Are People Good at Heart?

So today I was cleaning out a bunch of my old school stuff and came across some old papers I wrote. This one discusses whether people are inherently good or evil. I wrote this on May 27th, 2003. I was eleven years old. I'm copying this verbatim, so please don't judge me on my horrible spelling and appalling misuse of "weather." I was only eleven!

Good at Heart

I think that it depends weather people are good at heart or not. I believe that most people are, but a rare few truley do not have any goodness in them whatsoever. All bullies or mean cranky people have at least a little goodness in them. Weather the goodness someone has is a softness for something like animals or small children or a heart full of pure kindness doesn't matter as long as they have some goodness in them. The rare few that have no kindness are speacial. Speacial in a bad way, though it is not all their fault. Everybody in their lives has added a small bit of evil. For example the little old lady at the supermarket may make them angry which builds on their anger and meaness. We can not help but to feel sorry for them because no one is born bad. The worst person on Earth has the tinyest good inside. That makes us feel better but thinking about it the nicest person on Earth has the tinyest bit of evil. Nobody is pure and good but some are close to it. What is inside of your heart is affected by everyone you meet which is something you really can not help.

Also, here's a doodle I drew on the assignment:

So I wasn't the best writer eight years ago. I wasn't the best artist either, but that one's a bit trickier. If Picasso drew that same platypus-thing it would be worth millions. But I'm no Picasso. Anyways, what do you think? Little me, if you can look past the grammatical war-zone, made some good points. I know what I think about this topic now, but I want to hear from you. Are people good at heart? I'd love to hear your opinions!

One Gloomy Day

It was gloomy outside. The kind of gloomy that makes you want to sleep all day in order to avoid the gloom. Miserable. It was also Christmas Day. Something about that fact combined with the gloom just seems so ironically perfect in retrospect. But maybe that’s just me.

Christmas is something I’m contractually and morally obligated to slice right down the middle. Mother on one side, Father on the other. I’ve never been too particularly fond of this arrangement but we all have to take our lumps.

Anyways, I was bundled up, bearing horribly wrapped, half-assed gifts (which wasn’t really my fault. Dads are impossible to buy for) and stuffed into a way-too-small and way-too-hot car on the way to Christmas: Part 2, Father Edition. And then it happened.

Well, it didn’t really happen just like that. Slightly more process was involved. Really, the whole thing seemed to stretch out several minutes when, realistically, it probably took a whole three seconds to hit that car. We had a green invitation ahead and failed to notice the idiot who was in the process of flagrantly disregarding traditional traffic rules. I say we like I had a part in smashing into that car too. But really, I wasn’t driving. The most I could do was sit there. Helpless. And watch.

I knew that we were going to crash. I knew it before anyone even noticed the other car running the red light. I knew it before I looked up from my book. Before I felt the brakes grind against the ground.

People say that right before a crash, your life flashes before your eyes.

Mine didn’t.

Here’s what did go through my mind:

Something’s wrong. Various distances and speeds considered, we will crash. We’re going to crash. He’s not swerving. Doesn’t he see what’s happening? The brakes aren’t working. We will hit that car. We will hit that car fast. Straight and fast. I might die. This isn’t happening. Was that a gun? What happened to my ears? I can’t feel my face. I’m bleeding…

I never panicked. I didn’t freak out, scream, cry, pray or cuss. I just watched. I didn’t think about who I would miss or who would miss me if I died. I didn’t spit out some splendid, well-crafted words of wisdom to be remembered by. I didn’t do anything. My life didn’t flash before my eyes.

But what if it had? Would it even have been worth watching?

I hope that it would have been. That whatever happens in my life, whatever I do, I hope it’s meaningful enough to remember before I die. But I’ll never know. I don't remember a whole lot of the immediate aftermath of the accident but I’ll never forget not knowing.

People say that right before a crash, your life flashes before your eyes.

They were wrong.

Wave Pools, Lightning Bugs, Life, etc

Have you ever been in a wave pool?

They’re a lot of fun. I love them. I really love them. They’re probably my favorite part of water parks. But that’s not what I really want to talk about tonight.

Can we talk about life? More specifically, the wave pool-ish effect of life. For those out of touch with their inner wave pool, a wave pool is essentially a giant pool. With waves. You hang out in this big pool, chilling and doing normal pool activities and then suddenly a huge wave attacks. Over and over and over.

There’s a feeling that comes with happiness. A big ball of energy. All of a sudden, you’re alive. You can SEE. Everything makes sense. You feel like it’s all been worth your while. You don’t mind waking up before the sun. You greet every miserable, forsaken rain drop as an old friend, but you don’t mind their presence. You don’t mind anything. It can happen with love, friendship, success or for no reason at all. The only thing that’s important is that is does happen. Everyone deserves to be happy, right?

It always fades though. The sun that once illuminated you becomes a lightning bug, flickering with life. Fireflies don’t last long in captivity though and we are generally too selfish to let them out of our jars. So we keep them. Cling to their last effort of light until it fades away into death.

I guess we need it. The cycle of life and death. High and low. They keep us in balance. Without sad we wouldn’t know happy and all that junk. But it sucks. No one wants sad. Not when they’ve had happy before. That’s what happens in the wave pool. You’re in the pool thinking This is great! I’m having so much fun in this pool! when the first wave sends you tumbling towards the bottom, frantically trying to paw your way back to the surface gasping for breath. There’s something so life-threateningly real about nearly drowning. It wakes you up. You fight to stay above the surface, straining against the waves’ influence. You fight for your life. And then you get it. You figure out the pattern. You know how to beat it, how to stay afloat. Safe. And it’s fun. It’s a blast! You got it. You conquered that wave. And that one and that one. That feeling of overcoming obstacles creates happiness. A feeling of progress. Of doing something different and exciting for once.

We all know that nothing good lasts, though. The waves die out. They lose their light. And then you’re back in the pool. The wave-less pool. This time, though, the pool is almost boring. It’s nowhere near as scary/exciting/awesome as the waves. Once you have experienced the waves, a world without waves is dull. Yet we stay in. Why? Because, in the end, more waves are only a few minutes away.

In which I create a Horcrux

Horcrux: an object in which a dark wizard or witch has hidden a fragment of his or her soul for the purpose of attaining immortality.

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time (or actually just a few years ago), there lived a girl. Her name was Tori (totally coincidental). One day, Tori realized that she had too many scrap bits of paper lying around, cluttering her castle (because this is a fairytale, right?). She loved writing down tales of her adventures, but it was just so messy. She decided to do something about it. So Tori gathered up all her favorite works and summoned the magical elf scribe…

Okay this is getting a little ridiculous. But seriously. I had sooooo many notebooks, papers, napkins, and random hunks of cardboard (because paper is soo hard to find) just full of stuff. Poems, stories, essays, monologues, limericks, just everything you could imagine. And I just got so sick of it being there. So I typed everything up into my nice, shiny new laptop and got rid of the mess.*

Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid freaking idiot.

That was my soul. I gave a part of my soul to my computer that day. And it was dumb because electronics break and can’t be trusted. So it’s gone. My poor soul. But I’m over it. That’s the point of the horcrux, right? You give up part of your soul to protect the rest of you. You become stronger as two. The only thing is, I lost it. Harry Effing Potter destroyed my horcrux** and now I’m left defenseless. Vulnerable. Able to be killed.

So it sucks. I lost some soul. But I still have my original soul, it’s not going anywhere. Now I can make a new horcrux. It’ll even probably be better than the first.

I guess what I’m trying to get at here is that you can split your soul apart and put it all out there just to be ripped to shreds and destroyed. You’ll be defenseless and weak for a while but as long as you can fight hard enough to stay alive, it’ll be okay. You just make another horcrux. Hell, make ten. Spread them out far and wide for people to find. Some might be broken, others cherished and protected. As long as those pieces of you are out there, you are connected to the world. Immortal. Strings of self that may be severed but are always replaced. As long as your soul exists outside of yourself, you are safe. You have a purpose. A meaning.

That’s why I write. That’s why this matters.

 *Unfortunately this process did not involve elves.

**I love Harry Potter. Even if he destroyed my (Voldemort’s?) soul.

My sweet garden of shame, blame and anything else you can name

you say my eyes

they mesmerize

but you fail to see

the lies that lie

in the deep dark depths of the black

to never come back

the endless pit

in which all hope is lost

frosted over with a hand drawn smile

was this really worth your while?

there’s no cherry on top

can’t you just

STOP

i’m not your dream

this dessert’s missing the whipped cream

still you scream out to me

but even i hold out on me

never to see what’s really there

like i care

you don’t know what i do

how i think or feel

you don’t have a clue

of what’s really real

all that’s known is the reality of real

its presence haunting you

and me too

tend to the pain

plant, water, grow the grain of hurt

nourish and wait

but let’s get something straight

there’s nothing to gain

in my garden of shame

the blame has spread

long gone

can’t retrieve it with a hoe

but in my head

i know

this blame is mine

it has been all along

From August 2010

Old post from BEFORE that I decided was decent enough to stick around through the AFTER.


I feel like guilty pleasures are horribly misnamed. That would imply that you feel guilty about something that gives you pleasure. I came to realize a while ago that I don't really feel guilty or embarrassed or whatever about anything I enjoy. Somewhere out there, someone else likes doing it too. So no biggie, right?

It is hard though, thinking about my guilty pleasures. They're mostly just things I like to do, but that would make them just likes, not guilty pleasures. So what exactly is a guilty pleasure if you don't feel guilty about it? So I came to the conclusion that guilty pleasures are things I like, that most people don't know I like. As in, if you aren't my friend, you have no clue I like it. For example, it would be dumb to say playing flute is a guilty pleasure, because most people know I'm in band. I feel like guilty pleasures are more like small, stupid things in life that make me really happy when they don't exactly have any reason to. So that's the definition I'm going by.

That being said, here's a list of the petty things that make me really happy.

That really excited feeling I get when I listen to a fantastic new song by my favorite band or a song that I used to love but forgot it even existed. When suddenly, the song just clicks and I automatically know every lyric and it feels like a tight little ball of energy and joy that sits just over my heart and glows in time with my heart, which just happens to be beating out the tempo of the song. I love that.

I really enjoy painting my nails. It's therapeutic in a way.

Coffee; but like when I'm out walking on a brisk fall night with a book tucked under my arm while drinking it and knowing I could just curl up into a pile of crunchy leaves under a streetlight on a deserted road somewhere and just read my heart out and it'll be there to keep me warm. Or gulping it down harsh and black during a serious conversation about the future and life and personal stuff when the bitterness of the coffee exactly matches the complexity of my feelings and relationships.

Harry Potter. Seriously, I wouldn't be who I am without those books.

When I'm talking to someone trying to explain a really complex thing that can't really be explained and they just get it. It's beautiful when that happens.

Going exploring. Mostly when I find something or end up somewhere crazy cool and just have a blast. Just going out and doing something that I have no idea what I'm getting myself into but it turns out to be the best night I ever had. Or when I find a really pretty spot in the woods that completely inspires me. Specifically, I adore trashy little diners. Seriously, talk to the people who work in them. They are some of the coolest people you will ever meet. Those are the people who are in the dumpster of life and they fight through that every day just to survive.

Books that are extremely entertaining and enjoyable, yet believable and somehow, through the laughter and tears, manage to teach me a little about life. Mostly John Green novels.

Newsies. I really really love that movie.

M*A*S*H. Most kids my age have never even heard of it and honestly, my heart breaks a little every time someone looks at me confused when I mention it. That show is my life. I am going to marry someone exactly like Hawkeye one day and it will be the happiest day of my life. The ability of that show to be hysterical but so sad and emotional and real is phenomenal. When I think about it, I just want to cry because I love it so much. My dad was never really there for me like most dads but the one thing he did do was introduce me to this show and it changed my life. That show is my connection to him and that just makes it so much better.

Cuddling. To explain how I feel about this in song form: Isn't it funny how the more we kiss, the less I really feel? Just lay beside me tonight so I can feel something real. Like a heartbeat. Or a whisper. A soft breath. Or a shiver.

What makes you happy?

Hi Bloggy, did you miss me?

I missed you. I feel like I've stopped doing everything I love in college. I made you almost a year ago to try to keep in touch with myself throughout college. Well, I guess you can say I've failed at that remarkably. I'm sorry. I haven’t written anything in months. I used to dance a lot but my tibia (tibias? Can you pluralize tibia?) are going to snap in half anytime now. I can’t even walk up stairs anymore. I go days at a time without touching my guitar. I just feel so disjointed and confused. I guess I’ve just been regretting some past decisions and it’s really eating me up. But that's for some other time. So what’s new, Bloggy? I want to tell you all about the exciting things in my life, but there really aren’t any. Maybe that sounds pathetic? I mean I even think it sounds pathetic but maybe that's just because I know I am pathetic. But its whatever, you know? I've gone through and cleansed you of all the half-hearted (and slightly embarrassing) attempts to maintain you.


Like this:

I would jump in the kiddie pool. Year-ago me was so embarrassing. Really, I'm sparing everyone by taking some of that stuff down.

I have a few old things I'll probably keep around for a while - pulling them up in old word docs every now and then and debating whether I should share them. But I think a much better plan is just starting new. 


It's just you and me now, Bloggy. You've been so faithful to me, now it's my turn to make it up to you.