You're wonderful. Really. Good job. You deserve applause. You deserve an award.
Best at ticking everyone off.
Most likely to die without a close friend.
A**hat of the year award.
Because, honestly, you've spent so long giving up one what you claim is important because the situation seemed to demand it, because you adapt to people and change yourself to fit.
And now that you're trying to stick to your guns, trying to be you without forcing yourself down different paths just to make things smooth, no one can understand. No one is willing to compromise because they never had to before, why should they have to now? No one listens or takes you seriously because they didn't have to before and it worked out then. Why can't it now?
So you're stuck in this situation where you have to change but you don't want to because every time you do it hurts. But not changing hurts you and others too. But why should you have to be the only one hurting?
And it's all a big miss, and your heart starts pounding and it just won't stop. You're trapped and alone because if anyone is out there they aren't paying attention to you. And you know that you created this mess. You put yourself in this cage and forgot how to get out.
GG. Good job. Honestly, keep doing what you do because you're wonderful at it. You should get an award. You need to at least have applause. But no one is around to given it, so you'll have to clap your hands for yourself.
I read an article today about how the Bolshoi Ballet plants people in the audience to start the applause at all the right times. It got me thinking, and I started to wonder who has been planted in my life to clap at the appropriate moments. I wonder if(more) the dancers feel cheated. I wonder if they feel anything at all. All the pain in their feet must take up most of their attention anyway. I wonder what it feels like knowing that your career has a due date, that the day your knees begin to buckle and you can't do thirty-two fouettes anymore is the day you lose everything. I wonder what it feels like knowing that people are planted in the audience to start clapping if no one else finds you incredible.
I think my mother is one of those audience members because everything I do is perfect to her, even when it's meaningless and small. I have started to understand, though, why this is. My therapist tells me that I should be proud of everything I do. I should be proud that I got out of bed this morning even though I didn't want to, and I should be proud that I took my hand out of my mouth before I could make myself vomit after eating an extra slice of pizza, and I should be proud that I read the article about the Bolshoi Ballet instead of writing about how much I hate myself.
I've been thinking, lately, that I want to live a quiet life, alone from everyone else. I want the only applause I hear for myself to be my own. But I promised my mother I'd continue therapy until I'm better, and she said she was proud, so I have to stay.(less)
Kenshin winced a little as small fists pulled at his hair. He didn't know what had possessed him to agree to watching the toddler - but Rian was a vampire, and Alby apparently was not one. While he didn't burst into spectacular flames in the daylight hours, he did(more) need to sleep SOMETIME. And thus, Kenshin had a five-year-old Albion sitting on his shoulders, watching the roof of the large house with rapt attention.
"I don't know that this is such a good idea," Kenshin sighed, and Edward snorted. It was Edward who had put the toddler on Kenshin's shoulders to begin with - ("Finally admitting I'm the taller one?" "Shut the hell up, Himura.") - and he stood next to Kenshin, a hand shadowing his eyes. He seemed a lot more comfortable with the toddler than Kenshin would have expected.
"It wasn't mine or yours, so we're absolved from the fallout," Edward said. "Besides, I want to see if the dragon'll eat Sariel this time."
"Did you tell him that Hiccup's rigged his tail so that he can fly without him?" Kenshin asked, glancing to Edward.
Edward's huge, shit-eating grin told him all he needed to know. "Ed!"
"Relax, it's not like Toothless can kill'em," Edward said with a shrug. There was a sudden flurry of feathers, and Alby's hands in Kenshin's hair tightened as he shrieked in amusement. Kenshin didn't dare crane his neck upward like he wanted, lest he dislodge the child. "Whoops, there he goes."
Toothless didn't let out an earthshattering roar, but there was the beat of enormous, black leathery wings and a huge shadow passed over them both. In the distance, high above their heads they both heard Sariel exlaim "holy SHIT!" and Alby shrieked again in amusement, grabbing feathers out of the air.(less)
Kilo approached the podium, solid oak and endeared with such ornate designs he silently wondered how many of his people he could feed with the amount spent on its construction. He couldn't break from this line of thinking, even years after the famine ended. The early days were the(more) toughest, the rains didn't come as the Dome had predicted. The crops struggled against the radiation that poisoned the soil, the people choked on their own breath as the rebreathers failed. So many died in the early years. Yes the regrets were plenty, laid out bare in front of him each time he closed his eyes. There were many of those nights he would not find the restful kiss of sleep. So many times Kilo questioned why he led the expedition at all, but today there were with him. Gathered for a hundred miles, and seen all the way to the Domes on the moon above. His people. Kilo arrived at the podium, placing his callused hands against the cool surface of the oak, and sighed . He let his gaze slide across the crowd that had gathered, picking the faces out that had helped him succeed with recolonization. There was Oscar, a brilliant engineer who stood by Kilo's side and argued with the council for continued funding even after the expedition had taken his brother's life. Fox, Oscar's brother, was one of the first causalities, who's death reinforced many old fears of spaceflight. An artificial satellite, left over from the old age, had escaped the Earth's grasp and hit the trainer Fox was testing. The force of the impact left no remains to honor. 32 more souls would be lost just this way, and ten thousand more as they battled to clear the space between the domes and colonize.(less)
Our performance is over much too soon
And most of us will never take center stage
But as the act comes to a close
And the lights in the theater dim
Sometimes the ovation from the crowd
Is all you need to continue
Even if it is just the sound
Of two hands clapping
So, play your part
Say your lines
Take your bow, before
The curtains are drawn
For the final time,