Dreams

There's a saying that goes, "When it rains, it pours."  Basically its like, when bad things start to happen, they're going to continue to happen for a while.  And now here's a story that relates to this saying: I took a college course this summer (there is a post about this experience, but I'm saving it for the end of the summer to share with you) and I waited three weeks for my grade, convinced I was not going to do well, even though I did everything (and more) that was expected of me.  So the other day I checked the grade, and I got an A.  I was so surprised, because I was fully and totally convinced that I was not going to get an A that when I actually got one, disbelief was the largest emotion I felt.

The same thing happened when I looked at my SAT results.  I couldn't believe I'd done that well. The same thing happened when I got an A on my History Final and final essay.  I think I'm just so used to it 'pouring rain' that when the sun actually comes out, I freeze and have no idea what to do (that was a terrible metaphor and I hated myself as I used it but I'm too tired to care at this moment).

Because things were so bad for a few years, the fact that they are pretty good right now freaks me out a little, and I really don't know how to deal with it.  Like, when my SAT tutor tells me that I've done really well on a problem, I either ignore what he just said, or I talk about what I could have done better.  It's kind of sad that I've gotten so used to focusing on the bad, that I have an extremely hard time even acknowledging the good.

So I need to work on that.  Thats all for now.

"like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had (lonely)
And what you lost
Oh, thunder only happens when its raining,
players only love you when they're playing.
Women, they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know."

It All Starts Here

Today, this blog turns two.  Thats a pretty big accomplishment considering I didn't think I'd ever even make it past two weeks with this blog.  I know everything in this life is ephemeral, and that two years is maybe not even a fraction of a millisecond in the grand scheme of time and space, but to me, it feels like a lot.

There's a lot I'm proud of with this blog.  Its seen me through several bad bouts of anxiety and depression, and I'm sure it will see me through many more.  It's seen me go from an insecure fifteen year old to a seventeen year old who maybe doesn't have everything figured out but is happy, nonetheless.  My writing has matured miles, and I've had a creative outlet where almost no one will judge me and I can just write for two years.

This blog has seen me through a lot of really rough times, as there have been a lot of those in the past two years.  But this blog has also seen me through a lot of really bright moments.  And sure, a miniscule amount of people read this blog, and absolutely no one could read it, and I would still be happy with it.  This blog isn't about the views, it is about reading what I've written and maybe enjoying it.

So, happy two years to Misadventures Of a Teenage Renegade, and the immense help it's given me over these past two years.


"We hold our heads over the rising tide

To find our way out the city lights

The morning skies never seemed so clear

It all starts here."
(Check this song out, its called it all starts here, by Magic Man)

Chocolate

At one o'clock on thursday afternoon, I get your text.  Although I slept at your house and you told me to come over again after class, I had plans at that moment and politely declined.  My plans had since been cancelled and you knew I was bummed because I really miss the friend I was supposed to have plans with.  Your text says you'll see me tonight because we are going to the movie that I was supposed to go to and then we are going to the skinny pancake and then we are going to go grocery shopping at ten o'clock at night because Derry forgot to buy food.  You tell me if I don't like it, I can deal with it. So you take me to the movies and then we go to the skinny pancake and get what we always get and then I drag one of those cute little baskets around the City Market at ten o'clock at night.

I've written a blog post about you before, and I've said what I'm going to say before but dammit I'm going to say it again because I want to.

We don't have the deepest conversations.  We don't (usually) have long heartfelt talks and our conversations mostly consist of one of us saying something entirely ridiculous, vaguely sexual, or just plain disgusting and the other person saying in an exasperated tone of voice, "I hate you."  We eat a lot of unhealthy food and we go swimming (in hottubs, rivers, and pools we've snuck into) way too much.  But you are the person I best get along with.  You understand me and I don't think there's ever been a time I can remember that I was really, truly mad at you.

I can't explain what a godsend you have been.  And I've probably been one to you to, not to sound too cocky.  But we always deal with each other when we cry.  We make each other get out of the car and drive when the other person is too upset, we put each other to bed when we fall asleep in basements, we remind each other to take medication and whenever you are in the valley and I'm in the valley and you stop at coffee roasters, I get a text saying, "What do you want to drink?"

We have a relationship that would seem dysfunctional to many, but works really, really well for us.  I depend on you a lot, and you depend on me.  We eat too much food and we yell too loudly and we get called hooligans and people don't understand why I am friends with my brother's ex-girlfriend, but I love you with my entire heart and I know you feel the same way.  I know that because I've never felt more secure in a friendship.

So at eleven o'clock thursday night we've just stopped at City Market and I am now munching on cucumbers in the green jeep.  The top is off and we are both freezing but you look at me and I look at you and we both start to yell, "3, 2, 1.... GO!"  And we throw our hands up into the night air and see how long you can not hold the wheel of the car all while yelling "COME AND GET ME!" And we both know how cliche it is, but we laugh like devils and do it all the same.

Thanks.  Its a good life with you.

"Now we run run away from the boys in the blue, and my car smells like chocolate"

"I'm a lucky man maybe I should play the lotto."

A Collection of Not Very Good Poems

Bright Eyes
I was crouched behind the willow, confined
in cascades of pine needles and cornsilk
colored hair. Twisting tops above and
below, painted wood and
block letters.  Metal
ballerinas reside on golden
pedestals, and men in yellow
hats whisper. The queen, they say,
is here. "Someday she'll be a looker."
But all I see when
I look in the mirror
Is a bright blue sky ignited in flames

Limbo
I don't feel the way that I used to
Or I shouldn't
Its like the time I told you I didn't believe in god
Or the way someone can make you feel like a deserted island
I feel alone
And I want to hate you
So much my blood boils
And every word you say
Makes me less sure
And I want to hate you
Like the time you told me about ocean waves
At least they finally, agonizingly
Meet on the sand
Instead of being hopelessly stuck in limbo
Just like us
And I want to hate you
And instead you look at me
With those bright blue eyes
And I want to hate you
As quickly and suddenly as petals
Fall off flowers
And I want to hate you
But I can't be a deserted island
Or a person without god
And I don't want to be alone