Averi The Antagonist











-> T N left the group

-> S T left the group

-> D S left the group

And just like that, the Okinawa P U N X were dead. Or the Sad Kids Club, or whatever we arbitrarily named ourselves in one of our passive aggressive bouts of animosity.

No warning. No argument. No fight.

Just three notifications. And that was it.

Shit. What does this mean? No more late nights on the Street together. Will the bars turn into turfs now? You can go to the Couch on Fridays, but we’re there Saturdays so gtfo. No more shows. We only went to see you guys have fun. We were happy when you were having fun. No more long walks home 20 minutes till curfew. No more stargazing at the park. We can’t go there, just the two of us. It feels too much like you guys and we’re too sad and mad to miss you like that. Especially when they don’t care. They never will.

Just two against four. We thought…we hoped, it could be three and three. Or two and a half against three and a half. He didn’t really have to chose. We didn’t want him to. We wouldn’t have made him. But he clearly did, and he chose them. It makes more sense for him to chose them. They’re his friends. We’re just the nuisances who thought we could try to be close. We held out hope. 10, 20 minutes passed. He left with them. 30, 40. He couldn’t have left left. He went to get his car. He said he’d be right back. 50, 60. Acceptance. We’re not even mad. Just sad. Disappointed. Confused.

Mostly confused.

Because, I lied. The P U N X aren’t dead. I’m just no longer accepted. So they’re dead to me.

This is what’s wrong with being paranoid. I didn’t want to be right. I thought this farce could last longer. That they’d keep pretending to be friends with me until they truly were and I could be more confident, knowing they actually accepted me for who I am. I thought we were friends. I made that mistake. That was my fault. How could you have expected them to like you so quickly? You think they’d accept you as a friend after only three months? Of course not. That was stupid. Stupid me. Always stupid. I knew they would leave. I knew they didn’t care about me. I knew it and I was right and now I’m sad because I didn’t want to be right.

I didn’t want to know I was right.

Our social dynamic has to change, because now it’s just us two hanging out on the weekends. We can’t go exploring last minute with our friends because we have none. We’re alone in our buildings now. No more wandering down the hall to hang out with those guys.

I really thought we were something special. I’d never made such a large group of friends so quickly. I thought it’d be weekends of adventure and parties and life talks that might end in a few years, but would leave me with good memories. Now I just think about how I was never a part of that in the first place. It was always the guys who begrudgingly accepted our presence and who’d had enough that day. We’ll probably always wonder what we did wrong.

 

It was a good chapter while it lasted. I wish I’d been worthy of your time. I hope you guys have a good life. I’ll miss you from down the hall.

 

 

Goodbye

 



I’m not as down as when I made that last blog post. In fact, as soon as I got it all out and posted it, I kind of regretted it. It’s really kind of silly. I don’t know, I go up and down sometimes. That was a low point in my mood. So sad, and lonely and self-pitying. I hate myself when I’m like that. When I come out from it, i’m like, yeah, Me, you don’t have friends–well, not friends that are as close to you as you’d like them to be. It’s been three months. You haven’t had the time to form the close relationships and feel like your part of something yet. Of course you still feel new everywhere. It takes years to form the kind of friendships you want. I knew Kristin for three years before I thought of her as my best friend above my other best friends. The fastest I’ve ever made close friends with someone was Pichya in college, and that took a majority of the school year. It’s logical that you won’t be invited out all the time. Everyone else has known each other a lot longer. And they don’t even invite each other out ALL the time. Sometimes someone gets left behind. So sometimes I’m alone on a Saturday night drinking wine and watching my friends party 20 minutes away via snapchat. I was doing something when they left, so that’s why they didn’t invite me. They probably saw that I wasn’t home. It’s not like you need to spend money drinking again anyhoo. And it’s not as fun without Amaia. It’s just a bunch of guys who know each other very well and have been friends for months. I’ve known Amaia for months. I think we’re good friends. She would probably invite me if the rest of the group had invited her. We weren’t that close immediately. I mean…true, we did pretty much hang out all the time, but we were classmates and roommates. We kind of were always together. So becoming close was pretty much inevitable.

I have to get used to the idea that other people don’t like me as much as I like them. Or that other people don’t even think of me when I’m not there. Sometimes other people just think of me as an acquaintance. Or a co worker. And not like, a really close friend who’s fun to be with and who they always want to ask to hang out. I mean, I do it to other people. There are some people I wouldn’t always invite out. Or ever hang out with. Some people like me more than I like them. And I don’t care for them as much, so I don’t notice.

 

 

I think I wouldn’t think about this as much if I were allowed to hang out by myself. But then I’m not allowed to go anywhere without a buddy and I realize all my friends are gone and they didn’t invite me out, so now I have to stay in my room, by myself, and drink wine and rant on a blog and watch tv shows and work on assignments because I’m not allowed to go out by myself.

 

I wish I had my motivation back. I wonder where it went.



They don’t like me enough to invite me to hang out, I only get to come because Amaia sleeps over my place and Nick never leaves anyone behind.
What do I do? 

Am I just supposed to find new friends? Am I the only one who doesm’t get the convenience of friends who live in the same building. 

Nick and Amaia need to come home so I can pretend the rest of the group actually wants me along and are not just bregrudgingly accepting my existence. 

Useless pity party. But at least i’m catching up on my shows.



Everybody has bad days. Truth, but is that supposed to comfort me? Someone out there has it worse than me? Well then I guess I’m just supposed to stop feeling shitty about myself. Thank you oh so much everyone ever for the advice of just get over it. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself. Just because someone has it worse doesn’t mean I don’t have it bad. Everyone has bad days. But my bad days are worst to me.

I feel like i’ve said as much before.

Friday was a bad day. It didn’t start off a bad day. Thing about my bad days, is that they’re usually a slow, increasing tumble off a cliff and into shark infested waters. The sharks being my endless oblivion of anxiety and self hatred. That endless pit you have to brave alone because no one likes neurosis. I don’t even like it, so Karma dictates that I can’t expect anyone to have the patience for me. People who listen usually try to give advice, but you can’t. How do you tell sad people to stop being sad?

It doesn’t work that way.

It started with the lack of starting. On anything. I am an avid procrastinator- a fact that doesn’t really bother me until someone asks me what I’ve been working on and I have to say I’ve been doing something that’s just been taking up my whole week which is why my final project isn’t done. I almost lost footage. Yes, yes, it happens to everyone, but it is especially stressful when it actually happens to you! I ended up finding it, but still.

Then. THEN. For the third time in only a few weeks, I’ve learned the lack of tact everyone in my shop seems to have. At least the Marines. I wanted to say perhaps their quick transition from the harsh world of high school to the brutal world of the Marine Corps means they never learned the art of tactful truth telling, but that’s probably just silly hypothesis. Tact is really just about people in general. I really didn’t spend that much more time out of high school. Two years is a small amount of time and I was still in school, technically. I doubt I could blame it on their youth or maturity. In some aspects, they’re more mature than me. At least they think they are. Like, thanks for looking out for me, kid.

Right, so this insult I get handed to often is criticism of my voice. I know I don’t have the most interesting voice in the world. A couple weeks ago when I read a story, TK called my voice boring. I laughed it off at the time because I already knew it was truth. I’ve been told I talked monotone before. I was compared to Raven from the cartoon Teen Titans growing up. It doesn’t really bother me. I’m not expressive. In much of a lot of aspects.

Anyhoo, I think just last week someone else made a similar comment. I sound like I’m monotone. I sound like I don’t care about my job at all. How do you say that while smiling? It wasn’t funny and I wasn’t trying to sound like that. She elaborated more than I cared to listen to, but I still laughed along because that’s just my voice guys, what am I gonna do?

And Friday was the last straw. Diaz of all people. She’s kind to me. I’m sure she meant no harm. And she did apologize profusely when she saw how much it bothered me. She said I sounded like a robot. What was worse was that I tried really hard to sound interested in what I was reading that time. So my efforts when to waste because while I no longer sounded monotone, now I just sounded robotic.

I was excited to get my job. When I first got here, I thought of course I’ll sound rough, since I’m just learning the ropes. It’s hard to remember that I’m still new. I feel like I’m getting worse as time goes on and not better. Have I always been terrible then? I got compliments when I started doing stories. Were they lying? Have I just been horrible this whole time and only now they’re comfortable enough to start telling me? I’m boring, monotone, robotic, unenthusiastic. No heart. No talent.

Sharks.

And I cried again. I really didn’t want to. Why do I have to be so weak? It’s just constructive criticism. They just lack tact. They’re not saying it to attack you. They mean to say you could improve. You lack inflection in your voice. Put more emphasis on certain words. They don’t know how to explain the technical aspects of what you could fix. They only know how to give their opinion on what is wrong.

Breathe.

Breathe.

I’m okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.

Stop

Crying.

In. . . out.

 

 

 

 

Hahahahahahaha. Yes. Smile. Laugh. Take it with a grain of salt. I’ll get better. I can be better.

And when I am better? I don’t know why I’m so weird about improving. It means at one point I sucked at something and they all know it. I don’t like being bad at what I do. I’m already bad at fitness. I thought I at least had this. I don’t want to be bad at my job. If I’m bad at fitness and bad at my job, what kind of Marine am I? How am I useful? I’m not.

I’m useless.

I hate that word. It’s my least favorite word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why do I have to over analyze the little things? How come every little thing bothers me or makes me paranoid? How are people confident? It seems everyone else can just smile and be confident in themselves, and they joke around with each other. I tried to ask someone how to be like him. Fake it till you make it, he said. He learned if he’s happy, then everyone’s happy. So he just pretends to be happy all the time. So I think he’s just a happy carefree guy but he’s not. I wonder when that not so happy part of him comes out. I think about it taking over his mind in his loneliest moments and I wonder what he does to push it back down and put that smile back on his face. Fake it till I make it? I’ve already done that.

I spent too long pretending.

And it got me no where. Especially after I had it for real. I think I was happy for a moment. When I thought I had escaped the shadows and I was making my own way. Real happiness. Not perfect happiness, but it was actually there. I think. I don’t remember all that well. It was only for a moment.

And it just became harder to pretend after that. Why should I pretend to be a happy person for everyone else? Because society doesn’t like sad people? I’m useless if I’m not happy? No one wants to be your friend if you’re depressed? Tell me why I should want friends like that then. I like the happy friends, I do. But I like the happy friends that make me happy. They’re happy for me and they’re happy with me and their happiness is contagious. I had that. For a moment.

And now I have to fake it. Because everyone else fakes it too.

I’m so fucking tired.

I don’t care about convincing anyone else about my happiness! The only person I want to convince is me! I can’t live a lie for you, I want to be happy for me.

Or at least content. I could settle for that.

I want to be confident in myself and my friends around me.

As it stands, I suppose I’m not the closest of friends with all the friends I’d hoped I was close with.

Perhaps people are only a group when certain people are around. It feels like there’s no real group here. Or perhaps I feel left out because I realize my tethers to the group are away? I hope I am just as close with everyone in my friend group, but perhaps within a group, some people are closer than others. And with Nick and Amaia gone, I’m not as close to the rest of the group as I would be. I feel like there’s no reason to invite me along. We’re a strange group as it is. What kind of attachment do we have to each other?

Stupid thoughts,

I know.

 

Should I see a therapist? Probably. But how willing am I to fix myself? Who would I become?

Most of me thinks there’s nothing diagnosibly wrong with me and I’m just wrong. So nothing can fix me. I’m just stuck with this mind because there’s nothing there to fix. I just don’t fit right into the mold. Whatever that mold is supposed to be.

Negative thoughts. I haven’t even started drinking yet.

No one likes to hear negative thoughts.



I pass the hole in the wall on the way to and from Nick’s room. Sometimes I smile. Other times I cringe because I remember that one girl bitching about the random people who put a hole in the wall. Wow, I wonder who did that. Hint: It wasn’t me.

It’s become an invisible rule to my self conscious to leave something in Nick’s room after I hang out with him. You’d think I was safe today because I always forget the charger, but I didn’t bring it this time. But you’d be wrong. Today it was the shoes. Thanks for leaving them in the door.

I’m supposed to work on this video that’s due Friday. I thought i’d have to wait long for the broll to upload, but really it was four videos, so I shouldn’t have expected that. I don’t want to work on it, but I don’t want people to know I’ve been procrastinating on it. Truth be told, it’s actually easy. I have all the elements I need in place. It’s just putting them together now. Which I could do. Or I could blog about not doing it.

I’ve bought one too many trash cans for my room. I put the extra one in the washroom. I realized I had too many just before I actually bought them, but decided the 5 bucks wasn’t worth the trouble of telling the cashier to take that one can away. I’m not sure if that says more about my financial irresponsibility or my fear of awkward socialization. It’s enough of an accomplishment for me to be able to hold up a conversation with a cashier, let alone ask anything of them. I’ve bought multiple trash cans — in case you’re wondering — to separate my recycling. Glass, plastic, cans. Then there’s the regular trash. Because I’d like to be a responsible person and separate my trash and recyclables, and I’m tired of the plastic bags hanging on my doors.

I read an organization magazine the other day and went all hgtv on my room. I moved my bed to another wall, pushed my desk against the window, and my fridge closest to the door. Moving everything was a hassle. At one point, I think I blocked my door, which is probably–at the very least– a fire hazard.

To be honest, I don’t hate my set up as it is now. When i finally finished moving things around and put everything away, I didn’t really like it. But the furniture was heavy and has to be empty to move, so I figured I’d stick with it for a month or so and change it again. It doesn’t utilize the space in the room the best it could, but I like it still.I like my desk against the window, and hiding behind my wall locker. I like that my fridge is the first thing I approach in my room (At least I would if my fridge was currently working, but that’s a different tangent.). I like that if I ever decided to get a TV, I could sit on my bed and face it if I put it in my wall locker. I probably couldn’t host Saturday movie nights in my room, and maybe only 2 people could fit on my floor. Amaia usually shares the bed with me when she stays over any way, so floor space doesn’t really matter much. I have some clear space in the front of the room. Enough for yoga.

Basically, the more I think about it, the more I find this set up is perfect for me. We’ll see how I feel in a month or so.

I started writing a blog post last week and I never finished it. Don’t feel like making it its’ own post so here you go. Two blogs for the price of one.

 

It was pouring outside. My favorite kind of rain. (This was the title, originally.)

I hate the rain, of course, but if it’s going to rain, it might as well pour. And if it’s going to pour, i might as well play in the rain. So it’s my favorite kind of rain. Because it’s the only kind of rain with a purpose, and i like things to have purpose. Like the snow. If it’s going to be cold, it might as well snow. What the fuck is the actual purpose of cold except to antagonize me and critically decrease my productivity-because staying awake and sociable and not killing people and basically existing during the winter already takes so much effort, i only have the energy reserves left for Netflix marathons and eating food.
As it was pouring, Nick ran to his car. I pranced along behind him, imagining just standing there and getting soaked, and Dan trudged behind me. Under the protection of the car, i wondered how other people got out of the rain. I imagined all those people dashing in and out of covers, holding some form of futile protection – a jacket, or purse, or newspaper. I thought about a couple I saw in a car yesterday. It was a red jeep with large wheels. There was no cover, so aside from the minimal structure where the cover would probably click in, and the window and engine in front, they looked like they were sitting on chairs on top of a platform on wheels. Ugh, that was a lot of ons.
It looked cool at the time, but what about in the bad weather? What if they were driving around and it was suddenly pouring? They’d be trapped and their car would be ineffective.  It’d kind of be ridiculous to be honest. Maybe they’re the types who look outside, see bad weather and just say nope to the world.

Some people hold umbrellas, some don’t. Are they just toughing out the rain or are they too lazy to carry around an umbrella because they carry around and umbrella every day because we live on a freaking tropical island so you never know what the weather is going to be like but you never end up using it so you’re carrying a backpack that literally just has an umbrella in it because you keep your phone and your wallet in your pockets because it takes a lot of work to swing your backpack around your shoulders so you can get to your wallet and especially your phone because you’re addicted to snapping happenings in your life and the moment might be over by the time you pull your phone out but you always bring your umbrella because the one time you don’t it’s pouring rain, and that’s what you end up thinking every time it rains because you always forget to bring your umbrella and wow this is a long and strangely specific tangent and i commend you for reading that all the way through the way I was writing it. *breathe*



I plucked a leaf from a tree and painted Okinawa P U N X on it. I guess it was meant to be a metaphor of sorts, although I hate them. Sorry I like things to be blunt and just mean what they mean. Allegories beat around the bush of what you’re actually trying to say, and it might make for a better story, but life’s too short to debate what an author meant when he named a girl Lily instead of Lilac.

Of all the leaves on all the trees on the island, I picked the punks. Two tall airmen, two Asian Marines, and my best friend. Of all the friends I could have grouped myself with, I found my own little leaf. I know next to nothing of punk, but I think the idea of living in the moment and temporariness may fit the appeal. One day the leaf will die, and the writing on the leaf will be gone. But it doesn’t mean it didn’t matter. We were here. We went out, hunted for a scene, became the scene and ruled it.

Being Okinawa P U N X. Late nights wandering from bar to bar searching through half phrases and arm gestures with other hunters who speak none of your own language. We try to learn to speak theirs, but this is as close as we’re getting and it works well enough for us. Dancing, drinking, jumping, bumping. Falling down and picking each other up. No one else is like our scene. No one else is like us.

The leaf will die. There will be many more. There will always be a punk scene, but it won’t always be our punk scene. The world moves on. The writing may fade but the words never will. Our group will go in different directions, but there will always be the Oki P U N X. We’ll look back and say that was our leaf. It didn’t last forever, but it was ours and we owned it.

And it was punk fucking rock.



Today is my friend Nick’s birthday. He’s finally the legal drinking age of 21 — not that that means much in Japan, since we can drink at 20. Sometimes I wonder if it feels anticlimactic to turn 21 here. Every birthday is an accomplishment, but there was never that moment where you can finally drink like an actual adult. Then there are those people who drank before they were 21 which makes it equally anticlimactic because the only difference now is that you don’t have to hide it or get drinks through clandestine methods.
Anyhoo, aside from that tangent, this is a happy birthday wish to Nick.
I haven’t known you very long, but i already think you are a great friend. You’re a reliable person and a fun person to hang out with. I like how you think about the little things and ponder the big picture. I relate to you and your blog a lot and I root for you like a hero in a novel. I hope you continue to get better, but stay punk fucking rock.

Happy birthday,
(Sorry this was short but i’m writing it with my phone on the range.)



There’s something about getting a week day off that’s a tad more freeing than the actual weekend. We spend the entire work week grinding away for the weekend. The two days of freedom when I don’t have to gel my hair up into a bun. There’s no ranks, no stress, no thinking about work—unless you’re one of those who has to. Then it’s just an extension of a work week.

But I digress. Usually when we’re aiming for the weekend, we think about all the fun things we can do. All the partying to be had, adventuring to be done. The weekend is meant for living. Come Sunday night, we regress back into our work selves, accepting the reality of the new obstacle we must face. But every once in a while, a week day becomes a free day.

And the possibilities are endless.

Getting a day off – especially an unexpected one – is awesome. (I know, terrible descriptive word so I’ve heard. Zoey will at least appreciate it.) There’s suddenly so much more I can get done. I can do actual work. I can go do the shopping that I’ve been meaning to do without worrying about lines.

Or you can go to the beach without a crowd.

Which is exactly what I did on my surprise Monday off. It was so great. Best Monday I’ve had since getting on island. All I did was relax on the beach all afternoon with two friends and some drinks.

Well, one drink. Hot drink isn’t finished so quickly.

The clouds were so pretty. I thought about how clouds are pretty much the only thing art can capture so realistically. There’s something about clouds in the bright sky. They’re so fluffy and dynamic. Whenever I see them in paintings I think they look so real. There’s always something lacking in art. Inanimate objects don’t have the right gleam, humans lack the spark of life in their eyes.

But clouds always look like clouds. I think it’s because the sky is so far away. Looking at clouds is like looking at a painting on a canvas. It’s a huge painting that stretches across the atmosphere. Every bump and shadow and fluff.

So pretty.



I’m really more on an on-foot traveler. The lack of a car mixed with the need to go somewhere sends me walking out the door and into the streets. I’d rather walk for an hour to get somewhere for free instead of spend more than twenty bucks to get there in five minutes.

But time is money and other people have places to be.

And thus I find another flaw in this buddy system. No one likes to wander aimlessly for no reason anymore. I can’t just walk down to the beach at night to wander the sands and reflect in the pattern of the ocean waves. There has to be a mission, a goal. Something achievable so we can go back home and sit around our rooms, watching netflix or sleeping while the world turns by without you.

I woke up early on a Saturday morning and thought about going for a walk. The beach is maybe an hour away walking. A few minutes driving. Even if I had  a car I wouldn’t want to drive there. But I need a friend to go off base to the beach with. Who would be awake on a Saturday morning? Who would want to go hang out for no real reason? Would those without cars walk? Would those with cars want to drive?

Too many questions and logistics, so I just sit next to my window in my air conditioned dorm room and watch the world turn without me.

When the sleepies wake up, I may ask Diaz if she wants to go to the art store because I’ve been trying to go to the art store for a month now. But then I think I should just wait until next week when I live closer to it because the taxi would cost a lot less.

Why can’t I just walk?

That was what I liked during my time in Italy. It wasn’t during a blog year, so I don’t believe I have record of it here. I couldn’t even make more than two videos, although I filmed practically everything. I just enjoyed living too much. It’s all sitting on a hard drive somewhere waiting for me to piece it together. I’m sure my friends would appreciate it. They were some good times.

Sure, when you travel, you still take a lot of transportation. Trains, taxis, buses, vaporettos. Even when I studied in Venice. It takes less than an hour to get from one side of the island to the other. There are so many paths you can take just because Venice is a huge maze of buildings and shops and bridges. Accidental dead ends, or new discoveries. There are water taxis that travel around the island from point to point to make travel easier, but half the time we would just walk.

You see more that way.

Maybe that’s why I liked New York City too. The weather was miserable but you could walk anywhere. Just stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge in the morning on your way to Manhattan. And I did that for no reason with no one else. I mean, I would most usually invite someone along, but it wouldn’t cancel my plans for the day if everyone said no. That’s not a very fair place to put anyone either. I don’t want other people to have to come hang out with me because if they don’t I can’t hang out at all. And I don’t like being someone’s last resort if no one else will hang out with them.

Damn, buddy system. I just want to walk along the sea wall in silence. Why is that too much to ask?

 



Fuck it, he said.

He also said he lost the TARDIS, so who knows how much you can trust the bastard these days.

I’m kidding. You’re fantastic. Brilliant, even. Very cool.

I must say that because I enjoy long conversations of useless facts and failing at video games while stealing candy and mac n cheese. I’ll be sure to wash that spoon next time though. I felt incredibly guilty about it, but by the time I remembered, I was away and you were presumably asleep.

Friends who give you mac n cheese are the best people. Don’t let them go. Even if they move all the way across the island and you can only see her on weekends. I miss my roommate.

You ever have a roommate and after you’re done living together, you can never describe them as anything other than a roommate? I have no problem calling Amaia my friend because she’s my DINFOS bestie, and there are a lot of words to describe her relation to me. Roommate, friend, classmate, coworker, best friend in the Marine Corps.

To me, I said. I have no idea how she would describe me to anyone else.

But I had a roommate my freshman year of college. She stopped living with me halfway through sophomore year to become an RA – which she hated. I don’t know why she wanted to be one because she hates people and a lot of other things. It’s one of the traits I found so interesting about her. – but afterward, I continued to describe her as my roommate. She said she did the same. Even if we made the correction, it was “my old roommate” rather than “my friend”. It’s not that I don’t think of her as a friend. Maybe because I met her as a roommate, I can only think of her as so? Much like most of my college friends still describe me as the girl who used to have blue hair.

I miss my college friends. Not so much college and the sinking anxiety that was finding out what I was actually supposed to be doing with my life. But staying up late, talking about nothing late into the night, ordering Chinese food, all-nighter study groups that eventually turned into all-nighter procrastination marathons. How many ways can we distract ourselves from actually studying before the sun comes up? Wandering around Manhattan close to midnight. Going to concerts together and getting lost on the way home at 1 in the morning under light rain, switching to the other side of the street whenever another human came our way. The lack of judgement. College was so freeing. I did my life entirely wrong in high school.

That’s probably why I haven’t deleted those god-awful vlogs. That spoken internet diary of mine when I imagined that would be my doorway to filmmaking. Stay behind the camera from now on, Averi.

My friends found my vlogs. By friends I mean one friend. But the inevitability of friend groups is that one is not allowed to be a fool in front of only one friend. It must be all. And by found I mean I showed him because I’m a glutton for judgement, I suppose. Maybe I really just want my friends to see me at my worse, laugh at me, then laugh with me and still like me without any judgement.

I spent too much time being perfect for fake friends to waste any more of my life being someone I’m not for people I don’t even know.

I love my friends. Everyone is just so interesting and maybe I just love everyone else so much because I don’t waste any love on myself. I want others to like me and I want them to know me, but only if they let me know them too. And I really like the friends I have now. I hope they don’t end up like the friends I had then.

But I’m different and they’re different, so I really shouldn’t compare.

 

(I published this and received a notification that this is my 100th post on my blog. So there’s an accomplishment, I suppose. Here’s to 100 more. Should only take ten years this time.)

 



Says the nerdy girl with the fake glasses. The one my friends hate when I wear because I’m being ironic (?) but I’m not. I just like to wear them. It didn’t even start ironically. I lived in New York City and Williamsburg is Hipsterville. My roommate found them disgusting, but I was fascinated. Also, I like how I look in fake glasses. And I don’t like how I look often, so fuck you very much, I’m wearing what I want.

I killed a snail today. And it completely messed everything up for the rest of my day. I was looking at the sky on my way home from buying dinner, and I was thinking about writing “I think I’m in love with the sky.”

I would have written something quasi-deep and meaningful. As much as a 21 year old with little life experience in the deep and dramatic could.

When I was walking home the beautiful sky was behind me and I thought if I stared behind me at the sky while I walk, I’d fall on my face and I’d be okay, because when I looked up, there’d be the sky.

And then I stepped and my left foot contacted a delicate shell. It drove into the ground and I felt my foot explode and like an earthquake, a sense of dread ripped up my leg and pulsated through my body, straight to my heart. Have you ever killed a snail??? It’s not the same as stepping on an ant or most any other bug.

No matter the size of the snail, you feel that crunch in your entire soul and it crushed me. It’s like you’re stepping on yourself. And internally I cried over that poor snail. And externally, I sent a snap to my best friend Kristin who I once walked the rainy sidewalks with in high school – snails like land mines, hidden over the cement.

And if I was an actual writer, i’d probably tie in some kind of metaphor. Life and fragility. Hiding behind a shell won’t save you. some shit. But I’m not. I’m an artist, but not so extensively. Also, i’ve never been one for metaphors. Maybe I’m just sad that I stepped on a snail and It changed my blog post entirely. At least the beginning of it, because I don’t think much farther than the first sentence when I write.

RIP snail. Stay away from sidewalks.



The way the ferris wheel is never one hundred percent lit up. There’s always a light out somewhere. Number Eleven is a different color than the rest and i’m not entirely sure why, but it’s a Japanese custom I think.

The design in the middle says Carnival because that’s the name of the building, but it used to be a Coke sign.

I’m the only one who knows that now.

No one will ever call the big pink store in American Village JUSCO, but that’s what it’s called. /EON i refuse. It’s Jusco. Those lost people from back then know. The ones who probably forgot and forgot about me. But I remember. That’s enough.

Because people move on usually, but I don’t know what we’re supposed to be looking forward to, so I just remember.

Nights sitting at our corner on the Sea Wall. Pointing Russian Candles at each other. That one time he pointed one at me and I had to push Lisa down so she didn’t get hit. And we laughed.

The sound of the water, sitting on the beach, not talking. The best people- to me – are the ones that can sit for hours saying nothing. The dark beach, cool wind, waves crashing. I love it. I wish it was dark now and I didn’t need a buddy to walk down to the beach and enjoy the waves.

Not that I’d mind if you were there.

It’s not that I don’t want to be with people. I just think it’d be easier to do things if I could do it alone. Mostly because I’m sure no one would actually want join me. But that’s my own anxiety talking to me. If I ever had a perpetual partner in life, it would be her. Fuck.

Home is where I was going with this. Okinawa. Japan.

Not America, which is strange but also makes sense. Yes, I’m from there, but I spent my living time here. Late nights on the sea wall, watching the fire works, or setting off the fire works. Jumping off the wall into the ocean. Running all over American Village, which used to be lit up, sure, but there were not as many lights back then. Not as many people.

The side roads and secret passages to the pancake place.

The ETWS infinity store. The one on the way to Araha used to be amazing. The one up North isn’t as fun. I miss ETWS. I always used to spell it out when I said it, but other people used to say Et-wiss. I didn’t mind much either way, it’s just weird.

The lady at that store that sold that dress to us once, but she was only opened during the school day every other Wednesday or something. We never really found out, because she was always closed when we went there.

The cat Lisa and I used to pet when we gave up trying to run in the morning. Because the sun had already come up and it’s too hot and I’m never really going to have that beach body, so we might as well just sit on the beach and talk about life and pet a cat.

The lady at Lawson that knew Michael’s order, or the man who had Zoey’s milkshake and donut ready because she always got a large mint chocolate chip milkshake and a plain donut. I’m too indecisive to be regular, but I enjoyed watching.

Getting stuck on the Green Line during country hour was never something I missed, but it was worth the weekends with Kristin, who is still my best friend. Probably the only person I talk to from high school. Which means she’s the only person I regularly talk to that I don’t see weekly.

Facebook isn’t always connection. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean we talk.

Some friends of mine inspired me to write again. Well, they didn’t know about the writing. Just the comics. Which I am also getting back into. But I remembered writing is kind of therapeutic as well, and I’ve been more anxious as of late. I cried uncontrollably over a bottle of Gatorade last week. There was more to it than that, but it was pathetic and I hate myself again.

They keep telling me to stop saying that. So it’s starting again.

So I’ll probably come back here and self-loath to the internet so my friends don’t find out and scold me. Don’t know what that actually says about our friendship. It’d be nice to be honest with someone, but I don’t like being lectured. I’d like to heal my own way at my own pace. But that’s not the way society works, so I’ll stay quiet and joke about my uselessness and worthlessness to cover up my anxieties and fears and laugh when they tell me to stop. I’m just joking.

Just joking.

Okinawa is my home. Although no one is here from back then. There’s new people.

Maybe they can be home too.

 

 



Occasionally, I get around to cleaning my room. In my perpetual state on temporary living, I always have boxes of things rather than permanent displays that will be taken down and put back up again only to be returned to boxes. Toys, pictures, knick knacks and useless things, all packed in boxes littered in my room. In my latest room, I have a closet, like an insert into the wall. Almost a separate entity from the room itself. and inside that closet are my boxes of things.

I would say the majority of things in those boxes are little toys. Keychains, patches, buttons…things which interest in fades almost as soon as obtained.

One of my favorite feelings is finding things when I clean my room. All those toys I wasted my allowance on in those 100 yen machines on Okinawa. Or my collections of flattened pennies, which I’m currently sad to be so far away from. I finally got a book for them. I left it in my bookshelf in my parents’ house. My house, I suppose. But I was in college when they moved into this house. I didn’t move there. I just moved in. Temporarily. Until it was time for me to go again. I don’t really have a house. I guess I like that. But I like having a place to put my stuff.

My parents’ house will do.

My computer is like my room, and all the websites I used to visit, those boxes in my closet. Not at the top of my mind, but I have fond memories and I always plan to come back. Youtube. Comics. WordPress. Writing. Tumblr. Art. I think I said it before, I like documenting for the sake of it. My words trapped here on the internet for everyone and no one. God, that sounds so … I can’t really think of the word for it. cliche? Not quite so. But still, I’d roll my eyes if it wasn’t early morning and i hadn’t been reading dramatic short stories I wish someone would write for me.

Recently I made a bad decision.

Bad. Maybe not. But not good, I think. I live a very temporary lifestyle. People come and go and if they were not the best of people, I let them go. I want to hold on to anyone. But the amount of people that I talk to from my past could be counted on my hands. Is that sad? I don’t know. I’ve always been jealous of the childhood friends. My mother still talks to someone she knew in fourth grade. I have no idea where anyone from back then in my life is now.

And I don’t really care to find out.

I did once. And I tried, and I found out that they don’t. Maybe I just think about people more than they think about me. I imagined running into those old and best friends for years and how we’d be best friends once again. Wow. Naive. Maybe that’s the word I’m looking for. I’m always thinking of others, but I think if i’m not around maybe they don’t think about me. I wrote some dumb poem about it once for that boy I liked in fourth grade who I never talked to again after I moved.

I don’t remember where I was going with this.

I’m going to start over. Not with this post, but with my usual pattern of starting over. Maybe I’ll post here once or twice more in the next month and fade away again. When wordpress reminds me it exists and I read stories that inspire me to write.

Thanks.



{February 16, 2015}   Prelude to Foundation

“Prelude to Foundation” is a science fiction novel written by Isaac Asimov. It’s about a guy named Hari Seldon who invents the theory of Psychohistory which is the probability to predict the future of humanity, using the past. Like sociology and anthropology and all the ologies working together. This is millions of years in the future when 25 million planets are ruled by an empire and earth is a mythical planet that not a lot of people believe was even real. Which is insane. Like trillions of years in the future if humans are still alive, we never existed to them. What I find funny is that the legends say we were defeated by robots. So anyhoo, the Emperor of the universe wants Hari to predict that he will have a peaceful rule to maintain his power, but Hari refuses to help because his theory is possible but not practical, meaning Psychohistory is not actually a working practice. He goes on the run with the help of Hummin and Dors, two people he meets who want to help him develop Psychohistory. This is the story of the beginning of Hari’s adventure with Psychohistory.
I only started reading science fiction about two years ago and I loved it instantly. It has something that young adult fiction just doesn’t. I’d only been reading teen drama stories. The hero is a normal person with normal problems and normal solutions that change her normal life in a normal way. Mostly she falls in love. I like that story, but it had gotten predictable. I already knew every character and their arc by the time I reached page 10. Admittedly, the YA fiction gives me more plot twists than the teen fiction did.
Then I started reading science fiction. I read Ender’s Shadow, which is actually the second version of Ender’s Game. It’s the exact same story but told from a different boy’s perspective. And there were so many books in that series, and they split off in dynamic ways. I would probably say Sci-fi became my favorite genre because of those books. I’m sorry to hear Orson Scott Card is a dick, but I love his books. Talented people can be the worst kind of jerks sometimes!
So, last summer I asked a friend of mine what Sci-fi books would be good to read and she said I had to read Isaac Asimov. And then I googled him and he’d written a lot of books so I googled more and found that his Foundation series was the must-read-first series. The Internet said to start with “Foundation” but I found “Prelude to Foundation” which is the prequel. I actually like to read the prequels to books first because they are technically the first story. You get a lot of background and I don’t think you really lose anything from the story by knowing where things come from.
Except maybe the fun of filling in the blanks when the original series is over.
I absolutely loved the book. I loved the characters and I found the setting exciting. I loved the flow of the writing and the crazy plot twists. I fully intend to finish the series just as soon as I get out of boot camp. I wish I hadn’t been so lazy about everything these past few months. But wishing won’t really change anything. I only feel this way now because my time is up. I suppose that’s why They say to live every day like it’s your last. One day you won’t get the chance to do all the things you want to do.
So, what I really wanted to mention about the book was my head canon for some of the characters. If you haven’t read the book yet, feel free to skip this next paragraph so I don’t ruin your head canon.

Hari Seldon- Charlie from Numb3rs, but with a British accent for some reason.
Hummin- haven’t really decided but kind of a Harrison Ford type
Dors- Julie from Selfie but with lighter hair
Emperor- Commodus from Gladiator
Demerzel- no real image, just a man in shadow
Raindrop 43 – Keira Knightly
Raindrop 45 – Natalie Portman
Mayoress of Wye- Meryl Streep
Raych- That kid in Les Mis who dies.

Those are the main people that stuck out to me for some reason.
Anyhoo, that’s my review. Totally go read the book. I’m going to sleep now. It’s 1 in the morning and I have to wake up at 6. It’s going to be so weird to adjust to a regular sleep schedule at boot camp. Apparently we sleep from 8 to 5. But I always sleep from like 2 to 10.
See you when I see you.



{February 12, 2015}   I’m Leaving

This could be one of those careful-what-you-wish-for type of things. I just wanted to get out of my house and the gods answered my call. I get to leave for boot camp sooner than I thought I would. A lot sooner. Months sooner. In a few days….sooner.
I am filled with fear and self doubt that only increases as the moments count down and the time approaches.
I don’t even have all my general knowledge yet! I didn’t want to be one of those people who went down without knowing my knowledge, but now I am. I don’t even know all my general orders.
I can’t even do a pull up, I still do push ups the girly way, I haven’t passed my IST, and I’m still the slowest and weakest in my pool. I don’t think I’m ready but my recruiter says I fit all the standards I need to fit. I’ll get better once I’m there.
But I’ve never been a get better type of girl. I just like being better already. I’m so nervous about being the weakest girl there. And yes, (girl topic spoiler alert) I’m also a little nervous about what happens if I’m on my period when I get there. Do you think they’re very strict about bathroom breaks over there? I should be starting mine any day now. Ugh, it’ll be so awkward. But statistically speaking, there should be a few other girls also on their periods there, right? I heard while you’re in boot camp, because of the exercise and diet, it pretty much goes away, but what about when I first get there??? I’m just praying my uterus leaves me alone for the next few months. I’m still not a confident person to begin with; I don’t need the hassle of needing potty breaks.

Okay, girl topic over.
I guess that’s all I have to complain about this time. It’s the middle of the night and I just got the call this morning, so I’m still kind of in disbelieving shock.
I try to keep my mind off it by thinking about all the little things I’ll miss. Like my iPhone apps, Netflix, YouTube, my comics, junk food……and sleep. I just got married again in that Kim Kardashian Hollywood app that I’m guiltily addicted to. He’s totally going to break up with me when I get back. Of course when I got married to him, I found out you get a whole new set of dresses you can choose from. Maybe on the third try, I’ll get even more~
Also, I won’t be able to finish Friends before I go. I was supposed to be binge watching that, but I got side tracked by Ghost Whisperer.
And I won’t reach generation 10 in my sims 3 game. Although, I’ve been debating on whether or not to accomplish that or catch up on my comics in my remaining days.

Goodness, I talk like I’m leaving forever. And like I didn’t have the past few months to get to gen 10.

Alright well I’m tired now that I’ve gotten that off my chest. I’m going to go to sleep now and try not to worry about how awful my sleep schedule is and how I will hate it even more when I get down to boot camp.

Keep OPSEC
Good night:)



{February 4, 2015}   On an endless spiral

There are some videos you can’t watch without watching more like them.

Not like Netflix, where you can’t stop binge watching Friends because CHANDLER AND JOEY ARE PERFECT. I mean Youtube. Those videos like seeing military people surprise their family coming back from war, marriage proposal videos, cat videos…that kinda stuff.

I like to think of myself as an artist. So I get sucked into a vortex of speed painting and drawing tutorials that are filled with all these talented and amazing creators. Like…HOW ARE PEOPLE SO TALENTED? Everything is amazing, and I wish I was a part of that! I’m so jealous of their abilities, i feel like I’m crap. It’s a dangerous spiral to get caught in. The thing about heros is that we recognize their superiority. If everyone is your hero, you start to feel a little insecure. It doesn’t help that I’m kind of an insecure person to begin with.

But on the opposite side of feeling sorry for myself, videos of people being the type of person i want to be are incredibly motivating. Not just those speed painting magicians, but people who travel the world, people who are good at fitness, everyone in the DIY section on Pintrest.

I aspire to be like those people. Or at least adopt some aspects of their abilities into my life.

Oh, which is also why I haven’t blogged for the past week. I tore my room apart last Thursday–or maybe it was Tuesday–and I’ve been trying to put it back together ever since. I even broke a drawer on my dresser. I may have too many socks. I don’t think there’s such thing, but apparently my dresser begs to differ. And it doesn’t appear to be an agree to disagree sort of situation. It took me all weekend to organize my closet.

Now I’ve got miscellaneous trinkets lying around my floor waiting to either decorate my bookshelves or be…..I haven’t decided yet. This is the kind of struggle you have to go through when you’re a pack rat. And then I started hanging up my pictures and drawings on the walls. At first, I had only five really big posters. Two on two walls and one on a third wall. The last wall is taken up by my closet and dresser with a mirror on it. I’ve got some of my art supplies in a second dresser.

I’m thinking I’ll separate my bookshelves by category. The one nearest the window will be more reading book and maybe books I keep around for memorabilia or undesignated plans. I have a book of works by Plato from college that I’ve considered reading many times, but haven’t actually gotten around to. I just feel like reading Plato would make me feel smarter.  On the other side of my bed is the other bookshelf, which I sleep closest to. I have a queen sized bed, but I feel weird sleeping in the middle of it for some reason. Anyhoo, I think I’ll put sketchbooks and files there, plus practical books like my film books, animation books, drawing tutorials, other guides and books I actually read. That will make them accessible to me quicker. in my mind.

I have this plastic shelf that hasn’t really fit anywhere, but I just moved this cube cabinet thing into my closet to hold extra clothes, so I think I’ll move it there. That way I can put my lamp and laptop on top of it.

Talking it out has made me more clear on what I’m doing. Sorry for the stream of consciousness cleaning plan. I actually came here to rant about how motivated I am to draw. But I’ve changed my mind. I’m still motivated to draw, but the sooner I get all this clutter off the floor and in a pintrest worthy formation in my room, the sooner I’ll be happy.

I can’t wait until I have a house of my own to decorate from scratch. I’m sure it’ll be stressful and tedious when I’m working on it, but maybe it’ll turn out happy-making in the end. Then I can get on to art. Okay, thanks for your time. Have a nice day.



{January 26, 2015}   Web comics

I love web comics. I love the really simple ones, usually about moments in life. Even when they’re not necessarily funny. Comics made to vent about one’s own life. In a way, it’s like a blog. When you write for yourself, I think other people enjoy your work much more.

Some of my favorite webcomics are

http://humon.deviantart.com/ anything by humon on deviantart. She has several comic series’ out. They’re stories that she’s written, or sometimes updates on her own life, in a way. I love her style. And I’m impressed she manages to regularly update several different comics. More on that later.

This guy, http://waywarddoodles.deviantart.com/, Way Ward Doodles. His comics are simple, although they are sometimes animated gifs, which is pretty awesome.

http://dragongirlhellfire.deviantart.com/ She has this one webcomic out called The Bright Side about this girl, Emily –reminiscent of Emily the Strange– who befriends the Grim Reaper, whom she names Dee. I look forward to her updates, which I believe are weekly if her schedule permits. I hate being caught up in a good series because waiting is tragic. ugh.

and http://www.exocomics.com/ which is just brilliant. My best friend Kristin recommended it to me because she thought the main character–who is also the artist–reminded her of me. Reading the comic, I can see why she would say that. I definitely relate to the mindset of Li, but she’s like ten times more amazing than me because her mind actually came up with this comic. And her art is so cute.

There was another one that my best friend showed me because the main characters looked like us, but I don’t remember the name of it. Anyhoo, after reading a bunch of web comics I decided I wanted to make one of my own. I thought maybe I wanted to make a story based one, but I couldn’t actually come up with a story. Then I thought I would do what other people do and just make a webcomic that portrays some humorous moments in my life. Some slightly more exaggerated than others.

I never realized how difficult it could be to make a webcomic series. First of all, there’s the time management. It takes surprisingly long to create one comic. I’m still not very good at drawing on the computer, so I draw all my comics out traditionally first and then scan them. Then I draw over them and color them on the computer. This probably adds time to the whole process, but I’ve tried to just draw the comics on the computer several times and I’ve never been truly satisfied with the results. Then there are the ideas themselves. I don’t necessarily make my comics to be funny. And sometimes I find things funnier than they actually are. Sometimes I can’t even really portray an event with justice. I scrap a lot of ideas. But I also write down a lot of ideas. And then I’m swamped with ideas. By the time I get around to some comics it’s already off season. I just uploaded a comic about spring last week. it’s December. I’ve lost my touch with time management since college though, so that could just be a personal thing.

On the other hand, the whole thing has been surprising to me. I can’t believe I’ve been doing it for nearly three years. I started just before I moved away to college. I still don’t have a lot of likes on my facebook page, or watchers on deviantart, or followers on tumblr –all of the places I post my comics– but I enjoy making them. And they make my friends smile. That’s what I like the most about comics. I like looking through them and remembering. I love when my friends look through them and laugh about that time we did that thing.

I fell off schedule a little bit last year. Especially when I went abroad. I imagine the same thing may happen this year after I go to boot camp. But I’m trying to catch up on all the left over comics from last year so I can start clean and post comics regularly about this year. Tomorrow I’ll be uploading a bunch of comics from my time in Italy. Then next week I plan to finish all my Germany comics, and if I have time all the comics from the remainder of last year once I moved back to Virginia. Maybe I’ll include some of my time in New York when I visited last November.

If you feel like checking out my web comics, they’re here: https://www.facebook.com/JustSayAloha, here https://www.tumblr.com/blog/averisportfolio although I’m very behind on updating it, and here http://thekawaiiseeall.deviantart.com/gallery/34222071/Comics-and-memes

Thanks. See you when I see you.



{January 25, 2015}   Dream Documentation

I should really get into the habit of using my dream journal again. I did for a time. i have a collection of some very strange dreams I’ve had over the years. But the last few years I haven’t written anything. College, specifically. That seems to be a pattern. It seems almost contradictory that I didn’t actually do anything with my life while I was in college. I just did college. But I digress.

I have the strangest dreams, if I didn’t already mention that before, with the same specific adjective. And I feel as though I am on the verge of lucid dreaming. I always feel like I’m very aware of my surroundings and the face that I’m dreaming. I almost feel myself lying there, but also watching me do whatever I do. See, I actually star in a lot of my dreams. Is that common, or am I some secret egoist? I suppose everyone is, really. So it’s probably nothing to worry about.

Anyhoo, this morning–or last night, i guess– I had another interesting dream, only I don’t remember all of the details. I know it was night and I was in a building.

The building was either some kind of shop or a store house. I was maybe patrolling, or I just happened to be there– teleported into existence with the activation of my subconscious. There was a boy there that reminded me of Aladdin from Disney, but he was only about 13 or 14 and his hair was shorter. Also, he was real and not a cartoon. So maybe not like Aladdin at all, except he was tan and dressed in rags. He was panicked, maybe. I remember he was stealing milk. Who knows why. Maybe I did at the time. I don’t remember if I was on his side or not, but I was a witness to his thievery and I followed him as he tried to exit the building. Except I didn’t exit the building. I found myself alone in a small bathroom, facing a mirror with a strange feeling on my abdomen. I lifted my shirt in the mirror and right below my chest was large, light pink flower, seemingly glued to my body. it felt so strange. It was about the size of my hand, if I were to lay it on my abs and stuck out about two or three inches. There were light green petals sticking out from the bottom. I can’t even describe the substance between my skin and the flower, but I felt compelled to pick at it and peel off the flower like a scab.

It wasn’t a great feeling, and I woke up still feeling it. I’ve been rubbing at my abs all day, just weirded out. Just thinking about it makes me uncomfortable. I’m relieved to feel normal skin there and not a giant flower. It looked kind of like a very opened up rose to me.

What does it mean? Are my abs trying to tell me that they’re ready to blossom into a six pack? Okay, maybe a four pack? Haha, that would be brilliant.

The rest of my day passed mostly uneventful. I was criticized about sleeping in last night, so I tried to wake up earlier. I got up at 10. I was aiming for 8. I took Indy and Libo, my dogs, out for a walk. We got lost for about 40 minutes and then returned home. I tried to edit my vlog for It’s Averi and Zoey, my Youtube channel, but the quality that I shot last night was horrible. I ended up just putting up a 2 minute video of my cat, Daisy standing on a door. I just gave up. I’ve been trying to shoot something since Thursday, but it just never panned out. My next video is the week after next, and I plan on doing a book review of the book I’ve been reading for the past month. It’s not that it’s a bad book, when I make time to read it I make very quick progress. I could probably finish it in two or three days, but my reading habits aren’t what they used to be and I just have to practice. My mind wanders too much sometimes to my apps, or my other priorities. I spend so much time worrying about organizing my priorities that I hardly get anything done! I bought Adobe Premiere Pro for myself as a Christmas gift and I have yet to make any kind of film! It’s 20 bucks a month! D:< Bad, Averi. Two or three edited vlogs a month doesn’t really cut it. I’ve been meaning to make short films and animations and I figured actually buying the product would motivate me to make some progress in my production, so I can get my money’s worth. And I’ve practically wasted the first month! not even practically! I did waste it!

Sorry for all the exclamation marks.

Once I get through catching up on my comics from last year, I want to start working on an animation. Just an intro video for IAAZ (It’s Averi And Zoey). And I still have to put together all my video from Italy last summer.

Okay, I’ve ranted enough. It’s time to sleep. Thanks for listening. Or reading, i mean. Have a nice day.



{January 22, 2015}   Moving Out and Moving On

Maybe it’s because I’m not in high school anymore, I feel like I shouldn’t be living with my parents. I feel like I failed after I stopped going to college. It’s not like I was paying for it myself anyhoo. It’s annoying that I’m still not an independent person. And it feels worse with every day I stay here. Mostly because I’m not doing anything. I don’t have a job, I don’t do anything. I sleep and watch tv, then I go to PT twice a week. I should be working out more and getting out often but I don’t. Ugh. How is it I can hate myself so much but not do anything about it!? And I’m always guilt tripping. My parents ask me what I’ve done today and it’ s always nothing. Always sleeping in and not working out and watching tv and reading instead. I feel like they’re disappointed. They don’t believe I’ll ever leave. They don’t think I’m good enough. But I do want to leave. I think I’m trying. I know I’m not trying hard enough but I want to leave. I don’t like being a useless adult living with her parents who fight all the time. I was ready to leave home when I was 18 and I was never coming back. I wasn’t trying to stay here. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I get motivate for a day or so and then I’m lazy and unmotivated again. What’s the point of doing anything? How do I find the motivation? Why am I so useless? I’ve started this new year under terrible conditions. I haven’t actually done anything and the first month of the year is almost over!!! I put charts all over my room to keep track of my progress and there’s nothing but red lines to mark my inactivity. I schedulss e my day to stay productive, but I can’t see anything but the snooze button in the morning. I try all the tricks to make myself wake up. I place the alarm across the room; I stand up snooze it and bring it back to the bed so I can snooze it later. I’m very good at talking myself out of doing things. I know I’m a pathetic loser because I admit it and I don’t do anything about it. And no one tells me any different because they believe it too. I don’t have any friends around me to talk to or hang out with. My parents probably think I’m useless, and whenever I open my mouth they get angry. I should learn to stop having opinions. It only gets me in trouble. I know after ranting like this I’ll probably try tomorrow to stay out of the house. Take the dogs for a walk. Maybe I’ll even do it Friday. But it just seems like every couple of days I have to remind myself what a useless human being I am in order to get anything done. It’s a miserable way to live. I just hope I can get into boot camp and I’ll feel better when I can finally be independent.

I’ve never felt really confident before. I’m kind of afraid I’ll never learn how.



{January 17, 2015}   Confidence

I hate pretending I know what I’m doing.

I’m taking a physical test soon, but I’m pretty sure I won’t pass it. Not because I’m a negative person; i’m just being realistic. I just did the same test on Tuesday and I failed. I was told to rest until the test, so it’s not like I’ve been training. Yes, my muscles will be fresh, but I haven’t yet achieved the minimum qualifications in the first place. You see, on the test, we have to do crunches. I have to do 55 crunches in 2 minutes. The first time I took the test, I did 20. The second time, which was only last week, I did 30. On Tuesday, I did 35. I’m fairly sure I won’t get 55 from 35 since I’ve never done 55 in 2 minutes, even when training. It’s a slow progress. I’m sure I will be able to do 55 crunches in 2 minutes. Just not tomorrow.

But I’m not allowed to say that. I voiced my concerns, and I was criticized. My muscles don’t always listen to my brain. At some point they give because they don’t know how to do what I’m telling them to. I have been doing well as far as progress, and I think I’m going to do okay with more training, but why is it so bad that I’m sure I can’t make it. It’s the wrong kind of confidence. I’m supposed to smile and cheer myself on. Yeah, I can totally do 100 situps in 2 minutes. Never mind the fact that I haven’t done so yet. I can totally do 10 pullups. It’s okay that I couldn’t do even 1 yesterday. I’ll do 10 no problem! 1 1/2 miles? ha! I’ll do that in 10 minutes. Ace it! Never mind that running it in 13 minutes makes my lungs hurt and my legs numb. I’m fast as a cheetah, specifically because I told myself to be. Yay believing in yourself! You can do whatever you put your mind to! Forget physical capabilities! It’s all in your mind!

Ugh. That’s such bullshit. I am a positive person, I’m just not annoyingly optimistic. Look, yes, I can do 55 crunches. Maybe I can even do 100 crunches in 2 minutes. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow I can maybe get 40. Yes, I can probably run 1 1/2 miles in 10 minutes, with a lot of training. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, I can maybe get 12:45, because that’s what I got the last 2 times. And I was running hard. Maybe I can get 12:30 if my legs don’t go numb so early. Yes, I can do 10 pullups. I’ve yet to do 1 pullup without the assistance of a rubber band, but I know it’s possible. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow I can’t do push ups. Tomorrow I will do the flex arm hang. And yes, I can hang on the bar for a minute. Maybe I can do it tomorrow. I think the longest I’ve hung on the bar is 45 seconds. But that 15 seconds is a very long time when you lose control of your arm muscles.

Of course, I don’t get the time in real life to explain all of this. If I just mention that I don’t think I’ll be able to do what it takes, I’m a negative nancy who’s doomed for failure because she doesn’t believe in herself. It’s more than that! I wish I could explain that it’s more than pessimism. But most people don’t even think realism is anywhere close to optimism. Realism is as bad as pessimism when you say you can’t do something. Yes, I believe in myself, but I also know my limits and my abilities. It’s not self doubt, it’s not pessimism, it’s not low self esteem, or a lack of self confidence. I just know what I’m fucking capable of. Shit.

Sorry. It’s just frustrating. Sometimes i try to confide in people, and they judge me for it. I never learn because I have to live with said people. That’s what I turn to the internet for. Someone will listen to me. Maybe. ugh.

There’s where the self doubt comes in, by the way. No one I talk to listens to me, like really listens to me, and it makes me scared to open up to anyone who could listen to me. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who share my fears and worries or actually have helpful advice, or they’ll just listen and sympathize, but I only talk to people who don’t like what I have to say. At least that’s what it feels like. I miss having my friends around me in person. Everyone I could actually talk to is far away. But i can text them. But time zones make it annoying to have real talks. I guess it’s the same as blogging into some virtual abyss and hoping someone cares.

I’m twenty years old and I have angst like a 16 year old. God, I’m so not ready to be an adult.



et cetera
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.