I'm going to write. I wouldn't mind if you'd tell me what I'm doing wrong.
Father Lockey on the gifts of the Spirit
I never thought I would be this okay. It is comfortable, and I am not supposed to like that. Then again, I am just fine. In fact, I have been given a few too many chances to screw it up, and I can be proud of the fact I did not want to. I usually do it anyway. I always did. Something changed. It did not snap, like I thought it would. It gradually bent under its own weight. I am twice the cynic I ever was, with all my innocence washed away by the blood on my hands. It is this blood that made me okay. Because I sit in it, they can never touch me again. I am untouchable. I no longer want to be touched. I do not hide, for I have enough power to lack that need. I am in the lack of every need now. Self-sustaining. Apathetic. Forced. I only need to keep my grip.
I dare not grieve my innocence.
I am so thankful that I never got in on the trend of paying for cheap and worthless plastic loops that on your wrist were wrinkly, off your wrist vaguely took the shape of cartoons and crap. Sillybandz…
I’ve decided that the next time I cut my hair will be a month after the last time somebody tells me I need a haircut.
I have found that the best piece of motivation in anything is the simple reminder that one day I shall die. It relieves me of anxiety when facing the future. It keeps me from procrastination. Most importantly, it points me towards the Truth.
Tonight, the rule has been safety second. It worked out wonderfully for me, but I do not recommend it. Seriously though, fireworks are much cooler when they blow up on the ground.
Apparently, there are two kinds of intoxicated red necks on the beach. There is the friendly kind that yells out to the jogger, “Woo! Cardio,” and then there is the one in a bikini with beer in hand that leans off the back of the golf cart and says, “You want some boobs in your face,” but follows with, “What? You just going to ignore us,” and then pursues with, “Hey, we’re just going to keep harassing ya.”
You know how our parents will use Internet Explorer? Or will type in the “www.” or right click cut, copy, paste, instead of Ctrl x, c, and v? Well the other day I wanted to heat something up in the microwave, but my mom beats me to it. Then I watch her take her time in hitting “Cook Time” “1” “0” “0” and “Start” and I could not help getting unreasonably frustrated that she did not just hit “1” if she wanted to heat something up for one minute. I soon realized how ridiculous that was. Why should it upset me that parents do not take shortcuts? Hm. Life.
I should have got a picture. There were rebel flags up and down the beach. I will never consider the Lake red neck again. Gee, Crystal Beach. Where’s Noah when you need him?