Blame it on the Coffee

A blog about nothing…. but then again, it's kind of about everything.

Tired. September 20, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Elizabeth @ 2:58 am
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I’m tired.

I’m just so Freaking Tired of it all.

I’m tired of being tired, I’m tired of listening, of caring, of trying to be there for people who don’t really care themselves.

I’m tired of watching people make stupid decisions and not being able to stop them.

I’m tired of feeling like the only one who will actually say what they think, and mean it.

I’m tired of feeling insignificant, under appreciated, ignored, and stupid.

I’m tired of being stuck in a funk that I can’t quite figure out.

I’m just tired of being sad and not knowing why, but at the same time kinda knowing the reason.

I’m tired of doing busy work, of volunteering, of agreeing to help out.

I’m tired of listening when all I really want to do is talk to you.

I’m tired of pretending I’m fine.

I’m tired of not knowing how to dress for class because of the varying temperatures.

I’m tired of feeling like I can’t.

I’m tired of disappointing.

I’m tired of not knowing and of always wondering.

I’m just tired.

“There comes a point in life where you either accept whatever you’re doing and just exist, or stop talking about what you used to be and do something completely different.” ~unknown

The only way anything is going to change, is if I act to change it. I’m not stupid. I know that I’m just sitting here at 4 am complaining about my life. But so what? I get to do that if I want to. We all get to complain about our lives. Hopefully we have a person to whom we can complain to. Hopefully we don’t have to come out and say anything. Hopefully, they just know. Someone I know has a policy where you’re allowed to complain about anything to her once, but that’s it. After that, you have to present a solution.

So I guess this is just my complaint. I’m tired. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. And I’m only 4 weeks into this semester. I feel like I need a serious break from my life and the lives of those around me. If I had it my way, I’d crawl into my room/cave and just sit there until the exhaustion passed. Because it will pass. It will pass, right?

But I’m stronger than this. I’m too motivated and determined to let myself fall into a pity party. And I’m especially too mature to bring others into my funk with me. But right now I’m just tired.

 

Lies. September 2, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Elizabeth @ 9:25 pm
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It’s super easy to lie to others.

Well, some people pretty much suck at it, they start laughing or have that look that just lets you know that they’re lying. But for most of us, lying is simple.

But It’s really hard to lie to yourself. Oh, you can try. You can burry something so deep or just deny it until you start to believe your own lie, but somewhere inside yourself, you still know the truth.

Once you get a hold of an idea, a thought, realization, discovery, you can’t let it go. As Cobb said in Inception, “An idea [is] resilient… highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it’s almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed – fully understood – that sticks; right in there somewhere.” And once it’s there, once you stumble upon it, you’re stuck with it.

I can deny all I want to those around me. I can pretend otherwise and carry on my merry little way while living in denial, but at the end of the day, I’m still just in denial. And as much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, denial doesn’t quite mean that I’ve accepted the lie myself. It more so means that I’ve given up trying to convince myself of something I know is irrational and stupid. I just prefer to not deal with it at all.

but that’s not healthy, is it?

 

And we’re back… August 30, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Elizabeth @ 3:42 pm
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It’s another year here at good old Centre C!

When did it hit me though that the school year had begun?

When I had to wake up and actually get to class? no (my first class is at 10:20)

When I had to sit through the monotonous droning of a teacher? no (I played with marshmallows in class)

It was after my second class when I looked down at my phone and realized that in that one hour time span, I had received 16 email messages. 16! It’s ridiculous!

My suspicion that the school year had officially begun was further confirmed by the freakishly long cafeteria lines and day one of my customary nap.

Yep, welcome home caffeine addiction and sleep deprivation! I’ve….. missed you??

 

I. August 22, 2010

Filed under: ponderings — Elizabeth @ 1:15 am
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I was clearly struck by my nephew’s question a few weeks ago and have been thinking about who exactly I am. This is just a collection of things about me.

.

I go slightly out of my way to step on crunchy looking leaves.

I drink way too much coffee, knowing that I shouldn’t.

I leave Facebook up all the time, but I’m always doing other things.

I don’t like talking on the phone.

I would rather talk in person or text.

I don’t trust people easily, but once I do, they pretty much have my trust forever.

I like to talk.

I love to listen.

I am actually beginning to like my hair.

I am absolutely fascinated with my college and its president. (and his wife)

I sing at the top of my lungs when I’m alone in my car.

I also yell at all the cars around me.

I say shoot, golly, darn, Jeez, oh-my, and yikes.

I laugh at inappropriate times.

I don’t wear shorts…. it’s a thing.

I am a cat person.

I stare at the clouds.

I am slightly obsessed with musicals.

I don’t like waking up.

I love driving.

I say what I think, even when it’ll get me into trouble.

I hate all pictures of myself.

I would do anything for the ones I love.

I wear Sperry’s or flip-flops all the time.

I might possibly be slightly judgemental sometimes.

I read more into things than I usually should.

I would be lost without my iPhone.

I am aware how sad my dependence on technology is.

I will be a teacher one day.

I am waiting for you to ask me, “what’s wrong.”

I think for myself.

I read Postsecret every week.

I listen to Pandora more than iTunes.

I can pretty much quote most episodes of Gilmore Girls.

I think bubble wrap is a great form of therapy.

I give second chances.

I can lick my elbow. (no joke. I really can.)

I rely heavily on my sister’s approval.

I like hot tea, not iced tea.

I wish I played the violin. Or the cello, guitar, or banjo.

I have a guitar that I don’t know how to play.

I am unbelievably low maintenance.

I am a little obsessed with apple. The company, not the fruit.

I tend to trip over my own feet and fall up stairs.

I like to make lists.

I am left handed.

I wish I had said, “Yes” and taken that risk.

I cry at sad movies and books.

I am on my way to finally being happy.

I try to just be a normal girl.

.

what about YOU?

 

I’m from Kentucky, and yes, I do wear shoes. August 16, 2010

Filed under: ponderings,Summer — Elizabeth @ 12:25 pm
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But not in the summer.

I grew up with almost magical summers.I mean, truly perfect Halmark worthy summers. At least that’s how they appeared from my youthful perspective.

This is the first year that I’ve noticed that summer has changed.

Growing up, my summers consisted of waking up around 10, and then preceding to do one of two things. Most days I, along with my sister and my cousin (who lived next door) would spend the day outside, only to be seen when it was dark. We would grab our bikes and explore the area, biking for hours. We found abandoned barns, little streams, woods, everything. In reality, our parents would not have been pleased with our explorations, but none the less, we had fun.

We spent weeks having on going water gun fights with the guys who lived across the field, racing around the block on our scooters, creating entire communities out of sidewalk chalk, and building forts in the woods behind our houses. We freely ran from the house barefoot, hair pulled back in a messy pony tail, and never cared about getting dirty or getting hurt.

Every July we would go down to the TN/KY line to buy fireworks, the good kind, and on the fourth we would watch with amazement as the sky exploded. We lit bottle rockets as we pretended to be Harry Potter,  and threw those little poppers at our cats. We drank lemonade and ran around in the grass catching lightning bugs while the cicadas and mosquitos buzzed around us.

Life was easy, there was no stress, nothing to worry about. Money didn’t matter, and getting a job wasn’t even on the radar. The prospect of school always seemed like it was forever away, and next thing we knew,  we were complaining that summer went by to fast.

I could spend the whole day laying in the thick grass watching the clouds go by. I could just lay there with my cat listening to the birds and cars with the sweet smell of honeysuckle and fresh mint from the garden in the air. There’s something magical about that sound. The cacophony of birds, the crescendo and decrescendo of bugs, the rustling of leaves in the wind, far off children playing, the occasional plane in the sky, and all of this gently accompanied by the steady beat kept by the sound of swooshing cars, my cat purring and my increasingly deepening breath.

I miss this. Summers as they once were, I mean. But they will never be like that, and it’s something I can accept. But even kids these days don’t enjoy summers like that. They just sit inside and play video games all day. It’s “too hot” or “too humid” or they’re stuck inside because whoever they’re with doesn’t want them running around alone, and they don’t want to go outside with them. It’s sad that they won’t grow up with memories like mine. Of actually burning ants with a magnifying glass, running through corn fields, riding your bike down an old country road as you watch the steam rise off the road from a recent summer storm. They won’t know how terrible it is to mistake a crab apple for the real thing, or how pretty the sunset can be from the roof of your house.

But I’m still from Kentucky. I still run around barefoot when possible. (and always seem to forget how hot pavement can get in the sun) I complain about the humidity, cursing it as my hair once again gets pulled into its customary ponytail. I still manage to spend some evenings at the Drive-in, and am a frequent face at the local Frosty Freeze. (they will always make the best milkshakes I’ve ever had)  I still go to the same family owned place on the line every July, and I still catch the occasional fire fly. I pick fresh cherries straight from the tree, and help my sister make pies and homemade ice cream.

I still get to run around the yard as I once did, now with my nephews.

But it’s not the same. It never will be.

 

Who are you, Liz? August 5, 2010

Filed under: nephews,ponderings — Elizabeth @ 8:44 am
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That’s what my nephew asked me the other day. He’s three, and with the seriousness of a national news correspondent, he looked up at me and asked, “Who are you, liz?”

How do you respond to that? At first I was confused. “I’m Liz,” I responded. But he looked at me with total stupor and said, “No, who ARE you?”

Who AM I? Who AM I? ……who am I.

The depth of his question threw me off guard. Like I knew he did, he knew I was his Aunt Liz. He knew I was Granny’s daughter, and DaDa and Aunt Line’s sister. But still he asked who I was.

Sure, we can label ourselves. We are daughters, sisters, students, friends, teachers, leaders, followers, the list can go on forever. We’ve labeled ourselves for years. It helps us, and others, neatly put us into boxes where we can be catalogued and indexed for future reference. It makes things easy, and it gives us a way to hide behind who we think we are.

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.” ~Kurt Vonnegut

We accept the labels given to us and keep them throughout our lives. Yeah, our labels change. We lose some and gain some. And sometimes we even mold ourselves to better fit a given label because it’s just easier. A label we once feared becoming, now doesn’t seem so bad. Sometimes we don’t like our labels and strive to change them. And sometimes, we are changed irrevocably by those around us.  And sometimes the labels get stacked one on top of another like clearance isle items so that it’s hard to tell which label is actually a true representation of  us.

But I don’t think we ever actually know who we are. And more importantly, I don’t think we ever should. Figuring out who we are is a process that requires growing up. It requires exploring, wondering, questioning, searching, trying new things. It’s a result of making mistakes, coloring outside the lines, asking forgiveness, taking a leap of faith. It requires you to live. And the moment that you know for certain who you are, is the moment that all this stops.

The moment that you grow up and stop learning, or worse, stop wanting to learn is the moment everything stops. When you’ve decided that you’ve already grown up as much as you can, you’re done, there’s no purpose. When you decide that you are fully confident that you know who you are, you stop living. And that’s just sad. The wonder and amazement that my nephews posses just makes me smile. The surprise when one of them finally figured out how to use a water gun, or the shocked look where they can’t quite decide if that crash on the pavement hurt more than it scared them is wonderful to watch.  The fact that right now Benjamin wants nothing more than to grow up to be a fireman just makes me happy.

You see, we’ve lost this. We’ve stopped reveling in the small surprises, and hoping for simple things. Heck, those wax string toys from Zaxby’s? Yeah, those can amuse me for an hour. I still get excited over a cupcake or a new tube of play-doh. And I still wonder. And I still dream. I still hope, and wish on shooting stars (or airplanes if its cloudy), and I still throw coins into wishing wells. I love kids because they haven’t been ruined by life yet. With the wave of my hand, I can steal their nose, and they always laugh at my knock knock jokes. We have to regain some of this wonder. Captain Hook had it right when he said “Growing up is such a barbarous business, full of inconvenience!” But unlike Peter Pan and the lost boys, we have to grow up eventually. But we need to enjoy the process and take the time to figure out who we are. We don’t yet know who we are, and we can’t pretend we do.

Only one thing in life is a constant. And that’s Time. Everything else can change… and will change. We change, we have to.

So who am I, Benjamin? I don’t know. And I’m okay with that. But I look forward to figuring it out.

.

“We don’t know who we are,
but we know who we aren’t.
And we know who we don’t want to be.”
 

Hide and Seek July 27, 2010

Filed under: childhood,ponderings — Elizabeth @ 10:52 pm
Tags: , , , ,

I was always good at this game. I was lucky to be small enough to fit in rather unlikely places (like Ski baggage, “full” trunks, and top shelves of side closets) and was often the one that had to give away my location. If you played the game as frequently as I did, you learned where certain people looked first, and how to switch rooms and hiding spots without people noticing. And you also learned that if you wanted to be found, sometimes you had to choose obvious spots like behind a squeaky door or under the guest bed.

I hated being the seeker. Oh, how I hated that role. I think this is why I tried so hard to have a great hiding spot. But I enjoyed hiding. For a few minutes, everything is silent. There’s a slight rush in the air, and you can hear your every breath. Every movement feels exaggerated and seems to be accompanied by a foley artist.

I still like to hide.

But it’s not the same type of hiding, not really. Oh, I’m still really good at it and I know all the best hiding spots and how to throw people off my trail. But I’m not in a cupboard or behind a curtain. It’s a different kind of hiding.

You see, there’s never really a seeker. Occasionally people may notice that I’m hiding. They catch me while I’m searching for my secret place. But I’m a good hider. And they’ll never know what they’ve stumbled upon.

I don’t really know why I hide. I found this quote. (yeah, I told you I like quotes) I feel like it pretty much sums things up better than I could. (I don’t think I’ve very eloquent. As you can tell, I tend to ramble a lot) :

“Do you ever just get that feeling where you don’t want to talk to anybody? you don’t want to smile, and you don’t want to fake being happy. but at the same time, you don’t know exactly what is wrong either. There isn’t a way to explain it to someone who doesn’t already understand. If you could want anything in the world it would be to be alone. people have stopped being comforting… and being alone never was. At least when you’re alone no one constantly asks you what is wrong and there isn’t anyone who wont take ‘i don’t know’ for an answer. You feel the way you do just BECAUSE. You hope the feeling will pass soon and that you will be able to be yourself again, but until then all you can do is wait.”

I feel like that sometimes. And I feel that way just because. And so I hide.

But I like my life. And I have awesome friends, so I usually snap out of this rather quickly. Everyone can relate to this, or  at least I hope so. Some days you just aren’t in the mood to deal with anyone, you aren’t happy, but you aren’t necessarily mad, you’re just a little blah. And you’re not sure why. But you hide.

You go deeper and deeper into yourself and just sit with that feeling for a while. (let’s not call it sulking, sulking has a negative connotation, but we all know that’s basically what it is…. that and whining.)

I keep typing words into this post. I get about three lines down and then delete them. I just hold down the delete button instead of just highlighting it and hitting delete to make it more dramatic and so that it takes longer. (I told you this was one of the problems with blogs. in my journal, I would have wasted about half a page marking things out by now. Actually, no. That’s a lie. I would have left it because only I would have read it. And I’m not scared of facing my own thoughts. I’m scared of you all facing my thoughts)

I’m not sure if you will get the point that this makes in my head. (I tend to draw conclusions that no one else sees) Especially since you’ll never know what was once written and then deleted from the preceding lines. But just know this:

Sometimes, I hide.

And no one seeks.

But, that’s okay.

 

 
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