Livin' the good life?

another old post i never published... wonder why...
this is from around april of 2010

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”
The worst sound in the world: an alarm clock. I groaned and hit the snooze button on my alarm and began weighing the reasons I had to get up. For ten minutes my mind drowsily attempted to decide between murdering my alarm clock and rolling out of bed. Eventually, the debate in my head came to the conclusion that I am alive. As someone who is alive and breathing, I had better go join the human race. Like it or not. While making my bed I thought of a quote from a musician, something along the lines of, “Everyday you wake up, you change the world.” If that was true, I should have stayed asleep. The world would thank me later.

Partially awake, I go to the kitchen for the highlight of what would inevitably be a bad day; breakfast. I hate such days. Days where you feel ‘blah’ and end up feeling like you did nothing meaningful. As I am in the quiet kitchen, I look around at the mess. The dirty dishes and counter covered in crumbs did not belong to me; yet by some magical reason, they were mine to clean. Oh jubilation. After I cleaned my bowl, the one I, me, myself, had eaten out of, and put it in the dishwasher, I prepared for school. When I headed out the door, my dad woke up and told me to have a good day. I told him to have a good day, and left. Ha, me, have a good day. What, with me feeling like this? No way. After getting in my truck, I flipped through the songs on my Ipod and settled on a new tune by Switchfoot.

“I’ve made a mess of me, I want to get back the rest of me, I’ve made a mess of me and I want to spend the rest of my life alive…”
Hmm. Switchfoot does it again. Perhaps now is a good time to talk with God… After all, He’s my best friend. Isn’t that how it should be?
“Lord, just teach me how to have a good day. I don’t care if good things actually happen to me; I need to know how to have a good day without them.” As the clock in my truck read 8 a.m., I was getting rather ticked at myself for being so late. Maybe by some miracle of nature I could get a spot in the senior parking lot. Laughing slightly, I added “Hey God, could you save me a parking spot?” I passed the first row of cars, stopped, backed up, and saw a spot very close to the front. “Why am I surprised?” For the first time that day I smiled. Silly reason to smile, yet smile i did.

Rushing to band class, I attempt faking my way though the hour. Hopefully the two freshmen in my flute section won’t guess my feeling. It seems that no matter what I feel like, happy, sad, blah, joyful, whatever, the girls in my section ask what’s wrong. I love them and they look up to me as a sister, but quite frankly they wouldn’t get it. I didn’t even get it!

“Lindsay? Are you alright?” Darn. I’ve been caught.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.” True for the most part.
“Okay then. Well, have a good day!” There it is again! What does that mean anyway? How can it be a good day? Really, if a good day comes to you, it comes to you, right? I mean, once a day is bad there’s no redeeming it… Right?

Trying not to show what I was really thinking, I glanced at the floor where my Spanish book was. Spanish. Book. Book. Spanish. Quiz. No, not quiz… TEST! My wonderful memory triumphs yet again. My planner contains everything I need to remember; however the planner serves more as an instrument of procrastination. Bored in class and don’t want to complete those last two friction problems? Well, what is there to write in my planner… Breathe at 12:30… No wait, don’t have time then… I think you get the picture. At any rate, it only serves to solidify things in my mind. Etching them into my brain enough to where I remember them when I need to… Well, that just doesn’t happen.

Feeling like a failure, I studied while thinking such wonderful thoughts as “Why bother, I was stupid enough to forget about it, I deserve to fail. Fail. I fail. I am a fail-boat. Stupid brain. Worthless self. Bah.” Amazing how your thought can turn sour so quickly. Wasn’t it just a few minutes ago I was laughing at my answered prayer of a parking spot? Feeling disgruntled, I just studied to the best of my ‘stupid’ ability. Second hour finally came, and I drug myself through the endless Spanish questions; completely confident in my ability to fail. By ‘fail’ I mean low B. Or any B. Or, if I dare venture into that territory, a C. That would kill me. At least I kept a hold on myself; nothing on my paper read ‘I fail at life.’

Seminar found me rather mellow on the outside. Normally mellow is a good thing to me; it means I’m content with life and am thinking about deeper things. However, today I only have the appearance or mellowness; the silence covering up the storm, no doubt. Feeling rather helpless, I decide to check my grades and let those hard-earned A’s cheer me. They didn’t. Instead, my sense of failure returned at the sight of my grade in physics; an 89%. The last test seemed to go well; perhaps there is a chance…

My anticipation was rewarded with disappointment, as usual. An 82% in red ink glared up at me from the paper. An eight. And a two. Not a nine, but an eight. Needless to say, on a day such as that, this set me over the brink. For years I had been attempting to gain control of my feeling of failure and worthlessness; the one that years of name calling and oxymoronic expectations had earned me. Occasionally, this comes to the surface. The rest of the hour is spent bottling my anger; apparently the way to release this is to scribble furiously in my planner.

In last hour I’m just getting by. Somehow the bouts of anger, helplessness, whatever you want to call it, tend to make me pretty weak. My friends think I’m strong, and for them I am. For me… I try. I guess it’s easier to be strong when it’s for something more than your self. Last hour goes by slowly; I pass the time by drawing random smiley faces on my friends’ papers. I often do that, but most of the time it is in a desperate effort to convince myself to be happy; whatever that means. As the bell rings after last hour, I make my way to my truck while flipping through my Ipod again. What song now…

“She's alone tonight, with the bitter cup and, she's undone tonight, she's all used up,
she's been staring down the demons, who've been screaming she's just another so and so, another so and so… you are golden, you are golden, child you are golden, don't let go, don't let go tonight”
Hmm. Switchfoot does it again. I laugh a little as I remember what that song had really done for me; it made me realize “This isn’t how the story has to, that’s not the way it goes, it’s your book now.” After all, isn’t that cheesy cliché true? Life really is 5% what happens to you, and 95% how you react to it. I suppose I really need to take control. Struggling with how to really take control, I continue scrolling through the songs and come across a song by Jack Johnson, the one that always reminds me of warm summer nights at camp, the kind of nights you just smile and skip around joyfully when remembering. Finally feeling a bit better, I drive off to that mess in my kitchen.

When at home, I find my stash of bubbles and send a few off in the breeze. The weather makes everything feel like spring; when everything is new. I go inside with a half smile and turn on the stereo; washing dishes isn’t as bad when you’re dancing. Jack Johnson’s acoustic melodies felt wonderful. When music feels, it is best to use it to your advantage. The happy songs clearly fit the clean rainy day; the feel of the songs and weather gradually rubbed off on me.

Before I could firmly establish my good mood, my mom arrived. Time to do stuff wrong and get yelled at for it; on purpose, of course. Because of all people, I enjoy doing things wrong and being stupid. Naturally. At any rate, I found myself needing to clear my mind. Through the infinite wonders of Facebook chat, I was able to save my attempt at a good day. My friend Mary was online; rambling off to friends you mind certainly clarifies your thinking. Apparently, holding in negative thought will only make it continue; the best way to cope is to throw it all out where you can see it. Feeling better, I turn on my music once again and begin to feel good about life; I open my window and let the fresh air permeate my mind.

11p.m. finds me attempting to fall asleep; due to my absurd schedule it is the earliest I had gone to bed for weeks. My old mattress comforts my tired body as I think through the day; The day began ‘blah’ and ended well; A good day, more or less. Suddenly becoming more awake, I realize that my prayer was answered; I was taught how to have a good day. I took control, decided that I did not want a bad day, found some small thing that made me smile, and completely talked the bad thoughts out of my head. It seems like every time a bad day comes my way, I end up in that very process. How is it that I forget how to change my bad day? Perhaps the real challenge isn’t to know how to change my day into a ‘good day,’ it’s remembering that I hold the ability to change it.