Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Its like suddenly not having any pants.

This afternoon I thought for sure I was going to miss the bus and be late for class. I caught the bus. But on the way there I realized I was getting really stressed, getting angry with the train and the rain on the roads and the semi in front of me going fifteen under the speed limit like all this anger and frustration would somehow make the bus wait for me. Useless, right? I tried my best to breathe and stop worrying because no amount of worry would change the outcome, but it would change my mood. I think I mostly succeeded in staying calm, but I'll admit, there was a little wory involved.

My space bar randomly doesn't work and so I get things that looklike this all overmy page. Nofun. I'm just gonna go with it and not fix it when it happens.

For about the first timein my life, I find myself feeling "not good enough" about my writing. I've felt the "not goodenough" feeling in nearly every other aspect of my life, but it has never infectedmywriting. Writing has always been what I do and not something I worry and fuss over. Now I'm worrying and fussing.

I'm tired of feeling not good enough. I can't rationalize a feeling, you know? I know why I feel this way, but that doesn't make it go away. Once, during a "discussion" with Robbie, hetold me, "you shouldn't feel that way". I know that this statement would apply here, but I hate it as much now as I did when he first said it. Just not a very good argument, all in all.

So, I'm off now to do morehomework and write. I hope the writing goeswell. I'm just feeling awfully sad. I have my Grandma's visitations tomorrow night, funeral on Thursday. How can I write anything aboutthat?

Sarah Jo

To the maker of the world’s best cinnamon toast ever:

I want to tell you that I will remember, even if you can’t be with me for awhile.

I’ll remember the offered cups of hot chocolate at that giant kitchen table in the old house.

I’ll remember the pile of Goosebumps books you put in the bedroom for us grandkids.

And how you “forgot” we were still asleep at the insane hour of 10 o’clock the next morning, turning on that bedroom light at least half a dozen times or running into the door with the vacuum cleaner.

I’ll remember the white t-shirt with the blue stripes that had its home in the laundry room closet to forever be my nightgown when I stayed all night. It was comforting to fall asleep in a shirt that smelled like grandma’s house.

“Shit” You’re blessed refrain. And you did not sit still.

And you hovered over the oven door while you made sure the garlic bread got to be the perfect kind of crunchy.

The last time I ever rode in the car while you drove, I thought I was going to die.

Every time we went to the store, you would let me buy something. It always ended up being more than one thing.

I never saw another person who could cross their legs and still have them both touch the floor.

I’ll never forget sitting across from you at that tiny little table, watching you nurse coffee from a stained cup while you asked for the fifth time if I was hungry. No Grandma, I’m not hungry. You just fed me cookies.

And you thought your cigarettes were a secret for so long. We always knew.

And that dog, Andre, was the fattest animal that’s ever slobbered on me.

I remember all kinds of other things, like the way you would pat my hand as you sat next to me, or the way you would smile from across the room just to let me know you saw me. I remember the way you smell and the way your hair falls across your head. I remember you hands and fingernails and the way your cabinets held more candy than real food.
So Grandma, you aren’t really gone, see? You are right here with me. And it won’t be so very long, really, before I see you again. So I’m not saying goodbye, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll settle with “until next time” and keep these memories with me till then

Monday, January 28, 2008

Just so ya know . . .

I've been SO sick the past week that I could barely talk or breathe and had no desire to get out of bed. I mean, I DID get out of bed and I'll tell you why:

My grandma died. Last night. After three days of the hospice nurses telling us, "any minute now".

Point of this whole thing? I'm tired. Really really really tired.

Sarah Jo

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Everyone is one of us.

I just read that statement in one of my textbooks, World Religions in America, and thought it so inspiring I had to share. Enjoy.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

A confession:

I was just reading over her old blog entries because she won't talk to me anymore and I missed her so much I just wanted to hear her voice, even in text. She hasnt written in more than a year, but when she did, she wrote them all for me. I was always the "you" in her posts. I miss that.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

I just spent $80 on amazon. I bought books.

I just want to read and read and read and never come back to reality. Magical things happen in my books, but not in my life.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Last night,

Katelyn and I drew dirty stick figures.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Thats so me

I think it terrible that the people that hurt me the most are the ones I call friends and family. It happens occasionally or continuously depending on which group it is. So thats why I would rather stay home alone. And thats why I have trouble getting close to others and trusting others. And thats why I don't tell you what I think or feel and why I don't explain my actions and leave you wondering.

And to me, hanging out in groups is painful. I like people one at a time and no more than that. When I'm with a group, its those four people and then me. I don't like it, but I do it because I like you and you would want me to and you wouldnt understand if I didnt want to go. So I go. And then its hard for me not to sit there silently while the rest of you talk, and its hard for me when I'm talking and you all are looking at me. So, while it may not seem like much to you, its progress when I go and I talk and I smile.

So all holiday season I've gone and I've talked and I've smiled.
And then I get hurt.

And its already taking enough effort to do what I'm doing, I cant let you see that I'm upset. Thats not what I do. I hide it and go away somewhere by myself. It takes a lot of courage to let others see me anything other than happy. So when we are all sitting there and everyone is all smiles, I'm telling myself that I can cry later when I get home. And I'm telling myself that its not worth the effort. It would have been better to stay at home anyway. I'll stay at home next time.

Oh, and happy new year.