we're forgetting our forgiveness

I was gonna do this yesterday. I was sitting on my bed, computer open, and browser opened to this same page. It just didn't happen. I couldn't get myself to focus or to type. Maybe I really didn't wanna blog, but I felt like I died. A phantom wanting I guess. It could have all been on a whim. Who knows.

I have a severe case of ITunes ADD tonight. I keep letting about twenty seconds of a song play and then changing it. And if I do allow a song to play for longer, it never finishes completely, there are always a few seconds left when I tap the fast forward key to skip to the next song. I guess nothing fits my mood tonight. Frankly, I'm not even sure how I feel. Happy, sure. Sad, not really. Damn me for being cliche on those first two. Philosophical, no. I just feel a sense of...I'm probably gonna use this word wrong, but it's one thirty-seven, I have an excuse. I feel blase. Just indifferent I guess. It's probably because it's early morning on a Thursday, and it's so close to vacation, and I can't wait to see my girlfriend. It's a collection of things maybe.

My god am I a grammar nazi. Not even only grammar, spelling too. No, I don't consider those to go hand-in-hand. It's weird. I see a contraction written with no apostrophe, or a misuse of (their, there, they're), or a simple letter that somebody failed to type, and my mind starts whirring into motion and tells me "correct them, correct their failing". It's horrible really. It's as if my mind thinks I'm perfect. Maybe it's my fault. It could be. I mean, I certainly try as little as possible to "toot my own horn" as they say, but maybe I slip through the cracks sometimes, fall into the abyss of conceitedness. Today had a good example of my refusal to adore myself.
We have to vote for two out of four poems (sonnets, to be exact) for my creative writing class. The sonnets are written about maple syrup as a science class has the final project of extracted maple syrup and bottling it. The two poems which receive the most votes will be put on the bottles which will then be distributed to alumni, board members, and faculty I think. I at least know alumni and benefactors will be receiving them. Anyway, I read through the email today, and opened the attachment, the four poems opening in a text document. Well, figuring into my displeasure (well, not really displeasure, but I guess you'd call it...I don't really know) my poem was one of the four. Now, sure I was happy, but I also wasn't happy. I don't wanna vote. I can't vote for mine. I tried asking for advice from people. They could only say that if I think mine is one of the best two I should vote for mine. I can't though, I just can't do that. Sure I wanna win, but I'm gonna feel guilty if I do win, because I'd have voted for mine. Imagine the third place poem received one less vote than mine. If I'd voted for that poem, it'd be a tie. I'd feel better knowing I voted for two other people, and then won fair and square having others vote for me. I don't want to be responsible for my own success I guess is what I'm saying. Now that may sound weird, but it's true...It really makes no sense, well to some it might not. I just can't allow myself to vote for myself.
Another example is that people have told me before that I'm good at writing, and I sure hope I am since it's what I want to do with my life. I personally though don't like admitting I'm good at it or at anything else. It just feels self-centered and conceited. Maybe I am good at it, but I'd rather hear it from another person's mouth than my own. And so today a classmate of mine told me she'd been having a discussion with our CW teacher and I came up in conversation. Anyway, the gist of the story is that he said he thought I had a natural talent for writing. That made me happy, sure, but also I couldn't let it get to me. I like hearing people say I'm good at writing, that they enjoy something I've written, but myself, I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to writing. I hate my writing. It's never good enough, never will be good enough. I could have something published and I'd still think it could use work. I'm a perfectionist I guess, and since perfection doesn't exist (well, at least not to some people, well again, I don't know, maybe just not in writing, because there is one thing in the world I think of as perfect, but I digress) my writing will never be perfect, so I'll work and work for something I still consider worthless. Maybe I wouldn't be a good author. I mean...I'll never quite be satisfied with anything I write. That's gonna suck I guess. Maybe in time I'll be able to accept praise, maybe even pat myself on the back without getting big-headed. I'll try to remain level-headed...maybe I'm not even that right now. Maybe I'm tilted the other way...small-headed? I dunno what the word for it is.

I feel better this evening/morning/break of dawn(not a Twilight reference, and yes, I realize it's Breaking Dawn, I don't care) though. Just some small happenings, they feel a lot bigger than they are. I feel better knowing that I may be a bastard, and I've certainly been a bastard of late, to some people who matter a hell of a lot to me, I regret being that person. I don't really know what it is that drives me to that state of mind, action, but I need to fix it. Repair the cogs and gears to refuse any commands from my brain to set in motion the "bastard" programming. That's what I'll have to do. I'm happy though, like I said. Some people may not know it yet, but I'm gonna be better, I swear. I'm gonna be more of a friend and not a bitchy, ranting prick. Yes, I'm beating up on myself right now, but I deserve it. Maybe not so much with all the names, but I have been a prick and a bastard and I can admit it. And I can take credit for being that way, not intentionally, but it's happened. And I can now take control of it. The storm's on it's way out of town. And no, we're not in the eye, there won't be anymore destruction, tearing up of the roots of trees and foundations of anything, not relationships nor friendships, they'll stay intact this time. A new day's dawning (I need to really stop using that word, it keeps making me think of Twilight and that's bugging me) and the clearing will appear, a peaceful meadow where we can sit and picnic, I guess. I dunno why that was all so picturesque, I'm gonna stop with the imagery now. It's a bit annoying, even to me, and I adore imagery.

The pieces of the puzzle are...jesus christ. I'm done. I'm not writing anymore, for the sake of saving the trouble of using anymore metaphors or images or similes or any tools of English that will bore or annoy or cause anyone's mind to reel. It's too early to be talking like this. I'm done, serious this time. Wait...just noticed. I said the pieces of the puzzle are jesus christ. I guess jesus is a puzzle now. Dammit. DONE.