It’s so strange to look back and read all my old posts, as I’ve been feeling utterly nostalgic these past weeks. I’ve been stuck in a rut, one that involves not wanting to let go as opposed to getting the fuck out of Roseville. I can’t believe the shit I’ve been through. Sometimes I have to replay it in my mind a dozen times to make sure what happened is real. I can’t tell if I’m just hypersensitive to all of life’s situations, or if what happened to me is really all that heart wrenching. I honestly don’t have anything to stay for. I feel so empty, but sometimes I feel this comfort in the sadness of having nothing. Like this is what life truly feels like. This pain and suffering is what all the brilliant authors write about. But then there’s that feeling of starting over, which is equally as philosophical and literary. I just don’t want to say goodbye to this sadness that has haunted me for so long, but I want so badly to rid of it. I’ve been living a life of contradiction and hovering notions. No matter what I do, I hold melancholy close to the heart, but there is comfort in that.
Okay so the first week of third tri sucked. I was just so bored but filled with anxiety and nostalgia all at the same time. It was weird because in that week I realized that I don’t want to go to college. I know, typical me, but I feel like I was getting accepted into colleges to please others. So I’m applying to AmeriCorps and I’m praying to the Great Spirit that I get accepted and get to travel the US for a bit. It’s not only that I want to travel, I want to help on reservations. I’m trying not to be agitated but I keep waking up with this feeling of utter anxiety and fear. I don’t know what’s going on but I think it has something to do with my future. I saw a dead hawk outside today.
Do you ever get the feeling that someone wants to get inside your head and know what you’re thinking? I’ve had this feeling since the beginning of the year. But I don’t mind, because I like him. I really like him. If I could choose anyone, I’d choose to spend the day with him. And now I’m sad that this trimester of school is ending because I will no longer have someone pondering my thoughtfulness. It is but his finest dream to figure out what goes on inside my mind, and only I can make that a reality. It’s just funny I guess, because I know what’s going on in his head the majority of the time. Or maybe I’m just living in a dream, awake.
Adeline Onna Saunders
I actually have no idea why I titled this post the way I did, it just seemed fitting I guess. Well I realized that I can’t write a really good paper to save my life, and I don’t now why. I never had trouble writing good papers until I hit high school, but even Freshman year I wrote some good ones. I can’t figure out where I fell off or what made me fall off. I just feel trapped, and it’s the worst feeling when it comes to writing. It’s interesting though, because I feel like I’ve improved a ton on my fiction writing. I think it’s all the reading I’ve been doing this year, but if I could just finish a damn book that’d be great. I’ve started about 6 books and I’ve only finished one. it was a short set of poems by Adrian C. Lewis, about 75 pages, I read the whole thing in one night but la-de-fuckin-da it was 75 pages! Like come on Addy, you can do better than that. My goal is to finish this book of short stories by Susan Power before I meet her on Thursday. Which leaves me tonight, all of tomorrow and Thursday during the day to complete this book. I’m beyond excited to meet Susan because she’s my writing twin. I’ve never read anyone’s work that was so similar to mine. So she’s not an award winning novelist, I’m okay with that. Awards are stupid anyway, they don’t measure the amount of passion someone has, they just measure the amount of people that like the piece of work. I’m going to go talk to my English teacher tomorrow again about my struggle with writing formative papers. Why must my brain be so complicated? My mind is being suffocated by my own mind.
Until Another Time,
I want to work in a graveyard because there is no way the dead are as boring as the living.
Okay so I don’t know where I went wrong, but it almost seemed like every single guy I came into contact with felt the need to ignore me or be abnormally boring. Alright, so maybe I expect too much of people, but I swear they’re usually not like that. Ugh. I’m just so over this mundane routine of walking through the halls like lifeless zombies and repressing all true feelings. We learn from a young age to repress what we want to really do and say, AND I’M SICK OF IT. Yes, I’m complaining. It’s just, last week went so well it sucks that this one is nothing close to it. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I look for too much in people and don’t make things happen enough myself. I just found myself staring at the clock wishing the time away too many times today and it brought me to a repressed manic state of mind. Nothing makes sense, because everything makes too much sense. I passed out after school, and I think it’s from mental exhaustion. Thinking too much perhaps. Does anyone else think it’s weird that Valentines Day falls on a Friday which is the day of love (Venus) AND it’s a Full Moon that day? Whoa. Some crazy shit’s about to go down. Better get to the nightly routine of plain, old, simple homework.
Until next time,
I’m extremely happy. I just feel like I can do anything, and it’s the best feeling in the world. I’ve officially started typing my book as of last weekend and everything is looking up. I can’t even begin to explain how grateful I am for the people around me and the relationships I have with them. All people that I was kind of on edge with and had rocky relationships with are now smooth and mellow and only good energy flows and I love it. And this maybe because I was visited by a spirit. I’m not going to go too much into that but yeah, it is what it is. It changed things for the better and I couldn’t be more thankful. I’m looking forward to the sweat lodge and more ceremonial affairs. Come May, I think I’ll be the happiest person alive.
The idea of the American Thanksgiving feast is a fairly recent fiction. The idyllic partnership of 17th Century European Pilgrims and New England Indians sharing a celebratory meal appears to be less than 120 years-old.