"I am the weirdest person you'll ever meet."
I just looked at her. She didn't know I was the real thing.
"My writing is...scary. (Chuckles.) Sometimes I question my own sanity."
I didn't question mine. I both knew I was and wasn't crazy at the same time. Many times I did crazy things--heinous things--but I was in control of myself when I did them.
She shoved a notebook into my chest. "Here," she said, looking down. I heard a few more words come out of her, too, which I'm not even sure she knew she was saying: "Take it, look at it. It probably isn't much, but, this represents who I am--take it or leave it."
We made eye contact and I looked down at what she had written. This is the trainwreck of words I then read:
He sees me
But I don't see him
I see him and imagine
Killing him
Biting his neck as the vampire
As he kisses me
A chandelier shatters
"Um, interesting. Do you...imagine doing this to some guy?"
"No, I was just, yaknow, sitting around, and the thought just sorta came to me." She was shaking her head around and opening her eyes wide whenever she thought she said something crazy. "The last line was, yaknow, just something that came afterwards. I liked the alliteration of those words. They sorta stuck out to me, yaknow."
"Hm, yeah, yeah," I said aimlessly. "I was um, wondering about that."
"You know, what's really scary is I've thought that I could be crazy enough to do something like this!" Her eyes were as big as golfballs.
"Hm, yeah," I said. "You seem pretty crazy." We were friends, so I could talk like that to her.
"Yeah, yaknow, that's me!" With a jump of the eyebrows she turned and walked off.
Wow, wow, wow. If she knew what I do, she'd stop entertaining the idea of being crazy. I guess it helped her confidence, behaving like she did. Accepting that you're crazy lowers expectations of your social abilities, so when you're rejected in some way, it won't hurt so bad. But what spontaneous crap that confidence had caused her to write! I don't blow a horn and announce my personality over a megaphone. I'm not always spontaneous, either. Always I have to choose to write, even when inspired. My muscles don't move on their own. This girl was not inspired--she was infected. People think spontaniety is the wellspring of genius. Not true. Well, of course, I've been trying to discover myself what is genius; what is great. However, I know we don't gain an avenue by writing a bunch of nonsense. Ideas are out there, and--in my personal, individual, singular opinion--writers should strive to write out these ideas as best they can. These "Spontaneous me" fanatics aren't on the right track. If there is no system or control of their expression, how will they then communicate?
I'm the real thing. I write from a conviction that there is something to be written about. It isn't just something inside you, waiting to be spoken by a moment of supposed inspiration. Sorry for not explaining the part about my heinous acts. I will not go into that--so again, sorry--for mentioning it.
(note: this isn't necessarily me talking, even though I've obviously infused some strong opinions, as the title of this post suggests. This narrative is fictional.)
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
'\o Things cha-aaaaaa-a-a-aaange... '\o
Ah! I love this song.
Interesting video, too. I can't tell if her expressions are funny or scary. I think they're something on the brink of both.
Interesting video, too. I can't tell if her expressions are funny or scary. I think they're something on the brink of both.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Start of a story...
When I was alive, I was a very enthusiastic sort of guy, both in mood and in mind. Especially in my mind, though. For, even when people are mellow or down in the dumps and their outward actions are somewhat droopy, their minds are usually working. These droopy times in body and physical expression are likely the periods in which our minds are most active. Imagine you’ve been insulted by someone you wanted to be your friend. If you’re me, outwardly you’re sort of a mess: you become pensive and keep your feelings mostly inside, but everyone can tell you’re troubled. You get depressed and it shows (unless you’re one of those people who put a smiley face mask in front of them whenever they go into public; I’ve never understood you.) However, though more or less bored-looking on the surface, inside you’re going through all the ways in your head how that other person could fall into some kind of misfortune that’s related to you and see the error of their ways. Your mind is going crazy about it. Is it like this for you? No? Well, I tried to relate. Anyway, this story isn’t about relating to you. In fact, it’s about a very unrelated experience. But before I tell about that, I must continue to explain the reason for which this story started in the first place.
Like I said, very enthusiastic; lively mind, all of that. At nights it was the worst. If society would let me, I would have become completely nocturnal. The darkness provoked my imagination and that’s the time I was most productive. If something was on my mind, I wouldn’t be able to fall to sleep. In fact, it was a chore for me to try and make myself become drowsy. This probably had to do with frequently sleeping in till 3pm. However, even when I was good and got up at 8am, and didn’t take a nap during the day, I’d usually have the darnedest time getting to sleep. Whenever a new thought found itself to my head, I would have to actively dismiss and forget it, or else I’d stay awake. Now, it’s a shame having to dismiss and forget good ideas. It’s a blessing to be able to do the same to bad ideas, such as, thinking of all the ways an acquaintance might accidentally injure you and then feel awful about it and apologize to you in tears. But they both kept me up; good or bad idea, they were both nearly impossible to dismiss when all I wanted to do was get out of bed and write a story, or read a book, or watch a film. Simply put, when my mind was unsatisfied with something when I went to bed, I would get up again. The dissatisfaction in this story has to do with not knowing how I died (or was killed), and “bed” means “grave.”
What I remember is it was really late, around 4am, and I was walking around my house. My parents were asleep, and the house was silent and still. I knew outside it was windy and cold, but I couldn’t hear the wind, and inside the house it was comfortable and warm. Before I finally decided to go to bed, I took a notebook and pencil to the bathroom and wrote out a short something as I cleaned out my intestines. Then I got a drink of water from the kitchen, notebook in hand, loose socks on feet, and walked down the hall, silently as not to wake my parents. I was in a strange mood, as always I was that late, and held a piece of writing equally as strange in my hand. I had that feeling that I could almost hallucinate, my mind was that detached. Opening my bedroom door, I imagined some hideous troll standing before me (I said I was feeling strange). See, this was a way of scaring myself. I don’t know why, but people seem to like to excite their fears. In Tim Burton’s A Nightmare Before Christmas, some of the first words in the opening song say, “Life’s no good without a good scare.” We seem to like to be scared, and that’s what I was doing. I figure I mine as well have been. Nothing was really in my house at that time of night—yeah, so I thought. Hopping onto my bed, I began fluffing up my sheet and pillow. Then I fell forward with a sudden jolt, my sheets were dyed red, and I felt an immense pain in the back of my head. It only lasted for a second though, and then I was dead.
Like I said, very enthusiastic; lively mind, all of that. At nights it was the worst. If society would let me, I would have become completely nocturnal. The darkness provoked my imagination and that’s the time I was most productive. If something was on my mind, I wouldn’t be able to fall to sleep. In fact, it was a chore for me to try and make myself become drowsy. This probably had to do with frequently sleeping in till 3pm. However, even when I was good and got up at 8am, and didn’t take a nap during the day, I’d usually have the darnedest time getting to sleep. Whenever a new thought found itself to my head, I would have to actively dismiss and forget it, or else I’d stay awake. Now, it’s a shame having to dismiss and forget good ideas. It’s a blessing to be able to do the same to bad ideas, such as, thinking of all the ways an acquaintance might accidentally injure you and then feel awful about it and apologize to you in tears. But they both kept me up; good or bad idea, they were both nearly impossible to dismiss when all I wanted to do was get out of bed and write a story, or read a book, or watch a film. Simply put, when my mind was unsatisfied with something when I went to bed, I would get up again. The dissatisfaction in this story has to do with not knowing how I died (or was killed), and “bed” means “grave.”
What I remember is it was really late, around 4am, and I was walking around my house. My parents were asleep, and the house was silent and still. I knew outside it was windy and cold, but I couldn’t hear the wind, and inside the house it was comfortable and warm. Before I finally decided to go to bed, I took a notebook and pencil to the bathroom and wrote out a short something as I cleaned out my intestines. Then I got a drink of water from the kitchen, notebook in hand, loose socks on feet, and walked down the hall, silently as not to wake my parents. I was in a strange mood, as always I was that late, and held a piece of writing equally as strange in my hand. I had that feeling that I could almost hallucinate, my mind was that detached. Opening my bedroom door, I imagined some hideous troll standing before me (I said I was feeling strange). See, this was a way of scaring myself. I don’t know why, but people seem to like to excite their fears. In Tim Burton’s A Nightmare Before Christmas, some of the first words in the opening song say, “Life’s no good without a good scare.” We seem to like to be scared, and that’s what I was doing. I figure I mine as well have been. Nothing was really in my house at that time of night—yeah, so I thought. Hopping onto my bed, I began fluffing up my sheet and pillow. Then I fell forward with a sudden jolt, my sheets were dyed red, and I felt an immense pain in the back of my head. It only lasted for a second though, and then I was dead.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Ironic Rule #4, plus insight
If you've had a single problem for a long while, and you're so used to it that it's become a part of life, when that problem suddenly disappears, you try to bring it back, or you try to feel the same kind of tension or feeling you had before. It's wacked. Maybe this is just me, I dunno. But it's as if my feelings are bent on moving backward. You know, if you find that you get depressed for no particular reason at times, examine yourself...do you share your troubles with other people with the mindset of not actually wanting to be helped? Do you brag (a lighter word could be used) about what you've been through to your friends? Be honest with yourself. Either you'll face your problem sometime, or you'll remain a kid in that area for the rest of your life. Now if you don't do either of these things, but just get depressed and find that you like to often eat lots of sweets and watch mindless movies or listen to emotionally conducive music, maybe you just need more thrills in your life. Make thrills for yourself. Go out into nature. Take a walk in the evening (though caution to city-dwellers). I've heard doing something for someone else helps you not get too focused on yourself..
Thursday, March 13, 2008
My Emo Parade
I just can't help it...
Hawk Nelson - Something On My Mind
My Chemical Romance - Helena
My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade
Muse - Unintended
Totally.
Hawk Nelson - Something On My Mind
My Chemical Romance - Helena
My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade
Muse - Unintended
Totally.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Priorities
Now I like having my day planted by a schedule. As you can see (at 2/13/08 anyway) my header is BOY I LOVE HOMEWORK--well, I do. It keeps my mind active, and I actually get enjoy myself mentally much more than when I'm just left to sit around and do nothing, trying every once every couple days to produce something.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I was pretty offended today, because,
I was talking to my friend, and I was
trying to say something I thought was
funny, but she thought it didn’t make
any sense. Then she said, “Ooookaaaay,”
and that made me feel all stupid. I tried
to cover it up by saying, “Hey, come on!”
but she told me it didn’t make any sense.
I can hardly stand feeling stupid. It’s
something that’s bothered me a lot through
the past. It had to do with being in football
and being called a “crack-head” all the time
because I talked slow and had shaggy hair,
and most of what I said sounded strange to
those guys. Maybe I shouldn’t have said
anything. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t get into a
pity party, it’s just that I fear of being
perceived as stupid. Ignorant. “That guy who
doesn’t know what’s goin’ on.” I’m sure this
has to do with my desire to really know what’s
going on in a situation, and to have control
over it. I hate not being able to have control
over something. It causes me to blunder into
saying something to someone that doesn’t
always make sense. Then I try to cover it up,
or I get scared that I’ll start to look stupider,
and I go off and regret what I said. I’m not
regretting too badly right now, because this
was a good friend of mine. But even in front
of my friends, it’s hard for me to let go of
hating the feeling of feeling stupid.
This is incredibly personal, and the only reason I'm posting it is because Nat will come heckling me about it--and as she puts it--"NEW POST, PLEEEEASE". Well, there's somama' stream-of-conscious writing, completely unabridged!
I was talking to my friend, and I was
trying to say something I thought was
funny, but she thought it didn’t make
any sense. Then she said, “Ooookaaaay,”
and that made me feel all stupid. I tried
to cover it up by saying, “Hey, come on!”
but she told me it didn’t make any sense.
I can hardly stand feeling stupid. It’s
something that’s bothered me a lot through
the past. It had to do with being in football
and being called a “crack-head” all the time
because I talked slow and had shaggy hair,
and most of what I said sounded strange to
those guys. Maybe I shouldn’t have said
anything. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t get into a
pity party, it’s just that I fear of being
perceived as stupid. Ignorant. “That guy who
doesn’t know what’s goin’ on.” I’m sure this
has to do with my desire to really know what’s
going on in a situation, and to have control
over it. I hate not being able to have control
over something. It causes me to blunder into
saying something to someone that doesn’t
always make sense. Then I try to cover it up,
or I get scared that I’ll start to look stupider,
and I go off and regret what I said. I’m not
regretting too badly right now, because this
was a good friend of mine. But even in front
of my friends, it’s hard for me to let go of
hating the feeling of feeling stupid.
This is incredibly personal, and the only reason I'm posting it is because Nat will come heckling me about it--and as she puts it--"NEW POST, PLEEEEASE". Well, there's somama' stream-of-conscious writing, completely unabridged!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Hello, Mr. Zebra. Woww. What possesses...?
Same song, different video, with funny incident (00:53):
Heh, interesting:
-----------
Nat, I am so sorry, to you, really, I am. Maybe a little to myself, too. Here's a guilty pleasure of mine (some nasty content, careful):
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
La dee da
I'm obsessed with Sweeny Todd AND I'LL NEVEEEERR HUG MY GIRL AGAIN I WILL HAVE VENNNNNNGEEEENNNCEE
SEE HOW THEY SMILE, IN THE LIGHT OH MY FRIIIEEEEENDDDDSSSS!!!!!!!!!!
Yeah.
SEE HOW THEY SMILE, IN THE LIGHT OH MY FRIIIEEEEENDDDDSSSS!!!!!!!!!!
Yeah.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Wanting
If I examine myself, I know that I'll find a list of things I desperately (or just moderately) am longing for. Let's see what those are...
I want to get my fingerprints on "Franny & Zooey" (J.D. Salinger)
I want more sleep
I want more motivation to read my books for school
...so that I'm not up late so that I can get more sleep
I don't want to feel hate and tension towards other people, because we've all got our own faults and problems
I want to feel God in my life more
I want to be more confident so that I feel like a whole person and not one thrown around by feelings and what other people say
I want to stop itching from that long, hot shower I took
I want thrill in my life but also diligence so I won't get all caught up in looking for thrill but not finding it because I'm anxious about an agenda I didn't finish
Sigh . . . .
Lots of things. My back is slouched, I have something like a subtle headache from getting too much sleep at the wrong time, and my eyebrows are in a worried, stern position. My last wish is:
I wish I could leap out of my body as a terrifying skeleton and beat my self-centered, -pitying, -seeking, -righteous bit of flesh and muscle into pulp with a baseball bat.
That is all right now.
I want to get my fingerprints on "Franny & Zooey" (J.D. Salinger)
I want more sleep
I want more motivation to read my books for school
...so that I'm not up late so that I can get more sleep
I don't want to feel hate and tension towards other people, because we've all got our own faults and problems
I want to feel God in my life more
I want to be more confident so that I feel like a whole person and not one thrown around by feelings and what other people say
I want to stop itching from that long, hot shower I took
I want thrill in my life but also diligence so I won't get all caught up in looking for thrill but not finding it because I'm anxious about an agenda I didn't finish
Sigh . . . .
Lots of things. My back is slouched, I have something like a subtle headache from getting too much sleep at the wrong time, and my eyebrows are in a worried, stern position. My last wish is:
I wish I could leap out of my body as a terrifying skeleton and beat my self-centered, -pitying, -seeking, -righteous bit of flesh and muscle into pulp with a baseball bat.
That is all right now.
Friday, January 25, 2008
(Sort of) new Myspace site
http://www.myspace.com/jeremycraigweber
Now, these aren't perfect recordings, or really fleshed out much, but they get the point across.
Hope you like the little pictorials that represent the different songs :)
Cheers to the listeners! Thank you all for listening so much already. Makes me feel like a wallet full of two twenty-dollar bills and a $25 Gift card to Borders.
Now, these aren't perfect recordings, or really fleshed out much, but they get the point across.
Hope you like the little pictorials that represent the different songs :)
Cheers to the listeners! Thank you all for listening so much already. Makes me feel like a wallet full of two twenty-dollar bills and a $25 Gift card to Borders.
"Dream Sequence" (a song)
Expressionless
Are the faces
Wanting to make
Smiles
Inability
To write music
That would touch a
Soul
Memories that touch the human soul
Have been too often cold
You don’t have to smile
From what has become this while
After all, as we know
Nothing’s right and nothing keeps
So cry, or smile your way to sleep
Questions of, “Should I try,”
“Should I Cry,” “Should I care?”
Drop care, so you can think
(And) Dream, dream a life
Perfect, in all its defects
Stream, stream your mind
For perfect, in what you’ve lost
Are the faces
Wanting to make
Smiles
Inability
To write music
That would touch a
Soul
Memories that touch the human soul
Have been too often cold
You don’t have to smile
From what has become this while
After all, as we know
Nothing’s right and nothing keeps
So cry, or smile your way to sleep
Questions of, “Should I try,”
“Should I Cry,” “Should I care?”
Drop care, so you can think
(And) Dream, dream a life
Perfect, in all its defects
Stream, stream your mind
For perfect, in what you’ve lost
"I admire" (a song)
I admire someone who’s kind
Who has the voice and the smile
That can illuminate a dark, dreary day
I admire someone who tries
Tries to understand her life
Tries to seek anything that does not spell “strife”
Anywhere she goes she shines
She’s not extinguished by the times
She carries strong her little torch
I would like to know this girl more
I admire her who has substance
Her who has sustenance
Whose sponge is wet and never will run dry
Someone who admits they don’t know
Her who’s not scared to show her weakness
But glows for she knows that by God she’ll grow
I’m not saying I know her yet
Lots of things we must not forget
Of how much I’ve been in love (haw)
Of how much I’ve burned myself
Standing there
I feel like such a child
I’m trying to join in
But beside all the while
From the hall
I hear that awesome laugh
It makes me want to babble, cry, or bask
So I admire a little wit
Pleasantly catches me off guard
As my heart's pounding and I'm bounding past the yard
And all the stupidness I feel
Feels less harmful when you make
One wise crack as my mind's burning at the stake
Anywhere she goes she shines
She’s not extinguished by the times
She carries strong her little torch
I would like to know this girl…
Standing there
I feel like such a child
I’m trying to join in
But beside all the while
From the hall
I hear that awesome laugh
It makes me want to babble, cry, or bask
Anywhere she goes she shines
She’s not extinguished by the times
She carries strong her little torch
I would like to know this girl more
Who has the voice and the smile
That can illuminate a dark, dreary day
I admire someone who tries
Tries to understand her life
Tries to seek anything that does not spell “strife”
Anywhere she goes she shines
She’s not extinguished by the times
She carries strong her little torch
I would like to know this girl more
I admire her who has substance
Her who has sustenance
Whose sponge is wet and never will run dry
Someone who admits they don’t know
Her who’s not scared to show her weakness
But glows for she knows that by God she’ll grow
I’m not saying I know her yet
Lots of things we must not forget
Of how much I’ve been in love (haw)
Of how much I’ve burned myself
Standing there
I feel like such a child
I’m trying to join in
But beside all the while
From the hall
I hear that awesome laugh
It makes me want to babble, cry, or bask
So I admire a little wit
Pleasantly catches me off guard
As my heart's pounding and I'm bounding past the yard
And all the stupidness I feel
Feels less harmful when you make
One wise crack as my mind's burning at the stake
Anywhere she goes she shines
She’s not extinguished by the times
She carries strong her little torch
I would like to know this girl…
Standing there
I feel like such a child
I’m trying to join in
But beside all the while
From the hall
I hear that awesome laugh
It makes me want to babble, cry, or bask
Anywhere she goes she shines
She’s not extinguished by the times
She carries strong her little torch
I would like to know this girl more
A Cert'in Yearnin'
Listen. I want to write a story. Then I want to show it to a bunch of other friends who find writing stories a phenomenon, like I do. Then I want to draw a big picture, 2 ½ feet by 3 and show it to the same friends who also find that creating images is a quality way to spend one’s time. We all love the smell of paint, paper, coffee, and charcoal. I love their company. I can come to them with anything creative I do. They’re always appreciative.
I wish these were my circumstances, that I had a large circle of friends like this. But it’s not like this. I have a busy schedule that doesn’t even allow me to be around one person like this for an extended period of time. So I’m forced to write on my own, to create on my own. All by my lonesome; and it’s not just like writing flows out of me without any effort at all. I have to at least choose to do it, so that’s what I’ve been doing lately. Success comes through committing yourself again and again to your desired goal. Well, I want to be a good writer. Therefore I must write whenever I can, and whenever I feel like it. Once I get going I can keep going; all it takes is for me to start doing it. That’s what I did about 10 minutes ago when I began writing this bit of…whatever it is.
Now, I’ll admit: I’m hesitant to start any big writing project, because that means you have to stick with something. But maybe my fear has to do with having to keep committing myself to the goal. If I can simply keep on committing myself, which isn’t actually difficult for me to do with writing, then I know—well, now that I think about it—that I am adequate to complete a big writing project. Committing myself, again and again…hm. It’s like repenting to God each day and letting him work through you. I pray that God would take my life each day, as well as my writing, and help me produce great things for His glory. That would be awesome. I have to keep in mind that committing to God comes first, then personal creation. I feel dirty and sinful right now.
I wish these were my circumstances, that I had a large circle of friends like this. But it’s not like this. I have a busy schedule that doesn’t even allow me to be around one person like this for an extended period of time. So I’m forced to write on my own, to create on my own. All by my lonesome; and it’s not just like writing flows out of me without any effort at all. I have to at least choose to do it, so that’s what I’ve been doing lately. Success comes through committing yourself again and again to your desired goal. Well, I want to be a good writer. Therefore I must write whenever I can, and whenever I feel like it. Once I get going I can keep going; all it takes is for me to start doing it. That’s what I did about 10 minutes ago when I began writing this bit of…whatever it is.
Now, I’ll admit: I’m hesitant to start any big writing project, because that means you have to stick with something. But maybe my fear has to do with having to keep committing myself to the goal. If I can simply keep on committing myself, which isn’t actually difficult for me to do with writing, then I know—well, now that I think about it—that I am adequate to complete a big writing project. Committing myself, again and again…hm. It’s like repenting to God each day and letting him work through you. I pray that God would take my life each day, as well as my writing, and help me produce great things for His glory. That would be awesome. I have to keep in mind that committing to God comes first, then personal creation. I feel dirty and sinful right now.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
I feel GRRRREAT (not like Tony the Tiger, though)
http://youtube.com/watch?v=JC2gIPnUCgw
Haha! Oh my, it's just too much... click! Please! You got nothin' better to do!
Haha! Oh my, it's just too much... click! Please! You got nothin' better to do!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
What I see
A tan telephone, three packages of printing paper, a printer, these weird, gray-and-white tabletops of the computer lab, the label on the monitor that profoundly reads, "FCLUSTER03", the keys with all their different labels: G, H, ,, <, &, A, !, ~, #, $, O, I have freedom to write whatever I want, like things you can't say in real life. FGEJKLHSGADKJDASG. JJNAF::::SDAN!@ Ever heard anyone make sounds like that?
Last night I laid in bed. It was dark, quiet, familar (well, nothing's quite familar at school--nothing's quite comfortably familar, anyway--then you go back home and everything's too familar); my bed was everything beds usually are. Comfortable (not comfortably familar though), soft, and that wonderful, gross feeling bed sheets aquire after a while: moist. I made myself "comfortable", as in, physically comfortable but thoughts flooding to every part of my brain, and looked up at the ceiling of the bunkbed overtop of me. Will was up there, and Eric to my left. Our beds hold this interesting formation. They're all bunched up together in one corner like four idiot elephants who've found a mouse in the room. I sat there and breathed, thinking of a lot of things I didn't want to. I listened to my buddies talking over a problem Eric was having. I started to join in with little grunts of agreement and words of understanding. After a while I began to recite to them everything I was feeling. I wanted to just go to sleep, yaknow, actually get some sleep because I've been so out of it in each and every way lately. But there I was, spouting off my feelings, conflicting memories coming to mind, like earlier, when I'd read in Proverbs, a verse which says, "A fool vents all his feelings, but a wise man holds them back." Will fell to sleep at some point, but Eric listened on. When I'd finished, he told me he'd pray for me. I remember his cold hand patting my back. Relunctantly, I told him I'd pray for him, too. I say relunctantly, because isn't that just the thing to say? To answer back with a blessing you've just been given? I turned onto my stomach, then realized what I'd done. "Wow," I said, "sorry that all turned into something about me." He said it was okay, and within a few minutes he was asleep, like Will. I didn't know where our man was, Ike. Maybe he was hanging out with his girlfriend in one of the lobbys. I laid there as usually for longer than my roommates, unable to fall to sleep right away. I thought a few more thoughts that I really didn't want to, talked to God a little bit, and drifted away. I didn't get up the next morning till almost 2 in the afternoon.
Last year I was in an English class. Comp. 111. My teacher was always saying, "Don't say it, show it." In other words, paint a picture of your point by giving examples. Here I've tried to paint a picture...I'm not sure what of.
Last night I laid in bed. It was dark, quiet, familar (well, nothing's quite familar at school--nothing's quite comfortably familar, anyway--then you go back home and everything's too familar); my bed was everything beds usually are. Comfortable (not comfortably familar though), soft, and that wonderful, gross feeling bed sheets aquire after a while: moist. I made myself "comfortable", as in, physically comfortable but thoughts flooding to every part of my brain, and looked up at the ceiling of the bunkbed overtop of me. Will was up there, and Eric to my left. Our beds hold this interesting formation. They're all bunched up together in one corner like four idiot elephants who've found a mouse in the room. I sat there and breathed, thinking of a lot of things I didn't want to. I listened to my buddies talking over a problem Eric was having. I started to join in with little grunts of agreement and words of understanding. After a while I began to recite to them everything I was feeling. I wanted to just go to sleep, yaknow, actually get some sleep because I've been so out of it in each and every way lately. But there I was, spouting off my feelings, conflicting memories coming to mind, like earlier, when I'd read in Proverbs, a verse which says, "A fool vents all his feelings, but a wise man holds them back." Will fell to sleep at some point, but Eric listened on. When I'd finished, he told me he'd pray for me. I remember his cold hand patting my back. Relunctantly, I told him I'd pray for him, too. I say relunctantly, because isn't that just the thing to say? To answer back with a blessing you've just been given? I turned onto my stomach, then realized what I'd done. "Wow," I said, "sorry that all turned into something about me." He said it was okay, and within a few minutes he was asleep, like Will. I didn't know where our man was, Ike. Maybe he was hanging out with his girlfriend in one of the lobbys. I laid there as usually for longer than my roommates, unable to fall to sleep right away. I thought a few more thoughts that I really didn't want to, talked to God a little bit, and drifted away. I didn't get up the next morning till almost 2 in the afternoon.
Last year I was in an English class. Comp. 111. My teacher was always saying, "Don't say it, show it." In other words, paint a picture of your point by giving examples. Here I've tried to paint a picture...I'm not sure what of.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Reputation, Image, Self-esteem
I've been troubled over the last week about my reputation, image, and self-esteem (how much I respect myself). It seems so self-focused to be worrying about stufflike this. But I can't help it. The way I'm perceived on the outside tends to make me act different. On the one hand I say, "Who cares what other people think?", but on the other I think, "These 'other people' are my friends, or at least those who I want to be my friends. I DO care about what they think." Running with the latter thought, what if these people see me as...
"creepy"?
Which, I conclude, this title is probably deserved, maybe even true. Deserved? True? So how do I take that? I tried getting angry last night, imagining some scenario of in the dining hall as follows...
Sitting, eating. Jerks across the table. Laughing at me. Laughing because I didn't follow the social norm. Laughing because I didn't come across to them as particularly natural. Eyes squinted and faces red, they're almost falling off their chairs. Suddenly I rise out of my chair, kicking it to the floor, and look straight at their stupid faces. I yell at the tope of my lungs, to the astonishment to everyone in the room, "Stop it you heartless, careless morons!" I slam my food across the table and storm out of the room! Man that felt good!
But I blink my eyes and realize that I'm being a child. A ten-year-old. Darn near as dramatic as Harry Potter, or my mom. I take deep breaths and try to relax. Thoughts, ideas and memories, shoot through my head. How I was homeschooled Kindergarten through 12th grade; I might've not developed socially as well as I should have. Generally wanting to be alone, or just with a close friend or two, most of the time; I never enjoyed group situations much, especially when I can't get in a word that will be taken seriously. In semi-unfamilar groups, I find that I'm always fighting to be acknowledged, to be respected.
I want to touch on the idea of fighting to be respected. When I'm fighting to be respected, a number of things happen: my behavior tends to be capricious and inappropriate, when I'm just trying to get a word in so people will notice me and say, "Hey, he ain't creepy at all. He's actually fairly perceptive." I get anxious, and feel that everyone is up against me. This contributes to the capricious behavior problem, in that I tend to take a defensive approach in interacting with people. I unwittingly interupt instead of listen, and a "meaningful exchange" never happens.
On the flip side, I've tried to be all cool about everything, but then someone says, grinning, "Jeremy...you're just...out of it," or, "Jeremy...you're so high...you're on crack." I realize that's funny. It's funny, it really is, except for when comments like this make me worry about my image, about how others percieve me all the time----
I dunno.
I used to have my hair in the shaggy style, because I never felt like getting it cut. I can remember the first time I got the idea that other people find me strange--it was during football, four years of it. All my teammates wouldn't believe me when I'd tell them I wasn't on crack and I'd never done drugs before. I can't imagine many of them believed me. Then there was that whole ordeal with being called "Shadow," the shadow of Jonjon, my sports star twin...okay, now that's just asking for pitty. Haha.
You see here, people tell you something long enough, you start believing them. It's the same as watching violent movies. As a guy, after seeing each of Kill Bill 1-2, Underworld 1-2, and 300, I felt like I wanted to kill something. It's just how it is. Say everyone tells you you're weird a lot, you'll most likely, well, get the idea that you're weird. Are you okay with that, or are you not? We need to toughen up here a little, don't we? Well anyway, I'll go on. As I was saying, from football till now, I've been, well, kind of insulted by this "creepy" image people have of me. I've brought this image upon myself, but it's always made a little bit worse whenever people verbalize careless comments. Carefree comments. No harm done, right? No harm done to them. They tell you to be confident but break you down. They want you to be cool but don't treat you like you are.
I have made for myself the repuation I have now. It's been by my doing. But now my image makes me feel weak, underconfident, inadequate, hunted. I want to blame others and say, "I'm changing, give me a chance!", but, I don't want to let myself get angry, I don't want to let myself get desperate. It's true, my mom was right when she said, "Your reputation is so important. It's so important."
I've always thought of a reputation in terms of just good or just bad. However, I think mine is a mixture of the two. That's what confuses people. They aren't sure what to think about me. They hear about the good... and the not so good. I wonder if the "not so good" is what people like talking about most? What are peoples' conceptual framework about me?? haha. I say that, because when I talk like this, it's like I'm acting like I'm the only one that matters in the world. [Sigh] Well, this is my dilemma.
Prayer: God, thank you for all my peers, more specifically, my peers here at college. Thank you for what each of them brings into my life. Please cut past all these feelings I've expressed and help me to love my peers. Really love them, and look out for their interests, not mine. Lord, forgive me for my mind. I feel like I'm so deranged at times, because of the mistakes I've made when I wasn't doing what was right. Help me to not give in to these negative impulses. Amen.
"creepy"?
Which, I conclude, this title is probably deserved, maybe even true. Deserved? True? So how do I take that? I tried getting angry last night, imagining some scenario of in the dining hall as follows...
Sitting, eating. Jerks across the table. Laughing at me. Laughing because I didn't follow the social norm. Laughing because I didn't come across to them as particularly natural. Eyes squinted and faces red, they're almost falling off their chairs. Suddenly I rise out of my chair, kicking it to the floor, and look straight at their stupid faces. I yell at the tope of my lungs, to the astonishment to everyone in the room, "Stop it you heartless, careless morons!" I slam my food across the table and storm out of the room! Man that felt good!
But I blink my eyes and realize that I'm being a child. A ten-year-old. Darn near as dramatic as Harry Potter, or my mom. I take deep breaths and try to relax. Thoughts, ideas and memories, shoot through my head. How I was homeschooled Kindergarten through 12th grade; I might've not developed socially as well as I should have. Generally wanting to be alone, or just with a close friend or two, most of the time; I never enjoyed group situations much, especially when I can't get in a word that will be taken seriously. In semi-unfamilar groups, I find that I'm always fighting to be acknowledged, to be respected.
I want to touch on the idea of fighting to be respected. When I'm fighting to be respected, a number of things happen: my behavior tends to be capricious and inappropriate, when I'm just trying to get a word in so people will notice me and say, "Hey, he ain't creepy at all. He's actually fairly perceptive." I get anxious, and feel that everyone is up against me. This contributes to the capricious behavior problem, in that I tend to take a defensive approach in interacting with people. I unwittingly interupt instead of listen, and a "meaningful exchange" never happens.
On the flip side, I've tried to be all cool about everything, but then someone says, grinning, "Jeremy...you're just...out of it," or, "Jeremy...you're so high...you're on crack." I realize that's funny. It's funny, it really is, except for when comments like this make me worry about my image, about how others percieve me all the time----
I dunno.
I used to have my hair in the shaggy style, because I never felt like getting it cut. I can remember the first time I got the idea that other people find me strange--it was during football, four years of it. All my teammates wouldn't believe me when I'd tell them I wasn't on crack and I'd never done drugs before. I can't imagine many of them believed me. Then there was that whole ordeal with being called "Shadow," the shadow of Jonjon, my sports star twin...okay, now that's just asking for pitty. Haha.
You see here, people tell you something long enough, you start believing them. It's the same as watching violent movies. As a guy, after seeing each of Kill Bill 1-2, Underworld 1-2, and 300, I felt like I wanted to kill something. It's just how it is. Say everyone tells you you're weird a lot, you'll most likely, well, get the idea that you're weird. Are you okay with that, or are you not? We need to toughen up here a little, don't we? Well anyway, I'll go on. As I was saying, from football till now, I've been, well, kind of insulted by this "creepy" image people have of me. I've brought this image upon myself, but it's always made a little bit worse whenever people verbalize careless comments. Carefree comments. No harm done, right? No harm done to them. They tell you to be confident but break you down. They want you to be cool but don't treat you like you are.
I have made for myself the repuation I have now. It's been by my doing. But now my image makes me feel weak, underconfident, inadequate, hunted. I want to blame others and say, "I'm changing, give me a chance!", but, I don't want to let myself get angry, I don't want to let myself get desperate. It's true, my mom was right when she said, "Your reputation is so important. It's so important."
I've always thought of a reputation in terms of just good or just bad. However, I think mine is a mixture of the two. That's what confuses people. They aren't sure what to think about me. They hear about the good... and the not so good. I wonder if the "not so good" is what people like talking about most? What are peoples' conceptual framework about me?? haha. I say that, because when I talk like this, it's like I'm acting like I'm the only one that matters in the world. [Sigh] Well, this is my dilemma.
Prayer: God, thank you for all my peers, more specifically, my peers here at college. Thank you for what each of them brings into my life. Please cut past all these feelings I've expressed and help me to love my peers. Really love them, and look out for their interests, not mine. Lord, forgive me for my mind. I feel like I'm so deranged at times, because of the mistakes I've made when I wasn't doing what was right. Help me to not give in to these negative impulses. Amen.
Friday, August 17, 2007
What made me change my header: I walked instead of drove.
A few weeks ago Friday, I went on a walk. I had no particular destination in mind, just a clear resolution to get out of the house and away from everything, because I was frustrated with everything. This might've been because I was getting bored of work; sometimes when all you do is work and hang and sleep and work and sleep and work, you get to feeling a pattern in things, like nothing ever changes: it all goes around in circles, and the frustrations we had before we went to college, or before we went on that mission's trip, are still there. People don't always notice what you've learned, or how you've changed, and they tend to treat you. . how they've always treated you. So maybe I was also frustrated with people, whining in my mind about certain injustices, regrets, and all those other quirks and irritations that you can't quite get your head around concerning family, friends, kind-of friends, bullies, that kid who got in my face last semester, grabbed my necklace, swung me around like a bucket while I just said sorry and rolled my eyes because I couldn't believe what was happening. Man--I was stressed. Like I said, frustrated. Anything but relaxed. After I was off work (noon, because Fridays for me are half-days), I quickly set to packing numerous items for the journey I was about to take, having no clue how exactly long I'd be out for. When I had satisfied my backpack inventory, I escaped out the back door, telling no one I'd gone out except for Ryan, and emersed myself in my new surroundings. I went through the woods, passed by the apartments, nosed through the neighborhood, straddled down the street, cut around a corner, and then I was in another neighborhood. (Haha. Didn't know I was Dr. Seuss, huh?)
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.....
.....
And I would love to tell you about the rest of my walk, but I think I really just need to post this so I can get on to writing new entries. There it is, my sadly incomplete log of a great trip in which I found TWO twenty-dollar bills on the side of Interstate 95! I couldn't help thinking I'd found them for some higher purpose. Things like that are funny. You can never help thinking of God when something bizarre like that happens. Has anything like that ever happened to you? Well anyway, I suppose those 40 bucks have gone into paying for college. That's where I am now!
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