For some reason, I got hit with a random wave of depression. I don't know what it is or why it happened. It's normal but just because something is normal doesn't make it enjoyable. I'm pretty sure the only thing I've mentioned here is how much I put off homework (which by the way I'm putting off homework again). It's times like this where I become really introspective. I start to think about all the things that got me where I am in my life. I'm in college. Engaged. Trying really hard to get my life together and stay on the right track. And yet, there is one thing that's been on my mind constantly...
Babies.
Yes, babies.
I can't seem to get the little screaming balls of poop out of my head. I don't know if it's something biological or if it's just because I'm coming up on the end of month one of my Seasonique pack where any normal girl would be getting her period. But I can't stop thinking about babies.
I've been thinking about them so much that I've actually started dreaming about them and trust me, it's inconvenient waking up in a panic thinking that you have a kid to take care of. I'm only twenty years old. But it seems like all my friends, even the ones younger than I am are starting their families. A long time ago, it was normal for fourteen year old girls to give birth; it seems history is repeating itself in that teenage pregnancy is at an all time high. I look at my friends who have children and am enveloped with a twinge of jealousy. Where did they go right and I go wrong or vice versa? I can't help thinking deep down that while everyone else is moving, I'm standing still.
"Hey Liz, how's life?"
I'm in school; the same damn thing I was doing four years ago. This time it's just college and not high school. I would love to have something to love me unconditionally.
And then I go to the doctor with Rob and hear kids screaming and telling their parents "no" and he just looks at me and says, "And you want one of those."
In reality, I know I'm in no way ready to have a child- not mentally, not physically, not emotionally, and definitely not financially. But I think about it and I'm pretty sure that might be normal. I love talking to my parents about it and they tell me that I'm being irrational. I could tell Rob at any time that I want children and I'm pretty sure with enough begging he would give in. I have to constantly keep telling myself that neither of us are ready. But it's still nice to think about it. A little bundle of joy that I can cuddle, love, and take pictures of- (one that's not a twenty-two year old man).
I think I should just get a kitten.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Ewwww, homework.
So, I'm again distracting myself from doing homework.
I'm working on a new piece of creative non-fiction. I'll put it up as soon as it's done. It's a little grittier than I'm used to writing- in fact, a lot grittier. But, everything has a purpose and this just so happens to have a purpose for me.
I'm in the process of editing a couple of my other pieces in order to submit them to the school literary magazine. Let's see how this goes.
I'm working on a new piece of creative non-fiction. I'll put it up as soon as it's done. It's a little grittier than I'm used to writing- in fact, a lot grittier. But, everything has a purpose and this just so happens to have a purpose for me.
I'm in the process of editing a couple of my other pieces in order to submit them to the school literary magazine. Let's see how this goes.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
-_- and the Othello Complex
So, it wasn't a cold; I managed to come down with tonsillitis. I like when that happens- when I happen to be a lot more sick than I previously thought.
Anyway, it's time to get a little personal. I have the Othello Complex. Don't look it up. I'll explain.
I have a fantastic fiance. He makes me happier than anyone ever has and anyone ever could.
For those of us who haven't kept up with Shakespearean tragedies, let me explain the basic premise of Othello: The Moor of Venice. Before anyone believes I'm racist, a moor is someone from Morocco/Africa. Othello is a black man.
So, there's this dude, Othello, who is general of the Cyprus army. He falls in love with this chick named Desdemona who defies her father and elopes with Othello. Meanwhile, there's this evil guy named Iago who just wants to fuck everyone's day up- he begins to tell Othello that Desdemona is cheating on him and through tricks and deceit, as well as twisting appearance with reality, Othello believes him. Then shit gets real. (I know, completely informal. However, I'm not going to go all English major up in here. I'm also not going to ruin the ending in case this stupid synopsis made anyone want to read the play.)
The Othello Complex is "morbid jealousy." It's literally believing that your partner or spouse is cheating on you with little or no proof. People with this disorder tend to chain random occurrences together in order to justify that their partner is cheating on them. Yeah, totally sucks.
This weekend, I was sleeping and I was woken up by the sound of a vibrating phone. It was my fiance turning his phone on. I was pretty convinced he was texting another girl while I was sleeping. (His phone is usually off when we're together unless we go out.) I figured he probably had missed texts from his other girlfriend and was checking them while I was sleeping. Unfortunately, before I could find out his mom knocked on the door and asked for his help. I still pretended to be asleep.
We didn't have sex before we went to bed last night., which was already weighing on my mind. (He was probably getting it elsewhere and had no need for it from me) Granted, we had sex three times already that weekend. (Saturday- Monday).
He went to probation, I got in the shower. Going through my clothes that his mom had done for me (because I was sick and she wanted me to rest.) I found a pair of underwear that weren't mind. Granted, they weren't sexy underwear like a thong or something; it was a pair of worn yellow fruit of the loom underwear. I was done.
He got back from probation and I confronted him only about the underwear. He said chances are they were his mom's and told me to put them in the laundry basket in the hallway. He knew something was up even though I kept telling him I was fine. Eventually I came out and asked him what he was doing on his phone so early in the morning. "I was going to fill out papers for probation. My mom knocked on the door and then I realized I was too tired and laid back down." I asked him why we didn't have sex that night. "I was tired. We watched two movies and it was almost two in the morning. I had to get up at nine to be at probation. I didn't see you initiating anything. You know I would never turn you down, but I'm not the only one who has to initiate sex."
In therapy a couple weeks ago, my therapist and I talked about making sure to only rely on facts and not make inferences or judgments based on things what we think to be true. Again, I had interpreted the situation instead of relying on factual information. The thing about my brain. It will always turn a situation in a negative light. If presented with enough random occurrences, I have trained myself to string together the thoughts intricately in order to prove my worst fears. This is something I really need to work on.
Luckily, my fiance understands. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at some of your behaviors. It's something that we're going to work through." Thank goodness for him. Sometimes I don't want to be around myself.
It's weird finding someone who wants to work with me through my shit.
Anyway, it's time to get a little personal. I have the Othello Complex. Don't look it up. I'll explain.
I have a fantastic fiance. He makes me happier than anyone ever has and anyone ever could.
For those of us who haven't kept up with Shakespearean tragedies, let me explain the basic premise of Othello: The Moor of Venice. Before anyone believes I'm racist, a moor is someone from Morocco/Africa. Othello is a black man.
So, there's this dude, Othello, who is general of the Cyprus army. He falls in love with this chick named Desdemona who defies her father and elopes with Othello. Meanwhile, there's this evil guy named Iago who just wants to fuck everyone's day up- he begins to tell Othello that Desdemona is cheating on him and through tricks and deceit, as well as twisting appearance with reality, Othello believes him. Then shit gets real. (I know, completely informal. However, I'm not going to go all English major up in here. I'm also not going to ruin the ending in case this stupid synopsis made anyone want to read the play.)
The Othello Complex is "morbid jealousy." It's literally believing that your partner or spouse is cheating on you with little or no proof. People with this disorder tend to chain random occurrences together in order to justify that their partner is cheating on them. Yeah, totally sucks.
This weekend, I was sleeping and I was woken up by the sound of a vibrating phone. It was my fiance turning his phone on. I was pretty convinced he was texting another girl while I was sleeping. (His phone is usually off when we're together unless we go out.) I figured he probably had missed texts from his other girlfriend and was checking them while I was sleeping. Unfortunately, before I could find out his mom knocked on the door and asked for his help. I still pretended to be asleep.
We didn't have sex before we went to bed last night., which was already weighing on my mind. (He was probably getting it elsewhere and had no need for it from me) Granted, we had sex three times already that weekend. (Saturday- Monday).
He went to probation, I got in the shower. Going through my clothes that his mom had done for me (because I was sick and she wanted me to rest.) I found a pair of underwear that weren't mind. Granted, they weren't sexy underwear like a thong or something; it was a pair of worn yellow fruit of the loom underwear. I was done.
He got back from probation and I confronted him only about the underwear. He said chances are they were his mom's and told me to put them in the laundry basket in the hallway. He knew something was up even though I kept telling him I was fine. Eventually I came out and asked him what he was doing on his phone so early in the morning. "I was going to fill out papers for probation. My mom knocked on the door and then I realized I was too tired and laid back down." I asked him why we didn't have sex that night. "I was tired. We watched two movies and it was almost two in the morning. I had to get up at nine to be at probation. I didn't see you initiating anything. You know I would never turn you down, but I'm not the only one who has to initiate sex."
In therapy a couple weeks ago, my therapist and I talked about making sure to only rely on facts and not make inferences or judgments based on things what we think to be true. Again, I had interpreted the situation instead of relying on factual information. The thing about my brain. It will always turn a situation in a negative light. If presented with enough random occurrences, I have trained myself to string together the thoughts intricately in order to prove my worst fears. This is something I really need to work on.
Luckily, my fiance understands. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at some of your behaviors. It's something that we're going to work through." Thank goodness for him. Sometimes I don't want to be around myself.
It's weird finding someone who wants to work with me through my shit.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
What Is Creative Non-Fiction?
I guess I should start by answering the question, "what is creative non-fiction?" Creative Non-Fiction is the fourth genre of writing. It takes every day life experiences, factual life experiences, and tries to make meaning out of them. Think of it like...trying to find meaning in your life. A Memoir is a form of creative non-fiction. This type of writing is versatile.
I've always sucked at fiction writing to the point that I don't like writing it. This genre helps me. It helps me work through things and reach out to other people through my life experiences. I think about different essay topics all the time. I'm currently taking a class in college on creative non-fiction and I'm think about about writing an essay based on a workshop of one of my essays. (And yes, you can do that.) Freedom= amazing.
Somethings are just facts with no meaning for example, I had chicken for dinner. (It was delicious.) It's important to find a subject that really means something to you. Embrace your humanity and write about it.
For amazing examples of creative non-fiction click here.
All for now. I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold and The Merchant of Venice awaits. -_-
I've always sucked at fiction writing to the point that I don't like writing it. This genre helps me. It helps me work through things and reach out to other people through my life experiences. I think about different essay topics all the time. I'm currently taking a class in college on creative non-fiction and I'm think about about writing an essay based on a workshop of one of my essays. (And yes, you can do that.) Freedom= amazing.
Somethings are just facts with no meaning for example, I had chicken for dinner. (It was delicious.) It's important to find a subject that really means something to you. Embrace your humanity and write about it.
For amazing examples of creative non-fiction click here.
All for now. I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold and The Merchant of Venice awaits. -_-
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Things I Hate: A List
I know I already technically wrote today; however, I was overcome with a multitude of emotions regarding people and the fact that they need to get it together (and it's one in the afternoon). So, I decided that a list of things that I hate should make me feel better (or just make me more angry- I haven't decided yet).
Things I Hate: A List
I hate walking through the rain in flip flops and my feet get wet. (But I was too lazy to put on shoes and socks.)
I hate when people are late (even though I'm late like, all the time).
I hate when people type like idiots. Example: omg!!! wat da fuk!? u r sooooo rite.
I hate when people are rude and get angry when someone else gets rude back.
I hate that I usually don't get rude back when people are rude to me.
I hate when I'm at work and people don't speak up; so I feel like an idiot asking them to repeat themselves fifty times; when I finally hear them they give me this weird....duh look. Like I could fucking hear you.
I hate that the only time I ever really don't care about what I say is when I'm drunk.
I hate that because people know I'm drunk, they don't hold it against me.
I hate when people try to justify cheating.
I hate when people cheat. (On anything)
I hate that the worst kind of cheating is on a lover.
I hate that someone has cheated on me.
I hate that people are superficial.
I hate that I don't know how to be superficial. (Does that make me a not-person?)
I hate that because I don't know how to be superficial, I don't keep friends for very long.
I hate that I can count the number of people who actually enjoy talking to me on four fingers.
I hate illegal drugs.
I hate that I can't do illegal drugs because of my mental illnesses.
I hate that I get super paranoid when I go into cities.
I hate being dirty.
I hate that cities are dirty and I could possibly get killed there.
I hate thinking about being killed.
I hate not being in bed.
I hate that I always want to be in bed.
I hate being stressed out.
I hate that I'm stressed out right now.
I hate that every person doesn't have the same rights.
I hate that no one sees that.
I hate my body.
I hate that my fiance claims to love my body.
I hate that I'm super naive.
I hate that I have very little common sense.
I hate that some families aren't really familial at all.
I hate my mental illnesses.
I hate that I'm going to have to take medicine every day for the rest of my life.
I hate that I'm dependent on it.
I hate that I have addictions.
I hate that I can't be like everyone else.
I hate that everyone wants to be like everyone else.
So, that made me feel... a little bit better. I'm sure there is tons more that I could put on that list. In fact, I know there's a lot more that I could put on that list.
I hate that there are some things I never finish.
Things I Hate: A List
I hate walking through the rain in flip flops and my feet get wet. (But I was too lazy to put on shoes and socks.)
I hate when people are late (even though I'm late like, all the time).
I hate when people type like idiots. Example: omg!!! wat da fuk!? u r sooooo rite.
I hate when people are rude and get angry when someone else gets rude back.
I hate that I usually don't get rude back when people are rude to me.
I hate when I'm at work and people don't speak up; so I feel like an idiot asking them to repeat themselves fifty times; when I finally hear them they give me this weird....duh look. Like I could fucking hear you.
I hate that the only time I ever really don't care about what I say is when I'm drunk.
I hate that because people know I'm drunk, they don't hold it against me.
I hate when people try to justify cheating.
I hate when people cheat. (On anything)
I hate that the worst kind of cheating is on a lover.
I hate that someone has cheated on me.
I hate that people are superficial.
I hate that I don't know how to be superficial. (Does that make me a not-person?)
I hate that because I don't know how to be superficial, I don't keep friends for very long.
I hate that I can count the number of people who actually enjoy talking to me on four fingers.
I hate illegal drugs.
I hate that I can't do illegal drugs because of my mental illnesses.
I hate that I get super paranoid when I go into cities.
I hate being dirty.
I hate that cities are dirty and I could possibly get killed there.
I hate thinking about being killed.
I hate not being in bed.
I hate that I always want to be in bed.
I hate being stressed out.
I hate that I'm stressed out right now.
I hate that every person doesn't have the same rights.
I hate that no one sees that.
I hate my body.
I hate that my fiance claims to love my body.
I hate that I'm super naive.
I hate that I have very little common sense.
I hate that some families aren't really familial at all.
I hate my mental illnesses.
I hate that I'm going to have to take medicine every day for the rest of my life.
I hate that I'm dependent on it.
I hate that I have addictions.
I hate that I can't be like everyone else.
I hate that everyone wants to be like everyone else.
So, that made me feel... a little bit better. I'm sure there is tons more that I could put on that list. In fact, I know there's a lot more that I could put on that list.
I hate that there are some things I never finish.
Hello.
I'm making a blog instead of doing homework: I feel like creativity is a good excuse to not read Piers Plowman. My goal here is to make something that I don't have to worry about editing; my goal is to make something that I can use to try and work through all my fucked up thoughts. In truth, my Intro to Creative Non-Fiction class gave me the idea. I've been tossing it around in my head the last couple of days- and then the thought of if I have time came to mind. I'm a college student which means I don't have time to shower much less blog about pointless shit. But, I'm also a writer and that's a keen part of my identity. So, my hope for this is keeping a blog will help me come up with ideas for my writing.
In case you couldn't tell by my pen name, I'm also insane. But, I embrace my humanity; therefore, I'm not really as insane as I think I am. (Does that make sense?) Regardless, I have depression and anxiety issues; a lot of the time, these mental disorders make it difficult to have hobbies because I'm dead set on making them perfect. My goal is to have this be completely uncensored as a way to combat the perfection issues. So, not only am I successfully procrastinating homework, I'm also doing something for my greater well-being. If I got a grade for "trying to better yourself," I'm pretty sure at this point, I would have an A+. Yay for perfection.
Okay, okay. I have a ton of homework to do. I'm at work right now and only on page thirty of Piers Plowman. A fantastic text. Not something I feel like doing at 7:20 A.M. (Oh, by the way, I've been at work since 3 A.M.) I decided that it would be nice to help a co-worker out and pick up her shift so she could study.
I'm a stupid bitch.
This shift leaves me very little time to sleep. And if anything is learned in college it's that sleep is important.
My day looks a little something like this:
Work: 3 am to 8 am (check)
Work: 12 pm to 2 pm.
Class: 4 pm to 5:15 pm
Class: 7:10 pm to 9:40 pm
Work: 6 am to 8 am (Thursday)
I'm adding that last part in order to bring my schedule full circle and give everyone a good idea of the circularity of my life. Work- school- work. It's enough to drive anyone insane;therefore, Luna-C was born.
(Don't worry, my life isn't all shit. I haven't gotten to the good part yet.)
Now, I have expectations for this little Blog. I'm thinking that at particular times, it may get a little...intimate and provocative (not in a porno sort of way) but if I can get the raw truth down and all my emotions with it, well, my writing should improve and my topic pool should overflow. But, I guess that's the point of having something that's all yours- I could be talking to myself right now. I don't know if anyone is going to read this, ever. But... I can use this to my advantage. I have no unreal expectations regarding this.
In case you couldn't tell by my pen name, I'm also insane. But, I embrace my humanity; therefore, I'm not really as insane as I think I am. (Does that make sense?) Regardless, I have depression and anxiety issues; a lot of the time, these mental disorders make it difficult to have hobbies because I'm dead set on making them perfect. My goal is to have this be completely uncensored as a way to combat the perfection issues. So, not only am I successfully procrastinating homework, I'm also doing something for my greater well-being. If I got a grade for "trying to better yourself," I'm pretty sure at this point, I would have an A+. Yay for perfection.
Okay, okay. I have a ton of homework to do. I'm at work right now and only on page thirty of Piers Plowman. A fantastic text. Not something I feel like doing at 7:20 A.M. (Oh, by the way, I've been at work since 3 A.M.) I decided that it would be nice to help a co-worker out and pick up her shift so she could study.
I'm a stupid bitch.
This shift leaves me very little time to sleep. And if anything is learned in college it's that sleep is important.
My day looks a little something like this:
Work: 3 am to 8 am (check)
Work: 12 pm to 2 pm.
Class: 4 pm to 5:15 pm
Class: 7:10 pm to 9:40 pm
Work: 6 am to 8 am (Thursday)
I'm adding that last part in order to bring my schedule full circle and give everyone a good idea of the circularity of my life. Work- school- work. It's enough to drive anyone insane;therefore, Luna-C was born.
(Don't worry, my life isn't all shit. I haven't gotten to the good part yet.)
Now, I have expectations for this little Blog. I'm thinking that at particular times, it may get a little...intimate and provocative (not in a porno sort of way) but if I can get the raw truth down and all my emotions with it, well, my writing should improve and my topic pool should overflow. But, I guess that's the point of having something that's all yours- I could be talking to myself right now. I don't know if anyone is going to read this, ever. But... I can use this to my advantage. I have no unreal expectations regarding this.
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