Ventilation

Like I said, I feel so disgusted with this spherical planet that has the capacity to support life. Third from the sun, it’s no wonder some days are still seventy-eight degrees in December. But oh! This little space I occupy in the world has become so mundane and repulsive. There are reasons to hate humanity each day on the headlines of news. I see it from the television screens, the laptop homepages, and the radio-yes I still listen to the magic little box that emits radio waves, and ryan seacrest’s voice. And I sound so pessimistic and emotionally drawn out, but I swear, it’s just today. I feel like the burden of it all is sitting upon my shoulders. Sitting. Sitting. Sitting. And stewing. And so many deep tensions are festering beneath all the forged faces of my friends. It’s quite disrupting. I keep learning though, every second, about the rare characteristic qualities of the people around me, and just how transparent they are. Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe that’s why I understood the prompt so well…"Don't, like the cat, try to get more out of an experience than there is in it. The cat, having sat upon a hot stove lid, will not sit upon a hot stove lid again. Nor upon a cold stove lid." Do I overanalyze too much? Am I trying to take more from the experience than there possibly could ever be? I don’t think so, not all the times, at least. Sometimes it feels like I am the only one that has the ability to see pigments and vivid paints in this drab world of white&black. Not everything is black and white. I know that. It must be fact, because so many of us carry the strife and experiences of previous happenings of our lives with us in all we do. And all that, translates into perspective and whether or not you see the glass half empty, half full, or any other possible interpretations. But as I was saying, everyone around me is so transparent. I think I could mark out half of my peer’s thoughts and actions on the spot because I know them so well. But unfortunately, I barely know myself. Ironic? YES. Is English 3AP getting to me? YES. Silva was talking about the four humors in class on Monday and so I decided to look them up yesterday, and well… I did, on Google. So I read the articles on Wikipedia etc. and then I took some quiz in which I do not know the validity of the source, but after clicking bubbles; one each row, and hundreds of rows, I quizzed to be sanguine. And a little bit choleric. (hahaha inside jokes with alex and Shawna on this one…). And I read though the results, and I am definitely not choleric… I think. But that was just ranked second out of the four. Sanguine. In old days it meant you had too much blood. And they treated this with leeches. Encarta dictionary defined sanguine as: physiology history in medieval physiology, having blood as the dominant humor and therefore characterized by a ruddy complexion and a courageous, optimistic, and romantic temperament. Yea…. Optimistic? I think it is too strong of a word for me… I’m a lot more laid-back, go with the flow kind. I have no set expectation for the future, good or bad. I do think of the future a lot though. Ruddy complexion. This sounds so gross, but apparently it means healthy, with a reddish glow. Which, I guess I can attest to that. And a romantic disposition. Definitely. But this is some physiology concept that was introduced centuries ago, by some man, who is far dead by now, probably with an old English name. And he knows absolutely nothing about me. The complexities within my head. My thoughts, my prayers, my wishes, my dreams. He knows nothing about how I’ve lived and how I plan to live. He wouldn’t be able to guess the absurd correlations that find a home in my head. No one can. I don’t know one person who can map me out. Sure there are those generalizations that swallow me as they swirl around me. That try to capture me and make me into a stereotypical person. And so often I have fallen into their imperative demands. But recently I feel like I can be them all at once and/or none of them at all. My parents don’t know what to do with me. They have expressed their frustrations. And they do it at every second they get the chance to. They are disappointed. Six years ago, I would never have guessed that they’d be disappointed with me. At ten, I felt almost perfect. I was a source of pride. And then somewhere down this long and narrow troublesome road of maturity and teen years, something changed. It’s the million dollar question, what that was. And now, I am some sporadic disrespectful selfish good-for-nothing hateful epic fail of a child that gives nothing to the family in which I am living with. Nothing. How shameful. That is the life of Stephanie according to her parents, her blood related caregivers. Her family. I think it’s depressing. I have no value at home and nowhere to fall back on. But I know I do too, have fault in the flailing foundation that was ripped from under my feet. But I don’t know how to fix it. Sand in a sieve. I can’t seem to find the sturdy rock in which I am supposed to build upon. It’s gone missing. Someone has stolen it from my life. I think I might put up a WANTED AD later in the pennysaver. “LOST: FOUNDATION IN LIFE, MOTIVATION, OPTIMISTIC QUALITY, AND LOVE. Reward if found.” I can’t seem to find any sort of motivation. A few months ago I found a fake withering---though a start for me--- place in which I figured I SHOULD be able to draw inspiration and motivation from. I didn’t quite---I faked it well--- but I even knew myself, that I wasn’t kidding anyone. And that this “inspiration/motivation” TOOL was truthfully more of a distraction than anything. And that is that. I am at a loss now. I feel I have vented half of everything I am feeling. And the burden certainly feels lighter…