It's amazing what people settle for when they think there's nothing better. We're taught to settle. Don't be picky, don't be unappreciative; don't question, just take it. Aren't we put on this world with nothing but our bodies and minds? If that's all we are given, we are to make all we can of it. Any part of my life made for anyone else, altered or tailored for anyone else isn't worth it... it won't stick.
There are few good things out there. But there are enough for every one person to run into them several times during his or her lifetime. Whether we reach out and hold onto them is our own choice. We let these pass by and through us, whether it be out of fear or uncertainty, complacency or anxiety.
Cheap thrills are everything else. Bad TV, or a laugh over something unmemorable. Cheap thrills to get me by, tide me over, never truly satisfying. 10,000 of these fleeting, false emotions won't equal one good person, feeling, thing that could happen to me. One thing that I'll remember, that impacted me in any way. They may not know it and I may not realize it at first, but no matter how jaded, how deluded, no matter how full of shit I am, I should know for myself what I truly need and what I don't.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Leaaavin' on a jet plane
don't know when I'll be back again.
The move-out date has come and gone again and again as I've run up to Ryan The R.A.'s door to white out my name on the check-out dates list. I'm always part of the pack that's last to leave, the Kids Left Behind every time, and the one chance I get to go home on a decent date, what do I do? Stay, of course.
Leaving early's not how I roll. I stay for the moments you had to be there for, to say goodbye more than once, to be glad for a chance to see them again after I've thought they've gone.
Is this true sadness or just a want for something that I know will be over soon? Cackles and shrieks from the lobby tell me that I won't actually miss 75 out of 80 of these teenage dirtbags, but I'll miss something about it. I'll probably cry out of pure nostalgia and wonder why I cry over people who aren't crying over me, and the crying will hurt me to my bones, but it will be alright because it feels good just to feel.
The summer heat and nights excite me for I don't know what, and remind me of the past and excitement over the unknown. Possibilities. My only hopes are that the nights get hotter. I can't wait.
The move-out date has come and gone again and again as I've run up to Ryan The R.A.'s door to white out my name on the check-out dates list. I'm always part of the pack that's last to leave, the Kids Left Behind every time, and the one chance I get to go home on a decent date, what do I do? Stay, of course.
Leaving early's not how I roll. I stay for the moments you had to be there for, to say goodbye more than once, to be glad for a chance to see them again after I've thought they've gone.
Is this true sadness or just a want for something that I know will be over soon? Cackles and shrieks from the lobby tell me that I won't actually miss 75 out of 80 of these teenage dirtbags, but I'll miss something about it. I'll probably cry out of pure nostalgia and wonder why I cry over people who aren't crying over me, and the crying will hurt me to my bones, but it will be alright because it feels good just to feel.
The summer heat and nights excite me for I don't know what, and remind me of the past and excitement over the unknown. Possibilities. My only hopes are that the nights get hotter. I can't wait.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Going to California
With an achin' in my heart.
(play)
I packed up my young life and moved it to San Diego only to pack it all up again and take it somewhere else. My life had been condensed, yet scattered at the same time. I didn't know where I was headed for my first year or how I'd get there, but I trembled in my vans and waited before I judged, my shoes loose enough for me to get swept up in a whirlwind of finding out who I wanted to be and who I could be.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.
My life has grown, overflowing with things I can't seem to part with. I want it all, I want it all in my life and will make. My freshman year in college is over. Did we get wild, crazy, drunk, to celebrate, go out with a bang? No. Slightly bored, we enjoyed each other's company... no rush.
My room is empty. I smell like Courtney's perfume after hugging her. Our floors are shining and clean and hearing Caro's voice crack after she'd been crying made me sadder than I've been all day.
Nothing's resolved. Everyone has these unresolved issues surrounding them like spiderwebs going into summer. Aren't we supposed to start summer free? We're learning. All we can do is go with it in hopes that everything will be alright. Because in the end, our tomorrows aren't gauranteed-- you'll never see that girl down the hall again, you'll never listen to music with that boy again, you'll never walk across the bridge and talk nonsense about sunglasses as you secretly gush over his pinstripe pants and shoes that remind you of Grandpa.
Everything is so bittersweet... and when it's bittersweet is when it's the most beautiful. Ends and beginnings, possibilities, sadness, but excitement and anxiety at the same time. Never take it for granted, never regret it, never change it, never apologize for it, relive every minute of it if given the chance, and always, always... take the chance.
Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let 'em tell you that they're all the same.
(play)
I packed up my young life and moved it to San Diego only to pack it all up again and take it somewhere else. My life had been condensed, yet scattered at the same time. I didn't know where I was headed for my first year or how I'd get there, but I trembled in my vans and waited before I judged, my shoes loose enough for me to get swept up in a whirlwind of finding out who I wanted to be and who I could be.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.
My life has grown, overflowing with things I can't seem to part with. I want it all, I want it all in my life and will make. My freshman year in college is over. Did we get wild, crazy, drunk, to celebrate, go out with a bang? No. Slightly bored, we enjoyed each other's company... no rush.
My room is empty. I smell like Courtney's perfume after hugging her. Our floors are shining and clean and hearing Caro's voice crack after she'd been crying made me sadder than I've been all day.
Nothing's resolved. Everyone has these unresolved issues surrounding them like spiderwebs going into summer. Aren't we supposed to start summer free? We're learning. All we can do is go with it in hopes that everything will be alright. Because in the end, our tomorrows aren't gauranteed-- you'll never see that girl down the hall again, you'll never listen to music with that boy again, you'll never walk across the bridge and talk nonsense about sunglasses as you secretly gush over his pinstripe pants and shoes that remind you of Grandpa.
Everything is so bittersweet... and when it's bittersweet is when it's the most beautiful. Ends and beginnings, possibilities, sadness, but excitement and anxiety at the same time. Never take it for granted, never regret it, never change it, never apologize for it, relive every minute of it if given the chance, and always, always... take the chance.
Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let 'em tell you that they're all the same.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Am checking in
Am checking in to let all know-- am alive. Am fartin' around in library instead of cramming for last final. Am getting jittery and nervous. Am doped up on Tylenol and Red Bull. Am avoiding saying the word/letter, "I." Am over and out. Will be back later if not did.
-(Am) Lil
-(Am) Lil
Friday, May 9, 2008
Under the weight of a schoolboy crush
Or schoolgirl crush. Whichever.
Today was my last day of music. We took our final, but more importantly, I officially met Jason for the first time. I'll stick to my story that I'm not a freak for always knowing peoples' names before they know mine.
To make a long story short, the final killed my brain, but I still had enough will left to make the strategic move to leave the room at the same time as Jason. I'm thinking HE wanted to talk to MEH as well because he stopped to fiddle around with his backpack to wait for me to catch up. Naturally, I walked past him (casually). Then, I held the door open for him. Why? Because I'm kind. Then he started it all off with a, "Phowwaaa... that test was so long..." The rest is history, kids. I'm a taken woman, wisened in the ways of the world. Ask me anything, I suddenly give great advice and know all answers.
Not ONLY did we talk while leaving class, we talked as we walked through the campus, over the bridge, and then stopped outside of my dorm because he was obviously impressed by my charm/heart shaped sunglasses Mare bought me. Anyway, he's an English major. "What do you want to do with that?" I ax'd. He wants to work in publishing. He has Bob Dylan sunglasses and is an English major. He enrolled in a dance class hoping to "get down" only to be disappointed by lectures and power points. He has enjoyed slacking through his years at state, digs the local bars and lack of hipsters in Normal Heights, is graduating next month, and is scared. How much more appealing/endearing can you get to Lilia?
Bittersweet time, bittersweet time indeed. We shook hands and formally introduced ourselves, sad only to meet the last day of class. I told him I'd shoot him (with my hand that is a gun) if I ever saw him around campus, then he told me his name was Jason. But I knew that. That's the way love goes, to quote Janet. I'm sad that he's graduating next month, but hope to see him sitting around on the benches with those Bob Dylan/Malcolm X glasses, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the so cal sun. If anyone can pull off a cancer stick, it's him.
To all of the boys out there who can conversate, voluntarily sign up to take a dance class, and actually know what Malcolm X's glasses were shaped like, I say, "Huzzah!" Got git them girls.
Being in love is tough. Sad times are to come, but will be aided by the even sadder and more dramatic Conor Oberst, so life is good.
Bright Eyes - You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will
Today was my last day of music. We took our final, but more importantly, I officially met Jason for the first time. I'll stick to my story that I'm not a freak for always knowing peoples' names before they know mine.
To make a long story short, the final killed my brain, but I still had enough will left to make the strategic move to leave the room at the same time as Jason. I'm thinking HE wanted to talk to MEH as well because he stopped to fiddle around with his backpack to wait for me to catch up. Naturally, I walked past him (casually). Then, I held the door open for him. Why? Because I'm kind. Then he started it all off with a, "Phowwaaa... that test was so long..." The rest is history, kids. I'm a taken woman, wisened in the ways of the world. Ask me anything, I suddenly give great advice and know all answers.
Not ONLY did we talk while leaving class, we talked as we walked through the campus, over the bridge, and then stopped outside of my dorm because he was obviously impressed by my charm/heart shaped sunglasses Mare bought me. Anyway, he's an English major. "What do you want to do with that?" I ax'd. He wants to work in publishing. He has Bob Dylan sunglasses and is an English major. He enrolled in a dance class hoping to "get down" only to be disappointed by lectures and power points. He has enjoyed slacking through his years at state, digs the local bars and lack of hipsters in Normal Heights, is graduating next month, and is scared. How much more appealing/endearing can you get to Lilia?
Bittersweet time, bittersweet time indeed. We shook hands and formally introduced ourselves, sad only to meet the last day of class. I told him I'd shoot him (with my hand that is a gun) if I ever saw him around campus, then he told me his name was Jason. But I knew that. That's the way love goes, to quote Janet. I'm sad that he's graduating next month, but hope to see him sitting around on the benches with those Bob Dylan/Malcolm X glasses, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the so cal sun. If anyone can pull off a cancer stick, it's him.
To all of the boys out there who can conversate, voluntarily sign up to take a dance class, and actually know what Malcolm X's glasses were shaped like, I say, "Huzzah!" Got git them girls.
Being in love is tough. Sad times are to come, but will be aided by the even sadder and more dramatic Conor Oberst, so life is good.
Bright Eyes - You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Bob Dylan vs Malcolm X
Today is the day that I finally spoke to Jason From Music Class. Sure, he'd noticed my charm in the past and laughed at my witty humor, but never before have we gone past two lines. And it goes a lil' suh-in like this (hit it!):
FIRST CONTACT
Jason: Question. Do you know the definition for "anacrusis"? I remember learning it, but for some reason, I didn't write it down.
Me: Oh, sure, yeah, I have it. It's riiiight (flips through notes)... here (hands J notes).
Jason: Thanks (gives grateful AND suggestive smile)!
Later, I walked by him and noticed his Bob Dylan glasses. Now, let me give a little background on the Bob Dylan glasses. Once, on the way to eat dinner with my friend Lana, I saw him and squealed, "There's Jason From Music Class!" and she said he looked like Bob Dylan. Which he kinda did. Which makes him even more appealing.
SECOND CONTACT
Me: I like your sunglasses.
Jason: Oh, thanks!
Me: They kinda remind me of Bob Dylan but not really (<- charm has officially left me).
Jason: Yeah, kinda, but I was thinking more Malcolm X, you know?
Me: Oh, yeaaah, huh (I didn't know).
Jason: I want to get regular glasses that are like these.
Me: (large smile) That'd be so cool! (or something lame along those lines)
We continued to smile at each other. Then, he turned around to do his work and I was still smiling when he turned around again to beam at me. Glasses discussion and me throwing in Bob Dylan must have impressed him. He may have been let down if he saw my lack of Malcolm X knowledge, but that didn't deter him. We continued to chit chat about the final and I made jokes about how there was "so much going on" and how "all the words" on the review sheet "discouraged me." This self-deprecating humor was his kinda humor, and he countered with similar modesty about his musical knowledge. Because we both know we'll do fine on the test. Doesn't hurt to giggle, though.
While I was talking to Angela on the phone, he turned around and did that thing where he smiles again. He was about to say something when he saw that I was on the phone and made an "Oh!" face and turned back around. Damn!
The sad thing is that I waited so long to make my extremely subtle move. We could have been great, but now we only have one more class together. It's a bittersweet time for Lil, but it'll make a great story to showcase my hilarious awkwardness in the future. And to that, huzzah!
A mesh of these should give an idea of the Dylan/X sunglasses
FIRST CONTACT
Jason: Question. Do you know the definition for "anacrusis"? I remember learning it, but for some reason, I didn't write it down.
Me: Oh, sure, yeah, I have it. It's riiiight (flips through notes)... here (hands J notes).
Jason: Thanks (gives grateful AND suggestive smile)!
Later, I walked by him and noticed his Bob Dylan glasses. Now, let me give a little background on the Bob Dylan glasses. Once, on the way to eat dinner with my friend Lana, I saw him and squealed, "There's Jason From Music Class!" and she said he looked like Bob Dylan. Which he kinda did. Which makes him even more appealing.
SECOND CONTACT
Me: I like your sunglasses.
Jason: Oh, thanks!
Me: They kinda remind me of Bob Dylan but not really (<- charm has officially left me).
Jason: Yeah, kinda, but I was thinking more Malcolm X, you know?
Me: Oh, yeaaah, huh (I didn't know).
Jason: I want to get regular glasses that are like these.
Me: (large smile) That'd be so cool! (or something lame along those lines)
We continued to smile at each other. Then, he turned around to do his work and I was still smiling when he turned around again to beam at me. Glasses discussion and me throwing in Bob Dylan must have impressed him. He may have been let down if he saw my lack of Malcolm X knowledge, but that didn't deter him. We continued to chit chat about the final and I made jokes about how there was "so much going on" and how "all the words" on the review sheet "discouraged me." This self-deprecating humor was his kinda humor, and he countered with similar modesty about his musical knowledge. Because we both know we'll do fine on the test. Doesn't hurt to giggle, though.
While I was talking to Angela on the phone, he turned around and did that thing where he smiles again. He was about to say something when he saw that I was on the phone and made an "Oh!" face and turned back around. Damn!
The sad thing is that I waited so long to make my extremely subtle move. We could have been great, but now we only have one more class together. It's a bittersweet time for Lil, but it'll make a great story to showcase my hilarious awkwardness in the future. And to that, huzzah!
A mesh of these should give an idea of the Dylan/X sunglasses
Monday, May 5, 2008
"Did I tell you my theory?"
While conversatin' with my girl Mariela, we got around to the age old theory that Tupac is still alive. She asked me whether I thought he was alive or not, and I answered with a firm, "Yes." She told me about a theory of hers. Basically, if she got shot, she wouldn't die because of her intense will to live, which is one of the things she assumes saved 'pac. Her and 'pac being of the same calibur, this theory was understandable and after sincere consideration, I bobbed my head in a nod on the other line.
This led us to wonder where "they" were hiding him, which led us to compliment them on their hiding skills of such a large person. But, wait-- is he really that enormous?
Me: In the face he seems large, but gets very tiny at the waist. I think it's because he always looks so cheerful and bushy browed in the face (think "I Get Around" video) that makes me think he'd be a large man.
Mariela: I think he's about 5'6.
Me: 5'6? No way! I'm thinking around 5'10. I'm hoping for around 5'10.
Mariela: Really? He looks very small. He's probably hiding in Mexico like Stalin.
Me: Lenin?
Mariela: Yes... Lenin.
After googling, he was indeed a small man, but hey, those brows are worth something. Respek.
This led us to wonder where "they" were hiding him, which led us to compliment them on their hiding skills of such a large person. But, wait-- is he really that enormous?
Me: In the face he seems large, but gets very tiny at the waist. I think it's because he always looks so cheerful and bushy browed in the face (think "I Get Around" video) that makes me think he'd be a large man.
Mariela: I think he's about 5'6.
Me: 5'6? No way! I'm thinking around 5'10. I'm hoping for around 5'10.
Mariela: Really? He looks very small. He's probably hiding in Mexico like Stalin.
Me: Lenin?
Mariela: Yes... Lenin.
After googling, he was indeed a small man, but hey, those brows are worth something. Respek.
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