Cesspools

cess·pool

ˈsesˌpo͞ol/

Underground container for the temporary storage of liquid waste and sewage.

• a disgusting or corrupt place.

  
  

  I believe I've encountered a cesspool in my life. And it's not the kind of cesspool I just happened to come upon walking to school...there are particular things I notice in everyday life that contribute or add to the cesspool. They are the cesspool. The cesspool is growing. I've seen it especially lately. And it's the reason why I've had the boiling anger spewing, churning inside me, so much so, I have a sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach. Here's my attempt to relieve myself of some of the pain it's beginning to cause.

  
  Kids who laugh at or mock kids' opinions when they attempt to share in front of the class...you're a cesspool.
  
  When the proclaimed kings or queens in our hierarchy of popularity-the same kings and queens we unnoticeably put on pedestals because they have something we yearn for- when they make you feel less of a knight and more of a peasant...it makes you feel like you're wading through a cesspool.
  
  
  
  

  Friends who stab you in the back and break all moral codes of respect are cesspools...you say one thing, but completely contradict yourself and try to pull that? As a certain song would say..."when you see my face, I hope it gives you hell." 

  
  

  Me, on certain days, maybe I'm a cesspool. When all I want to do is get through the day and when I lash out at people who are just asking how I'm feeling...when I ignore the kid who is maybe having a worse day than I, when all they need is a simple gesture to make them feel like they exist in our cesspool of a school...

  
  

  Maybe I'm a cesspool for writing this...but I need someway to pull the plug bottling these thoughts inside me.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

Brittle

The Big Bad Wolf needs to lay off for a bit because some of the bricks in my house are becoming brittle and I'm tired of sweeping the bits and pieces off my floor.

Old friendships brushed onto my dust pan and it's almost as if I can see their faces individually and can hear the echoes of the laughter my wooden rafters overhead...they said they'd be there always, yet maybe they never really were, as I peer at the holes in my wall growing larger and larger with each passing day. As they have grown, I've discovered that the faces have become bleaker in my memory...

Empty promises, statements, and reassurements, yep, those particles are in the dust pan too...mostly from those people I once trusted...things like, "I would never do that with my life...I've seen too many people suffer from those mistakes in my family" what makes you think it's easy for me to watch you make the same mistakes, dumbass? You are my best friend...

As the piles of rubble gather outside my backdoor, I've come to realize something... Not all things are permanent, not even concrete. They've dumped me in their yards, maybe it's time for me to do the same.

why high school love is stupid.

Have I ever been in love?
I don't know.

When I was a freshman, I thought I was. True story. I was head over heels for this girl...going into my freshman year of high school at the age of 14, we made a monumental jump in our relationship when we held hands for the first time. When school started, during our breaks between class, we would sneak away to a lunch table hidden from the views of our peers, because if our friends found out, their parents would find out.  And if their parents found out, our parents found out. And if our parents found out...well then our beautiful little love story- the love story we would talk about on the phone for hours, where we would date all of high school, go to senior prom together, and after she waited for me while I was on my mission get married- it would all come to an end. So we kept everything a secret. Later that year, I kissed her. And people saw. And our parents found out. But that girl and I, nothing was coming between us. I loved her. We "broke up" a month later, and that was that.

A few weeks later, I met another girl. She lived up the street from me but went to a different school. We hung out every day that summer, and at the end, when we were as tight as tight can be. And at the end of the summer, I loved her and she loved me. We went to each other's homecoming. That winter, when I told her I was moving 700 miles away, we agreed to date long distance. Everything was well and dandy until the pangs of jealously began to rip my insides apart. So I kissed another girl. And that was the end of that with her.

Why am I telling you this?
Because if you think you're in love right now, as a 15,16, or 17 year old, I would probably disagree with you. Now I know there are millions of sweethearts who would love to hunt me down, but it's true. It's a joke. I reflect on my experiences with love in high school, it is a testament to me of how much I've grown up since then. How could I have ever known what love was back then? However, I am grateful for the ride love has strapped me into, because it is the most educating roller coaster I have ever been on. Love is not to be concealed and confined to lunch tables. It is supposed to be cherished, appreciated, and put on display. However, not the vain display searching for likes, favorites, or comments. Love is hopeful...it expands horizons and mental capacities in search for the road less traveled...the road your high school friends are secretly envious of at your 20 year reunion as they say, "wow, you guys are still together?"  Love is not jealous. It is trust, it is compromise, it is unconditional. Love is focused. Love is blurry vision in the halls, in class, on campus, on the dance floor, or at a party because you're focused on the one individual who knows everything about you, who knows what you're afraid of, what makes you laugh, where you're ticklish, what your goals and pursuits are,  and how you like to sit on a rainy day, listening to Jack Johnson say that things are better when you two are together. And he's right.

I don't think I've found that yet. And that's why I'm still searching.

Late Night Thoughts

• What am I still doing awake?
• (Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, repeat)
• Why can't she smile, or make any sort of normal face in her pictures?
• I want a cat
• I probably should've done that homework assignment
• What would my life be like if I didn't live here?
• Where am I going to college?
• Do I really want to serve a mission?
• I'm hungry
• I'm thirsty
• Only a few more hours until I have to wake up...
• I wonder how (insert name) is doing...
• My room is an oven
• *craves a certain food*
• Why did Adrian Peterson hit the kid with the tree branch?
• What is Isis?
• I wonder what my Grandpa would say if he were here right now.
• What if I wasn't born into my family? How would my life be different?
• This list sucks because I'm tired and can't think
• What do my friends think of me?
• What do my parents and siblings think of me?
• I wonder how bad of a mood I'll be in tomorrow morning
• How hard will it be for me to stay awake in calculus?
• Am I creative? Am I cut out for this class?

Wanna know how I know I'm human?

Do you want to know how I know I'm human? If I was robot, I would be programmed to perform perfectly...unless the scientist who created me was an idiot and made a miscalculation.

I'm human because I've perfected the skill of procrastination. Because I burnt my hand on the toaster this morning. I'm human because I sleep through my alarm every other morning as a result of staying awake until two in the morning similar to the way I am right now. And I don't even care. I'm human because I've been outsmartted by Cupid and have attempted to evade his deadly darts of love but still they always come around and prick you like a heat seeking missle. He always tells you it's going to be okay in the end, yet here I stand with the ashes from the bridges I've burnt with people on my shirt. I'm human because sometimes I raise my voice at my mother, the very person who gave me the gift of life.

How ungrateful.

I'm human because I push those who I once cared for and who care about me out of my life. I know I'm human because I had trouble sharing the Legos with my classmates in first grade. Because I swear at slow drivers. Because I have insecurities and was afraid to smile in pictures when I had braces...three years of not smiling is a long time.

I'm human because I have real fears. Real fears about disappointing the ones I love. Real fears about graduation. About growing up. Maybe I wish I was a robot, because robots don't age, right? I am stuck right now, right on the cusp of the conclusion of my childhood and the beginning of adulthood. Of added responsibility. Of making my own decisions and working for my own income.
I'm not ready.

Someday we'll know...

Why did Walt Disney create a mouse as his first cartoon? Why not a cat or a moose?
What was Amelia Earhart thinking before her plane crashed and we lost her forever? What is Stonehenge and was it really created by aliens? Who decided that putting one's lips on another individual's was a way of displaying affection? Did Bob Marley really smoke a pound of marijuana once?

Why do kids these days get a false sense of security based on how many followers they have or likes or favorites they get? Why don't the sophomores cheer at football games? Who's the genius that decided to make shakes and coffee, charge the equivalent of a fortune in a third world country and call it Starbucks? And why do people keep drinking it? Why do we care whether we have a bae or nah?

What does tomorrow hold for me? Someday we'll know...

Please Father Time, do me a favor...

 Father Time, do me a favor, and please turn back the clock...
Let me have a single day where time stands still so I can connect with the past.

Grant me one last lunch over a baseball game with Grandpa...
He's been on my mind a lot lately...I just want to let him know Grandma is okay and I want to hear him say "I'm proud" one more time...because these days, as he's looking at me with the bird's eye view I imagine all the deceased to posess, I don't know if he'd feel that way.

Permit me a morning with my dog...my childhood best friend and let me take him on one more walk, that would allow him to forgive me for the countless hours he spent in the house. I'm sorry Colby, you probably lived that life of obesity because of me.

Allow me to communicate with my younger self... If I could, I would tell myself to stick up for the underdogs in the schoolyard, the ones who go to school everyday with a target on their back. To never let a day go by without laughing with your friends. That surfing is cool and to go as often as you can because there are few feelings comparable to riding the face of a wave and it never. gets. old. That when you think you're in love with her as a freshman in high school, you're really not so get back to your homework.

Father Time, do me a favor and please turn back the clock...because as I'm sitting here on my bed right now, I'm thinking that growing up isn't cut out to be like everyone says it is.

Here's the deal…

So here's the deal.

My writing isn't for the person, who may or may not be reading this right now, (quite frankly I don't care) it's not to attempt to show Nelson how creative and original I can be, and it sure as hell heck hell isn't to impress anyone. It's not for my parents, who may be disappointed if they ever stumbled across this blog.

Sorry Mom and Dad

No, I'm writing for me.

I'm writing to travel. To discover. To explore far within myself, to leave no crevice unsearched, no stone unturned. I have claustrophobia, but no matter. I will find places so dark, I will be able to call my demons inside by name. I'm breaking free from the heavy chains of social norms and ignoring those eerie whispers telling me I can't. Because I can, and I'm seeing what I am capable of, not caring who I offend. After all, I'm just an angsty teenager.

So here's the deal.

You may not enjoy my writing or understand my metaphors, but I don't really care.

So cheers to Paris, and buckle up.

-Mike Krukow