I find it humorous that in a time of being caught up in a spiritual whirlwind of inspiration where some would break out their bible as reference to prove a point, I on the other hand break out Watchmen.

The thermodynamic MIRACLE.
Oxygen changing into GOLD.

Wow, sometimes I really think that I have lost my head and it's off rolling down the side of the freeway with a bunch of other bent goods.

I haven't had the time or the will to write anymore, it seems like this sentence has become so repetitive that I'm stuck believing I'm living in some kind of deja vu. Although in psychology I was informed by one of my professors that we do so many routine things that a lot of the time we are correlating incidents because it is apart of our human nature. Maybe I'm just a loon-bin. A looney, not a loon-bin. I suppose that's where you house loonies. Thought way too into that.

Aside from my thoughts, reality has definitely been kicking me in the ass. New Years resolution number 1) Stop convincing yourself that the world is going to end. 2) Get back up and make use of the time you have.

So far, that's all I've got.
What about you?

Awake.

I can't sleep.

Sleep has never worked in behalf of me, it has either been excessive and detrimental, or lacking in mass amounts. Everything feels so black and white, all or nothing, with no in betweens and hardly any room for compromise. I know this is not true, but in times of distress and overwhelming pressure, I'm left to feel caught in the middle eager to run either way. It's strange because it's very rare that I stand my ground in the position that I am in. I have this sort of passive-aggressive technique that really gets me no where and typically ends up in neurotic disorderly thought processes that eat me alive at night.

On the upside of things, despite whatever trauma I may be enduring for the next year, or decade at that, I have been blessed enough to realize that I have the most beautiful and caring people in my life that no attorney can take away. I was baffled by the trust that my family has bestowed upon me, and in times of doubt and insecurity they have always remained and continue to remain right behind me in my trials. This is worth more than anything in my life that I can imagine. I know it sounds silly to say that love prevails all things, but it is true. Love is the energy that flows through the circuits of our body and motivates our words, our actions, and fuels our potential with an unyielding drive that no barrier can stop. I can't sleep because I owe it to these people, to be the person that they so strongly believe in, not only for them but most importantly for myself. Ultimately this ideal person that they see, has always been the person that I have wanted to be. I must move from being my own obstacle and take stand where I am and open my eyes to the person that has been hidden within my buried conscience. Today, well, stand aside, because I'm not fucking moving anywhere without a decent fight.

Once but Forever.

I remember the first time I took an AP English course in high school. I was having trouble starting with the introduction of an essay as always. I tend to hesitate into long hours of the night trying to contemplate how to start out with this amazing big bang, but the truth is it never quite happens that way.

So, it was the first essay of my first AP English class of my Junior year. I was a new student, and I was encouraged so greatly by my previous institution that I was convinced I was deserving of an AP course at this new school. I spent hours mulling over what to write, and frankly I don't remember what the hell I was writing about. All I remember was starting the introduction about heroes, and about superman and something about his S across his chest.

Then, during class period, we exchanged papers to give constructive criticism. After reading the essay from a boy I was slightly interested in, I immediately became embarrassed by my lack of skill in writing. His essay was so direct, to the point, strong and ended with a swiftness of a deadly sword. I saw him raise his brow as he read my paper, and after that day I refused to return to class.

I only really knew two or three people in that class, one was a natural, he did his essays at the very last minute and the teacher swore by his talent. I envied him so, and yet he was still humble enough to never let it go to his head. Another was a girl I was sure had it in for me, she was very catty and sarcastic which seemed with the intent to hurt rather than be witty. The third, well the third was the boy who read my essay.

After several months of ditching AP English and a terrible report card my mom asked me what was going on, I replied "I want to go back to regular English. I'd rather be at the top of the average barrel than the bottom of an excellent one."

I don't know where I had the gut to hold so much neurosis. It hasn't changed much, I still embarrass and disappoint myself from time to time. Instead of cowering in the fear of my self-ridiculing conscience I have met another Lauren that is very well encouraging. This, in fact, is someone I never wish to part with.

Tell Me What Accomplishment Feels Like.

I was on the phone with Christopher well over three hours last night.
"How does it feel? To build something?"

He thoroughly described such a task as being "fulfilling, special, proud.."
I shakily replied "I have never felt such a feeling."

I've turned twenty-two this past September, ask me how many notches I have on my belt.
-I can't tell you.

I can't nearly categorize myself as a Champ, or a Successor. There is no action or task that feels complete to me. Every time I attempt to start something I 1) Fall short 2) Give up entirely 3) In completion regret it and immediately want to destroy it and all the remains.

Example Given:
I spent months working on the model of this home I designed. It was very simplistic, post-modern and well...square. Each day I anticipated what the end result would look like, and in the end it looked exactly what I had imagined it to resemble. Maybe a little rough around the edges, but it still embodied the simplicity that I had drafted.

That was only one little step.
After moving, I looked at the piece despicably. I begged Christopher to take it out of my sight or else I would smash it into pieces. So he took it, away from my disastrous hands and mind. It's funny because I am not a superstitious person, yet I selectively decide to interpret signs at my own convenience. One day his brother had a couple of fireworks to expend, and my model home was the ideal candidate for target.

MY GOD A SIGN! I started crying at the literal and metaphorical meaning. Why did it matter? I gave the model home away, I told Christopher myself that if he did not take it the destroyer would be me. Why was it that at the destruction of someone else's hands it had hit me so harshly?


This is me. Is it not by the laws of nature that everything is constantly moving until it interferes with another moving entity? To be honest, I took the first step of assertion by putting a thought, a mere idea to paper and from paper I made it into a dimensional object that was hundreds of Popsicle sticks closer to becoming the real thing. And what did I do? I flipped out, ran away from it with my tail in between my legs for thinking that from that little model could arise the life-size figure of my dream. It is the risk that I could not stand and the possibility that such an idea could become more real than it was right in front of me. In fear, I wanted to destroy the fear that had already consumed me.

Really, I was weeping out of my own vulnerability. It didn't matter that Christopher's brother blew up my model home (which I might add, survived the blow with minor damage to the front deck). I was upset for letting it go. I am not a superstitious person, but yet I ask for signs everywhere and everyday. While sitting at a Chinese restaurant after finishing my meal, I intently stared at the fortune cookies pleading for something to light a path.

I unraveled the cookie from it's brightly wrapped aluminum red foil and read "Assert yourself, your ideas are worthwhile." And although I know in my mind that possibly at the very moment someone could be reading the same exact fortune, or that there may be barrels of fortune cookies in the basement of the restaurant reading the same thing...this had came to me, of all people.

I am not a superstitious person, but how can you ignore what is written right in front you?

You, me and the Postal Office.

I stepped out of a ten person line to look at a passport application.

And older man sneaked ahead of me.
"Fuck it, I'll think about travel destinations."

After leaving behind the "fuck-it's" nearly 7 years ago, it's refreshing to the body and soul to pick them back up again once and a while. I don't know how I would survive without them. I of all people too, that fester over any given reason for no apparent reason.

This time it's a little mentally different than being 15 years old and belligerently regarding everything as "fuck it!" Something has changed, it's the kind of fuck it that lets you move onward with your life for the pure benefit of having the ability to let go of things when they don't go your way. What could I have done? Nothing, because the moment has passed.

"Life must be understood backwards, and lived forwards."
Yeah, some wise ass said that.

VLOG.

No vlog here. After watching my little cousin contribute to YouTube's numerous amount of Vlogs, I contemplated doing one specifically dedicated to her. If I only I didn't hate the word VLOG so much. It reminds me of vomitting, the sound of convulsions a person makes right when they're about to gag a chunkload. Attractive. Blog doesn't sound too appealing either. Since I act the age of my shoe size, I snicker to myself every time I accidentally type in the word Blooger instead of Blogger when inserting the website into the URL (blooger, hah, kind of like booger).

:]

I wish I gave a shit about you.

Friendships are beginning to wear thin. I feel overused, underused, a door mat essentially that needs traffic for some sense of purpose. Yeah, you can bet that sounds pretty pathetic.

I can't imagine to whom I've been the model friend. I have no interest in being socially active. If socially active requires terrible small talk discussed over loud music with the accompany of some sort of alcohol, well then I guess I'm shit out of luck. I can't remember how I established the friendships that have lasted long enough to mean something worthwhile. Samantha and I met while arguing over a similar pink jump rope in the first grade. I met Anna during a Theater course in high school where she extended her hospitality to invite me to sit with her during lunch where I then met the lovely Gabby and Jacqui. Other than that I can't remember a time where I offered myself first and foremost to establish a friendship out of my own free will.

Maybe that's it. I'm too afraid.

10 years away.

Don't ask me that question. Please don't get me started.

The deal is, I can paint the picture any which way I damn well please. Except, every which way I damn well please is too many ways. And with too many ways, well, we all know, consequentially I will end up with too much time left to decide. What is this is some sort of shitty subconscious plan that I've got in my head? You know, the kind where I refrain from making life changing decisions, so I wait for them to shrivel up and expire so that they're removed from my ballot? In a decade or so I can always scratch off Ballerina, or Modern dance instructor. I absolutely despise the waiting, and yet, as of now that is all that it seems that I am doing. When the hell did I become so indecisive. I need to know that when a situation arises I'll be able to get off the fucking fence and make a good, solid, logical decision.

I want so many things, and although some seemingly conflict, somewhere in my mind believes they can all be accomplished at once---during my lifetime.

Overdose.

I deactivated my facebook.

Look Yonder.

My hand feels as if it's going to fall off. I've strained my right hand so often from refusing to type my thoughts. Somehow they feel much more everlasting and impressionable when written rather than typed. Similar to a CD or vinyl versus an mp3. CD's and vinyls have the implication of creation by hands, personal touch, rather than machine. Pictures drawn to paper, appealing to all the senses, the visual album artwork, the fresh smell of printed and glossed paper as you carefully slide the cover from its container. While on the other hand, the audible sensory implication of an mp3 is as easily satisfied by the click of a button, and it recedes just the same.

I've been writing a list of concepts and ideas of a possible production. Production of what shall remain unnamed. For some reason, saying or disclosing its identity aloud feels as if I was pitching the idea for some sort of common approval. Which I assume at some point in time people some must deny, but it's not nearly due for the strength of rejection. By "it," why certainly I mean, I.

There are so many things ahead of me. Things consisting of years, goals, maturity, people etc. For now, I need to keep my focus on school and manage a short-term oriented plan that can be accomplished. The plan needs to work like the Brownian Movement, and I find it humorous that the molecular theory gives me motivation and hope that the happening of greater things are soon to occur. Start small, go big.

Now, all I have to do is maintain this attitude.

Hipsterrunoff.

I don't know how I will survive without XM radio. Recently I've been listening to this station that plays music that I typically don't get on the radio such as Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti, The Yolks, Arcade Fire etc. Anyway, as some sort of punishment for listening to indie music I have to listen to this crap in between, which is a guy with this robotic monotone voice that likes to announce reviews of shows and then cheaply attempts to leave a lasting insightful thought.

"Some people differ in opinions of Animal Collective
Everyone is a critic.
Everyone is nowhere."

I should have soiled myself while basking in all this enlightenment.

Last night I finished some painting of hands, then started to draw faces all over the hands. I kept writing bullshit all over the back of the painting and wondered why the hell every time I create something I immediately want to destroy it. It never really seems like anything I do is completed, it only feels like frustration reached the point of no return suddenly halted. That was it. Done.

Chris comes over sees it, and I tell him to take it away because I don't want to see it. Almost as if I'm hurt by a past production, an idea I once held onto that never turned out the way I had wished.

Lately I've been biting my tongue, more so than ever. I can't be as brutal or emotionally explosive as I've always seemed to be. My convictions are all entangled and soaked in some sort of solvent that is slowly ripping it into flimsy threads. I'm upset with the overplay of MUSE, all rock stations sound like they're trying to commit mass murder by overdosing its listeners.

I can't think straight. I only want to say things as they come, understand things for what they are, and be as I am.

Vampire Weekend bothers me.

There are too many half-read books on my shelf.

Mentally I think I'm still eighteen until I meet someone younger than me and think "What the fuck is going through your head youngling?"

I want to make houses, buy shit pieces of land and turn them into amazing awe-inspiring places of enjoyment---purely for my own pleaure.

I will never be as intelligent and I want to be.

God is too unknowing.

Where the fuck are you capital T?

I don't want to care about what you think, but I do anyway.

I'll give you more credit than you deserve.

I'll give you less credit than your entitled to deserve.

Backwards.

Combustion.

My words feel so dingy and old. I want to spit them out, like mucus accumulating on a rainy day after a night full of congestion. I feel so caught in between, as if my mind has a glitch that keeps rebooting itself completely, starting over, never finishing. restart, restart, crash, restart.

My engine is running, my engine is done for.