Lemme tell ya something. I've decided to be on "Blogger" because I hate the concept of blogging. Absolutely hate it.
But I'm told that having a blog kinda makes you write.
So you know I’m lazy by now. That said, I’m going to be posting what I call “back posts.” Blogger gives you this option to post-date and pre-date posts so that you can post a gazillion posts at the same time but it looks like you posted over several days. That said, I’m going to be post and pre posting posts because I have some things I never got around to posting. They’ve all been this week or the last two weeks(ish). I’m going to post them in the order I wrote them. But the timing may seem off if you know me. And I’m ok with that. Just suck it up.
This is what happens when I writer’s-blocked writer is also lazy.
She’s my Fucking Fuck. That’s what we call each other. We know it’s kinda rude and we’re totally ok with it. But Laura is the shizznit. I barely even know how to express in words how amazing Laura is.
We met in our last semester of college in an English class (that I went to a total of four times) and a Spanish class (that I don’t think I ever missed). We did our Spanish project together and sort of talked here and there outside of class. Eventually, we just started hanging out and ended up walking at graduation together with my best friend. I’m pretty sure neither of us paid any attention to any of the people who were speaking and I was definitely giving her some relationship advice during the keynote speech.
From there, we basically started bonding. Honestly, I have no idea what happened, but my best friend and I started hanging out with she and her boyfriend on almost a weekly basis. Even though the four of us have a group of friends we can hang out with at any time, we do try to have bonding times between just the four of us.
When I started dating one her boyfriend’s good friends, she specifically asked if just the four of us could hang out like we used to. It may seem like a tiny little gesture, but nonetheless, it was pretty sweet. Proved that our bond was real.
Throughout our two and a half year (ish) friendship, Laura and I have gotten closer and closer. I love hanging out with Laura and helped throw a pretty wicked awesome SURPRISE birthday party for her (if I do say so myself). She means a lot to me. I can tell her anything and know she isn’t going to judge me and isn’t going to tell anyone and is going to give good advice. She’s one of those ones who asks questions to walk you through your own thoughts rather than tell you want she’s thinking about you. Which is always a good thing. I think she gets that from her mommy.
Anyhow, what brought this on is that when I signed into Facebook recently, I had seven pictures tagged of me. So I selected “Pictures of Me” on my phone and scrolled through a lot of them. I realized that the first 90 or more were either taken by Laura or Laura was with me when it was taken.
If I had never met Laura – who has a special place in my heart no matter what – I wouldn’t have most of the friends I hang out with regularly and wouldn’t be in such a good place. She, in a way, saved my life just before “the real world” started.
Seriously, for some reason I love Halloween. Ok, really, I think I like any reason to get in a costume or go crazy decorating. I just love holidays. But anyhow, I think the whole month of October is my favorite in some ways. I love wearing costumes and thinking of things to dress up as. I love partying with my friends and being the only “old people” to go trick or treating in a neighborhood.
Most of all, I LOVE the haunted mansions, houses, farms, barns and cornfields. I love getting the shit scared out of me so badly that I can barely move my feet and feel like I’m going to wet my pants the whole time. Sometimes, I get so scared I end up ripping the skin of the poor bastard who lets me hold on to him.
Every year, I take my boss’s son up the mountain to Moriarty, New Mexico to McCall’s Haunted Farm. This year, I got a group of my friends to go (there was drama, but I don’t wanna talk about that). It was scary as shit. I thought I might die.
We went to the Haunted Corn Maze first. The line was pretty tedious, but I was with friends, so it could definitely be worse. As soon as we stepped foot into the maze, I knew I was an idiot for going. I had been jumpy the whole time we were in line. My friends kept randomly scaring me as we waited and I just knew that my heart was going to stop and I was going to be murdered inside the maze. I gripped onto David’s hand so hard I’m pretty sure he had reason to think that his hand was broken. I couldn’t let go and he would hold me back when things scared me more and drag me when I attempted to stop. I screamed bloody murder at almost every turn. I knew something was going to jump out at me. I kept screaming, “Don’t look at them! They won’t know you’re scared if you look at them.” Apparently that isn’t true. As always, I came out of the maze saying, “Every year! I do this to myself every year! Why?! WHY!?”
There’s this guy there every year. He’s dressed up in what I assume is a hockey jersey (I only say I assume because I never get a great look at him because I get too scared). He carries around a creepy noise maker thingie that makes sparks and really is designed to scare me so badly that I seriously think I’m going to get killed before I leave the Farm.
This year was the first year the creepster learned my name. I was standing in line, kind of in a corner, next to David. I leaned past and behind him to say something to my friend Laura when David reached behind him to “hug” me. When I looked up, Zach was talking to the creepy guy and all I heard him say was, “…Kekky…”
Immediately, I screamed and clutched onto David. I was so scared. I felt my face get hot and I was pretty sure I was tearing up some. The creepy guy started growling my name, “Kekky… Come here Kekky… Why are you scared?” I couldn’t stop screaming and every time I looked around one side of David, the creepy guy would follow with his taunting. It was like playing scare-the-shit-outta-ya-peek-a-boo for adults.
I have no idea why the guy finally quit freaking me out, but I do know that my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. I could feel it through my arms and I could see my chest spasm with each beat. I don’t think I’ve ever been more frightened in my life.
I know. It’s hard to believe. I have no words. None at all. I’ve had writer’s block for weeks. Well, I say weeks, but really have no idea how long it’s been. A friend of mine has been helping me revise a longer piece that I have no intention of ever posting here and I can barely work on it. Not because it’s crap (which it is), but because even fixing a word or two here and there is just… I don’t know. I have the worst case of no-words ever. I don’t even want to call it writer’s block anymore. It’s worse than that.
I’m not even sure why this is happening. Cool stuff has been happening to me lately. A lot. And I don’t even wanna write about it.
This is one of the bitchiest posts ever. I apologize for that.
That sounds terrible, but it’s true. I hate hearing those words. Hate it. My whole life, I have cringed when people express to me why they love me or how much they care about me.
But I love to tell people I love them. I love easily and love much. It’s a phileo love – a friendly love that I can share with friends and family. Many of those that I have this phileo love for, I also love on an agape level and I crave to help them and serve them. It’s so easy for me to love a friend or family member and want to be a shoulder to cry on, a drinking buddy, a sounding board, or anything else they may need.
The scary love is the Eros love – a romantic, passionate love. A love that knows no bounds. Craving to be with the person every possible moment. The idea of being in Eros with a guy makes me nervous and question who I am. It’s a commitment that I’ve never been sure of.
It’s been over three years since I’ve had a guy say, “I love you.” He never acted like he loved me; treated me more like an enemy, really. It’s become apparent that not only did he not love me, but I didn’t truly Eros him. We were planning on getting married and I shouldn’t have even been associating with him.
I heard, “I love you,” dripping with disdain and hatred over and over for three years. My response of, “I love you,” was typically the honest truth. I did Eros him at first, and continued to phileo him until he eventually wore me down and I only loved him because I can’t help but to phileo and agape people. But the romance left quickly when “I love you” may as well have been “I hate you.”
Since then, subconsciously, when I think of Eros, romantic love, I assume it will turn to hate.
The truth is this: I figure that eventually one of these relationships will turn from fun and companionship to a deep, romantic love and it’ll stick. The likelihood of me ending up with another guy who starts to hate me is slim.
Because of my ex, I have been standoffish with several guys who have cared about me. None of them knew the whole story of how I was treated. It’s embarrassing to admit that I almost walked down the aisle with someone who could barely tolerate me – not exactly light dating conversation. Eros love is something that has not been expressed to me in a healthy way – not something you tell a casual boyfriend.
Since then, I can barely stand to think of falling in Eros with someone. I don’t even know what that would look like because I have never experience healthy Eros. I have almost fallen that hard once. I think. I don’t even know because I have been so shaped by that first relationship. I think this guy fell almost as hard as I did. We never dropped the L word for each other. I think the root of that is fear based on past relationships. Eros has never treated either of us well.
My boss asked me what I would have done if this guy told me he loved me. My first reaction was, “Walk away, I’d walk away.” And for a few minutes, I believed that was true. I would get so scared that I’d walk away. Then I thought some more, I think I could have handled it. I would be ok with hearing, “I love you,” from him because he actually cared and we care about each other on a phileo level – there is no hatred between us.
The point to all of this is that most of us have an ex-boyfriend or girlfriend who discontinued Eros. If you’re lucky, you stopped loving them first. But as my therapist (boss) has told me, you sort of have to work your way out of that. You can’t let that overshadow everything. It may not be surprising that it’s hard to accept love after it’s been thrown in your face as hatred, but eventually you have to open yourself up to the possibility of love again. It freaks me out that I’m even thinking this way, but it’s true. You have to let the words, “I love you,” be spoken to you without making you shudder with fear that eventually they’ll hate you or you’ll lose them no matter how much you pour out your heart to them.
If you read my blog on a regular basis, you probably read my post, “Dear Anonymous.” If not, go read it. Or don’t. Whatever. Anyhow, one of the things Anonymous brought up is that I should be writing about important things because of how I write. From what I gathered, they were saying that I have a style that makes people want to read what I write so I have some level of power (from what I gathered).
Here’s the problem – I can never think of anything important to write about that isn’t completely personal. Personally, I think that I have experienced quite a bit for someone my age – I’ve done quite a bit of stuff and been through some weird things. I run an office and have quite a bit of “business” experience. I’m basically raising a few children. People come to me for advice on many different things. So the only way for me to express important, deep thoughts is through personal experience.
I don’t read, so I can’t write intelligently about topics such as who to vote for or why I’m not voting. I can’t write about fixing cars because everything would be called dumb things like, “that thingy that looks a little bit like a whatchamacallit.” I have never liked writing expository pieces. I hate having to analyze things. The list goes on and on about why writing about things that really mean something is a bad idea. The only piece I’ve ever written that wasn’t non-fiction was about how to direct a play. Like that’s something you can really cover in six pages. But, seriously, that’s the only instructional piece I’ve written.
So my point is simple, I’ve been struggling with accepting that the only way for me to communicate (through writing, especially) is through talking about my experiences. Maybe this is something I’ll grow out of… if I ever grow up at all.
Now that I’ve gotten this thought process out, I think maybe I’ll write more. Because I think I have to come to grips with the fact that my style choice for writing is non-fiction which means personal and means that I’ll have to speak through experience and not worry about the fact that maybe I could choose a different style. It could change one day. But I’ve been so slow at getting even close to semi-decent at non-fiction that I’ll probably be 90 and have to have a typist because arthritis with have hit me so hard that I can barely move my hands, much less type.
...I have little to say. I have no idea why. I'm not sure if it's because little is going on in my life or if I'm starting to be writing-edout. I have written a few essays - too long to post on a blog. Maybe that's why I have little to blog about.
All in all, though, my life has been a mixture of bitterness and happiness since I last posted. And most of what's caused the bitterness and the happiness are things that I really don't feel comfy posting on the internet.
This is something I've been thinking about as far as writing goes. Oddly, I'm ok with the idea of publishing a BOOK that has a ton of personal stuff in it. But dropping one-page long bomb shells on the internet several times is not ok in my mind. Does that make sense? I don't want to pour little pieces of my heart on a blog every couple of days when I could write a whole essay and maybe one day get it published. I'd rather the whole bomb just drop once rather than slowly explode on a public forum.
So, I guess that's why I haven't been posting lately.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t be a “relaxed” person. I don’t do lazy well. Sitting long enough to work at work is hard for me (unless we’re super busy and I even get stressed). But I just plain can’t sit still for extended periods of time (unless watching a sitcom and doing something else or sitting with friends doing something). I talk a lot and text a lot. If I don’t have errands to run, I’ll probably find a friend to “do something” with me. Or I’ll make errands up.
Personality-wise, I’m fairly laid-back. Easily angered if you’re stupid or have purposely pissed me off before or act like I hate you. I’ll get grumpy if you tell me I’m grumpy. But for the most part, I’m fairly chill – I’m more than likely never going to hate you. If you make me unhappy with you, it’s undoable as long as you acknowledge that I am unhappy with you and you acknowledge why (because I have good reason). Oh, and being fake with me (or around me) – for any reason – will make me think murderous thoughts.
Point is, I’m not someone who’s gonna have high blood pressure.
I never say “no.” Not in an I-get-raped-all-the-time sort of way, but in an if-you-need-help-give-me-a-call sort of way. A friend asked me today, “Seriously!? You picked up another charity case?!” when I told him that I am going to start hanging out with someone who’s been having a hard time. It’s just how I am. I’m almost always doing something for someone and will more than likely be the first person people come to when they need something – they know I’ll do it.
Therefore, I’m always doing something. I’m always busy. On average, I leave my house around 9:00 or 9:30 for work, and I probably won’t be home until 11:30 or midnight. It’s just how I roll and I’m ok with it. But not everyone I know seems to think this is healthy. They’re always telling me, “You need to relax. You need to just sit and chill.” Yeah, I’m not good at that. I wasn’t blessed with the “sit” gene. I am working on it and think I’m doing better.
But, my Foursquare app would disagree with me.
It wouldn’t let me check-in the other day. I didn’t check-in anywhere that I didn’t actually go. But it said something along the lines of, “You cannot check in at this time due to your rapid check-ins. Try to sit back and relax.”
I’m not making this up. I’m totally serious. And I really, truly, and honestly was not checking in anywhere that I didn’t go. I didn’t check-in to the same place twice in one stop.
So apparently I need to relax. My stupid social networking apps are even telling me to. That’s a tad annoying.
Yeah. I said it. Emotastic. That’s the title of this post and that’s what it’s going to be. It’s going to emotastic. And I’m ok with that because I follow another blog where every single post is dripping with emotasticism. It’s one of the lamer blogs I follow and it bothers me because the person is also always making fun of emo people and claims to be the least emo, least dramatic person in the world. Yeah. They are the most dramatic, most emo person I have ever had any form of contact with. So, I’m not gonna say that I can’t stand emotasticism, but I will say I can’t stand drama.
So, this post is going to be emotastic. And I hope to God it’s the only emotastic post I ever post.
For the past three nights (or so), I have been home alone doing nothing. Well, I’ve been doing some writing, but for the most part I’ve just been sitting around alone being boring and lame. Last night, it kind of started to get to me. I was really annoyed that I really had nothing to do. And what’s lamer than that is that it isn’t because of a lack of friends. I’m not even really sure what’s causing this huge atrocity called boring lamety in my life.
Example: Last night, I was alone because all my guy friends were playing CoD and I don’t play CoD.
As I sat around my apartment writing, reading random quotes on the internet, tweeting stupid crap, not taking out the trash, etc., I had a thought. I have a ton of people who care about me. I know this because I got about four texts during this time that said “I love you” or “Love you.” I’m loved, I get it. But as I was talking to one of my friends (via text) I realized something.
Sometimes, when you know you’re cared about by a lot of people, it can be overshadowed because of one person who you care about that doesn’t care about you.
I told my “Mommy” this today (she’s a great friend that I work with), and she said, “That’s a very true and wise statement.”
So, now, I have to learn to be satisfied with the care and love I receive from those who do care about and love me. And that’s cool. I do love the people I’m thinking about when I say “a lot of people.” I’m really lucky to have so many people care about me, but I really do need to learn to be satisfied with the care and love the give me even if it is overshadowed.
Remember my post about Kaye and her husband? The Harry Roach? Well, this is a bit of a follow-up to that post.
As a general rule, I have a tendency to be far too blunt and often say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or sometimes the right thing at the wrong time. But fortunately, that night, when I spoke at Kaye’s memorial service, I think I said the right thing at the right time. After the service was over, I made it a point to give Harry a hug and give him my condolences (whatever the hell those are). First thing he said when I approached him was, “Who are you?”
I knew he was kidding, so I played along, “Oh, I’m Kristen Kinzer. It’s ok you don’t remember me… You are getting old…” I even stuck out my hand to shake it. Then we both just started laughing.
“Well, Kristen, I’ve thanked everyone who’s come up to me for sharing, but I want to especially thank you. I don’t want to get too sappy, but Kaye would have so appreciated what you shared. It was such a testament to her that the young people who she did care about were willing to come testify about her life. It was so important that one of you got up and said something. And even more important that it was you. You were able to change the entire feeling in the room. And you changed it into what she would have wanted it to be. I so appreciate that. I know she loved you.”
I hadn’t cried yet at that memorial service. I was truly at peace with Kaye having passed away. It was very much her time. But as soon as he said that, I knew I needed to get out of there, I was going to start crying and didn’t want to do that after everything but the “social” time was over.
I blubbered on about something, how I loved her, too and was glad I worked up the nerve to get up. Told Harry I loved him, gave him a hug and booked it.
I don’t do well with emotion. But more on that later. And from the same night, I think. That night really got to me, stuck in my gut and needs to be written about apparently.
