ce n'étais pas moi!

© ffffound.

While I feel I have friends that share my same likes and dislikes (how ridiculously obvious of me), I seem to miss the people that understand my affinity for simple things.

I like to feel sleepy next to glaring stoplights and have philosophical conversations that mean nothing.  I like collecting things in jars, pressed flowers, and foggy windows.  I like somber days, and I like sunny days.  I don’t always like the concept of moving and missing out on things that are sitting still.  I enjoy train tracks, but I have a fear of riding in them; I like old buildings and new skyscrapers, but I like abandoned and decrepit warehouses better.  Conversations are nice, but I like comfortable silence better.  Endless fields with grass up to my shoulders feel more like home than the city.

I have been way too preoccupied with the concept of strangers, theories, and anthropology.

My friends are amazing, and I love them all.  Sometimes losing them is awfully profound and sad and wonderful all at once.  But I need another me, but who’s less like me and more like them.  Does that make sense?  Probably not.  It’s not about needing a significant other or being arrogant enough to want two of me, but I want another soul like mine that’s inhabiting another body somewhere, and I hope to meet them one day, if at all.

change. it’s a wonderful thing. look, you know how subatomic particles don’t obey physical laws? they act according to chance, chaos, coincidence. they run into each other in the middle of the universe somewhere and bang! energy! we’re the same as that. that’s the great thing about the universe: unpredictable. that’s why it’s so much fun.

– skins, tony

I want to witness something beautiful.  I’m not tired but I feel tired, like everything is just a mundane repetition of yesterday.  I feel like doing something stupid, something spontaneous, something out-of-character.  I want to leave, to run away, to never come back.  Maybe literally, maybe metaphorically.  I want a lot of things and am too impatient to wait for them to happen.

The mind is a funny thing when in an altered state.  Imagine feeling like you have to look over your shoulder when nothing and no one is there, trying to keep your balance while you stumble left and right from center, and lucidly dreaming about lying down on a fluffy cloud, feeling quite tingly like static sparkling on your skin, as you spin slowly like you’re on a merry-go-round.

Oh, and the laughing!  I have never laughed so much in my life about nothing, especially when you expect others to stop breathing momentarily because it’s making you giggle moronically, to the point where you’re wheezing for air.  I feel like I need to do this more often, though.  I wish I lived in the 60s.

I feel sad, and it feels heavy on my chest.  It probably doesn’t help that I’m sick now.  There’s something going around.  I harbor ill will and ill thoughts that I can’t talk about here at all.  My little sister knows.  My family tree was briefly outlined for me in words, and I am contemptuous and ashamed.  Pressure.  There is an abundance in that.

I am genuinely worried, and this is the first time I have felt like a failure.  Nothing is going right, I’m not on schedule.  I need to finish before time runs out because there is so little and it’s too precious, and I only have two hands and one already scattered mind to handle situations that are too adult for me.  I’m 21, but I want a repeat.  Rewind, rewind.  Please?

I need to start over, but a year is too long, too much time than I need.  This is irony; my life is one big irony.

Advancing forward, reversing backward.  They praise me too much, they expect too much, I want to cry in an empty building so that my voice echoes and no one can hear me.  I don’t want anyone to listen to me, but I need to let it out.  Suppress, suppress.  I could scream into a glass jar and save it; I can store my stresses and listen to myself, and only myself, when I need to.

I want someone to tell me it’s okay; I want no one to tell me it’s okay, that I can stop trying, that she’ll live until I catch up to her so I don’t have to worry and nothing bad will happen, nothing sudden, nothing stolen, nothing.  There is no one to tell me I shouldn’t worry.

This is the first time, and I’ll only say it once:  I feel absolutely, unequivocally, wholeheartedly helpless.

Peanut, pre-accident.  Look how happy her ugly mug was!  Now, she’s just depressing and cowardly, and Cesar Millan would probably say our affections to her current behavior is only encouraging the way she acts:  frightened, paranoid, and neurotic.  Like me!  Never say that the TV is not chock-full of useful information.

Anyway, I feel this picture is appropriate to show how funny I think it is that people really are connected together.  It’s such a small thing, and I know some people think about it on the peripheral and then they focus on what’s more important – the present, the future, whatever.  If such an event happens, I zoom in on the coincidence, the hilarity, the interesting way in which your friend is someone I know [indirectly].  The concept amuses, inspires, and stuns me all at the same time.

Who would have thought that A.H. who has worked with A.P. who knows R.T. who used to associate with D.M. now shares something in common with A.P.?  And if I go into even more detail, it just gets creepier from there.  It really does.

So I think it’s safe to say that I “know” the likes of Jim Sturgess and James Mcavoy, Jamie Bell, and Johnny Depp.  This probability makes me happier than you know.

(Let’s forget the minor detail that all of these are gorgeous male celebrities, eh?)

leave your things behind ‘cause it’s all going off without you
– let go, frou frou

You know what’s depressing?  When you have something taken away out of selfishness for something better, something new.  And I can’t blame her, really.  It’s hers and not mine.  I’m just bitter, and I think I’m allowed to be sad and huffy about it.  Sure, I’m jumping the gun even before I know for certain what’s going to happen to it, but the thought of it happening is still painful.

I become easily attached to the things that I own, even if it’s temporary.  I’ve hid things in the back, have socialized over junk food and stupid jokes, smoked with people until our throats were raw and had meaningful conversations and philosophized about things that transcended normalcy.  I feel a little stupid reminiscing about something I will always have with me, but I like the idea of having something physical to represent all of it.

My aunt is terribly indecisive, which makes the waiting even more troublesome and stressful on my nerves.  No matter how many times I may complain about its impracticality, I still loved it.  My mom says that the transition – if it happens – may be a little strange but that I’ll forget about it.  Maybe.

(And I won’t lie.  A part of what gets under my skin is that I’ll have thrusted upon me a hand-me-down of lesser quality.  Sigh.  I keep telling myself to try and find something good about it.  “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” This has potential, if the idea didn’t make me so miserable!)

for isolated nostalgia in the dark

because this is all about love (act 5, nell)
shake well, i won’t tell (ghostwriter, headphone)
the nights are getting long (wwxii, the damnwells)
i don’t dare to try again (halloween, meg & dia)
i’m floating away (too good to be true, sioen)

My current playlist that I have on repeat.  They are really good, particularly – well, hell, I consider each track really amazing, even though the first is predominantly Korean.  But the best thing is that all of these tracks sound different from one another.  I typically find myself sleeping to songs that ultimately blend in together because of how similar they are in melody.  This is nice, and I really encourage music isolation, by the way.

Wait until 1am or somewhere late into the night where you can’t hear anything but your breathing.  Take your best headphones (earphones do not work in this relaxation exercise), increase the volume within the range of low-medium to medium, lie down in the dark, and just breathe.  It sounds a little hokey, but I happen to love doing this regularly.  Dreampop and folktronica work wonders, in my opinion.  The only drawback is when I focus like this and the sound is working tenfold and my other senses are blissed out, I have a tendency to fall asleep faster.

Listening to music in a car in the middle of nowhere with no interruptions is also an interesting alternative, provided that everyone can stay quiet.  City lights and smoke make it visually prettier, and, I don’t know, it’s comforting.  Next time, though, I’m bringing apple pie.  It’s ridiculous the hunger that settles in after an hour or two.

We opted out of the pillow fighting bonanza in the city because of the indecisive weather, although we regretted it afterwards because it would have been muy fun to slap each other with feathered pillows in the rain.  So instead we went to Rina’s apartment and had our own pillow fight that lasted – oh, about a minute tops, because somebody’s stomach started gurgling.

Instead, Nikki and Harley went out to buy booze, cheese, and crackers, and we shared it amongst ourselves while playing a rousing game of Monopoly.  We honestly considered drunk Pictionary, but N & H picked out bottles with low alcohol content.  Didn’t really do much in the grand scheme of things, and then I got sick.  Splendid.  Pictionary isn’t as fun unless you have people who can’t draw (4/5 could) or someone who is completely baked or drunk.  Well, it’s not any more fun, but it’s certainly funnier.

No one was happy with the food selection, so we ordered in pizza and Chinese.  Ew.  The two foods were good, just not together.  That’s an excess in grease and fat.  It made me sad inside.

After reading that book by the dog whisperer, John thought it’d be a great idea to take Peanut for a walk.  Mind, she’s been forever yelping since the incident where no one was home.  That is, she yelps when she’s picked up or even touched because she was hurting for a while (we surmised that Fifty must have sat on her or something by accident while they were rough housing) and it hasn’t gone away.  My mom thinks it’s psychological.  But ah, I hate it when he forces them to do something they clearly don’t want to do.  I know it’s for the benefit of the dog, but eh, she’s tiny.  If I had a spine I could count on, I’d yell at the guy.

Or maybe I baby her too much.  And this is why I will never have children.  I’ll either turn them into spineless freaks or abandon them because I’m utterly selfish.

And with that randomosity of topics, I’m going to drink some water and go to sleep.  I have dark circles and bags under my eyes from my lack of sleep over the last couple of days.  Hmm.

I am starting to think that I have been watching way too many Asian dramas than is healthy for me.  You know, American soaps (not that I watch these, oh-em-gee) and series have nothing on Asian media.  Actually, it has nothing on British media either.  Or maybe I’ve been living in the U.S. for too long and have grown weary of the garbage that television stations are feeding my slowly degenerating mind.  (Note: Garbage does not include the likes of Chuck, Leverage, Fringe, House, How I Met Your Mother, and CSI – this is my biased opinion.)

Anyway, I have unnatural cravings for okonomiyaki and Korean food, in general, like kimchi.  I have tried neither edibles, which all look delicious – in theory.  So far I’ve explored Yelp (see: Han Il Kwan & Semifreddi’s) and discovered some interesting places to try.  All that remains is finding a partner-in-crime.  Okay, so that last restaurant is not Japanese, but I saw pastries and cinnamon … and that requires no brain function.  Of course it’s on my list.  As far as okonomiyaki places go, I’m sure there are tons littered in San Francisco.  Probably mainly in Japantown, go figure!  Pft.

Freeganism is admirable but a little strange where dumpster diving is concerned.  Coincidentally, not only was I linked to a page based on this lifestyle but one of my friends suggested we do this.  Um, what?  Which was precisely my response to her when she asked if I was up for getting dirty with her friends.  I mean, I suppose it’s understandable, given that she’s more vegan than any vegan I know (vegan count: 1) and what better than to up the ante than sneaking into rusty bins?  I’m not sure where this desire to sneak in behind supermarkets and rustle around in their garbage came from, but apparently it’s not that dirty, just smelly (I presume).  But it’s not dumpster diving for just anything – it’s for food.  Excuse me, I’m germophobic.  Alas, this contrasts with my eagerness to please people.  Darn.  I am looking to make a sensible excuse to opt out of this scavenging adventure.  “I can’t, I’m allergic” seems less realistic than just being honest and saying, “EW! NO!” but then she’d just pull the don’t knock it till you try it bit … or something.

I refuse!  Maybe if it was searching for a free iPod, accidentally tossed away, then maybe I could spray it with antibacterial but food?  I already rot my innards with junk.  Nothing against the whole lifestyle of dumpster diving; it’s just not for me.

On a different note, my ~BFF~ is more awesome than your ~BFF~.  Just sayin’.