The Twenty-Fourth of Decemeber. [C.S.]

March 15th, 2013.

Day One.

If you put a band aid on a fresh cut, does that mean it stops hurting? Or does it simply mean that since you covered it up you cannot feel it anymore? But what happens when you take the band aid off; you remember the feel from the cut and everything comes flowing back and all you can do is shake your head and try to put it where it belongs in the past. But it’s not as easy as it sounds; it’s like when you listen to a song that used to mean so much to you and then you start remembering why it was your favorite song and you get all those memories the song created for you. It’s the same with cuts; everything has a story and just because you cover it up doesn’t mean that the story is forgotten. It’s just hidden somewhere deep inside your mind where you try to store it for the day you need a break down. But does it mean someone should stop you from listening to that song because it makes you have this internal feeling inside that makes you smile or maybe even cry? Should they make you stop listening to the song because you have this heartfelt story behind it? No right? So why would you tell someone to stop cutting? They have reasons behind each cut. Why would you tell someone to stop throwing up? They have stories they can tell you that’ll make you want to throw up. Now I’m not encouraging all of this, but sometimes doesn’t make someone stop doing something, just help them. If they stop from your help, then you should be happy with it. It’s really the small things in life that matters. Like when you stand seven hours in horrible muggy weather just to see your favorite band for two minutes. Or buying an amazing book that may change your life and you may only read it once. Or buying a CD that you may hate some songs on it, but you still dance your ass off because it’s a stress relief. Sometimes parents – or anyone in general – don’t under that it’s the small things in life that make me happy and make me smile.  It’s not the way the sun shines in my room in the morning with the birds chirping that make me want to get up; it’s the thought of having the warm taste of coffee sliding down my throat and filling up my nostrils that make me want to get out of bed. It’s not the fact that I have to get some fresh air that makes me want to go outside, it’s the silence that I may hear and the sound of the water hitting the shore that makes me want to go to the beach and relax, not because it’s a hot day and I want to get a tan. It’s the way the stars shine in the dark colored sky and the way they look on my pale skin and make me look like I’m worth something, that’s the reason I want to go star gazing.

So I go to Coffee in the Woods because it’s one of my favorite places to get my French Vanilla coffee. Plus when I do go and Paul sees my face he asks for the usual and I always nod and give him a big smile. I think it’s always fun to go somewhere so much that they could just know you and just give you what you always order. I mean I am a big hater of routine and doing stuff over and over again; I can’t stand the thought of doing the same thing for the rest of my life, but it’s different with something I love, like coffee, or the pizza shop by mom’s job. Which I have to go too see what she wants; my mom is a firm believer in leaving notes around the house to get her messages across. So she left a note on the mirror in my bathroom, telling me to go to her job before I do anything today. Then one at the bottom of the steps on the wall telling me again, to go to her job. And another on the door. So I took the hint and jumped into the car my granddad hates, but he got it for me because he thinks I could’ve gotten a boyfriend like that. But mom and granddad have to believe that I have a boyfriend named Wilson who lives in Liverpool and we don’t see each other much because he’s almost finishing college and I’m trying to get my life together and somehow they believe it.

My car is more bold than I am, and to think that a car could be bolder than a human being says something, but it is; it’s a bright red Lexus and everywhere you go someone’s snapping their neck to look at you and comment on the goddamn car. But of course I have to love my car because it’s the only thing that saves me from asking mom to drive me around everywhere, or worse, asking my best friend who enjoys talking only about herself and once in a while she’ll ask about you and in the middle of your first sentence she’ll interrupt you and begin speaking about herself again, or she’ll let you finish and then say something so vaguely like, “oh, wow.” Or, “damn.” I get you wouldn’t really want to know about my problems, but why would you ask? But I learned my lesson after a shit load of times to not even mention anything about myself anymore and see if anyone realizes; it’s the only way to see if someone really cares nowadays. But I thank granddad for the car almost every other day because I wouldn’t want to be with All-about-myself Allison. And yes I may know I’m not the best driver around, but hey, I’m a female, and I will give people some credit that maybe not all females are the best drivers, but I’m one of them and I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to piss me off when I’m not even positive I’m awake and I’m on the road. But some douche bag wants to honk at me because the guy in front of me is taking his sweet little time; so I put my turn signal on and signal that I’m going onto the next line, but the dick behind me thought it’ll be fun to just go before me and almost hit my car and then laugh when he’s in the spot I wanted to be in. I saw him looking at me and smiling through his review, so I lowered my window and stuck the finger out.