I realized how much the real world sucks today. Or not so much the real world, but the world minus you and minus by bedroom. The world where we aren't laying in bed and tickling each other and cuddling. And going into the real world after that is ridiculously sad. Because I miss you.
Love,
Lizzie
Monday, August 8, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Trouble, but not the Ray Lamontagne type
you're not home yet. At least, I don't know if your home yet or if your in the air or if your in chicago at all or what the fuck is happening in the world.
I don't know your flight number or any of that crap so I can't even bask in the sanity of knowing which continent you might be on as of now.
For all I know your heinous bitch crazy ass mother could have kidnapped you, or thrown you in some Irish castle dungeon, never to return again.
Or what if you met a terribly gorgeous girl on the eight hour flight and decided that I just wasn't good enough?
What if the plane crashed?
Aliens could have hijacked the plane, hitting you over the head and making you lose all memory of me and of today and the two weeks in Ireland. That was definitely it.
But you're probably just going through customs or on the taxi ride home or something. Something rational and real and definite. I'm praying that.
Because in the past two hours I've gone from Lizzie pretending shit isn't happening and trying to go to sleep, to Lizzie freaking out and feverishly playing Mozart sonatas, to Lizzie giving up hope and looking at Postsecret seven times, just to make sure I didn't miss a postcard.
I feel like I'm in a garbage compacter and that I'm being compacted and scrunched into a little ball. It's a really, really good thing I don't have an anxiety disorder right now, because I'd probably be throwing conniptions.
I can only hope that you're okay.
saved at 5:12
love,
Lizzie
I don't know your flight number or any of that crap so I can't even bask in the sanity of knowing which continent you might be on as of now.
For all I know your heinous bitch crazy ass mother could have kidnapped you, or thrown you in some Irish castle dungeon, never to return again.
Or what if you met a terribly gorgeous girl on the eight hour flight and decided that I just wasn't good enough?
What if the plane crashed?
Aliens could have hijacked the plane, hitting you over the head and making you lose all memory of me and of today and the two weeks in Ireland. That was definitely it.
But you're probably just going through customs or on the taxi ride home or something. Something rational and real and definite. I'm praying that.
Because in the past two hours I've gone from Lizzie pretending shit isn't happening and trying to go to sleep, to Lizzie freaking out and feverishly playing Mozart sonatas, to Lizzie giving up hope and looking at Postsecret seven times, just to make sure I didn't miss a postcard.
I feel like I'm in a garbage compacter and that I'm being compacted and scrunched into a little ball. It's a really, really good thing I don't have an anxiety disorder right now, because I'd probably be throwing conniptions.
I can only hope that you're okay.
saved at 5:12
love,
Lizzie
Saturday, July 2, 2011
non-blogging
I didn't blog yesterday, it was one of those days that I wasn't at home at all. I had to vacuum when I woke up at 7, then I had work, then I had band, then I had the party. The party was super fun! Although it's a little weird to be mostly naked in water around guys that you've had things with without your boyfriend there. I almost felt unfaithful without doing anything.
I miss you, a lot. And I everytime I think that I remember how close we are to seeing eachother. Only a little more than two days, and I'll be seeing you! But every hour is so long. I hope your dinner is good, and I'm not in a super deep mood right now lol.
P.S.
I GOT MY PERIOD
I miss you, a lot. And I everytime I think that I remember how close we are to seeing eachother. Only a little more than two days, and I'll be seeing you! But every hour is so long. I hope your dinner is good, and I'm not in a super deep mood right now lol.
P.S.
I GOT MY PERIOD
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
forever and ever
Today's one of those endless days. It's one of those days that I just want to be over and to get through, because it's just a pointless day standing in the way of me seeing you. So I'm making a collage to try to pass the time, it's not really working. I mean the collage is, but not much else. I just want to see you.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
BANDz
I had my first band practice today, and am officially the sexiest cymbal player central has ever seen. Or any marching band has ever seen. I have mastered strutting while marching. And I have the best freshman cymbol counterpart, she's like a mini, less experienced me who plays oboe (so I guess she has a little Alex in her too). I'm setting her up with Dennis and showing her the ways of the world.
I had a really scary thought today, like five minutes ago. It was 'what if Conor decides to go to college in Ireland'. Freakin. Fuckin. Scary. Like Freddy Kreuger and Tim Curry. All together. In a Nightmare on the Rocky Horror Picture Show Street. I'm scared that I'm getting too separated with this whole separation thing. Like it's vaguely in the back of my mind that you're coming back, but I think that I've gone into survival mode and that my subconscious is forcing me to try to forget you for sanity's sake.
Because of this survival mode thing, I don't think about you as much during the day, but I wake up every day at 3 a.m., on the dot, expecting a text from you. Or a call. Or you to be there or a hey Lizzie I'm done with Ireland and I'm coming home and I'm going to live in your house and ignore my mom forever and ever and ever and ever. And then we can stop being away from each other, forever and ever and ever and ever. And it'll be like Tangled, except you won't have to suffer and stab wounds and I won't get (another) bad haircut.
This whole separation thing has also made me realize the suckiness of modern technology and the giant mind fuck that it is. Computers, cellphones, iPods, all of it - they all give us a false sense of security. Of being close to people we're away from so we don't realize we're so alone. They give us an instant way to contact them, but we can't look them straight in the eye and say the things we need to say to them. We can't have physical contact, we can't touch them or even read their body language. We can't feel the heat of their breath on our necks or the stings of their slaps. We can only feel what we think they're trying to get across, or what we want them to be trying to get across at least. Not only this, but they also further the separation by giving you a morsel of what you could have, but never allowing you to have the entire meal. It's like when people are dehydrated and they get a tiny drop of water. Temporarily it's satisfying, but then it makes it even worse. And because it makes it worse those people start to stop caring about that drop of water and realize the false hope hidden behind it. And every time they get a drop of water, even though they need it to survive, they start to loathe it. They loathe it and finally realize that maybe nothing would be better. Nothing versus this slight drop keeping them alive with their pain pounding at their heads every waking and sleeping moment. Nothing so that they could finally mourn, they could be justified in their mourning of their own deaths and in their pain. Nothing so that instead of pretending that they have become numb and trying to become numb for the hope they can release all of it and know that the end is near. This is the brink that modern technology brings us to.
At least when letters are written there is thought and time put into them. They note the gravity and heaviness of being away from someone you love and are equally as painful in their delay. But a text message? It's instant and it devalues the pain with a simple 'what's up?'. It's an instant lobotomy, like so much in this world that we live in. From everything to antidepressants, to text messages, to vending machines, this instant gratification and freedom from pain that we have in America weakens us and creates a population focused on not feeling. And when people actually have to bear real pain, when someone is dying at the scene of a car accident, when their limbs are mangled and they know that death is near, then they feel. And it's the feeling of feeling that they're not used to. It's not relievable and it's not going to end in this lifetime. Then maybe the beauty of despair can finally reach them, and in this final release they will realize what it is to be human. I'd like to pretend that we are immortal, but we're not. Anything could crack and paralyze my fragile spinal cord, pinch my fragile nerves, puncture my fragile skin. We're fragile beings.
The fact that someone can even be transported through the air to another continent, in my mind, is a feat of nature, not of modern technology. Despite our frailties, our faults, our achilles heels, whatever you want to call them, something is allowing us to keep going. With all of the other animals out there, with the beasts and the microbacterium and the disasters of the earth, we should not, as a species, still be in existence. We should have been extinct millions of years ago. In fact, according to Darwinian theory, we shouldn't have even fully developed in the first place. But what kept us alive? Most scholars, most studied people, the American population, most likely even the President of Harvard University would tell you that it's our brains. Our intellect has allowed us to survive all of this, to thrive, to become the 'kings' of the jungle, if you want to talk in terms of pecking order and monarchy. These brains, protected by a fragile cage, have kept this weak and frail species alive. The tools of technology have allowed us to kill, maim, and train beasts. Our feats in the medical fields have taught us how to target and destroy the microbacterium that want to target and destroy us. And through meteorology and modern engineering we have not only been able to predict when natural disasters will occur, we have also been able to protect ourselves from them through well-planned structures of shelter and deflection.
But this survival? It hasn't been caused by our brilliant minds. It's been merely allowed, allowed and planned by some higher power. Some kind of God or force of the Universe. We wouldn't even have those brains without it. There has to be something. Some kind of something. And in my opinion, we're probably pissing that something off. I mean, here we are, all trying to be inhuman. All trying to be gods. Controlling every part of the world, even the airwaves. All running away from our feelings and pretending that things aren't happening. All lobotomizing ourselves and each other.
People will say that I bitch too much. People will say that I need to appreciate the good things in life, to stop trying to find things wrong with everything. To stop criticizing us, to stop trying to feel unnecessary pain. But their just trying to run away. And they want me to run away too. They want you to run away. We're all supposed to run away from our feelings according to them. To run away from our intuition and things that are wrong. But the most important thing we can do is not run away from those things. To accept them. To feel the pain, to confront it, to get up in it's face and do what you want with it. To try to stop it, to fight it, but never, never run away from it. Don't run away from things Conor, I love you too much to let you lose a fight.
Love,
Lizzie
I had a really scary thought today, like five minutes ago. It was 'what if Conor decides to go to college in Ireland'. Freakin. Fuckin. Scary. Like Freddy Kreuger and Tim Curry. All together. In a Nightmare on the Rocky Horror Picture Show Street. I'm scared that I'm getting too separated with this whole separation thing. Like it's vaguely in the back of my mind that you're coming back, but I think that I've gone into survival mode and that my subconscious is forcing me to try to forget you for sanity's sake.
Because of this survival mode thing, I don't think about you as much during the day, but I wake up every day at 3 a.m., on the dot, expecting a text from you. Or a call. Or you to be there or a hey Lizzie I'm done with Ireland and I'm coming home and I'm going to live in your house and ignore my mom forever and ever and ever and ever. And then we can stop being away from each other, forever and ever and ever and ever. And it'll be like Tangled, except you won't have to suffer and stab wounds and I won't get (another) bad haircut.
This whole separation thing has also made me realize the suckiness of modern technology and the giant mind fuck that it is. Computers, cellphones, iPods, all of it - they all give us a false sense of security. Of being close to people we're away from so we don't realize we're so alone. They give us an instant way to contact them, but we can't look them straight in the eye and say the things we need to say to them. We can't have physical contact, we can't touch them or even read their body language. We can't feel the heat of their breath on our necks or the stings of their slaps. We can only feel what we think they're trying to get across, or what we want them to be trying to get across at least. Not only this, but they also further the separation by giving you a morsel of what you could have, but never allowing you to have the entire meal. It's like when people are dehydrated and they get a tiny drop of water. Temporarily it's satisfying, but then it makes it even worse. And because it makes it worse those people start to stop caring about that drop of water and realize the false hope hidden behind it. And every time they get a drop of water, even though they need it to survive, they start to loathe it. They loathe it and finally realize that maybe nothing would be better. Nothing versus this slight drop keeping them alive with their pain pounding at their heads every waking and sleeping moment. Nothing so that they could finally mourn, they could be justified in their mourning of their own deaths and in their pain. Nothing so that instead of pretending that they have become numb and trying to become numb for the hope they can release all of it and know that the end is near. This is the brink that modern technology brings us to.
At least when letters are written there is thought and time put into them. They note the gravity and heaviness of being away from someone you love and are equally as painful in their delay. But a text message? It's instant and it devalues the pain with a simple 'what's up?'. It's an instant lobotomy, like so much in this world that we live in. From everything to antidepressants, to text messages, to vending machines, this instant gratification and freedom from pain that we have in America weakens us and creates a population focused on not feeling. And when people actually have to bear real pain, when someone is dying at the scene of a car accident, when their limbs are mangled and they know that death is near, then they feel. And it's the feeling of feeling that they're not used to. It's not relievable and it's not going to end in this lifetime. Then maybe the beauty of despair can finally reach them, and in this final release they will realize what it is to be human. I'd like to pretend that we are immortal, but we're not. Anything could crack and paralyze my fragile spinal cord, pinch my fragile nerves, puncture my fragile skin. We're fragile beings.
The fact that someone can even be transported through the air to another continent, in my mind, is a feat of nature, not of modern technology. Despite our frailties, our faults, our achilles heels, whatever you want to call them, something is allowing us to keep going. With all of the other animals out there, with the beasts and the microbacterium and the disasters of the earth, we should not, as a species, still be in existence. We should have been extinct millions of years ago. In fact, according to Darwinian theory, we shouldn't have even fully developed in the first place. But what kept us alive? Most scholars, most studied people, the American population, most likely even the President of Harvard University would tell you that it's our brains. Our intellect has allowed us to survive all of this, to thrive, to become the 'kings' of the jungle, if you want to talk in terms of pecking order and monarchy. These brains, protected by a fragile cage, have kept this weak and frail species alive. The tools of technology have allowed us to kill, maim, and train beasts. Our feats in the medical fields have taught us how to target and destroy the microbacterium that want to target and destroy us. And through meteorology and modern engineering we have not only been able to predict when natural disasters will occur, we have also been able to protect ourselves from them through well-planned structures of shelter and deflection.
But this survival? It hasn't been caused by our brilliant minds. It's been merely allowed, allowed and planned by some higher power. Some kind of God or force of the Universe. We wouldn't even have those brains without it. There has to be something. Some kind of something. And in my opinion, we're probably pissing that something off. I mean, here we are, all trying to be inhuman. All trying to be gods. Controlling every part of the world, even the airwaves. All running away from our feelings and pretending that things aren't happening. All lobotomizing ourselves and each other.
People will say that I bitch too much. People will say that I need to appreciate the good things in life, to stop trying to find things wrong with everything. To stop criticizing us, to stop trying to feel unnecessary pain. But their just trying to run away. And they want me to run away too. They want you to run away. We're all supposed to run away from our feelings according to them. To run away from our intuition and things that are wrong. But the most important thing we can do is not run away from those things. To accept them. To feel the pain, to confront it, to get up in it's face and do what you want with it. To try to stop it, to fight it, but never, never run away from it. Don't run away from things Conor, I love you too much to let you lose a fight.
Love,
Lizzie
Monday, June 27, 2011
Neglect and Survival.
I've neglected this blog for two days, partially because I've been to lazy to screw with the modem to get internet on my computer, and partially because I had a definite way of communicating with you when I knew you had wifi. But now I am thrown into the throes of uncertainty (insert duhduhduhhh sound effect here).
The past week has been a week of surviving. I survived a week without you, Sam, or Alex. This week I survived a tornado, and a lesson with Mrs. Huang. I survived eating way too many Doritos, and I survived being a third wheel. I'd like to think of these things as accomplishments, but they're really just life. People survive shit much worse everyday, but considering my comfortable average middle class life, a tornado and you being gone in one week is relatively shitty. But I'm not going to congratulate myself just yet, because you're still not home. I mean, if life was fair, you would be coming home today.
The past week has been a week of surviving. I survived a week without you, Sam, or Alex. This week I survived a tornado, and a lesson with Mrs. Huang. I survived eating way too many Doritos, and I survived being a third wheel. I'd like to think of these things as accomplishments, but they're really just life. People survive shit much worse everyday, but considering my comfortable average middle class life, a tornado and you being gone in one week is relatively shitty. But I'm not going to congratulate myself just yet, because you're still not home. I mean, if life was fair, you would be coming home today.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Boy Talk Girl Talk Why Don't We All Talk
So today I got to see the inside's of Becky's and Karl's relationship. It's not as perfect as I thought it was, which makes me feel a lot better about things. I mean, Becky told me all this shit about her and Karl and I'm like, wow, I'm really lucky with Conor. I mean, sure we've had some incidents with other girls and crap but it's really not that bad. Most of it's me freaking out about ze momesitas.
I miss you! But I'm listening to RENT and it always helps. I found a website that I can easily download tons of RENT sheet music from. It's wonderful. It's not even transposed into some weird key (which so many do to avoid copyright laws, or they have original lame arrangements). Like this is legit from the published RENT book from the publisher.
Whenever I listen to 'I'll cover you' and 'love heals' I think about you. But in a good way. Like a happy warm feeling way. Easy A is like the best movie ever. That and Semi Precious Weapons, and Gregory Gorgeous (which I watched with my dad tonight a bit) inspired me to paint my nails bright red. It makes me feel badass. I'm going to be badass. Let's be badass. Like let's elope in Vegas or something.
So tomorrow, we get into the single digits of days until I see you again! I've almost survived a Conor - less week. I'm actually okay with that. I feel like I'm in this constant struggle of being either totally in love or totally alone and just being trampy. It's fun to be trampy, but I prefer love. There's a lot of pain in both though. Any affair of the heart is bound to be painful sometime. But I think this one's worth it.
I miss you! But I'm listening to RENT and it always helps. I found a website that I can easily download tons of RENT sheet music from. It's wonderful. It's not even transposed into some weird key (which so many do to avoid copyright laws, or they have original lame arrangements). Like this is legit from the published RENT book from the publisher.
Whenever I listen to 'I'll cover you' and 'love heals' I think about you. But in a good way. Like a happy warm feeling way. Easy A is like the best movie ever. That and Semi Precious Weapons, and Gregory Gorgeous (which I watched with my dad tonight a bit) inspired me to paint my nails bright red. It makes me feel badass. I'm going to be badass. Let's be badass. Like let's elope in Vegas or something.
So tomorrow, we get into the single digits of days until I see you again! I've almost survived a Conor - less week. I'm actually okay with that. I feel like I'm in this constant struggle of being either totally in love or totally alone and just being trampy. It's fun to be trampy, but I prefer love. There's a lot of pain in both though. Any affair of the heart is bound to be painful sometime. But I think this one's worth it.
Wow that was a depressing post
I'm at work. As usual, I work until 6p.m. today, cause it's Friday. The post I posted last night was so sad. Like I just read through it, and I had one of those moments where I feel that I bore my soul in an extremely uneloquent and raw way. Except is wasn't raw cause I sounded like a five-year old. That's what happens when I'm tired I guess.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I'm tired
Yesterday was basically me plopping my ass down and watching three movies after eating Chinese food.
Today I had work, then piano (my last lesson until August 4th) and survived. Blahhh I'm tired. I went to target with Krista, Becky, and Katie (who I actually get along with now) and I bought a dress, which is cute. Yawn.
I miss you! A lot right now, actually. I talked about you with Becky today cause she was talking about Karl - who left for California today, and it made me feel like you were a little closer. But I still missed you. A lot. We talked about prom, and how we hoped that we were all still together so we could go together. We're going to pick out our dresses together, even if we decide not to go.
I miss you more right before I'm about to go to sleep, because I wish you could be here holding me. Last night, when I woke up around 3am I couldn't go back to sleep so I held onto the hairband. It reminded me of your hand, and your lifeline. When you get back I'm spending a whole day just tracing every part of you with my fingertips. I never want to miss a single part of you. Even your lifelines.
I'm hoping the weekend goes fast, because it won't be the same without you. And then I hope the next week goes even faster. Even though spending time with my friends is fun, it feels pointless. I like talking to them and laughing and all that, but it's all just what I should be. It's not what I am. When I'm with you or Sam or Alex, especially when I'm with you, I'm me. I don't have to hide or pretend or change. I miss that.
Alex gets back Saturday, so maybe that will make things better. But it could make things worse, seeing her and Laith together, when all I want to do is be with you. Promise me you'll come home, still the Conor you were before you left. The Conor that believes everything I say and the Conor that isn't afraid to hold me when I'm sad. I miss you, I love you.
Love,
Lizzie
Work work work blahh
I failed to write a blog entry yesterday because our internet was (and still is - so the work comptuer is my savior) down from that tornadic storm thing, that I survived. No biggie. That mothafucka had nothing on me anyway. But because of that little inconvenience I'm going to write two blog posts today.
First I'm going to talk about the day of the storm, which was pretty chill. I came home from work, cried a little (or a lot), then got my sorry ass up and went to run errands with my mom. I drove. I'm used to driving with my dad, who really doesn't say anything unless I'm by police cars. But driving with mi momesita is a different story. According to my dad, I'm a great driver. According to my mom, I shouldn't be let on the road. I coast through stop signs, only check once before crossing intersections or turning, speed at every given moment, and make turns worthy of the Indy 500. So after those lovely errands were finished, I put on some presentable clothes (clothes that didn't have paint or little kid puke) on, and met Krista, Robby (bleh), Becky, Sean (not your brother), and Katie (double bleh) for Starbucks. Right when I got there we ran into some seniors, more like 10 seniors, that included Brandon and Rohit.
This brings me to the Rohit question. To go or not to go to Rohit's graduation party Saturday? I'm not really friends with his friends and I don't really want to be the only underclassmen there. Alex (ADD) was invited, but I don't know if I'll be home on time. And he said that he wanted to invite you, but he wasn't friends with you on facebook, so I should bring you. But you're kind've MIA in leprechaun - a - gogo land as of now. Maybe it would be a good thing for me to stop by for a few minutes and thrust myself into a social circle far outside my own? Or maybe I would just re-live my first sixth grade dance of sitting alone, all prettied up, right next to the snack table of doritos. Or maybe it was a healthier alternative (like SunChips!), but right now I'm eating doritos so let's just go with that. But the question is, go to the party and risk damage irreversable in no other way than whoring around for the next two years of my life? Or stay home and watch reruns of Sabrina. I think I'll take the partayyy. But I'm not sure. I have no wing-people to go with. I'm a pimp without his posse, and OG without his unoriginal gangsters, a Siberian drug lord with no huskies to pull his dog sled full of cocaine. A cow without her milk, Elsie.
On the subject of doritos, I find it amazing that you can buy 420 calories and 34% of your daily fat for $1.29 (that's US dollahs, Irish boy). You'd think that people would charge food based on it's calorie content. We'd have a much, much skinnier America. But I'll be fat and happy and eat my Doritos and Slurpee at 9:30 in the morning. A quality breakfast for less than 3 dollah! That's cheaper than a footlong! I'll have to work this off the good old fashion way, through excersize. Much less fun and less fufilling then the sexercise I get with you.
Anyway, back to Starbucks. We got kicked out because we had an excessively large group of teenagers and over - grown seniors. Mainly over-grown seniors. So we ditched the seniors and went to Dips and Dogs to annoy the severly incompetent jocks that happen to work at the counter and as the 'chefs'. There should be a law in the US that states that a girl should be able to order fries without four guys staring at her boobs. Seriously, have they never seen a girl in a tank top before? My eyes are up here dickwad. (not you, the Dips and Dogs jerk-offs). But for our entertainment me and Katie went and got ice-cream cones just to see their reactions when we ate them. It was worth the two dollars for the cone.
Then Becky left, and Teri showed up. And Sean left too. So we were bored of tormenting the mindless at D and D's. They should just call it Dicks and Drones. But I guess that wouldn't promote family values and a facade of a caring community, would it?
So we walked the miles to Teri's and I got demoted to foot pedaler on Rock Band because Robby was better at drumming than I was. And we watched Spy Kids. Trippiest movie ever. I hadn't seen it in ages but the thumb people are still as fucking scary as when I was eight. Jesus. The whole movie's equivalent to a bad trip, not that I've ever tripped before (seriously).
Then my mom realized that bad weather was coming and picked me up. Because her being next to me during a tornado is really going to effect my chances of survival. Once again, this is not Harry Potter mom - because the whole fucking world's Voldemort. So I curled up in the basement with Lucky on a blanket and heard the whole thing go through. I even had a whistle with me in case I got stuck under a huge ass piece of our house. Smart thinking on my mom's part, actually. They say they're not sure if it was a tornado in Clarendon Hills but I definitely heard something that sounded like a tornado. It was like God was stomping on our house and down our street with steel cowboy boots, walking his pet train.
The house looks completely different without the huge tree. Our yard looks a hell of a lot bigger, but at the same time I feel like something's missing. I figure Jack just wanted the tree up in heaven with him to lay under. I think there's a tree heaven.
Today while I was in the car driving to work, I realized that life is funny in the way that you can love someone, but it will try to keep two people apart. I mean, all people want is to be next to eachother forever, and life makes up situations and sends one of them away. Or they have to go to work. And they have to eat and survive, because the sad thing is, we can't subsist on love alone. Yet isn't the purpose of life to love? We constantly have to fight for what we love. We have to do all these ugly things and yell and hate and fight and kill and die, all for this great thing. Maybe love isn't as pure as we like to say it is. Maybe love is so powerful not just because it's the ultimate good, but because it's the ultimate evil too. I think the noblest and most important thing to do is to fight for nothing but love. To keep it close and not let other people, or things, or anything tear it apart. Although this isn't necessarily directed at you or any particular situation, just think about it. I'll write later if my internet's up, about yesterday and today.
Love,
Lizzie
First I'm going to talk about the day of the storm, which was pretty chill. I came home from work, cried a little (or a lot), then got my sorry ass up and went to run errands with my mom. I drove. I'm used to driving with my dad, who really doesn't say anything unless I'm by police cars. But driving with mi momesita is a different story. According to my dad, I'm a great driver. According to my mom, I shouldn't be let on the road. I coast through stop signs, only check once before crossing intersections or turning, speed at every given moment, and make turns worthy of the Indy 500. So after those lovely errands were finished, I put on some presentable clothes (clothes that didn't have paint or little kid puke) on, and met Krista, Robby (bleh), Becky, Sean (not your brother), and Katie (double bleh) for Starbucks. Right when I got there we ran into some seniors, more like 10 seniors, that included Brandon and Rohit.
This brings me to the Rohit question. To go or not to go to Rohit's graduation party Saturday? I'm not really friends with his friends and I don't really want to be the only underclassmen there. Alex (ADD) was invited, but I don't know if I'll be home on time. And he said that he wanted to invite you, but he wasn't friends with you on facebook, so I should bring you. But you're kind've MIA in leprechaun - a - gogo land as of now. Maybe it would be a good thing for me to stop by for a few minutes and thrust myself into a social circle far outside my own? Or maybe I would just re-live my first sixth grade dance of sitting alone, all prettied up, right next to the snack table of doritos. Or maybe it was a healthier alternative (like SunChips!), but right now I'm eating doritos so let's just go with that. But the question is, go to the party and risk damage irreversable in no other way than whoring around for the next two years of my life? Or stay home and watch reruns of Sabrina. I think I'll take the partayyy. But I'm not sure. I have no wing-people to go with. I'm a pimp without his posse, and OG without his unoriginal gangsters, a Siberian drug lord with no huskies to pull his dog sled full of cocaine. A cow without her milk, Elsie.
On the subject of doritos, I find it amazing that you can buy 420 calories and 34% of your daily fat for $1.29 (that's US dollahs, Irish boy). You'd think that people would charge food based on it's calorie content. We'd have a much, much skinnier America. But I'll be fat and happy and eat my Doritos and Slurpee at 9:30 in the morning. A quality breakfast for less than 3 dollah! That's cheaper than a footlong! I'll have to work this off the good old fashion way, through excersize. Much less fun and less fufilling then the sexercise I get with you.
Anyway, back to Starbucks. We got kicked out because we had an excessively large group of teenagers and over - grown seniors. Mainly over-grown seniors. So we ditched the seniors and went to Dips and Dogs to annoy the severly incompetent jocks that happen to work at the counter and as the 'chefs'. There should be a law in the US that states that a girl should be able to order fries without four guys staring at her boobs. Seriously, have they never seen a girl in a tank top before? My eyes are up here dickwad. (not you, the Dips and Dogs jerk-offs). But for our entertainment me and Katie went and got ice-cream cones just to see their reactions when we ate them. It was worth the two dollars for the cone.
Then Becky left, and Teri showed up. And Sean left too. So we were bored of tormenting the mindless at D and D's. They should just call it Dicks and Drones. But I guess that wouldn't promote family values and a facade of a caring community, would it?
So we walked the miles to Teri's and I got demoted to foot pedaler on Rock Band because Robby was better at drumming than I was. And we watched Spy Kids. Trippiest movie ever. I hadn't seen it in ages but the thumb people are still as fucking scary as when I was eight. Jesus. The whole movie's equivalent to a bad trip, not that I've ever tripped before (seriously).
Then my mom realized that bad weather was coming and picked me up. Because her being next to me during a tornado is really going to effect my chances of survival. Once again, this is not Harry Potter mom - because the whole fucking world's Voldemort. So I curled up in the basement with Lucky on a blanket and heard the whole thing go through. I even had a whistle with me in case I got stuck under a huge ass piece of our house. Smart thinking on my mom's part, actually. They say they're not sure if it was a tornado in Clarendon Hills but I definitely heard something that sounded like a tornado. It was like God was stomping on our house and down our street with steel cowboy boots, walking his pet train.
The house looks completely different without the huge tree. Our yard looks a hell of a lot bigger, but at the same time I feel like something's missing. I figure Jack just wanted the tree up in heaven with him to lay under. I think there's a tree heaven.
Today while I was in the car driving to work, I realized that life is funny in the way that you can love someone, but it will try to keep two people apart. I mean, all people want is to be next to eachother forever, and life makes up situations and sends one of them away. Or they have to go to work. And they have to eat and survive, because the sad thing is, we can't subsist on love alone. Yet isn't the purpose of life to love? We constantly have to fight for what we love. We have to do all these ugly things and yell and hate and fight and kill and die, all for this great thing. Maybe love isn't as pure as we like to say it is. Maybe love is so powerful not just because it's the ultimate good, but because it's the ultimate evil too. I think the noblest and most important thing to do is to fight for nothing but love. To keep it close and not let other people, or things, or anything tear it apart. Although this isn't necessarily directed at you or any particular situation, just think about it. I'll write later if my internet's up, about yesterday and today.
Love,
Lizzie
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
24 Hours
I'm at work, at the storage place. I'm not getting rained on, or renting people U-Hauls. It's pretty uneventful this morning, but I woke up early and got your text about getting back. My mom thought it was 8:12 and woke me up, but it was 6:12. It's been 24, almost 25 hours since I saw you last. It's been a tough 24 hours.
Campbell was a sweetheart yesterday, and we didn't end up going to the mall cause mom was too tired from Ranger to take us. So we made brownies and had a bitch fest about the world. Apparentely Sam talked about me every morning in early bird gym. And honestly, I was surprised, because he always tells me he never ever talks about me. But apparentely I made up his morning chatter. Then we went to Katherine Legge with Ranger and Lucky, and Mom. Got to run them all, I guess. Katherine Legge dog park is so gorgeous, I felt like there should be fairies dancing around the creek or something. It made me miss you a bit. I've decided if I ever get married I kind've want to get married there. By the willows.
Jack Johnson is basically keeping me sane, cause John Mayer makes me cry too much. I might hang out with Becky today, but we're supposed to get really bad weather around 2 (normal Chicagoan time), and so it depends on whether or not it's pouring rain or tornadoing.
When you get a chance I want to hear about Ireland, because I miss you. Do you get internet access at the house you're staying at? Is it fun? Do they speak gaelic? How's your mom? (her behavior, not her well - being). I just miss you. I'm kind've reconsidering the Connecticutt trip too, I don't want to be away from you that long. I love you, and keep the acorn close.
Love,
Lizzie
p.s. check your email (the halfofforever2 one). I sent you some stuff - I've been thinking about Sunday night, a lot.
Campbell was a sweetheart yesterday, and we didn't end up going to the mall cause mom was too tired from Ranger to take us. So we made brownies and had a bitch fest about the world. Apparentely Sam talked about me every morning in early bird gym. And honestly, I was surprised, because he always tells me he never ever talks about me. But apparentely I made up his morning chatter. Then we went to Katherine Legge with Ranger and Lucky, and Mom. Got to run them all, I guess. Katherine Legge dog park is so gorgeous, I felt like there should be fairies dancing around the creek or something. It made me miss you a bit. I've decided if I ever get married I kind've want to get married there. By the willows.
Jack Johnson is basically keeping me sane, cause John Mayer makes me cry too much. I might hang out with Becky today, but we're supposed to get really bad weather around 2 (normal Chicagoan time), and so it depends on whether or not it's pouring rain or tornadoing.
When you get a chance I want to hear about Ireland, because I miss you. Do you get internet access at the house you're staying at? Is it fun? Do they speak gaelic? How's your mom? (her behavior, not her well - being). I just miss you. I'm kind've reconsidering the Connecticutt trip too, I don't want to be away from you that long. I love you, and keep the acorn close.
Love,
Lizzie
p.s. check your email (the halfofforever2 one). I sent you some stuff - I've been thinking about Sunday night, a lot.
Monday, June 20, 2011
goodbye...no, really, bye
So you said goodbye. Or maybe I said goodbye. I can't remember the order - it's not the point of this. The point is that the moment I hung up all I could do is cry like a toddler who had been told that Santa Claus didn't exist, and the Tooth Fairy was really just their mom. My crying was just as irrational and hiccuped, ridiculous and loud. But I had a reason to cry, I missed you the moment the phone went away from my ear. I swear a little piece of my heart has gone with you, and I won't get it back until you come home. I love you.
- Lizzie
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Why I hate goodbyes
So you leave tomorrow for the land of clovers and green and jigs (Tangled, what?) and potatoes. Especially potatoes. Throughout all this making fun of leprechaun - a - go - go - land, I never asked you what your favorite type of potato was. Do you prefer mashed? sweet? baked? double baked? half baked (that's not a potato...but I figured I had to get all the 'baked's in)? scalloped? fried? french fried? Portugese fried (laith would approve)? chips? kettle chips? salty chips? vinegar chips?
And then after you choose your favorite type of potato you have to choose your topping, of course. Extra salt? Gravy - brown, turkey, lamb, au jus? Ketchup? Chocolate Frosty? This is imperative knowledge. Because once you start saying goodbye to someone, even if they're gone for just a little while, it's like you have to know everything. You have to know where and when and why and how and who and what and pick every detail until the last second and then all of a sudden you've realized how much you've wasted all of your precious time. Goodbyes don't just reflect poorly on me, but they also show the weaknesses in a relationship. The breaking points. The brittle parts.
But today, instead of being brittle and broken and crying and less than subtly interrogating you on every bit piece of information, I'll be quiet. I'll accept it instead of pretending I can prevent the slips in life through knowing all the information. I'll let life go on and live it, accepting that I can only grab hold of so much. Mistakes will happen, but that's okay.
- Lizzie
And then after you choose your favorite type of potato you have to choose your topping, of course. Extra salt? Gravy - brown, turkey, lamb, au jus? Ketchup? Chocolate Frosty? This is imperative knowledge. Because once you start saying goodbye to someone, even if they're gone for just a little while, it's like you have to know everything. You have to know where and when and why and how and who and what and pick every detail until the last second and then all of a sudden you've realized how much you've wasted all of your precious time. Goodbyes don't just reflect poorly on me, but they also show the weaknesses in a relationship. The breaking points. The brittle parts.
But today, instead of being brittle and broken and crying and less than subtly interrogating you on every bit piece of information, I'll be quiet. I'll accept it instead of pretending I can prevent the slips in life through knowing all the information. I'll let life go on and live it, accepting that I can only grab hold of so much. Mistakes will happen, but that's okay.
- Lizzie
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)