Day 2 — Your crush.

You're not just a crush, you're a relationship. And you're the most serious I've had so far.
So many memories, so many competitions...
What was it, seventeen times on our first proper date?
The first words I spoke to you. Utter nonsense to you, but you can't remember them now, so I don't suppose it matters. "Are you an Eddie Izzard quoter?"
You throwing... Brodie(?) over your shoulder. Showing off.
Feeling stupid as I was told in the dorms one night that you weren't a leader. I'm terrible with ages. I pretended to find out the next morning. I acted surprised.
First time we actually clicked. Running up and down the sand dunes a million and one times. Me faceplanting 99 percent of the trips down. Just sitting there in the middle of them, not bothering to move any further up, as we were both out of breath. Then we started talking.
I can't even remember what we spoke about. It was just cool, really chill.
Those few awkward phone conversations at first. Especially after the first time we saw each other after camp.
You running up a $300 bill on your home phone, calling my mobile, when I'd told you to call my home phone.
I can talk with you about almost anything, and I share the most with you out of everyone I know at the moment.
You are the only person in my life that makes me feel secure. I know you, and you know me. You don't know me as well as you'd like, but you do know me, I'll give you that much.
You're fantastically, amusingly, amazingly predictable. That's not a bad thing. It's kind of beautiful, because it is simplicity.
But you're definitely not simple. You have that liquid element, which is kind of scary. But some parts of you are solid. Your desire to just help people. You don't seem to care at all what happens to you. Which isn't really a good thing, because you're pretty special. But the way you can expend so much for others... It's something I really admire.
Maybe we don't quite agree on everything, and our interests do differ. But what we've got for the moment makes me happy, and it's enough.

Jumbled.

I've been writing too many of these lately. Perhaps I ought to slow down a bit.



















Or perhaps not.

That last post, that last one was an emotional explosion, and I'm sorry to the person it's directed to, I really am.
But I'm leaving it up, because I don't think deleting it is quite the right thing to do. It's not honest to myself, if that makes any sense whatsoever.

And I think they'd appreciate to know exactly what I'm feeling.
Maybe not quite in that way, but they would. But that's the way I express myself. Through writing.

When they do read it, I hope they keep reading others after it, because they're the ones that show how much I appreciate them usually.

I really wish I didn't have emotions.
I wish that I could put up a semblance of emotion though.
To be a psychopath would be simple. I wouldn't have barely anything to distract me from what I need to do.


Anyway, another topic, because although none of you might be able to tell, I'm getting really worked up and my hands are hammering the keyboard furiously.

Today I'm going job-whoring. Selling myself for the purpose of getting a job. And it's something I may hate, because I am not self-confident and the only thing I can see good about myself at certain points in time is that I am most definitely an individual. Which fits Champion perfectly (...fiercely individualistic). But what doesn't fit Champion is that I'm a pessimistic being. And being individual is the ONLY thing I quite like about myself.
But I really need a job, and it's been long enough without having one. A good 15 years.
So I'm crossing my fingers that I will be able to acquire one.

But good news to anyone who actually bothers to read, good news. I will stop frequenting Blogger as much. Not stop altogether, but mkaybe back to posts every three days?
Which means it'll be a hell of a lot easier to keep up with me. And I'll be able to keep up with myself too.
I'll turn back to the diary which I have, truth be told, neglected since I started here.

Thanks for reading.

Emotionally attached.

I'm falling. Falling pretty damn fast, I must say.
Obviously, not in a literal sense. Yeah, I'm typing this on my way to my deathbed on the rocks below the cliff I just jumped off.
No, I mean emotionally, I feel like I'm falling. Whether it's a fall as in tripping over, or a fall as in tripping over a cliff, I don't know.
I don't get attached easily. The few guys that I've dated, being only young, there's only been two I've felt emotionally attached to, and the current one is just bloody off the scale, which is scary, and just... crazy. The other one is currently what I call my best friend, but that's very debatable and a topical issue of mine at the moment, and maybe one for another blog.
I hate not being in control of my emotions, but it's a rollercoaster, and I always enjoy thrills.
I've never said love to anyone before. Anyone but my family. It's a word that ties down a lot, and it makes you stay put, and I don't really know that I want that. But I said it pretty early on this time around. And I don't know, maybe then, it was an obligatory reply, I mean, it's horrible for someone to say that they love you and for you to leave them hanging at that.
But what scares me now is that I know it's not an obligatory reply, that I definitely mean it. And I don't want to, I don't want to at all, but I do.
It's letting loose a bit as well, like, I haven't properly let any emotion show since I got over my depression only a little over a year ago, and now I'm showing a wanting, and an eagerness, and love. And it's scary letting one person see that, which is why I can honestly say I trust him. He's sweet and chilvarous... which is an odd trait to like, coming from me, a 15 year old teenage girl, but it's different in the lads of today, and that's something I love.
God, I'm getting more English by the second. "Lads." Next thing you know I'll be calling guys "fit" and trucks "lorries".
But it's not just that, he can be the opposite as well, which can be fun, to say the least.
It's good to know that I can keep control though. I need to remind myself that sometimes, and that sometimes turns into most of the time when I'm with him, because no matter what I feel for him, he's a boy, and I can't let it get too intense. Teasing him is partly jest for me, and partly a reminder to myself.

I don't know, I feel like I'm far too young to be writing about this and have a clue what I'm talking about, which is why I'm apprehensive about posting this. There's also the fact he will read.

Thanks for reading
Brittany

Passion

I'm half writing this as a response to a friends blog, and half writing this because it's a topic I've wanted to cover for a while, and they brought it up and reminded me. There's probably a few other halves I could cover, but then that would mean I can't add up, or that I'm putting over a hundred percent into my writing... and technically that would mean I should be writing with amazing quality and clarity. I'm not.

People are connected by all manner of things; differences in thought, the whole opposite poles thing- or more often, significant similarities in common interests. Common interests spark friendships the world round, but it's the people who share more than a common interest, a passion(a deep feeling) for a certain pastime or subject of interest, who seem to form bonds quickly and more tightly than the rest.

For example, a passion of mine is the English language.
Maybe you're thinking "Well duh, she surrounds herself with people who speak English," because that's what I thought as soon as I typed the sentence, but even if you are you know that is not what I mean.
I tend to surround myself with people I can discuss language with. Like, people who write and read on a regular basis, people who overanalyse, people who interpret. I feel they can understand what could be referred to as my 'obsession' easier than others. I am amazed by language. How can someone string words together in a way that makes sense, let alone a way that is engaging? How can someone string an alphabet together?
And novels, man, I can't begin discussing novels without leading into a half hour lecture.
But then I wouldn't have time to discuss acting at all, and that's a huge part of my passion for language.
But what my passion involves is not the point. My point is that I feel I have closer ties with those who I am able to discuss language with than I could ever have with them otherwise, and this in turn, means I have a stronger tie with those who share a passion, or at least a common interest in comparison to what is my passion.

I have a passion for life (Well obviously, everyone who lives has a deep involvement with life), but not so much that I don't ever want to die... I look forward to death, to an extent, just to experience something new, something I have not done before. I know I want to die quickly, but I also want to die with intense pain, because when you are in pain, you're really living, and I want that sense of ultimate life at the moment of death.
I'm not a die-peacefully-in-my-sleep kind of girl.
See, I've planned out my death, I've planned out my job, I've planned out my education, but the one thing I haven't properly planned out is my future. That worries me. It doesn't scare me.

Emotion. There's my last. Emotions are valuable, that's why I try not to give too much of it away and keep it tucked in my own secret corner. Those who know me with a loud, obtrusive personality and that only don't really know me, because there is this me which exists in my time, the engrossed in thought me. I have a deep feeling for feeling itself. I let them out occasionally, otherwise they wreak havoc in my brain.

But those who don't have a passion, those who don't have a topic of their own, that's something I do not envy. They can cause you many problems, but they give out the rewards.

Brittany.