I hope you’re learning to listen And I hope you’re learning to stay And I hope you find what you’re missing And I hope that you’re making you’re way I’m a headcase if I don’t keep moving And my head hurts if I don’t sit still Its an itch that Ill never stop scratching Its a hole that Ill never quite fill
I don’t know why a follower of the username “fearlesswriter” followed me. I am nothing of the sort. I am a fearful writer and I inhibit my own words and thoughts through vague ideas and motions that one could subtly pick up on. Other then that I like to hide my mind and I like to hide the things that go on inside of it in fear that people will misread and mis-interpret my words for other things. I liked the idea of a blog, I got to hide behind a fucking computer screen for crying out loud. No one had to see me cry, no one needed to see me laugh etc. Those ideas were just conveyed in seamless words that just spilled all over my blog and BAM it would be posted for the day and I would move on so effortlessly without a thought of what once ran inside my mind.
But lately, it’s much harder to convey messages and to complete my own sentences. More often then not, I’m “ctrl + A” and “backspace” the entry and just leave the page defeated by my own fear. It’s pathetic, I know. But this blog use to be a place to where my happy moments, the ones I wanted to record and remember were placed onto. The ones that included stupid videos of dancing to Mario songs or billions of photo spamming of events that I have attended. My camera doesn’t even see the light of day anymore if anything.
This blog use to be a sanctuary of sorts, I could go here and talk to strangers. Whether they would read it or not. This use to get my point across when I was 200 miles away from people when I was irked. This use to record my fears, my nightmares, dreams, ambitions and song ideas. Photographic memories stored away into a huge world wide harddrive accessed by anyone curious about the life of a girl with the username “kayteens.”
It’s weird. Sharing thoughts openly, it’s not my forte really. I’ll fake that I’m happy and I’ll fake a lot of things for your benefit. Believe me, I’ll bottle it up until I shut everyone back out again and cry for days and days and days.
These are the few days that I’m just crying because that’s how it is. This is how I see it working. I’ll make up ill excuses so you won’t be worried or ridiculous tales so you won’t look that way again. I don’t know what this whole blog was suppose to be written about and it has been a while since I’ve rambled on about something irrelevant of any sort.
Sunshine called today and left me 3 texts begging me to pick up my phone. I listened to the voice mail and cried. He misses home and I frankly miss his random companionship that would come when I needed him and only then. Terrible reception in a place like that and he can only call for so long before someone else needs a spot on that little hill in the middle of no where.
Anyways. I’m also terrified of sounding annoying through persistent actions and consistent blabbering. Which I have done non stop since I don’t know when. Maybe it’s a cry for attention or maybe it’s just how I am. The world may never know. And I may never feel like sharing that.
You have done everything to amplify my emotions TEN FOLD. I either wake up from your deceptive illusions feeling empty, lonely, shaking in fear, or really happy. You have caused me to sleep cry multiple times and you have caused me too much thinking upon awakening.
I am glad that my moleskine is filled with some records of you when I remember, it’s kind of nice to read back on the good dreams. Just sayin’.
After 4 amazing years being the golden child and living as spoiled rotten as ever, you came along and destroyed everything…literally. Library books were torn, piano books went missing, MY GENUINE CRYSTAL BELL DECORATED WITH MY BIRTHSTONE SMASHED INTO SMITHEREENS WITHIN THE FIRST MONTH I GOT IT.
You broke the guitar and blamed it on me. Not cool. Also, you took my ukulele and hid it from me. Not cool.
I kinda hope your electric guitar short circuits or something.
Tina was rather insistent that I updated this for her just so she knew what all happened. Basically I spent the day with her watching sappy french movies and watched her bawl like a baby and along with the crying there was some physical pain along with her vomiting but there was never anything to throw up. Dry heaving or something of the sorts.
Unable to move and weak as can be her father and I escort her to the hospital where she fought us in the car to keep her home. She lost the fight and is currently out like a light and snoring tremendously loud. The cute thing about Tina is, shes a complete baby when it comes to pain. IV needles and needles in general are her worst enemies. The even cuter thing is her reaction to the pain which is nothing but her giggling and squealing like a newborn. So after an IV full of saline, she gets two shots in her hip to stop pain. An hour after the nurse asked for the pain scale with a 1-10 numbering system. Tina said the same number as before and was sent off to an XRAY. Concerned the seton staff decided to keep her here overnight. They put some anti nausea meds in her and then some morphine for the pain.
It wasn’t too long before she was shut eyed. Now I’ll be here so she won’t wake up alone and I’ll be documenting her take to all the medicine shots and what not.
Tina in the beginning
Tina texting to ignore the fact that she jsut had two shots in her hip
Out like a light. They’re moving her soon.
She’ll be fine in the morinign when a complete diagnosis is made.
(I lava you you big baby you! See you in the morning)
Cela pourrait-il. Cela pourrait silence mes pensées. J’aurais dû mieux, plus vite appris, propose le plus rapide. Je ne comprends pas comment quelqu’un change du jour au lendemain. Plus rapide que moi. Peut-être que je suis pathétique. C’est mon vrai problème, que je suis pathétique et que j’ai toujours tenir à quelque chose qui n’y était pas. Je crée ces situations idéale dans ma tête, alors qu’en réalité, tout a mal tourné. Personne n’a jamais pu être heureux avec moi. Oui, pas même moi.
Aside from the casual mocking, the random annoyances and loud Vietnamese music every Saturday morning, I think you guys are cool. For the most part.
At all piano recitals…recitals and performance in general, you guys have supported me through all of them, not with a beaming smile, but with a weird strange snide remark to make when I get off that stage. Sometimes it’ll be you guys making fun of my face on stage, or how you can easily tell I hesitated on something. Other times you’ll mock my singing style and tell me that music isn’t something you’ll understand.
That’s okay, leave the dissonance and music creation up to me and your son. You guys are ridiculous. Mama can’t say wasp and daddy has a strong accent. Mom, you always bring huge balloons into the house because you know daddy’s afraid of them, and daddy always jokes with you that waffle is dead or missing because he knows that would freak you out. I love you guys’s interaction.
Growing up, your punishments never made sense. I don’t understand why putting my nose to a dot on the wall would teach me a lesson. Nor do I understand why you guys got incredibly mad when I would run away from spankings (okay, I do.) But I appreciate you guys for doing what you did to make me…shape me into what I am today. Whether I’ve met your expectations or not. I love you guys unconditionally, even if we yell across the house and argue like wild banshees, you are everything to me.
If this were written about anyone else, you’d be all like “whatever, you liek me best.” In which that statement is true. I liek you. I like the way you and I sit on the phone reading. I like watching RJ Berger on the phone with you. 100 questions is fun. I hate being 205.7 miles away from you, but whatevs, we’re too busy leading lives to care about the distance.
I like getting jokes and laughing, and calling me a stupid hopeless romantic in which I just tell you to “Shaddap.” I like the smells of YSL and Armani Code on you best. I hate the way you always inflict pain on me, but in the end it makes life a bit more interesting. I’m sorry for semi injuring you when you tickle me. I wish you would apologize for tickling me off my bed. But no, you just sat there laughing at me ON MY BED while I was disheveled and on the ground catching my breath from the laughter.
More importantly, I like how I feel around you and how you always try to make me happy. I like your creepy smiles and how your eyes change color when you laugh. I like your hands and your sweet kisses. I miss the way you stare at me when I say or ask something incredibly dumb and obvious.
Bleh, these emotions are GHEY. Much like you.
ADDED: Owls look good on you AND me. I wanted a picture however I forgot because half the time you fought me for the pillow and you dragged me off the bed. When I did that, I fell. Boo. Today was lovely. I got to see you!
I’ve had many people under this title, however you have been the first person for me to feel comfortable calling at 4 AM just to cry or rant or complain about girlie problems. We met senior year in Cole’s calc class and your last name rhymes with ho. Because that is what you are, and that is what you forever will be. I have no room to talk, my last name ALSO rhymes with ho.
I’m envious of your Vietnamese speaking abilities and your 18 pillows on your bed. I love your crazy frazzled hair and your obnoxious obsession with the color teal. I wanted to punch you for taking me to Atomic Tattoo and getting my navel done. I can’t wait to get our ears done at the same relative time. You eat here a lot and I steal food from your pantry. On days we have nothing to do, we run out and spend a bunch load, and then feel guilty about it all. Only we start to indulge in things we can donate, trade and sell.
You always have an insane tat on your side and your closet destroys mine in an instant. My parents are fond of your conversing skills and wish to adopt you. Only I stop them from doing so, because I want to be their only daughter. So no, don’t live here. Sleep over, yes. Stay over yes. but don’t live here, I’d kill you and you’d know that. But it’s okay. We get each other and we’re ridiculous.
Les rêves des amoureux sont comme le bon vin Ils donnent de la joie ou bien du chagrin Affaibli par la faim je suis malheureux Volant en chemin tout ce que je peux Car rien n’est gratuit dans la vie.
Éspoire est un plât bien trop vite consommé À sauter les repas je suis habitué Un voleur, solitaire, est triste à nourrir À nous, je suis amer, je veux réussir Car rien n’est gratuit dans la vie.
Jamais on ne redira que la course aux étoiles, ça n’est pas pour moi Laisser moi vous émerveillez, prendre mon envol
Et sortez les bouteilles, finis les ennuis Je dresse la table, demain nouvelle vie Je suis heureux a l’idée de ce nouveau destin Une vie à me cacher, et puis libre enfin Le festin est sur mon chemin Une vie à me cacher et puis libre enfin Le festin est sur mon chemin