hurts "illuminated"


This is from a "series" of stories I've been writing on and off again for two or so years, about two families. One is the Rose family, and the other is the Pennington family, and it focuses on the children from these two families. From the Rose, which constitutes of only a mother and her kids, I focus on the kids, Connor "Rosie" and James "Jaimy" and their relationships with the Pennington kids, Adam and a girl that doesn't have a name. I originally focused on the story from the Pennington daughter's point of view, and it described how Jaimy ran away from home to New York City, addicted to crack, and is just now coming home because he's run out of money, while trouble is boiling at home. This right here takes place while Jaimy is in NYC, and from Rosie's point of view.

___________________________________________________________________

                      My name is Rosie Rose.
My real name's Connor, but everyone calls me Rosie.
They say I'm a looker, and that my movie taste is that of an '80s freshman, but it's really the thought that counts, right? I'm a really big fan of Guns n' Roses, Tears for Fears, and Mew. I'm a bit of an artist, a comma aficionado, an enemy of periods; endings; good-byes. That sorta thing.

I remember in high school how I was pretty much the rebel. I laugh at the memories.

For four consecutive first days of school, teachers would ask, "Rose, Connor?" and I would stick my hand up lazily and roll my eyes, saying, "Rosie," as my friends snorted into their hands. Rosie. It was universally known that the guy in all black had the girliest name around. Duh. C'mon.

It was also univerally known that I was the chick magnet, heartbreaker, douche bag of the 21st century. Rumors floated around that I would have sex with a girl once and then dump her the next day; weird, because I have only had sex once, and that was with a girl I had known since 5th grade.

I did dump her the week after, but that's a whole other story entirely.

I have a younger brother named Jaimy. He's four years younger than me. They say we act a lot alike, and while I would have agreed with that statement from the ages of three to seventeen, nothing could be further from the truth now. We got into cigarettes for the first time together, and he would ask to bum a whiff or two in high school occasionally, but as for now, my kid brother is somewhere in the country, unreachable, razing his sanity bit by bit with every line of crack up his bloody nose.

Meanwhile, our mom is dying.

I couldn't say if he even knew. He doesn't know anything anymore. He's completely wasted his life on making sure he dies before he graduates.

I don't have a number. No address.

There have been moments when I couldn't care either way if he was dead or alive.

___________________________________________________________________

Q: "Why does Renee like the name Jaimy so much anyway? Why are all of her characters named Jaimy?"
A: I have no idea. I like that name in general because Jaimy is this character in a series of books I like, but Jaimy is this character in my mind that functions as my masculine other-half too, and the name just appears out of nowhere a lot.

so long, the killers. i have to quit you. you really are my drug. xD

FREEWRITE! - before i do my stat homework, just to get the creative juices flowing before i get stabbed in the soul with probability formulas.
this  is a rewrite of a fight club -esque story, written instead of from the narrator from fight club's eyes, but renee p.'s.

So this was it: I peered out over the skyline, the pink dusk fading into a velvet, choking blue, and I finally heard the familiar footsteps coming closer down the hall. The glass windows of this abandoned office building were musty, but from this height I could see clearly out, and down. Way down.

"Renee."

I turned around, slowly, and clenched my teeth. He was here, right on time, just as I had wanted, but this was not at all as I had imagined. Because he was getting stronger and I was fading away, he stood upright, beaming, while I sagged, fighting for composure in his midst. His clothes were expensive, the height of fashion, but the dirty, oversized rags I wore drowned my limp frame in fabric.

He was beautiful, undoubtedly. He had thick, black hair that fell with perfect grace across his forehead, and his midnight blue eyes ached to be kissed. He was me, the perfect me, with immaculately pale skin, the perfect muscles, the best clothes.

"Jaimy," I could barely murmur through weak lips. "You're here."

"You asked me to come here, didn't you?" His smirk was disgustingly bright, knowing so many things that I didn't. He was doing so many things I couldn't do anymore. I was just too weak. He was replacing me, and I was fading away.

"Yes," I said stiffly, but I merely stared at him. How was I supposed to say this...

"I've changed my mind," I said, "about everything. I'm taking my life back."

His smirk didn't waver. "Oh yeah? And what makes you think you can do that?"

I hesitated, unsure. Stammering, I blurted, "B-because I don't need you anymore. I've realized you're not who I thought you were. You're not me at all, you're someone totally different."

"But I am you," Jaimy replied lazily, reaching into his impeccable leather jacket and pulling out a small shotgun, which gleamed wickedly in the moonlight. "You made me, don't you remember? To be the perfect person that you so desperately craved to be? And now your imperfections and your mediocrity are dying, just like you had wanted. You can't afford to be imperfect any longer, my dear."

"No," I whispered, my bony limbs quivering. The shotgun in his hand aimed closer and closer to the center of my chest with each second I stared at it. Suddenly, my will to live gave me sudden strength. "NO!" I screamed. "NO! Everything you said was a lie!"

His beauty, which I once thought captivating, now made me want to vomit as his smirk grew into a razor-sharp, pristine grin. He was mocking me; he thought my efforts to resist him were comical.

So I ran. I blew past him, praying that my rash decision wouldn't end with a bullet in my brain, but he shouted behind me, "You can't escape me! Stop trying!"

My pathetic lungs began to sear, my legs throbbing. I couldn't look back, I swore to myself I wouldn't--

"Nice try."

I screamed. I blinked, putting my hands in front of my face, because he was right there in front of me.

"You can't get rid of me, so stop trying," he said again, and he dug into his pocket for a lighter to ignite the cigarette already perched between his pouting lips. "Remember when I wrote that scathing email about your dad to all your friends because you were angry? Remember when I made you sob in self-pity because you weren't as pretty as your best friend? You had felt so good inside after all that."

The blood drained from my face. I could feel it rushing into my toes.

He chuckled lightly, blowing out a veil of blue smoke from his cigarette. The fumes attacked my eyes, forcing tears to collect. Power built up from deep within my chest, and it came rushing out as a moist sob. "Jaimy…," I almost begged, backing up as each of my heavy footsteps traced dread. "Jaimy, please don't do this."

"But I must, Renee."

"You can't!" I screamed again, pressing a palm to each of my ears. I clamped my teeth and eyes together as tightly as I could, hoping beyond hope that it would just block him out.

BANG!

My eyes shot open. Was I dead?

"Open your eyes!" he yelled, the sly grin finally disappearing from his mouth. "What do you see? Huh? Tell me!"

I was cowering. Shaking. "I see... only you."

He smiled. "That's what everyone else sees too, darling. They don't see you anymore, and that's the way it's supposed to be. When I finally kill you, my dear," he said, eyeballing his shotgun and cocking it with two hands, the smoke quivering between his lips, "only the parts you wanted of yourself…that you never had…will be the only parts that will exist."

"N-no-no!" I cried. "You can't!"

"You knew it was coming, Renee-"

"Stop!"

"Will you just shut up and stand still-"

"JAIMY! STOP IT, STOP IT!"

The cigarette fell out of his mouth as he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed, striding towards me with open arms, trying to wrap his arms around me like any boy who just wanted his girlfriend to shut up, but I pushed him away.

"It's crazy what a person will do to survive," I managed between gasps for air. Between one breath and the next, my hand wrapped around the shotgun in his left hand, dangling aimlessly, and I yanked it from his grip. The point came to a nice resting position between his eyes. He only had a second to make a pinched face before the bullet blasted a hole through his skull.

He was dead.

I was alive. I watched my alter-ego collapse before my heaving body, his haunting blue eyes still open, a trickle of blood winding its way down the side of his chin.

I was Jaimy: straight-A student, piano prodigy, a poet, a face so beautiful that it made them all just weep.

He was me: lazy, susceptible to emotions and bouts of cowardice.

With one last glance over my shoulder as I walked down the hall and pressed the down button for the elevator, I witnessed what life would have been like with a better me. I watched it die. There can only be one me. I climbed into the elevator as the cigarette that had fallen out of Jaimy's lips began to catch fire.

Manage me., by Arecksrander Rereum Gashkarff

Manage me,
I am a mess,
swept under the rug of yesterday's home improvement,
a whimsical urge tossed aside for the easy reassurance of home and comfort.
I am the photograph tucked away as a book-mark,
in a book left half unread,
once reopened to find memories crawling back into peripheral sight,
faded, creased and lonely.
I long to be admired,
long to be held, torn and laughed at,
laughed with,
like a distant relative or an old friend breathing in their last breath.
I missed the moment when time collapsed and memory was erased,
replaced by finicky social experiments,
lost in the blur of intoxication,
sucked through multi-colored bendy-straws,
making way for a spinning world where hub-caps stood still,
but our vision didn't.
If I could leave you with only one thing,
it would be small, foldable, and made from trees,
with a few careless words,
scribbled in blue;

Take a minute to learn me,
take a moment to love me,
because I need your love to live,
and without it,
I am nothing.

a couple of years ago, alex gaskarth picked this gem apart and turned it into the song, "weightless." i kind of miss old all time low. 

My mom got me some art pencils for my birthday, and I figured it would be high time to put them to use. This is album cover art from Sleigh Bells' "Reign of Terror."

The Killers. Oh, how you just eat me alive. Why did it take so long for me to fully appreciate you guys for all you're worth? Y'all are simply insane. Just insanely good.

FUNNEEEEE FACE.

position papers are not fun to write.

2 AM

Today is the eleventh anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Naturally, America and the American side of the Internet simply buzzes with pictures, poems, essays, quips, "never forget's". I  had scrolled down my Twitter feed to the first few hours of the day, approximately when Dr. Richie gave his morning announcements over the intercom, and noticed the rapid fire.

"9/11 <3 br="br" forget="forget" never="never">
"I can't believe it's already been eleven years."
"Remember the brave men and women who gave their lives during 9/11."

I'm blogging because I am a shameful, guilty, oblivious excuse for an American teenager. Today, I barely even thought about the events that occurred eleven years ago, and was only reminded of them whenever I saw the American flags . "Why are there so many...oh."

I used to think that I had an excuse for this: I was so young when it happened, and the entire significance of it all never completely matured in my mind. There was no initial shock or shift in how I lived my life...I was barely seven when Islamic extremists decided to fly airplanes into American monuments. I had no idea what was going on. Ever since I had a clue as to what it meant, I've been trying to find other kids my age who feel the same way I do, but it doesn't seem that way.

I don't remember where I was when it happened. I don't even remember the first time I had heard about it. I don't remember watching it on TV, or about it on TV. I don't remember reading about it or what I had been doing on that day. I don't remember it at all, and I don't know why. I just feel like I missed out on something huge. It affects me as much as reading about it in a history book.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was really one of the first exposures I had to the emotions and events and aftermath and humanitarian consequences  of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and that was last year, on the tenth anniversary. I was trying so hard, so desperately, to find a way to feel the same emotions about 9/11 as everyone else, and while the feelings were tapped for a little while, they're gone now. I would have to read the book again. It seems so wrong to me. How could I have missed out on something so huge in my life, and barely remember it happened at all?

To My Future Self,

i want you to always remember
in fact, hot iron the memory in your eyelids
the hot water and the hot tears and the red eyes
that gushed forth, seemingly neverending
and you prayed
what else could you have done?
but whisper, whisper so hard till every square inch of your body bled
and then you glanced at the mirror
into panicky, bloodshot brown eyes
and then you clenched them and told you: do you remember?
how afraid you were of becoming...you? how much you mortally terrified you?

how much the idea of aging
not in body, but purely soul
sent yourself into shaking fits of horror and sadness?
how quickly the idea of marriage tasted bitter
and how quickly you begged God, the Almighty God of my life,
to prevent the pain from staring you straight in the eyes
so that before you would know it,  you would have turned to stone?

remember to just get in line, though
because the number of those afraid of disillusionment, those afraid of
becoming the embodiment of "uninspired"
(at this age,  what else have we got but our inspiration?)
makes a long line that just runs circles around
the growing mound of our broken and useless hearts.

do you remember being so afraid of corruption that the tears melted your pencillations?
of becoming an enemy of the love and beauty that you swore to protect on the eve of your eighteenth?
you looked at that date, the seventh, like it would gobble you alive.
it seemed so close, so dauntingly, formidably close, so as an insurance policy, you made sure to address your future self. the seconds ticked away. tick tock tick tock.
do you remember?

hello, blog. :)

 

well, it's only a couple days till the first day of school... what a summer, too! my family visited vancouver for a couple days to visit my aunts/uncles/and cousins, i've read a bit, watched a few movies, listened to some awesome music, went to my first braves game, worked, hung out with the raddest people on this earth, and went to band camp. watched the olympics seemingly straight for the past week. i still can't fathom that i'm a senior, about to be 18 years old, and about to leave the nest. still, quite a few cool things will be happening: the band's going to pasadena in the winter for the tournament of roses parade, i'll be editor in chief of the newspaper, the new auditorium at school is opening, i'll be applying for colleges... i always knew that it would happen, but never so fast. :)

During band camp, I was talking to some freshmen in my section about boys because I noticed how easily they fall in love as I did when I was a freshman. Later, it dawned on me that I haven't really liked a boy in nearly a year, and, forgetting everything I have learned and realized in the past year, I began to think, "Am I becoming too old for even things like having a crush on a boy? I'm a flipping geezer," etc. Well, I got over that pretty quick, but nothing is easier than thinking you live for others' expectations. That you don't meet up. Falling behind. 

It's not my concern anymore. Compared to what's really important, the story of the earth, interwoven with my own story and God's plan to not just glorify Himself but even us...man, it's not even close. Not even close. So I've been thinking, how do mundane, day-to-day activities fit into glorify God? Isn't that going on mission trips 24/7 or summat?

No. Glorifying God 24/7 is serving and loving others, loving and trusting Him 24/7. Your story and my story fit into the Ultimate Story as easily as the founders of the church's. Paul's, John's, Peter's... Isn't that insane? So, for example, how does marching band, a completely non-religious  activity, fall into glorifying God? Pursuing your best and serving others.

"He has told you, O man, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:8

This is manifested in a million and one ways. 

Also: some tweets on Twitter that I've read: "Keep in mind that you will always be in the right place at the right time. #Hehasagreaterplan" Well, no. Because you find yourself in the right place/right time, making right decisions when you trust His plan and choose that over yourself. He has given you free will. Your free will is real. Bad things happen sometimes because there was a priority over the perfect purpose of the Living God. Sometimes you choose Him and bad things happen still, but that is not because He's playing games or destines your future to melt into primordial soup. God is orchestrating many things, but He doesn't orchestrate your choices. Pretty great, huh?

 

I LOVE THE OLYMPICS!

this is true life: i don't watch sports all that often, but when nbc offers 24/7 coverage of the olympics, i watch sports.

summer twenty twelve. from UnderratedMantra on 8tracks.

I snuck in quietly with delicate steps, easing the front door closed as quietly as I could. But nothing could stop the permanent squeak in the hinges.

The ugly yellow light of the sitting room light blinked on. Shadows were warped for a second as the person they depicted walked around the corner, finally solidifying the second I realized it was only Nicky.

"Hey," I whispered a little too loudly.

He smiled some, but didn't say a word as he placed one finger against his soft lips. I made a guilty face.

Just as I was about to open my mouth to mumble an apology, he placed a hand on my shoulder before exiting the house. I watched his silhouette fade in the 2 AM stillness just as the rain began to fall.

I smiled for a second, then treaded into the kitchen, hoping there would be at least an unfinished sandwich. My stomach was about to cave in.

Maneuvering delicately, I placed my bag down, but stopped mid-stride when I realized nearly a dozen people dozing quietly in an assortment of positions on the sofas, armchairs, and the floor. An array of marked papers, open textbooks, and drooling ball-point pens littered the area; I took a moment to capture the moment in my mind forever.

There was Cayla, in an easy chair from Ikea, hands behind her head. She had never been ashamed of how dark her armpits were. They stared out at me.

I never knew Maria slept with her eyes half-open. She was even mumbling.

Katie's mouth hung open, and a small river of spit could be traced from the side of her lips to a growing puddle on her biology homework, ink running in various directions.

Forgetting my empty stomach, I slowly made my way to a small, empty spot on the floor and curled up. I closed my eyes.

She had come home yesterday. The streetlights had flickered on the moment the station wagon pulled up into the driveway, followed quickly by a pair of small legs that jumped out from the backseat with beautiful ease and enthusiasm.

"Jaimy!" she cried, a slight soprano, as she fell into the awaiting arms of her best friend. "I'm home, I'm home," was all she could whisper as he laughed and cried and swung her around as best as he could. He was still only four foot five.

"Careful," warned her mother, who had turned to face the small reunion behind the talking parents. "We don't want to break her arm just after she's gotten back."

Of course not.

Followed by lemonade and ice cream. Citrus candles and saxophones on the radio. Good night's and don't stay up too late's.

Porches with the swing, budded blossoms poking up from the flower boxes, and two young friends braving their first midnight.

"It was scary," she said, staring past the railings and beyond the fireflies. "Everyone was sick."

Jaimy nodded and tried his best to understand, but to live with people sick all the time...

"You're brave," was all he said.

Smiling, she now turned to him. "Thanks for the roses you gave me. They were so beautiful."

Warm breeze. Blink.

"I didn't bring you those," Jaimy said, confused. "I think someone in your family did."

"Oh."

Warm breeze. Hand in his hand.

"Well, someday, when I grow up," he said, brushing stray hairs off her face, "I'll buy you a rose."

this actually started out as one direction fanfiction. then i paused for a second and rethought my life.
SOMETHING THAT I WROTE THAT I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH ANYMORE, BY RENEE P.
She came back outside, scrunched against the drizzle, a brand new jumper cable wrapped underneath her coat. Suddenly, the sky cracked, and the clouds were illuminated for a furious second, sending her scampering through the puddles and into my car.

“That was fast,” I said as she fought to get her breath back.

“Yeah, well, this place is creepy,” she said with a shudder, sending droplets into various directions. “In and out. Here.”

She handed me the cable, and after taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the thunderstorm and stepped outside. While we had managed to steer the contraption under an awning, the frayed fabric above us was riddled with holes that dripped rainwater. I had only jumped a car twice before, but never during a thunderstorm. I was either going to pull out of here with a triumphant grin or be electrocuted to death.

She leaned out of the passenger window, frowning. “Well, ya gonna do it or not?”

“Yeah, give me a second!” After lifting up the hood, I attached one end to the beat up VW Rabbit and the other to the awaiting Camry stationed behind us. The owner of the auto parts shop had shouted down his son working in the attic to graciously assist us, but by now, he was snoring loudly in the driver’s seat, the remnants of his chain smoking wafting out of the open window. I gave her the thumbs up, and the engine roared beautifully to life with a turn of the key, jolting the sleeping man awake.

“Oh thank God,” I breathed, slamming the hood down after pulling the cables off.

“You guys good?” He looked crabby, but I gave an affirmative nod of the head, said thank you, and jumped into the car before speeding out of the parking lot and down the road.

“Phew,” she almost shouted when we began driving smoothly, then rolled down the window, stuck her head outside, and yelled a, “WHOOOO!” at the top of her lungs. She was hysterical now, the rain pelting her face, her eyes crushed together and her mouth open. We were laughing together, both open windows letting in the rainwater and allowing the coolness of the London September exhilarate us.

 “Ya wanna get food? Like greasy hamburgers?” she breathed when she pulled her head back in. “They’ll never know we fixed the car so fast.”

“Yeah, definitely. I want McDonald’s so badly is physically hurts me,” I said, groaning as I pulled up behind a queue of stubborn traffic. She punched the button for the radio and twisted the nob until the bass notes pounded painfully against my eardrums. I knew we were being the annoying American tourists, but I couldn’t help but start dancing when I noticed a mousy, white-haired couple in their car look sideways at us with sour expressions.

After ten minutes, the cell phone in my pocket buzzed to life, and I scrambled to answer it, tossing it sideways after fishing out of my pants and lowering the radio’s volume. “Answer it.”

“Who is it?”

“Rusty.”

“Crap! No, you answer it!”

“I’m driving!”

“Hell, we’re in bumper cars!”

“Do it!”

“Hello? Oh, hi Rusty. Yes. Yeah, well, we’ve been at the auto parts shop for a while now. Huh? Oh, well, actually, it’s more than that, they said there’s something wrong with the…transmission. Yeah, sorry. Okay, I will. What time will you guys be back at the villa? Oh, okay then. See ya.”

She pressed the red button with a small chuckle. “They ain’t going back till seven at night. Girl, we gonna pretend all day we were at the auto place.”

“Wait, what?”

“We gonna go round town, girl!” She started dancing to the radio edit of “Call Me Maybe,” which was only the first song in our karaoke session down the east side of London, the first half a mix of American and British pop that we ad-libbed half of, and the other half a drawn out serenade to the Avett Brothers with some pseudo-Greek chanting mixed in.

By the time we had circled the same neighborhood three times looking for a burger joint, we realized we had passed a rather discreet McDonald’s tucked in at the end of a quiet block. We parked outside and filed in, wharfing down some ice creams and French fries before going out to dance in the remains of the thunderstorm.

“It’s not rainin’ too—“

“Wait, do you hear that?”

She furrowed her brow, concentrating, then her eyebrows shot up when she heard the same faint mewing of someone crying.

“Poor guy,” she said quietly while turning the edges of her lips slightly down, then began to turn back to the car when I whispered a, “Wait,” and tiptoed into the alley.

 I heard a, “God, not again!” behind me, but I ignored it as I peered around a green, overflowing Dumpster. I saw the subtle shadows of a figure shaking slightly with sobs, and I felt a tug from a deep within my chest.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly into the air, and immediately the sounds stopped. I held my breath. Pursing my lips, I inched closer, finally catching a glimpse of his face in the weak daylight.

His light brown hair was tousled and pointing in several directions, while his face was streaky and red. When he caught my eye, he swallowed and stared at me, drilling me through the face with frighteningly pure blue eyes. I couldn’t will myself to exhale, caught in a staring match with someone who clearly would do anything to make me disappear.

“Um,” I breathed, pausing. “Um, I-I’m really-I’ll go—“

“Wait.”

My heart stopped.

idyll.
5/7/12

"Man, I am so full."

She yawned, wiping away the tears that had oozed out of her eyes from the fatigue. "Yeah, me too," she said sleepily, throwing herself onto the couch. "And tired."

"Do you think they'll mind if we napped here?" he said, undoing the buttons of his shirt around his wrists, his neck, and pulling on his tie to loosen it.

"Nah," she said, peering through heavy eyelids at the cooking program on the TV.

He climbed onto the couch beside her, laying his head on her lap.

Pretty soon, they were both asleep.

"So I've heard you're from Georgia."

I looked up. "Yeah, me and --"

"Yeah, I definitely knew Leanne was. Accent."

I laughed. "Yup, well, we don't talk like dem Yanks."

"Yanks are people from New York."

I laughed again, throwing my head back to mock his cluelessness. "Yeah, sure. Basically anyone from the North, really."

"Huh." He played with the dregs of his cappuccino, clinking the spoon against the sides of the porcelain mug while looking out the window. A certain draftiness emanated from the empty space of his vast apartment, and the rain only amplified it. His face was contemplative, masked.

I stared at the side of his face for a moment, noticing how subtle the shadows were on his nose, and the curvilinear of his jawline, and the mousiness of his brown hair. Neither of us had turned on the kitchen light, so we had nestled into the darkness comfortably and admired the London skyline via coffee and The Daily Telegraph.

"Do you miss Georgia?" he asked, turned back to me.

I blinked, trying to not seem suspicious, and finally murmured a, "Mhmm."

"What was it like?"

It took me a moment to answer. "Well, it was home. It was so, like, beautiful, you know? One of the best moments of my life would be when I would roll down the window of the car in April or May, feeling the wind of my face, smelling the honeysuckle in the night air. And you would look up and see a ginormous arch of stars..." A knot in my throat had settled in.

There were a few seconds of silence as he stared past my eyes, as if imagining it. "Sounds really good."

I smiled. "I didn't think I would get homesick," I said, picking up my mug and draining the last of its contents. "But, I do."

"When are you leaving?" he asked quietly, unfolding his arms and laying them against the table. His fingers were inches from my arms, the tension of closeness raising the hair on the back of my neck.

"Tomorrow."

i've been trying to cope with this by doing objective things like studying, but it's bothering me completely out of my mind. the fact that my best friend, plus one of my other really good friends, is suffering, and that they won't let me do anything about it...

man, i can barely stand it. please, Father in Heaven, have mercy. have mercy.

MUST. RESIST. FANGIRL. TENDENCIES AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

 THE THINGS I CARRY

an assignment for ap language, based off of "the things they carried" by tim o'brien

by me, march 2012

I see in her eyes the radiance of a hundred million little women,
All raucously, vividly, tangibly plain.
I see on her shoulders an earthly weight of a bag stuffed with
a notebook, a binder, pencils, and a calculator,
each used to forge the blackheartedly scrupulous war of the “Educated”
the “Erudite” the “Academic” the “Scholastic.”
The moisture dripping down her cheeks now,
Contemplating, masking, hallucinating the ancient weight of
The metronome, the agenda, the wallet of earned bills,
Representing the dynamic tragedy of a life spent preparing for the same life to start.

Frisking through the depths of this weight again, she accidentally finds a
Perfume stick, left there from the day her deodorant ran out,
And she accidentally finds nightmares,
unwelcome and uncontrolled thoughts of her lips on some unlucky dreamboy’s face.
She can’t help it though; she’s only seventeen.

She carries on her shoulders a gray diminishing fading bag, in her hand a textbook,
And on her lips a shame from overbearing self-consciousness,
Down from the tattered, tearing Moochie Mooche Pink on her toenails
Up to the demons crawling across her consciousness.

The dreams are painfully general and the goals are disastrously ordinary.
The piteously common volumes of The Call of the Wild and Of Mice and Men
Bent stuffed pained in the abyss of that bookbag
Parallel the oh-so tragically cyclic life of a girl
Wasted, purgatoried
Within the walls of success, attention, popularity, and people.

I saw her try to shoulder an optimistic façade even when thoughts of uselessness and inextraordinance once again assail her for another brutal Monday.
Fiery red eyes from another concise night snatch her soul away, and the gathering lack of inspiration, not only as she writes this, but also all the time, every time, seems choking,

But the beauty of the breath, the serenity of the sunrise, the immaculately measured
amount of love needed for this soul and heart to function
Astounds her every time she
Giggles but hiccups, looks but sees
A perfectly tubercular sky made by a perfectly perfect pair of Hands.

I HAVE NOWHERE TO PUT THIS WHERE EITHER ELENA OR DANIEL CAN'T SEE SO I'M PUTTING IT HERE BUT

ELENA AND DANIEL ARE FINALLY DATING PRAISE THA LORDDDDDD
please get married one day and have beautiful hipster relient-k-obsessed children. <3

sunday, 4 march 2012

i can't even remember what day it is. but, it's not important really anymore, because...dun-dun-dun, habits are kicking in!!!

my family signed up for a membership at the ymca yesterday, and it was so much fun. at home, we only have a treadmill, and while i do do some fun things with billy blanks (side note: i love billy blanks so much that i could eat him. that much. billy blanks, you are my hero. :3), it can get boring. there are so many things to do at the y, all sorts of machines, with televisions. welcome to america!

also, they have a batting cage there, and my sister and i pitched to each other. i was really nervous that i wouldn't be as good as i used to be and embarrass myself in front of rachel (not that that would matter...heh), but none of that. it was all there like i had never stopped playing softball. :') well, maybe a little, but the ball went pretty far in my opinion...

it feels good to be a little sore.

monday, 27 february 2012.

this morning began day 5.
i'm starting to get those feelings of "relapsing" back into my old self, of which i ate unconsciously and kept stuffing food into my stomach even though i was full. i really don't know why my body likes that, but since it was a habit, it wants to go back to that! i'm battling it out with water and chewing gum, and so far it's working. once i get through the worst of it, it should be better.

my eating habits have become less erratic, though. when i used to want to snack big time between meals, that unnecessary hunger's gone away. the bad feelings just come during meal times, when i should be eating. but, looking at the past, i know this too soon shall pass. :)

today, i also found out that i really do not like salad. i may be on a diet, but salads are a thing to be avoided. bleeeeccccchhhh. dieting is not fun. at all. we have so much good food at my house, and when i get home, i want to taste all of it. taste, that's the kicker. and i'm supposed to put only so much into my belly before i 1) feel guilty 2) remember my calorie limit for the day. so far, visible changes have definitely been occurring, more around my waist than anything. my waist and stomach fluctuate the most out of all my body parts.

however, my exercise is going very well. i'm surprising myself with how consistent i am. i just have to wait for the day when i don't want to get up early and get on that treadmill...

DAY ONE:
thursday, 23 february 2012

woke up at 6:30 to do some exercise on the treadmill for 20 minutes.
pushback: doing this on a routine. as long as i do this 3x a week, it should be fine, but laziness can be oh-so-tempting. :(


i won't be posting weight i've lost or inches i've lost, cause that's embarrassing and no one wants to read that anyway. i'll try to post pictures of my meals, cause pictures of food are pretty.

the problem with a sudden decision to cut back on the ginormous muffins and soda is that my body really doesn't like it. while the food i'm eating amounts to the correct number of calories i really need to be eating, i feel a hungry gnawing in my stomach all. the. time. it's terrible! no doubt my body will get used to it eventually, but for now, it's pretty uncomfortable.

apologies to everyone who was actually reading this blog for the life of renee p. (ha)

because this blog is about to become renee p.'s new and improved

BLOGGING MY WAY TO A HEALTHIER ME

blog. my family has a very bad history of heart disease and diabetes, and when i suddenly contracted lactose intolerance from my dad maybe two weeks ago when i had been able to drink regular milk just fine all my life, i realized that could just be a precursor for the big one coming up. therefore, i need to make some lifestyle changes pronto. i decided to make it a little more fun, so blogging so should be interesting. 

 

official list of my favorite movies (so far):

• wild hearts can't be broken (1991)
• chasing liberty (2004)
• before sunrise (1995)
• dances with wolves (1990)
• the young victoria (2009)

4/5 of these movies are romance. i have no regrets.

 

sweat mountain, covered in fog and a charming sunset. crappy picture with a phone camera, but it was too breathtaking to skip out on the opportunity.

i would also like to take a moment to comment on how much i really love my home state of georgia. this place is beautiful, and it automatically makes me homesick just thinking about leaving this place. it's not like i don't want to go exploring the world, because that is one of the things that i really want to do. i'm just proud to call this place my home, that's all. moonlight through the pines.

vampire weekend "horchata"
but, btw, two really great albums with really great beats you should totally check out are "You Are All I See" by Active Child
and "Laminate Pet Animal" by Snowmine. If you're into kind of ethereal type stuff. :)