JAIME finally let me borrow her motion city CD and now im obsessed with this. so im posting it. so I dont actually have to write anything. brilliant.
Too Close
If I stand too close
I might fall in
But if I'm too far gone
I'll never win
And if you believe in me
I might just wanna spend some time with you again
I'm afraid I tend to disappear
Into an anxious state
When you draw near
There is no reasoning
It's quite a silly thing
But it's the way I've been for years
So I will understand if you don't stay
They say I'm great at first
But then the magic fades
Into an awful hue of dismal views
And a pessimistic attitude
All this distance
Years of sweet resistance
Swirling overhead like angry clouds of discontent
I have apologized a billion times
When I've gone off the wall
Like Buster Rhymes
And pulled a stupid stunt
That left you thinking
There was something wrong with me
You've thrown a few choice phrases at my way
And I've ignored them all
As best I could
Except that tiny bit
How I just can't commit
There was some truth in what you say
All this distance
Years of sweet resistance
Swirling overhead like angry clouds of discontent
If I stand too close
I might fall in
But if I'm too far gone
I'll never win
And if you believe in me
I might just wanna spend some time with you again
I'll spend time with you again
If I stand too close
I might fall in
But if I'm too far gone
I'll never win
If you believe in me
I might just wanna spend some time with you again
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Things I Wrote In Utah- pt. 2
Things always look better from 37000 feet. So high above the rest of
the people in this tangled up world. It's almost as if the only people
are you and the other passengers, and they don't even necessarily need
any attention. I always wonder about the people in the seats around
me. Right now, as I write this on my phone, the woman to my right is
reading People. Every so often she offers her kids in the seat ahead
of us napkins, or water. She skips the pages with stupid celebrity
gossip and reads the book and movie reviews. She's eating a sandwich
with onions on it. I really hate onions but I'd obviously never tell
her that. She and all her kids are wearing green for saint Patrick's
day which makes me think they're all either Irish or superstitious or
just a fun family. She ordered Chardonnay which means she's probably
afraid of flying, since it's only 3:00. Right now I'm worried she can
read this and one) thinks I'm creepy or two) thinks I'm untalented.
I'd prefer the second. Talent is so objective. Creepiness is less so.
Isn't it odd that I don't even know her name but I know she's married
to a man that drinks diet coke, she has a daughter that does middle
school theater, she's either Irish or superstitious and she likes to
read? Sometimes being observant is the same as being creepy I think.
I'm fairly confident she can't read this.
To my left is a window. I always try and get a window seat because it
calms me down. Not that I think we'll crash. I just like to know where
we
Are.
And while I'm up here
I'll just pretend
That everyone on the ground
Doesn't
Even
Exist
the people in this tangled up world. It's almost as if the only people
are you and the other passengers, and they don't even necessarily need
any attention. I always wonder about the people in the seats around
me. Right now, as I write this on my phone, the woman to my right is
reading People. Every so often she offers her kids in the seat ahead
of us napkins, or water. She skips the pages with stupid celebrity
gossip and reads the book and movie reviews. She's eating a sandwich
with onions on it. I really hate onions but I'd obviously never tell
her that. She and all her kids are wearing green for saint Patrick's
day which makes me think they're all either Irish or superstitious or
just a fun family. She ordered Chardonnay which means she's probably
afraid of flying, since it's only 3:00. Right now I'm worried she can
read this and one) thinks I'm creepy or two) thinks I'm untalented.
I'd prefer the second. Talent is so objective. Creepiness is less so.
Isn't it odd that I don't even know her name but I know she's married
to a man that drinks diet coke, she has a daughter that does middle
school theater, she's either Irish or superstitious and she likes to
read? Sometimes being observant is the same as being creepy I think.
I'm fairly confident she can't read this.
To my left is a window. I always try and get a window seat because it
calms me down. Not that I think we'll crash. I just like to know where
we
Are.
And while I'm up here
I'll just pretend
That everyone on the ground
Doesn't
Even
Exist
Things I Wrote In Utah
Conflict Averse
Everything in Utah is really bright. Usually my eyes were protected,
shielded behind the yellow plastic of my ski goggles. But when I took
my sun-and-snow-shine barriers off, everything turned this brilliant
shade of light blue. At night, even where the earth was shadowed there
was always a beam of moonlight cast onto the snow and reflecting so
brightly it might as well have been noon. But I liked the first
moments without my goggles- everything looks new and even squinting
against the sudden light it's a comfort knowing that the sun is still
there.
We went tubing. They attached us to this pulley thing and dragged
(drug?) us up a huge hill. And when we got to the top they pushed us
back down in tubes. I went careening down the slope spinning, so fast
and wild and for the thirty seconds it took to get the to bottom, so
out of control. And it was terrifying. Not because I was afraid I'd
crash, but because there are few things in my life I don't have
complete control over. And that's always been my problem- my complete
and utter need to have absolute control over every aspect of my own
life.
But when you're as conflict averse as I am, there will always be loose
ends. Because instead of asking "why aren't we on speaking terms?" ill
dance around it. I'll ask how your break was. And when you don't text
back I won't let you know how much it hurts, I'll bottle it up with
all the rest of the emotions I prefer to pretend I don't posses and
wait until you feel like cluing me in. And since that's something i
can't force, enter the lack of control that drives me insane. It's
really just a horribly vicious cycle.
This blog has so become a method of dealing with my own screwed up
emotions. Since I can't talk about it, I may as well write it.
Kelly
Ps
Hey Kevin Michael Pellicone and Jaime Ping-Ling-Shing- Cho- Chow
Cheng. Was that racist? My bad.
Everything in Utah is really bright. Usually my eyes were protected,
shielded behind the yellow plastic of my ski goggles. But when I took
my sun-and-snow-shine barriers off, everything turned this brilliant
shade of light blue. At night, even where the earth was shadowed there
was always a beam of moonlight cast onto the snow and reflecting so
brightly it might as well have been noon. But I liked the first
moments without my goggles- everything looks new and even squinting
against the sudden light it's a comfort knowing that the sun is still
there.
We went tubing. They attached us to this pulley thing and dragged
(drug?) us up a huge hill. And when we got to the top they pushed us
back down in tubes. I went careening down the slope spinning, so fast
and wild and for the thirty seconds it took to get the to bottom, so
out of control. And it was terrifying. Not because I was afraid I'd
crash, but because there are few things in my life I don't have
complete control over. And that's always been my problem- my complete
and utter need to have absolute control over every aspect of my own
life.
But when you're as conflict averse as I am, there will always be loose
ends. Because instead of asking "why aren't we on speaking terms?" ill
dance around it. I'll ask how your break was. And when you don't text
back I won't let you know how much it hurts, I'll bottle it up with
all the rest of the emotions I prefer to pretend I don't posses and
wait until you feel like cluing me in. And since that's something i
can't force, enter the lack of control that drives me insane. It's
really just a horribly vicious cycle.
This blog has so become a method of dealing with my own screwed up
emotions. Since I can't talk about it, I may as well write it.
Kelly
Ps
Hey Kevin Michael Pellicone and Jaime Ping-Ling-Shing- Cho- Chow
Cheng. Was that racist? My bad.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Michael
I'd forgotten about this essay for UT. But I like it, and I have little to write right now, so here it is.
When my brother has something to say, you listen; he is wise beyond his fourteen years. You listen, but you also wait.
Michael has a stutter- he always has, regardless of years of speech therapy and much to his constant irritation. When he’s excited, or tired, or angry, or even just distracted, it can take him longer to say the first syllable of a word than it would take to complete the entire story eight times- at least, to the people listening, that what it feels like. But even when his audience is visibly losing interest in whatever insight Michael was offering- or trying to offer- he keeps at it. It is this patience and determination that has made an impact on my life.
When Michael gets stuck on the letter R and “chews on it”, as one particularly unhelpful therapist used to say, he doesn’t get mad, at least not noticeably so. He takes a deep breath, looks you in the eye, and tries again, and again, and again, even if the moment has passed and his remark is completely misplaced. The frustration I can only imagine he feels is completely invisible. I have always admired him for his ability to calmly persevere.
One example of Michael’s determination that has always stood out in my memory occurred a few summers ago, at the sleep away camp my siblings and I all attended. My brother and I were both chosen as “Cabin Camper of the Week”, and were told to stand on a table during lunch time, in front of the whole camp, and introduce ourselves. We both said our names, and when it came time to say what city we were from he answered “Plano” just as I answered “Dallas”. I had forgotten about Michael’s hesitation with the letter D, and had not even considered that we were standing in front of a room full of staring kids. I doubt that anyone else even noticed our lack of coordination, but Michael laughed and said “oh yeah, Dallas.” Those three words took him close to thirty seconds, but with an audience of 200 people it was endless. Campers started fidgeting, the counselors began dishing out the food, and I was feeling more and more embarrassed for my brother. When he finally finished his unnecessary correction, he jumped down from the table and walked to his waiting cabin mates, bravely ignoring the humiliatingly public situation he had just faced. I watched as he laughed and talked with his friends, and I slowly began to realize what my little brother had known for years. While his speech impediment is clearly a hindrance to his communication skills, with enough resolve and tolerance, the barrier becomes minimal.
I am exactly three years, five months, one week, and three days older than my brother. Those three years, five months, one week, and three days have absolutely no bearing on the high level of maturity Michael exhibits more often than I do. From my brother, I learn on a daily basis that regardless of the road blocks and annoyances you’re destined to face at some point in your life, frustration is a completely useless response. Sometimes- most times- all you can do is take a deep breath, look the problem right in the eye, and try again, and again, and again.
When my brother has something to say, you listen; he is wise beyond his fourteen years. You listen, but you also wait.
Michael has a stutter- he always has, regardless of years of speech therapy and much to his constant irritation. When he’s excited, or tired, or angry, or even just distracted, it can take him longer to say the first syllable of a word than it would take to complete the entire story eight times- at least, to the people listening, that what it feels like. But even when his audience is visibly losing interest in whatever insight Michael was offering- or trying to offer- he keeps at it. It is this patience and determination that has made an impact on my life.
When Michael gets stuck on the letter R and “chews on it”, as one particularly unhelpful therapist used to say, he doesn’t get mad, at least not noticeably so. He takes a deep breath, looks you in the eye, and tries again, and again, and again, even if the moment has passed and his remark is completely misplaced. The frustration I can only imagine he feels is completely invisible. I have always admired him for his ability to calmly persevere.
One example of Michael’s determination that has always stood out in my memory occurred a few summers ago, at the sleep away camp my siblings and I all attended. My brother and I were both chosen as “Cabin Camper of the Week”, and were told to stand on a table during lunch time, in front of the whole camp, and introduce ourselves. We both said our names, and when it came time to say what city we were from he answered “Plano” just as I answered “Dallas”. I had forgotten about Michael’s hesitation with the letter D, and had not even considered that we were standing in front of a room full of staring kids. I doubt that anyone else even noticed our lack of coordination, but Michael laughed and said “oh yeah, Dallas.” Those three words took him close to thirty seconds, but with an audience of 200 people it was endless. Campers started fidgeting, the counselors began dishing out the food, and I was feeling more and more embarrassed for my brother. When he finally finished his unnecessary correction, he jumped down from the table and walked to his waiting cabin mates, bravely ignoring the humiliatingly public situation he had just faced. I watched as he laughed and talked with his friends, and I slowly began to realize what my little brother had known for years. While his speech impediment is clearly a hindrance to his communication skills, with enough resolve and tolerance, the barrier becomes minimal.
I am exactly three years, five months, one week, and three days older than my brother. Those three years, five months, one week, and three days have absolutely no bearing on the high level of maturity Michael exhibits more often than I do. From my brother, I learn on a daily basis that regardless of the road blocks and annoyances you’re destined to face at some point in your life, frustration is a completely useless response. Sometimes- most times- all you can do is take a deep breath, look the problem right in the eye, and try again, and again, and again.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Pool
I had to write this for English. And I liked it, so...here.
The Pool
It was somewhere between the last day of school and the first. Sometime between the warm but tolerable early morning and the scorching mid-afternoon. I sat, as I did every day that summer, on a lifeguard stand, elevated high above the lap swimmers- high enough that no one would approach me, but not so high as to look completely unapproachable. The patrons of the pool were typically unmemorable, save for the few I called The Regulars. The Regulars came every morning, like clockwork, and while they never actually talked to each other, they swam side by side, sharing small smiles of empathy and recognition, and always, always the lap lanes. From my perch above the water, The Regulars were discernible only by the varying colors of their swim caps and suits, which I used like name tags to identify them. Floral One Piece used a kick board but never fins, and Black Swim Cap took direction from Harry, the early morning adult swim team coach. Harry spoke in a monotonous drawl, his voice congested from fall straight through to spring. On several occasions, his voice lulled me into trances as I watched the swimmers stroke back and forth, their back muscles coiling and stretching as they moved steadily across the pool. It was on one such occasion that Pink And Blue Speedo stopped her usual routine of slow breaststroke to try to the more adventurous butterfly. I watched as she lifted her torso out of the water and kicked, her arms rotating at her side. From the get go she struggled, her shoulders not quite strong enough to propel her through the water, and her legs not quite coordinated enough to move in unison. As she neared the deep end her strokes grew more frantic. I reached for my whistle. She slowed down, her legs sinking below the surface of the pool, and I stood, ready to jump in and save her. But she reached the wall before I could and climbed out. She walked, defeated, to the locker room, and was replaced by Grey Goggles in the lap lane.
That's it. Yeah, it definitely alludes to my post about backs. Only the loyalist of the loyal blog readers know that. (Kevin Pellicone, this is note number nine hundred)
I'll write more later.
Kelly
The Pool
It was somewhere between the last day of school and the first. Sometime between the warm but tolerable early morning and the scorching mid-afternoon. I sat, as I did every day that summer, on a lifeguard stand, elevated high above the lap swimmers- high enough that no one would approach me, but not so high as to look completely unapproachable. The patrons of the pool were typically unmemorable, save for the few I called The Regulars. The Regulars came every morning, like clockwork, and while they never actually talked to each other, they swam side by side, sharing small smiles of empathy and recognition, and always, always the lap lanes. From my perch above the water, The Regulars were discernible only by the varying colors of their swim caps and suits, which I used like name tags to identify them. Floral One Piece used a kick board but never fins, and Black Swim Cap took direction from Harry, the early morning adult swim team coach. Harry spoke in a monotonous drawl, his voice congested from fall straight through to spring. On several occasions, his voice lulled me into trances as I watched the swimmers stroke back and forth, their back muscles coiling and stretching as they moved steadily across the pool. It was on one such occasion that Pink And Blue Speedo stopped her usual routine of slow breaststroke to try to the more adventurous butterfly. I watched as she lifted her torso out of the water and kicked, her arms rotating at her side. From the get go she struggled, her shoulders not quite strong enough to propel her through the water, and her legs not quite coordinated enough to move in unison. As she neared the deep end her strokes grew more frantic. I reached for my whistle. She slowed down, her legs sinking below the surface of the pool, and I stood, ready to jump in and save her. But she reached the wall before I could and climbed out. She walked, defeated, to the locker room, and was replaced by Grey Goggles in the lap lane.
That's it. Yeah, it definitely alludes to my post about backs. Only the loyalist of the loyal blog readers know that. (Kevin Pellicone, this is note number nine hundred)
I'll write more later.
Kelly
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