Friday, April 26, 2002
It's ten to three and I, once again, find myself chasing that ever elusize state of sleep. Curses to the man on the line who bottles the deliciously sweet and wonderfully irresistable nectar known to the masses as "Dr. Pepper."
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Sunday, April 21, 2002
My computer, after years of abuse and overuse, has decided to stage a coup. It's picket sign reads "Error 680: There is no dialtone. Please make sure your modem is properly connected and try again." At least it's polite, right? So I'm confined to the computer lab in the journalism building if I want any contact with the communication world. What does that say about me? Probably not anything nice, or pleasant, or free of the words "computer nerd" or "social outcast."
The countdown of days has started and my homeward journey begins in less than two weeks. It seems outrageous to think that school ends on Wednesday. I feel as if I suffer from a Rip VanWinkle form of narcolepsy, where the world goes on and passes me by and all the while my eyes remain closed. It's scary to think my life might continue this way and, in what seems like minutes, I might find my self face to face with the reflection of an old woman with features that look an awful lot like mine. I used to never understand people afraid of getting old, of losing the pigment in their hair and the elasticity of their skin. I have, more recently, begun to comprehend this fear, only mine seems magnified by the fear of going through that process alone.
I have heard so many people, women especially, say that singlehood is a blessing and a gift that lasts only a short while. I must admit to having an abundance of blessing than, seeing as how I have spent more time out of relationships than in. Counting from the seventh grade, I have had six relationships and spent a combined total of five months, three weeks and three days in them. I feel pathetic, I feel unlovable, and I feel more befitting of bell towers and dungeon laboratories.
I'm an old pro in the art of being alone, I'm ready to test my strength in loving and caring for someone else. It takes a great deal more character and fortitude to think of someone else than it does to think only of yourself. Maybe I'm not ready to be in a relationship with someone, but I would really like the chance to try.
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The countdown of days has started and my homeward journey begins in less than two weeks. It seems outrageous to think that school ends on Wednesday. I feel as if I suffer from a Rip VanWinkle form of narcolepsy, where the world goes on and passes me by and all the while my eyes remain closed. It's scary to think my life might continue this way and, in what seems like minutes, I might find my self face to face with the reflection of an old woman with features that look an awful lot like mine. I used to never understand people afraid of getting old, of losing the pigment in their hair and the elasticity of their skin. I have, more recently, begun to comprehend this fear, only mine seems magnified by the fear of going through that process alone.
I have heard so many people, women especially, say that singlehood is a blessing and a gift that lasts only a short while. I must admit to having an abundance of blessing than, seeing as how I have spent more time out of relationships than in. Counting from the seventh grade, I have had six relationships and spent a combined total of five months, three weeks and three days in them. I feel pathetic, I feel unlovable, and I feel more befitting of bell towers and dungeon laboratories.
I'm an old pro in the art of being alone, I'm ready to test my strength in loving and caring for someone else. It takes a great deal more character and fortitude to think of someone else than it does to think only of yourself. Maybe I'm not ready to be in a relationship with someone, but I would really like the chance to try.
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Thursday, April 11, 2002
These days, I struggle with writing words that really have nothing to say. So rather than barage my (very few) readers with banal B.S. about my day at school, at work, at home, etc., I remain completely silent. In the instances I have managed to eek out a few sentences concerning the status of my life, they come out rather elementary and end up the victims of the backspace key. Maybe my problem comes from using all my really valuable wisdom in paragraphs and pages handed to men who view them more critically than they should and then toss them back with red-letter grades. What's left when I sit down to this computer, to this particular screen, is old news, or no news, or not worth saying out loud. I guess that's the trouble with writing for you versus writing for me.
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Monday, April 08, 2002
Well, it's over, for my beautiful puppy, at least. For my family, however, it is just the beginning of the long road of grief and healing. At least I got to say goodbye.
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Wednesday, April 03, 2002
Why is it that bad news never comes on a bad day, but, rather, charges in to wreck your mind and leave your emotions in shattered pieces? My dog has cancer. Cancer? Many would fail to see the significance of a dying pet, many will never see any reason to get upset over a dog. My dog is NOT a pet, my dog is a member of my family. I should have played with her more, I should have brushed her a little longer, I should have given her the extra treat, or taken the longer walk, or petted her just a few more times. Words cannot express my pain. I am devastated.
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These days, intentions fail to materialize into anything more. Best laid plans rarely find their way off the drawing board. An example? I had every intention of staying on my new diet of Slim Fast and sensible dinners until I had shed the buffer of fat surrounding my lower end, however a 50% off sale of Easter candy and my weakness for sweets seemed to have other designs on my plan. I had every intention of going out tonight and being social, however my newly formed hermit status dictated otherwise. One day, I'll be the crazy old spinster at the end of the block with hideous warts and a hundred cats. I've grown so accustomed to my aloneness anything other than that seems forced and unnatural. Not unpleasant, just out of place. I almost prefer things this way, I get more done and I never have to be anyone but ME. Maybe I am shielding myself from inevitable goodbyes or maybe I just need a moment alone. I'm sure one day soon I'll wake up and snap out of this and be a better, bigger person because I'm not afraid to be on my own. It might take a few trips off the face of the earth, but gravity always pulls me back.
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