Flash Drives

I finally made my decision on the manuscripts to send out.

Of course, since it's my life we're talking about here, there's always a fucking problem.

I first waded through the paper copies I had stored in my room. No problem there.

Since my first deadline is in exactly a month, I decided to go ahead and make some final retouches to my stories before uploading to the actual application.

Problem.

I rummaged through my flash drive and only found two stories... neither of which I'm particularly fond of.

I went through my old desktop computer and realized I had deleted all my stories when the piece of shit had to get reformatted after a virus.

My heart broke.

It appears I will have to re-type both stories.

Just for the fuck of it, I decided to check out what was on my flash drive.
What a mistake. I only grew increasingly disgruntled.

Here is the first thing I found that caught my eye. It was written in July of '08, titled "Keep Away." I'll give you one guess who it's on:

Keep your distance. Get away, just like the song says (get away, I’ve got to, get away).
Time heals all wounds… except gangrene.
As long as I don’t see him, I’ll get over it.
I’ll forget his big, honey-colored eyes,
His perfectly chiseled nose,
Those pouty, dark lips…
His slender hands…
His smile with the crooked incisors…
That line that forms in the middle of his forehead when he’s confused, or asking a question…
How his pupils dilate as he speaks to me… as long as there aren’t other girls in the room.


The way he looked at me when I opened the door to him last night made my heart jump to my throat. He made a double take after he looked in my eyes… and he turned a little shy.
I’m sure I did the same thing… that boy looks handsome in a suit… irresistibly handsome.


Why did this happen?
…
…..
I just… it’s… my God… no more. I can’t. It won’t work… especially since he only sees me as *Godson's* cousin.

That last part gave it away, didn't it? I was onto something though... I should have kept my distance.

Anyway, more on the shit I found.
I proceeded to read this depressing bit I wrote back in September of '07, titled "Lo Intente":

Lo intente. Silencie la voz de la duda por un segundo, y como siempre, esa fue mi gran debilidad... eso fue mi destrucción.
Quizá esa sea la razón por la cual siempre meto la pinche pata, y logro arruinar un poco más mi vivir.


Soy la eterna optimista con disfraz de pesimista.


Cuando cambiaran las cosas? Pues ya comienza a sospechar que el día no llegara. La fe se va extinguiendo. Me gustaría decir que estoy bien con esa deducción… pero mientras más tiempo pasa, más dolor me causa.
Encubro mi amargura y desilusión con mueca de niña estudiosa con dedicación.


No tengo futuro, demasiado pasado, y un presente fugaz.


Lo intente, lo juro, mas me di por vencida.
Termina aquí. Por que seguir con tanta farsa?
Il jamais m’aimais, et jamais m’aimerais. Je ne suis pas son type, et je le compris.


No le puedo guardar rencor, mucho menos odio… ni hoy… ni mañana… ni en veinte años.
El le devolvió la sonrisa a mi rostro, y eso con nada se paga.
No puede cargar con la culpa, si solamente permitió que por unos instantes me sintiera especial. Me devolvió la ilusión de niña ñoña.


Soy estupida, pendeja, animal, bruta, insignificante. Todo lo tengo bien merecido.
Debería bajarme de mi nube… y ya por fin lo intentare.
Seré mujer realista… al fin.

Nah. I didn't follow through with that promise either.

I decided I would read one more thing, in hopes of it being much more cheerful.
June of '08, the most boring time of my life. It was titled "More Than This":

I spend my days waiting for it to be six in the afternoon.
I play solitaire, minesweeper, and freecell while listening to the same two songs on my i-pod. No, I don't only have two songs in my i-pod, I almost have 500... but these days, I'm only in the mood to listen to the two.
Once my left leg goes numb from being in the same position, I leave the "computer room" and head to the living room to play some Guitar Hero.
I play until my eyes get crossed.
I five star songs on expert, gold star on medium, and always try for one gold star on hard. I accomplish all but that one elusive gold star on hard.


If I go through all this, and six o'clock still doesn't roll around the corner, then I draw... doodle, more like it. Nothing too serious... nothing too nice... just... doodle the same shit repeatedly: eyes, lips, and nose.


Six o'clock here yet?
Yes?
Ok, then, let's get ready to go out.


I trim my thick eyebrows to a "normal" standard.
I apply some brown eyeshadow.
I glide black liner on my top lids, then smudge it with a Q-tip.
Next, I "carefully" apply two coats of "Lash Expert" mascara.
I straighten my hair...
And this all takes less than a half hour.


Come seven o'clock, my godson comes to the rescue.
I grab my Vaseline chapstick and head out the front door.


To the park we go.


Some days we luck out and there are more than 6 people at the park.
We complete two half-assed teams for a volleyball match.
With more luck, at least two good male players are on a team.
To the some-times-dismay of the bad players, i.e. me, those two players are the only two that will ever touch the ball on that side of the court.


This goes on until 9 PM, when it's time to go home.


Once home... I change into some PJs... have a bite for dinner... then sit around some more.


More than twice a day, I tell myself:
There has to be more to life than this.


I miss school.

Ok, not so bad... one... last... story.
July of '08, titled "Es Que Tu":

Es que, nadie mas me mira como tu… solo tu.


His eyes change when he talks to me. Those dark brown eyes soften… they cheer up… they become kind.
I’ve never met a guy who does that when it comes to me. Guys usually stare at me… often with surprise… often with disgust… never like... that.


But *Darcy*...


I nearly pass out when he asks what's up, but I have to admit, it's one of my favorite things to look forward to.
The smile that crosses his face as I talk makes my stomach churn… I’m scared of talking for fear of a butterfly accidentally escaping my mouth.
His dimples… when they appear in his smile, I’m reminded of the sweet innocence of a five-year-old.


Nadie mas me mira como tu.

Aaaaand I give you permission to laugh at me.
WTF was up with that? Was I drunk?
That's exactly why I DON'T do poetry.
Nice giggle, though.
It also made me think of yesterday. I don't know if it's a good thing, or if anyone would find it as a compliment, but the person I remember most on Halloween is Darcy. The damn holiday just screams "DARCY!" I can't explain it beyond that.
At the party, while English Teacher was all up in my space, I found myself... kind of wishing it were Darcy.

That nigga never even "accidentally" kicked my shoe when he sat next to me in class...

You can say it was the only reason why I didn't do my usual anti-social thing where I cower away like the guy's made of fire.
I probably would have self-combusted by now if it were Darcy and not... this adorable blue-eyed gay guy. I'm sorry English Teacher, really, I wish I could reciprocate. But it's impossible. 

Anyway, back to being productive and NOT... whatever it is I turn to when I talk about all the above mentioned stuff.
Also, my apologies for the length of this post. I totally underestimated the length of this thing.