Scott "Gonzales"

This is my good friend Scott. We work together, and have class together. And live right across the street from each other. I had to interview two people for my Spanish class who were Hispanic/Mexican of some sort. I literally walked around downtown for 40 minutes asking random people to let me videotape them. And I got rejected. Again. And again. And again. So Scott helped me out, kinda.


"They're like the Spanish version of a horseback-rider."

A letter to a loser.

I tried uploading a funny video of my friend Scott pretending to be Mexican. BUT. My router decided to stop after 20 minutes of loading, so I gave up. Instead, this is a note I scribbled in class today. It sounds depressing and horrible, and I feel like it makes me seem a little crazy, but I like it. So there.

I think about you often, in a variety of ways. Sometimes I reminisce with my memories, thinking about the fun we had and missing the positive feelings I once had for you. Sometimes I think about the future. I imagine bumping into you somewhere, myself being beautiful and different--happy, fun and being in the ultimate moment any person would want to be in for a reunion with a past "lover," particularly one who broke your heart. In these thoughts, my goal is to make you feel regret, to realize you made a mistake in letting me go. I then want to smile, act like my heart isn't pounding out of my chest, and brush you out of my life. Again. I know this is childish and silly, and quite ridiculous, but I don't care. Sometimes, as wrong as this sounds and as wrong as I know this is, I feel the need to make you feel at least some of the anguish you've made me feel. Then there are times I think in the present. The conversation last week--should I let it all go, break down and call you? Do I allow myself to think about you and I as a unit in the future? Do I allow myself to think about you at all? I feel sad at times, especially at night when I'm missing the conversations we had as I fell asleep, when I'm missing you. Then I stop. I sigh and realize that aspiring towards any legitimate future with you is as silly as imagining a future with Brad Pitt. I feel no sadness at this point, just the blunt nudge of reality.

I'm here, kinda.

Do you ever look around and say to yourself, "What the hell are you doing?!" I do that a lot. Especially with school. I don't do my homework and I rarely go to class. Everytime I miss a homework assignment or a class, I have pangs of anxiety and I know I'm doing the wrong thing, but I do it anyways and push the panic away. I don't know what I'm going to do. I think the hole I've dug for this semester might already be too big to crawl out of. I wonder so often what happened to little Rachel, Miss straight-A, Miss teacher's pet, Miss I-always-have-something-to-say. Now I sit quietly in class and usually sleep or consume myself in thoughts that have nothing to do with class. I know she's still in there somewhere, I just need to dig a little deeper and readjust my focus.

Oh my goodness.

Billy Currington.

so adorable.

:)

All is good.

I'm sitting in Spanish right now, waiting for class to start. I'm good. I'm really good. :] Things are finally really starting to feel ok. I can finally sigh in relief, not in defeat. I miss you guys, mucho.

A curious stranger. Or was it strange curiosity?

The other night I was sitting on the light rail after work on my way back to my dorm. I was stressed out and a little upset, but I tried to busy myself in my book. I noticed two young men, maybe early to mid twenties, get on the light rail. One in particular noticed me. I caught him looking at me a couple times, and again attempted to busy myself in my book. It was dark outside, and there were lights on inside the light rail, making the reflection in the window as clear as if it was that of a mirror. I pretended to look at the scenery, but instead I watched the young man looking at me in the reflection. He wasn't creepy looking or weird, and had no evidence of being homeless or crazy. But every time I looked up from the book, he was looking at me. I just tried to ignore him. After about half of the 40 minute trip had passed, he got up. There was no way he was going to come sit by me, that would be too much, even if he had been crazy. I was wrong; he sat down in the seat behind me. "Hey," he said as he leaned forward towards my seat. I still had my nose in my book, trying to ignore his obvious presence. Curiosity overcame me. I turned to him as I tried to pull off the oh-I'm-sorry-I-was-engrossed-in-my-book-and-didn't-hear-you look combined with the were-you-talking-to-me look. I'm not sure if it worked, but he began talking. He apologized repeatedly as he explained that he had never approached a complete stranger with such odd intentions. He went on to explain that he was intrigued by the expression on my face, that I had a "perplexed, fixed" expression. (I had not even been aware I had an expression on my face.) He explained that the emotion in my face was so intense and so real, he felt "engaged," to the point where he would walk up to a complete stranger and risk looking crazy, to get a better understanding. He said in some strange way, he was giving me a compliment-- he could see how much I cared, he could physically see love in my expression. He even used those words. It was so odd, but it was so nice to hear. I'm always so afraid the people I care about, even people who aren't necessarily a huge part of my life, don't realize that when I mess up or when I'm being difficult, I feel it. My actions aren't things I brush off easily. I always feel like I exert so much energy and become so exhausted stressing over the problems I create with people, and I find it so interesting that a complete stranger, someone I had never even had the opportunity to affect, could see it just by looking at my face. It was just such a strange experience.

Yes everybody, Rachel's alive.

I miss my friends, more than words can say. I feel so far from everybody, it kinda scares me. It's my fault though, and I'm sorry. I just want you all to know that even though I'm 'invisible,' I think about you guys all the time.

Just an update..
He calls me every night. And texts me every morning. He got a car and drives here every weekend. He demands to take me to work and pick me up. I refuse. He calls me randomly so he can 'stop by.' If he calls and I tell him I'll call him right back, he asks a million questions. Why? What are you doing? Who are you with? Where are you? If we go out to dinner, it isn't enough. What are we doing now? It's only ten. You don't need sleep. He calls me on Tuesday and tells me he bought me a plane ticket for Friday. When I say no, he gets mad. He doesn't understand how suffocated I feel. And I don't have the heart to tell him. So instead I carry it around. It's not the kind of weight you carry on your back or your shoulders though. It's like a seed, like a twinge burrowed inside my chest. It's always there. The more I ignore it, the deeper it goes and the bigger it gets. It makes me cry sometimes. I feel trapped, yet at the same time I feel like I'm the one being ridiculous. I know it's not right that I can't tell him these things, but he won't understand. I had a bad day today, because I couldn't talk to you... You're the only person that calms me down... I'm not angry when I'm with you... I'm so happy right now, you make me so happy... I'll drive here every weekend if that's what it takes, because I want to make this work... You're the only person I can talk to about these things... You're a factor in every decision I make... I can't imagine myself being happy if you're not in my life in some way... I honestly don't think I can ever feel the way I feel about you about anybody else... Everytime I look at the stars I think about you...

I don't know what to do.