#songoftheday

Hootie and the Blowfish - Time (lyrics)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Q5UEf8kHa8&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Work is busy, and then it's not.

Which seems like it'd be a good thing, but it's not. I prefer busy. Being not busy means I have time to think, and that sucks. I pretty much carry in all my craft supplies with me every day so I have something to help keep me busy, which makes me look a bit like a hobo with my misshapen backpack and Mickey tote full of sharpies and sketch paper. I even bought a coloring book. Everyone else has coloring pages their kids did, I have pages that I did. So mature. But it's better to be seen as childish than to be not busy. Slow phones allow for introspection, a dangerous pastime. It's bad enough discovering things about yourself when you want to, but stumbling upon a sharp truth in the middle of a daydream really kind of sucks. Even if it's just small realizations, discovering you're not who you thought you were is very unsettling. For example: I have come to the realization recently that red is not my favorite color. I know that seems completely inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but a person's favorite color says a lot about them, and my favorite color has been red since sometime in middle school. It's not that I don't like red, I do, just, if I had a choice of colors, I would no longer pick red. Have I changed? Or have I simply been deluding myself for years, surrounding myself with red in an effort to cling to the happy memories associated with being a Boggy camper in red unit? Whatever the reason, I'm different for this realization. Change is hard, but is it really that hard when you're not really changing? When you're just discovering a basic truth that you've kept hidden or ignored? I don't know. But my favorite color is not red. It's raspberry. A very specific shade of dark raspberry pink. It's so specific, in fact, that most things that label themselves 'raspberry' hold no appeal for me. I also like turquoise. Bright, turquoise. My first clue for that one should have been when I bought that purse. The most expensive accessory I'd ever purchased and I chose to get it in turquoise? Not exactly normal, that. But then, I've never really been exactly normal.

Note to self:

It's one of those days where...

I haven't forgotten...

... about writing, I've just been busy learning two jobs from scratch.

Stupid cheese...

Not this.

This was supposed to be a place for me to figure out what I want in life, not moan about what's going on. This was supposed to help me share my triumphs, not my failures. This was supposed to help me have a positive voice, not give me a place to silently scream. I have lost track of the meaning. That doesn't mean it's any less real.

Imagine your mother, the woman that gave birth to you, raised you, that woman you would do anything just to make proud of you, looking you straight in the eyes and telling you she knew you didn't love her. And then imagine her telling you that every single day, in her actions and her attitude and sometimes even in words. And no matter what you do that's what she truly believes. Could you stand it? Cause every time my heart feels like it's being sliced with a razor dipped in lemon juice, and I don't know how much longer I can bleed. And all I want is a hug from my mommy, but she's the one cutting me into pieces. I've held on for years, but eventually I'm going to bleed out. It won't be long now.