Monday, July 27, 2009

These are confusing, overwhelming times. I feel like I am missing out.

I am angry. I am spending this week working, working, working. I am tired. I want to sleep. I messed up a relationship, I am probably going to mess up the next one.

I miss Grace. God, I miss her.

I am scared, and nervous. I do not really want to live alone with strangers. Sure, I know one of them, but I mean, do I really want to live with her? Not really. She is really nothing but a stranger to me. I do not want to learn how to live with new people. I really don't. I do not want to learn how to navigate a whole new city. I have no sense of direction. I barely have Prattville figured out. Tuscaloosa is much bigger. I do not want to even have to learn how to navigate campus; it is big. I spent two hours looking for Nott Hall when I went for my Coca-Cola scholarship interview. Also, I do not like the things they are making me do. JUST because I am first-generation doesn't mean that I won't survive just fine without their "help." I hate when people push you to do things, like, "Oh, you HAVE to participate in ____, but it's for your benefit." Yeah, right. I can decide that, thanks. I am scared. I do not know people. I know this is silly, as I will meet people. But I am scared of the months it will take to do so.

I am angry at my best friend. Nonly did she just up and decide that the photography business we planned together was no longer going to work, she basically told me she had no trust in me. After two days of silence, I asked if she was mad at me, and she said no. I think yes would have made me happier, because why else has she not been talking to me, when she knows I am leaving in a few weeks? Because she doesn't care? Can I be mad at her for that? For not caring? It's not like one really chooses to care or not to care; the real essence of that is in one's heart, although people pretend that they do or don't all the time, of course. Anyway, I'm the one wishing there were plans made, and trying to make them. It's like she DOESN'T CARE. whether it should or not, that makes me angry and it hurts me like you wouldn't imagine. It makes me want to cry. In fact, it has made me cry. And when I told her I was upset with her, she didn't care about that, either. She didn't pursue a conversation. I'm afraid I'm going to look back in years' come and pinpoint these weeks as the weeks where we took the "best" out of our friendship. I'm afraid I am going to regret that I let my dumb pride get in the way, because that's why I'm simply checking my phone and boiling about the fact that she isn't initiating conversation, instead of intiating it myself. But I've intiated enough. I'm sure I'll regret this.

Sad night.

Friday, July 10, 2009

I've been listening to Joe Purdy's "Why Do I" for three hours now. It's safe to say it's my new favorite song, and I'll wear it out.

I swear, the worst feeling- okay, not the worst, but on the bad feelings-list, for sure- is regret. When you look back and there was a point and you made a decision and now, of course, now, you can see that you should have chosen the other one, the ther road, the other path. To hell with the road less traveled, because you tripped on all those damn logs and leaves, and here you are, regretting it because you lost. I regret that I tried to make my friendship with him more than it should have been, and now I long- ache- for that friendship again, before we went down that long road one night. And so, I guess you live and you learn. The next time I'm confronted with this possiblity, I will think twice. But I said that last time. So will I?

I'm now the proud owner of a yellow vaccuum cleaner and a black hanging mirror. The very first things for my dorm, besides the comforter.

I read a post about a girl going to college, and she remarks about how scary it was driving into the town: she stared at the streets, the restaurants, the shopping centers, the tiny roads that led nowhere and somewhere, and she wondered how she could make it home. I did the same thing, the last time I was in Tuscaloosa, and I'm certain I will again when I arrive, as my parents drive away and I realize that this is home. She remarks, though, that five years later, she left that town, and it was her home in more ways than she could count. That she would have given anything for one more day , one more hour, in it.

I pray to God that I will feel the same way.