The One with the Stoned Guy
I can’t do it all on my own, no. I’m no superman.
Why does it seem like whenever you get knocked down and you get finally get back up to your feet, life is right there to push you back over?
On another sad note.
It’s almost like I’m counting down the days. There will be little markers in my mind. When I got my license (the few times I got to drive there). When school will end. Father’s Day. And the little things that occurred in this time. When I got my running shoes. Toy Story 3. Relay for Life. All leading up to that one day.
June 30.
And the weird part is that those three people, the ones who made me forget the world and live in laughter, I think I’m going to miss them more. But probably because I have the chance to see them, talk to them, joke with them.
It seems so unbelievably hard to imagine that someone my age could lose his life. I mean, it’s not like this hasn’t happened before and it won’t happen again, but with someone who so many people I know were friends with him. Even though I didn’t know him, it’s still depresses me to see my news feed filled with the RIPs and everything.
“Death should always be a sobering event, never a celebratory one.” said one person. But I disagree. Somewhat.
It’s not the person’s death that is being celebrated. It’s their life. And even though his was taken away far too early from him, it should be celebrated. He seemed like an awesome person and I wish I could’ve had the opportunity to meet him. And it looks like there are quite a few people who feel the same. Funny how they say this now that they no longer can have the pleasure of being in his presence. While I do find myself guilty of this, I never really had the chance to meet him unlike some people who shared classes with him.
Everyone needs to always remember the good times and forget that there were even bad times. To not let this affect them too greatly that they can’t enjoy themselves. I’m sure he wants no misery among his friends because of his passing.
Have a happy afterlife Shashwat. Make up for the one you didn’t really get to live.
Life is a ball again, laughter is calling for you.
I hate allergies. I hate them with all my life. They ruin everything. I have an ear infection caused by water behind my ears because I’m incredibly congested due to my ALLERGIES. I feel like adkjfklaj. I can’t do the talent show. I can’t do crew. I’m skeptical about xc next year. And, oh how badly I want to do cross country. I hate this. I hate this so much. Allergy shots twice a week for the past TWO YEARS and I still get sick. I mean, really?
Quote reblogged from Quote Book: with 1,636 notes
Dont let your past dictate who you are ~ But let it be part of who you will become.
Source: quote-book
December 18
One year ago today was the last time Grandpa took Grandma to Costco. One year ago today, my mom got a call saying “I think I’m in trouble.” I don’t remeber if they went to the hospital then. But they definitely did the following days.
The 21st would be their anniversary. 50 years last year.
The 23rd is Grandma’s birthday. She’ll be 75.
It’s been so long since I’ve talked to someone. And I mean talk until 3 or 4 in the morning about anything in the world. I miss it a little. But I do nothing to fix it.
It’s supposed to be the happiest time of year. So where’s all the joy? Maybe it’s hiding in the Christmas decorations that are stuffed in the corner in the storage closet. Or maybe it’s caught in the past where the holidays didn’t consist of rushing Grandpa to the hospital a couple times a week. Ya know, almost a year ago - about the 22nd of December to be exact - will be the first time he would have gone to the hospital. I might be off be a day or two due to the mushiness of that break. And about 6 months and 7 pneumonias later would be the end of the suffering. These next few months I think are going to be harder than the 6 months we endured a year ago.
I believe it’s time to suck it up, put on a happy face and start decorating. If our family decides to actually decorate. Anyone wanna help?
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…I am broken.
My eyes froze when I had read over these words. Probably because it’s how I had felt a while ago. It’s how I had described myself earlier this year. But I guess I really wasn’t “broken.” But a chunk of me had come off and I was losing grip on it. I tried to hold on to it. After having an okay grasp on that piece, finding new pieces, I fell apart even more than before. That’s when I was really broken. I just didn’t recognize it like I did before. And as I slowly piece myself back together, some parts shattered and unmanageable to fix, I find myself empty on the inside, finding comfort in almost nothing.
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