Stubborn, curious, puppy!

As many of you know, who DO know me, I tend to "look over the fence" a lot.

For those who don't understand the metaphorical term it means compare myself and life to others, which is generally intentionally done and not needed.

I realize it's ridiculous, ESPECIALLY now.

It only hurts me and makes me mad. It puts me in a mood to the point where those around me want nothing to do with me. I get in a funk that is almost near impossible to get out. I mope and want nothing but sympathy. This is unlike me. I hate being pitied. That's how you know something's wrong.

The horirble thing is, most of the time...  These people's lifes aren't all that splendid as I'm making them out to be, in fact what I'm getting upset over is ridiculous and unimportant. Sure.. They're talking to this person and that person never talks to me. Sure... They got their hair done and it looks great in that photo and everyone is complimenting them for it.Sure... They're in a relationship and I'm single..

Stupid. Pointless. Stuff.

Who CARES if that person is talking to them and not me. Fuck that person. If they're not talking to me, do I honestly WANT them talking to me.

So what if they had a good hair day and people are gushing.. Do I need to be an attention whore? No. If I'm having a good hair day, at least I can apprecaite it.

Does it matter if their in a relationship and I'm single. Whose to say if it's even a good realtionship. And hell, I'm not tied down, I can do whatevs I want!

It's stuff like this that pisses me off, the small, unimportant, stupid stuff.

Sure the bigger things get to me too, but the smaller stuff is generally what erks me.

But.. Whose to say no one has looked over my fence and thought the same thing.

I never think of that.

Hell, maybe MY grass is actually greener then those I think have the better lawn!?

I don't know their entire story, I could actually have the better lawn. Who knnows!?

And the more I think about it.. The more I think, hey, my yard isn't actually half bad.

I'm currently happy.

Planning on going to college in the fall.

Looking for a Summer job.

Spending time with people who I actually matter to.

Experimenting with things I've always wanted to try.

Mingling.

Flirting.

Acting.

Writing.

I have an amazingly supportive family.

I'm healthy.

And... so much more.

Maybe my yard is better.

And who cares anyway... As long as I stay content with my yard.

I need to stop being that obnoxious little puppy running around and around trying to see what the other dog is doing and if their yard is better then mine.

This puppy has a pretty great life.

Sure... sometimes it's dull, sometimes things don't exactly go my way... but... things could always be better.

However, I'm content right? Yes. So.. My yard is pretty bad ass!

Who gives a fuck about the other dog. Who cares what is over the fence. I have grass of my own to worry about. I can MAKE it greener instead of being so curious and jealous (green! Aha!). So.. instead of worrying about what others have. I should worry about my life and making it the best it can be.

The point of this blog?

Love you. Love your life. Don't worry about anyone else. Don't compare yourself to anyone else. You have one thing no one else has. YOUR life. You're in charge of it. You can set your path. You can change it. You cna make it anyway you want. Don't compare! That wastes valuable time you have to make your life amazng!

Back into the swing of passion.

I constantly find myself wanting to write, write like there's no tomorrow.
The way I used to write, actually.

I used to write every day.  I loved it.  It was an obsession, a passion.
I wrote poems, stories, thoughts, ideas, blogs, and just random things... Now, I barely touch a pen, open a blank word document, or have any creative flow in me.

I wonder why, and it upsets me to no end.  I used to be so passionate about writing.  What happened?
Every day I think back to when it was so important to me.
Why did it suddenly die out?
Has it?
I guess I'll never truly know.

So yes, I'm writing about me wanting to write.
It seems kind of silly if you think about it, but every little bit of documenting to get me back on track to my old ways helps.

You see, I started this blog to get back on track.
To become the Tatlyn I used to be.
The one who had so much creativity in her
I miss that Tatlyn.

I find myself thinking every day, "What should I blog about?  I need to get a move on".
So... Why not blog about how much writing had meant to me, and how I really need to try my hardest to get it back to that important point.

So, maybe this blog will be very dull to some of you, but to those of you who know how much I used to write, and how much it meant to me before, you will understand and not mind this.  I thank you.

My writing obsession began at a young age and only developed further over time.  It hit its peak at fifth grade, when I met my first teacher at MaST.  Ms. Wallitch (I was never able to spell her name, and I never will be able to, which is unfortunate because she was such an inspiration to me. I only wish I could do her that much justice.)

Ms. W believed in me.  She assigned weekly writing projects.  I was always eager to do them.  One of the projects will forever stick out to me because it was what brought me to the point where I knew exactly what I wanted to accomplish when I got older.  To at least write one solid novel.  The task was to write about something very important to us.  Something that represented us perfectly.  Something we valued. Almost all the students wrote about objects.  Games, CD’s, their ID cards for school and such.  I chose to step out of the box.  I wrote about my eyes. I wrote on and on about how they were incredibly dear to me, because it was the one trait my mother had passed onto me and how I was her only child with her eyes.  I remember my parents going up to discuss my progress report, it was a mandatory thing for all the students.  Ms. W spoke to them about all my subjects, about how well I was doing, about how lively and bubbly I was in class, and then... she pulled out the essay.  My mother and my father had not known about this project, so this was new to them.  She read it aloud to them, in an extremely proud and almost emotionally touched voice.  She told my mom that she was completely taken aback after reading my essay.  That my words had moved her.  That I wrote beautifully.  That I had been the only child in her class to write about something like this.  She gushed on and on to my parents about how talented I was, and how she knew one day I would change the world with my words.  My parents were completely taken aback with her enthusiasm and almost in awe.  It was Ms. W who encouraged me to continue writing, and she pushed me to get better grades, making me into an honor student.  By the end of the year, I had straight A's and was on a day-to-day writing kick.  She signed my year book stating "To my creative writer and author in the making" with a heartfelt message about how my words were inspiring and to never stop writing.

From that year on, I wrote my heart out.
It breaks my heart that I have just recently started writing again, after almost a year hiatus from the pastime.
I only hope I can continue to try and get back to that kick.
My mother and father look at me as if I can write just about anything and it will be a work of art.
My father keeps EVERY little thing I scratch down on paper, even after I throw it away; he comes back and shows it to me later.
He believes one day I will be someone, and one day the world will see me the way he, my mother, and my 5th grade teacher do.
I would hate to let them down.
Even worse, I'd hate to let me down.

SO yes, this is a random blog, but it's an important one to me, about my emotional pull towards writing.
Yes, I may not be the greatest writer out there, but whatever I write I put as much heart in it as I can muster, and I want to be the best and I want to get back to my old ways.