I'm drowning.
Head under water, incapable of taking a breath.
An unoriginal idea, I know,
But true none the less.
I'm overwhelmed, surrounded,
I can't find a solid foundation on which to place my feet.
I am clinging to life by instinct alone, only my body's inbred desire to live protects me.
I see an island, a safe haven, a mere swim away.
Do I seek out this refuge? Do I take the lifeline fate has bestowed upon me?
No. I stay where I am.
That land is too unknowable, too frightening.
I can not bear the idea of what may await me on that foreign place.
It is much safer to flounder in these familiar waters,
Easier to avoid those potential dangers and hardships, and strive to remain afloat.
Besides, I'm used to these struggles. I can handle them.
I will make the journey tomorrow,
Tomorrow is a much better day for such things.
For now I am content with where I am.
I am drowning.
I know it doesn't rhyme and it isn't what you would call "good", but it was my first shot so cut me some slack.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
BEST TRIP EVER!!
Wednesday I received the best Christmas present ever. My dad took me to two of my very best friend's house in Minnesota to spend the night!!!
I hadn't seen them in May at their sister's graduation party and I was excessively excited to see them again! When I got to there house we had the best sleep over in the history of sleepovers. We made mouse cupcakes, explored their hometown, played cards, went to Teen Talk (their youth group) and just joked around.
This trip reminded me of all the fun times we had before they moved away and of the many reasons that they are my best friends. One reason is that I can be myself around them. I don't have to be afraid to be my wild, crazy, goofy, bizarre, socially awkward self without any repercussions. They just get me. Even when I say something so out there that most people would flee the room, they just laugh and move on like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I love my friends. Not just because of how they make me feel, but because of who they are. Inside and out.
I hadn't seen them in May at their sister's graduation party and I was excessively excited to see them again! When I got to there house we had the best sleep over in the history of sleepovers. We made mouse cupcakes, explored their hometown, played cards, went to Teen Talk (their youth group) and just joked around.
This trip reminded me of all the fun times we had before they moved away and of the many reasons that they are my best friends. One reason is that I can be myself around them. I don't have to be afraid to be my wild, crazy, goofy, bizarre, socially awkward self without any repercussions. They just get me. Even when I say something so out there that most people would flee the room, they just laugh and move on like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I love my friends. Not just because of how they make me feel, but because of who they are. Inside and out.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Licensed to.....?
Two days ago, I walked out of City Hall with a loaded gun.
Symbolically. Not literally.
Early Thursday afternoon, I decided to get my drivers license. Seconds later, I regretted this decision. There are two things that frighten me to the very core of my being, to the point where I almost need therapy. And those things are tests, and driving. And, sadly, the "driving test" incorporates both of them.
Tests? You must be thinking now. Why would she be afraid of tests? Well, I respond, I have this disease entitled "Hermione-Granger-Disorder" which is basically a phobia of failure. Shudder. Seriously, even the word sends shivers down my spine. And driving frightens me because, well, who wouldn't be scared when the lives of everyone they encounter on the road is in their hands?
So, this unholy combination of the the two was what has haunted my nightmares for more days than I can count.
I chanted "gonna fail, gonna fail, gonna fail," every where I went Thursday morning, in an attempt to desensitize myself to the seemingly inevitable. Because I WOULD fail. Not a doubt in my mind about this statement. Failure was my destiny, and all I could hope for was that no one would die during my doomed venture.
Afternoon came, and I walked through the accursed double doors of City Hall. To those of you who have never been inside this government building, be forewarned. The aura of this place is specifically designed to fill you with doubt and foreboding. I'm almost positive the walls had just been bleached to mask the sent of human misery and tears before my arrival.
We had to wait for the woman in charge to get back from devouring small children for what felt like a millennium. Or ten minutes. This WAS a few days ago after all... When she finally arrived the little courage I had left fled me like a cowardly captain leaving his doomed ship.
I braced myself for the worst, sure that the Grimm Reaper would come for me at any moment. The lady opened her mouth to give me my sentence, then the strangest thing happened. She took my form proving I had successfully complete Drivers Ed., and started typing up my license. No drivers test, no psychological examination to prove I wasn't some nut job who believed they were an alien bent on destroying the planet. Just typed up my license, checked my eyesight, and let me leave.
This women doesn't know me, she has no idea how responsible I am or how seriously I take driving. But she gave me my ticket to freedom and trusted I wouldn't misuse it.
I am a licensed driver. I can operate a motor vehicle without adult supervision. I am responsible for my fellow man every time I step behind that wheel. Me, the person who can't even remember to wash behind my ears. The self-proclaimed "worst driver in the history of auto mobiles." What is this world coming to?
Symbolically. Not literally.
Early Thursday afternoon, I decided to get my drivers license. Seconds later, I regretted this decision. There are two things that frighten me to the very core of my being, to the point where I almost need therapy. And those things are tests, and driving. And, sadly, the "driving test" incorporates both of them.
Tests? You must be thinking now. Why would she be afraid of tests? Well, I respond, I have this disease entitled "Hermione-Granger-Disorder" which is basically a phobia of failure. Shudder. Seriously, even the word sends shivers down my spine. And driving frightens me because, well, who wouldn't be scared when the lives of everyone they encounter on the road is in their hands?
So, this unholy combination of the the two was what has haunted my nightmares for more days than I can count.
I chanted "gonna fail, gonna fail, gonna fail," every where I went Thursday morning, in an attempt to desensitize myself to the seemingly inevitable. Because I WOULD fail. Not a doubt in my mind about this statement. Failure was my destiny, and all I could hope for was that no one would die during my doomed venture.
Afternoon came, and I walked through the accursed double doors of City Hall. To those of you who have never been inside this government building, be forewarned. The aura of this place is specifically designed to fill you with doubt and foreboding. I'm almost positive the walls had just been bleached to mask the sent of human misery and tears before my arrival.
We had to wait for the woman in charge to get back from devouring small children for what felt like a millennium. Or ten minutes. This WAS a few days ago after all... When she finally arrived the little courage I had left fled me like a cowardly captain leaving his doomed ship.
I braced myself for the worst, sure that the Grimm Reaper would come for me at any moment. The lady opened her mouth to give me my sentence, then the strangest thing happened. She took my form proving I had successfully complete Drivers Ed., and started typing up my license. No drivers test, no psychological examination to prove I wasn't some nut job who believed they were an alien bent on destroying the planet. Just typed up my license, checked my eyesight, and let me leave.
This women doesn't know me, she has no idea how responsible I am or how seriously I take driving. But she gave me my ticket to freedom and trusted I wouldn't misuse it.
I am a licensed driver. I can operate a motor vehicle without adult supervision. I am responsible for my fellow man every time I step behind that wheel. Me, the person who can't even remember to wash behind my ears. The self-proclaimed "worst driver in the history of auto mobiles." What is this world coming to?
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Moments and Regrets
Life is made up of thousands of little moments, and with each new moment comes a choice. Not always a major choice, like which college to go to, who to marry, which house to buy. Most of the time it's a small one, like what to wear, how you should respond to a text, what to say to a friend in trouble. Often the decision consists primarily of whether or not you should act at all. In this moment I am deciding what words to type, what punctuation to use, which sentiments I want to express, whether my tone should be joking or serious. All this in just one moment.
A moment (I apologize for the excessive use of that word), and the choice that comes with it, is the molecule of life. Just as the human body is comprised of billions of tiny atoms, so the human existence is made up of billions of minuscule moments. Most of them may seem unimportant when judged by their own merit, but each is necessary to the fate of the whole.
You see, the selection you make at one point leads to another group of options, and so on and so forth until the direction your life was going shifts and you are faced with new horizons to pursue. Have you ever stopped to think about where you are in the world and how you got there? Can you trace your path back to the second things started to change?
Sadly, this foundation isn't always rock solid. The fact that one decision can change your life forever is such a humungous cliche that I almost feel lazy and uncreative just by typing it here. But the moment to use it is definitely now, on a blog that practically no one reads.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. Regret. The direct result of an ill-used moment. We all have them, some are big, some are not blue. But all are incredibly nasty to experience. There are two types of regret: the kind you get by missing out on an opportunity, and the kind that follows a misdeed. Both are unpleasant, but not to the same caliber.
For example: when I was waiting in line at Disney World one day, I noticed that the guy next to me had the most gorgeous hair imaginable. It looked like a chocolate, curly cloud. I was sure that if I could just burry my hand into its lustrous depths, it would magically bestow upon me all of life's secrets. Sadly, I did not have the courage necessary to fondle a stranger's scalp, and the thought of what might have happened if my flesh came into contact with what could only be the hair of an angel haunts me to this day.
However, the curiosity that pains me over this occurrence is nothing compared to the guilt I feel over my sins. I can laugh off the hair story, but I cannot get rid of the negative feelings I have for the things I am guilty of. There is nothing funny about the mean spirited things I have done and said, or the thoughts I have given room and board to in my head. Nothing even mildly amusing about how I have ignored God and avoided prayer like it was the plague.
Lucky for me regret is not a terminal condition, but rather an alarm that goes off in our soul, telling us that the time has come for one of those pivotal moments. Time to take the knowledge you have garnered, and choose better.
As the band Relient K so eloquently put it, "with every passing second comes a second chance."
In other words, "magic hair, here I come."
A moment (I apologize for the excessive use of that word), and the choice that comes with it, is the molecule of life. Just as the human body is comprised of billions of tiny atoms, so the human existence is made up of billions of minuscule moments. Most of them may seem unimportant when judged by their own merit, but each is necessary to the fate of the whole.
You see, the selection you make at one point leads to another group of options, and so on and so forth until the direction your life was going shifts and you are faced with new horizons to pursue. Have you ever stopped to think about where you are in the world and how you got there? Can you trace your path back to the second things started to change?
Sadly, this foundation isn't always rock solid. The fact that one decision can change your life forever is such a humungous cliche that I almost feel lazy and uncreative just by typing it here. But the moment to use it is definitely now, on a blog that practically no one reads.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. Regret. The direct result of an ill-used moment. We all have them, some are big, some are not blue. But all are incredibly nasty to experience. There are two types of regret: the kind you get by missing out on an opportunity, and the kind that follows a misdeed. Both are unpleasant, but not to the same caliber.
For example: when I was waiting in line at Disney World one day, I noticed that the guy next to me had the most gorgeous hair imaginable. It looked like a chocolate, curly cloud. I was sure that if I could just burry my hand into its lustrous depths, it would magically bestow upon me all of life's secrets. Sadly, I did not have the courage necessary to fondle a stranger's scalp, and the thought of what might have happened if my flesh came into contact with what could only be the hair of an angel haunts me to this day.
However, the curiosity that pains me over this occurrence is nothing compared to the guilt I feel over my sins. I can laugh off the hair story, but I cannot get rid of the negative feelings I have for the things I am guilty of. There is nothing funny about the mean spirited things I have done and said, or the thoughts I have given room and board to in my head. Nothing even mildly amusing about how I have ignored God and avoided prayer like it was the plague.
Lucky for me regret is not a terminal condition, but rather an alarm that goes off in our soul, telling us that the time has come for one of those pivotal moments. Time to take the knowledge you have garnered, and choose better.
As the band Relient K so eloquently put it, "with every passing second comes a second chance."
In other words, "magic hair, here I come."
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Dream....:)
I. Love. Disney.
I love everything about it. The world, princesses, movies, plays, music, EVERYTHING.
Now, I'm assuming you know me pretty well if you are taking the time to read this. So you are aware that I am the exact opposite of girly. Dresses are my enemies and makeup has come into contact with my flesh less than four times in the history of my existence. I am not the kind of girl who obsesses about clothes and which way I should part my hair every morning. But, one of my most fantastic and impossible dreams is to be a Disney princess.
Let me make this perfectly clear. I don't want to be just any princess. Kate can have her crown and everything that comes with it, I am not the LEAST bit jealous. No, I want to be a DISNEY princess.
I would KILL to be Belle. Living in an enchanted castle with the prince the Beast turned into, reading books and singing in a broadway voice all day long? Um, SIGN ME UP!!!
Jasmine with her magic carpet, genie, and hunky street rat? Yes, please! Rapunzel with her smoldering ex-thief and wicked frying pan (who NEEDS pepper spray)? Bliss! Ariel... well, I would much rather live as a mermaid for all eternity then with Prince Eric on a beach. Definitely disagree with her life choices, but LOVE the voice!
Sigh. Wouldn't it be wonderful to fall in love with the man of your dreams to the tune of Alan Menken? That's all I want from life. My own, personal, Oscar winning love song! One to rival Kiss the Girl, Whole New World, Can You Feel the Love Tonight, and I See The Light.
Sadly, I am not a character in a wonderfully written movie filled with magic and wonder. I'm just a girl, praying for God to bring some enchantment into my life. Heartfelt and dramatic intake of breath (already used 'sigh').
Could be worse, I could be stuck in a Nicolas Sparks movie or Shakespearian play.... The two authors voted "most likely to kill off characters like it's their job" in high school. No thank you.
I love everything about it. The world, princesses, movies, plays, music, EVERYTHING.
Now, I'm assuming you know me pretty well if you are taking the time to read this. So you are aware that I am the exact opposite of girly. Dresses are my enemies and makeup has come into contact with my flesh less than four times in the history of my existence. I am not the kind of girl who obsesses about clothes and which way I should part my hair every morning. But, one of my most fantastic and impossible dreams is to be a Disney princess.
Let me make this perfectly clear. I don't want to be just any princess. Kate can have her crown and everything that comes with it, I am not the LEAST bit jealous. No, I want to be a DISNEY princess.
I would KILL to be Belle. Living in an enchanted castle with the prince the Beast turned into, reading books and singing in a broadway voice all day long? Um, SIGN ME UP!!!
Jasmine with her magic carpet, genie, and hunky street rat? Yes, please! Rapunzel with her smoldering ex-thief and wicked frying pan (who NEEDS pepper spray)? Bliss! Ariel... well, I would much rather live as a mermaid for all eternity then with Prince Eric on a beach. Definitely disagree with her life choices, but LOVE the voice!
Sigh. Wouldn't it be wonderful to fall in love with the man of your dreams to the tune of Alan Menken? That's all I want from life. My own, personal, Oscar winning love song! One to rival Kiss the Girl, Whole New World, Can You Feel the Love Tonight, and I See The Light.
Sadly, I am not a character in a wonderfully written movie filled with magic and wonder. I'm just a girl, praying for God to bring some enchantment into my life. Heartfelt and dramatic intake of breath (already used 'sigh').
Could be worse, I could be stuck in a Nicolas Sparks movie or Shakespearian play.... The two authors voted "most likely to kill off characters like it's their job" in high school. No thank you.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The First of Many
Hello Cyber Universe. My name is Mackenzie, but you may call me Supreme Overlord or Master. And by "may" I mean you are socially and legally obligated to refer to me as such. And by "obligated" I mean just do it.
You, oh phantom reader, have probably gathered two bits of information from my blog title:
1. I am not blond.
2. I like to ramble on excessively. If you have deduced any more than this, good job, Sherlock. You have a very prominent career in detective work to look forward to.
Now you are most likely wondering what possessed me to write a blog in the first place. I have 3 reasons for this:
1. One of the goals I have for my life is to become a writer, and I believe having a blog is a great way to stretch and strengthen my creativity and written expression muscles. (These muscles are located right next to the funny bone for those of you who don't know.)
2. I need an outlet for my weirdness so that I don't frighten off any potential friend candidates.
3. A few of my friends have/are making blogs (you know who you are) and I am a major follower. I'm like a baby duck. It's just in my nature. I'm just glad no one I look up to has jumped off that bridge people keep telling me about.
Okay, almost done for right now.
This blog will contain a lot of randomness, and bizarre references. Mainly, anything that strikes my fancy at any particular moment. You have been forewarned....
You, oh phantom reader, have probably gathered two bits of information from my blog title:
1. I am not blond.
2. I like to ramble on excessively. If you have deduced any more than this, good job, Sherlock. You have a very prominent career in detective work to look forward to.
Now you are most likely wondering what possessed me to write a blog in the first place. I have 3 reasons for this:
1. One of the goals I have for my life is to become a writer, and I believe having a blog is a great way to stretch and strengthen my creativity and written expression muscles. (These muscles are located right next to the funny bone for those of you who don't know.)
2. I need an outlet for my weirdness so that I don't frighten off any potential friend candidates.
3. A few of my friends have/are making blogs (you know who you are) and I am a major follower. I'm like a baby duck. It's just in my nature. I'm just glad no one I look up to has jumped off that bridge people keep telling me about.
Okay, almost done for right now.
This blog will contain a lot of randomness, and bizarre references. Mainly, anything that strikes my fancy at any particular moment. You have been forewarned....
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