Twenty-Nine Lapkritis of Twenty Eleven

Within my philosophy class (now) may be my only chance to write for quite some time.

I am swamped with work that I couldn't do over break. And now I am buried beneath it. Three online math assignments, two written math assignments, two essays, a written page on transnational feminism, a cultural portfolio, an oral presentation to memorize, and a test and a quiz. WIthin the next week.

Wait, I'm interested in this discussion. bye.

(Morning of) Twenty-Seven Lapkritis of Twenty Eleven

Is it wrong that I hate everything? I can't stand it. This life. What's it without him?

Sometimes I debate whether I could stay, inconspicuously around...But I couldn't do it. He deserves it for me to be respectful of his wishes. But it's so hard to stay away.

I hate myself, especially.


My room smells like spruce. I miss him so desperately.

Sometimes, I wonder what he's doing. I don't know when he works anymore. I just lie around and think about it, nowadays. Is he reading reddit? Playing games? Maybe he's on vent? Is he eating? When does he work today? Most of all, I wonder if he wonders about me. I wonder if he's already transitioned into hating me, or if just maybe, he misses me as much as I miss him.

I regret everything so much. More than ever before. Why. Why. Why.

He always wanted me to post about him to remember how amazing he was. Hey, love, I haven't read a single one of those posts. I will never forget how amazing you are, were, and will always be.
And, just for curiosity's sake, I decided to do some research.
I have made 44 posts about him (or with him mentioned in it) in total.
Twenty-six of them were good. Eighteen were bad. (But that number includes me being sad about something involving you).

Posts:

Nov. 24, 2011

Nov. 22, 2011

Oct. 16, 2011

Oct. 15, 2o11

Oct. 10, 2011

Oct. 7, 2011

Sept. 27, 2011

Sept. 22, 2011

Sept. 19, 2011

Sept. 10, 2011

Sept. 6, 2011

Sept. 2, 2011

Aug. 28, 2011

Aug. 23, 2011

Aug. 22, 2011

Aug. 13, 2011

Aug. 10, 2011

Aug. 9, 2011

Aug. 1, 2011

July 18, 2011

July 13, 2011

July 7, 2011

July 5, 2011

June 22, 2011

June 14, 2011

May 30, 2011

May 28, 2011

May 17, 2011

May 16, 2011

April 25, 2011

Mar. 26, 2011

Feb. 17, 2011

Feb. 1, 2011

Jan. 20, 2011

Jan. 16, 2011

Jan. 11, 2011

Dec. 27, 2010

Dec. 20, 2010

Dec. 5, 2010

Nov. 4, 2010

Oct. 24, 2010

Sept. 20, 2010

Sept. 19, 2010

Sept. 7, 2010

Let me read you some of my favorite texts, the ones I've been fawning over while crying:
Nov. 3, 2011: "I'm pretty sure my love for you will only grow and blossom and never die. Like weeds. Our love is like weeds. It started out of no where, but no matter what other people try to do, they can't kill it. And we never go away." -Me
Oct. 20, 2011: "I go to bed holding a pillow I wish was you. I brag about you to all my friends and day dream about you all through class. I wait for the moment you wake up in the morning. I get cravings to hear your voice. I am so in love with you. I can't even imagine who I would be without everything you've shown me or given to me You are the most amazing boyfriend that it is possible to have." -Me
Oct. 16, 2011: "I'm pregnant. It's a beautiful baby property." -Him
Oct. 10, 2011: "I love you. Save this." -Him
June 24, 2011: "I'm still in love with you." -Him
April 19, 2011: "You're silly. I love that." -Me
Feb. 10, 2011: "Hey baby. Are you star trek? Because I watch you every night in the darkness." -Him
Nov. 30, 2010: "She's beautiful, graceful, sweet, not to mention ______ _________. I only met her recently but I've already fallen for her." -Him
Sept. 7, 2010: "I've saved you in my address book as 'relentless.' You are incredible." -Him

Dear anyone,
I will never recover from this fault. I, however, will never accept that I cannot have him back. I will love him forever. I will never forgive myself. I debate every day to follow him, to meet him, to call him. (I'm sure he knows I couldn't delete his phone number, but I still have it memorized).

I will never let go. I will cry until the day I die over this man. This man I so desperately loved. This man that I cannot stop loving. My heart will never grow back. I'm sure it stopped beating.

Someone wrote in my yearbook, "______, you may be the only girl who knows her place. >.> but you are prety fun and ___'s better half..."
I will never be his other half again.
WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY

If I can't have him, then my only wish is that he take me from this place. I'm sure he's got the anger to do it.

'The numbers,
words,
phrases,
everything.
Why.
I must let my other go.
I cannot stop loving my true.
A man I can never speak to again
Where can I start again?'

(Morning of) Twenty-Four Lapkritis of Twenty Eleven

I'm starting to realize how my entire life revolved around him. I remember, he was the one who made me start saying "twenty eleven" instead of "two thousand and eleven."
Like I said earlier today, "He made me everything that I am. I don't know who do be without him."

And now, it's almost Christmas. And he hates Christmas music. (And I miss him).

I couldn't stand it. I texted him this morning. He told me to call him. I had to fight it out of myself, but I finally told him the truth. He referenced something from "The Hangover," a movie I've never seen.
But this is the clip: Hangover fight
I can't disagree with him.

He told me to delete his number, he had already deleted mine, and to never speak to him again. I kept my cool for hours. I finally broke down in the shower. Everything I built myself to be was from him. And now I hate myself. I don't want to do anything. There's no motivation for me to achieve or aspire. I don't care anymore.

I never cared about anything but him. And yet, I hurt him in such a way. And I still don't know why. I don't understand what lead me to it. I suppose I was just hoping to toss the guy into the corner and abandon him; in fact, the other guy knew he always took a back seat to my love.

And yet, I hurt him. I stabbed him all the way through and his heart will bleed until the day he dies. And I stabbed myself with the same rod.
This trap (from "Saw IV") is a perfect example. Except the genders are switched. While the rods are placed in deadly spots on the male, the female can recover from her wounds. But if she doesn't leave, they will both bleed to death and die.

Today, I was asked what I wanted for Christmas.
I sent my mom a serious list.
But now, I'm thinking of more serious things.
I want a car.
I want three jumbo bottles of sleeping pills.
I want a gun.
I want someone to convince him to kill me.
I want this all to be over.

I'm tired of crying.
I have to jump to acceptance; I can't even deny.

'Fingers clenched together,
just five holding two.
Twisted ankles support a barricade,
I push my own walls.
Soft sniffles
tears drop into her hair.
She looks up at another.
"I'm here."
her eyes well.
He's not.'

Twenty-Two Lapkritis of Twenty Eleven

Dear Blogspot, can I tell you the tale of a broken heart? Scratched throat and tired eyes, would that be alright?
Can I tell you the story of a lost melody? Out of tune and drifting too quietly, would that be alright?
Can I tell you an anecdote? Of loss and hope and solitude, would that be okay?
Can I tell you the destruction I could bring? Of court and jail...Everything, would that be alright?

I will not take vengeance. I will not lose my cool. I will make it without him. I don't know how, but I will.

Now, I will try to focus on things around me that don't involve him.

Seven Lapkritis of Twenty Eleven

I ditched math, drank eggnog and cocoa, and listen to Christmas music. Problem, Thanksgiving?

The essay "The Necessity to Speak" (Which doesn't seem to exist online) has some quite vivid messages and causes. The essay mainly speaks out against abuse.
It's two morals are:
-Without speech, no one can be protected.
-People do not want to face the problems that surround them.
Twice, Hamill writes, "we can't bear very much reality." (465)

W.H. Auden, who I found out today was a homosexual, wrote a famous poem called "September 1, 1939." Although most people simply associate this day with sometime during WWII, it was actually the day Hitler invaded Poland and WWII began. Thus, this poem is probably about WWII and a protest to the war.

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the dead,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

First Stanza:
I personally find this the hardest stanza to interpret. A dive (from the first line) has been referenced by a teacher and a journalist as being a sort of bar or lounge. Since we know that Auden was in New York at this time, people assume that the speaker of the poem was someone watching the world fall apart (Hitler's takeover) from a bar in New York (52nd street). He goes on to discuss how hope fades away and people watch in, basically, horror as everything goes to complete shit. The ending of the stanza gets a little more poetic and the reader can understand that people are keeping to themselves, not offering much to one another (even through this) and keeping silent (*cough Hamill cough*).
Line 1: "I sit in one of the dives"
Line 9: "Obsessing our private lives"
Every rhyming line seems to meet up and connect to be its own story. Thus, the sum of the stanza is that. We all sit in a bar, thinking about ourselves.

Just found this. Kind of weird. (Also, not related).

Stanza II:
This stanza begins with a clear description of Hitler as he compares him to Luther (Martin Luther, a priest who wrote about how horrible Jewish people are). The culture driven mad is the German culture. Linz is an Austrian port (here) where Hitler was born and where he spent his childhood. Another line down and there is reference to a psychopathic god, which is what the speaker is calling Hitler. The end of the stanza is bit different. The speaker begins to reference a universal truth by saying that "I and the public know". The lines twenty-one and twenty-two suggest the concept of Karma, or the phrase "What goes around, comes around." Or, a cycle. Like Hamill writes on how the abused becomes the abuser: "The battered child will grow into the child batterer." (466) and "The child has learned that might makes right, that parents sometimes lie, and there are acceptable limits of violence." (468).
Line 20: "What all school children learn,"
Line 22: "Do evil in return"
False preaching will lead to evil. Don't brainwash. (Like Hitler did).

Stanza III:
Thucydides was a famous Greek historian who wrote about the Peloponnesian War. However, the speaker points out that things are all the same: dictators do the same things and politicians lie. The speaker also talks about how war causes happiness to leave, yet it is inescapable.
Line 31: "The habit-forming pain,"
Line 33: "We must suffer them all again"
War does not stop; people will keep fighting each other.

Stanza IV:
The beginning of this stanza refers to a Biblical tale about the Tower of Babel. Basically the story says that people tried to build a building to Heaven and God changed their languages so that they couldn't make plans. Note: Collective Man (a group) is formed into a proper noun.
Line 36: "Their full height to proclaim"
Line 38: "Each language pours its vain"
Every group/culture is trying to speak, pronounce, and be heard.

(Morning of) One Lapkritis of Twenty Eleven

Almost dry tears stain my cheeks, smearing the foundation that covers my shame.

But why, am I so upset?

I am lonely. Although my family in only a few hours away and my boyfriend closer, I desperately miss them. I almost fear that I cannot live on my own. I am in constant need of companionship. I barely make it through weekends without company.

I touch the fluff on my pillow and mistake it for a cat's fur. Piles of clothes deceive me as a sleeping kitten.

I miss the family's morning scrabble. How my father would rush my sister and I out of the house so that he could get to work on time. How my brother sat and waited for the bus. I miss the mornings where I scraped frost off the car with my mom.

I remember a day when I cried as she left for work. It was just another day. She simply left for work, like every other day. But it was the fact that she had left that was hard for me to grasp. Even at thirteen, I sobbed as she drove away. Even though she could help me, she was physically distanced from me and I was left without her.

Even now, I find myself in tears, missing home.

Most kids are so eager to get away. To go live on their own, toughing through the daily grind. They're eager to go to parties and be irresponsible. Even though I was raised conservatively, I've never felt the need to so harshly break away from my parents and rebel so strongly. I've never wanted to party, drink, or try illegal drugs. I've never had some craving to sleep around at a party, or even associate with people who smoke weed. None of this has ever been an attractive prospect. To me, my parents taught me that I didn't need to live that life. That even though I couldn't trust them with everything (they are still my parents), I could trust them to help me and be proud of me. They hear me out.

I miss them so desperately.

Sometimes I wonder how I'll even go on, when they've gone.

It's early in the morning. I've got class in eight hours. I want to run to my parents room, watching the numbers and trying to navigate, and wake up my mom. I want her to check outside my window with me. To tell me there's no one outside, no one trying to break in.

But here, I am alone. Crushed into solitude for another six months.

Happy Half Birthday to me.

'Metal walls push me in,
glass against my back.
Cries of anguish,
regret,
despair.
His single smile reminds me,
of that moment,
when I could not trust.
My tomb,
I found it.'