Initially, I was doing it for brownie points

Today I had to wake up early (groooan), so I only got about 4 hours of sleep (double groan, considering I've been getting about 8-12 hours of sleep every other day). My mom had asked me if I wanted to go with her to a town famous for its pottery, where she, along with her co-worker, would conduct a few interviews (by a few I mean two formal ones and some random questions to random people here and there).

At first (yesterday), I had said yes, then I got angry and said no. But this morning I really had no choice. At 7 am, she burst into my room and stood over my bed saying "wake up!" repeatedly. I groaned and waved her away, but she kept insisting and then left, leaving my door open (which I LOATHE; I cannot sleep peacefully with an open door, so my parents use it as a wake-up method).

So then, still struggling to open my eyes and get past the morning stupor, I weighed the odds of going and not going, deciding that if I went I might get on my mom's good side for being a good sport and whatnot. I'm still trying to get her to buy me a handbag I saw last Saturday; she says I won't get it until I "change my ways" and learn to be patient and be nice to people, blah blah. But that method of hers doesn't really work, for every time she reminds me that I'm not getting the handbag, I go berserk and feel like hitting someone. Is it that hard, to please a girl?! I never ask for a handbag. Up till a few months ago I was a handbag hater (even though I've always found Louis Vuitton stuff so damn pretty), and now that I ask for one, I can't get it. Seriously, it wasn't even that expensive! 35 bucks. Jeez. You'd think a penny-pinching mother like mine would recognize a good deal when she saw it. But I digress.

At least I got to buy a frappuccino on the way to the town, which didn't do much except keep me awake for a good 2 or so hours and upset my stomach (gah, I'm never buying them again). The fun thing about these trips is that I am practically part of the team now (since I am becoming the somewhat official document translator for the project they're working on), so I get the whole scoop of what's going on at the office and what is said by who in and out of meetings. And I get along very well with her co-worker, who is the coolest person over 25 I've ever met; I admire her. It's fun, except for the part in which my mom tries to platonically set me up with the son of her boss (or at least I think it's one of the bosses). It's weird in so many ways.

So the drive took us a while, especially because my mom spilled some coke (the drink, not the drug...duh) and we had to stop to clean it up. What sucks is that my mom had her crappy new age music and we couldn't do anything about it. Luckily, her co-worker found a Soda Stereo CD and majority ruled, so the crappy music was out.

Before I go on, I must give you some background on the place we went to. The workshop was called Moje, it was located on the outskirts of the town (although the shop was located near the town entrance, along most of the other pottery-and-such shops) and it is a place where teenagers/young adults can learn to elaborate pottery, work with wood or metal, design and stamp shirts (as we went in, we saw a guy with a really cool shirt which he had made) or learn about cooking (but this last one is not fully elaborated, from what I understood). Aside from learning any of these trades, they also learn about business management so they can set up their own businesses and be able to manage them appropriately. This was created out of the need to improve the quality of the businesses of this town (which are mostly small and owned by the locals) and to get juvenile delinquents out of the street ("the idle mind is the devil's workshop"; give the kids some work and they'll stop killing people and whatnot).

This is, in my opinion, is an excellent project, and I was amazed at how these people had worked very hard to get numerous foreign companies to aid them. They had not only hands-on workshops but also theoretical classes, which I believe are of the same importance as practical classes.

The whole place was very well structured and organized, and we had the chance to see everyone working, both in their theoretical classes and the hands-on workshops.

The people doing pottery were awesome. At a glance, it looks easy, just sitting there turning a wheel and shaping clay with your hands, but they did if for such a long time and with such care and concentration...I don't think I could ever do that; it requires both coordination and patience, two qualities that are not very profuse in me.

Everyone was astonishingly polite and disciplined, too. We were treated with great respect and not once did I hear a guy whistle at me (ugh, it's so annoying when men do that!) or making obscene gestures (yeah, I could throw rocks at those, too). Though my mom did point out that the guys were "looking at you in a tender way", which in normal English translates to "checking you out".

And I guess change can be made; you can take delinquent teens and give them something to do and get them out of their bad habits. At a first glance, I was rather scared of the guys in the metal workshop because a few of them looked like someone I would not want to encounter in the street at night, much less in a dark alley. However, encouraged by my mom's co-worker who approached them to take some pictures, I got close and admired their work. One of the guys had a really cool wristband, which we complimented and said he should definitely make more of and sell. And there was also this other guy (good-looking, I must add...though never better than my boyfriend, heh) with a totally kickass red Fender shirt (which he had made...well, the design on it). My mom, as usual, did not fail to comment on the way he was looking at me when I told him how awesome his shirt was, and how I'd wanted to buy a Fender bass but they were too expensive.

After looking around, we went back to the office of the man who was showing us around, and my mom and her co-worker asked questions about the place and blah blah. I didn't mean to be rude or anything, but I was at about to fall asleep, had my mother not been poking me occasionally in a very discreet manner. It wasn't that I found the whole thing boring (well, some of it was, since I'm not really into economy and the country's educational system), it was mostly the lack of sleep and the fact that the coffee was beginning to wear off (quite quickly, too). But thankfully, after 4 or 5 yawns, the interview came to an end and I went off to wander outside of the main building before we left. I was captivated by the beautiful roses and metal decorations around the parking lot and near the entrance, but I started to feel woozy so I just walked over to the car and waited for everyone else to get there so we could leave.

That was the interesting part. After that, we went to this other shop back in town which had a 50-year story and specialized in miniature pottery and whatnot. The guy had even taken his art to New Mexico, where everyone adored it and he was referred to as "artist" rather than "artisan" (which I could tell he was very proud of, and it made us all smile). What I really liked was that the founder of the store, the current owner's father, also gave pottery classes back then, all free of charge, and they let students work there so they could pay their studies. However, the ministry of work or something of the sort came to say they couldn't employ minors, even if they were being paid the same as everyone else (which kinda sucks, cause lost of people here really need the money).

I was quite proud of myself, too, for I made a question, and even though I had some difficulty paying attention, I was following most of the interview. I could do so much better with more hours of sleep and without an attention deficit!

So then it was half past 12 or so, and everyone (except me) wanted to go have some lunch. So we bought some pottery from that last shop, saw a few more shops (and what he said about quality held true; his miniatures were the best in town), and then we left. I had the intention of buying some juice from this small store that sells the best natural juices I've ever tried, but I was too full (and in pain) from that morning's frappuccino, and nobody else seconded my motion; they just wanted to go back to the city and have lunch. So, we came back and had lunch at Asia Grill.

And that's about it for today. Now it's raining and there's not much I can do but read; there's not much I can do anyway.

In the end, I decided that I no longer cared about brownie points; the experience I got from my visit is worth more that 10 Louis Vuitton handbags.

(That sounded too much like an essay ending, didn't it?)


P.S.
I'm really sorry if something sounds incoherent or there are any grammar mistakes; as much as a grammar freak I am, I am having a hard time keeping my eyes open. But with this crappy memory o' mine, I had to write it while it was fresh!

I was asked to stop breathing

I lay limply in bed, my eyes unfocused, my breaths becoming shorter every time.

Sometimes, I just feel like my body is asking me to stop breathing. Be it out of sadness, lack of energy or lack of will, I do not know, but I'm trying to find out.

This was a weird day. It was, in part, good. I wrote a short story on my other blog which I thought was great. But not everyone thought the same. And I've been drifting in and out of a sinking feeling of depression (and some anger).

My boyfriend (whose opinion I care about a lot, not only because I love him but because he is also a writer) said the story had bits that were "a little too personal". I did sort of base it on a real-life event, but I would never, EVER murder anyone. How could I? It's just writing. It's art. I had to exaggerate things to make them more dramatic and appealing.

I feel like I've failed, thus making me a useless pile of crap. But I can't change the story...It's my art. It's like asking Van Gogh to change his sunflowers into lilies because of popular demand or something.

I'm caught between my writing, which is one of the things I care about most, one of the hobbies I have successfully continued and possibly one of my outstanding talents, and my boyfriend, whom I also love immensely.

What to do, what to do...I don't want to talk to him out of fear that I will either end up feeling worse, that he will dump me or that something worse will happen.

But at the same time, I don't want to leave this hanging in the air.

What to do? Life is such a complicated thing...It's really hard to keep everyone pleased and everything balanced; there's always something tipping over.

So I'll just sit here waiting for my breathing to get back to normal, hoping it doesn't stop completely.


Edit: I think I feel better now cause I actually changed a bit to make it less..."Personal". Hopefully, that will make everyone feel more at ease about my mental condition.
(FYI, no, I am not a psychotic killer. My sole mental problem consists of ADHD, which is not even remotely interesting, but is a whole lot safer.)

You've got dibs on my heart

I couldn't sleep last night, even after I began the blog and wrote that one entry.

So, after I turned off the computer, I just sat there listening to music, and I felt this weird kind of throbbing sensation inside of me. I couldn't stop thinking about my boyfriend, either. And, a few songs later, I realized that I was...I don't know how to explain it...I guess I could say anxious, which drove me to write some really cheesy poems. It hurt me how I was feeling so much love for him and there was no way I could get it out. So I just fell asleep like that while listening to The National.

The feeling is still there, because I do love my boyfriend a lot, but it isn't fighting to burst out of my chest like last night. Still, I wish I could find a way to let him know how much I love him, because sometimes words just aren't enough.

And I guess it's weird that I get these impulses, but I think I know where they're coming from. Deep inside, I fear being alone or losing what I love, so I get a harder grip on what I cherish. That's another thing I've got to control, for I don't want to turn into some sort of people-hogging psycho or something. I don't think I'm on a dangerous level, but still, I have to watch out. Don't want to get anywhere near there.


On a lighter and brighter notice, I didn't miss my bass lessons today! And I'm making some progress. Hopefully, the teacher did not notice I haven't been practicing.

However, I'm thinking about going to another music academy or something of the sort after my 12 paid classes are over. This teacher doesn't motivate me much and I don't get a very positive feeling from him. But I guess I can always check YouTube for classes and whatnot. Hopefully, someday I'll be able to actually play a song and not hunch over the bass like the hunchback of Notre Dame.


It's midday; I still have the whole afternoon to finish the goddamn book.
But for now, it's time for lunch.

Toodles.

I wish I could begin with a more positive note...

So, I have no idea what I'm doing here. I just felt like writing about my life. I got kind of tired of writing about/through other characters.

Why third party, you ask? Because I always feel like the third party.

There's friend 1, friend 2, and me. I'm the awkward piece that's just placed there out of convenience or rather lack of anything else to do. I don't really know where I belong or just what I'm doing anywhere.

And really, my mind is always somewhere else. I have no damn idea where. I'm always trying to remember what I did last week, or what was such-and-so movie or book about...You get the idea. Basically, I'm a very, VERY scatterbrained person.

Hell, I can't even remember what I learned last week in my bass lessons...

That is just one of the many things that's wrong with me.

And, oh, I hate starting this blog on such a negative way, but I just feel a depression coming on. Another of the reason's why I'm writing.

It's not that I loathe my life; I don't! Believe me, I have a wonderful boyfriend, a nice family, a relatively new bass (I did lose my pick, but that's not a major issue in my life right now), and lots of things to keep me happy.

But I just get this feeling every now and then. I was reading this boring book (a summer assignment...blergh...I usually adore reading!) and then I began to reflect upon it and tried to formulate what I would say to the teacher once I got back to school. It was rather hard for me to remember every single detail, every critique and every sentence that made me furrow my brow with anger. Then I tried to remember other books I read (a fair amount, I believe; I won't say I'm a walking mass of literary knowledge, but I do have some experience) and I realized I have little memory of most of the things I've read throughout my life. Ask me about any book I've read before and I won't be able to say much. Or maybe I'll mess up the order of events. A lot.

And then, of course, is the issue of abandoning stuff halfway through. I've really got to work on this if I ever plan on having children.

I've always wanted to stick out in the crowd, to do something. But I never finish anything, and that has been pointed out more than enough by my mother, who is constantly poking and prodding me to get off my lazy ass and do something with my life, be that go out with people, find out about possible colleges and scholarships, tidy up my room, blah blah blah...

So, I don't know what to do right now. Perhaps I'll just go read that book out of lack of sleep and hope I don't miss my bass class tomorrow (again...), or I could keep looking for my damn pick, or I could study the stupid driver's manual (since my boyfriend didn't exactly help me study today, but I don't blame him, because it was mostly my fault), or just sit here listening to music and staring at the ceiling (which is what I do most of the time).

What have I done with my life? Have I done anything productive at all? I realize I've wasted so much time staring and listening and just thinking, and doing all of this just to forget about it and do the same all over again because there is nothing else I feel like doing...

I see it not as a lack of action but rather a lack of motivation. And what's worse is that everyone around me seems so motivated. It makes me feel like a useless stump of a person. So that is why I write to you, oh dear audience, in hopes that this so-called writing of mine will lift up my spirits and help me keep track of my messy life.

More later. I hope you keep reading, for this can only get better. Seriously, this post was a crappy, sad rant. Stick around for the next one.