Summer is excellent. I am living it up with my bestie and watching Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging for the millionth time while trying to forget that I have to go to Chemistry tomorrow.
This is really totally random but it occurred to me recently.
It’s easy for people to dismiss the affect that divorce has on children as they grow older, especially if the divorce took place when they were at a young age. People often assume that because I was little when my parents divorced, I didn’t really understand what was going on and my life wasn’t terribly changed. It gets hard to defend the position that divorce has repercussions as powerful as the memories.
A few days ago my friend and I were joking around and I asked her to marry me. I slid the ring onto her finger but onto the wrong hand. She laughed a bit assuming I suppose that it was a mistake.
I genuinely didn’t know what ring a wedding finger went on. For some people this knowledge is as second nature as which hand they write with, because they see it every day. But not us darling children of divorce. A simple mistake with a big reminder that no matter how much we love our lives, something is missing. Not something I inherently want, just something closer to the definition of normal.
Thinking- thinking -thinking- humming - blinking droopy eyes- remembering breakfast - time for bed.
xoxox,
big hugs and kisses for everyone and their grandma,
Cordelia
(via -harrypotter)
this is love. this is life.
Oh dear god. finallly. Tomorrow is my last day of being a freshman, a title which I shall dearly miss.
But summer— oh yes. How I have missed you. I missed the way you never reminded me to change out of my pajamas, the way that you wore that permanent open invitation my my bestie’s house, and her’s to mine, on your forehead. I missed the way that you helped me invent recipes and eat cookie dough. I missed how obsolete binders were. I missed the magic of reading voraciously for days straight that you encouraged. I missed your blinding smile and tan line belated birthday presents. I missed what you made me.
So dear summer,
WELCOME BACK <3
(via loveraindown)
I have big plans and big dreams but I am scared I will never be able to carry them out.
I want to be happy, but what college will accept a girl who says she is happy and loves to learn if she doesn’t have the perfect GPA to “prove” it? I know that I am pretty young to be concerned about college, after all my freshman year is ending is three days, not my senior one. I just, I don’t know. I want to be able to sit in bed for hours with my Walt Whitman biographies (birthday prezzies from my grandma) and I want to make charcoal drawings of my little sister and my best friend. I want to know the history of Henrietta Lacks like the back of my hand. I want to pull all nighters writing poetry and teaching myself guitar. I want to explore the world. I want to learn about people, about cultures, about life. I want to know how to make someone smile and then make them smile for hours.
But instead I sit in bed with a textbook spread in my lap, doing menial worksheets. I have teachers tell me that I’m not good enough and then I fall on my sword so that they don’t grade me any harsher in the future. I pull all nighters memorizing formulas and equations. I draw maps and ugly posters. I sit on the living room floor until I am numb studying flashcards. I go to school in a haze from lack of sleep, breakfast, eyeliner and coffee.
Why do colleges want this? Do they want this? It just doesn’t feel worth it to be unhappy in order to be successful. I know that I can have both. I can be a writer and be free, but I need to be successful in order to survive. I can’t make much sense of it. Thank god for summer, if the promise of sleeping until noon and drawing and writing and laughing and LIVING weren’t three days away i would surely go crazy!
Three Days ‘Till Freedom,
Delia :)
my lover lol ….. www.stephanieordaz.tumblr.com
So my dreams recently have involved a re - occurring character. He is the ruler of where i live in my dream, which is really just a parallel universe exactly the same in appearance kindof, as the one I am living in now. I every dream he sends me and basically anyone else he feels like on these crazy adventurous missions throughout Los Angeles, because of his deep obsession with adventure. People are notably relieved when they are not chosen, yet they do make an effort to conceal it, lest they be chosen for the next adventure which may take place in anywhere between the next few minutes, day or months. Those who are chosen are not angry, just annoyed and resigned to their fate. The adventures rarely involve, revolve around, or are centered on death. They include minor confrontations of fear and are a bit like some odd sort of team bonding in he sense that the people chosen are not necesarily well matched or terribly familiar with one another.
Here goes the most recent one:
So I was at the Westside Pavillion, the mall, and the escalators were like five times as long and steep, and the mall had many many more floors. I was going to get on an escalator going up, and it was so so sooo crowded. I was scared I was going to fall backwards shoving down the tons of colorfully dressed people all piled on behind me, a constant flow of people getting onto the escalator continuing, os I was forced to sit down, in what I though was in order to save all of their lives and my own. I was smushed up against the glass side that faced the floors and floors and floors below me and I felt scared when I looked at them, yet i continued to glance back down as I always do when I am on scary escalators and I am scared (which is whenever I am on an escalator). Then, the Dictator made some sort of signal, because everyone suddenly knew that we were summoned for one of his great big adventure. when I reach the top of the escalator and stepped off, the ledge turned into these rows of seats, kindof a cross between movie theatre style and the style of some sort of disneyland ride meant to have open- ish airplane type seats, basically rows of seats with armrests, but only a few, while the other people at the mall went about their business with looks of concealed relief at not having been chosen. I was freaking out because no one was sitting next to me, but then I saw this girl Sheer from my swim team and I thought “It’s okay I will ask he to sit next to me at the next stop.” And then our seats were transported to rows on one of those nice Coach travel buses and I was all freaked out because I thought I was itting alona gain, but my mom was across the aisle, so I was ll “mommm mommmm come sit with me!” But she wouldn’t because she thought I was being whiny and said no. Then someone, who I hadn’t realized was sitting in the seat next to me (on my right) grabbed onto my arm and looked at em. It was Ke$ha and I instantly relaxed. I knew her like I knew my aunt. Next we were in this odd hotel parking lot Weetzie Bat scenario, I was walking bare foot across the asphalt of the parking lot, my feet stepping with ginger confidence around large peices of broken glass in that Los Angeles graceful way, while a neon sign flashed above a hardly distant overpass. It looked like a movie marque.
Then we were all on my street. I think we took a limo to get there. My mom was no longer with me. The people on the bus had been split into smaller adventure/competition groups. I realized I had forgotten something absolutely necessary to the adventure mission inside our house. I remember seeing Sheer’s face as she stood on the sidewalk watching me as I ran away. It is only now that I place that look as disappointment. She already knew I would fail.
I ran in through the porch, and instead of our silky curtain, they were made of the same material as my baby blanket. I paid it no mind as i ran around searching furtively. Each time I tried to leave, I realized that my exit route would leave a door open, and my mother and sister succeptable to some sort of attack or possibly death. This didn’t irk me, i just saw protecting them as a necessary duty. It was taking hours and I was dully aware of the sky outside turning from heavy and glowing in the heady and fortuitous way that only a Los Angeles nighttime does to the light blue of morning, oblivious and free of worries, yet blind to much of life’s beauty and pain (which may or may not be one and the same, I have yet to decide. Perhaps reaction to beauty is part of the linkage to pain and various other emotions.) When I finally ran out, the item I had needed to get was now worthless as the adventure was over, The dictator/ overlord had already declared another team the winners. No one announced it, I just knew. I became a part of my awareness. I was met by my group sitting on wooden chairs and benches in the courtyard of my apartment building where the crappy fountain would usually be. With them, his wooden outdoors chair facing me was Dumbledore. He was utterly disappointed. Sheer was sitting behind him looking pissed off but unsurprised by my extremely late arrival/return from my “quick run” inside. Dumbledore began to express his words of shame. “You made all of them miss out on this adventure.” The rest of what he said faded as I tried apologizing, “You guys I am so sorry… are you mad at me?” but they all shrugged in a sort of “well you always let us down, we are sort of used to it now. we have low expectations.” sort of way. Dumbledore was so so so ashamed of me. I began sobbing at his feet, “i always wanted you to be proud. Your opinion was the only one I ever cared about! please forgive me! Noooo….” He merely looked into the distance above my head and ignored my pleas.
I woke up.
I still feel guilty and a little on the verge of tears when I think about how I let Dumbledore down. That’s just one of those thing you can never fix or repair, whether awake or in dreams.
Oaky well that’s all for now folks. It is one thirty in the morning and I am curious to see if there will be anymore visits from the Evil Dictator Obsessed With Adventure tonight.
Much Love,
Delia
First let me begin by saying that I have always been very skeptical of fan fiction. In my opinion no one sitting at home on their laptop could ever re-create the magic of Harry Potter, or whatever else there is fanfiction about.
So one day I looked it up and I hated it. It sucked. But only kindof.But then I tried again and I found a story that I actually liked. Not as good as the real thing, but fun.
I came to imagine that reading fan fiction must be very much like having an affair. There is the original, the one that you fell in love with and to which your heart will always belong, but things have been quiet lately, nothing new. So you decide to read some fan fiction. It feels so corny and you know that if you had any self respect you wouldn’t, but it’s kinda fun. While stuff is pretty radio silent with your original love, you can spice up the hours between homework and sleep with fan fictions that revolve around things that would never have happened in the original. And yet, I felt guilty, at least for a while. It was like I was cheating on Harry Potter, but I wasn’t exactly having a miserable time with my mistress.
I will post a link to one of them haha. Yes well , if my geek status wasn’t already confirmed, it certainly is now!
http://www.harrypotterfanfiction.com/viewstory.php?chapterid=383336
Anonymous asked: You have such a talent for writing, love.
muchas gracias anonymous! that really means a lot to me.
So my life right now could currently be summed up by crawling into bed for the sake of lounging around in my Zac Posen for Target T-shirt, blasting The Summer Set’s cover of Love in This Club into my ears, and liking every Harry Potter related post that shows up on my dashboard, with an open bottle of essie, precariously perced on the laptop balanced between my knees, being wasted on the post -STAR testing chewed up stubs that are my fingernails.
Living the good life.
Not too much to blog about other than brilliance that is being fourteen in California. Ha. Right.
Honestly though, life is treating me well and I am getting geared up for my year abroad in Argentina….. but more immediately Warped Tour with my bestie. Things are boring and chill and I find myself having difficulty finding definition for my days as summer approaches, tantalizing yet still blurry around the edges. I look forward to it as a routine of a memory, still fuzzy-furry in the details and sepia toned in the specifics, each day growing closer and closer to becoming a new photo for the chaotic time warped black hole that is my brain.
I have decided that I kinda like High School, and I especially like being a freshman. It has its benefits, for example, I get to be a fly on the wall when upperclassmen gossip because they seem to be under the impression that I am too dense to understand what they are saying. Oh and the things they whisper about are TOOOOO funny. Honest to God, Beverly needs and MTV show for these guys. They oftentimes seem all too oblivious to the fact that we are in a recession, yes cheating is unethical, and no, no one remembers that you wore those sweats last tuesday.
In addition, as a freshman it is easier it seems, to get away with acting like a little kid all the time. This is especially helpful for me since my maturity level crashes and burns on a daily basis. Could this possibly have anything to do with y penchant for finger mustaches and declaring my love for Ron Weasley and gummy worms on my arms? Nah . .. never! I also have the joys of the whole “I have a short forever of three more years to set the tone for my life” feeling. I also get to laugh things off pretty easily and can get away with being clueless, because most of the time I really am.
I think I shall make a list of things to do this summer (or before I become old and worldly) very soon.
Hugs, Kisses, and wishes for never - ending summer,
Cordelia
Boring as heck. I wanted to like it so badly. I really did.
HOME
baby me being just, oh you know— epic .. haha the usual :)