There’s Something About Writing

I just made a really long entry into my online journal which I have not opened in so long that I had forgotten about it. I was going to write about how I left my umbrella at the train station on my to work and how I was going to have to buy another one and how I didn’t really want to do that because I’m kind of broke, but then I started writing about something that was a bit more important to me and it turned out to be a terribly long paragraph that I hadn’t foreseen. Wasn’t that nice? And guess what? I felt better after writing all that out. Weird, because that wasn’t the first time I had written about that particular thing, but I hadn’t written about it to such an extent before. I guess sometimes bits and pieces aren’t enough. I’m just very thankful to Christy Barongan for telling me write even though I might think that it’s not helping, because I was starting to think that writing wasn’t helping me, but look! It has! Even though this nice feeling will fade in a while, it’s nice to get things off your chest sometimes and I’m glad that today writing helped me to get something off of my chest.

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It’s Not A Big Deal

I’m trying to tell myself it’s not a big deal. That I said something I probably shouldn’t have. That I made a mistake. That I’m not in an ideal situation. That I wasted time.

It’s not a big deal that I may have hurt someone’s feelings. It’s not a big deal because my feelings get hurt too.

It’s not a big deal that no one listens to me. I just don’t have one of those voices, or those personalities. The ones people listen to. The ones that people pay attention to. It’s not a big deal.

I don’t have to be a straight A student this semester. My mother died. I missed a month. Everyone knows. They understand. I don’t need to pressure myself. It’s not a big deal.

It’s not a big deal that I haven’t stopped eating meat yet. I’m not fully independent. I don’t have the means to do that. It’s not going to kill me. I’m going to die anyway. It’s not a big deal. Please stop stressing over it.

The same with exercise. It’s not a big deal. Forget that I spent money and bought weights and a workout mat that was too short. It’s not a big deal. It’s also not a big deal that I asked for a skipping rope and got one and can’t remember the last time I used it. It’s not a big deal. It’s okay that I don’t have the dashboard flat stomach like that woman from the romance novel I read in high school. The one I think will make me just perfect. It’s not a big deal. I’m lazy anyway, so I should stop thinking about it unless I’m going to do something about it. Seriously.

I should also stop chastising myself when I realise I’m going to be late for something. The world isn’t going to end. Everyone’s not going to hate me. I like being on time, but all I have to do is get up a little earlier so I can avoid being late in case things happen. Again, I’m lazy, so I should stop feeling bad about it unless I’m going to start doing something different.

It’s not a big deal that I’ll have to miss out on some things because they’re too expensive. It’s okay. Not the first or last time. I should be okay with the things I have experienced. I should try to be okay.

It’s okay girl. It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.

Homework and Heartache

I keep opening blank pages and then closing them because I want to write, but I don’t know what to write. I don’t know if should write rhetorical questions or talk about the terrible way I feel, or if I should just say that I’m really busy trying to catch up with the work I missed while I was away. Should I talk about missing my mother, or that I’m broke? What about that I don’t want to do any work at all? I just want to lie down and cry to sad music.

I read a post yesterday, I mean early this morning because I wasn’t sleeping yet, about how when you feel bad you can turn that into a blog post. I tried that. It didn’t work. I think I tried writing poem. It was going well at first, but then it veered off, and I saved it as a draft in the poetry category and closed the page. Today I opened a new post again and closed it before finishing the first sentence. This is my third try.

I had an argument with my boyfriend last night. I cried. I had been wanting to cry the entire day, but I talked myself out of it each time. I didn’t get any homework done all of yesterday. I tried three different assignments. I didn’t get anywhere on any of them. I’m never going to have my mother to talk to again. To complain to. To share good news and laugh with. And my assignments still sit undone waiting for me. And time is still moving. And I’m still sitting here.

Life Is Too Short to Not Be Happy

As you may, or may not, know, my mother died last month. She was only 46 years old and had she lived but three days longer, she would have been 47. She wasn’t ill. No one expected her to die. Something just went wrong with her surgery, a surgery she had done several times before.

For some reason I’m not terribly sad or upset about her death. Maybe it’s because I know she was doing well in the last years she was alive. She was making plans for herself and doing something about them. She was living. She was laughing. She was having fun.

I want to emulate my mother and be happy. I want to take her advice and not let anything stress me out, not let people stress me out. I want to do what I have to do and not get bogged down by the negativity that surrounds me. I want to go places.

I’ve never thought of life as something that I had a whole lot of, or that was ahead of me, like it was spread out before me and I could take my time to do whatever I wanted to with it. Especially now that my mother has died, I dislike people telling me that I have my whole life ahead of me, or that I’m young. That means nothing. At any given time and in any of a number of ways, I could die. It could be today. It could be tomorrow. So I want to live my life and be happy.

Life isn’t something that can be rewound and played out again. There are no do overs. I knew this before, but now I want it to be a constant part of my thinking. I only have one. I want to spend it laughing. I want to spend it loving. I want to spend it being happy, because life is too short not to be happy.

For My Love

I want to take you on a journey
where we don’t know where we’re going,
but it won’t matter
because it won’t be about there
and we’ll laugh and love the entire way
while we discover ourselves and each other.

I want to sing you a song that’s stupid,
one that I wrote and that you’ll love
just because you know I wrote it
and no one else has heard it before you.

I want to make you breakfast,
and watch you eat it and make fun at me.
I’ll smile at you,
because I swear
there’s nothing better to look at than your face.

I want to fall asleep with you,
legs and arms entangled,
blanket haphazardly spread over us,
and feel your face against my nose and underneath my palm.

I want to love you and only you,
because I have never loved before,
and I think I want to try it with you.
I do want to try it with you.