Lately, I’ve been feeling sad and melancholy. I want to go home and be with my friends. I want to go back to work at the zoo and be with everyone there. I was so excited about moving out here, but now that I’ve been here a while, I feel as though I don’t really belong. I miss familiarity and knowing what to expect. I thought I’d be able to handle this, and for the most part I have, but I for some reason just feel really disappointed…
I thought there would be more and I’d be able to get along with everyone and everything quickly and easily. I don’t really know if I’ve made any friends or not. I think I have, but it’s not like I’m going out and spending time with them or anything of the sort. I feel lonely and boring and just all around uninteresting. I wish there were things to do here, too. If you ever come out to visit the Farmington/Aztec area, don’t expect much of anything.
I really want to go to school. I’ve decided that I will major in archeology and have minors in anthropology and geography since they are incredibly fascinating to me. I believe that once I get started there, everything will turn out for the better and I’ll be ok. It’s pretty much too late to sign up for the spring semester, but I can sign up for the fall. I need to talk to a counselor to figure out what exactly I need to do to get started.
Things will get better I’m sure. I just need to be a little more patient.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Scars Are Telling Features
So I found an outline of the human body today and decided to draw in all of the scars that I know I have. It was interesting and each scar has a story, except for one. I will post the pic and tell you all about how I procured them.
So I will start with the front on the hand. On my thumb I have a scar that's about 1/4" long. I got that from working at the Book Gallery when one of the plastic signs fell and I tried to catch it. Apparently blunt plastic is really sharp, because that bitch cut me deep and I was bleeding a lot. But of course, I continued helping the guests even though there was blood running down my wrist. I'm a champ, I know.
On the back of my right hand at the wrist is a small, tiny scar. That one and the one on the elbow came from the same thing. Corey, myself and a friend were driving down to GA for a convention and I was recording the trip. I was sitting in the back of a shitty Ford Focus (2 doors) and was trying to climb out of the car so I could walk around while Corey got gas. Of course, I tripped. Landed on the back of my hand with camera still in tact because if I broke it, I would be done for. Good news, I saved the camera from being demolished. Bad news, but could be good, I got two scars from it and I'm sure a lot of people saw it and laughed their asses off. Good times, but not really.
The scar above my left eye, which I now realized I drew it over the wrong eye in the picture, was from when I was a little kid. My brother was putting me through an "army commando boot camp". This particular obstacle course I had to run, jump on a trampoline and touch the top of the swing set. Well, since we lived in the boonies, there were a shit ton of rocks everywhere. Needless to say, when I was running as fast as my little legs would let me, I found one of those nice big, sharp rocks with my face when I tripped. The screaming was incredibly high pitched that I'm sure my grandparents who lived a mile away could hear them. After realizing how much blood was pouring out of my head, I ran inside screaming and crying. I don't really remember much after that, though. I did not go to a doctor or anything to get stitches. I think all I got was a wet washcloth. Knowing my parents, they probably told me to rub some dirt in it and that it will put hair on my chest.
The one on my chin was from my grandparents house. Their house had a long staircase that led to the basement. I was probably about 4 or 5 when this happened, by the way. I thought I was a superhero and could fly. I thought wrong. I jumped down the stairs from the very top thinking that I would just gracefully float through the door and into the basement. Instead, I landed halfway on my chin going down the stairs, hitting every step with my face. I must have been a bleeder then because I remember there being a ton of blood. And of course, no hospital visit. It was once again a wet washcloth and a pat on the back.
Now the one above my right knee is a mystery. I've had it ever since I could remember and no one knows how I got it. I showed it to mom a couple days ago and she said she's never seen or noticed it. It's a long scar, too. Maybe 3"-4" long going straight across my leg above the knee. I wish I knew how I got that.
I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was a lot of fun reminiscing over how naive I was as a child.
On the back of my right hand at the wrist is a small, tiny scar. That one and the one on the elbow came from the same thing. Corey, myself and a friend were driving down to GA for a convention and I was recording the trip. I was sitting in the back of a shitty Ford Focus (2 doors) and was trying to climb out of the car so I could walk around while Corey got gas. Of course, I tripped. Landed on the back of my hand with camera still in tact because if I broke it, I would be done for. Good news, I saved the camera from being demolished. Bad news, but could be good, I got two scars from it and I'm sure a lot of people saw it and laughed their asses off. Good times, but not really.
The scar above my left eye, which I now realized I drew it over the wrong eye in the picture, was from when I was a little kid. My brother was putting me through an "army commando boot camp". This particular obstacle course I had to run, jump on a trampoline and touch the top of the swing set. Well, since we lived in the boonies, there were a shit ton of rocks everywhere. Needless to say, when I was running as fast as my little legs would let me, I found one of those nice big, sharp rocks with my face when I tripped. The screaming was incredibly high pitched that I'm sure my grandparents who lived a mile away could hear them. After realizing how much blood was pouring out of my head, I ran inside screaming and crying. I don't really remember much after that, though. I did not go to a doctor or anything to get stitches. I think all I got was a wet washcloth. Knowing my parents, they probably told me to rub some dirt in it and that it will put hair on my chest.
The one on my chin was from my grandparents house. Their house had a long staircase that led to the basement. I was probably about 4 or 5 when this happened, by the way. I thought I was a superhero and could fly. I thought wrong. I jumped down the stairs from the very top thinking that I would just gracefully float through the door and into the basement. Instead, I landed halfway on my chin going down the stairs, hitting every step with my face. I must have been a bleeder then because I remember there being a ton of blood. And of course, no hospital visit. It was once again a wet washcloth and a pat on the back.
Now the one above my right knee is a mystery. I've had it ever since I could remember and no one knows how I got it. I showed it to mom a couple days ago and she said she's never seen or noticed it. It's a long scar, too. Maybe 3"-4" long going straight across my leg above the knee. I wish I knew how I got that.
I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was a lot of fun reminiscing over how naive I was as a child.
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