Fed up.
Giving up?
No, no.
Because giving up would consolidate all of my fears into one great bundle.
But fed up, yes.
And so I went be about as rebellious as I could muster
And I played the Doors' "Strange Days" LP loudly.
Mostly to please myself and drown out anything thoughts I attempted to think.
And have you ever had that feeling that Jim Morrison is singing to you?
No?
Well it's peculiar,
Seeing as he's dead,
To feel so very connected, in a way, to him.
He was so fantastic.
Hence the loud playing of the record.
And because I am fed up.
Overwhelming just got to me.
Too much, too fast.
Have you ever made juice from concentrate,
And when you drank the last glass, all of the weird, pulpy orange pieces were there
And they just tasted bitter?
I just did that.
And that's how I feel.
Bitter.
I read an article in "Time" about marriage.
Apparently, it's been scientifically proven that those who are better off financially and have a college education get married.
When did this happen?
Apparently, marriage is dying.
But the smart, rich people still get married.
It doesn't seem right.
Because really, a lot of people get married.
Sure, I know several people in their twenties that are unmarried, and they're quite lovely people.
But people still get married.
And it's such a clinical, scientific view on something so... unscientific.
Sure, I bet they've come up with some end-all be-all love algorithm, but science + marriage = bad.
I feel like it's much to philosophical an issue to boil down into cold, hard facts.
I just don't see it.
But really, it made me sort of sad,
Because, somewhere in my heart, I am sentimental about weddings.
Despite my hatred of most mushy things,
I do love a good wedding
With a smiley-happy couple and pretty flowers, etc, etc.
I like that.
And it's dying.
So far as I know, all of my friends plan to marry.
So we're going to keep the tradition alive, I suppose.
And not to go all "Whiny-pessimistic-loserfaced-teenager" on y'all or anything.
But there are days when I feel like I won't get married.
And it's silly, because I'm 16 and know nothing of the future,
But there are days
When it feels impossible.
The other thing irking me.
Probably more so than anything else,
Is poetry.
Mine, your's, their's,
Whoever's
Like I've said before,
It's a tumultuous love affair.
Can't live with it, can't live without it.
And honestly.
What do writers do?
You know, in college,
What do they major in?
What sort of day job do they have?
Because colleges are nagging me with those letters and jazz,
And I realized again, that I don't know what I'm going to do.
Everyone's always so practical: "Dental-Hygienist!" "Business manager!" "Police man!"
They've all got this perfectly sough out vision.
They know where they're going.
I don't.
Sort of a vagabond of the pre-college world, if you will.
I'm not sure what to do.
I could go and actually study poetry
(Holy cow! right?)
But it wouldn't get me a day job.
I've actually considered being a teacher.
I'm not sure how that would work out.
Because I hate kids.
I'd have to teach high school english and I'd probably be the crazy teacher that is avoided.
I've debated journalism.
I'm at a loss.
And it bothers me every time I think about it.
Of all the things in the world to love,
Poetry isn't the best one.
Writing is a lover
Not a get-married type.
(To allude to the previous rant)
Something like "Social worker" is the get-married type of occupation.
It's a security net and a lovely job to have.
Too bad I hate people.
You're probably sick of me,
But I'm not done with you yet.
Close, but no cigar, folks.
Er.
(Awkward/akward segue-way)
That one person who comes up a lot,
Yes, that one.
He drives me a bit closer to the edge of my mind on a frequent basis?
Yes, that one.
He's so sweet.
I really don't know.
But I must bring him up often because it must annoy people,
And I just like to say things about him.
He has very strong-looking arms.
Not as in "uber-buff-man",
But like, subtly muscle-y.
It's cute, because otherwise, he's so incredibly gawky.
Sometimes, I do think he'd break, he's almost bird-like.
Much, much too effeminate to describe a guy,
But you know what I mean.
Very slight of build and cute.
He's so very odd...
Makes me like him more, I'd suppose.
Although he has annoying moments,
He's by no means perfect, no porcelain god or anything.
He is pale though.
And I really can't help but do the whole loftily daydreaming sort of thing,
As I think all silly girls do,
But my thoughts about him are so ridiculous.
If one can like someone too much, I do.
I'll leave you with these things to ponder.
All of the aforementioned and whatnot.
Adieu and things.
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