightly out of proportion, and I have the right to not be judged, hated, accused, attacked, or blamed for it. If I can’t post about my emotions and the way I feel on days when I feel like the world is caving in, and everything is terrible, without my parents hearing that I am an emotionally disturbed youth and having their lives ruined, then I don’t want to post at all.

You blabbermouths, you pretentious high-horses relatives, friends, and former acquaintances, you need to stop. What you are doing is not only tearing my family farther apart, but also causing me to lose faith in myself, my creativity, my future, my morals, my values, and my life. No, I am not suicidal, again, I am simply an angsty teen using words as a way to express myself.

To the readers of this Blog that support me, including a small handful of my friends, and then a ton of beautiful strangers, I’m sorry you had to deal with that rant, and also thank you. It is the opportunity to share my life as an art forms that allows me to consider each day as more than just another day, or a day when nothing is okay. I owe you a lot even if all you do is read a post and click the like button.

These past few days have been simply horrible, and I am now doing everything in my power to move out. Hopefully, January comes sooner than it feels like it will, because all I can imagine when it comes around is some actual happiness. I continue to have hope, I continue to breathe, and live, and feel, as all of us do.

I hope all of you are well, and that life has been fortunate for you.

Love ya!

Because They Tell Me a Title is Optional


Oh my gr. I am posting from my tablet today, and it is rather wonderful. I forgot how easy it is to type with a touch screen rather than one of those annoying little tiny smartphones that has buttons meant to be pressed by slim-fingered midgets rather than the average people that generally buy them.

Oh my grrrrr, guys, I also have something really cute to tell you about. Now, I’m actually trusting you guys to find this as adorable as I do, considering the majority of you are also bloggers who have been or are going through the typical ‘just started blogging less that two years ago and am not the best or most amusing content on the web’ slump.

If you’re not familiar, let me explain this slump to you briefly.

You are one of those people who wants other people to feel entertained or enjoy the things that you do. This is including but not limited to your blog. When you start a blog that you want a lot of people to read, you have all of these ridiculous little expectations like that everyone will love you, that the things you say will make a huge difference in people’s lives, that attractive men or women will read your blog and fall in love with you, that you’ll receive a Putlitzer Award, or even just that you will have 500+ devoted followers that donate to your yearly charity event.

You are stuck on this quite profoundly for months when you start your blog. You think to yourself: the only reason I haven’t been contacted yet to win a million dollars and a tiger for my deep and inspiring work as a blog poster…nay, blog artist, is that I have provided no valid contact information.

And then you casually scroll over to your email account, which is linked to your blog Page that very clearly states: contact me.

You desperately clasp to these foolish dreams for a few more horrid, less than 20 views a day, weeks, and then you resign yourself to the fact that it will be another year before your blog even breaks 100 followers. You start to become content, even excited, when two people like your blog posts. Mom! Ohhhmygrr, look! I’m POPULAR!

And then, a ray of hope, of sunshine. All the clouds in the blogworld sky magically disappear for you, and you can see past heaven all the way to Avalon. It can be something like 50 views today, or being nominated for an award, or something even smaller and more adorable.

Like clicking a link when someone liked one of your blog posts, and seeing that you are one of their featured blogs. Right underneath the words that simply say: words I like to read, you are on a list of bloggers that this particular person enjoys.

Your eyes tear up, your heart pounds faster, and you instantly click the following button because, hell, they just HAVE to have good taste. You are now an avid follower of yet another blog, having been pulled in by your own icon winking at you from their home Page.

And this, my dears, is a beautiful moment…for all of us. A special thanks to Mariasayingwords for making this Blog post beautiful…oh, and for featuring my Blog. That too. But mostly…beautiful.

Love ya!

Let Me Down, Because it’s Trending


There’s a very interesting lesson you can learn if you pay attention. If you’re an average looking eighteen year-old girl with a few friends and a few mistakes.

Or if you’re anyone else at all. Other than a superhero, a celebrity, a person with a lot of money, or a hermit.

If you sit back and listen closely, you can hear the faint sound of disappointment. Oh wait, I take that back. Everyone can hear it, save for the people who have stopped expecting things, hoping for things, dreaming of things etc.

It’s everywhere, and incredibly prevalent in everyone’s every day lives. It’s one of those things that can be as tall as a mountain or as tiny and a flea. It can start as you noticing that your best friend took three hours to text you back about plans that were supposed to happen two hours ago, and end up as you noticing that your fiance has taken the car, siphoned all the money out of your bank account, and sold your house.

It can be crying over spilled milk, or sobbing as you wake up in the hospital without your legs. Any way, no matter what the situation, a million tiny (or very large) violins will begin playing for you, and it will be the sad, bitter tune of disappointment.

What can you do when you’ve been disappointed? Do you get up and move on, or do you cling to it? How many times is enough times to be disappointed by someone, something, or yourself?

How many chances should people get to prove that they are reliable, or good friends, or anything?

I guess other people are wondering that as well, and using me as a test subject. I guess that’s why we’re not supposed to stay up cashing in our bad luck, eh? Because for me, I always blame this on myself.

Oh, he bailed on me because I’m not interesting enough. I must be so boring that after seeing me, he cries himself to sleep.

Oh, well, it’s okay that they decided to go to that last-minute party instead of hanging out with me. Maybe if I had thrown a party, or simply thrown money at them, they would have reconsidered.

Oh, no, don’t worry about me. I made backup plans because I knew you weren’t going to pull through. It’s my fault, forgive me?

When am I going to tire of this sado-masochistic tendency of mine to actually expect things from people? It’s no good. It will just end up getting me hurt.

Oh wait, I already am.

Love ya!

Just Another Day in Fuck You Land


There is no way to describe the way I feel about today. It has been beyond dreadful. But I’m not going to tell you what happened, because frankly, that just upsets me too much, and also, that would take up four or five blog posts, not just one.

However, picture this with me for a second.

You’re standing in the middle of a room filled to the brim with every single person you love or hold dear. Everyone is laughing and talking and having a good time. Life is perfect and absolute and happy.

Now, put reality there. First of all, if a room is filled to the brim with people, the obvious guess is that there will be no air, you’d struggle to get out, and everyone would be cramped. Realize that some of the people you love hate other people in the room. Understand that some of the people in the room, though you care deeply about them, couldn’t give one fuck about you or your feelings.

Also realize that when people overheat, they get cranky, and lethargic. Remember that half the people in the room had somewhere else to be, and the other half only kinda wanted to show up in the first place. We will no longer use words like perfect, or absolute or happy, unless we compose a sentence that states…

It is perfectly clear that absolutely no one in this room is happy in the least.

In which case, you, who has imagined this entire situation into creation, are to blame. You are the one all of the angry, sweaty, breathless people turn on, and trust me, when the air is so thick you could swim in it, and the heat is so bad you could roast, there is no such thing as optimism or forgiveness.

Next time you suggest that this should happen, or even that you would like to spend time one on one with any of the members who were trapped in that room, you will, without a doubt, be bailed on.

This is all one big metaphor for the general idea that all of my friends and family members have either disappeared when I need them, have moved away (well, obviously not their fault), or are so angry at me that if they wouldn’t get in trouble for shooting me in the knee with an arrow, they most certainly would.

To conclude, I am hiding in my room with all the lights off, on the edge of tears, because I am truly and undoubtedly unhappy.

One bright side is that my dearest Lexi texted me today, and we are again talking about getting an apartment, which would make my life right now. Of course, there’s waiting until January, but it’s something to look forward to, is it not?

I must now get on with sulking and thinking selfishly that my life is worse even than the lives of hungry, deformed African children.

Love you!

Losing You and Other Rom-Com Categories (a.k.a Don’t Touch that Remote!)


Well, shit. August is almost over, and it has been my very least productive month for blog posts. For that, I apologize. I also would like to offer an apology to all of those people that are almost as good looking as me. It’s truly unfortunate to be just almost godly.

All seriosity aside, wink wink, I would like to congratulate all of you sniveling post-juniors in high school. This is your last year coming up (or already started, sorry Arizona, we all feel sorry for you), and it’s a time for celebration indeed.

For some of you, you’re just making it through and planning in your last year of relation to the ties that bind you to adolescence and anti-learningless (for lack of a better word). It’s been decent. You’ve grown and you’ve learned, and now you will be rocketed into the seemingly abundant space of in-between and ‘growing up for REALSIES this time, gaiisss’! It will be scary, it will be different, it will be exciting, but most of all, it will be real.

For others, you’re mourning. This is your last year of glory. You know, deep down, that these were (and forever will be) the happiest days of your life. Ten years down the road you’ll be drinking a beer (or an appletini) and talking to old high school buddies about them good ol’ days. You’ll show up to every reunion, laugh at every old enemy that got old, and never give up on your secret cheerleader or football player mentality.

And then, for some others, you will be all out celebrating. This is the category Telea falls into. When people say ‘you may hate it now, but you’ll miss it’, members of this group just laugh. High school was the most bittersweet time of your life. You had the chance to emotionally grow and blossom, but you also had the chance to be repressed by those around you, overlooked, stepped on, hurt. You will show up at reunions, but only because of your own slightly masochistic need to flash back and relive your worst days.

It doesn’t matter what category you’re in, though. Your last year of high school will always be bittersweet. It will always be scary, and confusing, and real. It will be your slap in the face, call to reality, crowning year. You’ll say goodbye to your friends, perhaps for the last time.

You’ll be in a whirlwind of planning and paperwork and stress. But by the end of it all, when that final day passes, when lockers are cleaned out, or computers turned in, or finals taken…you’ll revel in the moments when you and the rest of your graduating class walk rhythmically down the aisle and accept your scholarships and diplomas and goodbyes.

This is my last year, and if I said I had no regrets, I would be lying. I am helping to fill out my application to virtual school, and if I am not accepted, I will again walk those halls I strove so hard to leave. Either way, I’ll get through it. I will survive, with my smart senses and my cliche blog posts.

To the rest of you high schoolers, I have just a couple of words to say to you.

Just do it, you’ll get through it.

Facts of life, dearies.

Love ya!

I Never Knew Happiness Felt This Sad…


These past few days have been rather horrid. I, running on little to no sleep, have been trying my hardest to cope with even the simplest of things in my life.

Yesterday morning, I woke up, found out that all of my gym shorts were dirty, started crying, and went back to bed. My coping mechanisms are all off, and everything is just harsh and brutal.

No, it isn’t my time of the month. I didn’t just find out I had a terminal illness. I didn’t lose all my money to a pyramid scheme. My hair isn’t falling out, my dog didn’t die, and my parents aren’t getting divorced.

Nor did I get attacked by a wild boar in the wilderness while searching for a lost city with my pet monkey and my fearless sidekick, Marcel.

Other things did happen, though, and I feel the shittiest I’ve felt since at least the last time I felt this shitty. My father has been in a constant rage since the day I turned eighteen. He has been lecturing me, yelling at me, and having random angry outbursts.

My mother has not been defending me, herself, or anyone else. I know, this kind of thing happens, I’m lucky I’m not on the streets, yadda yadda yadda. I know that, and I am not saying that my problems are worse than anyone else’s.

But the things he yells at me for…they just make me feel absolutely shitty.

His first line of attack: You don’t do as much around here as your mother and I do, and thus you are a lazy bitch who deserves no respect.

He doesn’t mention these same things to my brother, who spends every day at home sucking up our energy bill and playing League of Legends. My brother is a college graduate…he should be assuming some responsibility if he’s at home. He doesn’t help pay bills, he just eats all of our food and runs up the bills. Yet no one talks to him about it.

Furthermore, I do all of the jobs delegated to me daily. I don’t understand how this computes to: You’re lazy and deserve nothing.

The second attack goes a little something like: We’re not going to drive you anywhere if you don’t do shit for us.

Thanks dad, but the last time I asked you guys to drive me somewhere, school was still in session. Yet today, when I asked if we could leave half an hour early to stop to see my friend who is moving next week (which is on the way to where we’re going), he blew up and said you would be lucky to even come with us tonight.

I even offered gas money.

I don’t even know why he attacks me like this, but he wants me to move out, and furthermore does not support the idea of me virtual schooling. Ssoooo, I might have to drop out of high school the year before I graduate. Thanks dad, I so wanted to be just like you.

I must go now, I’ll blog again tomorrow.

Love ya!