Goodnight, Moon

August 2, 2010 at 1:58 am (Uncategorized)

I can’t sleep.  And the best thing to do when you can’t sleep is…write a blog.
So, here I am.
A lot of things are floating through my head right now, but that’s nothing new.
Life is such a funny thing. Nothing is set in stone.  No two days are alike.  And yet they’re all alike.  Each day we wake up, we do stuff, we go to bed.  We do this until one day, we break the cycle and don’t wake up.
Why am I thinking about this?
Probably because I have no idea where my life is leading me.  I’m used to this though.  I never know what my life will be like each month, and I know that that every month will be different.
I want something different, I just don’t know what.  My heart is yearning for something, and if I just listen ever so closely, my heart will tell me what is it.
I have a hard time being myself.  I’m afraid to be ridiculed, I’m afraid nobody will understand. I’m afraid no one will accept me. So, I hide portions of myself, revealing bits here and there.  Some people see what’s behind doors number 1, 5 and 8, and others see doors 9, 4, and 2.  Others just see the doors.  I’m not sure if anyone can see what’s behind all of them.  I’m not even how many doors there are. Sometimes I let others sneak a peak behind a door, and depending on their reaction, I open it wide or shut it tight.  Most of the time…I shut it tight.
I feel like I’m not making any sense, and that’s probably because I’m exhausted.  But I still can’t sleep.
Blaaaaaaaaah.
I wish Morgan Hill made me happy.  I wish high school had been different.  It might have been fun. I’m starting to enter dangerous territory here.  Sometimes I torture myself with What-If scenarios, which is never good because there isn’t any point in wondering how the past could be different, and how it would affect the present.  I do it anyways.  It usually ends in pain.  The topic of these wonderings is usually my dad.
I hate how he still can reduce me to tears, it’s annoying.
I should really sleep.  I’m supposed to get up at 8, and I’m moving back to Santa Cruz; it’s going to be a busy day.
Yet, here I am.  Writing blogs.  Knowing they’re not really read, but writing them anyways because I want to delude myself into thinking someone actually cares about what I whine about.  Kind of pathetic, really.
Maybe I am a noob.
I’m going to force myself to stop now, and just toss and turn till I fall into a fitful sleep.

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