Monday, November 30, 2015

Illuminations 11.30.15


Warning: Alex is a protagonist(ish) in this post.

As if the self-absorption of a young human wasn't enough, sometimes I feel the overwhelming need to steep myself in more of myself for hours upon hours. I read my own word vomit from the earliest possible (2004, baby) to the present-ish. Here you go, quotes from my journals, with or without context.

"Today I got a new stationery set. It has Mickey and Minnie Mouse on it. That's all for today. - Alexandra"

I hereby declare that from this day forth, I shall be going by this nickname that makes people think I am a man. (I love it)

Poor self image from age 8

NO writing from 2008-2010. No writing in my middle school years. In the process of bootlegging the other girls' identity (one collective identity of pop culture), I'd forsaken pen and paper for Edward Cullen and Tiger Beat Magazine. And Claire's. And Limited Too.

Except, wait.

"The art teacher is a demon from hell." Ahh, those pesky artsy people! Not that I'd ever become one of those...maybe in the...near or so...future.

But other than that Pulitzer-worthy statement, nothing.

Then high school started and I started realizing what emotions were (as you do). I built myself back up and exorcised all traces of sparkly vampire and bitchy middle school white girls.

"I felt bad for the guy. I wonder (if it's a nickname) why or how he had earned [his last name]. Was it because he's an annoying pest? Or has a really high-pitched voice? Whatever. It's not like I'm going to get to know the guy."
A real entry from Field Day (let's make all the freshmen get sweaty and competitive together!), speaking about my current boyfriend and his very unique last name (think insect). The irony in this is so strong it's beginning to oxidate with the air.

Alex discovers what unrequited love is! Also, we celebrate the birth of Emo Alex at this moment. Starter pack: irrational promises, mediocre poetry, low self-esteem, and intense stares at trees.

I realized that my height did not necessarily give me an advantage in the field of romance. At this point, chopping off my legs was a viable option. Ah, the pains of high school affection.

My short-lived otaku days. Written in a Hetalia notebook!
My personal art gallery

"I'm sitting at the glorious halfway point. And I may never leave."
Trout Lake, Yellowstone National Park.

"LORD I'm so fat, but I love it!"

" hair covered my face and I shuffled lifelessly through the hallway..."
I told you Emo Alex was Emo.

"I have been having some problems"
Yes, yes you have.

"I have lost my home. No, not figuratively, not metaphorically, but literally."
Little did I know that this was a threat going to be let out and retracted a billion times after this.

"Does my argument sound reasonable?"
Since when did wanting to go out on one Sunday turn into me needing to be shuttled away from the world into a retreat house for two months to 'think about what I have done'?

Baby me is not having it
"Maybe I should write a poem about this...if I can."
No, no, you cannot.

An unhealthy obsession with banana stickers
Personal art gallery Part 2
"Reminder: WRITE FOR IDIOTS!!"

Ask me later about the theory that I even wrote equations for!
"Could've been a summer day if I didn't step out of the house."

"...I need to be tucked away in the border-land, unconscious or not, because writing is a process of extraction."

Isn't it interesting who we choose to write to, if we do. At some point I stopped writing to the notebook and to a name. Just the name, not the person.

"Maybe I'm making unreasonable assumptions based on unreal feeling. Like I said, I couldn't tell."

"Gettin' hella deep here, shaka brah."

And I consider this blog post to be a journal entry. Isn't that nice, arriving at the end.

If this was too long and too confusing at times, I'm sorry. If me looking at myself sort of like a character made you vomit all over your device, I'm doubly sorry. Also, I'm not legally responsible.

But, as always,

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