Revelation

Ahhh, finals are over. My roommate is gone. Time to dance naked in front of the mirror to hip hop, poor Jenn- she knows not what I am up to. People ask me why I write and why I make my life an open book; is it because I think that I am interesting? Yes and no, to an extent; there's nothing more interesting than any life and any thought process. How else can one capture moments and thoughts which appear suddenly but dissappear? They are subtle, intriguing, important pieces to life.

Revelations, Revelations....
There is such a beauty to quiet confidence; a real strength, a lack of need to prove to the world who one is, and what one has done and could do. We know the type, people who go to Harvard and feel no need to announce this to the world. Then there are those who announce every accomplishment to the world; to let the world know and perhaps trick themselves into believing that they are able. For me, it has always been easy to be mad at sweet and loving people, because one does not expect them to make mistakes. However, I have made too many excuses for those who have been less than kind. So the relevation is that it may be a selfish act. My best friend says that I am addicted to people who will hurt me. The theory is that hurt is a passionate emotion; normal, calm, happy relationships don't bold a passion, don't bold a certain type of yearning, does not reveal insecurities about the person who is hurt and in turn hurting me; happy relationships make me feel unneeded and unproductive in the world. It is a harmful and selfish act; like the person I liked wrote, I "wonder why I dislike happiness so much." I don't. I love happiness with my friends, with my mother, with my work, but with men... I guess I want to work for that happiness to make the happiness more valuable.

What a backwards and stupid theory? This is why I write; so I can see my backwards self on paper and hopefully it would influence me to grow; even though I know that often times my gut drives my actions more than my words. That being said; I wish I were more mad; it's not everyday that one gets disrespected like that; it's not everyday that someone gets used to and accepts that disrespect; and even finds it to be luring aspect within the troubled person.

Brittany insists that my life is not that of a social scientist but simply a social science experiment overall. What if people weren't troubled; what if they didn't have layers; what if they were just emotionless; why does one have to be troubled to be an asshole and why does it make it ok, she asks? She is right, there could be just overly cocky and overly secure people in the world. But then social scientists and writers like me do not feel needed, then we just feel dumb, then it takes away our ability to be selfish, then it disproves our theory that if there are assholes in the world; there must be people like us- to love them- get passion from them- fix them.

There is revelation when there is nothing to fix, when I will be here this January, with the freedom of my own room, my own thoughts, unblessed with the trouble of being cluttered by reason to care; the fear of being emotionless causing lack of passion towards me. I selfishly must fix.

Angst from lack of sexual healing
Forbidden sense of reason; like fruit hung from trees,
too attached and unrippened.
From satanic calls of electrified satin;
to the warmth of a human whose skin graced so sweetly.
And a lust of a youngster unpassioned, unchallenged
From the pain of her weakness,
A thirst of campanion.