It’s 9:21. I’ll begin writing 11-14 pages worth of homework at 9:30. i can’t wait for it to be done. I’ll be back when it is.
which means I have to start my homework.
When I graduate, what will I do with all my free time?
I’m listening to a sermon on sex before marriage.
even if that was okay and allowed, there would be something else hindering my relationship. I guess what I’m saying is that there will always be something that could potentially wedge itself between me and God. If not sex it would be something else, like complacency.
But the question is still, sex without love is bad, but is sex with love bad?
Not that that currently matters in my particular stage of life.
There really are better things I could spend my time thinking about.
Last night I got drunk and watched Drunk History. It made me laugh out loud until I fell asleep.
I don’t know a lot about a lot. You know that. I mean, I’m 23. That’s like against me. As if, you can keep my age against me. Rude. But I am young. And I think I’m nice regardless of my life experience. I think I’ve been through enough to be a somewhat complete human but people who are older than me probably disagree. And they’re probably right. It’s neat to see that there are humans who know more than I do and that look at me and think “she has no idea” because it’s a foreshadow into my own life. A hint that I have more things to look forward to.
I just feel bad for people who see me and see nothing, and then I wonder if I will allow myself to become anything. and to be honest i say, look I can write some pretty great things, but when it comes to the one place I write that no body can read but COULD if they knew how to look for it, the writing is equivalent to gum on a brick wall. as in this writing is trash. its embarrassingly uneducated and self involved. like i hardly want myself to read this let alone any one else. and that makes me wonder: the idea that the writing that is solely mine is so trite and the fact that that makes me trite, and the question as to whether the writing i publish out loud is nothing more than fake or trying.
but then you see me, you see me, the me I dont see sometimes, and I know i never even tell you I care about you, let alone I _ _ _ _ you because those words are as barren as my ovaries at this point, and then I think HEY- the me I dont think any one realizes exists, it does exist.
I guess just existing is something to me at this point.
Because the other day I had a conversation with a friend who is so depressed he can’t leave his bed or hang out with his friends, and I chose to say, “I just want you to know I exist” and in that I meant, you can talk to me if you want- just remember that I am here regardless.
I just want you to know I am here regardless.
I don’t even know what that really means.
I think I’m not ready
to answer to that
because I dont
So, seeing as I’m probably not pregnant, I have yet another chance to live freely. Now, pregnancy scares might as well be my fucking favorite past time because when it comes to Joe I always think I’m pregnant. I think sex w/o a condom or birth control is absolutely retarded. It scares me and I always think that THIS TIME my luck has ran out. But anyway-
I was thinking of how I would look at my life now if I suddenly was pregnant and I realized I’d see myself as having had a free, nice life. Good friends, few responsibilities, the freedom to go to the bar if I want, the freedom to move away. The ability to plan moving away. If all that left, I would be upset. So now that I have that back, I want to make sure I don’t waste my youth here.
I also think that one day when I do have a baby, it will be beautiful. It’s just not time yet.
I love how wonderful Joe is though whenever I think I’m having his babies, even when he’s half deaf and worried and should be rightfully preoccupied. I think that if that had happened, we’d be able to create a happy life. I know we could make it work, which is comforting when I think I have little columbians inside of me.
I’ve been nervous the last two days as I always am when I repeat lifes mistakes. I pray about it and feel like a complete fake because I’ve prayed this same prayer before. I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t make these mistakes again. Like 500 times. And then I find myself in my car, heart racing, praying and promising again.
Brittany met with her first family today in her social work program. A man, 35, lost his wife, 37, to cancer. She had cancer and had cracker her pelvis, so she went to the hospital for surgery. Because her immune system was so weak she contracted an infection or virus of some kind from the surgery and died. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He is left with three children, ages 8, 4 and 2. Two girls and one boy in the middle. Their mom died 2 weeks ago. Brittany’s job is to help him with them. To help with their homework while he’s making dinner, for instance. Just to ease the burden he feels.
While helping the eldest, a girl, with her homework the girl said, “my mom’s in heaven” and brittany responded, “I know and she’s happy there.” the girl asked, “are you sure?” and brittany said, “yes”.
“More sure than me?”
“More sure than you!”
“More sure than every body in the world?”
“More sure than everybody in the entire universe!”
“There’s no aliens in the outer space!!!”
It made me want to do more than just blog for a living.
It made me feel like I can do better.
Brittany is amazing. I am so proud to have her as my sister.