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Daisy
05 January 2010 @ 03:08 am
To Do
1. Lose weight
2. Get healthy
3. Collect things
4. Do more crafts
5. Sew
6. Paint
7. Organize
8. Branch out and be more creative
9. Write
10. Do more photography
11. Read more

Things to Keep an Eye Out For
Bones
Calenders
My Little Pony
Giraffes
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Daisy
05 December 2009 @ 07:59 pm


Annie Leibovitz did it again.


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Daisy
30 August 2009 @ 02:05 am
It’s come to my attention that it’s the little things I miss. That’s something I’ve always known, really. I’ve always loved the little things first, the most. The little things are what separate you from me, and us from them. The little things make a person.

They can make a place, too. Or a thing. Or a group of people. It has come to my attention that the little things are why I love my family so, so much. Why I love my mother, my father, my sister.

Dad told me I should write about this transition, because I won’t lie—it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve done. After a week, I have yet to make it a day without crying. Will I do it? Yes. Will it be hard? Gods, more than anything. It will get easier, though, I know I’ll still have my bad days. Times will go on, though, and I’ll grow. I guess I’m afraid that I left home too early, even though I knew that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t ready to leave home, I guess. I hadn’t gotten sick of my family yet, and I don’t know if I ever will. Right now, it seems impossible that I ever had dreams—that I still have dreams—of living a whole ocean away from them. It feels like I abandoned them.

It’s the little things. The way we never had the money, but we were never unhappy. The way my mother would rearrange things and make it work so that we could get what we needed, and sometimes what we wanted. The highly unusual upbringing that I know cherish above all others. The way we would all sing along to a few songs in the car, all four of us, together. The way we always had laughs. The way we went on family outings together as often as we could. The nicknames, the inside jokes, the love.

I want my family to have all these things and more. I want my kids to grow used to the brands I always select from the store, and whine when I change them. I want my kids to mindlessly follow my feet as I guide them through life. I want my kids to laugh with me so hard we all start crying and nearly pee our pants.

Oh wait. I want kids? I thought I was gonna wait and decide on that one. There’s a Freudian slip if I ever saw one.

Convocation is to commencement as beginning is to end. During my convocation into college, the key note speaker mentioned that the next four years will reveal things about ourselves that we never knew before. Why wait for four years? I learned things I never knew in the first week. Change can be hard for me. Not always, but sometimes. I love my family more than I ever knew. I value a home above all other things and I never want to leave mine. I really do want children, apparently. I will have to re-evaluate all my life’s plans.

Today is the best day I’ve had so far. Going from the crappiest morning to one of the best afternoons, I suppose it’s just a testament to what college will be like. I think I’ve already found my niche, at least to a point. I’m starting to feel.. comfortable here. It will never be a home. The campus life is not for me, and that won’t change. I need the apartment, just so that it will feel like more of a home than a dorm. I need a door to shut on the world when I don’t want to deal with it anymore. It won’t be my home, but it will be closer.

I will go to classes. I will go to work. I will work on the North Texas Daily Review. I will see if there is a book club, for the love of all things holy, because this university not having a book club is like a sin! And then I will live. I will have my car, I will have that freedom to go home whenever I need. I will speak to my family as much as I can. I will speak to my friends. I will not lose touch. I will move into an apartment my sophomore year. I will room with the most amazing person for my junior and senior years.

I will endure. I will enjoy. I will not find a home, but I’m not looking for one. It will be hard, and more tears will be shed than I will ever want to admit. I will change, and some people may not like some changes. But it’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.

 
 
Daisy
06 August 2009 @ 12:54 am
I’ve never been a big church goer myself, but my Ma, she raised me right and taught me to be a God-fearing man. I had a Bible somewhere in the house, and maybe I read it on Christmas if I could find it, but not much else. Maybe I believed, but there wasn’t much practical use for things like that way out here. If you couldn’t touch it or chow it down at meal time, it wasn’t of no use to ya.

Besides, my Ma always said that it wasn’t always God you needed to fear, but sometimes the Devil, too. See, the Devil ain’t a bad man but he has a job and he does it, she’d say. He can’t help if that’s a bad job or what. That always made a might big bit of sense to me. Like that poor kid down the road, the one who shoveled the horse shit on the weekdays and drove the hearse for funerals on weekends. No one liked the jobs he did, but he did him anyway ‘cause he had to feed himself. It didn’t seem to me like the Devil was all that bad of a guy, really. I always thought that maybe he’d like fishing a bit.

So one day the Devil showed up at my door with a guitar, a bag over his shoulder, and a shiny new pair of boots. And he said, I need a place to stay for a while, mister, would you mind? And I looked at him real long and hard and I said, Sure you can stay here, Mr. Devil, as long as you don’t keep me up at night and don’t bring no sin in the house.

So the Devil stayed for a while, all through winter. He said he liked the winter because it didn’t snow all over the place, like it did in some other places up North. He played the guitar and sang his songs and didn’t put his feet up on the tables, so I liked him well enough. I learned a few things about him, too. Sometimes he’d sit out on the porch on the swing and just watch winter as it went on by. He only liked his coffee as black as I could make it, and could actually paint a pretty picture not too badly. He liked to paint fences and dead, gray trees as they reached for the sky. Somehow, I had a feelin’ he was making a joke that I was missing when he painted things like that, but I never minded. I wasn’t too smart, anyhow, so it wasn’t like it would be hard to make me miss a joke.

Spring wasn’t his favorite, I knew, but he never complained. He didn’t spend as much time outside, which was good because he never looked quite right in the fields of pink and yellow in green, and he always looked a bit sick after he went outside. The paintin’ stopped and he was a bit difficult to deal with, but once I told him that spring never lasted too long, he was right as rain. The rain came in before too long and changed his mood right around, anyway. He liked the spring rains an awful lot and spent more time outside.

It was around summer time that things started going south. When things started getting hot, he’d get all cranky and fussy and fidgety until I finally told him I wasn’t gonna give him no more food if he didn’t behave, so he shut up for a while and things were okay. But then one mornin’ he’d come down for some grub and he’d be all fussy again, and we’d go through it over again. It was mighty frustrating and though he said he wanted to stay with me, I wasn’t too sure things were gonna keep working out. It’s so hot, he would complain to me for the millionth time. How do you people survive out here? he’d ask. Well, Mr. Devil, I don’t quite reckon I can tell you. We all just do, I suppose, ‘cause we were borned here and it’s home. No place beats home, you know? He would sigh and nod and look all wistful for a moment, and then he’d get up and wander away.

One morning, he came downstairs sweatin’ something terrible and swearing and generally carrying on. Apparently a ‘possum had come in through his window that night, and he was still hot, and he really did look pretty darn hot, like the skin was peeling off his bones. He wasn’t gonna stay here another minute, I could tell, and pretty soon he went upstairs to pack his bags. He shook my hand and thanked me for the time he had spent here, and promised he’d come visit again sometime, and told me I was always welcome to visit him. You know the path to find me, after all, he said with that grin and all his white teeth. And then he was gone, out the door in a rush with his guitar over one shoulder. I swear, I never saw a man move so fast down the road, like the hounds from Hell were chasing him.

I guess Texas was just too hot for the Devil.

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Daisy
20 July 2009 @ 02:44 am
BFFs  
So, I have this best friend. At least, she’s one of my best friends. She was my one and only for so long, it’s still just natural for me to say she is my only best friend. She’s the one who springs to mind when you take quizzes that ask who your best friend is, or when I read a story that involves a best friend. I usually change my mind and settle on someone else, but she is always first in my mind.

Really, that’s rather like her. She’s everywhere. She’s permeated into my thoughts, my very own thoughts. I think like her, sometimes, all logical and negative and dark. I’ve decided I like it, actually. It seems to add a bitterness to me, like some sort of grungy detective novel set in Los Angeles where everyone smokes and has scratchy voices. She is my cigarette.

She’s done so much for me, so much to me, and not all of it has been good. I’ve come home crying about the things she’s said to me. I’ve doubted my inner self for weeks because of her opinions and off comments. I’ve grown so angry at her cold, manipulative ways, yet done nothing. My other friends watch us with something that resembles a mixture of fear and anger, and I know why. The irony is simply overwhelming, after all. I’m a very outspoken woman who will roll over for no one, and am very rarely cowed. Except when it comes to her.

I use the excuses that every best friend never wants to hear. It’s the words girls use to explain away the bruises that have no excuse, but they try anyway. No, she never bruised me. At least not on the outside. “It was my fault, really. I provoked her into it, you know I did. Besides, I can handle her. It’s just a little bit more time. I can stop it if I really want to. She’s not all bad. She didn’t mean to hurt me.” They watch me uneasily, wondering what alien replaced me their outspoken, feminist friend. They wonder why I don’t stand up to her and tell her to piss off, to go perform anatomically impossible feats, to tell her where to shove it. And honestly, I don’t know why I don’t do those things. I could think about it all day if I wanted to, but I gave up a long time ago.

Yet, for all of our faults, sometimes she does things that remind me why she’s so amazing. She does things that remind me of when we were children and I first fell in love with my first real, true best friend. It's these little gems that I hold to my heart when things get rough.

She’s made me some mix CDs over the years, you see, as all friends certainly do. And this friend, she doesn’t just do something out of the blue. She thinks about it. And then she thinks and thinks some more, and then some more still, and then she can sit down and tell you her entire pointless, twisting thought process frame by frame. It’s something we’ve fought over often—I can’t understand how she does it, or why. She’s an only child and had to spend a lot of time by herself when she was younger, so I imagine it started as a way to entertain herself, but it still makes me want to cry. She scares me with how much she thinks, and I hate that’s she’s passed that on to me. I don’t think as much as she does, but I still think too much. I’m writing this, aren’t I?

I digress. She made me these mix CDs, and I was looking through them and discovered one of those gems. The gem that reminded me why we were friends. She never does these things without thinking, remember? These CDs were made for me, and me alone. There will never be another like it in the entire world. She spent hours selecting each song, oh-so-carefully.

Weight of the World, Ringo Starr.
You carry the weight, the weight of the world,
It's breakin' you down on your back like a boulder.
Before it's too late, get rid of it, girl,
Get it off of your shoulder.
I know you've been used,
But you gotta lose the weight of the world.


Calico Girl, Unknown
Where can I find her
Oh where can I find her
My calico girl


Superfreak, Rick James
She's a very kinky girl
The kind you don't take home to mother
She will never let your spirits down


I see these things, and I remember. She may have thrown sticks and stones and words at me, but against it all, she still loves me. I still love her. She’s still my best friend.

 
 
 
Daisy
08 July 2009 @ 01:13 am
I'm beginning to think I have a deep, subconscious, primordial fear of deer. This is rather odd, really, seeing as how I'm terribly fond of deer. In fact, they would probably wind up in my top ten or twenty favorite animals. But they just freak me the HELL out. For absolutely no reason. I seriously cannot logically answer the question "why do they scare you".

Granted, it's late and I've always had a wild imagination and the nighttime doesn't help that. But this is like, almost all the time. It's all very weird.
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Daisy
22 June 2009 @ 11:01 pm
She towered over me, her flesh melting off her face. Drips of lipstick still clung to what once were, no doubt, shapely lips. She was pale and flaking, her mouth turning yellow at the corners and her eyes drooping. I thought they were blue, but the color was so murky and faded it was impossible to tell. Old clothes hung to her small frame like rags, though it had once been a red dress of great worth. She seemed old and weary, shoulders hunched and eyes defeated, but still, she had that look in her eyes. She was out for blood, after my soul, and she would stop at nothing until she held my still beating heart in her cold hand.

I hated mannequins.

Uneasily eyeing the one right next to me and wondering what idiot set it up so that anyone looking at this display case would have the tall statue breathing down their neck, I finally turned away and tried to ignore her.

In the next week, I would be traveling to an out-of-town friend’s house, and I always enjoyed bringing her and the two other girls in her family little presents and the like. They had always been very welcoming and kind to me, and sent me a little graduation present. At the moment, I was thinking a cute little necklace would work for the youngest, but I couldn’t really focus on the jewelry selection with that dumb mannequin right on top of me.

I sent her another nervous, sideways glance. It felt like she was staring me, and with all that flaking paint and dried up color, she was downright scary.

Without thinking, I stuck my tongue out at her. Quick as a flash, in and out, and wouldn’t you know? I instantly felt a million times better. I had the feeling she was personally offended, but I didn’t really mind, since it had got the job done.

Finally able to resume my jewelry search in peace, I turned to do just that when I heard a smothered giggle. Instantly, I knew what had happened. I had been caught. My eyes widened as I slowly turned to face a sweet little old lady not two feet away from me, wearing an uncertain, but huge grin.

We stared at each other for a moment.

“I saw that,” she said with a grin, confirming my worst fears. She wouldn’t stop grinning, though, and soon enough I found myself grinning back at her even as my face flushed a dark red.

“She wouldn’t stop staring at me!” I protested with a laugh. “I had to do something!”

“It’s alright, dear,” the lady said, trying to comfort me with a pat on my back. “She is a rather frightening thing, isn’t she?” I nodded numbly, too embarrassed for words.

After another chuckle at my expense, she moved on to do her shopping, leaving me alone with the necklaces. My mind was far from little girls who loved all things having to do with pink and horses, though. Instead, I was looking at that blasted mannequin again, with the peeling skin and dead eyes.

I could have sworn she was laughing at me.

 
 
Daisy
16 June 2009 @ 12:36 pm
So I have orientation Thursday and Friday of this week. I'm leaving around six today to spend the night at a friend's house who is also attending UNT. They hosted a foreign exchange student from Norway this year, and the friend is going to be pretty distraught without her "sister" around, so I'm coming over early to cheer her up. Then early tomorrow, we're going to head into Denton and spend the night at her aunt's empty house. Then Thursday, orientation starts! I have to take a test first thing in the morning in order to be able to sign up for my classes, so wish me luck on that.

I have a lot of questions about orientation, but my friend and I are going to get together and consolidate our feces (hehe) before calling UNT and just asking them a ton of questions. They changed their email into an automated system now, so emailing is out of the question. It's a bit irksome, but also understandable. Their general application deadline was just yesterday, so I imagine they're swamped.

On Friday, the folks are driving up and we're going to spend a few days in Denton, sight seeing and getting a feel for the place. I'll be home for a few days after that, then I'm going to go spend a week at a friend's house out of town. Very excited about all of this!

It's my understanding that I may have some new people on this journal, so hi to everybody! Obviously, I'll be gone for the next two weeks, but then I'll be back in full swing to enjoy my lazy summer.

Now I just need to go wrangle up one more pair of jeans for the ride up there. Oh boy.
 
 
 
Daisy
14 June 2009 @ 02:48 am
Something I always promised I would flesh out, but then never did. I might as well put it here, so it's not wasted.

She liked to eat oranges, but was very particular in the way she consumed them...Collapse )

 
 
Daisy
05 June 2009 @ 11:28 pm
Aaand I'm graduated. Yay for me! I am officially a high school graduate. Now I feel like a time bomb that somebody froze. I'm still soaking it all in, I think.

Just because I've always enjoyed writing in this fashion, a few letters for those dear to me:

Dear You,
For various reasons, in my family, we have nicknames for all my friends. She's "the tall cute one with the cool name". She's "our future roommate-in-law". And you're "yenno, the one Daisy should have hooked up with!" Maybe, maybe not. Regardless of that, though, I have made a very important decision tonight--you and I aren't over. Not yet, anyway.

Dear You,
It's hard to say something about you. You've held me back and pushed me forward. Screwed me over and saved my butt. However we turn out, though, I think Chance said it better tonight: Live with no regrets. We only have one life. So, my dear friend, good luck, and love.

Dear You,
For some reason, it's very easy for me to take you for granted. It's a fault of mine, I know. Tonight, though, I remembered how much I love you, and why. I'm more and more thrilled with our decision to room together, and I just want you to know that I love you dearly.

Dear You,
Your friendship surprised me the most, but now I wouldn't give it up for the world. You are unassuming, logical, modest, level-headed, hilarious, witty, and amazing. Your friendship has helped me out so very much this past year and a half, and I have a feeling it will never die.

Dear You,
Even if you weren't there, I knew you were, in your own way. I have a feeling you and I will do many a great thing together.

Dear You,
I think you made me tear up the most tonight. Thank you SO much for slipping me that cord!

Dear You Three,
You're amazing. Thank you so much for coming out tonight, I loved it.


Okay, folks. It's late. Newly graduated student, out!