2.27.2011

*Darth Vader theme starts to play* i'm not happy. don't make me madder than i already am. i even used periods at the end of the sentence, so i'm really mad.

The swim meet is done. Yay. Did I do well? Not yay. So, overall, I swam three races, and didn't improve in two, swam a relay with my friends that we hadn't swam before so technically we didn't improve, plus we got creamed, heard my dad say loudly that I was expected to do better than I did, make the best final for my event, was expected to win, and added (that's bad) time and got 6th place. *ahem* I was expected to win. I didn't win. That's a problem.
Usually when I do something bad, I tend to hate everything around me (except for my friends) and cry. I cried in the car on the way home, then my parents say "yay, good effort." Effort wasn't enough. I failed. 
So, yeah. I'm tired, sad, and I want something sweet, and we have no cupcake mix. So I'll just sit drooling at this photo:
A good thing that happened this weekend (if you can say I had one) was that I got two new Ted Dekker books from the library (Okay, so I already read Blink, but I got The Bride Collector too!). I finished the Bride Collector in 6 1/2 hours. That's what happens when you're sitting at a swim meet all day, with nothing to do but wait. 
The book was really really good. More of an adult book, by some of its nature, but it was a very haunting and engaging murder mystery that kept me hanging at a breaking thread. I survived, mind you, but still. That book was guuuddd. 
I fell in love with Ted Dekker's writing style, and now, I shall write a short summary of what I'm feeling right now, slash back at the swim meet. This is a treat. I hate talking about swim meets unless I did really good. That's kinda rare. No, this isn't a rare occasion. Here we go. Brace yourself this is really long. Like a chapter of an autobiography I have yet to write. Yeah, NOW, here we go. 


"In lane three, Jocelyn Chambers!" The announcer declared, but my mind wasn't focused on his plastic, blank voice. 
I was focused on the trickling water that lay before my eyes. The pool could be a place of praise, or a place of fear that could instigate a wound by only the sight of one. 
Just leave it all in the pool, I thought. It's nothing. Just 50 yards. Only 26 seconds. You won't have time to blink. 
The shriek of a whistle called me to attention, and I stepped onto the starting blocks in unison with every other swimmer. The blocks were high, and slippery, and a tingling sensation circulated through my spine. All was quiet.
Instead of feeling pressure, I felt an opportunity to do my very best.... my dad's voice coursed through my mind. Be quiet, dad. You're not helping at all.
"Take your mark." I bent down, like a lion about to leap onto its prey.
Beep! The sound of the start set me on fire. I leaped off of the block and into the water. I could see every opponent at my other hand, and I increased my speed and took my last breath before flipping at the wall.
It's all over Jocelyn, you're at home, blogging about cupcakes....
Smack! I punched the touchpad, and looked up at the immense clock in anticipation.
27.15 seconds, it read. 
I let out a deeply drawn breath, just as slowly as I'd taken it in, and closed my eyes, shaking my head slowly. 
That's not enough. All I wanted was to improve. 25 seconds. 26 at the mpst. But no, I failed. 
Not letting my emotions show through the barrier between the soul and body, I walked slowly to my swim coach, anticipating his very detailed and full speech of what he saw. 
I couldn't really see his expression very well, but I knew I could've done better. Even if I did well, he didn't suffice with a "good job" or "nice work". It seemed like slight criticism. And I was afraid to hear it.
"Well, first you got off the blocks too..." he trailed off into a symphony of words, and I didn't look at his face. Instead I fixed my eyes straight ahead of me, and I heard what he was saying, and instead of taking each word into account, I read through his collage of words and got to the full subject.
It wasn't your best. In my mind, it translated into, "Not good enough."
Tears pooled into my eyes. I didn't cry though. I learned not to cry. After five years of being on a truly dedicated swim team, I learned to keep my emotions to myself. You could call me "emo", but it lasted only until swim practice had ended. 
I left the coaches area and warmed down, after which I changed into my day clothes and got into car with my parents, driving away with not much of a goodbye for my friends. 
"Well, Jocelyn, it was a good effort." My mom turned to me from the front seat, sufficing a smile.
"Yes, very good effort." My dad agreed.
You copy what she says, it still doesn't help, I failed. 
When I was certain they weren't paying attention, I let the tears that I'd held back trickle down my cheeks. Mommy had turned back to me and asked what was wrong, and I lied saying it was the book. 
I don't want to tell you my emotions. I don't want to break down and cry in your arms. I'm too old for that, atleast right now, anyway. I want to go home and write down the story ideas I conjured up, and read in my bed with no knowledge of the world that seemed to function without me. 
I want to curl up, and dream it all away, not die, but dream it away. I'm upset. I failed.
Thomas Edison failed. But after several hundred thousand methods, he learned several hundred thousand ways NOT to make a light bulb, after finding the solution. 
I just want to go to college and be an Oscar winning musical composer and writer. That's all. I don't want to swim anyone.
I'd said that phrase a million times in the eight years that I'd been swimming. I didn't quit when I wanted to. I kept going. But right now felt like the final blow, and I didn't want to take it anymore. I wanted a break. It didn't matter how long, I just wanted some rest.
Maybe I'd feel better tomorrow.


It was longer than I expected, sorry about that, but I REALLY needed to get that off of my chest. *Ahem* more lovely-happier posts from me to come, but for now au revior, parting is such a sweet sorrow. Not really sorrowful though, if you have a cupcake ;) Lol, bye. 
Photobucket

4 comments :

  1. Awww.....*hugs* I'll pray that tomorrow is a better day!!!!
    And just remember: God is always proud of you, even if you don't win. (:

    Praying,
    ~Lily

    ReplyDelete
  2. :(

    I thought this was appropriate:

    http://nooooooooooooooo.com/

    enjoy :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. I love what Lily had to say, and I agree 100%!!
    And girl, while this maybe off topic, you are an incredible writer! The way you described your day is like a chapter out of a novel, and it's written beautifully!
    I'll also be praying for you, friend ;)

    ~Lauren :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sorry. I would've probably tooken over an hour. Don't feel bad. Now that I think about it, I couldn't have lasted the whole thing. I would've paused a bunch of times. Yup. I'm a horrible swimmer. I admit it.
    ~Jenny

    ReplyDelete

sometimes i do not understand why you guys like me so much, but the fact that you do (and that you keep coming around) makes me happier than you can even imagine.

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