My Head is About to Explode

I've been having a really hard time lately. With so much different stuff. It's all swirling around my head. And driving me absolutely bonkers. I wish I could meet with my therapist more than once every two weeks. But I'm not gonna complain. My mom is paying for it when I know money is so incredibly tight. So I'm just lucky to have a mom that will do that for me. Because I definitely don't deserve it.

School is overwhelming me. I keep thinking I'm doing alright and then my professors tell me I did it completely wrong. Actually making things look like the example of what not to do. Great. Just great. I'm paying $700+ dollars to be told I'm an idiot. But on the bright side, today I learned I got full points on a writing assignment that I was unsure about. So I guess I'm not doing as badly as I thought.

I'm stressing about money. Seems like theres always something to spend money on. Except that I have no money. Right after I pay my tuition for next semester, my car feels like another engine mount is broken. This could all be me just being paranoid. But with my luck, I doubt it.

I don't really like who I am. But to be fair, I'm not even really sure of who I am. Everything is so confusing and overwhelming right now. Everyone is telling me that I have to experience things and discover new things and start to figure out what I believe. And decide these things on my own, not let somebody else influence me. But that just feels weird to me. Especially if what I believe conflicts with what my mother thinks. Because then I just feel guilty for believing it. It's just really hard to grow up in the midst of all of this crap. And I love my mom, but it's hard to grow up and become my own person while still in her house. That's not gonna make me run for the hills, but it does make it hard.

My puppy is asleep on my bed. My knees are telling me that's where I need to be. I'm such an old lady. My knees ache when I'm tired.

Time for this old lady to hit the hay. Night!

And Now For Something Completely Different....

Life has completely overwhelmed me tonight. So my mind really isn't in a blogging place right now. But I really want to be consistent in updating this every night. I was looking through an old journal tonight, just a little creative outlet from a few years ago, and I stumbled upon this barely started story. I just feel like posting it just because. And since it's my blog, I can. There was no title. Just a quote and then straight into the story.

"Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life."

He sat in the dark room staring; nursing a scotch as his thoughts wandered to the gun lying on the table. The black metal popped against the white marble of the table. He took a long puff from his cigarette and asked himself: "The mouth? The temple? Straight through the heart? That's what hurts the most." He rose and stumbled across the room. On his way to the table he bumped the record player. The needle swung to life, to the record spun. Caught off guard, he ran to turn it off. The music stopped him. He slowly slunk back to the chair. His scotch replenished, he relaxed as the music filled the room:

All the boys I've known

Used to say I was made of stone

They would always leave me alone in despair

I've been on the pan

I've been called an electric fan

Told I'm even much colder than Frigidaire

"Why am I So Romantic?", he leaned against the door frame and smiled as the petite girl swung around, beyond frightened.

"Excuse me?"

"That song. Lilian Roth. 'Why am I So Romantic?' I'm sorry if I'm intruding. Its just, your door was open. And I love the song. Are you new here?"

"Yes, I just moved in. I thought I would play some music while I unpacked."

He slowly entered the room. Boxes lay scattered about. She had not made much progress in the two hours that she had been working. The record player was all that had left a box. He offered to help. Of course he did. She was cute, and he was a gentleman. She politely declined, claiming she didn't want to be a bother.

"Oh, it wouldn't be a bother at all. It really looks like you could use some help."

She stared at the boxes and felt she must concede. She smiled and nodded. He smiled back. They made their introductions. He was Erik Novak, she Carol White. She smiled again, her eyes sparkled this time. The sparkle ignited a flame in his veins. Her icy blue eyes cooled the heat.

"Well where should we start then?" he asked while removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

"Well, we could start by going through the records."

He laughed and made a quip about the records being the reason for the many boxes left unpacked.

"Yes, well, I get easily distracted" she blushed.

"That I can understand," he nodded knowingly, "I can't see a piano without touching it."

That's as far as I got. I kinda wanna finish it. Maybe I will someday.

I Hate Being In Love

Being in love sucks. I hate old classic movies that made me think it was all unicorns and rainbows. That's not real love at all. Real love is cold, evil, and just plain mean. I hate it.

I hate waking up thinking of him and then getting yelled at when I call just because I miss him and I want to hear his voice.

I hate being placed on a pedestal. He expects so much from me. Then when I make a mistake, as humans will do, I get treated like I'm the worst person in the world.

I hate that I make ONE mistake in a year and it completely undoes all of what we've worked so hard on.

I hate getting ignored on Facebook. Apparently its not cool to recognize the fact that your girlfriend exists on Facebook. But talking to all the guys is perfectly fine.

I hate when he calls at 7:45 in the morning on his way to work and expects me to talk to him, but I can't do the same.

I hate that he only comes on Fridays. And yells at me when I ask if we can see each other on other days.

I hate when he's mad at me. It just makes me want to crawl into his arms even more. But he's mad, so of course he pushes me away.

I hate when he's not here....

I hate when he leaves....

I hate when he's busy and can't respond to my texts.

I hate when I dream that he's here and wake up to emptiness and loneliness.

I hate......being in love?

Ah who I am kidding. I love being in love. I know I'd miss the 7:45 am phone calls if I suddenly stopped getting them. I love how it drives me crazy when he doesn't recognize me on Facebook. I love when he looks at me and just smiles. I love when he falls asleep on me. I love how mad he can make me. I love how mad I can make him. I love how when I'm mad and yelling, he kisses me and won't let me yell. And does it so long that I eventually just start laughing and forget why I was angry in the first place. I love how he worries when I fall off of a horse. And holds me down to scrub out the wound. And I love the pained look he gets on his face when I'm yelling and writhing. Like it's hurting his soul to be causing me pain. Even though the pain is necessary to get better.

I love when he offers to drive an hour and a half to rescue me just because I ran out of gas at ACC. I love when he says I'm his best friend. I love that I'm in love with my best friend. I love that he watches What Not To Wear and Say Yes to the Dress with me. And will take me to see Sex and the City 2. I love when he makes me text him three times when I get off work at midnight. Once when I'm leaving the building, once when I'm in my car after walking across the dark, scary parking lot, and once when I get home safe and sound. I love that he worries.

Because I probably worry double. He hurt his Achilles tendon at the paintball game yesterday. I think I told him how to take care of it about 10 times.

I love him. Even when I'm angry or sorry or hurt or whatever. I just love my guy.

And I love that he loves my puppy. My two boys have to get along, and boy do they.

The Threat of Imagination

Everyone always says imagination is good. They encourage it in our youth. Just give us a cardboard box and we're good for at least an hour, if not two. I always loved cardboard boxes. Sticky tac was my favorite toy when I was little. I would make all sorts of animals out of sticky tac. Create entire cities and play God. Let my imagination run away with me. It was a blast and everyone thought it was great for me.

So now I'm 18. I had a Monster at work today and two Krispy Kreme donuts tonight. Turns out my imagination turns into a twisted evil monster when it's fed sugar and caffeine and ginseng and all of that other terrible stuff. Locking up the house I imagine a man dressed in all black busting through the front door and attacking me. Doesn't happen. Stupid imagination. Locking up the back door I expect to see a face just staring at me through the window. Doesn't happen. Very stupid imagination. And walking upstairs I swear that I can feel eyes on me. Turn around and no one is there, of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid imagination.

So I guess no more caffeine and sugar for me. Now I know why my mom wouldn't let me have caffeine past noon when I was little. And why she would always make me turn my head and plug my ears for the scary parts of the X Files. Thanks mom, I owe you one. I guess now its my turn to take responsibility of myself. I'm tired of staying up until 1...2....3 in the morning watching Friends just trying to calm down enough to stop imagining a rapist with a chainsaw running up the stairs and holding me hostage.

So no more caffeine after 12 and cutting back on my sugar intake. And I better try to go to sleep by 12 every night. It will help if the last thing I hear is my man saying "Goodnight baby, I love you. I'll talk to you tomorrow."