So, take that look out of here, it doesn’t fit you, because it’s happened doesn’t mean you’ve been discarded…

“Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can’t stay here with every single hope you had shattered”
-‘In a Big Country’, by Big Country. 

Why, hello there.

I want to start this entry off by saying that I’m not sure how much time I have, due to my mom wanting to sleep on the downstars futon, which happens to be only a room away, and she doesn’t want me keeping her awake. From what mom has said, my dad has a problem with some of his nerves that can make him twitch while he sleeps, and mom apparently can’t get to sleep with all that going on.

Anyway, I would like to press the entry on while I still have ample time to get across what I want to get across.

My life has been going rather well lately, and except for a few rows (arguements) with the parents, I have been getting along with them as well as I will let myself, my opinion of them being what it is.

That opinion, should any of you be curious is a strange, mixed one. On one hand, I am thankful for what they’ve given me and done for me, but on the other hand, I simply cannot feel love for them. If they weren’t my parents, I imagine I would never want to associate with them.  This doesn’t make me an ungrateful little wench (as my mother sometimes likes to refer to me), or a disrespectful little bitch (dad’s, shall we say, affectionate term); it simply means that I am telling the truth. I feel that pretending to feel differently is actually more disrespectful than just being straight out with them and telling them my opinion.

Yes, parents should be respected, but I feel there is a line one can cross between caring for your child and being downright overbearing and controlling. Yes, you have experienced things in  your years on this earth that, as a young adult, I have miles to go before stumbling upon. This does not mean, however, that a parent always knows what’s best, and their word should be followed blindly, with no regard to one’s personal convictions and gut instincts.

I suppose I find myself with the pangs of young adulthood; I am 20 years old, and therefore, am extremly eager to start living on my own terms, in my own apartment, with my own job, paying for my own things. Dependence is easier, but at what cost? Sacrificing one’s primal desire to fend for themselves?

My parents claim I would not last a week on my own; well, thank you, dear mum and dad, for having so much confidence in me; although I can hardly blame them.

I haven’t exactly had the most exemplary record. I will even go so far to say that I have been extremely foolish; that someone upstairs must be paying great attention to my blunders, for there are so many things that could have gone terribly wrong. One such incident, barely passing a class I needed to graduate High School.

That is but one passage in a long volume of facts that support my plentiful blunders. Even though I have said before that my lesson was learned, and I knew what to do.

I didn’t know then; plain and simple. One can call it bigheaded, arrogant, or just plain stupid, should that be their desire.

All those other pseudo wake ups couldn’t hold a candlestick up to my awareness now.

I KNOW what I have done wrong, and I know what does not work when trying to correct said problem. I have to do things differently, I realize that.

No longer will I be a slave to my depression, social blunders, or anything of the sort.

No longer will I have adversity piled upon me only to crumble underneath the avalanche.

Along with all the self discovery comes another startling realization; knowing when to condede defeat. Such with my current pseudo romantic happening.

Don’t see things that aren’t there. Don’t make yourself “feel” false things. Don’t desperatly want to cling to just anyone, because you’re still feeling the pain from the LAST vampiric bite that Fate gave you.

Chalk this one up to experience. Next time, you’ll be ready.

The next time comes. After a whole lot of escapades and trampled on feelings, that dreaded phrase returns.

Well, you’ll just have to chalk that one up to experience.

I thought that’s what the FIRST time was for; to get experience, to prevent this sort of thing.

As frustrating as it gets chalking every single bloody new blunder up to experience, there really isn’t anything else one can do.

I deserve some points, too. Surely “Experience” has had it’s fair share; my mind wants a go at it.

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