Sarahbellum

The meanderings of a mind
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2001-10-02 02:03:38 (UTC)

not enough

I don't do half the things I should/need to do. I don't
write enough. Every year my new years resolution is to
finish a book. A book. A whole damn book with chapters and
page numbers. A book that I can say this started it all.
My first book to be rejected. But I never write. I don't
even get a good story idea. I guess it is cause I'm lazy.
I say it is because I don't have any time. I should
probably be writing while I'm watching tv or reading other
people's books. I wonder if it would make me happy to
finish a book. I wonder a lot of things.
I just finished my rough draft of my spanish compostion. I
am hoping my lab teacher will go over it with me tomorrow.
She doesn't have to. It isn't her job. But I really need
the help. I have a paper to start tonight too and numerous
other assignments piling up. I balanced my checkbook. I
love when I'm right, but I hate when I'm right about how
little money I have. I wouldn't take being wrong so much if
I kept coming out five hundred dollars ahead. No matter how
hard I work, I never seem to get ahead. With homework or
with money. My new years resolution this year is to become
independent. I think if I were to tell my mom I was never
coming home again, it would break her. So how do I separate
myself from her so that she is happy I have my own life.
People have always said I was tied to her apron strings and
that If I didn't break free she would choke me. My mom
doesn't nor did she ever wear an apron, and I think my mom
is tied to me more so than I am tied to her. If I tell her
that I want to be on my own she acts like I say it to hurt
her, like I don't love her. I don't know how to deal with a
mother like that. She'd be happy if I lived with her for
the rest of my life, but I feel like such a baby. My sister
lives on her own, and yet my mom has to do more to take care
of her than me. I am happy in my own little room in the
house, and even there I feel like an outsider. I feel most
at home in this little 2 by 2 room that I have loaned to me
for a year that I can't change except to tape some pictures
to the wall. I can't tape pictures to my walls at home, I
can't paint my walls, I can't do anything to it to make it
my own. I had a crappy room before we moved. The door was
black with white panted over it and when the paint chipped
it had black scratches all through it. I spilled blue
candle wax that smelled of berries on the wall paper
right next to my door. I was in eighth grade when I did
that and I was trying to put out a candle by waving my arm
across the top of it to create a breeze, because we learned
that it messed up the wick to blow on it. No one ever said
that waving your arm by the candle and slapping it against
the wall so that the wax sloshes all over the place will
ruin wall-paper. I miss that. I miss when it rained and my
room would flood and it sometimes smelled of mildew and I
had to constantly soak up the water with tiles. I miss my
closet that had ugly brown birds on the panels because we
never wallpapered in there, and i had the little lines dug
out with my height every year. My mom never measured me, I
did. There are a lot of things I missed out on as a child,
but I never told anyone that it bothered me. I guess there
were so many things that bothered me even not getting it all
out, seemed like I complained a lot. I just miss being a
kid. I was so excited that we were gonna get to move, to a
bigger house in a nicer place and I could start brand new at
a brand new school. I had so many great expectations and
all I got was feeling like an outsider.
I love hearing stories about when I was younger. There were
never many pics of me laying about, my sister was
everywhere. I wanted to know what my first word was. No
one knows. My sister said took for cookie...my mom knew
that well enough. Am I jealous? Not really. I might sound
it, but that's ok. I just wish that she knew things like
that about me, so I could tell my kids. I wanted a book
that had my measurements and my weight at birth, my first
lock of hair, my first pair of shoes, all my firsts. I
wanted to know about the beginning of my life, not just the
middle. I wonder what my friends would say if I randomly
started calling them. I am a different person now. I don't
know that anyone around me now sees it, but I see it. I'm
somewhere between me and me. I just need a breath. I just
want to breathe.


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