...But Home Is Nowhere

Thanksgiving Break couldn't have come soon enough. I got to come back to Temecula, CA. Everything was going to be mellow and easygoing. Working out, watching TV, seeing my friends....simple right? Not. My parents are taking this time to run me around. My mother was going to have me clean the backyard, but my dad interfered. I had maintained it singlehandedly for the months leading to my departure. So my sister had to do it. Now, I have to go shopping. So much for relaxing.

It feels so weird here. Elmira seems more like home now. I adjusted quickly. Probably because I'm not really the family type.

Did I mention this is weird???


FML. This is gonna drag...

My Place

Figuring out what people want from me is something that I have struggled with for the majority of my life. I miss a lot of verbal or physical indicators that are obvious to others. This makes me feel like a moron a lot. Whether or not I ever get the situation plagues the people close to me.

And now I'm back "home". What is home? Is it some place that you have lived in since early childhood? Is it where you grew up? Is it where you currently live? Is it where you feel at peace with yourself? Because I don't have that. I have lived in California my whole life, and yet I have hated it here since I was little. I have lived in this particular house for a few years, and I feel somewhat at peace in my room, but everybody just barges in and sits to talk without my permission. My childhood houses were scattered about Temecula and Escondido. Now I go to college in New York. And I never once felt at home.

My dog makes being here easier. I missed her the most when I was gone. Don't think I'm some asshole for this either...she was the only one that I couldn't talk to over the phone or message. But the fact that she is absolutely thrilled over my presence is welcoming. Even if my sister holds the stage and attention of my parents at the moment and I just hole up in my room while both my parents work.

I know that I shouldn't complain about not really feeling at home anywhere. There are plenty of people who have a just reason why they don't feel at home-military family, people who move around a lot, homeless people. But to tell the truth, I feel like this is staring me in the face and causing me to miss out on some truly amazing experiences.

I feel so alone. People surround me, and yet none of them understand how anyone could dislike the sun and heat, the city of hopes and dreams, the love and joy of the city. But I do. Los Angeles is the City of Broken Dreams. And I need to find the city where dreams are whole and unmolested to flourish.

Impatience

I can't focus today. Class could not drag any longer. I wish I was being productive elsewhere. Good God. Pericles is DEAD!!! Who cares what he said hundreds of years ago???? Ugh...history will always repeat itself and nobody can do anything to change it. People are bloodthirsty and full of hate. We can never have peace because we can never come to our differences and learn. And even if I were to try, nobody would speak for me to listen.

Comedians and Drugs and Circus Acts

Why does all comedy make you wonder if the comedian is snorting cake mix? They all have a serious case of the freaks. Either way- they are hilarious. The judgments of others and the obnoxious fart jokes are the joys of life for a poor (ish) college student. At least, Daniel Tosh is. He is the cat's meow. My catch phrase that I'm trending...or not?

I wish my life was a comedy; funny, sarcastic, with its ups and downs. My life is a tragedy. In the historical sense. We follow the life of the "hero" and watch as she falls epically. And it inspires a deep emotional response. AKA pity. I am surrounded in my failures. I go to a school with a Nationals winning ice hockey team and I'm regulated to the JV wannabes. Half of the team are newbies. FML. My classmates all think that I know everything about anything when all I am trying to do is keep my head above the water and get into a serious relationship with a guy who actually wants to be seen with me. And my favorite band is getting a little to close to personal. Every song hits every nerve. Its poetic justice. Literally.

And I have been suffering from severe poet's writer's block. My work has been grossly repetitive and darker than usual. The light at the end of the tunnel is dimming. And so is the spark of excitement at going to college. Leaving California was probably the best thing I ever have done, but falling into a safety net the second I got to my own tightrope was dumb. I should pull a Toussieng. I should go to the big city with a bag of clothes and a pair of brass balls.

Because I wish I actually was strong enough to walk without a net.

Collegiate Lab Day

Any day that ends with a four hour long block lab sucks. Biology isn't too bad, but still. Who does that? Ugh. Biology/Math double majoring was not my brightest moment.

At least its all over.

Learning the Ropes in a Way That You Don't Get Burned. Literally

I watch TV. Who doesn't? Looking back, I realize that in comparison to others, I really haven't seen all that much. Probably a result of my parent's idea of socializing and stuff. I never cared about the social lives of pointless celebrities. People needed to do something to deserve my attention, like write a song or perform something close to flawlessly.

My standards are a tad high.

I started watching a TV show where a girl came to the conclusion that she was being used for sex. Not a new concept. I think most TV shows are based in that to a certain point. But up until very recently, that was who I was (minus the sex. I'm pretty sure our relationship would have been better had I put out.) We have an open relationship, and that never was a problem. He lived far away and it gave both of us the excuse to keep from extreme emotional attachment. He would sleep around, I would sit and try to skirt the massive shadow he cast everywhere. The greatest hockey player produced from the area (cough cough state) was hard to miss. His little known, metalhead girlfriend who wore too much black was.

I am not emo. Or punk. I am a rocker metalhead. If someone tells you different, then they don't know their ass from a hole in the ground.

Anyway, he was all that and a bag of chips. I was a handful of fries short of a happy meal. How could our relationship work when we were on different playing fields in different games on different continents? And then he moved to Iowa. Then the open relationship became an issue. Skanks would upload dirty pics of them together, tagging him with little quotes like "hooking up with the next hockey legend..." and other stuff like that. He was a little iffy on that, but he would always tell me. I never told him that I hadn't actually rounded the bases with anyone. He figured I had. So it wasn't a big deal. Until he became almost exclusive with a Barbie Doll named Brandie. Who names their child Brandie? Or Meladie? Jesus.

This went on for too bloody long. I let it happen. And I almost lost everything because of it.

My Li(f)e

So. This is it. The place where I can flash out my dirty laundry in cyberspace without too many people seeing it. This is my life. The dysfunctional, hateful, slime that nobody ever sees. Because I was always that person you could ask anything and expect an honest answer. I was that nerd, that really smart girl who forced herself to become an outcast. And then fell in love with being an outcast. The girl who was completely emotionally on hold until college. The girl who was completely socially on hold until college. That's me. That's what is on my name tag. Its not something interesting, like the Silent Rebellion. Its short. Its relatively androgynous. Its to the point.

I'm Ari. And this is my bloody lovely life.