My Ridiculous Life

Oh, how bitterly I used to weep and wistfully lament the existence my life has become. My grades! My love! My homestead! My circle! How lovely and peaceful my life was--all smiles, laughs, and glittering success. 3.9's, high school sweetheart, and best friends--bless my heart!

At Rutgers, my beautiful fantasy came crashing down...or so I thought.
After all has been said and done, I have had a chance to reflect back on what I've been through, and just like the tears I cried my first night at LA/ST--I want to smack myself and tell myself to grow the fuck up. The school of hard knocks has beat me to shit and replaced my broken bones with a priceless diploma that I cannot possibly regret earning. Yes, I earned it. I earned it with my blood, my sweat, my desperate, protesting tears, and soundless screams that fell upon the deaf ears of the deans responsible for my education. I'm sure in some cultures men have "rites of passage" to officially be considered adults in their tribe. Similarly, all the cutesy traditions our civilization on this side of the world has are all little play-games of "House". I have seen what it takes to be a woman and I could not be more sure of it.

Ahh, my love life. A hot topic of sordid details that has become quite the Achilles' heel for the naysayers that morphed into what the haute-couture is to fashion. Everyone knows everything, I'm so sure. Everyone is an expert when it comes to love--especially when love is a commodity, not a priceless treasure. Those who claim maturity have yet to display it, and those that proudly tout their good sense have yet to use it. I have heard more than my earned share of disparaging comments on this aspect of my life--but enough about them, because this paragraph is for the life itself. What a gorgeous, hardwood floor I tread upon! How lightly I tread upon it! I never paced and walked on tiptoe, leaving my stilettos at the door. Its chestnut glamour shone so brightly in the afternoon sun of the balcony at its far reaches. Once in a while, gazing back at it during the day and admiring it at night--I wanted to jump right off that balcony and sail down into oblivion just to see where I landed. As proud and comforting as its stability and lacquered finish were...I did wish for a carpet, if only to keep me warmer or add a softer touch with its shag luxury. CRASH! How suddenly, as I walked along right to the center, the floorboards gave way beneath my long, lithe legs to leave me plummeting in free fall through the darkness into the unknown. The mind-shattering pain shot excruciatingly through my body upon impact, threatening to scare my consciousness away into the recesses of my mind as I wavered between drifting into oblivion and screaming out in pain--and scream I did. I screamed and screamed for the neighbors. I heard their voices--most of them peering down through the hole. Only a couple made it down to my level--wherever it was that I fell to. My best friend, the most beautiful woman I know. My most divulged friend, the toughest, most sensitive man I know. These shouted at me from somewhere very near to me, 'Calm down!' they hollered, 'You will be okay,' resounded their all-too-true promise. I heard a door open in the stillness. Four footsteps, an echoing click, and the millisecond delay after it as the dim light instantly illuminated my surroundings and steadily grew brighter, whiter, purer. Oh...my goodness. Looking around, my tear-stained cheeks dropped to let my jaw slack. My watery eyes gazed out, wide with amazement, temporarily drowning out the pain. The floor was a rich, crimson shag that rose up to cradle my supporting palms. The pillows--there were so many! Purple, peacock, emerald, bronze, gold, silver, ruby--each beaded with an intricate Eastern design to adorn the satin, taffeta, plush, velvet, and silk. And Eastern it was. The entire room screamed of vivid passion in the colors it boasted, and everywhere I looked, cultural scenes hung, framed in gilded rectangles that adorned the painted mural backdrop of three walls. I knew that I had landed somewhere better than where I was...warmer, richer, more luxurious, and ecstatically fantastic. I cannot wait for my bones to heal from the breaks they incurred from having my floor torn from beneath me. I think of those glistening amber floorboards occasionally and how they glowed in the afternoon sun, and sometimes I think it was just an illusion. Regardless of how wonderful it may have been...the cold balcony drafts never failed to chill me, and it still could not prevent its own collapse--let alone mine.

My circle. Around the round table sat many faces. Long and uninterrupted this legislation reigned--trusted and renowned, old and established. There they sat, daily, in convention. Laughs dotted the interrelated, complicated relationships that filled the air between us, travelling across the length of the table, dependable...but not loyal. As I fell it is this table that crashed, giving out on its own with no help from the floor. The legs gave out, weighted by the evil, envious, shrouded, fallacy that unwittingly defined the word "friend". The shifty eyes that wagged from side to side like the tail of a selfish, hungry dog after its own reward soon revealed themselves for the ocular pools of lies that they were. These were never to be trusted anyway, and blessed I was to be relieved of the intruder's presence at my council. On one term of discussion the communication hung dead in the air, splitting the party and ostracizing the speaker. For countless issues I remained without judgment--listening, guiding, loving unconditionally, only to be berated by the sarcastic nuances of subtle persecution. They spoke their verdicts in eerie, friendly lies, delaying the inevitable that I would soon discover the depth of kin of their spirits to mine. A few, however, said nothing in front of the rest, but quietly massaged my shoulders and patted my back, sympathetic, empathetic, understanding eyes dripping with genuine concern and friendship. It was this defining moment during which I wasted no time with the distraction of 'friends', but rather deepened my love, affection, and abiding respect for my Friends. How lucky I was to have received the blessing in disguise of discerning who deserved my love. I know for a fact that my love is irreplaceable and indispensably invaluable, and it would be wise to apportion its benefits such that the deserving get the lion's share they deserve for standing by me. I love you, and you will always know who you are because though I will universally aid those in need, it will be a different emotion that shines through my face when I live my life by your side.

My homestead. What a quaint, peaceful, yawning house in its grandeur. Family, fun, friends, and fries--the four "F"'s that were supposed to define the Fourth academic year. I forgot the Fifth F: Fraudulent. The first friend was a fraud, the fantasy was a fraud, and the freeholder was a fraud. The filthy fossil of a vermin-infested ticking time bomb proved too much for the exorbitant rent. Thanks to one of the [true-blue] friends I kept from the dissolution of the Circle and the demolition of the Table, we received our one-way ticket out. In this confusing maze that became a corrupted trap of fake leads and dead ends, nothing worked. No legal loophole, no reserved rights, and no city conscience, all was lost. It seemed endless, forever waking up early, forever being let down. It ebbed and flowed between hope and its destruction until finally everything built into a frightening crescendo and then!!!!!!!!!...our light at the end of the tunnel. The ace, the trump card, the Poker's full house paid our one-way ticket out of a hellhole and into...a Full House. Full of safety, sanitation, responsibility, renovation, realtors, rooms, and savings. I was lucky to have the table crash so I knew who could stand by me when trouble grew into a tempest. Everything was going wrong. Suddenly, once the crowded fear died down and the rubble dust settled, I looked around to find...A house. Two. Roommates. Savings. How come everything was going right? Because it had to go wrong first. I had to learn what a bad landlord is. I had to learn what a bad house is. I had to learn was a bad deal is...only by crying and struggling through it first. Now, I am not just smart, I am street smart, and my mother graced me with a compliment after today's successes: "With your organizational skills, the only job that could fit you lies in leadership...you should be President!" Although I appreciate the compliment, I don't do these to toot my own horn. I don't do this for me or my walk-in closet. I don't do this for kicks, for ego, or for a power trip. I do this for the people who are bearing with me through all this grime, fighting by my side at the most and understanding me without harboring resentment at least. I do this because if someone is capable of helping, they should, especially if they have the time, knowledge, and ability to. I do this because they deserve a nice house, and if I'm the one they trust to lead the search, I am the one responsible for succeeding. I am not scared. There is not room for Fear or Freezing houses. Fuck.

School? Well, what a shitty year. I learned entirely too much to just be a bitter, cynical has-been. I am a bitter, cynical, has-been ENGINEERING STUDENT. Damn it. I programmed my way through 15-hour homeworks, failed my way through critical finals, and confused my way out of exams. I messed up more than I could ever have known, and where did it get me? A whole hell of a lot farther than if I had attended Communiversity. I know how to stay awake during lectures, I know how to grin and bear it, and I know how to learn. Instead of being given an easy spotlight in a small classroom, I have learned how to earn my name among hundreds. Instead of easy questions on exams, I forgot what it even means to be afraid of open-ended critical thinking questions. I forgot to be afraid of failure, and the best leader is the one who considers only logic, not emotional tyrants such as fear. I know how to stay up and I know how to pick out the important notes. I know that it is more important to understand than to memorize. Most vitally, I don't even know how this happened--but I absorb more knowledge now than ever before. I feel my memory being sharper, and if I have nothing else to credit--I credit my last-minute procrastinating tendencies for training my mind under pressure. Factually, there exists no pressure anymore, because there exists no fear. There is only time and its management. I know how to work hard, yes, but now, I know how to work smart. Working smart is a priceless asset that some people only wish they learned, had they only pushed themselves to their rock bottom to learn it. I do wish there was an easier way than falling from grace and a cheaper price than sacrificing my GPA. However, when I get back up there, I will be the proudest, smartest, most resourceful survivor that I could ever have even dreamed the engineer in me could be. I won't be able to promise Them a 4.0, but I'll be able to deliver, on demand, a sensible leader that knows the equations and facts that she needs to know, without all of the fluff that 4.0's waste their time on instead of learning management and networking. I do what I need to do when I need to do it, and when I promise, I will deliver, working harder to compensate for my competition than even competitors could dare rival. Everyone values a resurrected, penitent survivor because there is no doubt if they can successfully handle real-life problems and rescue themselves and the company from failure. With the ones who have never fallen, we can never know if they know how to rise, especially when push comes to shove comes to collapse. Take that in your diploma and sell it.

Fuck Failure. Bring it on, because even rock bottom isn't hard enough to cripple my spirit.

New Year, New Planner

Every year, what seems like half of America makes resolutions that might hopefully change their lives for the better come January 1, 20__. Most drop these by the end of the week, and the rest drop them by the end of the month, leaving a small percentage of people who actually succeed in maintaining a lifestyle that is now one resolution better, healthier, and happier. What makes that difference?

Well, for starters, the first step is to set a realistic goal. If your favorite food is McDonald's (and a large diet coke, please!!! :)) and your favorite dessert can be used to describe quantities such as a "mole" and structures such as the atom (my high school Chemistry teacher loved Twinkies), then chances are that losing fifty pounds by Valentine's Day is not only an unrealistic goal, but one that will make you look worse for having quit. I suppose the second idea that comes to mind is that although the new year is an excellent time to start some aspect of your life afresh, I don't imagine successful people needing the excuse of a "New Year" to wait to improve their lives.

However, I finally have found a resolution that I can justify waiting to implement. I bought a planner! This makes sense--it's realistic, because our purses have enough shit in it that it wouldn't make the slightest difference to carry one more thing around. Therefore, it is also realistic that it can change my life, because writing on the bus or before class starts on something that is within reach just inside my purse can make the difference between "OH SHIT THAT INTERVIEW IS TODAY?!" and "Honey, Happy Anniversary!" (Like I'd ever forget that). Also, I'm justified in waiting because I just spent 7$ on this shit and I'm not going to buy one just for the month of December when they start from January and last a year.

That said, my New Year's resolution is to WRITE SHIT DOWN so I don't look like an asshat for having my schedule all over the place. Every year, my life gets more and more hectic and I've done little to help my poor overwhelmed memory (already raped by equations and Queens Guard counts) cope with added classes, events, clubs, friends, and responsibilities. After missing important events, standing best friends up, and missing a final exam, maybe, just maybe, it's time to actually act upon coordinating my life in a way that makes it easier to keep track of things. I don't feel less capable, and I don't feel like my memory has worsened, but between a full course load at a four-year, work, Queens Guard commandership, a boyfriend, and personal goals, how am I supposed to remember all of the things I need to do when they're swimming around like retarded sperm cells in the midst of all of the turbo-fertile sperm cells that are the deliciously useful and pertinent fluid mechanics equations I just learned?

In addition, it may not be a moleskine--but it's pink and leather-bound! I bought a little pocket-sized Mead notebook to write down things throughout the day. What things won't be relevant to keeping in a planner? Well, any time I drive or contemplate sleeping through a class, I sometimes find inspiration when my mind drifts to the deeper, more satisfying aspects of life that don't quite conform to the rigid movements of the clock's two hands. I want to write down awesome quotes, thoughts, and philosophies that I think of so I can...
...actually write them in this blog!
How 'bout that? Two birds with one stone.

This is a way better gift than those jeans that were SO going to shrink in the wash that I returned to buy this stuff.

Update: Just found out this planner is sold by academic year. D'OH! Better stock up on the next one... -_-

Inspiration

As beautiful and ornate an inspiration love can provide, I am just a little frustrated that it is one of the few things during my winter break that can inspire me. As a result, I have written a lot this past break--little of it (pretty much just one blog entry) inspired by anything other than love. Therefore, I have written maybe 2-3 choppy drafts of entries that have lasted barely more than a paragraph before being prematurely abandoned. Oh, shit...here comes another creative angle. I must write--until my return!

...I failed. I feel blank right now. I honestly just want to sleep; to play my Bejeweled in peace while a soundless Lifetime movie plays its blurred frames just out of eyesight's focus on the plasma screen behind my laptop. Regardless of whether or not I have anything to write about, I started the blog for more than just creative outlet. I started it to keep myself writing. It appears that love has maintained this steady habit, but nevertheless, what good is an empty blog? I'll brainstorm a list of things I can write about once the inspiration occurs or desire strikes:

My Christmas tree
Snow
The suffocation of school
The paradox once I can breathe
My alien dream I had last night (which I'll more than likely forget)
Peace
Religion

Wow this list is getting very macroscopic and philosophically intense. I am going to chop this one short, as well. I won't force this tonight. Not at 3:29 am.