Archive for January 2010
(My best friend Bree and her step-mom remodeled their downstairs bathroom about a week before New Year’s. It looks really nice and smells even nicer. So I was forced to write her an appreciation letter.)
Written on December 31st, 2009 during the trip down to Tri-Cities.
I’ve figured out that when I write, I tend to focus on fictional stuff as compared to non-fictional stuff. I’m just better at it. (Good at making stuff up, yea Mom really wants to hear that one, haha!) For example, when I write about non-fictional stuff, I find myself ranting or complaining about something and that’s never fun. Unless it’s sprinkled with humor. That’s cool. I refer to this genre as “Bitching In Color”. Everybody’s doing it. Haha, just kidding.
I haven’t been writing much lately though, due to the fact that my laptop committed suicide via motherboard approximately two weeks ago today. I’m now forced to use the fantastic piece of dying metal in the corner of the living room better known as ‘the family computer’. This sucks some major D. I’ll list my reasons why.
1. It’s dial-up.
2. It constantly overheats and shuts itself down whenever it feels like it.
3. It’s dial-up.
4. All four people in the house use it.
5. It’s dial-up.
6. Privacy and hiding content is impossible.
7. It’s dial-up.
8. Loading video streams is like trying to skip rocks with yer weak hand.
9. It’s dial-up.
10. There’s no Itunes, only Windows Media Player. (Triple frowny face.)
11. It’s dial-up.
12. Whenever I try to install new software for it, Mom verbally attacks me, because apparently it slows the Internet down. (Good Lord.)
I went to the famous Geek Squad the other day, in hopes of reviving my other half. When they told me it’d take between $300-600 to fix the damn thing, I almost shit my pants. $300-600??? I might as well just get a brand new one with that kind of money. So then I asked the skinny guy that had first diagnosed my laptop if it’d be possible to reconnect the hard drive if I did end up going new. (This would include all my music, pictures, videos, etc.) He said he could. He also said he could plug it into any model, and that it wouldn’t have to be another Acer. This made my day a little brighter, just a little. But then he ruined it by saying it would cost me $100 to do so. Damn it.
I left Best Buy super bummed, so I walked down to Fred Meyer’s for some food and Starbucks. Food’s the best when yer down. That sentence makes me sound like a total fatass, but hey I’m just speakin’ the truth. I love eating. When other people make it for you, it’s the best, too. (I’m a total lazyass as well, don’t judge. Haha.) Anywho, along my Fred Meyer’s safari, I came across a small little computer repair shop with a thinly lit sign in front that read WKA Innovations Incorporated – “We let you love your computer again!”. Oh jeez, I thought, these guys can’t be for real. Hell, they got a parking lot with three spaces and they’re prolly not even registered with the BBB. But maybe a second opinion wouldn’t hurt. So I walked in, despite my doubts.
Looks are very deceiving, let me tell you. The minute I entered this place, I was immediately greeted with a vibrant personality coming from a woman who, just by first glance, you could tell was a tad on the smarter side. I pulled out my laptop and started telling her about how I just came from the Geek Squad and how much money they told me it would cost to fix and how there’s no way I’d be paying that. She kinda laughed and told me that the Geek Squad is prolly the most overrated group of computer fixers on the planet. She said they use their popularity as an excuse to over charge people and in turn, use that money to commercialize their services on TV. I’m not sure if this is true and I’m not saying I believe any of it, considering it’s coming from a competitor, but it sure as hell makes sense. I asked her how much it would cost me then, if I decided to leave my computer here for her company to fix. She handed me a fancy pamphlet that had one price on it.
These guys’ll fix any problem with any computer, no matter how long it takes them, for $75. And even better, they’ll give you yer money back if they can’t fix it, and won’t charge for any labor. Wowzers, what a find.
So now that I’ve got some birthday money to spare (Mom handed me 100 bucks cuz she said she can’t shop for me cuz I never like what she gets me. Which is true, and even though it’s taken her 19 years to realize it, I respect her for realizing it.), bringing my laptop to WKA Innovations Incorporated is my next big project. Sometime this week, I’ll head out there. And when I do, there shall be more writing, and more blogging, and all that good stuff. So don’t give up on me yet, I’ve just been forced to use ‘the family computer’ (shudder, shudder) these last couple of weeks. Over and out.
I’m not sure why I called in the first place. You never pick up anyways.
I wish I could have x-ray vision. But for feelings. Then I wouldn’t hafta guess anymore. I’d actually fall asleep within ten minutes of hitting the pillow. I’d actually know what to expect in return when my mind gets to those clingy and obsessed stages. Fuck I hate those stages. I never had those stages before you came into my life. I actually hafta make myself not want you, or else yer all I think about.
I feel like I’m following Hansel and Gretel. But you’ve got all the clocks in the world on pause and an unlimited supply of bread crumbs. I’ll get to a curve in the path sometimes and loose track of the trail. He’ll come back for me, I tell myself, emotions shaky, confidence shakier. (The broken is the beautiful, right love?) But you never do. I’m left to find my bearings all alone in these creepy woods. The trees are always laced with unfulfilled needs and wants. The forest constantly reeks. Strong whiffs of could-have-been’s and I-wishes get trapped in the linings of my nostrils, even when I come across the crumbs again.
My need’s dominating my want tonight. That’s never good. Potential danger is no stranger when the need overrides the want. Shit gets ugly, attachments grow stale, and most of all, desire becomes a deceiving enemy. I find myself in an epic battle with that word. Not a bloody one, just a simple scuffle. A Looney Tunes chase, per say, where nobody gets hurt and everybody goes back to normal at the end. Me versus Desire. But not vice versa.
Just give me a compass of yer sensitive side. Please? I know you have one, I’ve seen it. I crave the man I used to spend endless hours on the phone with. Not just for a quick fuck either. There was meaning behind the words we exchanged. At least I thought there was. Or am I just lost in those woods again?
When I search for yer bread crumbs, I search everywhere. Sometimes for days. Being lost is no fun, especially in those woods. I’ll get to that breaking point where nothing seems to matter much anymore and giving up is inevitable. The wildlife are protagonists, I’ve learned. They wipe my tears away with gentle paws and tilt my head up so I have no choice but to connect watery blue pupils with them. Lacking the ability to speak with their mouths, they use their eyes.
It’s amazing how silent love can be. An infinite language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see. So powerful, so distinct. I sit there for what seems like forever, locking irises with these creatures of inspiration. Until finally, they’ll bat an eyelash and force me to break my gaze. Slowly, without missing a beat, they point in unison at a tiny piece of bread underneath a fresh pile of leaves. I must have overlooked this spot before, must have walked right past it. Then they disappear among the masses of trees before I can even thank them.
I dust my knees off quickly with both hands and recover from where I left off. I suppose you’ve forgotten about me by now though. It’s been too long, I don’t blame you. And I’m sure you don’t either. But yet I continue following this twisted path. I can’t help it. I’m stuck on this endless journey of undeniable lust and blind reactions. Why won’t you come back for me? I’m so sick of following. Be by my side this time, I need a hand. A man’s hand. My man’s hand.
When people laugh and ask me what I see in you, I simply tell them “everything you don’t.” I never lack courage here, and why would I? By loving me, yer teaching me how to love myself. Love is life, and if you miss love, you miss life. And I guess it’s so incredible to me because I’ve never felt it this strongly before. I’m high without smoke, without pills. Everything I do is so enhanced and brighter with you on my mind. It sounds so fucking cliche, too. But it’s….true? Yea, true.
So this is my life. And I just want you to know that I am both happy and sad, but I’m still trying to figure out how that can be.
- being considered an athlete.
- being considered not just an athlete, but a damn good one at that.
- the pre-game stretches.
- popping my left hip in just the right spot during those stretches.
- how flexible I used to be.
- discovering that hey, I actually do have an arm.
- zoning out to my music during all the long bus rides.
- the pressures of being the only senior in my event.
- the satisfaction I got beating my PR, even if it was only by a few inches.
- slacking off during practice by finding new body parts to tape every other day.
- the adrenaline I acquired warming up.
- finding something to get pissed off at and taking it out on my throws.
- cracking my knuckles before grabbing my stick.
- the little indent my red javelin had between the grip and the metal part.
- jogging from disc to jav to vault.
- Stralser yelling at me to jog faster.
- finding different excuses on why I shouldn’t high jump.
- Drew not buying my lame-ass excuses.
- the lean skinny build I used to have.
- pre-analyzing the competition.
- making fun of Medical Lake and how bad they sucked.
- the patience Leah and Coach B. had when I first learned how to throw discus.
- Crystal listing off all the reasons she shouldn’t be there and how much of a jerk Bob is.
- improving on the plant boxes, even though I despised them and didn’t understand why we used them so much.
- Gonzaga Prep’s weird but interesting turf.
- seeing fans actually enjoy watching me throw.
- having a purpose behind my day.
- how awesome State was.
- playing “Outburst” in the tent until my laptop ran out of battery.
- searching for an outlet to keep it going.
- falling asleep on the bus floor with Bruh and Sis on the trips back to Cheney.
- laughing at the idea of sleeping in the aisle of a school bus in the first place.
- how hungry I became after competing in a 10+ hour meet.
- eating at Miner’s.
- ditching Miner’s for the Starbucks and Wendy’s across the street and getting in trouble for it by almost every coach.
- chugging Monsters and devouring Power Bars ten minutes before showtime.
- how perfect my boots fit and how lightweight they were, even for my feet.
- meeting new people who shared the same strengths and weaknesses as I did.
- being told ‘good job today’ by a coach from another school I had never even seen before.
- all the different colors of all the different ribbons.
- laughing with Sis on how they should make a 9th place ribbon solely for Medical Lake.
- having homefield advantage.
- how involved Missel was.
- the anticipation between the jav landing and the marker person telling me how far it went.
- the muscle definition I used to have in my shoulders.
- going to bed the night before and having nothing except the meet on my mind.
- waking up to get ready and realizing it’s still dark out.
- putting on my spirit bands and black spandex for good luck after a 45 minute shower.
- the smell of rain mixed with Under Armour.
- the sound my spikes made walking on the pavement.
- Coach Hisaw’s amazing brownies.
- being a part of the Junior Olympics in Wilamette, Oregon.
- how the louder the locker room got, the closer it was to the start of the meet.
- the bounce I had in my step.
- beating West Valley by almost twice as many points as we had.
- the thrower’s relays.
- throwing on Eastern Washington University’s field.
- movie nights after a good hard day of practice, every Thursday at Cody’s house.
- everybody rushing to the bathrooms after arriving at the C-towns (Clarkston + Colville).
- piggyback rides to and from the bus.
- goofing off with Lex and turning our javelins into fishing poles with stray litter we’d find on the track.
- Hisaw getting angry at us for it, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
- the pole vault crew.
- the amount of encouragement I got from them.
- being involved in the younger javelin throwers’ success.
- doing homework at the meet with fellow athletes as an excellent source of help.
- how good that medal felt around my neck.
- all the pride that came with that medal.
- getting distracted by all the amazingly attractive pole vaulters and their amazingly attractive bodies.
- being able to bench two-thirds of my weight.
- running that pre-game lap, sometimes in slippers, sometimes in flip-flops.
- how huge Pasco’s meet was.
- the sense of belonging I got when throwing there.
- using Nike headbands to tie up my hair.
- waking up early for Saturday morning practices.
- learning from my mistakes, on and off the field.
- washing away my nerves with poise and self confidence.
- pretending to pole vault with my javelin.
- how pumped up I got over Stralser’s mini motivational speeches.
- the rush of excitement having my name read off the loudspeaker.
- never understanding how the announcer always managed to butcher my name.
- being the last one off the field at practices.
- ringing the victory bell the day after the meet.
- admitting proudly that yes, I do love track and field more than softball.