Did I Make the Right Choice?

Have you ever wondered if a decision you made was really the right one? What would have happened if you picked a different path to go down? Would everything be better? Worse? I've been asking myself that a lot lately. Would I be happier right now if it weren't for that choice, or would I feel trapped? Do I really want him or do I want the idea of us? I have no idea, but by the end of everyday, I find myself pondering on all these same inquiries.

Some days, I am sure I chose correctly. I couldn't be more positive that I don't want to be with anyone right now. Then, other days, it's the exact opposite. I realize I'm alone and nothing will ever compare. But are those just my emotions overriding my thinking, or do I really feel that way? If I were to go back, would I do it again, or would I stay? I can't let go, but I can't seem to get myself to go back. What the fuck do I want?

Everything is just another question that I can't seem to answer.

Where am I going to find another person who will eat the cherry out of my chocolate covered cherries? Who is going to risk their own comfort to put my freezing cold hands on their warm tummy? Who's going to come sit with me when I'm sick and make me food? When I have an extremely good day, is there ever going to be another person I want to tell first more than I want to tell him? What about bad days? Who will comfort me the same? Who else is going to take the time to learn all of my favorite things? Will there be another person that will put up with my bullshit? Who is going to surprise me with their shirts for me to sleep in? Who's going to bring me cereal in the morning? It all boils down to my one biggest fear:

Will anyone ever measure up?

Do I stick around to find out, or do I go back? I don't know if I can go back, but I know if he moves on I'll be lost. What am I supposed to do? I wish I knew...

Time Goes By Fast and Stops For No One

Not ten minutes ago, I was sitting at my computer desk, just where I am now, waiting for someone to comment on my Facebook status, asking for ideas on what to write about. As I sat there, my mind was completely blank. I got up to start my Spanish homework, when I looked down at my phone. To my surprise and confusion, my phone was flipping through dates on the calendar all by itself, going down through the months at an unusual speed. It could just be me, but I took it as a sign. It was then I knew exactly what I was going to write about.

The concept of time is a very wide subject, open to many different areas of discussion. Why does time pass more quickly when we sleep? Why does time pass more quickly to some people than others? Time is nothing more than another of life's matters of perception. Like colors, time could easily be different to every person. Maybe one person's day feels like the same amount of "time" as another person's hour. Who is to say. But that isn't what I'm going to elaborate on.

Time is as fragile as it is perceptual. No one can know just how much "time" they have left. While some believe time is endless, that there is an afterlife of some kind, what is left for those who do not believe? That is another controversial topic I will choose not to go into. However, everyone, regardless of their beliefs, can control what they do with their time.

Everyone seems to have this idea that life is about success, but what is success? Is it a well-paying job with a large house? Is it a family in a quaint neighborhood with a loving husband, three kids, and a dog? That, again, is merely perceptual. But more and more people these days are considering success to be traditional schooling, followed by college and the competition for a high-paying job that follows. To me, that doesn't sound like much of a life, but I've still been raised to believe that I am supposed to take that path. I feel as though if I don't, I won't succeed. There's that word again: success. I suppose, in the context I just used it, the word means my parents approval. If I take my own path and end up a bum, no matter how happy I am in that lifestyle, my parents would still be ashamed. I couldn't live with that.

My life and how I spend my time should be my business...my choice. But, am I choosing to spend my time pleasing my parents or pleasing myself? I don't know, and I'm not sure how to find out. These years with them seem to be passing so quickly. These times living with them, "adolescence", I know they won't last forever, or even much longer. Where do I go from there? How do I spend my life? How do I even WANT to spend my life? How do I figure it out?

Life has so many unanswered questions we are forced to leave to fate, random decision, and best guesses. It's utterly overwhelming. Seeing as the entire gist of this post was to ponder life's pending questions, I can't easily wrap it up as I would other free-writing projects. I don't know what I will make of my time. I have many things I want to do. Not all of them will be ideal decisions, but there are some things I will just need to learn for myself. But, can I still do that and keep my parent's love and respect? I suppose I will just have to hope so. As for everybody else, I hope they support me in my future decisions as well.

When I Was Little...(continued)

As I was telling a story today, I remembered some more funny stories from when I was little.

Enjoy :]

- Once in a grocery store, my mom and I were in line at the check-out behind a rather large woman. Being the innocent, naive child that I was, I simply pointed straight at her, looked at my mom and exclaimed, "THAT LADY'S FAT!" To which my mother replied, "Sammi, you can't say that!" Not understanding, I asked, "But why, Mama? She is fat." Ah, kids say the darnedest things.

- Being brought up during the O.J. trials definitely took it's toll on me as a toddler. One day, while out and about once again with my mother, I saw an African American man. I pointed at him, as I did with the overweight woman, looked at my mom, and said, "O.J!" She freaked out and started walking the other way, hoping the man didn't hear. After we got home and she told my dad about the incident, he had an idea. He held up the newspaper to me and pointed to an average African American man, and I called him O.J. He did it again with a different black man, and I said he was O.J. as well. When I was small, I thought every black man was named O.J. :P

That's all I've got for now. If I remember any later, I'll make sure to post those. :]

When I Was Little...

I was definitely full of surprises. Some of the things that popped out of my tiny toddler mouth...despicable. That being said, they were also tremendously amusing, at least that's what I've been told by those who remember.

So, for your reading pleasure, I am going to post a few lovely childhood thoughts and stories of mine.

Enjoy:

- When I was little, I thought that when people said "Shiitake Mushrooms" in order to AVOID swearing, that they were actually saying, "Shit, talking mushrooms." - Slightly ironic.

- I could not pronounce my "S" sounds, nor could I properly write the letter "S" when I was first learning to read and write. Therefore, I referred to myself as "Ammi" or "Manta" and wrote my "S"'s backwards.

- Once, when my mom was driving to work, I was sitting in my car-seat in the back. While merging onto a different freeway, another car cut her of and she started screaming obscenities. Then, when she was done, we sat in silence for a good five minutes before I stated, with perfect enunciation, "That scared the SHIT out of me."

- Whenever I used to get angry with my mom as a toddler, she would make me feel bad by saying she was going to cry and covering her face. I guess one time she made me really mad, and when she told me she was going to cry, I looked at her with annoyance and said, "CWY!" >:[

- I once climbed out of my crib, down the stairs to the first story of our house, through the living room, through the kitchen, through a small doggie-door to the garage and out another doggie-door to the backyard, all by myself. I then approached my dad who was sitting in a lawn chair drinking his coffee and said hello, causing him to spill his coffee on his pants. :]

- I definitely used to think the "hospital" was actually the "hostable".

- While singing an innocent carol one Christmas, I decided I wanted attention. While singing the verses to "Santa Clause Is Coming to Town" I was gurgling and making baby noises in the background, but nobody would stop to acknowledge me. Then, having seen that it upset people, I used the one word I knew would get people's attention - a particular racial slur starting with "N" - and strategically said it during the pause after the chorus. Needless to say, I stopped the show, and we still have the recording on tape. I was about one-and-a-half-years-old.

I can't think of anymore stories at the moment, but I will probably continue this post tomorrow.

Sleep well, everyone. :]

Sometimes I Wonder...

How many people genuinely care about me? If I were to get hurt or fall incredibly ill, who would be there worrying about me? Who would care enough to be concerned and check up on me? There are my parents, but those should be a given. As for anyone else, I honestly don't know.

The majority of my friends aren't that close to me, or aren't the type to be compassionate and troubled over injury or illness. I have a select few who would stand by me - Caroline, Michael, Vanessa, Ryan, and Brock to name a few. Other than those, I really don't know how many people care that much about me.

If I were to end up in the hospital, how many people would take the time to visit? If I was unconscious, who would stick around to wait until I woke up? Who cares that much about me? If you do please let me know.

At times, like now, I feel alone somehow. I have many people but I get the feeling like the majority are just fair-weather friends. How am I to know otherwise?

I know few people respect me, especially guys. I make it hard for people to respect me, because I don't take into consideration how closed-minded the general population is. I do what I please, and to those on the outside looking in, it may appear to be "wrong", but to those who actually know me and understand who I am, inside and out, it is nothing deserving of disrespect. Maybe I should stop doing the things I do so more ignorant people will respect me...but then I wouldn't be myself. I could just say "fuck it" and completely disregard everything anybody else thinks of me, but I'm not that kind of person. I wish I was, but I simply can't do that.

Bottom line: if you love me, please let me know. I feel I'm lacking support and respect from those I surround myself with. If you are one of those individuals who cares and worries about me, I'd love to be aware.

This Is My Current Obsession

Today Was a Relatively Good Day

Today was eventful, as most days are. However, today was full of favorable events rather than chores. At the end of today, I am left in a good mood. I haven't been able to say that in too long.

This morning I was ready to face a horrible day. It was the first day of cheer practice, starting off the next eleven months of summer camp, football games, basketball games, and competitions. I have grown quite tired of being a part of the team, and greatly considered quitting this year. However, I decided to try out, though I'm not quite sure exactly what possessed me to do so.

I've regretted it ever since I made the squad and summer practices drew closer. So, this morning I woke up cranky and ready to bitch all through morning and after school practice. Then, something else turned my entire day around. My coach, who I've been begging to let me fly all season, finally let me. She placed me in a stunt group and let me be the flyer. I tried not to act TOO excited, but I was. At first I was slightly terrified, but then the girls did a wonderful job, and now I trust them.

But I feel horrible. Flyers are usually these tiny, five foot, ninety-pound girls who are easy to throw and catch. I am far from that size. I am five foot seven and weigh about one hundred and ten pounds. These girls basing me are shorter than me, but they proved to be troopers. Either way, I felt really bad that they had been assigned to lift me.

So, what I decided to do, was bake them a cake! So as soon as practice was over, I went to the store, bought some cake mix and icing and went home to bake. They aren't aware of it yet, but I plan to give it to them tomorrow morning in first period as a little "thank you" for not dropping me or getting frustrated with my lack of experience. Hopefully, they like it.

Now that I've finally had a good day, hopefully I can get a good night's sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow and a lot of homework and projects to work on this weekend.

I hope everyone else had a wonderful day as well. Sleep well everyone. :]

I've Been Slacking

So that's TWO entries I've missed now and a ton of others I've written in about two minutes. That's no good. It's always going to be the same excuse: I'm just so damn busy lately. I've been studying for finals, working on getting my grades up, AND working on getting my license. I finally just got my permit yesterday. Yet another thing I've been slacking on.

Anyways, amongst all of my academic madness, I've made a small amount of time for some old friends I've been catching up with. One of these friends happens to be an ex-boyfriend, and while we were talking, something hit me. Not literally of course, but figuratively speaking it might as well have been an atomic bomb. I was shocked and confused and maybe even a little disappointed in myself.

On a few occasions in my past, one in particular, I've taken a boy and molded him into the perfect man for me. I've been known to chase after these horrible, low-life guys that put me through hell, but something about them intrigues me. If I happen to come across one of these guys, I'll strive to catch their eye. Once I go through all of the trouble to get their attention, I wait around for them and do all that I can until they realize that they want me, too. I'm like a pathetic little puppy dog for the duration of that time. I'd do just about anything for them. Then, when I finally do get them hooked, I spend all kinds of time and effort transforming them into the exact man that I want.

What I don't understand is, once I finally perfect them, I don't want them as much anymore. After that, often times I simply discard them, along with all of my hard work.

Why?

Maybe I'm not looking for the perfect guy. After all, it isn't out of the ordinary for a girl to want a little adventure. Maybe all the work it took for me to get them to perfection simply tired me out. It is not an easy job by any means. Maybe, I just use them for the challenge. That sounds horrible, but life gets bland when everything is handed to you on a silver platter. Working for things can be half the fun when the work is progressive.

What do I want if perfection bores me? For that matter, what IS perfection if "perfection" isn't good enough?

Who knows.