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Being Apart and Retrouvailles


Retrouvailles [French]

The Happiness of meeting again after a long time

There are lots of ways that people can be separated. Whether “separate” meaning ending of a relationship, friendship, or bond; or meaning separated by distance and time rather than breaking off that relationship, being apart is painful.

I’ve had friends all over the world, some which I’ve been able to see yearly or more and others that I have never seen.

I have friends I’ve grown up with that became the closest and most important people in my life graduate high school and go far away for college. It hurt to be apart from them. It hurt to lose the physical connection we had and to lose the fulfilling meetings we used to have regularly. But we had retrouvailles when we were finally able to get together during summer, winter, and spring breaks.

Separation changes relationships and changes people. Communication and visiting become more special, but also more difficult. Talking to one another can become a chore, or become monotonous because the same questions are always being asked. “How was your day?” “What did you do?” “How is everyone back home?” “How is school?” “What are your classes like?”‘How was work?”. After a while it feels like there is nothing more to say over the phone or via text.

It feels like the distance between the two of you is prying a wedge between you even more than you thought it would.

happinessisexpensive

It’s costly on everyone in many ways. Seeing friends means gas money, spending money for activities, and food. Seeing friends means a plane ticket home or to them, expenses of travel and the like.

Being apart from friends means you might make new friends and lose those friends, or the flux of new friends is whittled down to the ones that you actually like talking to you, rather than the ones which are just convenient to converse with. The difference between a study buddy and a real pal. It costs time and effort to be happy, to stay happy, and to preserve the happiness that you have with those you love most in the world.

The hardest part about these expenses, is making sure they are worth it, and remain worth it.

convenient

Something being worth your time is far from something which is just convenient. Although, convenience does assist in keeping things that are worth your time.

Convenience is having a neighbor that you can barrow things from politely and they have the same relationship with you, but you wouldn’t invite them over for a heart-to-heart about your dying uncle and the struggles of cancer in your family.

The kind of person you invite over for that serious conversation who thinks you are worth their time is the friend that maybe it isn’t all that convenient for them to see you. That’s why it is special when you see each other, because when you do, both of you have planned that chat, that cup of tea or coffee, that special meeting spot, or the favorite seats in your living room. The date’s been on your calendar and it has been something the two of you texted about for weeks. Making sure both could be there around the same time, prepared and with lots to say.

But also with this best friend, you don’t always need something to talk about. Silence can convey what you need it to as well. Because sometimes all you can say is “I’m so glad you are here,” with me because I need you and you are worth it and I love being with you because I love you. 

And you know they are thinking the same thing and don’t need to say it.

coolshit

Harmony in the those moments of retrouvailles.

I will apologize to my reputation.


I haven’t written for awhile.

Why I haven’t written:

1. My schedule.

2. Facebook is distracting.

3. I have been writing a lot of songs and a lot of papers, so my motivation has been low.

4. Boyfriends are time consuming.

5. I eat my weight in chocolate instead.

6. Sometimes I don’t have appropriate or even slightly interesting things to write about… or at least that I could formulate into something coherent for third party readers to understand about my universe.

7. I am insane.

8. It’s kinda late, I should probably go to bed and stop this..

9. Oh yeah… I have homework still. Fuc– I mean flying Unicorns. 

10.Whenever I get the chance to finally write my brain starts shutting down.

11. …or remembering what it should actually be doing.

12….like studying for that exam on Saturday. Yeah… that might be smart.

13. I will shut up now.

Goodnight my invisible readers….ethereal internet surfers.

 

 

 

 

Frank Iero


Two days ago, I think it was, I was on Facebook perusing the news feed, when I saw a post from the super star I subscribed too. He wrote, “How many people cried to this song?” and under was a link to one of his band’s songs “Sing”. I commented below, “I cried while singing.” I wasn’t expecting him to actually respond, he did though. After a small comment conversation, I posted on his wall, and then made my status say I was talking to him, and we talked for some time…

Frank Iero, you are amazing, a true artist, and you inspire me.

Though, my conversation was trivial, and virtual, I really enjoyed it. My mother thinks I’m crazy, but sing my nick name literally means “Crazy but likable” I know I chose right to name myself that…

Today was the last day of New Hope Tutorials, and Mr. Teacher is going to read my short story about Arachibutyrophobia in the next few days. (And I spelled that with out googling it, and google can be both a verb and a noun, says Mr. Teacher.)

Merry Christmas Readers! And Happy New Year!

Hey there! Care for Screamo-JazZ?


I’ve been listening to Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack. I really am in love with Andrew Lloyd Webber. He’s a wonderful composer.

I’m reading Frankenstein. Its very…ah well psychotic. At least the main character is over working himself, and then not eating, and the lack of nutrients is making him psychotic and I think he hallucinates a lot… but this is probably not the conclusion literally professor’s give. This is my realization and summery of the sad and demented mind of Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

Here is a story I wrote for my British Literature class; one of the most difficult class offered too 10th graders, its college  prep or extreme honors to a private school.

THE SCULPTED ANGEL a memoir

He was an illusion of an angel, a stone white angel, but no less a divine and perfect being. With the aura and features an angel might provide. He was laying on the sand with scattered shells all around him. He wasn’t wearing much, only a small knitted cloth tied around his hips. His body was bent awkwardly atop a mound of sand and rock, making his legs and head lower than his elevated middle. His hair spread out in long tendrils like water flowing from a spring. It stretched across his left hand and arm, thrown back near his head. The other arm was also thrown back, its pearly underbelly laid crooked next to his face. His ribs stuck out tightly through his skin. I looked even closer and saw shimmering pearls stuck to his body, and others trapped in his small cloth.

            I bent over him, keeping my hands clenched at my sides. No touching, I thought. He wasn’t breathing, nor were his eyes flickering under his eye lids. His lips were slightly blue and very still. His chest appeared stony and granite like. He was more beautiful than any man I had ever seen.

            There was nothing I could do; he was dead, frozen in lifelessness. I wanted to stroke his long hair, fix his body so it wasn’t broken on the land he was washed up on. The ocean had killed him. The striking beauty of his appearance had remained with his body, unlike his soul and mind, which abandoned the beating of his heart.

            Maybe he was too beautiful. Did God take his life for a better use, or was he subjected to death so I could see him? Was this a dream?

            I stepped back, out of my dream, leaving the roaring ocean, the sand, the pearls, and the image of my love behind. The lighting was good in the museum, making it so there were no shadows. I looked down at the milky white sculpture of the Dead Pearl Diver, and immediately felt myself wanting to return to the world where I was sitting on the sand next to his broken form. I was here though, next to his sculpture, not on a beach. I was in a small museum in Portland, Maine, gazing down at a rock, the dead and soulless form of my love.

            I reached out to stroke his face as my mind was going back to the beach. I turned my fingers to my palms when I awakened to the reality that he was not animated.  I took a meaningless picture that would never capture his true beauty. The spectacular carving of every smooth and sheen centimeter of him was perfect.  At that moment, I decided that he was my dream. A dream I could always return to, where he was magnificently poised and arched over the rock hard sand of my imagined beach. He would lie forever next to the ocean that took his life and inspired mine.

            I could hardly pull myself away from his side. My brother and mother moved me to continue on to other things in the museum. All I wanted was to look at him, The Dead Pearl Diver, the man of my dreams.

I just need to write about Zombies for a moment. I’m wearing my “I heart Zombies” rubber bracelet that my cats like to chew. I also have another rubber bracelet that says “Zombies” and is neon green and glows vibrantly in the dark.

OH~ also my friend posted some strange thing on her wall on Facebook that I just saw, and it said: “Tim flew, Alien abduction?”

I just needed to talk about both Aliens and Zombies in the same post again. I’m thinking about putting them into every post and maybe drawing conclusions with them. They could be crucial to this blog!

Gamma Ray Microscope?


I don’t know what it means but I do know that it has absolutely nothing to do with my blog post, just like my other blog titles relations to my previous blog posts.

I don’t have much to say about today, other than its been uneventful, and full of facebook messaging to my friends. I read for 2 hours in and under a tree out side, so I some out door time, and I have accomplished unloading and reloading the dishwasher. I have had more than 4 transactions in life with human beings outside of facebook today.

I left this blog post sitting here for a very long time. I think I might have some thoughts now.

In my other post, I talked about my obsession with being a geek. Well, I evolved that obsession a little more and now I’ve been watching wed series. Like TV on the web. Really funny. So I watched this one call “The Guild”.  It’s about a bunch of geeks that play an RPG (role-playing game) that is online, they use microphones to communicate and later web-cams. Only four episodes long, and I’m not sure they have continued it. I guess I’ll google it later.

My mother keeps asking me if I can touch type. If I couldn’t why would I be blogging this much?

Got to go to bed now. Too bad blog, I’ll talk to you later .