Monday, September 21, 2009

I have never been able to remember my dreams.

Ever since I was really young, I have told people that I just don't dream. Of course, that's a complete lie, but it sounded cooler than telling people that I can never remember them. I can remember a handful of dreams over the past two decades, one involving Hulk Hogan on a motorcycle coming to my house when I was three or four. Nothing I say makes sense.

Over the weekend, I had a dream that I remember still, which may not seem like a big deal, but it is to me.

In this dream, I died. I don't know how I died, and I don't know why I died. All I know is that I died, and I was reincarnated into myself at age 12. I don't understand it at all, but dreams that are understandable aren't fun to look back on.

I remember talking to everyone that I was around in my dream, and telling them how I had passed away, but it was really me inside this body. I was scrambling to get to a pen and piece of paper to write down everything that I could remember from my past, because I didn't want to lose it. I wanted to hang onto every last thing from my past life that I could before my new life kicked in and gave me a clean slate.

The two things I remember writing down: The Gaslight Anthem's "Great Expectations" and the name of the love of my life. I think her name was Amanda. I hate to disappoint any Amandas, but I don't think I've ever fallen in love with any of you. Maybe it's foreshadowing. See you in the future, Amanda.

I just remember being so afraid that I would forget everything from my past in this new life I was given, as if the future wouldn't ever compare. I think that's how I have been feeling for the past few years, which is why I kept trying to hang onto every old friend I had. It's silly to pretend like the people I've met over the past year or two can't compare to friends of the past. I'm just a sucker for nostalgia.


Friday, September 18, 2009

"...But you were pretty cool. And I daresay you still are. But you were such a cliche, in an adorable 'I'm to cool for you highschool lame-o's' kind of way. 'Who the fuck wants to be happy anyway?' Boy, you used those lyrics nearly to death. But in the best possible way."

"One thing has never changed-there's your heart, right there on your sleeve. Why, I can see it all the way here in Maryland...So you were a bit pompous, maybe looked down your nose at one too many people. You most likely excluded some people that you could consider friends, but chances are, a lot of them weren't all that anyway."

These were taken from a conversation earlier today with an old friend that knew me better than I thought they did. It almost rendered me speechless. I hope they don't mind that I posted this. I did it because it means something to me.

I have a tendency to call people out on everything they do wrong. It's part of my (c)harm. I don't mean to do it necessarily, but it just happens. The problem here, besides hurting other people's feelings, is that I cannot take it in return.

Every receipt I had coming to me for things I have said to people really effects me more than it should. I take everything that people say to heart, even if I lead on like it doesn't bother me. I don't know why I do it, I just have a tendency to genuinely care more than I should.

Should I change, or should the world?


Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I just want to find something that fits.

Fits into my schedule. Fits into my brain. Fits into my heart. Fits into my lifestyle.

Something that means as much to me as the other person involved.

Something that won't leave me so paranoid that it will go away.

I don't know what's good for me anymore. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I want. I don't know if that's all a bad thing.

Are you gonna stick around?


Sunday, September 13, 2009

I'm a big fan of Jeff Rosenstock.


Wednesday, September 02, 2009

I'm reading through an old writing journal of mine from 2005/2006, and I've come to the conclusion that either: A) I was so much cooler back then; or B) I was a pretentious prick.

Reading this stuff, I realize that a lot of it really isn't that bad. It's not revolutionary, but it's not bad. You can tell that I was listening to a lot of Fall Out Boy at the time, because I was trying to make puns and plays on words. I tried so hard to be different, but all it made me was the same as everyone else.

"And though you may not know it, I'm the reason why you dream. While you lie in bed and think of me, know nothing's as it seems."

That just screams arrogance. I love it. I wish I still had that and believed it.

"This hand writes all the shit I just can't pretend."

I wrote love poems, too. That's something I don't think I have done since then. I told a friend of mine the other day that I am better at writing feigned sadness because I grew up on country music. That was a realization I made as I was talking to her.

I was young. I was in love. I was as reckless as a scared, straight edge boy could be. I was wide-eyed. I was bushy-tailed. I was intelligent. I was egotistical. I was trying to be a carbon copy of Pete Wentz, with a little bit of Max Bemis, and a whole lot of Hey Chris. I was what I wanted to be, but didn't realize it until years later.

I need to find whatever it was that was making me write how I used to. Whether it's listening to Fall Out Boy and Say Anything nonstop, or watching hours of The OC, I am in dire need of my muse.