Dark Center of the Universe

"He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you."
— Bob Marley

Alternately,


"You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She's not perfect - you aren't either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she's not there."
— Bob Marley

Echo http://themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her

Copy/pasted in case that site ever goes down.

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

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Posted via LjBeetle

I have an itch to write something, but no prompt, no real drive. Just that annoying itch.

School starts in a month. I need to go in and pick up the course book, then figure out my courses, then go in and change my major and get my classes approved. I am feeling so lazy and I hate it.

I caught myself a boy. His name is Douglas. More to come. I'm not used to having this much collarbone at eye level. *wink*

Had a BBQ last night. It was very good- better than I was expecting, actually. I have oodles of food left over, and tonight I'm trying to decide between Doritos and Oreos for dinner. I need to remember that shredded beef is always an awesome idea as long as I have tupperware and hamburger buns.

At this precise moment, I am moving my flip flop on the ends of my toes while watching Jurassic Park at work. I'm fighting an unholy desire for chocolate, and trying to decide what medications I have that can fight post nasal drip. My throat feels disgusting.

I just got three Netflix movies in: The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, Transformers 2, and Skinwalkers. I need to hurry up and watch one, probably tonight, so Addie can get her disk in. I'll probably dig in to some leftover junk food and watch one when I get home

I'm hunting for a new cell phone because my current one (a Nokia Xpressmusic) has been randomly losing signal and battery life. I wanted a Samsung Highlight, but I'd have to scrounge $60 all in one go. This is really not feasible for me right now and it annoys me; it seems like it should be an easy thing.


I am so sleepy. G'night.

Hi. I'm twenty six years old, an American, and I hate politics. I hate making up my mind about major issues partly because I see so many sides to everything. Also, I know that when people realize that I am not always as flexible as I seem, they tend to withdraw. I hate that. I am able to hold my own opinion and let you have your own, whether it differs or not.

Recently I've been thinking about how I feel about gay marriage. I've never counted myself as a homophobe (I'm not prejudiced! I hate everyone equally!) and I'm not personally affected by it, so I haven't really had a reason to think about it. I am very live-and-let-live about people who live differently from myself. I just don't care. That being said, I can't say that I'm for government legalized gay marriage. Now, this is not to say that I have a problem with long-lasting same-sex relationships. I don't, I really don't. I just don't think the government should mandate marriages. That should be the jurisdiction of the church, and only the church. I'm an Agnostic on a good day, so I don't worry about sin and blasphemy too much. I don't believe in marriage, I don't believe that God has much to do in everyday affairs. In my own life, I'm hoping to find someone I can live with and like for the rest of my life, but I don't want to get married. The only thing that remotely bothers me about this is the lack of insurance and spousal rights, which I believe should be regulated by the government. My suggestion is simple; let the government have civil unions, and let the churches have their marriage. Let there be two separate fusions, one in the eyes of government, and one in the eyes of God. If your God (or the people who say they know your God) doesn't want you to get married, then either convert to a group who is more accepting, or don't get married. You choose. More people would be happy this way, fewer problems would arise, and everyone could have their own little camps.

"The land of the Free, and the home of the Brave."

Start letting other people have freedom, and stop being such a pansy when it comes to things that are different.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac, On the Road


"Do you have any recurring dreams? If so, what do you think it says about your personality? How about your unconscious hopes, fears, and desires?"
^^possible prompt in a bit when I'm a bit more level.



So, after my first dentists appointment, I started having more and more problems with my tooth, so they got me in for a temporary filling. He numbed my gums with three shots of anesthetic and dug out the old filling, and prepped the now gaping hole in my mouth for a new plug. From a little scoop, he stuffed goo back into the void, looking satisfied. When he was done, the hygienist removed the bib and I sat up.
I asked, 'If this supposed to still hurt?"
"How much does it hurt?"
"It hurts. Like pushing, still. Like nothing changed."
"On a scale from 1 to 10, what number would it be?"
"6," I said, making the comme-si comme-ca hand gesture. "7 when I move."
He looked at me, dismayed. "I was hoping the temporary filling would be okay until June. We'll need to do a root canal now. Do you know how that works?"
I nodded. The term hadn't sunk in. Root canal. Digging into the center of the tooth and cutting the nerves out of them. I knew the idea, but hadn't connected it with the concept of pain. Mom had a root canal back when she still had her uppers. I lay back down on the chair and felt myself tilt back upside down.
"You're going to feel me take this out," he said, gathering his tools.
As his hands reentered my mouth, I did. The anesthesia in my gums was wearing off, and I could feel pain as his little digger tool would touch them. This was enough for me to waggle my feet to distract myself, but not enough to vocalize. I would rate this a 6, maybe 7.
"Ok, good. Now, you're going to feel a bit of a pinch when I numb the inside of your tooth. Maybe even pain, but it'll set in soon."
I felt the needle in my tooth, and announced a vowel, moving my feet some more. My flip flops dangled on my toes. My arms had been clasped over my ribcage and I could feel myself slipping, so I settled onto the arms of the chair. The dentist slid over and asked the hygienist for his saw tool. He used a different term, but I got the idea of the workings. Two images entered my head as she left to get the tool. One was of a long strand of floss slowly cutting through the bars of a prison, and the other was a huge four letter word in sticky wet pink letters. Pulp.
I let my eyes gaze up at the yellow light and felt him remove the first nerve. There was no pain, but I could feel a sudden absence of something. The hygienist reached over with a rag and took the missing nerve as I exhaled. The dentist went in for another piece of nerve and suddenly every pain I have ever experienced in my life was dwarfed. The edges of my vision turned red and I let out a sob. Every muscle in my body tensed as I cried out. In the corner of my eye I saw the hygienist jump, and in the other, the "oh shit" look on the dentists face. He removed the offending tool, and refilled the anesthetic, saying something about two nerves in that tooth. I couldn't hear anything at this point, I was writhing in pain on the chair. My hands searched for the ends of the arms of the chair and I could feel my knuckles turn white. A rag touched my cheek and I realized the hygienist was wiping away tears even though I was still sobbing. I felt another pinch inside the tooth when the dentist shot me one, two more times. The rest of the procedure was uneventful, save for my inability to stop shaking my white-knuckle death grip on the chairs. He cut last of the nerves out and refilled the tooth one last time before allowing me up. I wobbled, sniffling to the front desk, where everyone suddenly looked very busy. I was to be nice to the tooth, no hot or cold for a while, and not to be weirded out by the filling stuff on the inner side of the tooth. The receptionist made my new appointment for the 9th, and I walked to my car and went home.
Later I told my mom the story. She promptly whipped out her phone and asked the dentist for a prescription for Valium for the day of the next visit. It was granted.
And now I never want to see the dentist again. The end.



Finished Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. It was okay. I like her humor most of the time, but it doesn't translate to book form well. Also finished Stephen King's Just After Sunset. It was acceptable, but nowhere near as awesome as his older work is.
Now I have Jack Kerouac's On the Road, which, in my drug-fueled daze, I misnamed as The Road. The Road is another book on my list that I haven't purchased yet, by Cormac McCarthy that I plan on reading soonish.

I have little time in the morning to do much of anything, much less what I want, so I'm heading to sleep now. Gnight all.

I have a lot of crap I need to read. Here it is, in order of importance.

Reading List:
Chelsea Handler- Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang
Jack Kerouac- The Road
Stephen King- Just After Sunset
Teresa Medeiros- After Midnight
Teresa Medeiros- Yours Until Dawn
Machiavelli- The Prince
Chaucer- Canterbury Tales


(Hopped on a painkiller- Yesterday I lost a filling and I have a month until my dentist appointment. I don't think I'm going to make it.)

I hate being in this mood.

It's familiar. This is warm wind carries nostalgia, tobacco smoke and humid kisses to my bare shoulders.

This is a calm before something large. I don't know what it is, but I know that it's coming.

I feel like a shaken soda in a can on the shelf. I'm popping inside.


No, really. I was sitting on the front porch smoking my celebratory cigar for my passed (I'm 90% sure) classes and realized that the air felt familiar. Four years ago, in 2006, I felt the same wind while downtown. I would wander the streets alone, unarmed, in my pajamas, or simply drive to the Gypsy for microwaved apple pie and chocolate milk. If I had money, I would probably be there now.

I need to sleep, but I feel like I need to write something. Hopefully this will be the happy medium.

G'night.

I'm sentimental
So I walk in the rain
I've got some habits
Even I can't explain
I go to the corner
I end up in Spain
Why try to change me now?

I sit and daydream
I've got daydreams galore
Cigarette ashes
There they go on the floor
I go away weekends
And leave my keys in the door
Why try to change me now?

Why can't I be more conventional?
People talk
And they stare
So I try
But that can't be
Cuz I can't see
My strange little world
Just go passing me by

Let people wonder
Let 'em laugh
Let 'em frown
You know I'll love you
Till the moon's upside down
Don't you remember
I was always your clown
Why try to change me now?

Why can't I be more conventional?
People talk
And they stare
So I try
But that can't be
Because I can't see
My strange little world
Just go passing me by

So let people wonder
Let 'em laugh
Let 'em frown
You know I'll love you
Till the moon's upside down
Don't you remember
I was always your clown
Why try to change me
Why would you want to change me
Why try to change me now?

I'm not an atheist and I don't think I can call myself a pantheist. We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library filled with books in many different languages. The child knows someone must have written those books. It does not know how. The child dimly suspects a mysterious order in the arrangement of the books but doesn't know what it is. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being toward God.
—Albert Einstein