Myself @ MindSay

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Dixie currently feels:

 Depressed

 

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Blog #16

Blogging for myself.

 

 

I wouldn't say the day at college was eventful, nor was my day at home.

 

I really need to stop writing "[Update tomorrow]" - because when I come to write it the next day, I don't know what the fuck to write.

 

I don't care though.

I'm writing this blog purely for myself.

I enjoy looking back on days and seeing if I can remember the things I've written about.

Don't give a shit about comments or people who read it. I'd like some people not to read it, but they're not going to listen to me - so they can just fuck off as far as I'm concerned.

I was going to write 'interesting', but I'd rather just label them what they are, truths, and if you find them interesting, so be it.  This is long, and it took me a WHILE, and I'm actually kinda nervous posting all of it even if most of them are lame and NOT weird, but I'm doing it anyway.  Enjoy as you will. (if nothing else, enjoy the suggested tags:))

-       I am one of the most nervous, least-self-trusting test takers you are ever going to meet.  If a test has an allotted 4 hours to take it, the earliest I have EVER left is 3 hours, 45 minutes in, because I re-check every answer 3 times.  In high school, New York gives out these delicious tests called Regents, which is kind of the end-all for a subject you’ve been studying all year.  You have to stay an hour and a half, have to leave after 3 (and I always stayed ‘til 3).  I developed this great system for the Regents where I’d take it once on scrap paper, once on the test booklet, and if my answers matched, THEN they could go on the bubble sheet.  Stressful for no reason, and probably ridiculous, but for 11-13 tests, that was my system.

-       I really like little white socks.  I don’t know why, but that’s pretty much all I wear in terms of inside-shoe wear.  I think the holiday socks are cute, and sometimes my feet are cold and I have to layer up with thicker, taller socks, but the default is the plain white ones.  Sometimes, I decorate them with Sharpie.

-       I was blessed enough to grow up with 4 sets of grandparents.  My mom’s parents, my dad’s  parents, my friend Tifini’s grandparents, and my friend Jackie’s grandparents.  Obviously, 2 sets weren’t recognized by anyone other than me, my parents, my friends, and them, but I absolutely did have 4 sets. 

-       In all honesty, I’m not a fan of the dark.  I’m not always ‘afraid’, but I don’t like it.  In fact, I can sleep with a TON of light on.  I actually kinda like it better when I can see what’s going on around me (so I KNOW the monsters aren’t there J).  So I can sleep with all the light, but I used to not be able to do noise AT ALL.  Only recently have I been able to fall asleep with the TV on, and that’s when the volume is down to 3 or 4.  What I’ve discovered is really interesting is as I’m going to bed, and I’m going to turn the TV off because my nightstand is right next to my head and I keep the remote there, I can’t remember where the ‘Power’ button is.  Ever.  It’s in the same place every night, and I never can find it.

-       When I was a freshman in college, I used to walk past these people on the street all the time who worked for this company called Children International.  I never stopped for them.  They’d try their darndest, but I felt I was a poor college freshman, how the heck would I ‘sponsor’ a child?  On Earth day, this blonde-haired woman stopped me and talked to me about it.  She said, “What’s 18 dollars a month?”.  I realized I had SO MUCH in comparison to this 18 dollars I’d be sending the adorable girl with the brown eyes whose family made $189 dollars a month.  It’s 22 bucks now, but I keep it up, going on 6 years later.  I carry her picture in my wallet, right in the front.  Rubylyn keeps me humble; she reminds me that it’s okay that I give money to homeless people, that I’ve bought people sandwiches or given away my gloves.  I may be the poorest person I know, but I have so much more than way too many people to be so selfish.

-       I absolutely HATE getting shocked.  Because my hair is so thick and curly, it’s really dry and conducts a lot of electricity, so I get shocked a lot all year round, but especially in winter.  It’s so bad that I actually touch other things to ground myself before I touch things like the car door or a handle I know will shock me. 

-       My foods can’t touch.  Like, if I’m having salad and chicken for dinner, and a leaf of lettuce touches a piece of chicken, both pieces are now inedible.  My dream would be to actually own those plates little kids eat off of with the dividers that make the plate into 3 sections.

-       When I was little, I fell down the stairs and cracked my head open.  Since that point, I am the SLOWEST person going down the stairs.  I used to get anxiety when I was in college about it, because the class buildings were 8-10 stories up and the elevators were too crowded on the way down, but I always felt like I was holding people up as I went down.  I’m the only person I know who would rather walk UP hill or UP a flight of stairs than down either.

-       I haven’t written in Times New Roman since I was in 7^th grade.  I think it’s just a terrible font, so I won’t use it.  Not even for professors who would say, “your paper is 3-5 pages, double-spaced, one-inch margins, in size 12 Times New Roman”.  To that I said, “Garamond, size 12 (or 13 in some cases)” and handed it in and NEVER got caught.  SUCK ON THAT, Will Kenton!

-       I don’t like clowns.  A lot of people say that statement, and mean it, but I don’t think any of them have the same rationale.  When I was 3,  my parents, our neighbors and I went to the circus.  A man in a clown suit said he was going into the audience to get a volunteer.  I was sitting on my mom’s lap, and the man took me off, handed me to Lori (the neighbor’s then-wife), and took my mom down.  We have pictures of her wearing a stupid had and banging on the drum, and everyone else there thought it a great time, but my memories of the day were of the marks Lori left in my arms holding me back as I tried to get to my mom, and HATING that clown.

-       The whites of my eyes are actually tinged kinda blue.  They were stronger when I was little, and seem to be fading (I looked up ‘Blue Sclera’ on several websites, and they said that’s normal).  I remember being in my AP Bio class and my teacher telling us about genetics and blue sclera, and how he didn’t believe I had it – he thought I meant I had blue eyes (I don't have blue eyes).  Then when he looked and saw I was right, he made me show EVERYONE; our class, his 2 other classes, the other bio teachers …

-       I haven’t really thrown up since the day before I turned 13.  If  you’re really interested in the deets, I can tell you exactly where I was, what I ate, what sports we were doing after lunch, which counselor tried to rush me to the bathroom…all of it.  But I’m 23 now, and I haven’t thrown up since then.

-       I can crack pretty much every joint in my body.  The usual fingers and toes, neck, and back, but I can also do my ankles, knees, hips, wrists, elbows, and shoulders.

-       My favorite number in the world is the number 4.  That, coupled with some minor OCD-stuff…I like to eat things in 4s, sometimes 8s (because 8 is two 4s).  Either I pick up 4 of an item (pretzel sticks, M&Ms, whatever) and then eat them one at a time, or if the item is small (like skittles), I would eat all 4 at once.  There have been times that only 3 of something is left, and I won’t take them .

-       I have really small handwriting.  Like, really small.  Everyone who sees it comments on it.  When I was student teaching, one of the ways I used to get my kids to calm down when they were heated was to let them look over my notes and try to decipher what I wrote.  It’s tiny, but it’s neat.  The kids usually can’t read it, but most of them ask me to ‘teach’ them how to ‘write so tiny’.

-       When I was in 6^th grade, I was picked on everyday.  This is, unfortunately, not an exaggeration.  I had decided over the summer to grow out my short hair, and that was when it started to change into the curly mess it is today.  It was frizzy, it was huge, and it was an easy target, and from early October until the start of 7^th grade, several times a day, I would be teased mercilessly.  I stopped looking people in the eye, just at the ground, but everyday, after lunch, I sat on the staircase outside my homeroom and cried.  There was even a point where it hurt so bad being so hated, I wanted to kill myself. I didn’t want to live anymore.  I never did anything about it (thankfully, it was more the idea of the pain stopping than figuring out ways to make it happen), but the idea was there.  The words people used to put me down are still with me today.  There are some people who used to be my biggest tormentors, and I see them now, and I’m still afraid of them.  They may have grown up and aren’t jerks anymore, but just like I’m still middle-school-me, they are, too.  Most people I’ve forgiven and was even friends with by high school, but there are a handful of boys who just their being near me sends me into a panic.  Whoever says ‘words don’t hurt’ has never been picked on.  Don’t believe that when you call someone a name that it doesn’t kill them, maybe worse than your fist.  I know that people who were calling me hurtful things meant it just for that minute, and wouldn’t have said anything if they knew I’d recall them 12 years later. But they did, and I do.  I’m still so paranoid because of that year.  When I see someone look at me, I assume they’re about to call me something.  When I hear people laughing around me, I assume it’s at me.  When people know that I’m silly and joke around with me, I take a lot of it personally without wanting to.  WATCH WHAT YOU SAY TO PEOPLE.  You never know when it’s going to stop affecting them.  I’ll let you know if what people said to me EVER stops hurting.

I don't know who he is...because that sure as hell ain't me. lol... This is the first time I've taken a photo of myself in over six months. I don't even know what possessed me to take the photo in the first place, since I usually hate photos of myself. Anyways....I've been trying to follow the 18 rules given by the Dalai Lama, and I must admit, it's a little hard, but I'm trying.

So yesterday I ran into some people from those NA meetings I had to go to and they wanted to catch up with me...which the conversation just kept getting increasingly awkward as time passed. I told them I stopped going because it just felt weird, because I wasn't ready to talk about my drug issues with complete strangers. I told them I was in therapy now and that one day I'd come back, just not anytime soon. I tried my hardest to avoid them, but he spotted me and called my name...there was no avoiding it I guess...

When two people are in love with each other and with the spoon, nothing comes out right.
Not a day goes by that I don't long for this life to end so that I can rejoin my love, where ever he is.
Dave Draiman (my Dave is David Alan Jaeger) says it all with Inside the Fire. I will go where ever he is,
the sooner the better. But I can't just kill myself, God has seen fit to give me a child that ties me to this world.
A child that tests my patience, my sanity (what little there is) and ability to contain the anger and violence inside me
on a daily basis. Like Scott Weiland says, "The roller coaster ride's a lonely one" Music keeps me sane, that and 40mg of Percocet a day. I am blessed with a compressed disc in my spine, which I treasure. Dirt, yes, that's a great song, Layne had such a way with words, he is fortunate, he has already rejoined his love. Soon, please, let it be soon.