Drifting Away.

I'm losing my friends. Slowly, but surely, I'm losing my friends. And I don't really have any new ones. I've met many new people and made new acquaintances, but none of them are close enough to be friends.

My high school friends are moving on. They have their new friends, and I'm slowly being left alone. I fear the day I have no one left...

I fear it's coming soon and I don't know what to do.

But it's not like anyone's going to notice.

Redo

Can I get a redo?

I just want a button that I can press to restart everything. Forget everything and start anew.

I try to change things. I try to make things different, but, for every step forward I take, I feel like I take 20 steps back. I can't make a difference. I can't change things. I try to make new friends, but I never do. The friends I have I can't let myself connect to. I feel so alone and lost and I don't know how to fix it.

I can't connect. I can pretend to, and I must do a good enough job of it to fool people, because no one seems to notice it. It's funny that I'm not a great actor, but I can pretend so well in real life.

Maybe if I could forget everything, things would change. I wouldn't have the fears I have to hold me back. I wouldn't be so self-conscious. I wouldn't be so pathetic.

So, please, can I have a redo?

Lost.

I don't know anymore.

I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want to be. I don't know who my friends are. I don't know where I belong.

I feel so lost and I don't know where to turn. My home is becoming less and less homey, and my current world of college is equally uninviting. Great friends I've had in the past seem to be drifting away and no one new I've met is coming to take their place. I walk across campus and feel like an outsider looking in on a world I can't seem to fit into. I come home and everything feels changed. It's like all I've got left is a friend and a dog. A friend who is the only one who has bothered to make me feel like coming home was worth it and a dog who I fear every day is going to be gone the next.

So, where do I fit in?

Everywhere I look, I see groups of friends. Friends who are so happy to spend time together and, even through their bad times, always have someone to watch their backs and be there for them. Who do I have? Me. Just me. Me and a dog who doesn't understand any of the things I'm feeling because he's just a dog. An old, frail dog who doesn't have much time left in the world.

And to be honest, I so afraid of that day. I'm afraid of the day he's gone. I'm afraid because I'll miss him, but I'm mostly afraid because I think I might break then, and I don't know what will happen on that day. I've hidden so many of my emotions and feelings inside for so long that I don't know what will happen when they all break forward. Even now, I'm beginning to crack at the seems. My once solid wall isn't so solid, and there are times when I can't keep it all in and a little of it all leaks out. I cried for a good twenty minutes when I came home. I cried because I saw my dog just laying in his bed looking so weak. I cried because I was afraid he was going to have to be put down this week. I cried. I couldn't stop myself. I cried again later this week because I felt ugly. I felt ugly and fat and I'm so tired of feeling that way and pretending I don't feel that way. I didn't want to cry and I tried so hard not to, but I couldn't stop myself. I eventually did stop those times, but once I let go, I don't know if I'll know how to stop...

I'm so lost.

But no one will know, so I guess that's just how I want it to be.

Omar.

My dog isn't doing so well.

Before I continue with this post, I'd like to introduce you to my dog. Omar is a Shih-Tzu my family got as a 9 month old puppy about 14 years ago. I can remember the day we bought him. I remember my mom giving us a choice of getting this dog or going to Old Country Buffet for dinner. (Like we would choose anything over the adorable, pathetic-looking, flea bitten puppy that was so enthusiastically playing with us. I remember the drive home where we were all trying to decide on a name for him. My brother kept insisting we name him after Omar Vizquel, one of his favorite players from the Cleveland Indians. I didn't like it because I didn't like the Cleveland Indians, nor baseball for that matter, (still don't,) but my mom liked it, too. Since we were ultimately getting a Shih-Tzu because she wanted one, she got the final say and his name was Omar. Even so, the name fit him, and I quickly grew to love it for him. I remember playing Frisbee with him and our other dog, Sam; how Sam was so good at bringing the Frisbee back, while Omar would rather take it and chew on it and not let her steal it back. I remember him stealing our socks all the time and us finding them in odd places around the house.

When we had to put Sam down, it was hard. She was the first dog I ever remember having. I was 17 and she was 14. We grew up together. After she was gone, Omar kind of became my baby, especially now. When I'm home, I'm always taking care of him and I always try to bring him up to sleep with me at night. He's my baby, he's 15, and now he's not doing so well. It's hard.


Today, after I had tried to call my mom earlier only to have my brother answer and tell me she was at the vet with Omar, my mom called me while I was at dinner with some friends. She understands how much I love Omar, so she wanted to let me know how the vet visit was. She took him in because of what turned out to be a hematoma on his ear that she was worried about. That wasn't all she found out. Not only that, but he's got ear infections, no moisture in his eyes, and either a possible tapeworm or diabetes. Most of the stuff is fixable - the hematoma isn't much to worry about, he's got stuff for his ears and eyes, and he's on a deworming medicine. All we have to do is hope is that he's got a tapeworm because we can't afford insulin shots if he's got diabetes. And if he's got diabetes... Well, the outlook isn't too good.

I was nearly crying at dinner with my friends, which is something I don't do. I don't like crying in front of other people. Thankfully, I suppose, no one noticed. I'm crying now, again. I can't even think of what might have to happen without the threat of tears. It's just really hard right now and I wish I could be home with him. I miss him so much.

Because of you.

I don't have a best friend. I don't have a friend who I know every little thing about. Who I can call up whenever and talk about anything. I don't have a friend who knows me better than I know myself sometimes. I don't have any of that.

Sure, I have friends. I have some really good friends who I care so much about, but I'm too terrified to let them get too close. Why? Because of you. You were my best friend. We used to do everything together. Then one day, you stopped talking to me. Completely stopped. You ignored me. I don't even know why. I don't even know what I did to deserve that. One day we were best friends. The next day you hated me. Everyone hated me. I didn't fucking do anything, yet no one liked me. What did I fucking do to you to deserve that?!

Now, I can't let anyone get to close anymore. I can't let go. I can't be vulnerable. I can't be completely honest. I can't trust anyone completely anymore and it's your fault. I can't do any of that because I'm too afraid someone will do the same thing to me for the exact same reason and I don't even know what that reason is. It's not fucking fair. As much as I try to tell myself it wasn't me, and that it was you and your pathetic, immature family, I can't stop being afraid it will happen again.

Fuck you, bitch. I thought I had forgiven you and moved on, but I don't know if I ever will. Fuck you.

Inability to Act One's Way Out of A Paper Bag.

I'm a crap actress. As much as it sucks to say it, it's true. I really don't know why I keep picking majors that involve it.

It's not even that I'm just plain crap at it, either. In my head, I'm actually quite good. I know that sounds funny, but I don't mean it in a delusional way. I mean that I know what things make up a good actress and what one needs to do to act well, but it's all stuck in my head. I can't just let go. I think it comes from a fear of being vulnerable, which is the worst fear to have for an actress, because acting (for the most part) is incredibly vulnerable. No, you're not playing yourself, but you have to let yourself go completely to play the part. You have to let yourself feel the emotions, go through the actions, and be the character.

I know all this, yet I can't let myself go. I can't let myself be vulnerable. It's terrifying to me, and I kind of really suck at facing fears.

So I suck at acting.

I should probably find something to do with my life that doesn't involve it. Trouble is, I don't know what.

Fuck.

I don't even think anyone reads this anymore.

Yes, it is 5:30am.

I am nearing the end of an all-nighter I pulled in order to finish a French project that's due tomorrow afternoon. I probably finished around 5 minutes ago and I'm at that stage of sleep deprivation where everything is heavy and slow. I've been marathoning an energy drink all night to stay awake. I should remind myself not to get the orange Amp next time. Much too jittery. I should really just stick with the purple one. If it weren't full of high-fructose corn syrup and other very not good things for you, I think it could cure cancer, that's how well it works for me.

As you can tell, I'm also in the random rambling stage of sleep deprivation, with a hint of "What the hell was I just thinking two seconds ago?" Tomorrow, or this morning, or whatever... At 9am. There. At 9am, I have a sight singing quiz. It's probably a good thing he drops the lowest grade because I can't imagine this quiz being particularly good.

I'd go to bed, but I have to be up in about 2 hours, and I don't foresee myself actually waking up to a full force hurricane with an earthquake added in, let alone my alarm, so no sleep it is. Tomorrow has the potential to be frighteningly interesting because of it.

Tomorrow is also the beginning of Homecoming weekend, which means everyone will be drinking, even though our campus is a "dry campus." I might be one of those people. I have yet to mix alcohol with sleep deprivation, so I'm not sure how that will pan out exactly.

I think I feel my body vehemently shouting "FUCK YOU I WANT TO GO TO SLEEP NOW!" Oh, body, how I wish I could.

Untitled.

I don't let people get too close.



That way, it doesn't hurt so much when they leave.

Harboring an Illegal*

(*I realize that "illegal" is not politically correct. Know that I would not use it if I were talking about an actual undocumented immigrant.)

So, this weekend I've been harboring an illegal kitten in my room. The friends of mine who she belongs to were both out of town for the weekend and asked me to watch her while I was gone. Not being one to pass up a weekend with a cuddly, furry animal, I jumped at the chance. (Might have literally jumped in my seat. I was a little drunk at the time of the offer.) It's been an interesting experience.

Firstly, this is really my first time taking care of an animal ALL BY MYSELF. I have a dog at home, but I'm not the only person who lives in that house, so there's always someone there to help out if I'm busy or something. While this is my first time taking care of an animal all by myself, this is actually not the first time I've helped harbor an illegal animal. About a year and a half ago or so, I helped my friend Casey take care of a dog for a friend in her apartment. Let me tell you, taking care of Tipsy the kitten has been A LOT easier. Tipsy doesn't get poop all over herself for one thing, and she's significantly quieter. Secondly, this is pretty much my first time really taking care of a cat. I've always been a dog person, (my dad hates cats,) and most cats I know seem to not be a big fan of me. We had a cat in my house for a month once while my cousin was in basic training, but I didn't do much on the taking care of part and she hated my dogs. (Omar loved her, however, regardless of how many times she swatted him with her claws.) I've never really been a cat person. Until now.

I love this kitty. She is the most adorable thing I've ever seen. If it weren't illegal to keep her here, I don't know if my friends would ever get their cat back. Right now she's on my bed, which she's pretty much claimed as her sleeping quarters, cuddling up next to my stuffed dog. She loves that thing. She actually tries to nurse from it. (I've read online that it's a sign she was taken from her mother too soon, which is sad, (I blame the people who were giving her away,) but it's so adorable.) Even the fact that she seems to rather want to use the corner of my carpet as a litter box than her actual litter box doesn't bother me enough. (She's getting better, though.) I feel we have a very Mufasa/Simba relationship, since she's learning to pounce and she decided it was a good idea to jump all over me at 7am this morning wanting to get up when I clearly wanted to sleep longer. (Here's hoping I don't get killed in a wildebeest stampede anytime soon.)

I've always wanted a dog of my own and still do, but I really want a little kitty now, too. :D

One Step Forward. Two Steps Back.

I can't even explain how I'm feeling right now. One minute I'm feeling great and the next I'm stressed or lonely or unsure. I'm so moody, lately, and I hate it. I don't even know why.

I think part of it has to do with this irrational fear of people not liking me for absolutely no reason. Or at least no reason I know or understand. I think I know why I have this fear, but we don't need to get into the psychology of it, since it doesn't seem to affect this irrational fear anyways. It's a fear that I can't seem to shake, no matter how silly I tell myself it is. I guess it's tied to that fear that I'll never find love. So, instead of trying my best to face my fear of people not liking me and going out and trying to find love, I shy away from strangers and new faces because I think it's easier to hide my heart and keep it safe than take the risk of getting it broken, whether in friendship or love.

I'm kind of a little fucked up, I guess.

Bigfoot vs. The Shoe Industry

I HATE shoe shopping.



That's not exactly true.

       Let me be more specific.  I don't actually hate looking at shoes.  I actually quite like it.  There are so many different kinds of shoes and they're all so cute!  (Mostly.  Those Ugg boots are ugly as fuck.  Hate them.)  What I hate about shoe shopping is this: They rarely ever have my size.  The only place I know of that consistently does is Payless, and, while their shoes are cute, they aren't particularly long lasting.  In any other store, if they have my size, it's never in the shoes I like.  I can't remember the last time I went to a nice department store and found a pair of 11s that weren't some hideous excuse for a pair of shoes.

       I know what you're going to say next.  "What about shopping online?  Surely you can find something there in your size!"  Ignoring the fact that I would much rather try the shoe on in person to see if I like the way it fits and how it looks on my foot, I have tried this. Sometimes, it works.  A lot of the times, it doesn't.  Case in point: I have been looking for a decent pair of boots for over a year now.  I have yet to find a pair that I like that comes in my size.  And, even if I do find that, there's always the good chance that, when I get those boots in the mail, they still aren't going to fit because my calves are asshole mutants of nature and like to send out a big screw you to me whenever I try on boots.  The boot might fit my foot, but it doesn't always fit my jackass huge calf. 

       "Okay," you might say. "Why not try a different kind of boot?" Want to know what I'd say to you? "Fuck you." Yup. Fuck you, because it's my money and I know what kind of boots I want and I have a right as a greedy corporate American customer to get what I want. I'm not going to buy some other type of boot that I don't want because companies can't make a boot that fits me.  I'm tired of stores implying that I'm some sort of freak of nature because my shoe size is bigger than "average."  You know what?  My mom has the same size shoe as me.  My friend has a size bigger than me.  There are many "average" women out there who share my shoe size, and I find it's a disservice to us that stores and shoe companies can't supply our demands.  We have just as much of a right as the size 7 footed women out there to have cute shoes and boots, and I'm tired of being counted out because I'm too tall or too big.  Fuck you.

Average, Same-Old Life Moment

It's been awhile.

       This always happens, though.  I start some BIG NEW LIFE EXPERIENCEEE!!1! and I think, "Hey!  I'll blog about it so that everyone can experience all the awesomeness I will!"  A few months later, I realize my BIG NEW LIFE EXPERIENCEEE!!1! is nowhere near as exciting as the movies and TV make them out to be, so I get bored and stop blogging.  It's like finding out Santa isn't real.  (Sorry if I ruined it for anyone!)

       When you think Santa is real, Christmas is so exciting because, every year, some big jolly guy with a beard and a red suit manages to fly around the world with 8 reindeer to deliver everyone presents.  You don't know how he does it, and you don't know how he gets into your house if you don't have a chimney, but you could care less.  Santa is leaving you magical presents!  Then you get older, and you begin to see the holes, and you eventually figure out he's not real.  At first, you think, "That's okay! I still get presents!"  You still have lists of things you want for Christmas.  But, as the years go by, it just doesn't have the same magic, and when you're old enough to realize how much money your parent(s) spend getting you presents every year, there's hardly any magic left.  You only ask for one thing, or the proverbial "I don't know" pops up.

       It's the same with blogging, at least for me.  First, I'm so excited to blog about EVERY THING EVER that I talk about completely pointless shit based soley on the fact that it's BRAND NEW.  Then, I start to realize that the BIG NEW LIFE EXPERIENCEEE!!1! isn't as magical and fantastic as I thought it was going to be.  It's actually pretty normal.  I still blog, but the glamour of it has worn off.  Then, my posts get fewer and fewer.  Then, they stop.  I usually don't start up again until some other BIG NEW LIFE EXPERIENCEEEE!!1! starts, and it's the same old thing all over again.

       I've been blessed and cursed with the ability to be hopeful.  All humans have it, but I think it's extra strong in me.  I know this, and try to warn myself against it, but there's still that small part of me that can't help but hope and dream about the best possible outcome, even when I know it will never happen.  "He probably doesn't like me, but maybe he does!"  "You're going to school for a major that probably guarentees you will have no future job and be a  poor homeless bum.  But, maybe I'll become a famous singer and everyone will hear my songs and everything!"  I know which ones will end up happening, but I still hope and hope that maybe that unlikely thing will happen.

       This time is different, though.  There isn't some BIG NEW LIFE EXPERIENCEEE!!1! that has started me on this again.  I don't exactly know what did.  An inspiring friend.  A need to express myself.  A way to get my thoughts out of my head.  I don't know.  I don't even know what I'm doing with my life right now.  Maybe, here, I can kill two birds with one stone and figure out the answer to both those questions.

Or maybe I won't post on here again until some other BIG NEW LIFE EXPERIENCEEE!!1! happens.

Let's find out.