Memory tendencies

Since they make drugs for stomachaches and heartburn and menstrual cramps and everything else, why can't they make drugs that numb the pain of heartache or emotional hurt? I would OD on those instead, the ones that just make it go away, until I'm ready to handle it.

"...we might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain..."

Hear what the silence screams

Today I had plenty of time to think. Today I spent over 7 hours weeding at work. My body shows it. But I had plenty of time to think.
And so I thought.
And I discovered that the strangest things can enter your brain when you are alone for hours under the hot sun.
One thing I thought was that I pity celebrities, especially the younger women, such as Paris Hilton. We all know she's going to jail and she's apparently so stressed about that. Not that you can believe 3/4 of what any magazine prints. Taking that with a grain of salt, it made me wonder what she's really like. I mean, I doubt that anything we hear about her is the truth. And it's a tragedy, that someone would have to live like that, because looking at her, having all that money and fame for no reason, she looks so spoiled. But I wonder, has she ever been real? Or has she always had to play the role the magazines demand of her, of spoiled hotel heiress? What is she really like, without the masks and makeup and money? If she could just be herself without worrying about how the photographers will relay her every move for the common folk? I pity her that she seems to never have had to work a day in her life for something she really wants, because money can't buy everything. I pity that she seems so fake and I wonder if she even knows who she is behind the masks. No one else seems to.

Back and forth

Is it hypocrisy to want something that I don't want? If I know that I'm contradicting myself is it still being a hypocrite? I know what I want, that's not hard. What I can't seem to figure out is what God wants. When something's neither right nor wrong, what do I do?
It's an almost foolish trust, like hitting a tree with your eyes closed, because I don't know where you stand, and when I reach and there's not someone there to guide me I fall.

I keep losing this fight...

A crunchy drizzle

I dislike being with people when I am too tired to handle them. There are only a few people I want to be with right now and they are all not here. Not that I would expect them to be.
I also dislike coming home and finding out that boys have been sleeping in my bed. The fact that it was my brother and it was because someone else was using his room is irrelevant. It's my space, at least for another month.
I needed this weekend like nobody's business. I need camp, and I need the people who are there. This was a good weekend; ask me about it later. Right now I'm ornery because I came home and I'm tired and then I didn't get to go hot tubbing. Summer is going to be awesome.
The best quote of the weekend was made by Sam Klassen, "I've come to realize that God doesn't need me. But man, He really really wants me." (Wording is subject to change at discretion of author's memory.) But you get the gist.
I also made up a good quote last night, and it is "I am not content to sleep when I could be awake and dreaming."
Much more good things happened and it was very challenging and good. Gwen and I have a very good idea for Teen Camp that is going to be awesome, but I shan't announce it here.
Two more days off school to get tan lines. Seven day weekends are great, especially when they're not supposed to be happening. I'm pretty pumped, myself. And grad is in a month and a week. Closer and closer.
And now, ironically, I need to go to bed so perhaps tomorrow I may be civilized again and able to be with other people who will be able to tolerate me. Tonight I was not very nice to be around. One day I'll act my age.

Rhyme

I have your words in my head
But none of mine
And I can't pour onto paper
The ink that flows through my soul
I can't sleep for these days,
There's so much to think about and
How far away you are
Can't breathe can't dream
Dream about your arms with no consequences
No guilt
Make up my mind
And still, it's harder to breathe
No one knows what tomorrow brings
So sleep but I can't breathe
This paper is whiter than my black ink
The night is too bright for sleeping
Your words are my thoughts,
Too loud to drown out
Either way I'm guilty
Either way I dream

I came to lose... I don't want to lose

I want a holocaust cloak. I would wear it. For real for real.
I think about this too much. I know it but I don't stop it. We talk about it, sometimes seriously, sometimes jokingly, but never really. And I have realized that there's only a very few people in this world I trust completely, perhaps foolishly. I like being with those people, when I'm real without trying. Maybe foolish trusting should be more common, maybe it would make us better people. It would make us more transparent, more easily able to get hurt. I have also realized that I am still self-destructive, only in a more subtle way than before. I still have the scars to prove it. I don't know what's wrong with me, to know things and not do them. I need to know. I wonder what other people think, those that know me and those that do not, when I speak so freely of my scars. I wonder what they'll think when they'll figure out the rest. I wonder how many of them will leave and if the ones I foolishly trust will still be there to hang on to, or should I hang on at all? When it's not wrong but it's not right, what do I do?
Some days I wish I was capable of regretting. Maybe then I would be capable of forgetting.

Something is rotten in the state of my soul

Is it true what I heard about the Son of God? Did he come to save? Did he come at all? And if I dried his feet, with my dirty hair, would he make me clean again? They say they don't know when but a day is gonna come, when there won't be a moon and there won't be a sun. It will just go black, It'll all go back, to the way it was before. I knew a lovely girl, with such pretty pride, and every man wanted her, yeah and so did I. So did I. But she up and died in a fit of vanity. Now men with purple hearts, carry silver guns. And they will kill a man for what his father has done. But what my father did, you know it don't mean shit. I'm not him. So you think I need some discipline, well, I had my share. I have been sent to my room. I've been sat in a chair. And I held my tongue. I didn't plug my ears. No, I got a good talking to. And now I don't know why, but I still try to smile when they talk at me like I'm just a child. Well, I'm not a child. No, I am much younger than that. And now I have read some books and have grown quite brave. If I could just speak up I think I would say that there is no truth. There is only you and what you make the truth. So I will just sing my song and I'll pass a hat. Then I'll leave your town and never look back. No, I don't look back because the road is clear and laid out ahead of me. I'll get home and meet my friends at our favorite bar. We'll get some lighter heads for our heavy hearts. And we will share a drink. Yeah we will share our fears and they will know how I love them. They will know how I love. They will know how I love them. I am nothing without their love. I don't know when but a day is gonna come when there won't be a moon and there won't be a sun. It will all go black. It will all go back to the way it is supposed to be. Is it true what I heard about the Son of God? Did he die for us? Did he die at all? And if I sold my soul for a bag of gold, which one of us would be the foolish one? Which one of us would be the fool? Which one of us would be the foolish one? Which one of us would be the fool? Could you please start explaining? You know, I need some understanding. Could you please start explaining? You know, I need some understanding. Could you please start explaining? You know, I need some understanding. I could do good with some explaining. You know. I want to understand.

This is the most honest song I have ever heard. I don't morally agree with all the lyrics but something about this song cuts me open and lays me bare.
There's something wrong, something that bothers me, about the way we are. Something disturbing, something callous. We shouldn't be as fake as we are. The things we joke about feel wrong, I noticed this as I was coming home today. What's funny shouldn't be. It is perverted and I want to stop. I don't know how. It's like a train that we've set into motion that I want to stop almost desperately now but I can't and I laugh anyway. And it does hurt and it isn't right. How have I become that which I once hated?