Chunk

The expedited thrill of my vivid passing, rekindling my soul. The candent pulse of modern anthems, illuminating my presence. The grandeur of the sway, supremacy, and control entrusted with the plastic-crusted metal, noting meanings to life.

I can't wait to drive, to step on the gas pedal, to cut off an old man, to splurge my pay check on getting lost. Another step, distancing myself from infancy and childhood, I take. So I say, 'Wind, gust through my hair! Sun, shine on my skin! Sky, rain on my parade!' I want to drive, I want to get lost in the city, in the farms.. ok maybe not the farms. But I want to go. I just hope, I won't suck.

Espera un poco mas

Baby, how do you live without me?
baby, I don't get it.

Dying

I'm holding it in. I'm holding it in like a kid holding in his pee during squats. I'm holding it in like a kid holding in his fart during lunges. I'm holding it in like a kid holding in his poop during a tennis match.

I feel like I'm about to go crazy. In psychology, it said kids often grow up to have the same temperant of their parents, a nature thing. I guess that true, but I depise the thought of having my mom's personality. I do notice that I have her OCD-like temperant. But lately, I've been trying extremely hard to hold it in, that anger. Like if I even let myself go even a little tiny bit, it'd be like pooping myself. And I believe there is progress in terms of how often I show/express my pissed-offness. But I feel like I'm suffocating. Like my church, my friends, my school, and more so my family is leaking carbon monoxide into my lungs. Maybe that's why I like to stay later after work is over.

I wish my boss would adopt me. I stood next to her, so torn at the thought that I couldn't talk to her more. At that moment I wanted to yell, "I love you, Joanna! Can you adopt me?" God, I love her! I'm not sure why. And I'm not sure why I'm so terrible to my own mother. I think we're both suffocating each other, but she doesn't know it. Each uttererance of her dry raspy voice is each brain cell that commits suicide in my brain. Each of my rude remarks is another migraine to her infinity of problems. She doesn't know it, but I'm killing her. She doesn't know it but I'm dying.

My humble child, I will try to be faithful.

Top Five Gifts for Your Significant Other

5. A two-year-membership to your local fitness club
 Nothing says, "I love you, but I'd love you more without that greasy fat under your white juicy arm" more than this gift. Show your partner just how much you care and how observing you are of every little detail from how tight her/his clothes fit to how creepily deep his/her breaths take After all the thought of this gift, you don't want to appear cheap so go for memberships that last at least 2 years. Lastly, be sure to not get a membership at this club yourself. Let him/her know how much you believe in and support his/her commitment by not being there.
4. A Souvenir
 A souvenir from your next trip to the gas station, that is. In the 21st century, people place more emphasis on the sentimental values of gifts. This gift idea has the perfect story. "You remember our first insert sentimentally significant event, yeah well I went back to that gas station we stopped at on the way there and I got you this." This bleeds romance.
3. A gift to share
Who says gifts are only meant for one person? Guys, get something for her that's really for you. Basketball Jersey? 50" tv? Sexy lingerie? Girls, you have the ultimate ability to deceive, nag, and argue for your points. For example, if he really cares about you, then you can buy yourself a pair of diamond earrings because they make you feel beautiful. And nothing should be more important to him than how you feel.
2. A Book
 Yes, nothing beats the gift of knowledge. Talk about extravagance! Whoo-hoo~ You're going to need some pepper spray with that book, because you won't be able to get his/her hands off of you when s/he finds out. What's often a nice touch is to pick a very unique book that practically no one has heard of. You can usually find these special books with red marks or yellow stickers. They are often beneath a large sign labeled C-L-E-A-R-A-N-C-E. Tell your significant other that this book symbolizes her/him, because although it isn't very popular, it's worth a Nobel Prize to you.

1. $10 gift card to Office Max

..Need I say more?

Good Luck Everyone. Actually, you won't need luck with this list. You'll get all the love and recognition from your significant other as you deserve.

Perfect Friday

Trapped beneath the new, top of the line 46" Samsung LED HDTV in the car ride home from Kenosha, where the sales tax is 5.5%, I was out of it. Partly awake, mostly hallucinating and asleep. Occassionally, we'd hit a pot hole, and I'd open my eyes to the giant brown box hovering over me. I vaguely remember this epiphanic moment I had with myself, this spritual conversation, this universal question. I tell everyone that I am a Christian, and surely, I am. I believe Jesus Christ died for our sins, I believe He will come again. And recently, people only show their worst either from fighting for that last ButterBall frozen turkey or for that last ticket outside of target for the Apex TV. I often find this prayer a necessity. Praying for patience and for a bigger heart. I'd say that one of my greatest sins, is my weakness to forgive others. Depends on my mood and my day, I can easily snap and bitch with no mercy. I try very hard to swallow that fire, I try so hard to keep myself from committing that sin. Then I thought about infinite possibilities. I'm trying so hard to not sin, but for an ultimate goal of being sinless. But that is impossible! Does sinlessness=perfection? I suppose so. So by trying to stop myself from sinning, I'm trying to be perfect. And we all know that only God/Jesus Christ is perfect. So I am trying to be God. Damn, I suck.
And beneath that cardboard box, I questioned myself, 'How does one become a perfect person, making no mistakes in an entire life?' Thoughts are rushing through my head, like a big pile of papers that fell off the sears tower and the contents of the papers are flashing pass my vision. This would be the witnessing of that scene. And then THAT sheet floated by. The sheet with the answer to my question from an earlier sheet. The answer came so quickly and it was, "to live life with no regrets". If you live life with no regrets, then you won't make a mistake. YOU make mistakes mistakes. Mistakes aren't mistakes until you make them into mistakes. Mistakes aren't bad things until you make them into bad things. Even if others accuse your actions/ideas/whatevers as mistakes, YOU can make them otherwise. Then the key to being perfect, is openmindedness. It's not the "Oh, whatever. No big deal" attitude, it's the, great-we-can-work-with-that attitude. It's the never giving up attitude. Being perfect, is being able to accept yourself and everything you do and loving them.
By the time I actually got home and re-charged, I realized that I never concluded. So do I do it? Should I go ahead and try to be perfect? Try to love myself and everything I do? Still unanswered. This thought didn't haunt me the entire Friday, nor did it haunt me a significant amount of time, but it was a nice ephihany moment I had while unconcious. I'm glad I remembered it. Oh yes, update on the new Samsung LED TV, we discovered a hole on the box, opened it and there was like a dent. No clue. called the sales people, not very helpful, not very satisfying answer. Oh yes, and I got my very first wii. This is crazy. my family has never gotten any sort of gaming system besides the computer. No nintendo, no playstation, NOTHING. This time, we randomly picked up the wii. $150 for the super mario 25th anniversary version at wal-mart. This is new, with the game bundle! Red nunchucks! awesome.. but I wish I could buy more red ones.. bleh.. I can't even afford another nunchuck/wii mote. ok sorry for random blurb.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I look back at old times. And I just can't believe that I am still 17.

Get Away

I feel a disturbance in my sanity, in my mind, and in my heart. Of all the things that went wrong today, that would have made the old me insane, one of those things persists to disturb my heart. I'm not a slut. But talking to him makes me feel like one. The low and deep mono-tone voice he utters, the glances he makes... it disturbs me. Did he just ask me out? Did I just agree? But it's my job to agree, so now I feel like a slut. I feel like I've betrayed myself to achieve a purpose. I've sold false emotions and sincerity to get people to like me and hopefully to stay longer.

I'm not trying to sell myself, but I feel like I just did. Every second of that conversation was disturbing to me. Why does he persist? Why am I obligated to respond, to contact him, to get him to talk to me? Has romance been officially ruined for me? I feel so disturbed, like I just experienced a moment no one ought to experience. Perhaps, the child walking in on the parents, or the parents walking in on the child. Both, disturbing. Motor neurons moving at the speed of light, 8.00x10^3 m2/s, from the cerebellum to the muscles of your hands screaming,"Cover your eyes! No, cover your ears! NO! COVER THEM BOTH!" I feel disturbed, like someone just stepped into my personal bubble and took a dump in it.

God, moments like this, I wish I was married already. I wish I had already found "Da One". Would he protect me from this awkwardness.. I'd expect that from a marital status. As everyone frolicked around the room, I considered making up a relationship. I guess it's not like I'm that great either. While I know that I'm not perfect, I feel no justification to be..open to just anyone. I guess I'm still a child, and I'm okay with that. I just need to get away

Dear God

Feels like no one believes in me.

Hurt

I feel really hurt. I feel my heart, heavy. It's so heavy. I think this is sadness. Sad to see that this isn't working; sad to see that nothing is working. The ice berg that floated our way. We have to break it. We have to break it before it leaves us. We have to break it and save their souls. God, I wish I knew what I was doing.

Today

Bastard child won my heart.

Telephone

Ugh. I want a new number. I hate phone calls. I don't remember what made me hate them so much. Maybe the awkwardness of the conversation lasting too long. Maybe the eeriness of an anonymous number. Maybe the caller.

Counting Every Moment

Recently this has clouded my thoughts. It took over every open space and every cramped crevice. I like that word, crevice.

I really dislike age. It doesn't mean anything. It counts the years you've been alive but how much you live is uncountable. Consider two babies born. One born three months early, three months too young, three months prematurely. Another baby is born three months after the first baby. Although physically, the two babies started at the same place, suddenly the first baby is older. Then that means that age is about counting every moment you live. Then if you truly are older than someone, you've lived more moments. If age really is counting every moment, then it should have nothing to do with years. Eighty million moments playing a game you'll get bored of. Eighty million moments dreaming that dream you'll forget. Eighty million moments eating that pie you'll digest. I don't believe everyone gets to live the same number of moments. I don't believe age is truly measurable.

I want to live every moment I can possibly live and let it be as old as my age.

What Women Want

Not because she is woman, thus, weak. But because they are equal, and he would rather walk the extra mile for her sake.

Pressure

This might be more important than any class I've ever taken at school. This might mean more than any volunteer work I've ever done. This might mean someone's life. These people remind me of my family. Once very accomplished and successful, but left their home to become the stepping stones for future generations. Gave up their success. Gave up their history. Gave up their life. Now they're old and mute, useless to their children, yet their fire have not died. Missing their friends and family back home, they continue this struggle. They strive for things and are trying so hard to be better. They're inspirational. But what can I do for them? I'm just another kid trying to rush through life. I don't want to screw this up. I pray for peace, hope for them.

Good

So far, life is good.

Filling Shoes That Never Stop Growing

This is what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to fill the gap and fit into the shoes that never stops growing. Always imagining, 'Wow, so this was how old he was', or 'Hmm, so this is how seniors see freshmen'. Then I realize that age is really nothing. So what if she is two months older than me, you think I really feel the difference? Age is just a number. Just because you're older, it doesn't mean you know what you're doing. Soon I'll be an adult. Soon I'll be off to college. Soon I'll leave Jireh. Soon, I will have to act like I know what I'm doing with my life.

Looking up at the stage, those student leaders looked so mature. They looked like they knew what they were doing and they looked like someone you should listen to. But then here I am, and I feel the same. I still feel young despite my assigned number. I still feel uncertainty and nervousness. I still never quite changed.

I've been chasing a number that never existed. I've been filling shoes that never stop growing.