What If?

Tap, tap, tap. My foot never stops moving. I'm sitting in my Honors Spanish Three class, wondering about why my foot never stops moving, and writing about it. Why does it jiggle as it does, never pausing to take a breath? Why must I ask so many questions about pointless, mindless subjects that have no depth?

I'm introverted, I'm extroverted. I'm stubborn, I'm malleable. I'm impatient, I have too little time. I don't believe in a higher power, I want so desperately for this to not be the end.

I don't believe in heaven or hell, per say. I don't believe in any higher power, nor do I believe in "sins" or "forgiveness." I believe in human nature. Human nature, for me, dictates how we do what we do, and why we do what we do. Naturally, since I believe that "heaven" is an eternal sleep (you don't really know you're dead; it's much like falling asleep, you can't note the exact time it happened), I am unafraid of death. Of course, I'm not sticking a piece of raw meat under its nose and taunting it, but I understand that it will come regardless of whether I try to bring it closer or push it farther away. You're probably wondering why I'm rambling on about death. Stick with me, here.

While I don't believe in heaven or hell, I do believe in the power of love. I do believe in karma, and I do believe in negative and positive energy. I believe that one can channel energy through their emotions, actions, expressions, and bodies. Every single thing we do has an effect on every single thing around us. Whether the effect is positive or negative is up to the action itself, but I strongly believe that nowadays, most people have lost the benefit of simplicity.

With all of the extravagance and lavishness we live in, it's hard to stop and realize that these things aren't necessary. Do we have to live with TVs in our rooms, and iPod headphones in our ears 24/7? Don't get me wrong; as a typical music-loving teenager, I'd probably go clinically insane without my music. But what if we lived without all of these "basic necessities?" What if we lived without the Starbucks coffee for a while, and looked at all of the people who don't have food, who don't have school, who don't have clothes, who don't have medicine to cure their diseases? What if we gave what we could to help these people? Don't you think that giving a mere half of what we don't need to people who need it more? 

As my career, it's always been my dream to work with teen parents in an urban environment. I'd like to be a social worker in inner-city San Francisco, and I'd like to retire building hospitals and homes for people in underdeveloped regions of South America and Africa. I want to spend my last few years giving to people who need things more than I do. Yeah, it'll probably be uncomfortable. It'll be buggy, humid; I probably won't have a decent bed for the remainder of my visit. But I believe that after coasting through life, coasting through school, I should try for once.

Always watching.

I just typed and retyped this first sentence several times. I think that this is writer's block. I've never experienced it before. Maybe it's writer's inspiration. I have so many ideas flowing through my skull, out my fingertips, and on to the page. They're always teeming, always reeling. Always building. I'm always watching.

I am not observant by any means. Ask me to keep track of what a girl's wearing every day of the week; I'll either forget to do it entirely or I'll miss some marks. I don't care about the little things. I care about the bigger meaning. I don't give half a rat's you-know-what about the way you multiply these numbers to get this product; I care about how it works.

But I'm constantly watching. I guess you could say I'm very introverted. I have my moments of extroversion, and I appreciate being around people. But asked to do a project solo or with a group, I'll always choose myself. I have too many ideas, and I'm too set on them, to just agree with other people on things, or even compromise. I usually want to take charge in a group setting, and since some other people are the same way, I get intensely frustrated and immediately lose interest in the assignment, even if I was at one point ecstatic about it and brimming with ideas.

I'm not sure why I'm writing all this. I think I'm in dire need of a creative output. I've stopped painting since this past summer, and I've stopped taking personal walks. I don't really care that much about my "self-time" anymore. I kind of gave up the ghost. I don't really enjoy being with myself anymore. So many people have broken me down, watched me crumble, and told me that I'm worth nothing by means of actions. I don't understand how I am expected to regain confidence after being told that I am nothing.

Daily Planner 3.

I'm working tonight. Forgive me, but I'm getting really tired of my job really fast. People can be so rude sometimes. And everyone wants everything in such a hurry. I'm sorry, but where do you have to go that the world will end if you're not there thirty minutes before you're supposed to? Are you that ridiculously late that you can't even stop to realize that you're hurting the poor little cashier's feelings when you yell at her as if she's just beaten your wife? In my opinion, we should all slow down a little. Not to smell the roses, and not to realize where the fire is; but to listen to the wind blowing, to listen to the leaves falling, to listen to the music the world makes. To see the things that the world is presenting: yes, there are roses, but there is so much more, so many more things to explore. They're sitting there, in their little secret places, sitting and waiting for us to realize them.

Okay. So, Bert McCracken. He's in my profile, he's on my desktop wallpaper, he's on my actual wall, he's everywhere. He is my hero: no lies, no jokes. His music makes the world I live in a little brighter. The melodies he creates, the lyrics he concocts, they inspire me to the point of despair. I love his music, so much, it isn't even funny. He is a former drug and alcohol addict, and after several suicide attempts, he has made it through to the other side of the darkness, emerging as a well-renowned musician.

I find it very easy to relate to people; I guess you could say my empathy meter is through the roof. But he's one of the people I can relate to. Not because he's a former drug addict, or because he suffers from depression, but because he has made it through rough times and now is successful in what he does. Now that's a success story. Not all that Britney Spears junk. Her story isn't one of success. What darkness has she made it out of? Mistreating her kids? I'm sorry, but I don't see the power in her. I see the potential, as I do for everyone. I believe that every single living thing has potential, for something, but for what is up to them...

But, anyway, I think the period's ending fairly soon, and my fingers are getting slightly drowsy from typing so much so fast. So, as usual, I'll post when I get home, just like clockwork and just like the tides.

I wonder if he sent my camera yet... Hm.

Quote of the day: I have a new philosophy. I'm only going to dread one day at a time. -Charles M. Schulz

Alexandra.

Pencils on the right side, pens on the left; make sure your right tail signal is always working before you drive; listen to the cop when he tells you to stop talking back; talk back when necessary; pay attention when the teacher tells you the homework at the end of the period, it isn't always going to be online, goodness, technology these days; don't drink too many sugary drinks, they make you unable to think straight; stay away from seedy men, they will take your dignity and your money; have the courage to change the things that can be changed, the serenity to accept the things you can't change, and know the difference between the two; pretend you know nothing when you're too lazy to do something yourself; suck in your stomach when going to a job interview; stand up straight!; take out the lint from the dryer, do you want the house to catch fire?; don't get married too young, see the world before you're tied down; once a man cheats, he'll always be a cheater; friends come and go just as much as boys, don't trust anyone; pull up your shirt!, you think a well-respecting college would accept you looking like that?; hang your shirts on the shower rod to get the wrinkles out; remember to flip through all the pictures when buying a car without a man with you; forget the health of your ears, they have hearing aids for a reason--listen to your music as loud as the speakers allow; hold your head high when walking down a hallway, even when everyone is sticking their feet out to watch you fall; be who you are when no one's watching, when people are watching; remember that people are always watching, always watching, always watching...

Daily Planner 2.

So, yesterday, I went to the mall with my mom. It was really nice, since we hadn't really done anything together for a long time, just the two of us; the most time we've spent together recently is our two-and-a-half hour long drive to our vacation house, and that usually isn't what one would call "quality" time. I listen to my iPod. She drives. End of story.

But, anyway, we went to the mall, and had dinner at my favorite restaurant. We talked about everything that's been going on. We talked about my upcoming birthday. We talked about school. But for some reason, it felt genuine. Most often, when I talk to my mom, it feels like she's just asking because she feels obligated. Last night was different, though. It was nice.

I'm going out to dinner with my dad tonight. I'm really excited, actually. Ever since our visit in the hospital, I feel like we've grown a lot closer. He watches me more carefully when we're together, but even still, I feel like he cares more than he used to. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to create a comedy. That's my opinion, anyway.

I'm listening to my favorite song again! It reminds me so much of this summer, which I suppose shouldn't be a good thing; somehow, although, it is. This summer was a summer of pain and of happiness. Both are beautiful, I guess. Both are things that everyone experiences at one point or another. I just experienced both at the same time. I grew up very quickly over this summer. I grew up more than was expected of me. I'm proud of myself for making it through with my head held high. Sure, there were times I gave up the battle. But in my opinion, giving up isn't admitting defeat; it's saying that you've had enough.

I don't think I'll ever get enough. I'm ninety-nine percent positive that I will never stop being the person I am. People always tell me I need to grow up, I need to have more fun, I need to be more this, I need to do more of that. I don't think I'll ever listen. I will never give in to the expectations or molds that everyone around me has laid out on my table. A person can't be defined according to other people's expectations. A person needs to define herself. I'm in the process of doing just that.

It just brings up the infamous question of "who am I?" I don't think we ever truly know. We were reading an article in our PSAT prep booklet yesterday in English about artificial intelligence, and consciousness, and the difference between the two. It fascinated me. What is consciousness, anyway? How do we know that what we live in is the "real world," and that our dreams are "imaginary?" What if it's the other way around? I was thinking about this on my walk yesterday evening. How can we be so sure that we've reached the "final frontier" of science; how can we be so positive that there is pretty much nothing else we can master? I think that we are so primitive in ourselves; much like infants, we think that anything that disappears from sight is no longer in existence. We think that there is nothing in the world but the single beam of vision, the single beam of consciousness, that races through the darkness. That metaphor was used in the article we read yesterday. It's brilliant, isn't it? I love complex ideas such as this. They fascinate me.

Well, 5th period is drawing to a close, and so is my inspiration. I'll write later.

Quote of the day: Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful. -Rita Dove

"She Is Just a Glitch" by Sky Eats Airplane

Something you once told me:
No regrets, no wasted efforts.
I'm left in the wake of your returning glory.
You looked so confident in your decision,
For the light of your indifference.

So pure in your deception,
So right in your mind,
This is just my luck,
It's always been my luck.
Come closer so I can see you.
You're cold to the touch,
Hasn't anyone ever told you this is just my luck?

Say what you will.
You're no longer the death of me.
This whole shipwreck has been sent to sea,
So go ahead and take what you will from me.
It doesn't matter.

And I am running out of words,
And I am running out of time,
To explain to you what we could have been.
Now the chance is over and I'll admit that:
I am just fine today.
You won't bring me down again.

-"She Is Just a Glitch" by Sky Eats Airplane

My English teacher told his students on the first day of school that they will find a book that speaks to their souls; a book so deeply sketched in our minds that we will never forget it. I found my book a long time ago. As an ever-developing music lover, my song is always changing. Most recently, it is the song listed above: "She Is Just a Glitch" by Sky Eats Airplane.

Some songs make me feel very empowered, very real. They make me want to get up and dance in whatever manner I wish. Some songs make me want to curl up and cry until I have no more tears left in me. But this song is completely different; this song makes me want to do both of these things and more. It makes me want to stand up in a world of sitters, to keep trying in a world of quitters. I listen to the lyrics, to the beat, to the guitar, and I want to do something so powerfully active that I'll never remember ever being dormant. I love this song so much. It is my song. That is clear.

I think this song is about a sour relationship (what a surprise) that was once beautiful, but is now worn down and exhausting. The narrator is feeling angry at the fact that his partner was once the light of his eyes, but now is only a burden. It reminds me of a situation in which a person remembers all the beautiful things that once were included in the relationship. In my opinion, it's about moving on from someone, all the while knowing that the journey from grief to acceptance is a long one, and realizing that while he will, at one point, be over his ex, the ex will never leave his mind completely. I hit this point of realization once in my short lifetime. I was in a year-long relationship with someone whom I loved more than myself. Around my birthday last year, we ended up parting ways, and it broke me. It took me seven months of missing and wanting and crying and anger to realize that my life is too short to wallow in my pain. I packed my bags, picked up the pieces, and continued with my life. I did not forget about my ex, but instead came to know that he shouldn't control my life anymore.

I'm on better terms with myself now. It has taken me a long time to learn to let people in again, but I somehow did it. Right now, I have things under control. I am fully aware that things are quite possibly going to change over time. Although, isn't that the beauty of it?

Daily Planner 1.

So, basically, hospitals are very fun.

But not really, since they stick needles up your arm and IVs in your veins and feed you lousy turkey sandwiches with no cheese. Long story short, it stunk.

I don't remember a lot from today. I remember mainly up until 6th period. I remember sitting in chem, then getting up to go to the nurse. I remember everything seeming very far away, and the noises getting really loud, and then I don't remember anything. The next part that I can recall is lying on the stretcher in that weird room, with Mr. Erickson standing over me, and Mr. DeMaio, and about what seemed like fifteen EMTs. They were all laughing, but it was nervous laughing. I think it was about something I said. But I don't remember that too much, either.

I blacked out again, and then woke up in the ambulance, then blacked out, then woke up in the hospital surrounded by nurses. I hit my head when I fell, apparently, and tore something in my neck, so they had me in a neck brace so that I didn't move it. It was really uncomfortable, and very stiff.

My dad showed up, which is a surprise, since I haven't spoken to him in a while. He took me out to dinner at Mara's once I was discharged.

So now I'm sitting in my living room, my backpack still in school and thus rendered unable to do homework (pity), tired out of my mind, and cranky beyond belief. My arm is still sore from where they were trying to find a vein to put in the IV. PAIN, I tell you. Pain.

Quote of the day: I do not think that I will ever reach a stage when I will say, "This is what I believe. Finished." What I believe is alive ... and open to growth. - Madeleine L'Engle

It's quite ironic. Being alive, and all.

Am I really alive?

No, really. Am I?

Wow. I'm breathing. My heart is pounding, and music is thundering in my ears, and I'm sitting in a lecture hall in my high school. I'm not dreaming. I'm alive. I'm living, I'm burning, engulfing. I'm not a fake. Because, in the end, if you're faking something, you're still you, right? You're still plowing on at this great road more commonly known as "life." It's such a shame, that I've wasted fifteen years being someone who wasn't me. I am a beautiful person, as we all are; I am such a great story to tell. I deserve more than a premature obituary. I have a beautifully crafted story to tell. Who should tell it but me?

I'm Not Okay.

I, Kristen Marie MacMillan, am absolutely and definitively terrified of spiders. I can't stand people who pretend they know what they're talking about; when you put me in front of a hunk of steak, I will gag; I am very extroverted, and I am very fake.

Every single itty-bitty thing about me is one big lie. No, not everything I say is a jumbled mess of fabrication; I have many truths in the words I speak, and I attempt to be as straightforward in my tactics of living as possible. But every emotion, every single "I'm just fine (enter smile and laugh here)" is one big huge joke.

I am the farthest thing from fine 99% of the time. I am frustrated with the direction my life is pointed in, I am angry at myself, I am angry at everyone around me, I am angry, angry, angry. Sometimes I feel like I'll make it out of this wreck of a rough spot. Sometimes, I feel "okay." But most of the time, I just feel like a big phony. I feel like a fraud.

I often wonder if everyone else out there in the world is like me: faking smiles, pretending to be okay, pretending that nothing affects them. I wonder, do people see through me? Do people pretend as much as me? Most importantly, what would happen if I stopped being "okay?"

The music I listen to, and the people i surround myself with, are from all different ends of the spectrum. I have one friend, who lives in New York during the summer and Utah during the school year, who likes completely different music than most people. He's really interested in movies, and wants to become a film star/director/producer/rap star/homemaker/husband/whatever else he can think of. I have another friend in Pennsylvania who likes the same music as me, but is into completely different activities; he is a sponsored skateboarder and likes working at the local jail (don't ask me, I would NOT be able to explain).

It is only with these two things that I am myself: my music, and my friends. I do not consider acquaintances friends. Heck, I don't consider most people I'm friendly with my friends. I have five true friends in this world, and I love them all more than I love myself. Things have been slightly rocky with these true five ever since this summer; I changed drastically since May, and my friends noticed it. None approve of this new person who morphed from the old Kristen we all used to know and love, and none realize that I can do nothing about it. 

Dustin, my long-distance-boyfriend-slash-best-friend-slash-Pennsylvania-mentor, is the person who accepts me the most. I know that Dustin is aware of my "mask" situation, and the thing that strikes me most is that he doesn't care. He knows that the mask will only fall off when I'm ready and fully willing. This is why I care about him so much. He is the most insightful person in my life right now.

Just because I am a masked person, does not mean I am a faulted one. In my opinion, everyone wears a mask to an extent. I don't really understand all of this to its fullest. I don't really understand myself most of the time. I just know that I'm a fake. And it doesn't look like it's changing any time soon.