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Freddifer
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Name: Erica
Location: Sacramento, California, United States
Birthday: 7/18/1987
Interests: reading. writing. day dreaming. berean courses.
Expertise: reading. writing. day dreaming. singing way off key. obsessing over fictional characters. making fun of other people who obsess over fictional characters in a lame attempt to hide the fact that i obsess over fictional characters. rocket science. being a genius. and having everyone love me.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  shadowspynner
Yahoo:  shadowspynner
Member Since:
10/19/2005
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| So, I recently remembered I have this account. This brings me up to three, yes three, online communities (that is what you call them right?). Aren't I social. I'm actually getting better at the whole 'social' thing actually, though I still find it exaughsting after awhile. A couple weeks ago I realized that, while in a mixed group of people, there was this whole wordless 'girl conversation' going on. I'm pretty sure this isn't news to anyone else but it was totally the first time I noticed it. It makes me wonder if guys are the same way... Anyway, this marvelous revelation spurred me to a mission to study and understand the social behaviors and language of my peers (and yes I know I am the only one who would conciously decide that). It's been interesting. Boys, I've found, are much easier to get along with in general, girls usually require a bit of work to start off with. Though I've still found that no guy could ever be quite the friend that a girl could. The downside to my quest for understanding social behavior is that it has led to a ressurgence of the 'why hasn't Erica dated' commitee. Their prime goal seems to be to get me to date and then, after a suitable time (which varies according to who you talk to), to have sex. It was kind of amusing at first but now that they have actual candidates its a bit annoying. I'm slowly learning what it is to watch my friends grow up and choose different paths. I always assumed that because I was so whole heartedly devoted to God that other were as well and would stay that way. But being in the world really does change people after all and most of the time all you can do is listen to them and pray. So many things are so different and yet so many things have stayed so much the same. So it is at once impossible to be here and completely easy to stay. And so the choice: What is comfortable or what is Right? | | |
| i feel rather beat up at the moment. i'm in a cast because i had surgery on my arm, my friend becky tackled me so i have a bruise on my knee, i fell off a dresser trying to pin something up so i have a bruise on my back that's roughly the shape of new hampshire and i have another bruise on my arm that kinda reminds me of a gobstopper. it has this blue-grey ring then this yellow-green ring and a purply center.
fascinating isn't it.
so.... i moved back into the garage (told you i was getto). which i really don't mind, except that i like most of america tend to get rather depressed around the holidays. and now instead of living in a pretty room with lots of my sister's art i now live in a room in the garage made by hanging cloth from the ceiling and spare furniture. actually it's kind of nice, i have low lighting and candles and sufficient book space (because i haven't actually bothered to unpack all my books). and in my sister's room i did sleep in what i designated the 'bower of broken hearts' (seriously. i had two on the wall to the right of my head and one right above it). nicole has a theme in her art. but they're very pretty. i miss them.
i moved into the garage because my friend courtney lives with us and she had the garage but never slept in it, she slept on the sofa instead. this bothered me because people should not be confined to sofas when there are plenty of beds. the garage is kinda chilly, but it was more that she finds it creepy. i apparently am the only one who doesn't get creeped out by it. i think my mum's scared of weird creepy spiritual things, court's paranoid about rats, and niki just gets weird about things. anyway, i was the one who it bothered so court and i switched rooms so now she sleeps in the bower of broken hearts and i sleep in the garage. it isn't dirty, by the way. it's quite clean. i even have an area rug for it.
still, my 'artistic' side kicks in and i realize that i'm sleeping in the garage. and garages are not nearly as cool as basements.
so really i'm just whining. but on the brightside i have a gobstopper bruise.
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| you know.... there's so much in life that I just don't understand. Of course that it's three thirty in the morning right now might have something to do with it.
I walked outside... I guess it was about an hour ago, and looked up at the stars. I love stars. But I don't really do that a lot. I think I used to, when I was a kid. But these days I tend to keep my gaze closer to home. On the things around me. Family, friends... homework. But when did I stop looking up? Hmmm. Life is beautiful. So are the stars. And I.... I don't really know what I am, but for better or for worse, I am here.
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| so in my own fine tradition I have waited until after midnight to write something. Granted, this time it's only 6 after, but hey, tradition is tradition.
First, a quick note about the previous entry.
There is nothing wrong with my heart. Physical or otherwise. I asked my sister how the tea was coming and that was how she answered. Because that's the way my family is. And I, in my infinite wisdom, decided to blog about it.
And then a few weeks later I looked at it and realized that it could be taken as something else entirely.
Have you ever had something really horrible happen to your friend and then all you can do is apply it to your life? It's something of human nature, applying the experiences of others to yourself, thinking of how they'll affect you. My friend's mother died recently. Of cancer. And then two days later her house was robbed. The theives ransacked it and stole, among other things, all her mother's jewlery. The jewlery that her mother, as she lay dying, insisted she keep and have resized to fit her. I can't even type it without getting angry. Anyway, all in all her situation is not a good one, her father recently started drinking again and he has a history of domestic violence. And she never talks to anyone about it. Truth be told, I don't know why she talks to me about it. I'm far from the only person she has in her life who cares, but I know that she still feels crushingly alone. Her mother's death wasn't a surprise. In fact, she probably prayed for her mother the same way I did for my grandmother. I don't know if you can really understand that prayer until you've seen someone lying in bed as their body slowly fails them. I never felt guilty for that, for thinking, for asking for it. But it wasn't my mother. It was my grandmother. And I didn't have a father at home who was blaming me in the first place. So this is my friend. My dear friend who has never wished anything but good for anyone.
So I get off the phone with her and go into the living room and see my own mother, with the same kind of disease growing inside of her, and all I can think is
How on earth would I face her?
If my mother was healed. If my family got one happily ever after, how could I ever look my friend in the eyes again? When my mom was diagnosed and went in for surgery, people went out of their way for us, it was like our church family revolved around us for that point in time. And she had been living with the same thing, for all intents and purposes, alone. I know she would never begrudge me my mother's healing, but still that sort of thing hurts, wether you want it to or not. No matter how good a person you are. And the question 'why' is almost inevitable.
I look at my mother, fighting so hard against despair, trying to believe enough for a miracle, and part of me thinks, wouldn't it be kinder if it didn't happen.
I look at my friend and think, dear God, please don't make me face this to.
I hate both these parts of me. Am sickened that I could think either of those thoughts. And yet... they are there and if I could rip my heart out or by some miracle make any of this better for them I would without any hesitation. But my heart remains painfully embedded in my chest and the shape of my life hasn't changed. How can you live life so torn?
My mother may die. Next week or ten years from now, for truly, she doesn't look like a woman with death hanging over her head. Or she may live. The truth is, I don't know. I don't know anything.
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| In the words of my sister....
it's hot and still brewing... like the festering wound that is my heart.
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