No Resolution. A Revolution.

I have never been able to keep up with a diary. Possibly this is because my day to day life is not worthy of reading, in all honesty. I am just like any other working joe out there, hell bent on making a living and a name for myself. I want more. That seems to be my problem. I want more, so fast that reality can't even catch up. Just like a woman, though.

I have been the person that makes conversations end if they are about the end of the world. Firstly, the thought of us all dying is quite an overload and is too heavy of a topic to tread lightly upon. Secondly, we are now in the year 2012. This is the year that our generation has dubbed our last based on things that are not proven to be legitimate.

Now, I will give that even as a skeptic, it does get my brain stirring. If this is our last year to live, then this is our last year to LIVE.


I want to make 2012 a year to tell about, if we make it into 2013. Asteroids, Mayan calendars, drunk drivers, gunshots, terminal illness, spontaneous combustion, what have you. We all have a year to live. This is my mindset. I am your doctor, and I have given you a year to live. Do your best to make it count.

From now until the day the year ends or we die, I will write about my quest to do what people are always preaching: Make every day count.

At 5:00 p.m. today, I have already taken my first step. Spreading the word that it is paramount that we each do this for ourselves. We could have another 80 years left in us. We could also not have another. Take head, friends! It is our life! We are our shepherd. Lead yourself to where you want to be.

Focus, negative focus.

I have too much pride, and too little patience. How can I switch that?
I'm tired of so many things - I am tired of rehashing things. In an argument just say what you want once. Once is all it takes. It saves time and my nerves. Apparently my parents have that one thing in common.

Sheesh. I'm zonked. I had my last day of training at Outback today, and come home to face the wrath of a man scorned by his girlfriend's rantings. Ranting on how I left my sister's clean laundry out. I had to go to work. At least it was clean. I could have left her grimy garments laying about for all to see and smell. But, that wasn't the case. Let's all just focus on the negatives.

Wow, the last two blogs of mine are on the arguments I have had with my father. Which, is oddly surprising given that I never argued with my Dad until I moved in with him. We've only had the two arguments that I've documented. I suppose writing is my medium of coping.

There is just something so soothing about the fast paced button pressing that helps me rant and rave. It's like with each touch of a key, I release a small increment of stress through each tip of my fingers. Pens, pencils, markers, crayons, whatever you have just don't do the trick for me as easily. I think it is because my hand begins to cramp up which is just adding to the irritation I already have.

I swore to myself I wouldn't let this be like a diary - that I wasn't going to publish my personal feelings that happen in my everyday life. But, screw it. I'm withholding the more personal things, the things I tell to my close friends. The things I don't even tell them. This is just the outer layer of feelings I am willing to share with anyone who asks, even if she turned out to be Rita Skeeter (for all of you Harry Potter fans out there.)

Give me a break, will ya? Yeah, world, I am talking to you. A little mercy and weed will mellow me out, not that I want the latter. Legal or not, I don't want it... same with prostitution - just because it is legal in Switzerland doesn't mean I would want it or desire to do it. Switzerland never picks sides on anything, apparently. But I will be damned if some TN authoritative figure tells me I can't live with 8 other ladies in the same house. Brothel Law, my toe.

Oh my freaking gob, i need to decamp.

Current Updates: I start my job at Outback on Thursday, I just downed a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper, and I'm going to start reading Harry Potter 6 soon - I left off after reading the first 5, now I feel pressed to read the 6th before the film comes out.

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I sat in Panera Bread last night trying to dwell in silence in my cafe latte cover over my own family inflictions. I see a group of girls sit in the two person booth directly ahead of me. Four girls in a two person booth. Mind you, they weren't whales so it was possible, but I feared, due to the proximity between each girl, that ones stringy hair may fall into another's mocha frappe. Wouldn't that be a tragedy? A clear disturbance for their extremely insightful conversation. "Jaime, you have good legs. My mom called you 'beautiful' earlier." "She didn't!" (in an exasperated tone) "As a matter of fact, she did. She said, 'My, look how nice and beautiful Jaime looks today.' Okay, so I added the beautiful part, who can bla...LIKE Oh my freaking gob! Watch out! Your beautiful golden locks are marinating in my mocha frappe!"---- I mean get your greedy hands on a hair tie, ladies, if you are going to be sitting thigh to thigh. It makes us unnoticed observers nervous and creates unnecessary scenarios in our heads.

The place was closing, which is why I felt I had chosen my stage appropriately. I didn't want boisterous noise, or I would have gone to Applebees. I didn't want galling girl gab or I would have invited my sister. No, I wanted my space. I wanted to get away, you see. To sit on my own with a caffeinated beverage and a book. David Sedaris accompanies me on my many escapes. My father, my sweet sweet daddy, had yelled at me. I don't take kindly to raised voices - It's a sure fire way to overreact my tear ducts. Slap me twice, pull my hair one by one, toss acid onto my foot, SURE. These things are fair game, I can handle it. Yell and belittle me? Call Noah, a flood's coming.

Don't get me started.

My first post. My first rodeo with the world of blogging. How is it that someone who enjoys writing and spilling her guts is just at this point of getting a blog? I could be wrong, so feel free to correct me if it is so, but this is a kind of internet journal? I have a journal. It's black, Moleskin. It's my private thoughts, my secured desires, my less than publishable ideas of stories and weak attempts at poetry. I never wanted a blog. I saw it almost as an ostentatious means of publishing your life. For example, the Facebook option to text a new status from your phone. Seriously? Samantha Brooke Pratt is home. Samantha Brooke Pratt is drinking water, taking a bite of a wheat thin, and taking another drink of water. Samantha Brooke Pratt is driving down the road. Samantha Brooke Pratt is at the mall. Samantha Brooke Pratt is awake. You look at these people's walls and it's a scroll of their needless updates about what is going on in their lives every 17 minutes. No mystery. No questioning. You're life is an open book...err a flowing cornucopia of status updates. Be honest with yourself, it's a plea for attention. A plea for someone or a number of people to know that you are busy or quite the opposite. Take a second, take a breath, and hit the backspace when you start typing the new status that notifies all of your facebook friends that you are "chillin'." Chances are,the people who need to know what you are doing already know. So save my newsfeed from trivial updates.
Which brings me back to my point about the pretentious belief that people would want to know what is going on in my life, my thoughts on various subjects, or whatever. Yet, after contemplating on this for a while I realized that this is a way for me to get my thoughts out there. The ones that I want out there. And for those who care to read, and for those who don't, I take full responsibility of how my words affect your opinion of me. This will be a journal of sorts, but also a venting strategy from my day residue. We all need to vent. Read it or not, this is all for my benefit.