startled

startled. throttled. bottled.

supressed emotions bubble to the surface, startling me, shaking me. i wasn't even aware of them. i think that's what bothers me the most.

it makes me wonder...



what else is in there.


ghost

oneword: startled

i was startled this morning when i found out my g/f hit the power button to restart our computer that was in hibernate mode, and that completely effed the computer up. I may have also been startled when my cat busted my favorite coffee mug and almost ruined the other computer (thankfully the coffee missed and hit the ugly new bedskirt. its possible that i was startled to find my phone ringing with a call from my boss saying that i probably don't have a job anymore. or its possible that I sat down, opened a beer and freaked out all over the place. talk about a bad day.

gentle

the melody pulled me in then set me free, like the tide. over and over. ever so gentle the notes pushed and pulled and turned and guided my soul

oneword: gentle

gently, it rips you apart and keeps you awake. did you mess up somewhere along the way? did you forget something? where did you put whatever it might be? can you describe what it is that went missing? no, and it drives you to the brink of insanity. you can't describe it, but you feel it...missing...every morning when you wake up there's hole. it's all you can think about it, and you are falling through it, expecting the hard collision with the ground that is reality, but you keep floating, gently, noticing what's missing.

sigh...

sometimes I wonder where it went, or if it was here in the first place.

oneword: gentle

Gently, he stroked her hair, pulling back the pieces that had fallen over her blue eyes. She was ashamed to look him in the face, as if his gaze would break her. She was too delicate for this. Afraid, even. Scared that his love was too powerful, too overwhelming. His touch, though, triggered something inside her that made her feel as if nobody else would ever matter to him as much as she. It could have been hope. It could of been anything. But anything is better than the emptiness to which she had grown accustomed.

Someday, I'm hoping, she...will be me.

wordcount #8:it

that thing, the one thing. you can't describe it. you can only tell when its there, or when you are longing for it, waiting for it, wanting it so badly you think you just might actually burst from it. that it. you know the one.

oneword: path

What is it exactly that makes us choose one path over another? You are standing there at the fork in the road, and you choose. Then, you look back and think to yourself, why didn't I go down the other path? Where would I be now if I had? Would I be a happier individual? Or am I happier now? The answer to that one, I fear I will never truly know. It would have been impossible to go down that other path, or it could have been the best moment of my life. It was just a heartbeat away, I needed to reach out and grab my moment, but I didn't. The worst part about wondering is that you wonder if you will ever have the same opportunity again to reach out and grab your moment.

sigh.

wordcount #8: it

it is because when people ask me "if you had to only choose ONE of the things you are interested in to do every day," my answer is always the same. it is always "i can't imagine going a day without voluntarily examining human behavior and interactions." namely, analyzing myself and the people in my life; why we do things, where our feelings and actions lead us, how our relationships work, and what it all means on a higher, collective level.

it is always there. the only thing in me that never fades.

oneword: path

"i can teleport," i told them.

it's really the only way to explain how i am covering so much ground in so many different areas... seemingly simultaniously.

one of my bosses actually called me bohemian yesterday - without any tongue in cheek action at all. genuine.

... it may have been the best compliment of my life.

Wiki defines bohemianism:

"The term bohemian, of French origin, was first used in the English language in the nineteenth century to describe the untraditional lifestyles of marginalized and impoverished artists, writers, musicians, and actors in major European cities.

Bohemians were associated with unorthodox or antiestablishment political or social viewpoints, which were often expressed through non-marital sexual relations, frugality, and/or voluntary poverty."

hrmmmmmn.

path

the path of my deprivation leads from the point at witch I died inside and leads to the point where my vapid heart lies.

...

ha, ha. There's that lie/lay thing again. Maybe I got it right this time.

oneword: bulb

I'll let you in on a secret. It wasn't the onions that were making me cry over the stove the other night.

I just want to know why everything you actually mean to say has to stay hidden. Why I have to uproot a smile when we both know it's still going to be covered in dirt.

Where the hell are all the real people, with the real compliments, the real hugs, the real laughs? And why the hell can't I practice what I preach?

oneword: bulb

the light goes on, flick. an idea pops in, go, go, go. the flower gets planted. Wait. It'll grow. It'll go. Slow down and watch it. It'll come, I promise.

Oneword: Bulb

When I saw that the word for today was 'bulb,' I laughed.

I've been laughing a lot more lately, which is because I've been doing more things for myself. If I want sushi for dinner, then it will be on my plate. If I want to make iced coffee, then I will get everything set up at 2 am in the morning and hope there won't be any grains in my coffee the next morning. If I want to take dancing lessons, I will go every Sunday night even if I need to be up at 5:30 a.m. the next morning. If I want to say no, I will say no. If I want to run in a 5K, I will. If I want to have people over to watch The Office, I will have them over and we'll divulge on various unhealthy foods over random late-night chats WHILE watching my favorite show.

And all of this happened.

It's been all about me, and I'm pampering myself, but really...this is how it should have been from the very beginning. A bulb turned on a couple of weeks ago.

crown

upon the shelf, a dusty crown lay. Nobility shunned and discarded for with nobility came responsibility and duty... both binding substances

...

right quick, help a blogbrother out. Is it "lay" or "lie"... I suck with those two.

oneword: crown

a sign of kings, queens, and beauty pagent winnners....

OR...

one half of the biggest dental expense that one might ever have to pay for. without insurance, its even worse. stupid root canals. i am still paying off my crown because of the magical words...charge that please.

oneword: flight

with as many words as flight can be associated with, my brain rests on one...escape. running like the coward I feel like inside. i am ashamed of myself for having the thought, but tried and true, I am still here. i sometimes question if its because i want to be here, or if its the right thing, or if this is the right place for me. do i stay because i am afraid to leave, to be alone again? i can honestly say that is not the reason. i enjoy being alone. at night its a little hard sometimes, but other than that small amount of time, being alone is not scary at all for me.

part of me wants for my brain to settle on a different vision of the word. like freedom. similar to the wild mustangs, running wild and unbroken, running wherever they feel like because they can. but deep down, i know that is just not me.

wordcount #3- and

(shut up, i know i'm behind on these...!)

the beating of my heart matches the cadence of my baser instincts,
marching
ever closer
to some point when
i will give in and do something i regret.
mypausesseembreathless,
and my musings a little s cat tered,
but the one thing i do know,
is that i better not color in the lines anymore.

so i'll take my desires as they come,
because i'm trying to live my life with a little less structure,
and a little more ahhhh.

oneword: flight

i am afraid of things that i've never done. i feel like something big is missing, and if i could just put my finger on it, maybe i could set aside this overwhelming whirlwind of worry that keeps me up at night and makes me feel like no matter what do, i'm still the same old closeted failure. i want to be something more than what i am, but have no clue how to go about doing it.

oneword: flight

not my nature, no... to just take off. i'm not really good at sarcasm, either. i am ready to go at any moment. even i can't plan it. something inside me shakes and if i don't follow the rhythm, my words don't rhyme anymore...

wordcount #6: in

Inside...

Lives eternity--trapped, contained, restrained within the limits of human form.

In-between...

Endless love and frustrated humanity--lives people like me.

Indefinite...

I plow forward the only way I know how. Let's hope it all works out in the end.

oneword: flight

Wind whips through my hair. The road opens up before me. The questions, uncertainties, and difficulties grow smaller and smaller in the rearview.

Dave Matthews' "Where Are You Going?" comes on my radio.

I snap off the dial and kindly tell him to "Shut the hell up."

oneword: hill

as you stand at the bottom of this steep hill, you realize you are afraid. are you afraid of the steep hill, or is the steep hill your fear? is it the thing that is blocking you from where you want to be? are your hopes and dreams on the other side of the hill, or are they the hill? what are you so afraid of? failing, succeeding, or are you afraid that once you get what you want, by the time you get there, that you won't want it anymore because the journey there changed who you are forever? to be honest i am not sure what keeps me from taking he journey up the hill sometimes. maybe its sheer exhaustion from avoiding it.

hill

There's that hill again, I swear it's following me around. I mean, I walk up the damn thing. Then I slowly back away from it, and then I turn around and -boom- there it is again. Must be a ninja hill.

wordcount #7: that

restrictive though, these clauses may be, they point out that which belongs to you and that which was stolen by me. a thought that makes the wheels spin and juices drip, rich and thick honey stick goop that bulk packaging divided with each uneven scoop. fairness is not really the issue here, because giving and taking is a constant push pull and those who never demand this, that, or anything may be better off without wondering. the invitation looms overhead and whispers haunted nothings because no words are actually said.

FreeRice: an explanation

FreeRice is a kick ass website that donates rice to feed the hungry... as you play a word game!

A simple, effective, and seemingly productive way to help me prepare for the GRE's... and get some new word fodder for our little collection here.

So if oneword is turning tricks a little too slowly for your liking, feel free to challenge us with some of your FreeRice words... or any word, really, that comes to mind.

oneword: hill

roll me down these curves covered in stainless steel blades on parade; slicing my skin with every inch traveled in and over and through a lot more than any of us would like to admit. i am reminded that if you never reach the top, you don't get the view. but right now i have no use for climbing anything other than the trees i planted in my dreams some time ago, having ignored them in lieu of shiny, pretty things that tempted me with a love that may not really exist.

oneword: hill

"I bet you've never had to fight for anything in your entire life. I bet everything comes so easily to you. I bet you can turn mountains into mole-hills just by walking towards them."

This facade, this strong I-can-do-this-because-I'm-just-me front? Yeah. It's bullshit. I am getting too good at it.

So stop looking down at me when I fall. Stop telling me I'll get through it because of "who I am." You know nothing about me, and I'm not sure you can handle all of my secrets.

I've been abused, kicked around, cheated on, screwed over, and talked about more than I will ever let the world see.

oneword: hill

The air is crispy clean and the leaves are starting to bleed from their branches. I wrap my wool sweater tight around my body, trapping the heat from within, preparing for the windy chill to come. Step by step, I make my way upwards, feeling a healthy burn, a steady pulse, flow through my thighs.

A figure awaits, darkened by the backlit twilight sky. It lingers in obscurity. And I'm not sure whether to keep going forward or to turn and run away.

At the top of the hill, there is a figure. There is a shadow and a question. At the top of the hill, which is ever so close now, awaits a decision. Shifty and unpredictible.

But as nervous as I am, I keep stepping. I keep climbing. I am anxious and excited. I am nervous and confident. I am all sorts of mixed-up and clear all rolled into that wool sweater.

Something is waiting there. At the top of the hill.