And I will never be organized. Originally, I thought that this trait, grossly labeled "disorganized" (I hate that. I'm not disorganized.), would fade away as soon as I moved away from all of my problems. I had this very warped image of my 'new' existence in a new state. I had a warped image of my problems.
I was at the Miamisburg Target today with my friend Jessica, and we split up for a bit to get different things. I wasn't really looking for too much...maybe some refried beans and a new belt. But, leaving Jessica alone in Target is like leaving a small child alone in Santa's Village. So, needless to say, I was wandering around for quite a bit. And, the following is what I noticed. Well, for starters, I tend to dabble around with the idea that UD girls are easily spotted, no matter the situation or location. So, I spotted a few, and I started doing what I do best: people watch. And, you know, not only do these girls have more money than god (to use the phrase), but they're so completely put together. These are well-kept girls. And I envy them. This particular emotion isn't hate, as I would usually assume. I envy them more than I ever thought imaginable.
They've lived very stable lives, I assume. With parents who would give them the world--and I'm not just talking about material possessions. The way these girls are put together connotes to me a confidence that could only evolve through semi-traditional childhoods.
Now, I certainly realize that at my age, it's hard to place all of the blame for my personal issues onto my parents. I have responsibilities now, I know. But, the fact of the matter is, I really have no backbone in my life. Being so far away has made me realize, even more so, that I have nothing to fall back on. My mother, as kind-hearted as she can be, is a complete nut job. I have a hard time forgiving her for the shit she put me through. Honestly, what do I say to a woman, who is supposed to be my mother, my guidance, who has thrown random objects (sometimes chairs) at my sister and me when she was too frustrated to speak, dragged us into serious guilt trips about her insecurities and her own wretched childhood, who is constantly looking for reassurance from outside sources, who has placed an intense fear of metaphorically crossing the street on our shoulders. Etc. "Oh shit. My life. " That's all I can say.
And my father gives me about as much emotional support as the coffee stain on my Buckies apron. Usually, a typical phone conversation with my father consists of a brief discussion about my future (i.e., "you must make money, you must make money!"), a pause for an update on my kitten at home, and then recent developments in his extensive floor mat collection.
Using that as a general background, let's now note that I'm afraid of my life. I've been taught to avoid my life at all costs. To avoid my thoughts. To, basically, be lazy in my existence and not really care about anything. (I can barely gather up enough drive and courage to do my laundry.) So, in general, I have a hard time believing that I'm real. Believing that other people can see me. Literally. I always kind of think it's ridiculous when some boy takes interest in me, and I usually drive him away in some unique form or another each time (I have no idea how to be a good girlfriend). And it's mostly because I'm in disbelief that I'm real. That I'm actually able to amount to something.
I suppose what all of this amounts to is that I feel like I'm behind in my life. I feel like I want to be able to pick myself up and put the pieces together. In a way that makes sense to me. In a manner that makes me happy and giggly and smiley. I used to be smiley. So, what now?
Lately, I've been dabbling with photography and kind of rough sketches of my surroundings in nature (I love flowers so much). But, for example, at work, when one of my partners, David, asked me what my interests are, I mean, I don't have real ones. I like reading, words, flowers, kittens. I'm a semi-environmentalist, i.e., I'm not as informed as I'd like to be, but I hate people who don't recycle and don't care about the earth. Like I said, I love flowers (I think that came from listening to Radiohead for hours and hours on end). Anyway, I ended up telling him I'm hoping to minor in photography.
"Oh, really? What do you take pictures of? Car wrecks?" He asked. I thought he was joking.
So, I responded:
"Actually, I take pictures of dead people." He laughed and went into a detailed description of his side job: taking pictures of car wrecks for insurance companies. Life is funny.
Anyway, I told him I take pictures of clouds, trees, flowers, and kittens. "Girly things" in his opinion. I don't know. I don't even have a camera anymore. Ugh. I miss my home. I want to turn my tables around and finish things I start. And be someone and believe it. If that makes sense. It doesn't really to me, but it kind of does. Like I said, which is completely supported by this mess of a post, I'll never be organized. Even with the lengthy distance between me and my "problems". Anyway. This post is forever long. So. I bid thee farewell.
"I'll love you and leave you, drive from this town
if i give you a ring there's one thing you should know
You have seven seconds before it's too late to go
So, don't walk away then turn and say I love you anyway
I never ever wanna see you until our wedding day"
(or just Kulu)