Judges are for Courtrooms, Not for My Everyday Life

JUDGES ARE FOR COURTROOMS,

NOT FOR MY EVERYDAY LIFE

The Venting Post

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I'm guilty. Straight up guilty. Yes, fine, I'm guilty. Happy now? Go ahead and just judge me, but know you're not the only one.

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I'm tired of people finding out a few things on my mind and than freakin' screwing me over with them. I'm tired of being pin pointed down and microscoped and poked and prodded at and than people making grand assumptions about me. I'm tired of those who haven't talked to me in weeks (sometimes people do it even if they'ved talked to me yesterday) talk to me for thirty seconds just to tell me what I've done wrong.

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Honestly, who the heck are you to judge me? You're own life is falling to pieces so don't you dare tell me what's so wrong with mine.

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Really, everyone experiences things differently. So even if you've "been in my position" in life, I'll see it different than you and react differently from you, so I'm so bloody well sorry if I'm not just like you. Let alone you know every detail of what I'm dealing with right now or am still dealing with from the past. So, like I said, I'm sorry. I'm so freakin' sorry.
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So yeah, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not up to your standards I'm sorry you think I'm so pointless or whatever else. I'm sorry people must always guilt me into everything or just make me feel guilty and at fault. Geez, I'm tired of feeling guilty and apologizing for things that aren't my bloody fault. Stop guilting me. I'm tired of the stone in my stomach growing larger because you don't want to look like the bad guy for one stinkin' second when you deserve what you bring upon yourself, so you pass me your role. That's YOUR role. Stomach it or stop acting like the bad guy.

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Geez, if you're going to play the part than take the title.

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So yeah, go ahead and judge me. I'm already in jail, so why not? Why the murder not. Go for it. Tell me how horrible I am and than just leave. Me. Alone.

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This is the result of feeling guilty and than realizing it's not even my fault, so I'm tired of feeling guilty when I don't deserve it. I'm sick of it. I'm ready to just cut off all ties with practically everyone to get away from it. So yeah. I'm not trying to pinpoint anyone, it's just something I've come to realize in time that keeps happening to me. -sigh- I need a backbone that won't let anyone snap it.

For a Laugh

I saw this, laughed, and decided to spam my own blog with it. Enjoy.

(In case you can't read it, the picture on the left says "I has a bucket" The picture on the right says, "Noooo they be stealin' my bucket")

Braden Paulsen's Farewell

Yesterday was my Paulsen's farewell. He's leaving and I'm trying not to go insane.

I met Braden in seventh grade. I don't even remember how we met, only that we did. We've been friends since than, and I'm going to miss him like crazy.

Some people don't understand when I say he's like my brother. Sure, we don't have blood ties, but sometimes you don't need them.

He's been there for me when nobody else was. He's listen to my rants and cries at one in the morning. He's made me face myself when I have rather ran for the hills.

Don't think it's all one way. I've been there for him as much as I can. I try to see him as often as time will let me and when we talk it's for hours.

I'm going to miss my friend, my brother. I really am. He's always been nice to me, and I find him to be one of the few people I can respect. He's taught me so much and I don't know what's going to happen in the two years he's gone. I might change a lot, or he might. When he comes back, we might not get along and be two different people in general.

So here's to my Paulsen, the one who helped me when others gave up. The one of the few who believe in me when I don't, and the one who's changed my life for good.

Thank you, Braden. So very much, now go teach and preach, you'll be amazing at it, you always have been.

Braden and I

The girls giving Braden one last kiss goodbye

Smiling prettily.

The group. From left to right, Jessica, Braden, Alex, Rachael, Janaye, Brandon, Adrian, Cody, Ashely, Megan, and Megan. (Yes, two Megan's)

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We love you and will miss you, Braden! Good luck in the missionary world! Do us (and God) proud! :')

The Calm Before the Storm

Something bad is coming. I know it, it's just going to happen.

I feel like a walking disaster, a beautiful mess some would poetically put it. But I' m anything but that.

My name's Janaye. I'm the sixth in line of the Stetson's and eigth if you count in the Curtis tribe. I have parents, most of the time. I have sisters and brothers, most of the time. And I have friends, most of the time.

I feel so empty. I can feel my heart beat, but it's like it's only a rhythm now. It's almost like a habit, something you do without noticing until someone points it out.

"Oh, your alive!"

"Hm. Didn't realise it."

Kind of like that.

I just seem to move robotically. Smile here, joke here, insert laugh here. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what I want, I don't know anything.

Hence, the calm before the storm.

You know the storm is coming. You can smell the rain and almost taste the thunder, but you don't know it's happening until the rain pitter patters against your skin and the wind is picking up and than you can fully understand the storm and that it's just going to worsen.

So what do you do? You can try to cover yourself up, try to avoid it, or just let it soak in. Just focus on breathing and not letting you become a storm yourself. Not like it's easy to do. When your head is going a million miles an hour and your body feels frozen and beaten from the wind and your heart feels as heavy as the rain that pelts against you, all you can do is breath.

So you do.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale... and when you feel like you can't take in anymore breath, you do anyway.

So I don't know whether to enjoy the calm, knowing the storm is coming just around the corner, or to just sit back and wait for it. Get out and sit on my front lawn to watch the disaster coming towards me.

I guess I'll just mask my face, smile here, joke here, insert laugh here.

Just because I'm waiting for the storm doesn't mean everyone else has to endure it too.

Dear Janaye: Screw You. Love- The World

DEAR JANAYE:

SCREW YOU.

LOVE: THE WORLD

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So I got casted in a play for my college theatre class. Nothing important, no costumes, props or real audience, but I thought I had a chance for a good part.

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Remember when Shawna had that place that we used to drive by, the "Don't blink or you'll miss it!" place? Yeah, my part is like that place.

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Don't blink, or you'll miss it.

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When I got a crummy part in my school play, I thought it was my theatre teacher playing favorites, but apparently, I can't act, because this teacher gave me a "blink and miss" part in his production.

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We didn't have auditions, but I guess if I didn't prove myself in class, than it wouldn't matter if I tried out for a bigger role or not.

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Everyone's going to say "Just do really good on your part and make him regret not casting you in a bigger part!" But really, what does that really do? Make him think you deserve that part, that's what it does. Besides, it's not like he's going to change his mind mid-way through. It's not like he's going to suddenly realise: "Oh. My. Gosh. That Janaye girl is so wonderfully talented! I need her as my lead star here and now! Please let her accept!"

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No. That doesn't happen. Really, it doesn't.

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I just wish I could take a break from being Janaye, because I'm also really worried about grades, what I want to do in life, job/money and all that jazz. I'm just tired of not being able to be up to everyone's standards, and I'm sorry I'm not, but don't be too down hearted, I'm not even up to my own standards.

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So, don't even talk to me about my teacher's little production. Really, don't. Obviously I deserve what I get and just need to suck it up and do it.

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Dear Janaye: Screw you. Love- The World.

Ex-Friends

EX-FRIENDS

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I lost my best friend.

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No, he didn't die or move away, but he might as well have.

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A lot happened, and he betrayed a trust I thought not even he would break. I know he's been known to do stupid stuff, but I didn't think he would do this. I didn't think he would do something that low over something that little.

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It's not like this is the first time we've fought, but it was differently the worse. When I broke up with someone, I told myself I wouldn't keep people around who I either can't be myself around or treat me terribly.

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Well, he filled one category more than anyone else I ever knew could.

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We fought a lot, and that final night was the last I could take. I've ignored him since, I've only given him polite conversation when we've seen each other in person and I ignore his texts. I was tired of being nice and getting anger and betrayal back. I was tired of trying to help him and having him throw our "friendship" to the dirt every week.

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It makes me sad, we had a lot of good times and memories, but I know I don't want to be his friend. I don't want to go back to the way things where and the bitterness of it all. I don't want to be left crying and frustrated when he blows off our friendship again. I can't deal with it, I won't deal with it.

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It might have happened a while ago, but I'm just getting it off my chest now... I'm tired of it, and right now I'm just tired of a lot of things.

Pomegranates

Whenever I think of pomegranates, Uncle John's face pops into my mind too. I remember the tree that we'd pluck them from, rushing them into the kitchen as he sets me on the counter. I put my feet into the sink and he carefully cuts open the fruit, red juice spilling out and running down the drain.
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He always warns me, "Careful." And I always nod my head, promising I will. We pluck the seeds out, one by one, savoring the juice that explodes out when we bite, leaving our teeth and hands a bit stained and the skin around my mouth need Comet to get the crimson marks off. I'm careful as I can be, but none the less, when I go home, I hear the screeches of mom as she looks at my red tinged clothes.
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I'm sure my sisters where somewhere, either in the pool or around the sink with us, eating the addicting fruit, but all I can remember is the taste of pomegranates and the sun on my face.
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A few years after we moved to Utah, Kayla and I received a package. We shook it, the gift being relatively heavy and wondering what our Uncle John could have sent us in this rectangular box.
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When we finally split it open, we find newspaper, but a glimpse of red catches my eye and I don't know if I squealed outwardly or not, but I can remember the memories coming back as I lift out four red pomegranates.
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It's almost impossible to find pomegranates in Utah, but when seeing pictures, I think of my Uncle John. I remember the past and the memories we have. Of going with my sisters and him to a ski lift in the summer, the four of us and him squished on a chair lift as up we go, looking over the grassy slopes and talking. We would be up there, two hours on the way there, two hours back. I always got to sit by him, either the way there or back, and I think it's these talks that made me and him so close.
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I remember our adventures. Hiking up to Timpanogous Caves, going to Sundance, Hogle Zoo, out to dinner at the Spaghetti Factory (we learned the hard way the day after Thanksgiving is the busiest) and I still have the few memories of gardening in the backyard (more like flooding it) and being wrapped tightly in towels as the sun sets on the days we swam.
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I don't know how it happens, but one by one, the sisters stop coming or are too far away to visit with Uncle John when he comes. So it's just me and him, and that's fine. We get ice cream, drive around the mountains and take short walks. We talk, and he tells me how he worries about me, like I'm one of his own kids.
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I'm not surprised, he's always been my fatherly figure.
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I love my step dad. He cares about me a lot, but is hard to figure out. I love my biological dad, but let's face it, I have no memories of him to comfort me. But my Uncle John, he's always giving me advice, asking how I'm doing, letting me know how he is, and lets me know he cares about me a lot.
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I'll always be a "kid" to him, and he'll always be "blond" to me. And if he dies before I do, I hope that when I do, he'll greet me with a hug and tell me what he's told me a million times. I'll even let him re-tell me that embarrassing story of how mom stripped me down right there in front of him the first time we went swimming in his pool when I was still in diapers, but only one time.
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Thanks a lot, Mom.
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But seriously, I want to see him this summer. I want to visit him and take walks and talk about what's on my mind and have him tell me about how he's doing. I want to talk with him about everything and anything. From sunsets and flowers to eternal marriage and death. I want him to tell me everything, everything about anything he knows and to let him make up the stuff he doesn't.
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And if he dies before I do, I hope that when I do, he'll greet me with a hug and tell me what he's told me a million times.
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"I love you, kid."
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I love you too, Dad.