I guess this is growing up

I hear a song driving home today that I had heard one day driving in the backseat of a friend’s car while we were inebriated. I remember that day was the first time I hadn’t felt worried or dread. I felt at peace, calm. Without any pressure… I was 15. 

I had such a heavy dread with me all the time. So worried about tomorrow, what I’d come home to, reluctant to wake up the next day. And I find myself now trying to remember that I don’t feel that now. I’m not dreading each day the way I had been, as if one day I’d wake up or come home and find someone I love on the floor or in prison, or behind a series of policemen. I don’t have to hold my breath each time I open the door because the worst thing I might find is a messy house. I try very hard to remind myself that I am not in a crisis.

And to my surprise it’s a lot more difficult than it sounds. I try my best but I still find that I’m putting myself in a state of mind where I’m drowning. But I’m fine. The biggest worry I really have right now is where I’m going to be living next month. But I know I’ll be able to be somewhere. I won’t be homeless. I’ll be fine. I just forget that I’m not in dread. I’m in transition.


I wonder how many people actually read my blog. I know at least one. Because they’re following me on http://juvenilecreations.tumblr.com/

Also cory thanks for the sentiment about my car. I’ve bought my new one and me and my puppy loaf it. Also, I have no idea how to comment back to you so I made a whole post about it… to comment back… 


My teacher cancelled our Tuesday class and then followed up with an email the next Monday to let us know that there would be a quiz on 3 chapters we never covered. So I was a little stressed - 5 notebook pages worth of stressed. Here it is typed out since no one can read my chicken scratch writing:

2/4/14

Yes, let’s divert the situation with humor. We should have read the book for Quiz 1 without any clarity as to what will be on it — perfect. Plus a late arrival — impressive. Oh my god what kind of class is this? I feel like a goddamn prisoner. What a psycho. He has the eyes of a sociopath — or an animal. Sometimes I wish there was a better test for teachers so that the ones who simply regurgitate the text and facts can get canned before they even start and the ones who inspire can go on to actually help people who want to learn in a not monotonous tone.Even the humor attempted is flat and stale like someone else said it first and he’s just repeating it like a parrot. Wow a laser pointer? Is that supposed to help me pay attention? The way you sigh makes me lose faith in not only humanity but life itself. I wonder what he looks like when he’s laughing like a real person — or if he’s even a real person. I bet he’s the kind of creature that was criticized so much as a child that he feels the need to take it out on the rest of the world now as an adult. I bet his mom is high maintenance. “Molested” — he says it so casually.

How can you expect to talk so flatly and in the dark and expect to shed light and vibrant inspiration in regard to history? How does he have good ratings? How does this class not have someone whose more excited about what they’re teaching, teaching it? I wonder why he was late and sweaty and red to class. I bet he’s the bitch in his marriage. I bet his kids are robots. I bet he’s overly sensitive about absolutely everything. I bet he was bullied in early adulthood. I bet he met his wife in a very embarrassing haphazard way. I bet he lies when he tells people the story. I bet he hates half if not most of the class — if not everyone of his classes — if not his whole existence. I bet he watches animals fuck in his free time. I bet he has a power complex — and a small penis. I bet he thinks about dying his hair on a daily basis but never does it because that’s just how indecisive he is. “It started it’s life as a colossal failure - failure - failure” He sure does like that word. I bet he uses his teaching career to feed his killer needs — it’s a menu. I wonder if he knows how boring he sounds.

 I hope he can’t read my mind. But actually I kind of do — then he’ll know I’m pissed and he should change.

[see picture] “Sir, just so that you are aware, your late notification/reminder of our quiz and its potential content, as well as your late arrival and lakc of notification of class’s dismissal — regardless of expected upkeep of our book and your excuse of not being present for class — offends me greatly. And as someone who has registered and is taking time out of my day and life to be educated I expect to be treated with — at the very least — a little more respect. I hope that in the future this is the case — especially if you expect me to show you the same”

[see picture] Hopefully someone will relieve my suffering in this class. I can’t learn through your bun and cut-off jean vest.

Every time I check the time only 3 minutes will have gone by when IN FACT it’s felt like 900,000,000,000… I wonder if this class is just as painful for everyone else here. I can almost feel chains on my limbs and my mind. I wonder if his friends are boring. I wonder how badly he’s dying inside. 

I bet he’s just like that guy in American Beauty. Sad, lonely, losing, BETA, and yearning for a 16 year old girl — or boy, I don’t judge. Hell is pretty immensely instilled in our society — the fear of it anyway. I checked again and it’s been 6 minutes this time. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be in everyone else’s life. People were such amazing artists back in the day because society allowed the time for it — now all it allows is poverty and gluttony. No passion. I feel like I’m on a long flight to nowhere watching a shitty movie and having to be quiet because it’s late and everyone has to sleep. This is my nightmare. Everyone’s staring at the screen but all I hear coming out of it is sad violin music. Why do they look so intrigued? I’m crumbling mentally in my seat. I can’t wait to stand up again. This darkness is stifling. I wonder why his voice cracks so often. I wonder how long I can keep dead eye contact with him before he asks me to stop. Oh dear sweet humble Jesus one more hour left. How have I lasted this long? I wonder how many other people are pretending to write notes. I wonder how many are actually writing notes because they think I am. I can’t believe I paid $5 for a tiny coffee and a cookie. He is actually talking about dead things. I love his forced French accent.

Are people seriously retarded? Why would you ONLY take note of what is already written in the presentation. FUCK. How many times is his voice going to crack? People frustrate me. This class frustrates me. Being obscure in the world frustrates me. Power struggles frustrate me. I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep this up — hopefully for another 4 months. I think that’s 16 classes… 48 hours… I actually just drank from the wrong side of the coffee cup. That’s how MIND NUMBING this shit is. That’s how useful it is. That’s how fucking ENTHRALLING it is. Holy mother of God pray for this man who somehow continues to have more and more to say and never seems to run out of breath despite being “sick”. How is that even fucking possible? “Fully-formed male body — *crack*” Wow, you like? Humanism — a system of thought where humanity is in the center — how fucking arrogant — shows that man can be creative and is not simply just a vessel for God. Only 5 people are writing things. I wonder if that means they are only vessels — If I recall correctly, that has something to do with the devil/illuminati. It is BARELY 5PM NOW. I bet the people in those paintings would hate this class. I can’t tell if I”m having a heart attack or a panic attack. And I can’t tell if it’s because my body is unhealthy, my mind is unhealthy OR

my mind has decided to check out and I’m now literally dying from boredom. This is horrible. It’s like staring into a vortex. It’s like listening to people cry at funerals. It’s like people-watching at Walmart. It’s like Leonardo DiCaprio dreaming of his Oscar. Is he deaf too? “Speak up? What? I’m sorry?” Or maybe he’s just not used to LISTENING. Or social situations in general. Please stop yawning, it affirms my urge to stab the corneas of my eyes to stay awake. I wonder how many other people have committed suicide immediately after this class — or during. I wonder what his Match.com profile would look like…[see picture]

My leg is falling asleep and I actually feel dizzy. “My French is quite bad” then why do you insist on adding an accent?!? Holy Jesus. I would really rather read, outline, re-type, handwrite, typewrite, summarize, recite and present the entire textbook than sit her and listen to this sad man talk any more. Where is the passion!?

[see picture] When’s the last time you heard someone THAT passionate ABOUT ANYTHING? He kind of looks like the Grinch. Jesus, can’t you just say, “I don’t know” ? Is it that hard??? My, God.

Fucking dementor.


What just happened?

I wasn’t expecting that watching my car be towed away would ensue such a volatile reaction. 

I broke down and cried so hard as I was handing the keys over. I broke my 7 days of smoke free quitting. I had an enormous fit when someone else wouldn’t comfort me. 

I watched them take my car away. I’d been dreading it since they told me they would. I’m expecting a $2600 check in the mail for it now. But I feel so defeated over it. People have been trying to cheer me up. Pat me on the back and remind me, “it could be worse,” “it’s for a reason,” “it’s just a car.” But you know, it really isn’t just the car. It’s the fact that I put so much effort, time, and strenuous energy into buying that car. Into making the money for that car. Just to have someone else’s mistake come back and bite me in the ass. Take away the efforts and leave me with a problem instead of transportation. 

I guess really what I should be doing is seeing this as an opportunity. Now that I don’t have a car I can find a new one. I can gain credit by financing one. I can walk more. 

But I can’t get over how easy it was for it to be stripped from me. I realize it’s just a material “thing” and that the effort I put into it will always exist. But it was mine. It was really, all mine. And now it’s gone. 

It’s really hitting me pretty hard. It’s not the most depressing thing that’s happened in my life. But it sure is at the top of the list. 


Sometimes I just give up

Getting into my second accident only 8 months after my last has my faith in humanity shaken. Mostly because now I have a car that barely runs and no help from either my insurance company or the faulty party’s. I’m at a loss now considering school starts next week. I’m not really sure what to do. 

I know that these things will pass. I’ll find a new car. Get rid of the old one. I’ll get whatever the insurance is willing to pay out for the cost of my car. 

But what bothers me the most is that it wasn’t my fault. I was on my way, minding my own business, and someone else’s irresponsible driving has suddenly put me in a stressful situation. And the bureaucratic entity that is supposedly setup for OUR - the citizens’ - protection has yet again given me the only conclusion they can give in their position: “I’m so sorry, but you’re fucked.”

I wholly appreciate the fact that the adjuster, the inspector, those people behind the computers, are members of the bureaucracy and are not the creators. But OH MY GOD how many times can I possibly be rear ended and be told nothing can be done before I get justice? I mean seriously! 

The worst part is that the party at fault took out SEVEN OTHER CARS and now there might be a limit on what can be paid out on the damages to those cars. WHAT!? I don’t know. I’m just so angry and upset right now. And I know that that person does not give one shit about the people’s lives she has disrupted. I wish I could tell her. 

So she knows that the car she ruined has been my safe haven from a difficult home life for the last 2 years. That it was my home when I had nowhere else to cry or laugh or just be. And now it’s dying… I wish I could tell her. But I know she wouldn’t even care or have anything to offer. 

Thanks, bitch.


Art Exclusive

So I’ve made a new blog for my daily dose of art. I realize one of the things I’m not doing is… art… like everyday. I should be doing it EVERY DAY. Whether or not people pay attention or it gets me known. At the very least to keep me in the groove and in practice. 

So here ‘tis: juvenilecreations.tumblr.com