feel

Confusing Happiness With Love?

I recently had an amazing experience with a guy. My first relationship ever. We had just gone on our third date together… and then he told me that he loved me…

Do I love him as much as he loves me? I repeated that I loved him back but I wonder if this is all going too fast… I have strong feelings for him, for sure, but I am wondering if I am just too insecure to tell him that I feel a little different.

I mean, I am the type that GROWS love for a person instead of just feel it right away.

I feel….

  • too inexperienced
  • too naive
  • too weak
  • too blind
  • too scared
  • too different
  • too worried
  • too scandalous
  • too confused
  • too nervous
  • too greedy
  • too selfish
  • too sensitive
  • too curious
  • too second-guessing
  • too horrible
  • too… loved… Is that a bad thing?

I am a wreck of emotions right now. I take time to think things over and I have thought it all over about what happened last night. What if we are different people hidden in a mask of googly-eyed love? He has already talked about marriage… I don’t want him proposing to me after a month… I need to take hold of the reigns here before it is too late…

-The Human Girl

 

P.S. What is it about me that makes him so into me? :/

Advertisements

Right Around

It pulls tight. I cannot tell who has done this.

It feels scratchy and still. Strong in weight.

It is the option that no one wants to hear.

A feeling of death and vagrant justice.

When there are no more roads that can be traveled,

When there is no future to the present.

This moment that needs to happen.

Are you ready?

It will hurt. And you know it well.

This is not a trust exercise, but a mortality question.

Who are you to be alive and who are you to be dead?

Toes ache with pain, putting immense strain tiptoeing,

Who in my life- our life – that stands in the way?

From my happiness. My everything. That blockade.

Are you prepared?

I know that it is the right thing. The only thing.

Is this what should happen? No.

But my body craves silence. Craves an end to a whirlwind.

It doesn’t recognize the settled dust for what it is.

It creates new dust, new mess, new things to clean up.

I am tired, I guess.

Just let it come to an end.

 

Can You Pretend To Give A Set?

Pretend to give a speech. Now pretend that it has to be funny and make people laugh. Make people think a little bit. Make them like you more and more. Make them see that you are more than a person wanting their attention. Teach them about something that they have never experienced. Capture their eyes and make them see what you see. Have them feel the same feelings as you. Does it smell like garbage? Can you describe how you touched that animal? It depends on you. On how you can tell that story in a funny way or with a humorous surprise in the end. Was it something crazy that happened to you? Was it so bizarre that you swear that you are the only one in the world who has ever faced this problem? Either way, it must make them laugh and must make you a sweatless storyteller.

P.S. Since I was the only one in the office today, I tried to give a stand up comedy set. I ended up comparing my dislike of hiking with sexual intercourse. It was not great. But it wasn’t that bad either. haha. Those people who can do it are really brave and organized in their thoughts. I was all over the place and acted like a weird valley girl trying to be cool.

P.S.S. I do weird things like this all the time.

Comfort.

I am comfortable here. I like my new queen sized bed. I like my bookcases filled with books to read. I like my desk and chair. I like my window with the bay seating. I like my blankets and pillows. I like my laptop. I like my carpet. I like my AC/heating duct placement. I like my track lighting and ceiling fan. I like my walk-in closet and clothes. I like the stuff I fill in my closet. I like listening to my old neighbor walk around the side of his house in the mornings. I like how I can hear the fire engine roar out of the firehouse down the street. I like seeing the military planes test flight right outside my window in the summers. I like how there is never direct sunlight in my room. I like how the air enters my room in the winter. I like how I am comfortable here.

That is the problem. My comfortable room.

Outside this room, I am questioning. I am curious. I am messy. I am subjugated to brutal judgement. I am confused. I am in danger. I am compared. I am less-than. I am out of place. I am craving. I am lonely. I am with others. I am deciding. I am outlandish. I am trying…

But in my room. I am the only person I answer to. I am the only person here. I know where I am. I know myself better than when I am outside my comfort zone. But sometimes, I need to get lost and uncomfortable.

P.S. Went out on a night drive today. I cried when I thought about something sad. I realized that I haven’t cried in a while. These new tears found a newer, grosser way of sliding down my throat. That’s how I knew that I haven’t cried in a while. Kind of a bittersweet feeling.

P.S.S. Watched the rest of Master of None on Netflix. I recommend it. It deals with real-world relationships a lot. I feel like if you saw his last stand up of Netflix, you would have a nice background to his episodes. (Although you kind of wish he had new material on many occasions) Some of the last episodes made me feel like I was watching something extremely staged, but also very intimate. I don’t yet have words to describe this weird visual effect. Also, Aziz Ansari’s parents were cute.

Cold Anticipation

As I look out my window, I see a colorful display of sun playing on a suburban desert. My room has a brilliant view of the city because of the small hill it’s located on. The brightness of the day is enough to remind you of the hottest temperatures humans can endure. Aside from that, the lack of lawns that exist are almost striking. Water is precious. I can see cars slowly pile in and out of my neighborhood community. There are people jogging along the main street in the evenings and cars speeding both ways. A hustle that I have been no longer deprived of. I can see many parts of the city, from shopping malls to the superior court. I look out my window and a flood of possibility overcomes me. As if I am millionaire looking down on my company’s busy office floor. The feeling comes and goes as soon as I inspect the landscape further. On a rare cloudy day, you can see the windmills sprinkled on the mountains about twenty-five miles north when the sun’s glare isn’t a problem. But alas, I have been craving the opposite from a clear view such as this. Cold temperatures. Cloudy days. Heavy clothing. It seems like every year the heat stays longer and longer. I can’t remember the last time I wore my discount, over-sized Avenged Sevenfold sweater feeling cozy after a good layering. These feelings are simple and many people would be depressed about living under clouds and cold. But not me. I feel warmer when I am cold. But not in the typical sense. I feel as though I can get through anything if I can get through the cold. When I breathe in cold air, I feel like it is fresh and clean, unlike hot air which smells of sweat and a sticky cough. There really is no right way to describe hot air other than the use of unpleasant nouns. I like everything about the cold including the concern people fuss over it. They seem to care more if you are too cold than if you are too hot. (And I’m not talking about sickness.) Cold is slow as hot is fast. I’ve been living in a heatwave all my life. It’s time to slow it down a bit. Slow to my commitments. Slow to my sadness. Slow to my anxiety. Slow to my anger. Slow to my love. Slow to my thinking. I do that better knowing that I can be cold alone. Cozy in my decisions about my future. To be able to hug it all and accept that I am the only one who can warm me up. No amount of external heat can achieve this. It is easier to become warm than to become cool. While you must be cold on the outside, you must be warm on the inside. Vice versa applies to hot weather. Who wants a cold heart anyway? I once wrote a story about a young man who went to the snowy north and walked around in nothing other than jeans and a t-shirt. As he clutched his arms for warmth, he thought about the tragic Thanksgiving dinner when he was a child when his pregnant mother was suicide-killed by his father in front of him. He always preferred the cold, maybe not because the cold heightened his depressed thoughts but rather cleared them up. Walking through the snow, the icy water, was a sort of cleansing effect for him. He wasn’t suicidal and didn’t want to freeze to death, but melt some of the excess burning rage, grief and tireless love that he needed to let go of. A body capable of producing too much warmth needs to be cooled down from time to time. That story has always stuck with me because it was a feeling that I could put into words. That I understood to my core. Sometimes at boring family gatherings, I pop out for a bit into the winter weather- away from the heat of numerous bodies. I can be alone with my thoughts. Alone with myself and wish that no one join me or discover me by accident. Away from them. Away from the heat that can overpower me and my feelings. (more…)