Category Archives: Feelings

Dear Sleep,

I mean it.  Seriously.  Go away.  I mean, the lasagna’s not going to cook itself.

Thanks,

Charlie

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Dear Sleep,

Stop knocking at the door.  I won’t be ready for you until at least 9pm.

My sincerest apologies,

Charlie.

PS. Are you the reason that my doorbell now sounds like a lullaby?

Here, I have to remind myself that most people are human and have therefore gone through – maybe – a similar situation themselves. This makes me feel less like a fuming two year old.

Charlie!  Hey, there.  What are you doing up at 2:32 in the morning?

You know those days (rather, nights) when your head is just so full of thoughts that however much your eyes might be threatening to close, your brain just won’t allow for sleep?  Yeah.  I hate them too.

Shortly following this blog, I’m going to blog about how I’ve been a huge hypocrite to one of my friends, but here I’m actually going to talk about how I’ve been a hypocrite in a slightly smaller way to the same friend.  I keep telling her that she needs to forgive and forget when I can’t seem to do the same myself.

I don’t know if you remember, but a couple months back, I had a huge blowout with…someone I used to know (and then there’s the part two).  I fear this entire thing makes me sound like I’m two years old, but…it’s been a couple months now (when was that posted? Feb? March?  I’m not sure) and I can’t seem to let it go.  This is the only occasion where something like this happened and I carried it around for so long.  But…I can’t seem to figure out exactly why I can’t let it go.

My first idea is that the issue is unresolved, or at least, in my head.  I mean, the entire event came to a conclusion but there are so many things that I want to say to her.  I want her to know that it was unfair for her to push for my roommate to accept her apology like she did and then avoid us for the three or four days following the “you walked on my clean floor with dirty shoes!” event.  I want her to know that it was in those days when she wasn’t talking to us that I came to the realization that she wasn’t someone I wanted in my life.  (Weirdly, I happen to know for a fact that she thinks it started much earlier than that.)  I want her to know that I think she’s disrespectful (and that I happen to think she’s a horrible person for it).

I don’t want her to hate me, per say.  I just want her to know that I think about as much of her as she thinks of me.  Lastly, I want her to understand that I never used her.

There’s also the fact that I want to piss her off.  Sometimes, I think (very briefly) about posting a Facebook status, either song lyrics or…something in rant-ish form, that specifically relates to her, just in the hopes that it will make it’s way back to her and will make her mad.  However, I will not let myself sink to her level, as she made a comment on someone else’s status saying that she knew how it felt to be used and walked on.

In my own quiet way, I guess I do *gulp* hate her.  And I know I need to forgive her.  Don’t get me wrong here.  When I say ‘forgive,’ I don’t mean, “Let’s be buddies!”  I just want to accept what happened and be able to…just forget about it.  I want it to be able to say, “Remember that time when….?” without stirring up some funky emotions.

I want to be able to leave it in the past, but instead, I keep bringing it up in my mind, turning it over and over.

I know that forgiving someone isn’t an easy process.  However, I sometimes feel like forgiving her now would be like stitching up a bullet hole in someone’s shoulder without removing the bullet first.  There’s so much I want to say…But, at this point, I think it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.  There’s no point in telling her this.  She’ll just respond and instead of removing the bullet, all we’ll be doing is just pushing it deeper.

This was one of the things I miss about school.  There was a woman I worked with there that I became friends with.  She was my voice of reason.  Whenever I had a problem like this, I would talk to her.  (She would also talk to the girl in question, and I could get information on the state of the girl’s mind by talking to this woman.  And I do miss that.)

I just wish there was a 12-step program for this sort of thing, you know?

*sniffles, and then starts bawling* Stupid Nicholas Sparks…*continues to be absorbed in book*

A lot of books are made into movies.  Usually, I’m content to read/watch (usually read) one or the other.  A few weeks ago, I saw the book The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks at a book fair at a library.  I thought, “Huh, you know, I saw the movie and liked it and…I kind of want to read the book.”  So I bought it and I just got around to reading it.

I didn’t cry in the movie.  But I’m about 10 pages into the first chapter in the part of the book that makes you want to cry, and I want to absolutely bawl my eyes out.

After I finish the book, I’m going to watch the movie again.  And then watch something lighthearted and really cheery like the most epic dragon movie ever, How To Train Your Dragon.

This has been a long time coming. *happily sighs*

OMG!  So so so…I got reinspired.  I’m writing again!  I wrote a grand total of…(wait for it)…1800+ words today, in just over 3 pages.  I’m kind of worried about the characters internally monologuing to an extreme.  Hmm.  At any rate, it’ll get faster and I can always cut it down later if I feel like it’s too much.  For right now, I’m just excited to be writing again.

I bet you wanna read an excerpt, right?  No, no you don’t.  You probably don’t care.  And if that’s the case, then you can just stop reading now and move on because I’m going to put an excerpt here.  (Small excerpt.  I’m just so excited, you know?!)

———————————————-

Out of the blue, the office door burst open. Miriam turned, her eyes wide with shock, just in time to see Evelyn slam the door shut and bar it shut with her body.

Evelyn was the head waitress for a reason. The woman had a cold stare that could make rhinos turn in fear. It was Evelyn Miriam trusted to deal with the most difficult of customers, in whichever way Evelyn saw fit. Evelyn was one of the most down-to-earth, no-nonsense people Miriam had come across. And yet, Evelyn stood before Miriam, with trembling features and running mascara, clearly terrified.  Miriam studied the head waitress for a moment before she picked up the phone. The urgently whispered numbers, “9-1-1,” had hardly left Evelyn’s mouth when Miriam punched the three numbers into the phone.

Miriam had no idea what was going on. The office was in the back of the restaurant, behind the kitchens. Often times, the cooks made enough noise to completely cover whatever noise was made in the main room.  Plates had been dropped, yelling had ensued and as long as it stayed in the main room, Miriam hadn’t a clue. But if Evelyn was this scared, this terrified…Miriam shuddered as the feeling of dread grew deep within her stomach.

Miriam only had enough time to realize that the kitchens were mysteriously silent before three things happened, almost instantaneously.

The first thing was that the woman at the 911 call center came on, just in time to hear the second thing: the sound of a gunshot, and a man’s voice screaming out, “I better be able to see you in five seconds, or you’re going to see a lot more of this young lady than you ever wanted to!”

——————————————-

So, that’s the story.  (Any edits or comments you want to make are welcome.)  Well, obviously, it’s not the entire story, just part of it.

I can’t tell you too much more about the story, only that it’s about this guy who comes in and takes an entire restaurant hostage.  It’s intensely psychological and, well…it’s just intense.  If you couldn’t catch on to that.

At any rate, I’m excited.  😀  1800+ words!  Yay!

Selling skepticism by the pounds! Come and get it! Good price!

I went to get my haircut on…oh, when was it?  Thursday, I think.  At any rate, t’s something that I’ve needed for a while – the bottom layer of my hair was bleached blonde about a year ago, so I had about four inches of bleach blonde hair and then my normal brown hair, and my hair was getting entirely too long – and so my mom finally went, “Okay, let’s go do it now.”

I swear, I had hardly sat my bottom in the chairs where they wash your hair when the woman started pushing products on me.  One product, in particular.  “I can feel that the shampoo you use is no good for you.  Use this.  It’s much better.”  Encouraged by my half-hearted sounds of assertion, she continued.  “I’m using it on your hair now.  It’s very good.  Much better.”

Over the years, I’ve gotten into the habit of questioning commercials.  What are the “leading products” that they’re forever mentioning that they’re products are better than?  Who did they test them on?  For how long?  When other people noticed improvement, how much improvement?  And on the questions go.

As you can tell, I don’t trust the people who try and push products on to me, especially if 1. they are people I do not know personally and who do not know me and/or 2. they benefit in some way if I buy said products.  I mean, let’s be honest here. Company X with product Y cares less about me and more about the five dollars in my pocket.  They don’t benefit from my wellbeing.  In fact, most of the time they benefit more from me not being well.  Tylenol doesn’t make any money if I don’t get headaches or fevers or whatever.  Likewise, hairdressers don’t get business if they go all, “Oh no, your hair is fine.  I don’t need to do a thing to it.”  Of course they’re going to tell you that you need this treatment (which she didn’t push onto me, thank goodness) or that shampoo.  It’s just all a ploy to get more money.

Which my mother, bless her heart, fell for – hook, line and sinker.  The hairdresser’s weaseled $42 out of her in shampoos, conditioners and styling mousse-y stuff.  Now, I have to admit that the styling mousse-y stuff really does work.  My hair becomes about 100x curlier with that in.  But still.  There had to be some other product that did the same thing.  Even if they had said, “Now, what you’re looking for is _____.  You can find it at ____, but we do carry some here and it’s $3 off it’s normal price.”  (True story.  Well, the $3 off bit.)  That would have been better.  At least then, I would have had some indication of something I was looking for and had the option to find it somewhere else.  At least then, it wasn’t “Buy it here or don’t buy it at all.”

$43.  Included in that was a shampoo/conditioner pair that cost $30.  The mousse-y stuff was $13.  I mean, I know Mom’s defense is that I need the right stuff to make my hair look good for interviews and such, but still.  $43.  $30 of which I can’t confirm is any better than the $10 shampoos+conditioners that I would buy at…anywhere else.

I just wish she hadn’t spent $43 on me when she didn’t have to.

The weirdest part is that everyone in the office I go to is Indian, which kind of makes me think of the mob and how they’re all stereotypically Italian and all most certainly bring pain to everyone else’s life.

Signs Your Dentist Might Be A Scam Artist:

  1. Your teeth never bother you until after you’ve had a supposed cavity supposedly filled.
  2. When you walk in to the office, you see shower curtains hung in lieu of actual walls.  “We’re redecorating,” your dentist insists as she ushers you to the little cubicle type space where you’ll spend the next two hours.  You notice that what’s supposed to be a dental chair closer resembles the office chair you saw at Target for $50.  Your doctor notices you looking at the wheels on the chair.  “Don’t worry.  The chair doesn’t move,” she says to you, and then under her breath she continues, “The last guy made sure of that.”
  3. Your dentist tells you that she will be working on the tooth third from the back three times, and after she hits you up with novocaine, she proceeds to work on the tooth on the opposite side of your mouth.
  4. She loves to stick all sorts of funky gadgetry in your mouth.  So much so in fact, that you have to wonder if there’s a purpose for half of them or if she’s competing with her coworker over who can fit the most dental tools in their respective client’s mouths.
And finally, sign #5 that your dentist might not really be a dentist:
As you’re rinsing your mouth out, you happen to glance out the window and see a man sprinting across the road away from the building.  Quick to follow him are two muscular men in suits who look suspiciously like the guys who have their butts glued to the chairs in the waiting room.  Your dentist notices you watching the chase and smiles at you.  “Don’t worry,” she says.  “They have guns and tasers.  He won’t get far.”
(If you couldn’t tell, I went to the dentist today.  Thus my scorn for dentists.  And if you were going to say that you feel my pain…*fiddles around in mouth with tongue*…No, I really doubt you do.  My anger/scorn/discontent, perhaps.  But not my pain.)