Life

It's currently 5:02 in the afternoon, though the storm clouds make it look more like twilight, and a cup of coffee has never been such a comfort to my soul. I'm feeling a little mellow-er than usual-- if that's even a word. I've been felling mellow a lot lately; maybe my temperment is just cooling down. Maybe it's that I'm not trying for John's affection anymore, too. I don't really know, but it's like I don't feel so antsy, anymore. I don't feel like every movement, every action is somehow being scrutinized. I am ashamed though; I still catch myself thinking about him, I still find myself searching the crowds for his face. I will not cultivate that tiny spark of hope to build into the flame of desire, but I cannot bring myself to crush it, all the same. I know that it is that spark that makes me take my own form, and I fear that if I crush it, I will crush myself, too.
Is this slow and peaceful feeling "resovle?" Is this what characters feel at the end of novels? I know that I shall never reach true resolve; some part of me, I fear, will always love him. It is not a frantic fear, though, it is an accepted one, like a parent who knows that their child will grow into a lady or a gentleman. Inevitable, but content.
I also realize in this "resolve" (or they eye of the storm, hush before the storm et cetera...) I realize that I've been too hard on myself. I allow myself two non-school pleasures. I blog and (fill in the blank.) I do not memorize a new poem for pleasure if I am already reading a novel, for example. I focus far too much on being better, faster, stronger, smarter than anyone else, that I forget that I have my own limits that I must abide by.
I realize, also that other people are hard on me, too. The grades my parents expect, the chores, the homework.
I want also, to go join the huddled masses of under-appreciated people, because I sometimes feel like I belong there with them. It's not anything big-- it's never anything big-- it's just little things. I asked my sister this afternoon of she had eaten breakfast. I had asked her as we walked out of the door, but she never answered, and so I never got her anything, rushed as we were. I ended up worrying about it the rest of the day, and so I asked her when we got home. SHe said she did not wish to speak with me at all, and I come to find out it was because I poked her. ANyway, when Mom finally coaxes her to answer, she spats, "It's not your job to make sure I eat breakfast!" I know it's not, but I care. Forgive me for loving you so.
And after, I mentioned that she was acing "emo" lately, isolating herself from her friends, and most regrettably, her family. She punched me for saying so, and I told her it was unfair to be angry at be for poking her in good spirits, when she would so willingly deal blows with bad spirits.
Mom also said that she really wanted a cup of coffee, so I made her a 1/4 pot, and fixed her a cup, washing her mug, as well. She snapped at me when I brought it to her, saying that she didn't want one, now.
And I know it's stupid, but all I've ever wanted for everything I've ever done is a token of gratitude. A "Thank You" works as well as a hug or kiss, or a small aside done from the goodness of somebody's heart. I know that when I hold the door for someone in a wheelchair, I would only wish the same if it were me. I compliment elementary students, because I knew what a day-changer it was for me, how empowering that a high-schooler (<--deity) may grace me with a compliment. I remember everyone who's ever done anything for me, and everyone who I've done anything for, but the most poingniant memories is when I should have helped and I didn't-- each one clear as ice and aching hot as fire.
I believe I'm done harping, now; perhaps I shall cello instead.

Nota Bene: Cello has officially been turned into a verb. (i.e. Amber can't come to the phone, now, she's celloing.) it means to practice cello and is "instrumental" in a good pun.

Post Scriptum: I'm on fire with the bad puns!!