Fire and Ice

On May 2, my college counselor is holding a “fire and ice party” 

All of the seniors will gather in front of her office and bring their college rejection letters, or any other sentiments they feel like writing themselves, and they burn them. Afterwards there is ice cream.

Fire and Ice.

I kind of tore up all my college rejection letters when they came and really there were only a few. If anything I mostly got wait listed… which is somehow crueler. 

Like you fit the criteria of acceptance but by chance you were overlooked. 

I think I’ll write a letter instead and call this a brainstorm.

I think it’s really ironically funny that I’ve been going to a private college prep school since fifth grade and I didn’t even know what college I wanted to go to until 3 weeks ago. I had no top choice school. 

In the end I picked from what was held before me. I chose to be an Aggie. 

For the entire second semester I haven’t hooked up with a single boy. Despite my unquenched hormonal desires… I can’t bring myself to. I’ve been feeling so detached. 

This is quite comical considering that I haven’t even had a relationship lasting over five months so dating someone second semester senior year would not be that harmful. 

It’s such a common phenomenon though… all the soon-to-be graduates swearing off relationships even though they’re only really moving away in September as if teenage relationships miraculously started lasting more than a month on average. 

I have my first final next wednesday and I couldn’t be more nervous. I’m ill prepared and I’ve been sick this whole week. I haven’t had the luxury to scream “FUCK IT” yet because I really really wouldn’t be able to handle a rescinded college acceptance.

It’s also interesting that so many students smirk at the “factory line” sort of life that students lead… elementary… middle.. high… college… job… family… death. 

I mean it is a pretty straightforward path I’m pushing myself into but I’ve decided on something very important recently.

Every book you read, every movie you watch, the most “audacious” character is the one who DARES to make others think about death. So deep. So dark. 

I don’t know. I think about death a lot and usually I can’t think of a reason it would make me want to live my life differently.

If I lived it like an A on a test meant nothing I wouldn’t feel accomplished. If I lived like an A on a test meant everything I wouldn’t enjoy simpler pleasures. Like sex for example. Or masterbating. Or coffee with chocolates. 

I don’t think me going to college means I’m not thinking about death enough to live a more fulfilling life although the thought has crossed my mind. 

I’m going to college because I want to learn and grow. And also because I’d like a steady job. 

I’m practical that way.

Anyways. Maybe I’ll look back to college when I’m on my deathbed and think “what an incredible waste of four years” but I may surely think that about most of the other stupid things I waste time on but take masochistic pleasure in. Like falling asleep on the keyboard while I make another half thought out tumblr post.

I don’t know. I guess it’s all about deciding how much you want to care. That’s really what the human existence is. What you decide is worth your attention. 

I’m going to college next fall. And I believe that applied statistics is worth my attention. Every time I have an existential crisis I’ll just have to remember.

If I think about it too hard… it seems that cosmically nothing really MATTERS. so I may as well decide what does to me. 

#college  #I should go to bed  #prose  #creative writing  #spilled ink  #rejectscorner  

American Dream

My little brother has been doing Judo as a sport for the past couple years. He’s a bit chubby and slow so my dad hired one of the older boys from the studio to train with him outside of class. 

this boy, Musafar is about my age and as it turns out he and his mom immigrated here from Tajikistan a year ago. My dad and his friends are now pretty close with his mom since my dad immigrated here from Belarus and many of his friends are from Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. I’ve seen Musafar at a bunch of Judo tournaments, but I don’t really see his mom. 

His mom, Yldus works close to 12 hours a day for a wealthy family in an affluent suburb near my town. She and Musafar live in the families’ pool house. While Musafar is in city college, Yldus works as a home nurse for the owner’s mother. 

After over a year of hard work with no vacations or sick days, Yldus was getting pretty worn out. Last week, as she was lifting her client into the tub, she sprained her back. She went to the doctor and the doctor said she couldn’t work for at least a week without the risk of more serious damage. 

Yldus told this to the house owner about three days ago, and she promptly fired her. 

Yldus was also informed that if she intended to stay in the pool house for any longer, she would have to pay $65 dollars a day. 

My dad’s friend Anna helped Yldus find an apartment and the lease started yesterday. 

Here’s where the amazing display of inhumanity comes in.

My father and his friends came to help more Yldus and Musafar’s stuff yesterday afternoon. When they arrived, the house owner’s boyfriend (we’ll call him fuckface) informed my father that they cannot move any of her belongings since she apparently owed the owner $350. This was news to Yldus, who thought she only owed $130 for extra stay in the pool house. 

It turns out that despite the fact these people were living in a mansion in one of the nicest suburbs in the bay, they were not paying Yldus’ salary. They were getting the government to pay the agency that Yldus works for. Not only that but Yldus had to pay $35 from her salary back to the owner every month because the government was paying her more money than the owner had originally intended to give her. 

The reason Yldus owed $220 and not $35 dollars was because if they continued to receive money from the government for the next month until the new nurse comes, it would be taxed at a much higher rate than Yldus’ money (since their income is MUCH MUCH HIGHER).

Basically what I’m saying is. An affluent family refused not only to pay for their mother’s healthcare with their own money, but was ripping off the poor immigrant nurse who worked for them by letting her keep less than the government thought they owed for her work.

I forgot to add that when my father told fuckface that it was illegal to hold a person’s private property hostage when they are a legal resident, fuckface proceeded to block my dad’s car in the driveway so he could not leave. My dad actually had to call the cops to resolve the situation. 

Yldus is a legal immigrant. She worked 10-12 hours a day every day except half of Sunday for a year… and now she owes a well-to-do family $350, most of which was not even theirs in the first place.

This is what I call the American Dream. 

#prose  #american dream  #anger  #rejectscorner  

Silver Linings Playbook

As a cinema geek, I’m disappointed in myself for being behind in the latest movies. I’ve been bogged down by college applications and so on. 

I’m glad I finally made it out to see this film while it was still in theaters because it really deserved the big screen. 

I think a lot of times movies about mental health problems are so dark and twisted that the characters seem unapproachable or far removed from ourselves (not that I don’t enjoy the dark and twisted). 

I think the cool spin on this film is that there are two sides of the spectrum. Jennifer Lawrence’s character Tiffany is clearly depressed after her husbands death, but was treated with severe medication that she didn’t necessarily need long term. Bradley Cooper’s character Pat, however, has Bipolar Disorder and needs medication to prevent him  from having manic episodes and becoming violent. His character originally didn’t think he needed them until he realized he was hurting the people he loved. I appreciate that the film was neither pushing nor bashing mood stabilizing drugs. Some people need it, others don’t.

Most importantly, despite whatever mental illness Pat and Tiffany possessed, this was a pure love story that a large audience could appreciate. I say pure because there are few characters, few sets, and few effects. It was well written and simple, but not stupid. Was it the most touching love story I’ve seen? No, I say Groundhog Day still wins. DId I cry when they kissed at the end? Certainly. 

I give both Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence major props on their versatility. I love it when I see actors taking on roles you wouldn’t expect of them and killing it. 

And can I just add that Jennifer Lawrence is just the most attractive person ever? We need more actresses sporting some healthy curves. 

#movie review  #prose  #creative writing  #silver linings playbook  

If every day I stood before you and fed you little spoonfuls of my heart, would you love me? Your lips shine with the droplets of scarlet I left for you. I can only look on and hope you don’t choke with hollow eyes and spread lips. All the while my hand grows weary and my skin pale. Every scoop I take stabs me. A knife would be quick and forgiving, but this spoon’s edges are dull and vengeful. You seem so tall as the world grows dark around me and open space becomes small. I have given you my light and fear takes over now. Parchment skin closes around tear ducts as I try to find sleep. Sleep is the inevitable rest that follows my struggle.

#prose  #creative writing  #spilled ink  #rejectscorner  

Attention

“Anne?” 

I half hoped that I had misheard. Which was plausible considering that I hadn’t been paying attention. Or at least not to the teacher. I was more interested in pondering the invention of low rise jeans.

“Anne??”

It had occurred to me quite recently the muffin top was so sneakishly avoided back in the day when high waisted pants were a thing. 

“Ms. Bistritsky I would suggest you stop staring at the board and answer the question”

“mmm… two?”

I think I was supposed to be factoring something. Two seemed like a sturdy answer. I was quite pleased with it. It was sort of vague enough to be a miscalculation but not too vague to seem random. I fretted silently over the red marks inevitably surrounding the fat rolls in my lower belly. I wondered if with a little added pressure these jeans could just slice me in half, and that way I would never have to learn calculus. It seemed like a good option considering that, by the look on Mr. Portman’s face, two was not the correct answer. What a pity… and what are the odds? Maybe I should have taken statistics. 

#prose  #rejectscorner  #creative writing  #fiction  #spilled ink  

I Do

I went to my cousin’s wedding this weekend. He’s considerably older than me (by 15 years) so I guess it was time for him to settle down. Daniel is a lot more of a religious sort than me. I guess his personal rebellion was taking up intense Jewish studies after his parents were unable to do so in the former Soviet Union. 

I don’t see anything wrong with studying religion or believing in… something out there. I guess I’m just not yet sure where I stand in that sense. I had a lovely Bat Mitzvah and I like a lot of the ideas I just can’t give in whole-heartedly at this point in my life and I don’t know if I ever will. 

The ceremony was traditional with the proper prayers and customs (breaking glass and getting lifted on chairs being the highlights)

It really made me wonder what I wanted in my partner and in my life. 

Would it make a difference to my future husband if wearing white was more out of custom and less out of honesty? 

What do I tell my children when they ask what death is? 

I don’t know. I guess it’s just bizarre to think about this ceremony as so binding and formal. Is this act what I dreamed of as validating a love for someone I have not yet found necessary? 

But I must admit the dress was beautiful. 

#personal  #prose  

Thursday Nights

He had asked if it was okay if he kissed me, and I wondered if it was a trick question. Is that all he was hoping for? A kiss? But when our lips collided full force, teeth and tongues insatiably scrambling along chapped skin and mouth roofs, it was clear that a kiss would not be enough.

He methodically unwrapped me. Starting from my blouse and ending with a melodic unzip of my jeans. Lace pulled off, hooks unclasped. And after no time at all I was a gift laying before him and making him all the more greedy.

I tore off his shirt. I wasn’t as gentle or methodical, but I was behind. I fumbled with his belt with excitement reverberating into my fingertips.

I could feel the arches of my feet and my toes curling. I was grasping the sheets and pulling. But before I had even begun to close my eyes and sail away he spun me around and… reminded me to pay attention. Not very gently… and made sure to imprint his hand in my skin after a good spank. Arched back, open hips, death grip sheets.

I’d never enjoyed being this exhausted in my life. 

#(NSFW)  #prose  #creative writing  #sexetry  

Piece by Piece

Piece by piece I fall. And sometimes your cupped hands aren’t there to catch the little remnants of my goose bump skin and my cherry heart. Where do I go when I reach the ground? I ask this silently as I flutter passed your half-extended fingertips. Wayward glances fall on the callouses I watched you make strumming your guitar late at night. When I reach the ground, what happens to the pieces you have kept of me? Emerald teardrops glimmered in your hands and I was thankful for you must have saved my eyes. Bury me in the lines of your palms so I can feel it when you hold hands with her and smile because I won’t be lonely. Keep me in the spaces of your teeth so that I may awaken every time you smile. Carry me always dear, for I am falling. I’d like to hope that not all of me will be gone, since you must have caught just a little bit of me along the way. 

#prose  #creative writing  #spilled ink  #rejectscorner  

I think I’m depressed. It’s a strange feeling. I’m used to  panic and anxiety. Depression is very different. It feels like you’re buried under these nonexistent barriers and you can’t figure out how to get rid of them because there’s nothing that’s really… wrong. 

I mean I guess with anxiety it was a similar premise: fear of fear. You would fear overstimulating yourself because you fear having an attack. Then you have an attack because you overstimulated yourself by worrying about it. Then you become tired, and pray that your anxiety doesn’t peak again because it felt so shitty to have one… and then the cycle repeats itself. In reality I don’t have that many tangible triggers. They happen out of the blue most of the time. 

I feel so useless. 

I feel so lonely. 

And honestly, I realize I’m a hormonal teenager, thank you. But that doesn’t make this feeling go away. 

It does make it seem pointless to go into eternal sleep knowing that maybe tomorrow I would’ve woken up and been happy. 

In  my darkest moments though, I could see the appeal of not waking up. 

But those are only the darkest moments. Most days I’m hoping my mornings never run out. And that’s a good sign. 

I need to pull out of this dark patch. This depression. This anxiety. It makes me so tired that it’s hard to fight back. 

And every day I’m sad, lazy, and unproductive I feel like I’m losing. 

#prose  #anxiety  #depression  

Hand Holding

Feeling my nails between my teeth reminds me of you. The burning in the place between my neck and shoulders that comes from the pure anticipation that maybe this will be a movie and when we end up looking at each other for too long we’ll end up kissing. I’m waiting for you to chase me because I’m not strong enough to run and that way when you capture me I wouldn’t be lying if I said I had been running away. But when you catch me, don’t let go. I picture your arms around me and my head in a perfect nook in your chest and you’d tell me it’s ok. I’d give love, you’d give love, we’d take love. We will love. Or I guess that’s what I’d like to believe. That somewhere in the future we exist as lovers. And maybe all the feelings and smells and thoughts are just hints that we’re sending back to me so I’d get the courage to hold your hand. 

#prose  #creative writing  #spilled ink  #rejectscorner