Last night I was walking across the street on a well-known campus here in Indiana, and somewhere between talking to the person next to me and looking forward to the event we were trekking to, I managed to step into a pot hole, twist my ankle and fall flat on my face in the middle of the icy road.
Now, before any of you who are aware of my ever-clutzy state just roll your eyes and shake your head at me, thinking, "That's a typical Jessie thing," I'd like to qualify it with the fact that it could have been made a lot worse but I had thought ahead and put the three inch heels I had planned on wearing back in the closet in favor of my snow boots.
Anyway, as I was quite literally rolling around on the ground laughing because I realized my stupidity (and because everyone else was laughing, so I figured why not) I realized that I hadn't even known I was falling until I was on the ground and pain pierced my ankle and knee.
For those concerned, I am fine. Just a scraped up knee and slightly swollen ankle ail me now.
But as I got back on my feet and we made our way through the night without any further incident (except for me once again succumbing to my ditzy moments and whacking my head on the seemingly random handle on the passenger dashboard of a fifteen passenger van) I realized that even as I looked back on it, I definitely didn't realize I was falling while it was actually happening. Like I stated, I was simply walking and talking (a usually easy combination, unless you're someone like me, apparently) and the next think I know my hands are extremely cold because of the frozen asphalt, and the pain started.
When you really think about it, why is it that we can't consiously remember these little incidents? I imagine that my eyes closed instinctively as my body was pummeling forward to save the soft treasures within the lids, but beyond that, I didn't feel anything. You would think that as your body, especially that of an adult who is over five foot tall and holds a bit of weight, was falling towards the ground around five feet away, you'd feel a similar feeling as to if you were on a roller coaster or the like. I'm sure there's some sort of scientific explanation containing some absurdly complicated equation with force and motion or whatever, but honestly, I'm not interested.
What I'm getting at, finally, is that things like this happen all the time in a less physical way. People say often that they never really realized that they were learning something, they just had a moment where they seemed to know it. Similarly, people say sometimes when they meet someone and spend time with them that they never realized they were falling in love - they just know that they enjoy spending time with them until all of the sudden they are overcome with an abundance of feeling for that person and they can no longer see their lives without them.
Like my knee and ankle though, these kinds of realizations of falling or learning sometimes lead to much more substantial injuries. You learn something and that's great for you - in that aspect there's not much negative. But in the topic of love, there's always room for insult and injury. You fall for someone and depending on different interpretations of events and conversations, it may not be reciprocated. Or even if it is, like one of my professors said today, "All relationships end (with death being one reason)."
I guess that logic gets into the stickiness of love being both a good and bad thing, so I'll save myself from accusations of being a cynic once again and stop while I'm ahead.
I wish we could see ourselves falling though. An out of body kind of thing would no doubt be creepy and too much to ask, but if we could just stop a minute and gather our wits and know what's going on around us, we might be able to catch things before they get bad and you're crumbled and broken in the darkness that no one deserves to be.
But then again, there's always the chance that that pot hole comes out of nowhere and you're flat on your face.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
From the high school reserves: Writings on the Wall
I was looking in my various mail folders tonight while unable to sleep and found some of my newspaper articles that I had sent to myself while working on the paper in high school. For those of you who know me in college, you're used to some of my current snarky ramblings in The Oak Leaves, but I had forgotten that trait had started early for me. Here's one of my best pieces from high school. Enjoy the pun at the end - I remember being so proud at that. Remember, I was 18, a senior in high school and thought I was hot shit. :)
Writings on the Wall; do they bother you at all?
by JESSICA HICKERSON
News editor
With the smoke, hovering administrators and over-use of hairspray and body spray that go along with the gossiping girls in the bathrooms here at North County, I tend to venture there only on rare emergencies.
To walk into one of the two open girl’s bathrooms is what I would imagine walking into a prison must feel like. The lock of one door is completely missing, leaving only a hole with a deadbolt cutting through it.
Between classes, there is always a gaggle of girls there talking about who wants to fight who, who’s pregnant, etc. Annoyingly, they always stand in front of the sinks that work to fix their hair. Most obviously don’t have enough common sense to go to one of the sinks that doesnt work (but still has a perfectly good mirror) so that people who are hygiene aware can actually wash their hands.
The most annoying and probably laughable thing about the bathrooms though is the reading material you get as you are doing your business. Scribbles of pencil, sharpies, and even etchings “adorn” the plastic stall walls. Most public bathrooms have some sort of graffiti on the wall, but high schools, especially North County, have to hold a record.
In the upstairs bathroom, in one of the stalls, the walls read “this skool sucks ---” Now, I would have to say that obviously the school is not doing its job if ANYONE in high school still spells the place that they have been attending for at least nine year, “skool.”
In another stall in the downstairs bathroom, there are two whole paragraphs from two very needy girls wanting advice about what they should do in a problem relationship. What’s even worse is that someone answered them!! In all honesty, would you take advice from people who spend all of their five minutes between classes in the smoggy bathroom?
However, some of these writings carry good messages. Across the toilet from the childish misspelling of school a scrawling reads, “STOP SMOKING," in big silver letters. I give kudos to this particular writing.
Writing on a bathroom wall is the lowest form of a call for attention. If you really need to write something on the wall of a bathroom while performing a bodily function, I seriously recommend a visit to the guidance office.
Perhaps they would not be so bad if correct grammar and at least correct spelling were used. There are a plethora of misused words, such as “their” instead of “they’re” and “freshman” instead of “freshmen,” which happens to be a very simple plural rule. My favorite is a certain phrase that is scrawled on the inside of one of the stall doors, “Sophmores suck.” I am not even going to explain that one, since half of the population of the school always spells the title of the tenth-graders wrong.
I highly doubt that anyone who goes into the bathroom to take care of personal business actually wants to read what’s on the wall. Personally, I don’t care who hates who, who loves who, and which sexual preference “rocks.” In all reality, those notions will probably be changed with maturity anyway.
Next time you’re in the bathroom looking at the desecrated stall walls, think to yourself and laugh about those who obviously think school is just a social function. And to those of you who think you need to write on the bathroom walls, think about who reads it and understand this: no one gives a crap.
Writings on the Wall; do they bother you at all?
by JESSICA HICKERSON
News editor
With the smoke, hovering administrators and over-use of hairspray and body spray that go along with the gossiping girls in the bathrooms here at North County, I tend to venture there only on rare emergencies.
To walk into one of the two open girl’s bathrooms is what I would imagine walking into a prison must feel like. The lock of one door is completely missing, leaving only a hole with a deadbolt cutting through it.
Between classes, there is always a gaggle of girls there talking about who wants to fight who, who’s pregnant, etc. Annoyingly, they always stand in front of the sinks that work to fix their hair. Most obviously don’t have enough common sense to go to one of the sinks that doesnt work (but still has a perfectly good mirror) so that people who are hygiene aware can actually wash their hands.
The most annoying and probably laughable thing about the bathrooms though is the reading material you get as you are doing your business. Scribbles of pencil, sharpies, and even etchings “adorn” the plastic stall walls. Most public bathrooms have some sort of graffiti on the wall, but high schools, especially North County, have to hold a record.
In the upstairs bathroom, in one of the stalls, the walls read “this skool sucks ---” Now, I would have to say that obviously the school is not doing its job if ANYONE in high school still spells the place that they have been attending for at least nine year, “skool.”
In another stall in the downstairs bathroom, there are two whole paragraphs from two very needy girls wanting advice about what they should do in a problem relationship. What’s even worse is that someone answered them!! In all honesty, would you take advice from people who spend all of their five minutes between classes in the smoggy bathroom?
However, some of these writings carry good messages. Across the toilet from the childish misspelling of school a scrawling reads, “STOP SMOKING," in big silver letters. I give kudos to this particular writing.
Writing on a bathroom wall is the lowest form of a call for attention. If you really need to write something on the wall of a bathroom while performing a bodily function, I seriously recommend a visit to the guidance office.
Perhaps they would not be so bad if correct grammar and at least correct spelling were used. There are a plethora of misused words, such as “their” instead of “they’re” and “freshman” instead of “freshmen,” which happens to be a very simple plural rule. My favorite is a certain phrase that is scrawled on the inside of one of the stall doors, “Sophmores suck.” I am not even going to explain that one, since half of the population of the school always spells the title of the tenth-graders wrong.
I highly doubt that anyone who goes into the bathroom to take care of personal business actually wants to read what’s on the wall. Personally, I don’t care who hates who, who loves who, and which sexual preference “rocks.” In all reality, those notions will probably be changed with maturity anyway.
Next time you’re in the bathroom looking at the desecrated stall walls, think to yourself and laugh about those who obviously think school is just a social function. And to those of you who think you need to write on the bathroom walls, think about who reads it and understand this: no one gives a crap.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Who Dey vs Who Dat
In "honor" of the New Orleans Saints winning Super Bowl 44 this evening, I thought I might declare my indifference (other than the fact that I hate the damn Indianapolis professional football team) to either team really winning because neither are my own choice by berating the winning team on their theft of their now well-known chant.
As almost every football-interested person might know by tomorrow afternoon, the Saints have employed a chant something of the nature of "Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat them Saints?" Leading up to this championship game, the saying has grown much notoriety within the football crowd and everyone now relates it to the Saints.
However, being a Cincinnati Bengals fan, I noticed an odd and annoying similarity between their "Who Dat" and the Bengal's chant of "Who Dey" which goes, "Who dey? who dey? Who dey think they gonna beat dem Bengals?!"
So being a curious little person as I am, I did some research as to who came up with it first, what it originated from and ultimately whether or not my Bengals or the now championship Saints are the thieves.
According to one source (Wikipedia, as it were, don't judge me), "The Who Dey chant's first known use was by fans of the 1980 Cincinnati Bengals. It is similar to the phrase "Who Dat?" used by the New Orleans Saints since 1983."
This discovery seems to put the Bengals as rightful owners of the chant, which put my mind to ease.
However, upon further research, I found that this is much disputed within the field of football history (no pun intended). Fan sites all over the web claim different explanations over which team thought of it first. Saints fans claim endearingly and whole-heatedly that they came up with it first, because the origination of both sayings comes from a 1930's jazz song "Who Dat?"
As I continued to search through forums and even articles from popular sports writers about the controversy, I realized that I obviously wasn't the first to figure out this interesting little history between the two teams. It seems as if the entry made in Wikipedia might have been made by a Cincinnati fan, but who knows. In all honesty, through everything I've looked through, I can't find a definite winner. Both teams claim to the death aht they came up with it.
From an English person's view, both versions of the saying should make my skin crawl, in that the colloquial utterance of the words "they" and "that" are immortalized in such a way that can make even the most educated person look like a slummy hick. And delving deeper, if I were to have to choose the one that was "most grammatically" correct out of the two (if even such a thing can be distinguished) it would have to be the "Who dat." Considering the agreement in the "sentence" "Who that" is I guess more appropriate that "Who they." It comes down to the fact that both are lacking key articles within it anyway.
Back to the thoughtless football fan I am, I think I'll stick to my "Who Dey" chats when the Bengals play. But I must agree with some of the posts that I read that stated seeing a Super Bowl with the Saints and Bengals would have been AMAZING. The papers would have headlines reading something like "Who Dey vs. Who Dat!" And the crowd in the stadium would no doubt have countless similar vocalization wars during the game. That would have been pretty awesome. Then again, we Cincinnati fans just want to see our team in the Super Bowl again (not that I have personally seen them, since their last appearance was when I was less than a month old).
So in all reality, I guess it doesn't matter who came up with it first, seeing as the fans will love the chants and their teams just as much.
But other teams beware, "Welcome to the Jungle" is Cinci's, so back off the Guns N Roses, son!
Out of the highschool archives...
This was written for the Valentine's Issue of my high school paper in 2007. Oh how things can change in three years. However, some of my advice is very much still relevant, although things in my life really have changed. And oh, how cocky I was that I was soooo happy and thought everything was perfect. This is where the customary gun barrel in the mouth would be more than welcome.
Love, Actually
by JESSICA HICKERSON
News editor
To most people who know me, they know that I am a romantic. Perhaps not in the literal sense (to those who are currently in A.P Literature) but in the fact that I am very much in love (and engaged), and know how to handle such a thing even at such a young age of 18. Because of this, people often come up to me and ask “Jessie, how do you make love work?”
Well… it’s complicated. Really! There are things that you can do, and things that you can’t. It’s the same as having a best friend, since that’s what most loves are to their significant other anyway.
One of the things that you cannot do in order to make love work, is you can’t be selfish. If you’re selfish, chances are you don’t have many friends anyway, but if you have someone that you love, you might be taking advantage of them.
Even though most people think that a couple fighting means that they have a weak relationship, that’s not true what-so-ever. If you fight every once and a while (not that couples should fight ALL the time), it will teach each of you how to make up after fights. Also, it will teach boundaries, which are always good in relationships.
Don’t be shy with someone that you think you love. You should feel completely comfortable with them. There shouldn’t be uncomfortable moments of silence, since it’s natural just to sit, doing nothing, saying nothing.
So, keep these things in mind if you want to try and make love work. It can happen, I’m living proof.
In all honesty, after reading this, I completely agree with myself. Fighting some in a relationship is healthy, and it does indeed teach the things of which I mentioned. Similarly, the selfish thing works in all relationships, friends, family, etc. I love how the 18 year old me even got that catty little snipe in there about not having friends anyway, even though at the time my best friend was teaching me all about being selfish.
All that said, however, this article did teach the 21 year old me something I had forgotten. "Don't be shy around someone that you think you love." Well thank you, little Jessie. I've forgotten this. It's like little me was trying to tell people to not let it escape, and I mean not to.
In a more practical approach, I'm so very glad that I'm not this over confident in my thoughts anymore, and I'm SOOO glad that my writing and AP style has improved.
Love, Actually
by JESSICA HICKERSON
News editor
To most people who know me, they know that I am a romantic. Perhaps not in the literal sense (to those who are currently in A.P Literature) but in the fact that I am very much in love (and engaged), and know how to handle such a thing even at such a young age of 18. Because of this, people often come up to me and ask “Jessie, how do you make love work?”
Well… it’s complicated. Really! There are things that you can do, and things that you can’t. It’s the same as having a best friend, since that’s what most loves are to their significant other anyway.
One of the things that you cannot do in order to make love work, is you can’t be selfish. If you’re selfish, chances are you don’t have many friends anyway, but if you have someone that you love, you might be taking advantage of them.
Even though most people think that a couple fighting means that they have a weak relationship, that’s not true what-so-ever. If you fight every once and a while (not that couples should fight ALL the time), it will teach each of you how to make up after fights. Also, it will teach boundaries, which are always good in relationships.
Don’t be shy with someone that you think you love. You should feel completely comfortable with them. There shouldn’t be uncomfortable moments of silence, since it’s natural just to sit, doing nothing, saying nothing.
So, keep these things in mind if you want to try and make love work. It can happen, I’m living proof.
In all honesty, after reading this, I completely agree with myself. Fighting some in a relationship is healthy, and it does indeed teach the things of which I mentioned. Similarly, the selfish thing works in all relationships, friends, family, etc. I love how the 18 year old me even got that catty little snipe in there about not having friends anyway, even though at the time my best friend was teaching me all about being selfish.
All that said, however, this article did teach the 21 year old me something I had forgotten. "Don't be shy around someone that you think you love." Well thank you, little Jessie. I've forgotten this. It's like little me was trying to tell people to not let it escape, and I mean not to.
In a more practical approach, I'm so very glad that I'm not this over confident in my thoughts anymore, and I'm SOOO glad that my writing and AP style has improved.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Twilight Rant
This deserves to go up here. It's been on Facebook and it's been published in the paper, but I love it and think the message and wording is some of my best.
For the life of me, I can’t seem to fathom the epidemic that the “Twilight” series has instilled in people all over the nation. You may have noticed that I did not refer to it as a saga, because in my mind, it does not classify as one. Curious as to the real definition of the term, I looked it up. A “saga” is a narrative that has been developed by age - which of course the ramblings of Stephenie Meyer have not. The first book wasn’t published until 2005, and the hype didn’t start right away, giving the novels less than a three year window to snow ball into a so-called “saga.”
“Lord of the Rings” is a saga – something that was written and read by generations before being butchered on the big screen by Peter Jackson. However, the books are still nearly timeless and deserve the distinction of a “saga.” I wouldn’t even define Harry Potter as one, as it too hasn’t been around long enough. Although comparatively, I put it far above Meyer’s dribble.
And before I get fan girls (and boys, alike) crawling over me with accusations of ignorance, I have attempted to read the books and I have begrudgingly partaken in the viewing of both movies. I got through the first few chapters of “Twilight,” since all four of the books were forced upon me in a not-so-caring-package from my mother and brother. After even that little amount of reading, I felt my eyes drifting off the page in boredom and a slight trickle of my brain matter seeping from my ear.
I’m not one to say that I could write better, but Meyer’s diction, syntax and lack of over-all description and thought into her words and choppy sentences made me question the book’s merit. Call me an English snob, but I can’t stand it. I’ve heard from people who have read through the entire series that the writing improves throughout, particularly the fourth novel, but it’s something I’m not willing to check for myself.
I understand the audience for which it is aimed, but why on earth are girls and even boys my age and older falling head over heels for this lack-luster fairy tale?
The characters, both in novel and movie form, are unrealistic. I’m not talking about the existence of vampires and werewolves, although if you believe they’re real, you go ahead and think that. I’m referring to the plot and main subject of the series, namely love and its troubles. As true as some of those obstacles might be, how realistic is that a girl would not only find one overly-caring and utterly perfect boy to love her completely, but two?
That said, I’m not bashing or questioning the intentions of young men. However, I am arguing the point that the series instills an unattainable expectation of men in relationships in girls of all ages. There is no doubt a line between fiction and realism, but it’ll be in the back of their minds no matter what they might go through.
Facebook is plastered with “Flair” application buttons that read “I want to find my Edward” or “Edward, take me away,” stemming from this unrealistic portrait that Meyer paints of a man’s role in a relationship. Oh yeah, because that’s healthy.
As I said, I did go see “New Moon” in theaters, on the opening day no less. I will admit, however, that I only did so because it was a better alternative to sitting in my room watching movies by myself on a Friday night.
When I was telling people I was going to see the new “Twilight” movie, I was corrected more than once that it was “’New Moon’, not ‘Twilight,’” in such a way that you might have thought I had badmouthed Jesus in Jerusalem. Terribly sorry to anyone I might have offended; I didn’t realize that there is now a “Twi-ism” religion.
The movie had some good points, I will admit. I enjoyed Edward reciting Shakespeare, mainly because I’m a hopeless English geek. I also enjoyed the fight scenes between the good vampires and the creepy vampires in Italy. The production and special effects in that scene were pretty awesome. It was also interesting to see Dakota Fanning all grown up and in a role that broke her long type-casted career.
With the good always comes the bad. There were a few scenes in the movie that were probably supposed to be genuine and serious, but succeeded in making me laugh out loud. This of course, earned me hisses and glares from devout “Twi-istic” audience members. The scene in which Edward and Bella were running in slow motion through the sun-patched forest path and both individuals were glittering as they glanced over their shoulders and shared a loving gaze made me giggle uncontrollably. I didn’t know the series shared directors with Baywatch.
The ending of the film made me gag. Perhaps I am the atheistic equivalent to the “Twi-istic” religion, but I once again started to laugh at the unfathomable turn of events. Getting married as a senior in high school is never a good idea, no matter if you’re planning on becoming immortal or not. Once again, this inspires young girls that this idea is completely acceptable. In some cases it is, but with rash reasoning is never a sound choice – remember what happened to Romeo and Juliet.
My opinions thus developed and clear, I invite all “Twi-istic” persons to defend their stances on the merit of the films and books. I’m completely and utterly curious as to why people enjoy being a part of this sparkling pandemic.
For the life of me, I can’t seem to fathom the epidemic that the “Twilight” series has instilled in people all over the nation. You may have noticed that I did not refer to it as a saga, because in my mind, it does not classify as one. Curious as to the real definition of the term, I looked it up. A “saga” is a narrative that has been developed by age - which of course the ramblings of Stephenie Meyer have not. The first book wasn’t published until 2005, and the hype didn’t start right away, giving the novels less than a three year window to snow ball into a so-called “saga.”
“Lord of the Rings” is a saga – something that was written and read by generations before being butchered on the big screen by Peter Jackson. However, the books are still nearly timeless and deserve the distinction of a “saga.” I wouldn’t even define Harry Potter as one, as it too hasn’t been around long enough. Although comparatively, I put it far above Meyer’s dribble.
And before I get fan girls (and boys, alike) crawling over me with accusations of ignorance, I have attempted to read the books and I have begrudgingly partaken in the viewing of both movies. I got through the first few chapters of “Twilight,” since all four of the books were forced upon me in a not-so-caring-package from my mother and brother. After even that little amount of reading, I felt my eyes drifting off the page in boredom and a slight trickle of my brain matter seeping from my ear.
I’m not one to say that I could write better, but Meyer’s diction, syntax and lack of over-all description and thought into her words and choppy sentences made me question the book’s merit. Call me an English snob, but I can’t stand it. I’ve heard from people who have read through the entire series that the writing improves throughout, particularly the fourth novel, but it’s something I’m not willing to check for myself.
I understand the audience for which it is aimed, but why on earth are girls and even boys my age and older falling head over heels for this lack-luster fairy tale?
The characters, both in novel and movie form, are unrealistic. I’m not talking about the existence of vampires and werewolves, although if you believe they’re real, you go ahead and think that. I’m referring to the plot and main subject of the series, namely love and its troubles. As true as some of those obstacles might be, how realistic is that a girl would not only find one overly-caring and utterly perfect boy to love her completely, but two?
That said, I’m not bashing or questioning the intentions of young men. However, I am arguing the point that the series instills an unattainable expectation of men in relationships in girls of all ages. There is no doubt a line between fiction and realism, but it’ll be in the back of their minds no matter what they might go through.
Facebook is plastered with “Flair” application buttons that read “I want to find my Edward” or “Edward, take me away,” stemming from this unrealistic portrait that Meyer paints of a man’s role in a relationship. Oh yeah, because that’s healthy.
As I said, I did go see “New Moon” in theaters, on the opening day no less. I will admit, however, that I only did so because it was a better alternative to sitting in my room watching movies by myself on a Friday night.
When I was telling people I was going to see the new “Twilight” movie, I was corrected more than once that it was “’New Moon’, not ‘Twilight,’” in such a way that you might have thought I had badmouthed Jesus in Jerusalem. Terribly sorry to anyone I might have offended; I didn’t realize that there is now a “Twi-ism” religion.
The movie had some good points, I will admit. I enjoyed Edward reciting Shakespeare, mainly because I’m a hopeless English geek. I also enjoyed the fight scenes between the good vampires and the creepy vampires in Italy. The production and special effects in that scene were pretty awesome. It was also interesting to see Dakota Fanning all grown up and in a role that broke her long type-casted career.
With the good always comes the bad. There were a few scenes in the movie that were probably supposed to be genuine and serious, but succeeded in making me laugh out loud. This of course, earned me hisses and glares from devout “Twi-istic” audience members. The scene in which Edward and Bella were running in slow motion through the sun-patched forest path and both individuals were glittering as they glanced over their shoulders and shared a loving gaze made me giggle uncontrollably. I didn’t know the series shared directors with Baywatch.
The ending of the film made me gag. Perhaps I am the atheistic equivalent to the “Twi-istic” religion, but I once again started to laugh at the unfathomable turn of events. Getting married as a senior in high school is never a good idea, no matter if you’re planning on becoming immortal or not. Once again, this inspires young girls that this idea is completely acceptable. In some cases it is, but with rash reasoning is never a sound choice – remember what happened to Romeo and Juliet.
My opinions thus developed and clear, I invite all “Twi-istic” persons to defend their stances on the merit of the films and books. I’m completely and utterly curious as to why people enjoy being a part of this sparkling pandemic.
Friday, February 5, 2010
A Journalist's Medium: Beware
This vessel, this little blog, which holds some of my most personal thoughts and analogies paired with my ramblings of inane randomness of things that pop into my mind, is only to serve as a means of creative thought for someone such as me who is a writing major. I plan on going into journalism, which overflows with a plethora of smartass and cynical writers that seemingly ramble in ways that are clearly portrayed and well thought out. That's what I hope to do with this. So in short, if anything were to ever spark a moment of controversy to whomever may happen across this, keep in mind that even if it happens to be you, not in name of course, because I have enough tact to keep names of people out of my negative posts, I expect no reaction from anyone, as I am a journalist, this is my blog, and I'll write what I please.
Along with that note, however, remember that I am a journalist. Investigating is what comes naturally, and it's something at which I'm talented. If you think I don't know, chances are I do, whether or not I found out from someone else or read it from people in general. I know a lot more than I let on, and don't ever underestimate me. I may even know facts about things that you think are secure and sound. This is not a threat, no, never. I'm very sweet and nice in all actuality. However, I'm just asking that you don't underestimate me in any thought.
Along with that note, however, remember that I am a journalist. Investigating is what comes naturally, and it's something at which I'm talented. If you think I don't know, chances are I do, whether or not I found out from someone else or read it from people in general. I know a lot more than I let on, and don't ever underestimate me. I may even know facts about things that you think are secure and sound. This is not a threat, no, never. I'm very sweet and nice in all actuality. However, I'm just asking that you don't underestimate me in any thought.
Realizations that can brighten one's day...
So it's been almost exactly a year now since I was dealt a blow that landed me on my butt. I thought it would hold me back for a while, especially since there was no way I could get away without giving up all my hopes, dreams and everything I'd ever worked for.
But I've come to an interesting realization about that incident. It hit me that the reason it still burns whenever I think about it even now, is because it wasn't so much the loss, but rather the rejection. Yes yes, a rejection story, how trite, because doesn't everyone struggle with the thought of rejection in one time of their life or another? But see, I never did. It never bothered me if a boy said no, or broke up with me. But this time, this time, since it was so damn obvious that I wasn't as good as the newest piece, and was being dropped as if defective, that's what hit me.
So it's not a matter that I miss him, necessarily, or that I hate her, despite the situations we've been in. No, it's a matter (complicated by others that I'm going through right now) of being rejected so harshly for something better. For obviously not being good enough and being shown it in a rash way that left me crying, something I don't do.
As life goes on, I realize little things in life like that, and feel the need to share. It's funny though, because I really don't miss much about my life a year ago and before. I don't miss the companionship or the thought of stability.
I just continually wish I could be good enough for someone.
But I've come to an interesting realization about that incident. It hit me that the reason it still burns whenever I think about it even now, is because it wasn't so much the loss, but rather the rejection. Yes yes, a rejection story, how trite, because doesn't everyone struggle with the thought of rejection in one time of their life or another? But see, I never did. It never bothered me if a boy said no, or broke up with me. But this time, this time, since it was so damn obvious that I wasn't as good as the newest piece, and was being dropped as if defective, that's what hit me.
So it's not a matter that I miss him, necessarily, or that I hate her, despite the situations we've been in. No, it's a matter (complicated by others that I'm going through right now) of being rejected so harshly for something better. For obviously not being good enough and being shown it in a rash way that left me crying, something I don't do.
As life goes on, I realize little things in life like that, and feel the need to share. It's funny though, because I really don't miss much about my life a year ago and before. I don't miss the companionship or the thought of stability.
I just continually wish I could be good enough for someone.
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