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October 2009

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Oct. 11th, 2009

Inconsistencies abound.

I haven't written in over two months, which means that I've already broken that silly pact I made with myself about writing consistently on a daily basis. Hell, the least I could manage should be weekly. I wish I could pinpoint when it was that my writing gene broke off the rest of the chain. I was a seriously obsessive writer. Oh, the days.

I finally broke down, once again, and wrote Douglas a note on Facebook. I prattled on about forgiveness and how people change, and all that other good stuff, but I don't think anything will come out of it. It's terrible, because out of my exes, he's the one that I deem to be the most normal, and definitely worth the hassle of giving a shit. We made really fantastic friends, I think, but I was such a handful. I have absolutely no problem admitting my faults. I did a lot of wrong then, and a lot of wrong was done to me. But that was years ago, and I was such a young thing.

Not that I'm delusional enough to consider myself scores of years away from where I was when I was sixteen, and especially not eighteen (let's be honest, the teens were not good years for me), but I know that I have improved. It's taken a lot of conscious thought, and deliberation, and quiet hours thinking by myself, but it's been a profitable escapade... and it's by no means over. It's quite a long trek.

I have a new job that I'll be starting on Monday. The market is called Green Fields, and the best way I can describe it is like... Sun Harvest, or Whole Foods. I'm reasonably ecstatic about beginning this new adventure, and I can definitely picture myself working there for quite a well. My managers are wonderful people (thus far), and the woman I'm working with is great. She's a terrific communicator. Anyway, I'll try to remind myself to write about my experience tomorrow.

In a few hours I'll be eating turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, the works, at my grandmother's house. I don't exactly know what brought on the whole, "pre-November thanksgiving-esque" dinner, but I suppose that I shouldn't be complaining. I love cranberry sauce! But anyway, I should be getting ready for that, so off I go.

Aug. 10th, 2009

Here I am again.

I think that I project misery onto myself unconsciously, and it's awful because I truly don't realize it. Or at least I didn't. It's funny the things that you notice when you sit down and start to write.

I find myself thinking about the few friends that I have, and even more specifically the female ones (even fewer), and I've just begun to see that the flaws in the friendships have been (in a lot of cases) of my own making. It's a difficult thing to admit. Maintaining friendships can be quite onerous, at least I think so. It takes hard work, and genuine concern and compassion. I don't know why, but showing that I care has always been something that I've struggled with. I suppose it's something that doesn't fit into the "bitch persona" I tend to project. The bitch of it all is that I really do care. You may not find it easy to garner my affection, but once you have it, you have it aplenty.

I have high standards for myself and others. I really need to start letting that go and try to take into consideration that it sometimes isn't my place to put such lofty expectations on others without letting them know first, at least. Hah.

School is approaching at a snail's pace, and it's maddening. Since finding a job has proved to be an impossible task for me to accomplish, I'm in great need of something to do with these endless and empty hours. It could be much worse, though. At least it's actually August now.

I wonder what I used to spend all of my time writing about, way back when...

Aug. 7th, 2009

New dawn.

I have too many thoughts up in my head, let's be honest, and I need to start being productive with them. I'm not exactly sure if it's healthier for me to write them down, or to shut them up tight. It's probably the latter, but that seems to go against what the experts' consensus typically is.

I have a terrible habit of prattling on about romance in journals like these, so I'm going to try to avoid that as best I can. Which may not be the best direction for me to take this in, considering suppression isn't such a good thing if you want to "write freely." Okay, so scratch that, I'll write about whatever it is that's on my mind... Ugh.

I'm thinking seriously about sticking with the plan that's been floating around in my head for a while, even if it's slightly laughable for someone with my personality. I'm critically considering becoming an Art major and making an intense, unbreakable pact with myself that I won't allow to be broken. I don't know. I think that I'd be a suitable teacher, really, if a little extreme. I'm one of those people that you call "spirited," when you're trying to be courteous. You can imagine the situation, I'm sure.

Anyway, what's another word for me? Capricious. Of course that's the word you use, once again, in polite conversation that you can usually get away with. Most people have a hard time understanding what it means, anyway, so you'll be safe. But honestly, I realize how I appear to others, I can see it. And it's humorous because I could avoid giving people that opinion if I kept silent every once in a while. Instead, I voice nearly everything that I'm thinking. I guess that's not entirely true. I voice at least seventy-five percent of what I think, but that other twenty-five percent is a LOT. Truth is, I couldn't possibly manage to hold back anything more because my head would, I'm certain, explode. Hyperbole? No. Trust me on this one.

Point being, I've voiced SO many of my decided "futures" that I've made my relatives and friends collective heads spin, so they habitually roll their eyes at me whenever I voice another. "Of course she's not serious. It is Melanie, after all." But, hey, what can I say? I have very little faith in myself, and certainly not enough to stick with any one particular game plan. I'm trying, though. We'll see where it gets me this time, eh?

I suppose this is as adequate a first entry as any.

/end