Late Nights, Early Mornings

Recently my sleep schedule has been all over the place. It’s definitely added to the stress I’ve been under lately. As I mentioned in my last post, I haven’t had a chance to work on my own personal projects lately, which is seriously bumming me out. Unfortunately balancing school and my personal life has become more and more difficult over these last two years.

There are days when I feel as though I’m missing out on stuff…and then again there are things that I’d rather not take part in. University is just another chapter in my life that is quickly coming to an end…and I’m ready for what lies ahead. I may not have everything figured out but honestly who does? I just wish I could get my sleep under control. I’m either sleeping ton or not at all. I hate feeling tired in the middle of the day.

Tonight I’m up late because I’m not feeling well…however yesterday I went to bed around 8pm. I was pretty exhausted. Both days were busy but…I guess it’s harder to fall asleep when your stomach feels like it’s going to explode.Actually, if it did explode it might relieve some of the pain. I hate this. I honestly do. I’d better be 100% healthy when I get out of bed tomorrow or I’m going to be ticked. I’m too busy to be sick. I won’t allow it. I have exams to prepare for, homework to catch up on, placements to do, and performances and presentations and….I find myself getting lost in thought trying to squeeze all of these individual tasks into my brain.

My wall is currently plastered in sticky notes. I managed to remove some a couple of days ago…but the ones that remain are a constant reminder of how much stuff I need to do. Yet, here I am blogging, drinking hot water and lemon to sooth my stomach and watching television…to top it off I’m also alternating between three games on my phone. It’s not very productive, but if you spent two days doing nothing but work, you’d want to at least spend a little time in the evening relaxing right? I could seriously go for a nice hot shower right now…despite it being 1 am…but my roommate didn’t rinse out the tub and I literally just cleaned it out….I scrubbed that entire bathroom. I even washed the floors. I don’t like living with people. I broke a glass yesterday, and a piece of it cut my ankle. No one even bothered to come into the kitchen to find out what that shattering sound was. I didn’t even notice the blood until I was finished sweeping. Why did I put shorts on when I got home? Why did I think it was a good idea to wear shorts? All I wanted to do was eat my damn pizza pocket. That’s all I wanted…but these people leave their dirty dishes all over the place. So sorry I broke your glass. I’m left-handed. Not like you’d know that but…don’t leave your stuff so close to the microwave and I won’t accidentally smash it to bits.

I hope this lemon water thing works. I just googled it. Apparently it helps. I figure if my Mom would drink it, it’s probably good for me.

Well…I hope I have something more interesting to update on, other than the things that happen during my day.

Till next time,

–R.

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Glass

What do we do, when the ones we care about are broken?

Do we punish the ones who have hurt them? Make them pay for their crimes. Show them what broken really looks like.

Do we try to fix them or do we leave them shattered like broken glass. Millions of a whole sparkling in the dirt.

It is hard to love a broken thing. When things break we replace them…it’s easier than taking the time to mend them. Easier to forget about what is broken. Who is broken. No one wants to be reminded of the things that are broken…the people they have broken.

I saw her broken. She laid there, like glass. Silent…though silence was never something she longed for. I couldn’t touch her. She was sharp. Her shards laid at my feet. I didn’t break her, but I cannot fix her. I don’t know how. I want to. I want what once was. This bond between us, shatter by those who hurt her. Beat her down into the dirt. Shoved their words into her like daggers. Tore apart what was left of her. Somehow she rose. A million pieces. She rose up, still shattered and she glistened in the sun. I couldn’t fix her. I don’t know if she even wanted to be fixed. Perhaps she likes being broken? Perhaps the glass makes her enemies tremble with fear. She is strong, even though she is shattered. Her strength is the greatest sword ever built.


For my dearest and oldest friend.

Stay strong.

–R.

“What’s it mean when somebodies heart is broken?” – Curly.T

Trying to explain what it means to have a broken heart to a child is extremely difficult. They think of it like a broken bone, something that you can see and mend…however in reality broken hearts are hidden within us, beneath our outer shells.

Sure, some of us have hearts that aren’t very strong, or don’t work they way they should…but we don’t say our hearts our broken when they’re off beat or they burst out of control. We say they’re under attack.

Until today, I never realized how we view our hearts. When I think of my heart, I think of a vessel pumping in my chest but I also think of the vast emotions that I feel and the memories associated with them. I wonder why our hearts feel as though they clench whenever we’re in pain? Or why they race rapidly when we’re nervous, or why our hearts flutter whenever we’re in love?

I don’t think a broken heart can be properly explained. It is one of those things that you have to feel to actually understand…and for the little girl who asked, I hope she doesn’t feel that sort of pain for a very, very long time…even though it is a necessary feeling that we all need in order to grow.

–R.