The thing about dreams is, you wake up.

So this is the end. I knew it would come sooner or later, like most ends do. For the longest time I held on tight, always fighting the current of life. They say the chain breaks at its weakest link, and so I should be proud to say that it wasn't me. I'm not.
During the last few months, I would say to myself, "Living a life like this, isn't possible, not for someone like me" It was more dream than reality. But now I've learned, the problem with dreams is, you eventually wake up.
Brady and I would talk about it all the time, sometimes till early in the morning. Talking about nothing in particular, and focusing on how lucky we were. It was mainly him who brought up stuff like that, which surprises me now. Our conversation would be like,
"What's up?"
"Thinking"
"About what?"
"How much we need each other... I don't know what I would do without you."
... and so on.
Now I wonder though, is it possible for someone like him, to feel that way about me? Maybe. Maybe he never did. Maybe he still does. I'm too weak to make a hopeful guess at this moment. Letting myself down happens all too often now. Sometimes its safer to just not think at all. Which is why I prefer sleeping.
Life is hard. It breaks us apart, and only the strong survive. But truth is, no matter how strong you think you are, or seem to be, we're all broken in the end. I've been having some family problems, some confidense problems, some motivation problems, etc, and the only thing holding me together was my relationship, it seemed.
But now, its gone, and it tore the last fragment of my weakly beating heart from my body and left me breathless.
Never count on time because you never know how much you have left.
I remember, that night when Hayleigh, Brantley, Brady and I went to see Marley and Me at the District. I remember the way my hands shook so badly after Brady and I kissed that I could barely type in my own phone number. No matter how starstruck I was, I was still a little disappointed that we had messed up the simplest kiss in the world.
We talked on IM (instant messenger) after that, and I openly expressed my disappointment to him. His response to that was, "Its ok, we have plenty of time to try again, don't worry."
That was my mistake, I actually beleived him.
We had the rest of forever to get it right, to learn, and love.... or so I thought.
That was one of our favorite things to do... talk about the future. I don't blame us, it was a bright sunny place, where we could see each other every minute of every day, and have everything we ever wanted. We could talk for hours about our plans for the future. We were going to buy a coffee shop, start a band, win jeopardy, go on vacations to places that no one has ever heard of, and buy a house on a lake to live in together. It was perfect. Too perfect.
Now with him gone, I feel as though I've lost everything. All those perfect conversations, all those feelings, are all in vain. They're just something I'll eventually forget. All those "I love you's" will mean absolutely nothing. Soon, I'll begin to wonder if I ever did really feel that way about him.
After dating Cade, I wanted to date someone brilliant, someone super amazing, someone with interests similar to me. I found Brady, who was everything I'd ever wanted. He was on the academic team at his school, was incredibly good humored, and was more like me than anyone else I've ever met. But I should have known that wanting someone who was like me probably wasn't the smartest idea in the world. I think too much. I often worry about things that aren't even problems yet. Which is what happened with us.
One day, Brady and I were talking, and he started telling me about everything he had been thinking. It started with the boat fantasy, and ended with him telling me how worried he was. According to him, he felt trapped, as if we actually WERE married. He was afraid that he was getting into a relationship too mature for someone who was still trying to decode life and figure out who he was. Thats the problem with smart men, they tend to look past the irrationalness of love, and see the rational solution.
My problems were exactly the opposite. The thing I feared most was losing him. I know that sounds incredibly cheesy, but please, for my sake, don't picture Kirsten Stewart saying that sentence (absolute WORST delivered line in all of Twilight). More than anything, I wanted all of our fantasies to come true, and stay with him for, possibly ever. I needed reassurance.
From that moment on, we started growing apart. Slowly, and barely noticably. It scared me. For weeks I cried myself to sleep, fearing the reasons why he seemed to be ignoring me, when I desperately needed to sort things out with him.
I suppose most of this was my fault after all. I had several chances to save us. We were in a sinking ship, and by the time I decided to fix the hole, we had already sunk. I wanted to tell him how I felt about everything. I wanted to tell him that I would do anything to work it out. I wanted to ask him what was wrong. I had the chance to. But I didn't.
Its always the same way. When I need to be heard, I can't find the words.
It kills me to know that I could have prevented this from happening. It kills me that, I had the perfect chance to fix this. On Wednesday, he told me how much he missed me and that he wanted to see me. Back then, his mind wasn't made up, he still wanted things to work out. I could have taken that chance to talk to him. I should have.
I was too afraid that he would take the words offensively, that he would hate me, and want to end our relationship, so I waited. I hid. And now, it happened anyway.
When he sent me the text explaining that he didn't think it could work out between us, it killed me inside. When I read those unproportionate letters on my phone, I felt as if my rib cage collapsed and my lungs had shriveled up. I literally gasped for air, only to find none. Even as all this was happening, I don't think he deserves the credit of breaking my heart. Its still beating, and I know it will continue to beat.
I also have no regrets concerning our relationship. I don't regret giving my heart to him, I only regret that our time together wasn't more memorable. We only got to see each other twice a week, and in the three months we went out, we only kissed once, and missed. We held hands once or twice in church, but other than that, we just talked. And I'm going to miss that more than anything.
After all the hours we spent staring at our computer screens, typing messages to each other, talking about nothing of importance, just simply talking. Now knowing that I no longer have random conversations to look forward to every day, kills me, just like chuck norris punching you in the gut.
I wish I had more time to explain to Brady how he made me feel. I wish I could have told him that I've never loved anyone as much as I loved him, and that I would do anything to keep us together. But, if I tried to talk to him now, that would make everything unnessisarily difficult for both of us.
I know it sounds dramatic, but I mean it when I say I feel lost without him. I would spend every moment thinking about him. I would wake up every morning looking forward to when I could finally talk to him, and on Wednesdays I would have an overwhelming excitement for blur.
Now, I can't remember what I thought about when I didn't know him, I have nothing to look forward to, and I'll dread Wednesdays from now on, because I know I'll see his face and remember all the wonderful things about him. I have no doubt that my heart will still flutter when he looks at me, or secretly wish I could still sit next to him. I know that every time my phone vibrates with a text, for just a moment, my overactive imagination will stir with anticipation. That in some far off world, Brady's name will appear next to the unread text icon. I know it never will.
I've been thinking a lot about his reasoning, though. He says that he's not ready to have a serious relationship at this point in his life. He's trying to sort his own life out and its not a good time for him to be in a relationship. He never gets to see me, and for that reason, he doesn't quite feel comfortable around me yet. He says its not permanent, that its just the circumstances. He thinks we should wait until he gets a car and can actually go on dates and see each other.
But I've already accepted the fact that guys make no sense.
I tried to tell him that, if he wants to get back together anyway, why break up in the first place? I would much rather only see him a few times a week, than not at all. We'll see each other for sure, but it will never be the same.
Well I'm gonna end this blog, its starting to not make sense. See you people, I hope your day wasn't as horrible as mine was.

Con Fuoco Band Practice and Revelations

Hey everyone! Haha I thought that comic was pretty funny.... lobster humor. Naturally. Haha, just your daily dose of morbid humor. But think next time you decide to cook a lobster alive. I'm sure they don't appreciate it.

Anyways... on a more serious note. This blog is going to be about (of all people) Hayzen Hunter. Someone that I would never expect to be blogging about, much less even think about outside of band practice. For the longest time, I've known Hayzen as the big-headed arrogent member of the band. Who always shows off when we practice, and couldn't give a crap about what anyone tells him. He's usually the epicenter (I just used a science word!) of our band drama.

So today, when I walked into the Blur room to begin setting up for practice and he said, "Hey, Cosette!" I knew something was just a bit off. Not since the first day I met him has he ever acknowledged my prescense, and much less called me by name. In the summer, when we first joined Con Fuoco, I attempted to make some sort of conversation with him, but soon gave up after all of our conversations consisted of one word answers, or him just ignoring my existence completely. He always isolated himself from me with an air of arrogance. I always figured that he was trying to tell me that he was better than me, and I would never meet his guitar-playing standards.

After I muttered a surprised "Hey there." and plugged in my guitar to the sound system, I started to play everything I knew because I had arrived about a half and hour early for practice. And I'm not going to lie... I was pretty dang good. For the first time, I played Decode perfectly, nailed all the notes on Every Breath You Take at full speed, and didn't completely disgrace Randy Rhoads with my pathetic attempt at playing Crazy Train. It was a miracle! In the meanwhile, Hayzen was setting up his huge vintage amp and plugging in his guitar. Although I might be completely off, but I think, that in that time that he listened to me jam on my Les Paul, that he finally noticed me for the guitar player I was. There was some kind of respect and understanding of skills that had settled between us, as odd as that sounds.

During the rest of band practice, something was different. It was actually fun and exciting, rather than serious and mandatory. We spent about ten minutes messing around and electrocuting ourselves with 55 watts of the pure useless energy that was flowing through Allie and Hayzen's guitars. We joked around a little more than usual and all laughed at the randomest stuff. I think it made a difference that everyone was involved. Also, when Allie refused to listen to my suggestions to fix certain songs and such, Hayzen stood up for me. It was the weirdest thing ever.

Now all of this maybe be insignificant, and maybe I imagined everything, but for me, this small change was revolutionary. It marked how far I've really come.

I've attended South Mountain Community Church since I was in either Kindergarten or First Grade, and this has been the first year I've actually felt accepted. I still remember the days when I used to sit by myself in the corner, talking on the phone with Alyse, or texting, because I had no one to talk to. I used to invite Xandra to church every Wednesday to hang out with me; since I was in the band, it was required that I come to church every Sunday and Wednesday, and I knew no one. I was afraid that no one would accept me, so I mostly kept to myself. During the last few months, I decided that I should open up to people and magically, I started making friends. Today, a few of my friends grabbed me and begged (on their knees) Sandy to let me come to the 9th grade small group with them. After years of fitting in no where, it was nice.

So maybe, figment of my imagination or not, it wasn't really Hayzen that changed... maybe it was me.

Of Packrats and such.

Hey there. Woot! Hoorah for blogging. I'm not really sure of what this is all about, as this is my first post. It will most likely be awkward, like most posts from inexperienced bloggers, but we can deal, yes? I'm trying this out because Alyse tells me that blogging helps you clear your mind of all those crazy thoughts running around up there and relaxes you (or something along those lines). All well... her blog is amazing.

So this is some random thoughts the other day when I was in a writing mood at one in the morning... they make absolutely no sense, and are inspirationally unrewarding... but you know, if some frantic mormon housewife can write a novel about sorting socks, then I surely can write an entry about being a packrat.

I came to the conclusion a few days ago, that in my true nature, I am no packrat... The only reason my true state of "zen" has not been reached is because of my current housemates (aka: my mother and cole). You see, my parents are the main contributors to my ever growing collection of useless objects. And naturally, if you hand a human money, they become attached to it. Over the years, by spending so much on the random crap I have in my room, they’d hate to see it all go to waste (as in selling it). Thus they refuse to let me throw them away, which in some ways makes no sense at all, because sitting in my room gathering dust isn’t exactly an ideal use, if you know what I mean. So here I am, surrounded by things like 5 year old ’make your own lipgloss’ kits, clothes from Aeropostale (ugh), and ragged blankets (my nasty cat’s humping toy), that may have sentimental value to some people, but would be better off in the garbage.

With my brother though, it’s a whole different story. He is known (or should be known) as the king of all packrats and anything pertaining to them. If you were to walk in his room, you would instantly be aware of piles upon piles of dusty, useless objects. I’m sure that it would take days to sort through those piles, which is why no one has really ever attempted to conquer them. Occasionally there will be a broken chess piece, or a valentines day card back from 2nd grade that happened to tumble out into the middle of the floor. It really is fascinating to look through all the stuff my brother keeps in his collection. Somehow, for him, each of the items holds a memory, no matter how small. Maybe he’s afraid to lose those seemingly insignificant reminders of the past, so he can better remember when the future comes.

I can see why he’s such a packrat though. The feeling is truly magnificent when you stumble upon something you’ve nearly forgotten from your past. Over time, I suppose we all forget who we were, and focus on who we are, on who we wish to become. When uncovering a little piece of your past, you uncover a piece of yourself too. Maybe some packrattedness is good for all of us. If we can’t remember ourselves, then we have nothing.

Hmm… well that was it. It may not have been important, or full of intense emotions that bring tears to your eyes, but I can at least say I tried. Well I’m off to bed. Goodnight fellow readers. Sleep tight (whatever that means).