For the rare few of you who have been waiting for a post for a year on this blog, the wait is over! But unfortunately [or not] this will be my last post for Teal and Macaroni. I have a new blog up, that I consistently update and if you actually do read my blogs and want me to talk about something specific or just get me thoughts, send an email to justine.hutchings@gmail.com
check out my new blog Weenie Kazoo at http://WeenieKazoo.blogspot.com
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Back Attack
Hellooo!
Yes, I know. I'm a terrible keeper of the blogs but in my defense, Ive been in a bit of a slump since February that I'm finally breaking out of and due to some requests[not many but one is enough!] I've decided to come back and post something that will hopefully get me in the column mood once more!
Earlier this month, two of my best friends flew off to Pennsylvania [without me haha] to work at a summer camp and another one of my best girls is leaving for Montanna, for a more permanent stay and it all got me thinking about keeping in touch.
How many people have we known in our lives that we swore we would never forget? How many people were we friends with two years, two weeks or even two days ago that we aren't friends with now? Basically... what's with all the drama?
Some people attribute lack of relationships to a dwindling effort in communication.. to that I say- Maybe you guys weren't really friends to begin with. Communication is the basis of any realtionship of any kind and I can't seem to understand why it's terribly hard on either end of the party for someone to pick up a pencil and paper and write "Hey, how are you?"
With all the technological outlets we have these days, it seems slightly incredulous that our relationships have in fact seemed to dissapate instead of soar. I can't help but wonder if maybe our relationships with ourselves and our natural animalistic insticts along with humanisitic feelings have only made the technological golden age the age of rejection.
Instead of using these amazing advancements in science and life to our benefit, I've found that more often than not we use it to hurt each other for the benefit of a minute's satisfaction of reveling in someone else's pain.
I'd be lying if I said that I never called someone a slut or a bitch or told someone to fuck off through the internet, text message or just to their face- or that people had never done it to me. But maybe that's the price I pay for being the way I am?
Is it the technology that makes us so disconnected or are we so disconnected that we only know how to use technology as a weapon?
Yes, I know. I'm a terrible keeper of the blogs but in my defense, Ive been in a bit of a slump since February that I'm finally breaking out of and due to some requests[not many but one is enough!] I've decided to come back and post something that will hopefully get me in the column mood once more!
Earlier this month, two of my best friends flew off to Pennsylvania [without me haha] to work at a summer camp and another one of my best girls is leaving for Montanna, for a more permanent stay and it all got me thinking about keeping in touch.
How many people have we known in our lives that we swore we would never forget? How many people were we friends with two years, two weeks or even two days ago that we aren't friends with now? Basically... what's with all the drama?
Some people attribute lack of relationships to a dwindling effort in communication.. to that I say- Maybe you guys weren't really friends to begin with. Communication is the basis of any realtionship of any kind and I can't seem to understand why it's terribly hard on either end of the party for someone to pick up a pencil and paper and write "Hey, how are you?"
With all the technological outlets we have these days, it seems slightly incredulous that our relationships have in fact seemed to dissapate instead of soar. I can't help but wonder if maybe our relationships with ourselves and our natural animalistic insticts along with humanisitic feelings have only made the technological golden age the age of rejection.
Instead of using these amazing advancements in science and life to our benefit, I've found that more often than not we use it to hurt each other for the benefit of a minute's satisfaction of reveling in someone else's pain.
I'd be lying if I said that I never called someone a slut or a bitch or told someone to fuck off through the internet, text message or just to their face- or that people had never done it to me. But maybe that's the price I pay for being the way I am?
Is it the technology that makes us so disconnected or are we so disconnected that we only know how to use technology as a weapon?
Friday, March 27, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Hallelujah
I am a student sitting in the class of my least favorite subject. Subsequently, this is the longest class in my schedule. The professor is reviewing the syllabus but I can’t be bothered to try to understand what he’s trying to say. He has an accent and I have no paper in front of me to read along with. This room has two doors, about 20 yards of chalkboard and no windows. There’s a yellowish glow reflected on everything. It mixes with the greens and blacks of the boards. I feel like I’m in an underground holding center cleverly placed underneath a pond to disguise it’s presence. I look around the room and I am the only blonde with a lion on her chest.
Actually, I am the only blonde.
I’m not a natural blonde but who’s natural anyways anymore. I can’t help but wonder if me being the only contrast against the drab browns and blacks is a metaphor for life and I wonder if I’m the only person who has a spark or a flare or even passion.
I am the only person writing. I continually pause in case my accented and short professor notices and says something. Although I doubt it would matter. This is college after all and we are old enough to make our own choices, which is ironic because no matter what the age, no one ever makes their own choices. I wonder if my note taking would be seen as a distraction and then I wonder if my hair is a distraction and then of course, I wonder if I am distraction.
I probably am.
The longer I sit in this room, the longer I feel like these yellow walls are sucking me away. I really hate it when teachers don’t have a syllabus to give me. Without it I feel like I’m just here, wasting my time and if I wanted to be wasting my time I could think of about a hundred other places I’d rather be. I wonder if I’ll ever make it to a 4 year. Every time I’m at school and not paying attention to what accented short people are saying I fall into reverie, mostly about college. I have two folders for school. One says T-TH in pink and one says MW in yellow. I’m more than slightly upset that I have to add a yellow f to the yellow MW which makes me more eager to swim away from the math pond. I spent hours creating the perfect schedule, only to have it ruined by a computer glitch.
Accented short man has penmanship that is remarkably similar to my mother’s. My leg is hurting again. I wonder what I would be like with only one leg. I wonder how badly it would hurt to chop it off. Maybe I’ll pull a grandpa and take a chainsaw to it. But that’s not fair. Grandpa didn’t mean to kill himself. It’s all a big accident. We’ll be starting chapter one in ten minutes. I can never decide if the beginning … is just another ending.
Actually, I am the only blonde.
I’m not a natural blonde but who’s natural anyways anymore. I can’t help but wonder if me being the only contrast against the drab browns and blacks is a metaphor for life and I wonder if I’m the only person who has a spark or a flare or even passion.
I am the only person writing. I continually pause in case my accented and short professor notices and says something. Although I doubt it would matter. This is college after all and we are old enough to make our own choices, which is ironic because no matter what the age, no one ever makes their own choices. I wonder if my note taking would be seen as a distraction and then I wonder if my hair is a distraction and then of course, I wonder if I am distraction.
I probably am.
The longer I sit in this room, the longer I feel like these yellow walls are sucking me away. I really hate it when teachers don’t have a syllabus to give me. Without it I feel like I’m just here, wasting my time and if I wanted to be wasting my time I could think of about a hundred other places I’d rather be. I wonder if I’ll ever make it to a 4 year. Every time I’m at school and not paying attention to what accented short people are saying I fall into reverie, mostly about college. I have two folders for school. One says T-TH in pink and one says MW in yellow. I’m more than slightly upset that I have to add a yellow f to the yellow MW which makes me more eager to swim away from the math pond. I spent hours creating the perfect schedule, only to have it ruined by a computer glitch.
Accented short man has penmanship that is remarkably similar to my mother’s. My leg is hurting again. I wonder what I would be like with only one leg. I wonder how badly it would hurt to chop it off. Maybe I’ll pull a grandpa and take a chainsaw to it. But that’s not fair. Grandpa didn’t mean to kill himself. It’s all a big accident. We’ll be starting chapter one in ten minutes. I can never decide if the beginning … is just another ending.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Turn a Square
I was reading something earlier that said something along the lines of 'If you're an insomniac, you're never really awake and you're never really asleep'. And so I got to thinking, as I so often do... and I don't think that I've ever heard a truer statement.
Insomniatic- [I really hope that's a word.] tendencies change everything about a person. Sleep affects so much and as an insomniac I know how hard it is trying to adjust to a place that almost completely exists in a 9-5 world. I can't help but wonder if maybe I can't sleep because I'm supposed to see the world differently. I don't know if I'd be able to think the way that I do and feel the way that I feel if I had a regular sleep schedule. If I slept when everyone else did, I wouldn't more write half the things I've written, I wouldnt have those deep existential tangos with friends and foes, I wouldnt dye my hair, I wouldn't be me.
If I wasn't more or less ... an insomniac, I wouldn't be even a fraction of myself, I can't help but wonder who that other person is. It's like there's more than just myself. I... as me exist on this one level and I as she... exist on another. And the only place we meet is in our dreams. I don't think that I'm better or worse than anyone else in the world, but I do feel like I'm different so while I may never be truly awake or truly asleep and will always wonder with either would feel like I know that I'm alive.
And that makes me happy.
Insomniatic- [I really hope that's a word.] tendencies change everything about a person. Sleep affects so much and as an insomniac I know how hard it is trying to adjust to a place that almost completely exists in a 9-5 world. I can't help but wonder if maybe I can't sleep because I'm supposed to see the world differently. I don't know if I'd be able to think the way that I do and feel the way that I feel if I had a regular sleep schedule. If I slept when everyone else did, I wouldn't more write half the things I've written, I wouldnt have those deep existential tangos with friends and foes, I wouldnt dye my hair, I wouldn't be me.
If I wasn't more or less ... an insomniac, I wouldn't be even a fraction of myself, I can't help but wonder who that other person is. It's like there's more than just myself. I... as me exist on this one level and I as she... exist on another. And the only place we meet is in our dreams. I don't think that I'm better or worse than anyone else in the world, but I do feel like I'm different so while I may never be truly awake or truly asleep and will always wonder with either would feel like I know that I'm alive.
And that makes me happy.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
To Find A Mortal,
All you have to do is follow their dreams. That's where they always escape too.
Quote compliments of Charmed!
It's been quite a while since my last post anddd I guess it's just been because from then to now I've been in this funky kind of place and I heard that quote up above today, while I was watching season 2 of charmed!!! [superfan!] It got me thinking, but then again, what doesn't haha.
Every life has their ups and downs and every life has their secret places, whether they might be in your head or made up of an actual physical compostion, every life has some place and a lot of times those places are reminsicent of their dreams, maybe a park that reminds them of Neverland or a home within a favorite song.
I've been wondering about what happens to those who lose their way. To those who can't remember their dreams anymore or remember what they've worked for or what they want. I wonder if they're miserable because maybe they dont have any place, real or imaginary to escape too. I mean do the lost wander? Are they actually lost... do they float on? Are they free?
Are the dreamers the ones who hold themselves captives in worlds that they may never be able to reach? And more importantly... do I fit into either of those categories... do I need too.
To conclude this post, I'd like to end with on of my more recent poem/song things. It's among the sadder of the words I've written, but to anyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy it and can maybe relate to it just the same.
Sticks and Stones
This fight is never won
The circle is never done
The infinity we create it never ceases to amaze.
I’ll grab the remote to control the volume
Of your hollering and screeches down the hall
I’ll walk slow and I’ll walk softly
Invisibly attached to the wall.
I never know what comes next.
If I should digress or accept.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your words always haunt me.
I’ll sleep all through my mornings
And I’ll lie all day in my room.
Hiding away in my cocoon
I try to dress up pretty
Just to make you smile or wink at me
But I’ll just mix up my words
And you’ll throw daggers in turns.
I’ll stand quiet, wont make a sound
Try to skate all around
The problem is here
But my feet are always too dirty
My socks never clean enough to wear
My clothes don’t fit right
And my hair’s up too tight
So I guess I’ll just lay down and lose the fight.
I’ll read your accusations through your frowns
And wait to see you when you were free.
But I never what comes next
If I should digress or accept
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your words will always haunt me.
I’ll wince once for the blow
And cry all alone
As I lie down and let you just take over.
[p.s] I'm not always this sad...haha just the past few days.
Quote compliments of Charmed!
It's been quite a while since my last post anddd I guess it's just been because from then to now I've been in this funky kind of place and I heard that quote up above today, while I was watching season 2 of charmed!!! [superfan!] It got me thinking, but then again, what doesn't haha.
Every life has their ups and downs and every life has their secret places, whether they might be in your head or made up of an actual physical compostion, every life has some place and a lot of times those places are reminsicent of their dreams, maybe a park that reminds them of Neverland or a home within a favorite song.
I've been wondering about what happens to those who lose their way. To those who can't remember their dreams anymore or remember what they've worked for or what they want. I wonder if they're miserable because maybe they dont have any place, real or imaginary to escape too. I mean do the lost wander? Are they actually lost... do they float on? Are they free?
Are the dreamers the ones who hold themselves captives in worlds that they may never be able to reach? And more importantly... do I fit into either of those categories... do I need too.
To conclude this post, I'd like to end with on of my more recent poem/song things. It's among the sadder of the words I've written, but to anyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy it and can maybe relate to it just the same.
Sticks and Stones
This fight is never won
The circle is never done
The infinity we create it never ceases to amaze.
I’ll grab the remote to control the volume
Of your hollering and screeches down the hall
I’ll walk slow and I’ll walk softly
Invisibly attached to the wall.
I never know what comes next.
If I should digress or accept.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your words always haunt me.
I’ll sleep all through my mornings
And I’ll lie all day in my room.
Hiding away in my cocoon
I try to dress up pretty
Just to make you smile or wink at me
But I’ll just mix up my words
And you’ll throw daggers in turns.
I’ll stand quiet, wont make a sound
Try to skate all around
The problem is here
But my feet are always too dirty
My socks never clean enough to wear
My clothes don’t fit right
And my hair’s up too tight
So I guess I’ll just lay down and lose the fight.
I’ll read your accusations through your frowns
And wait to see you when you were free.
But I never what comes next
If I should digress or accept
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your words will always haunt me.
I’ll wince once for the blow
And cry all alone
As I lie down and let you just take over.
[p.s] I'm not always this sad...haha just the past few days.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Am I beautiful?
Am I usable?
I can't help but wonder, if we dress ourselves up, personality and aesthetics alike to help ease the letdown that we all expect. It's so rare to see a genuinely happy person anymore, and if you do see one, you wonder what's wrong with them.
What the hell is wrong with us?
How did we get here?
To this place where happiness isn't even accessible enough to be second string, it's more along the lines of 9th or 10th. This may be more of an extreme generalization than I'm making it sound but the truth is that I see so much let down and hurt in every day and I can't help but wonder if maybe we set ourselves up for it, if maybe, by always accepting the hurt and the letdowns and the fuck ups, we damn ourselves to a life less frightening which in turn creates a routine of predictability... of always just accepting.
We're taught as young girls that if a boy hits you or teases you, he likes you. But what if he just likes hitting and teasing you? We're conditioned to believe this nonsense of settling down and accepting resignation. I wonder, if we stopped accepting the anger and the hate and the mediocre, if we could change ourselves. But then I wonder, do we need a change at all or are we not only content but happy with living in this bubble.
When it comes to live and actually living ... do we dress up to stay down?
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