That's been me watching my shows. So many character deaths. Ugh. I hate it. Some are short and quick, like on The Flash last week, and others have been awful and drawn out. #savehook. Writers. You're killing me. And the feels. Oh the feels. I hate trying to explain why I'm ugly crying over a show. *sob*sob* "you just don't get it! It was his dad! The only family he had left! *sob*sob* and now he's gone!!" more sobbing. more ugly crying. All over fictional characters. This is my life.
And then, there's the other aspects of my life. Job searching. It's the worst. I hate spending hours a day filling out applications to companies that aren't even going to email me to let me know they're not interested. I feel like my information just goes into a black hole of nothingness sometimes.
I actually applied for a job that would potentially lead to my dream job. I saw the listing about this time last Thursday night/Friday morning and applied for it. And now comes the waiting game. The constant worry that I might not even hear back from them. That somehow the awesomeness of my resume and writing sample will some how not impress whoever I sent it to. If they even look at it. And my dream job could easily slip through my fingers. I'm not saying this to be negative, I'm just saying this because it's consuming my soul and I'm tired of it consuming my soul. I'm just tired. And not just because it's 2:32 AM and I'm still awake after finishing this season of iZombie. It's more than that.
In light of my above little outburst of emotion, I have decided to share with you a poem that I wrote. This is me putting myself completely out in the open as a writer. I am not a poet by nature and I struggled hard core in my intermediate poetry class, and the following poem is the result. That semester I was hooked on LIGHTS and couldn't help but write, like, all of my poems about Emma, Ian and Donovan. So, this poem is called Starlit Dreams and it's from Emma's perspective after she's lost Ian:
Starlit Dreams
I watch for every flicker
lighting the corners of my
eyes, and into my imagination.
Each night as I sleep, I hope
beyond the truth, the seconds
trickle past and tease me. A broken
watch
remains, last proof that he is real. An
echo
of his rich laugh a fire and coals on a
cold day.
His fingers slipped from my neck,
pausing
briefly at the base, like a waterfall
pooling. Waiting, holding, hoping
that time does not move past
his eyes. Deep caverns with a spark of
light
that guides the weary strangers. I
caress the memory of waking
up beside him, the sting of winter kept
away by the warmth of his smile.
I dream of silver trees next to
ocean breezes after a storm
with hope and starlit dreams.
I may have broken someone's heart yesterday and although I don't regret that I did it, I do hope that I didn't cause more damage than necessary. It's made me stop and think a lot about how we treat other people. A LOT of people that I care about in my life have given me a lot of advice on how I should approach things. I listened to them for a while, but when I'm alone, and especially after I've spent some time reading my scriptures and contemplating my life, I have come to realize a few things. First, that how I personally feels does, in fact, matter. Second, that although we should give everyone a really good chance, that doesn't always mean that things are going to go the way you or other people think they will. Third, don't waste people's time. I feel really bad about that one because I think I wasted more time than I should have. I should have been more direct, but I was worried I would hurt someone or not give them enough of a chance. Instead, I put it off a lot longer than I should have. Which happens. Ugh. Feelings. They're killing me, guys. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them. I kind of feel like Barry Allen on tonight's The Flash. There's a moment towards the end of the episode where there's a big reveal and he can't handle it anymore and he goes out into the hallway and just collapses on the ground and is sitting there with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands and there's tears streaming down his face. He just couldn't handle the emotions anymore. That's me mentally. I'm beyond my breaking point emotionally. Which is what it is. And I'll find the strength along the way. But dang. ALL THE FEELS. I tell you what, they're not so bueno.
