I wrote this short little story for my sister's blog, and I thought I wouldn't post this on my own site. I was worried about how it flowed, sounded, and so on. Now, the only thing I can say is, "No, it's not the best work I've done. Yes, I could re-write it and make it a ton better but, that's a task for another time."
Blake sat up in bed. Awoken by the early morning sounds outside the window. The wind blowing lightly through the trees' strong limbs, leaves rustling across the ground, and birds singing their sweet summer songs. He took a deep breath filling his lungs with the fresh air flowing in from the window. A quaint smirk forming on his face as the sun beamed and danced across the bedroom floor, occasionally flashing a rainbow across the sheets. The day seeming to begin as perfect as the night before ended. Blake looked to his right to see what he cherished most in this world. His wife.
Lyla, lay next to him. She was beautiful, strong, independent, and intimidatingly intelligent. All the things Blake envied. Her wavy brown hair was soft and seemed to gleam in the morning light. Her blue eyes were filled with care and compassion while her smile was simply flawless. She looked as mind numbingly beautiful as the day he met her those short years ago.
He sat in bed, still with that smirk on his face, watching her sleep peacefully. He watched as the the covers rose and fell with her even breathing. He wondered how he was so lucky to have her, or if she was just foolish enough to fall for him. Blake didn't care. The only thing he cared about was making her happier day in and day out. That's what he felt his purpose was, to be there for her, always.
She rolled over suddenly with her eyes still closed and said, “You know, it's cute how you watch me sleep but eventually it just makes you seem very creepy.” As the last words flowed out of her mouth she opened her eyes and gave Blake what he loved to see. A smile.
Blake couldn't help but smile back and say, “You've always spoke the truth.” as he leaned in close and gave her soft lips a gentle kiss. They paused and stared at each other, waiting for one to break eye contact. Neither one of them did. They laughed and embraced. They laid in bed clutching each other as if it were their last breath, their last moment on earth. Nothing seemed more important than the soft breath on his neck and the satin skin wrapped in his arms. Everything was perfect in that moment.
Lyla looked up at Blake and a shadow fell across her face. Blake noticed the slight change and distress that now enveloped her. She said, “Do you truly love me?”
Blake was shaken by the words. The only response he could mutter was, “What does love mean too you?” As the words fell out of Blake's mouth, he quickly wished he never uttered such a question. He was sure that the argument that followed would be a heated one, and could only end with him in complete regret.
Her smile was still hanging ever so delicately on her face and she said, “I believe that love is compatibility between two people. Someone that you can be content with telling everything, even the things that you are ashamed of. Knowing that that person wont judge you for stupid questions, dumb actions, and so many silly things we do in our lives. That's what I think love is.”
There was a long silence between Blake and Lyla. The tension was thick within the room, and Blake knew she was waiting for a simple answer back. Yet, he didn't have one. He took a deep breath and said, “I know you want me to agree with you, and have a simple answer but I don't. How about, instead, I just tell you about the minute I knew I loved you?”
The question seemed to hang in the air. Lyla looked at Blake with curiosity and then smiled. She nodded her head slightly as if too give him permission.
Blake paused for a minute and then said, “Well, in all honesty the first time I met you I was intimidated. You seemed to fit in so well, and I was envious of that. I remember the first few times we talked. All I could utter was Hey with a goofy smile, and I would never have anything else to say either. I was dumbfounded by how naturally beautiful you were. I always tried to be the cool, suave man I thought you wanted, which always ended with me looking like a jackass. I tried on numerous occasions too ask you out. I remember walking up too you one time, palms sweating, my mouth dry, and my legs shaking so bad I could barely stand. I had no confidence around you. I lost who I was and I honestly feared what your response would be. "No", I didn't want too hear it. I never took a chance because I clung so tightly to “what if she said yes”. I would always tell myself I would rather be an enemy because at least then I could say I took a chance. I just wanted you too see me for who I was, not the sloppy, immature little kid that you were friends with.”
Blake realized he was drifting off and rambling. He had no idea if anything he was saying made sense, and he didn't care. Everything just felt right as he said it. He looked at Lyla for some sort of conformation. She stared blankly at him, gave a quick chuckle and said, “So when did you realize it was love?”
Blake couldn't help but laugh a little. He continued, “Let me just say that whenever I got to see you for even just a nanosecond, I felt like it was the greatest day of my life. I was just happy to be in the same room as you, and every terrible, forsaken feeling that I had would melt away. Even if I was petrified, I never realized it till later. Your smile and laugh were, and still are my favorite trait about you. That's when I knew I loved you. I knew it the minute I wanted to wake up next to you and make you laugh. It meant every day I got to see you smile.”
Blake finished on that note as he was staring off into space. He shook his head and the room around him seemed to drop back into place. Lyla looked up at him and didn't say a word. He could see the compassion in her eyes, and how beautiful that smile was. A simple smile.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Sweet Simple Traditions
I was a guest blogger on my sister's blog for her Twelve Days of Christmas posts, and well, I guess I'm in the giving spirit. So, here is a little something I wrote up for the Holidays.
When I hear someone mention Christmas I don’t think about snow, presents, or even sweet little baby Jesus in the manger. I think of family traditions. I see a family piling into a cramped car and heading out to purchase a Christmas tree. The whole family spending hours walking around a maze of Douglas Firs, Leyland Cypresses, and Blue Spruces searching for the perfect tree, and only accepting its perfection when everyone gives it their vote. I see the same family all together decorating the tree, and making sure no branch is left untouched, and the ever so familiar battle with tangled lights. I see a little boy and girl mesmerized each year by the story of Santa Claus, and the two leaving milk and cookies for good ole’ Saint Nick. The two young kids waking up Mom and Dad on Christmas morning even before the sun peaks above the horizon, and rushing them downstairs to see what Santa left them. Looking back into my own vault of Christmas memories I’d have to say I’ve had my fair share of experiences with traditions. I remember decorating the tree with handmade ornaments created by myself and my sister, and hers always being more perfect than mine. I loathed her for that, and still do, of course in a loving manner though. I remember always having Christmas Eve at my grandparent’s house, and having a spectacular dinner to end the night. I remember waking up on Christmas day, only to find my Mom and Dad already awake waiting for my sister and myself. I remember my sister’s meticulous procedure at opening presents while I sat next to her tearing away like some rabid animal. These all may seem splendid, but there is one tradition that I thrive off of, that seems to bounce around in my head. This tradition is baking Christmas cookies. I had to ask myself why this stuck out so dominantly in my mind and the answer is that it is what I considered the start of the Holiday. We always baked these cookies at my grandma’s house a few days before the 25th of December. My grandma would mix the recipe that she got from her mother the day before, so when my sister and I showed up it was ready to go. It never occurred to me when I was young that my grandma did this, In keeping with the Christmas spirit, it always seemed like magic. We would roll the cookie dough out and then choose our cookie cutting weapons. I always and still do reach for the Christmas tree shaped cutter first and I have no idea why it just seemed right. I remember how much fun the simple act of cutting shapes into the dough was, and always sneaking a taste of the sweet dough when no one was looking. It didn’t really matter though; everyone was doing the same thing. I remember my grandma always making “dirty” Christmas cookie men, and never understanding what it meant until years later. Decorating the cookies was always my favorite part. I always loved frosting a candy cane shaped cookie, shaking red sprinkles to form stripes like the iconic look everyone knows. We always finished decorating early and never ended up with the right amount of cookies, too many were lost to temptation along the way. I loved baking and decorating Christmas cookies during the holiday, and I someday hope to share tradition with my own kids and grandkids. While some traditions have faded away in our family due to loss of loved ones, steps towards a new life in a big city, or even just a simple move to college, we always manage to relive those memories through a simple act of baking and decorating with the Christmas spirit.
When I hear someone mention Christmas I don’t think about snow, presents, or even sweet little baby Jesus in the manger. I think of family traditions. I see a family piling into a cramped car and heading out to purchase a Christmas tree. The whole family spending hours walking around a maze of Douglas Firs, Leyland Cypresses, and Blue Spruces searching for the perfect tree, and only accepting its perfection when everyone gives it their vote. I see the same family all together decorating the tree, and making sure no branch is left untouched, and the ever so familiar battle with tangled lights. I see a little boy and girl mesmerized each year by the story of Santa Claus, and the two leaving milk and cookies for good ole’ Saint Nick. The two young kids waking up Mom and Dad on Christmas morning even before the sun peaks above the horizon, and rushing them downstairs to see what Santa left them. Looking back into my own vault of Christmas memories I’d have to say I’ve had my fair share of experiences with traditions. I remember decorating the tree with handmade ornaments created by myself and my sister, and hers always being more perfect than mine. I loathed her for that, and still do, of course in a loving manner though. I remember always having Christmas Eve at my grandparent’s house, and having a spectacular dinner to end the night. I remember waking up on Christmas day, only to find my Mom and Dad already awake waiting for my sister and myself. I remember my sister’s meticulous procedure at opening presents while I sat next to her tearing away like some rabid animal. These all may seem splendid, but there is one tradition that I thrive off of, that seems to bounce around in my head. This tradition is baking Christmas cookies. I had to ask myself why this stuck out so dominantly in my mind and the answer is that it is what I considered the start of the Holiday. We always baked these cookies at my grandma’s house a few days before the 25th of December. My grandma would mix the recipe that she got from her mother the day before, so when my sister and I showed up it was ready to go. It never occurred to me when I was young that my grandma did this, In keeping with the Christmas spirit, it always seemed like magic. We would roll the cookie dough out and then choose our cookie cutting weapons. I always and still do reach for the Christmas tree shaped cutter first and I have no idea why it just seemed right. I remember how much fun the simple act of cutting shapes into the dough was, and always sneaking a taste of the sweet dough when no one was looking. It didn’t really matter though; everyone was doing the same thing. I remember my grandma always making “dirty” Christmas cookie men, and never understanding what it meant until years later. Decorating the cookies was always my favorite part. I always loved frosting a candy cane shaped cookie, shaking red sprinkles to form stripes like the iconic look everyone knows. We always finished decorating early and never ended up with the right amount of cookies, too many were lost to temptation along the way. I loved baking and decorating Christmas cookies during the holiday, and I someday hope to share tradition with my own kids and grandkids. While some traditions have faded away in our family due to loss of loved ones, steps towards a new life in a big city, or even just a simple move to college, we always manage to relive those memories through a simple act of baking and decorating with the Christmas spirit.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Just a Dream
I keep saying to myself that I'm going to write a bit more on this site, but I've lied before. This isn't what this post's going to be about anyways. Then again, I do bitch about my lack of consistency in almost every post. Whatever, I've got 99 problems and a post ain't one. I figured I would write about something that's been bothering me a lot lately. A dream. A dream is defined as a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep. A place that you drift off to were everything you imagine comes to life. A place where you can finally be a star, a hero, popular, important, even loved. Dreams lead us into deep, astonishing worlds full of exorbitant wonder, only to sadly wake during the climatic end. Everyone wishing to fall back into that world, only to find that the mind has thrown them into a nightmarish horror. That's the way it happens for most. Yet, few know how to control what they see. Being in a world of your own full of infinite possibilities. It's a playground of a God. Sadly, I have no control. Every dream I have seems to careen into such ridiculous madness I try never to read into any one, but this dream is different. This dream its the same scene over and over again, but with different questions and conversations. I've had the dream around four times now. It starts with me walking into what seems to be a police interrogation room. The room is dark and dank and has a great emptiness to it. In the middle sits a rigid metal chair at a desk. The chair is slanted away and seems to invite you to sit on its uncomfortably flat seat. There's only a soft glow which envelops the desk and chair. The glow seams to be crushed by the empty, black void around it. Yet, every time I look at this scene I manage a smirk and a laugh. The only thing I can mutter during this sequence is “How cliché”. I inevitably end up in the chair and I wait for no reason it seems, until a voice creeps out of the darkness. A voice that sounds so familiar yet so distant, there's confidence in the voice. He says “Hello Mr. Jensen”. I make no effort to reply. I just sit in that chair and wait for the disembodied voice to fall out of the dark again. Everything up to this point in the dream is exactly the same, but not for long. The voice always goes on to ask a question about something in my life or something that I'm feeling. Yet they never made sense. He knows my inner thoughts, my emotions. Then again, why wouldn't he. The first time he asked me quite simply, “Why are you here?”. I didn't answer, or maybe I didn't know how. He answered for me with “because you're scared, Mr. Jensen. You're scared of something in your life and as of right now this is how your coping. With a dream.”. The more I think about it the less I understand this first dream. I have no idea what I'm “scared” of other than my actual fears. Maybe he meant those. I'm not sure. The second time he didn't ask me anything. I sat in that torturous chair what felt like hours. I waited and waited until I said “Hello?” That's when the voice drifted towards me and said “Welcome back Mr. Jensen. I just want to let you know that you're going to be OK. You shouldn't worry. You won't age well with that anxiety” I woke up from this drenched in sweat and shivering. The tone of the voice was far from comforting. It sounded more like a threat like he was the cause of those feelings. The third time I honestly can't remember much. It was the same place, situation, voice, all those good things but I don't remember the conversation. The only thing that I remember is that the dream put me at ease. It gave me a sense of peace. Happiness maybe? No, contentment. One hell of a dream. The last dream is the most vivid. I remember walking into the room sitting down and saying, “what now?” The voice responded with “Welcome back Mr. Jensen. Who do you love? I know you love your family and friends but is their anyone else? Someone you're head over heels for? I bet there is, but you don't want to do anything about it.” At this point I guess my mind was tired of this disembodied voices cryptic messages. I just stood up and said I didn't care. That's when the voice moved closer. It seemed to slip out of the gloom, and that's when the voice attached itself to a body. The man was wearing a black suit, black shirt, and a bright red tie. We made eye contact and he said “I know why. I already answered your question. You're scared, Mr. Jensen” I just stood there and stared into pale blue eyes. The man smiled a gap toothed smile and said “So, Mr. Jensen. What are we going to do about this?”
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Analysis Part Deux
It came to my attention today that my blog is slowly becoming an in-depth analysis of who I am. I'm starting to pull apart the inner workings of myself, while trying to maintain an honest composure through it all. Yes, I can be very bias from time to time, but can you blame me? When I blog, I'm completely and utterly out of my element as a person. The people that know me may read this and automatically go to the cliche good sense of humor, easygoing, laid back, and whatever else may be said. Yet, in person for the first time is a different story. I'm shy and soft spoken, only wanting to make a good first impression. Which is impossible when the only thing I can ever mutter is...
“Hey...” with an awkward, half-assed, right-side-of-my-face smile.
It really just ends with me looking like a total creep. My friends can vouch for this. So, this blog is really a chance for the people who don't know, kind of know, want to know, don't care but need something to procrastinate with, and last but not least, think this blog is stupid, but jokes on you fucker you're reading it.
So, now onto the main event. Jealousy.
Every single person on this great world has experienced jealousy. It's too natural of a feeling for someone to say it's never happened to them. The only possible reason someone would say they have never been jealous, is to make themselves seem like a better person. Which in the end is just to feed the fire of jealousy anyways. Now, I can say honestly say that I have two different types of jealousy within my somewhat capable mind. The first one being simply normal There is no “digging deeper” on this matter because it's basic jealousy. The only thing I can do is give you an example or two. Lets say one of my friends just got a brand new car, great job, new phone, basic things really. What do I feel? A small bit of hatred that is quickly drowned away by the sight of this friend happy. Easy enough to understand and no need to explain, but I do need to for the next. The next one can only be explained as completely irrational, and deals with the fairer sex. Too begin, I will quote one of my five best friends, Jared.
“You know. You fall for women like a fat kid off a bike with no training wheels. Fast and hard.”
This is entirely true. It's taken me far too long to finally realize , and be comfortable with this. I can easily say that there is no upside to falling so fast. I can name numerous downsides, but this isn't the time for that. What this is the time for is to talk about my unspeakable, relentless jealousy that comes with it. It's a terrible thing for no reason, and can be triggered by the simplest acts. An example would easily be a hug. No harm done, but for some reason it pushes me over the edge. Just pure hatred that boiling over. I never express what I feel in these situations. I just bury it down deep like a man, until I find myself in the fetal position crying like a three year old girl two hours later thinking...
“DAMMIT! Why not me? I deserved that hug from you. Not the best friend you lost contact with, who got lost at sea for two months during a category 5 hurricane, which capsized their boat leaving them a drift, then as sharks circled him/her a boat saves the day, but the boat ends up being from North Korea, which then leads him/her to be imprisoned for 6 more months then you just recently find out they are still alive when they show up at your doorstep! NO!!”
**DISCLAIMER**
The above tragedy has never happened to any known acquaintances
So, hopefully you now understand from this short example how irrational this jealousy is. The worst part about it is I never use to be like this. I was never a jealous person when I was younger, and by younger I mean 3 to 4 years ago. I honestly think it happened when I came to R.I.T. Now, I thought hard and long (haha) and I can only think of one reason for it. During my first year at college I lived on a co-ed floor, and, like all stories, there was this girl. I can only say this, the crush that I had for her was astronomically immense. This is where it gets a bit hazy. I don’t know if it was the new setting, freedom, and or new friends, but jealousy grew. Anytime I saw her talk to, hug, high-five, laugh at, or any other simple human interaction all I thought was, Why not me? I never made an effort to do any of those things because I was petrified/intimidated/stupid. So, this is the answer that I can make out as to why I am jealous. Actually, not even really an answer, just a hunch. It really all goes back to the top. The only thing I could ever say to her was...
“Hey...” with an awkward, half-assed, right-side-of-my-face smile.
“Hey...” with an awkward, half-assed, right-side-of-my-face smile.
It really just ends with me looking like a total creep. My friends can vouch for this. So, this blog is really a chance for the people who don't know, kind of know, want to know, don't care but need something to procrastinate with, and last but not least, think this blog is stupid, but jokes on you fucker you're reading it.
So, now onto the main event. Jealousy.
Every single person on this great world has experienced jealousy. It's too natural of a feeling for someone to say it's never happened to them. The only possible reason someone would say they have never been jealous, is to make themselves seem like a better person. Which in the end is just to feed the fire of jealousy anyways. Now, I can say honestly say that I have two different types of jealousy within my somewhat capable mind. The first one being simply normal There is no “digging deeper” on this matter because it's basic jealousy. The only thing I can do is give you an example or two. Lets say one of my friends just got a brand new car, great job, new phone, basic things really. What do I feel? A small bit of hatred that is quickly drowned away by the sight of this friend happy. Easy enough to understand and no need to explain, but I do need to for the next. The next one can only be explained as completely irrational, and deals with the fairer sex. Too begin, I will quote one of my five best friends, Jared.
“You know. You fall for women like a fat kid off a bike with no training wheels. Fast and hard.”
This is entirely true. It's taken me far too long to finally realize , and be comfortable with this. I can easily say that there is no upside to falling so fast. I can name numerous downsides, but this isn't the time for that. What this is the time for is to talk about my unspeakable, relentless jealousy that comes with it. It's a terrible thing for no reason, and can be triggered by the simplest acts. An example would easily be a hug. No harm done, but for some reason it pushes me over the edge. Just pure hatred that boiling over. I never express what I feel in these situations. I just bury it down deep like a man, until I find myself in the fetal position crying like a three year old girl two hours later thinking...
“DAMMIT! Why not me? I deserved that hug from you. Not the best friend you lost contact with, who got lost at sea for two months during a category 5 hurricane, which capsized their boat leaving them a drift, then as sharks circled him/her a boat saves the day, but the boat ends up being from North Korea, which then leads him/her to be imprisoned for 6 more months then you just recently find out they are still alive when they show up at your doorstep! NO!!”
**DISCLAIMER**
The above tragedy has never happened to any known acquaintances
So, hopefully you now understand from this short example how irrational this jealousy is. The worst part about it is I never use to be like this. I was never a jealous person when I was younger, and by younger I mean 3 to 4 years ago. I honestly think it happened when I came to R.I.T. Now, I thought hard and long (haha) and I can only think of one reason for it. During my first year at college I lived on a co-ed floor, and, like all stories, there was this girl. I can only say this, the crush that I had for her was astronomically immense. This is where it gets a bit hazy. I don’t know if it was the new setting, freedom, and or new friends, but jealousy grew. Anytime I saw her talk to, hug, high-five, laugh at, or any other simple human interaction all I thought was, Why not me? I never made an effort to do any of those things because I was petrified/intimidated/stupid. So, this is the answer that I can make out as to why I am jealous. Actually, not even really an answer, just a hunch. It really all goes back to the top. The only thing I could ever say to her was...
“Hey...” with an awkward, half-assed, right-side-of-my-face smile.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Random Thought
Well I just wrote this really quick, and I know what you'll think.
"damn, this is depressing"
Yeah, It is, and I understand that. I'm not even in a bad mood. Hell, my night was pretty good. I went out to the bar, and had a few beers with some friends. We then came back to my place and smoked some hookah, while I indulged in a little bit of pineapple juice with rum. We talked about life, love, family, and friends, as I french rolled and the rings rose. So here it is my little piece of...well I don't know. Try and do better in 4 minutes.
The sun peaks, the sky weeps
The wind blows, a cloud creeps
In the end we all sleep
With the eyes of the weak
That's right, read it and bow down to my glorious/horrendous bit of poetry.
"damn, this is depressing"
Yeah, It is, and I understand that. I'm not even in a bad mood. Hell, my night was pretty good. I went out to the bar, and had a few beers with some friends. We then came back to my place and smoked some hookah, while I indulged in a little bit of pineapple juice with rum. We talked about life, love, family, and friends, as I french rolled and the rings rose. So here it is my little piece of...well I don't know. Try and do better in 4 minutes.
The sun peaks, the sky weeps
The wind blows, a cloud creeps
In the end we all sleep
With the eyes of the weak
That's right, read it and bow down to my glorious/horrendous bit of poetry.
Friday, March 18, 2011
St. Patrick's Day
What is Saint Patrick's Day? Well, I will tell you. It's what's called a feast day that celebrates the life, and times of Saint Patrick. Saint Patrick is best know as, you guessed it, the patron saint of Ireland. This and that and blah fuckin blah fuckin blah. Come on! Lets be honest with each other. It's a day filled with green clothes, parades, and drunken mistakes. Yet, these mistakes can always be forgiven. Always just a simple disregard, or tiny slip up someone makes.
“Oh Honey, I didn't mean to kiss that guy. He was wearing that same “Kiss me I'm Irish” shirt. HONESTLY!”
Or!
“Baby, that lap dance was for the celebration of St. Patty's day! Couldn't you tell? She was wearing shamrock pasties!”
Or something along those lines. I base most of my information and material off of stories, movies, stereotypes and of course, the internet. Is that wrong? Well, I don't give a rats ass.
I can honestly tell you that this Saint Patrick's Day was the first one that I actually got...
How to put this delicately?
Oh! Hammered.
Like the mistakes people make, I wanted in on the action. I wanted to make some grand drunken gesture this wonderful March 17th. I wanted to do something that would ultimately shock and awe in either an epic, or abominable way. Yet, the voice of reason told me that he wouldn't allow it His threats consisted of nothing more than Middle School humiliation. Yet, It worked. I wanted nothing to do with his titty twisting ways. It was a solid defense, or offense? Never the less, it was a potent warning I wanted to avoid. Then again, could it be worth it? Could some empty-headed statement of complete extravagance strike your heart? Or, would it cast me away into a black-hole never to return from?
Well...
Shall we find out?
Should I flip a coin, roll a die, or draw a card? I'll be honest with you. The coin is heads, the die is one, and the card is hearts. Three out of three. Then again, I called for tails, I rolled for six, and I drew for clubs.
Damn, No Luck of the Irish.
“Oh Honey, I didn't mean to kiss that guy. He was wearing that same “Kiss me I'm Irish” shirt. HONESTLY!”
Or!
“Baby, that lap dance was for the celebration of St. Patty's day! Couldn't you tell? She was wearing shamrock pasties!”
Or something along those lines. I base most of my information and material off of stories, movies, stereotypes and of course, the internet. Is that wrong? Well, I don't give a rats ass.
I can honestly tell you that this Saint Patrick's Day was the first one that I actually got...
How to put this delicately?
Oh! Hammered.
Like the mistakes people make, I wanted in on the action. I wanted to make some grand drunken gesture this wonderful March 17th. I wanted to do something that would ultimately shock and awe in either an epic, or abominable way. Yet, the voice of reason told me that he wouldn't allow it His threats consisted of nothing more than Middle School humiliation. Yet, It worked. I wanted nothing to do with his titty twisting ways. It was a solid defense, or offense? Never the less, it was a potent warning I wanted to avoid. Then again, could it be worth it? Could some empty-headed statement of complete extravagance strike your heart? Or, would it cast me away into a black-hole never to return from?
Well...
Shall we find out?
Should I flip a coin, roll a die, or draw a card? I'll be honest with you. The coin is heads, the die is one, and the card is hearts. Three out of three. Then again, I called for tails, I rolled for six, and I drew for clubs.
Damn, No Luck of the Irish.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
My Analysis
December 13th, 2010. Thats the date of my last entry. "Where have I been?" was the question I asked myself. Where have I been mentally, physically, socially, and so on. Thats when I realized. None of that matters, and I'll tell you why. I was standing in my bathroom no more than an hour ago looking into the mirror. A toothbrush hanging off of my lip, and my hair curled from my nervous habit of twirling it. The sight was nothing spectacular, and nothing out of the ordinary. It's not like I looked into the mirror and said, "Damn, I'm a golden god. Bow down and worship this false idol." No, just me. A set of pale, blue eyes staring back with a quaint smirk. My mind empty. It wasn't in till I entered the shower, and felt the water cascade over my face, that I thought "Who am I?". I know, for sure, this much. My parents are Myron and Karen Jensen, and I have a sister named Amanda. My mom is crazy funny, and protective. She's a women of action before reason, but it's always from the goodness of her heart. My mom will say whatever is on her mind, and will never back down from a fight. She's independent, strong, and I love her. My Dad, is a man of reason, and intelligence. He's cool and collected with the occasional dirty joke. I have never seen this man extremely angry, and to this day I never want too. He may not realize it but he's taught me more about life than most, and I love him. My sister is quite a lot like my mom. She won't back down from a fight, and she will say whatever is on her mind. Both of these things with out any regard for human life. Yet, my sister and I get along better than most siblings. When we were younger she would dress me up in womens clothing and apply makeup. She called me Zachareta. This story doesn't embarrass me one bit, because I could easily embarrass her in a heartbeat. But I wont because I love her. I love my family, and I always will.
The next thing I care about more than anything are my friends. I'm not one of those people who has a battalion of "friends". Someone who constantly brags about how many they have, when in reality they couldn't give you your middle name. No. I have, count them with me, five friends. Five friends who know an obscene amount of detail about me. I'm not talking about your run of the mill questions like favorite color, favorite band, and blah-fuckin-blah. I mean real questions. What blood type am I, what are the two things I fear more than needles and heights, the names of my two electric guitars, what do I have a geeky/borderline creepy obsession with, and what OCD tendency do I have when I enter a kitchen. Too put it into perspective, I would let a crazed clown dentist pierce my skin with a 14 foot needle to withdraw my O negative blood to save their life as we are perched on top of the Burj Khalifa building. I would use my two guitars, Alice and Lyra, as instruments of death, instead of rock, against hordes of zombies to save them from a cruel, bone gnawing death. I would even keep myself from opening the fridge and freezer as I enter the kitchen just to save them money on the energy bill. Get it now? Also, there are your answers.
Now, I'm going to go over the biggest mistake/disappointment in my life, and how I came to play the guitar, which is my favorite hobby I must say. First the mistake/disappointment.
So...to start with this little tale of "why I am an idiot/whats wrong with me" I have to say this. I love my friends, but listening to them when they have logical information is beyond my capacity. So, I started to date this girl sometime in high school, maybe middle school, and I was smitten. I thought this chick was totally awesome, which to give her credit she was. She had great taste in music and a good sense of humor. A little quirky, but hey it was a good trait. Now, things were grand, and we always had a great time, but out of the blue over the summer she dumped me. NO BIG DEAL. I was young, and naive so I shook it off to show the manliness. Later, I found out she left me for who I would consider the largest tool in the known universe. It bothered me, but I had other things to focus on. Now, a few years later around Junior/Senior year I start to talk to her again. She seems to dig me, awesome. I talk to my best friend Jared to get his opinion. his wise words of wisdom are this "she left you before so be careful, but just maybe it's a genuine feeling this time" (I'm paraphrasing). I went for it, but sadly I should have listened to his input. She led me on, and ended up dating someone else. I can't say that this guy was a complete tool because, well, he was hilarious. So off to college I go. I have my ups and down, and lust after a girl I can't have. All in all a good experience. Yet, right before summer shows its bright, glorious face, this same chick started to talk to me again. She then presented me with this. " I know someone that likes you it's (insert name), and I also miss you". Now, a reasonable person would know the right choice. I however am not one. I chose to try again, and with this I told Jared. His response went something like this, "Why do you keep doing this? I just want to see you happy. Shes just going to fuck you over again. I guarantee it." In the end. It happened again, same guy, same situation, same correct friend. In my opinion, I was a play thing. Someone there to make her feel better when she needed it, kinda like a pick me up. It just lead to a false sense of security for me. The problem being...I enjoyed that little bit of attention way to much as well, its a drug for me. Thats why I don't listen too my friends. If there is even that chance to spend a single day or night with someone I care about I'll take it. Even if in the end it destroys me even more I'll take it over nothing.
Now, the reason I started to noodle around on the guitar.
So my senior year of high school I found out my sister's boyfriend (now husband) knew how to play the guitar. This was a plus, all I could think was, "maybe he could teach me, and I could have that sexy musician aura about me." Well, the only reason I thought this was because I was interested in someone at the time. I asked him to teach me one song and one song only, Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. It was her favorite song, and I thought if I knew it it would equal "OMG!! How cute, you're so perfect!!" I practiced the few chords I needed, plus the lead guitar in the beginning in till my fingers bled. I was ready to surprise her, but it wouldn't matter. She ended up having that dreaded talk every man fears. The friend zone is where I ended up. The most depressing and inhospitable place as a man. A barren wasteland of false promises, and remains of so called "Nice Guys". I was to far in to even come back, so I didn't tell her I learned the song for her. I stopped learning the guitar after this. All I thought was it wasn't worth my time. I later picked it up again, thinking that I would be letting Simon (My sister's husband) down. I don't regret learning guitar just for a girl. Yet, too this day I still can't play through Brown Eyed Girl without feeling terrible. Even if it is one of the few songs I know all the way through.
So, it ends up being a bit of a ramble about myself. Not even a complete ramble about me, but enough, and this is what it shows. I Love my family and friends and they mean everything to me. Also, if there is a chance to have 5 minutes with someone I find attractive/interesting/anything, my beloved friends input is worthless. Even though I have been known to listen to them occasionally. Then, last but not least, I'll try to impress. It's important to me to know that you know that I care, and hey If you want to be treated like a goddess thats what I do. Too add at the end...I've been drunk for a majority of this post.
Then again...drunk talks are sober thoughts.
The next thing I care about more than anything are my friends. I'm not one of those people who has a battalion of "friends". Someone who constantly brags about how many they have, when in reality they couldn't give you your middle name. No. I have, count them with me, five friends. Five friends who know an obscene amount of detail about me. I'm not talking about your run of the mill questions like favorite color, favorite band, and blah-fuckin-blah. I mean real questions. What blood type am I, what are the two things I fear more than needles and heights, the names of my two electric guitars, what do I have a geeky/borderline creepy obsession with, and what OCD tendency do I have when I enter a kitchen. Too put it into perspective, I would let a crazed clown dentist pierce my skin with a 14 foot needle to withdraw my O negative blood to save their life as we are perched on top of the Burj Khalifa building. I would use my two guitars, Alice and Lyra, as instruments of death, instead of rock, against hordes of zombies to save them from a cruel, bone gnawing death. I would even keep myself from opening the fridge and freezer as I enter the kitchen just to save them money on the energy bill. Get it now? Also, there are your answers.
Now, I'm going to go over the biggest mistake/disappointment in my life, and how I came to play the guitar, which is my favorite hobby I must say. First the mistake/disappointment.
So...to start with this little tale of "why I am an idiot/whats wrong with me" I have to say this. I love my friends, but listening to them when they have logical information is beyond my capacity. So, I started to date this girl sometime in high school, maybe middle school, and I was smitten. I thought this chick was totally awesome, which to give her credit she was. She had great taste in music and a good sense of humor. A little quirky, but hey it was a good trait. Now, things were grand, and we always had a great time, but out of the blue over the summer she dumped me. NO BIG DEAL. I was young, and naive so I shook it off to show the manliness. Later, I found out she left me for who I would consider the largest tool in the known universe. It bothered me, but I had other things to focus on. Now, a few years later around Junior/Senior year I start to talk to her again. She seems to dig me, awesome. I talk to my best friend Jared to get his opinion. his wise words of wisdom are this "she left you before so be careful, but just maybe it's a genuine feeling this time" (I'm paraphrasing). I went for it, but sadly I should have listened to his input. She led me on, and ended up dating someone else. I can't say that this guy was a complete tool because, well, he was hilarious. So off to college I go. I have my ups and down, and lust after a girl I can't have. All in all a good experience. Yet, right before summer shows its bright, glorious face, this same chick started to talk to me again. She then presented me with this. " I know someone that likes you it's (insert name), and I also miss you". Now, a reasonable person would know the right choice. I however am not one. I chose to try again, and with this I told Jared. His response went something like this, "Why do you keep doing this? I just want to see you happy. Shes just going to fuck you over again. I guarantee it." In the end. It happened again, same guy, same situation, same correct friend. In my opinion, I was a play thing. Someone there to make her feel better when she needed it, kinda like a pick me up. It just lead to a false sense of security for me. The problem being...I enjoyed that little bit of attention way to much as well, its a drug for me. Thats why I don't listen too my friends. If there is even that chance to spend a single day or night with someone I care about I'll take it. Even if in the end it destroys me even more I'll take it over nothing.
Now, the reason I started to noodle around on the guitar.
So my senior year of high school I found out my sister's boyfriend (now husband) knew how to play the guitar. This was a plus, all I could think was, "maybe he could teach me, and I could have that sexy musician aura about me." Well, the only reason I thought this was because I was interested in someone at the time. I asked him to teach me one song and one song only, Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. It was her favorite song, and I thought if I knew it it would equal "OMG!! How cute, you're so perfect!!" I practiced the few chords I needed, plus the lead guitar in the beginning in till my fingers bled. I was ready to surprise her, but it wouldn't matter. She ended up having that dreaded talk every man fears. The friend zone is where I ended up. The most depressing and inhospitable place as a man. A barren wasteland of false promises, and remains of so called "Nice Guys". I was to far in to even come back, so I didn't tell her I learned the song for her. I stopped learning the guitar after this. All I thought was it wasn't worth my time. I later picked it up again, thinking that I would be letting Simon (My sister's husband) down. I don't regret learning guitar just for a girl. Yet, too this day I still can't play through Brown Eyed Girl without feeling terrible. Even if it is one of the few songs I know all the way through.
So, it ends up being a bit of a ramble about myself. Not even a complete ramble about me, but enough, and this is what it shows. I Love my family and friends and they mean everything to me. Also, if there is a chance to have 5 minutes with someone I find attractive/interesting/anything, my beloved friends input is worthless. Even though I have been known to listen to them occasionally. Then, last but not least, I'll try to impress. It's important to me to know that you know that I care, and hey If you want to be treated like a goddess thats what I do. Too add at the end...I've been drunk for a majority of this post.
Then again...drunk talks are sober thoughts.
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