#theribbongirl

[theribbongirl]

im always in the car tbh

[sufferable-mumblings]

The Pursuit of Happiness

When I was a little girl, I listened to country music. Shania Twain was my biggest role model. All I wanted to do was be a country singer so we could be friends. My parents never diluted my thoughts of granger with thoughts of studying law or medicine, they let me be a 7 year old girl. When I was in the fourth grade, my parents were told that I was a gifted child, but unfortunately there were no programs in our school district for me, so I would have to just hang back with everyone else. They didn't want me to jump a grade, so I did a lot of waiting. When most of the class was still reading books with pictures, I was at a sixth grade reading level. By the end of the year, I had read everything in my teacher's classroom. I never thought of myself as gifted, or ahead of anyone else really. I just thought I was faster, or maybe a little strange for understanding when everyone else scratched their little heads. When middle school arrived, grades switched from checks, minuses, and pluses to A's and B's and C's and so on. I remember the sudden pressure to stay ahead. I earned all A's all year, but that didn't come without a head ache. My teacher was hard on his students, and I remember pouring over extra credit essays to keep my perfect grades. I don't remember why I was so afraid to get anything under perfect. As middle school went on, my dreams of being a singer shifted. My teachers would again tell my parents that I was very smart and capable of great things. Soon the idea of being a doctor formed in my head. Whether that was on my own accord or not is still unclear, but for a long time I thought I would become an obstetrician and bring life into the world. But in the seventh grade, I got a B. I was never more embarrassed. I remember crying in my room, afraid to show anyone my failure, printed in black ink. My mother came in and asked me what was wrong, and when I told her, she assured me that my grades were still very, very good. I kept on singing in the chorus and the select chorus. I played in the band. I started theatre. I loved performing from a young age. The more time I spent in stage, the bigger my appetite grew for applause. In the eighth grade, I was cast in my first lead in a musical. It was a complete slapstick role, and I found my niche. Nothing made me happier than having the audience doubled over, laughing until the tears came down. When I was a freshman, the word "college" kept coming up in conversation, like an inevitable battle to be fought. I started listening to musical soundtracks, reading into the lives of my favorite actors and actresses. I had begun to realize that grades do not make a person, and are not an accurate measurement of one's intelligence. I realized that I was never meant to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or an engineer, or any of the other high paying jobs people had tried to convince me to pursue. My dream was, and is, to pursue a career as a performer. My parents were not eager when I first told them my secret. But now, they are my biggest supporters. My parents are letting me follow my dream. They love me enough to let me find what I was put here to do. And while I love them dearly for being so understanding, I do not understand why they are such an oddity. I have friends with parents who are pushing them into career's they detest, friends with parents who refuse to accept who their child is or what they want out of life. We only get one change here on Earth, one chance at happiness. Why waste it pouring over work in a poorly lit cubicle, ironically plotting ways to end yourself. Parents, love your children. Love the, enough to allow them to pursue their dreams, to pursue their happiness. You had your chance, you made your bed, don't make them lay in it.

[sufferable-mumblings]

petit oiseau

I once saw a little bird Dead on the concrete. She was Small, Her wings Unfurled, like she was Stopped mid flight by the grace of God. I like to Imagine that the little Bird was meant for More than Her little Meager life here in the world of Pollution and politics that I discovered her at the Close of. I like to Think that little Bird once was an Eagle, or a Falcon. That She had the chance to Fly among the mountains, Skim the clouds with the tip of her Wings, build a great Nest of branches, and not Twigs. I like to Pretend that I am that little bird, that She and I are of the same Wing. That I may Soar over the misty lakes of Earth, and look down to See my beak and Black bead-like eyes Shining because I am Free, I am at Peace. I once saw a little bird Dead on the concrete. She was Small, Her wings Unfurled, like she was Stopped mid flight by the grace of God. I like to Pray that someday when I am laying on the Concrete, arms Outstretched, that someone Believes I was stopped, too, by the Grace of God.

[sufferable-mumblings]

time

Right now, you're reading this sentence. Now you're reading this sentence. Now, you're thinking about what this column is going to be about, aren't you? You're wondering, why are you wasting your time reading whatever this is? You're four sentences in, and this, this piece is about nothing, right? What's the big deal? This is what the passage of time is like. You go about your day, reading, writing, thinking, eating, blinking, breathing, and then go home and sleep. You wake up the next day and do some sort of similar routine all over again. When you just do things without thinking, time passes secretly, it slips by you without your knowledge. But when it's pointed out to you, you stop for a moment and try to get a handle on time. Look at the time right now. Check a clock, a watch, your phone, whatever time piece you have. What were you doing at this time yesterday? Perhaps thinking about what you would be doing at this time tomorrow? Or maybe you were thinking about how excited you are for the weekend. Does it seem far away, this weekend? Well now you're closer than you were yesterday. You're closer to the weekend right now than you were when you read the opening paragraph to this column. You're closer now than you were when you read the first word of this sentence. Time passes constantly. Whether you are awake and consciously thinking about it, or sleeping it away, it's passing. Some times, time can be agonizing. You buy concert tickets months in advance, and it feels like the day will never come. But, it does. You have a paper due at the end of the semester, which seems like an eternity away. But, it comes. You start high school as a freshman, and from day one you're praying for graduation, feeling like it's a life time away. But, it comes. For me, graduation is less than a month away. I've been thinking about it for years. But when you break it down, the concept of a year is just a handful of months. Months are just a few weeks. Weeks are just seven days. Days are a few hours. Hours are only minutes. Minutes are seconds. Time is relative. You never realize how quickly it's slipping by you until it's gone entirely. I have been waiting for graduation since I was a child, and now it's here. And by the time you have read this, it's closer than when I wrote this. It's closer still since you starting reading this piece, since you read this sentence. Or this sentence. Or this one. My intention in writing this piece wasn't to trivialize time to you. I wrote this with the purpose of showing you how every single moment of your life counts. Every tiny moment speeds by so fast, it's already become a memory. Make what you have worth remembering.

[sufferable-mumblings]

"Girls," a poem from the point of view of Holden Caulfield

Girls. They Kill me. Goddamn, do they Kill me. Make me Crazy. Ernest Morrow’s mother, Boy did she have a Nice smile. Terrifically nice, In fact. The way she Smoked, she had such Charm. Quite a bit of Sex appeal, really. But Mrs.Morrow Left her goddamn Bags in the middle of the Aisle. Sunny. For Chrissake she was My age. A prostitute. I wish Maurice didn’t Wake her. Hey, she said, like funny She said, jiggling her foot in that little green dress. Nervous girl. But Sunny wasn’t a real blond. Sally. What a royal Pain in the ass. But Christ, was she marvelous. She never wore a Hat, but that little black beret. Goddamn. I couldda watched her and her cute little ass skate around all night. But Sally likes The Lunts. Goddamn. Nobody keeps their kings In the back row Anymore. I remember her, Laying by the pool. She lost by eight balls That day. I remember kissing Her eyes, her nose, everywhere and Anywhere.Her hands were Terrific to hold. Never too tight And never sweaty. All I knew is I was happy. I should Give her a call. But she Went out with Goddamn Stradlater. Girls. Goddamn, Crumby girls. I swear, I’m going Mad. They kill me.

[livsnjutaree]

theribbongirl said: wow youre beautiful

Thank you! You're kind :')

[talesofalife]

[talesofalife]

Classic