Ninety-Nine & Ready to Die

He laid on the bed ‘til the nurse came by,

“I’m ninety-nine and I’m ready to die.

“I’ve seen it all. There’s nothing left for me.

And if I can only leave one statement behind,

let me tell you that everyone is the same.

“They tell you when you’re young

everyone is unique and to judge each other for it.

But I’m telling you, we’re all the same.

“We are nothing but flesh, bone, and emotion

and we do nothing but hurt and kill.

That’s all that life really comes down to.

“Life baffles me. Though we all have identical pains

we insist on continuing the cycle.

They never learn from the mistakes.

“I have lost faith in all people.

I have set my standards low

in hopes to never be disappointed.

“Let me tell you, my dear, please learn from me.

No matter your methods of prevention,

disappointment will always be there for you.”

He turned to the left and closed his eyes for the last time

before he could see the nurse hadn’t stayed to listen.

Chai

I, Daena Elaine Urbanski, am 20 years old. I live in a not-so-small-but-big-either town in the ever so seasonally bipolar Northeast Ohio. I don’t know what I want for myself.

Things that are currently making me upset, being as specific as possible and appropriate for being on the internet where everyone can access it:

My brother and his engagement

My mother and her husband

My father

My friends

My job

…being alone

Ya know what, I think I can sum up all of my problems in one statement.

“I hate my job and I hate that I am no one’s priority.”

Totally living the cliché right now.

Sitting at panera

Sipping chai tea

And not doing anything productive.

And by that I mean I am sitting here

Creeping on facebook

And then blogging about it

What has my fucking life come to? I'm only 20 years old and I feel like I'm 100 and ready to die.*

I don’t really know but I just burned the fuck out of my tongue.

*Not like suicidal, but like "I am old. I have lived this life. I am ready for the next one. Ready, go!"

Everyone

Everyone wants to be different.

Everyone wants to be special.

Everyone wants to be that one,

but everyone is the same.

Everyone claims to make the effort.

Everyone claims to care.

Everyone claims to not be like the rest,

but everyone gives up eventually.

What makes me so different?

What about me makes everyone the same?

What is wrong with me,

and what makes me not worth it?

left or right?

The Middle.
I'm in the Middle.
The view of the stars is so boring from the Middle.
Why here?
I've never heard anyone claim they love being in the Middle.
The Middle-at least for me-isn't a life sentence.
The time has come, and I can leave it if I want.
To some there, is nothing wrong with being in the Middle.
But I think the Middle is so neutral; not quite enough danger and still a lack of safety.
Speaking of danger,
I've been told a lot of mass-murderers came from the Middle. I guess a lot of presidents, too.
What does that say about coming from the Middle?
The Middle.
It's not all bad.
I wouldn't trade my time in the Middle for the world.
But I've grown bored of being in the Middle.
Of all the places to be, why the Middle?
There is nothing left for me in the Middle.
This is it.
The Middle.

I actually wanted to write this about something else.

Pseudonyms are really great. 100% anonymity with 100% honesty- with out the repercussions of someone knowing it was you writing about them.

Sometimes I wish that the internet wasn't so-- internet-y.
Ya know, accessible to all the right people and all the wrong people at the same time? It can really be the suck.

Everyone wants someone to sympathize with them. Agree with them. Make them feel like they're right. Make them feel like they aren't alone in a shitty, unfair, illogical world.  The easiest way to do that? Take advantage of the internet to the fullest. Fact or fiction, anyone can put up anything about everything anywhere for everyone to see. You feel so important & intelligent when you're writing [read: complaining] about school or your friends or your job or your parents or the government or lack thereof.

But posting on the internet is essentially passing around a page of your diary in a high school cafeteria. Maybe you only meant/were hoping for only a few certain people to see it. You want people to agree with you. Or you want them to feel like shit when they realize you're talking about them. That's not really what happens. They get pissed. Everyone can grab it up and take a look at it. For every person who agrees with you, there a million more who want to punch you in the throat. And if you are doing something with intentions like this? You probably deserve it.

Though it's your own soapbox, your 'diary' and you should be able to say whatever the fuck you want, you can't. Not if you want to put it out there for everyone to see. You can land in a shit ton of trouble for having the wrong opinions about the wrong people.

I need to just chill the fuck out.

I am 19 years old.

Based on family history, and hoping I don't get involved in any freak accidents, I have between 41 and 77 years left to live. 41 years?! Holy shit! That is a lot of time...

A lot of time to be an artist
A lot of time to travel the world
A lot of time to write
A lot of time to make money
A lot of time to not make money
A lot of time to do what I want
A lot of time to change my mind
A lot of time to have friends
A lot of time to get a new car
A lot of time to get the degree I want...

I need to stop freaking out that I can't do everything I want right now.


I can't buy a new tv, computer, or car
I can't afford to travel the world
I can't be an artist full-time
I can't just sit around and write all day
I can't decide to just walk-out on my job
I can't not go to school
I can't cut off contact with my family
I can't go party with my friends all the time

But someday in the next 41 years I'll have the time, ability and resources to make it all happen.

I never was very good with that whole 'patience' idea though.

younger days

catch fireflies in jelly jars
sleep with me under the stars
on a trampoline or in a tent
we can make it out of bed sheets
let's sing to endless summer nights
& drink to those mem'ries hated in hindsight
against us now is nothing but us
I want you to want this with me