a confession

When I was a freshman in high school, one of those silly questionnaires went around the internet for people's blogs, and I filled one out. One of the questions asked "Do you sing on the toilet?" (I repeat: it was a really silly questionnaire.) I answered no because the girl before me had responded "omg no, who does that?!" and I thought it was clearly weird.

I lied. I sing on the toilet like I sing in the shower. I'm my own bathroom musical.


her name was mcgill

 One's music taste grows largely in their teenage years. Ages fourteen through twenty, I was influenced primarily by one person, and most of my music taste has grown from that relationship. I have the Beatles all to myself, and a few other gems, but most of it is not entirely my own, or has been tainted by experience.

Now I'm taking notes from another who is brokenhearted and seems to be taking all the right steps. My own music. What a perfectly logical, clear solution.

And how very fortunate and timely that I should have gotten $30 in iTunes gift cards for Christmas.

Time to go exploring.


i am a carpenter, fixing everything

It's just about Christmastime. Nothing could ruin this. My mom is running around like a chicken with its head cut off cleaning everything in sight, the tree has strange, overly bright LED lights on it, I'm sick as a dog and god dammit we forgot a couple presents. No big deal. It's Christmas. There's a surprise tomorrow with my amazing Big that's got my name all over it, I'm cuddled up under the softest Yellow Submarine blanket given to me by my amazing best friend, and my mom is being an absolute saint and taking care of me in this, my most pathetic state. Yesterday I tried to play Tomb Raider for the first time since I was little, and I still stayed in the mansion because I was too scared to encounter bears, and the whole while my parents sat back and laughed at my incapability with videogames. My hair is purple.

No thing and no one is going to ruin this, god dammit. You can try as hard as you want, and yeah, I may cry for a while, but in the end, I'm still working 24/7 to be happy and I'm slowly starting to succeed.

Merry Christmas. I needed this.



I'm going to talk myself through this and fix it before it becomes a mental snap, because I am the only person in the world who can completely make myself feel better. This is going to sound like a lot of convincing but if I read it enough times it'll be true.

Okay. First of all, it just doesn't matter. I am a single woman and my ex-boyfriend is in a new relationship and that is fine. What happens in that relationship has nothing to do with me and it does not affect me.

Second of all, any lust left between us is a force of habit, nothing more. It shouldn't be anything more and it isn't anything more.

Third of all, I am wonderful. Someday someone is going to see that completely, not in fragments. And that's why this doesn't matter. Because it's only fragments. Pieces parts that never got glued together all the way anyway.

None of this matters.

There. No more tears. And I did it myself.


you could be my punk rock princess

I wish I was a princess. Princesses are a hot, rare commodity.

I'm conflicted. Always conflicted. Forgiving shouldn't be easy, especially not for some of the things I regularly forgive, but I do it all the time anyway, like it's a piece of cake. Maybe I'm not forgiving all the way? Or maybe I'm especially good at it.

I'm exploring the waters of being destructive. Okay, not really destructive, I haven't broken anything and I don't intend to. But I mean I'm hellbent on doing whatever I feel like doing. And it's silly, but I feel like I'm releasing myself when I so much as paint my nails almost black. Friday I'm putting bright purple streaks in my hair. Emo much? Not really. Just bored and destructive. If I get a job this summer, I might get that other tattoo I've been thinking about. The rose. Romance and friends. Two of the most important things I have. Not the only two, because of course family is important, but romance and friends are signified in that rose.

Tonight I want to kiss someone. Nothing more, just kiss. It doesn't even have to be perfect. Just to prove... I don't know, it doesn't really prove anything. I just want to.

Beautiful destruction. I don't know what that means, but I love the backwardness of it.


finding out

I had a truly wonderful, perfectly collegiate night with some of the most beautiful people in my world. Nights like that keep me grounded, remind me that not everything is as big as it seems. And that sometimes, the little things are the best things. I'm smiling just thinking about it. My phone died and I just didn't care because I was already with the most amazing people, I didn't need to be worrying about others trying to contact me that weren't even there.

Today is a me-day. I've had a lot of those recently and they were kind of inescapable because I didn't have class but all my friends did. Today I can do whatever I want with whoever I want, but I choose me. Until tonight, that is ;)

Sometimes I feel recovered. Right now is one of those times.



fastest litany

I am not grateful for the things I have, this is true.

For example, I am not grateful for the "friends" who make me cry.

Actually, that's the only example I have. I'm grateful for everything else.


walls like paper

There is a couple that lives above me. Often I hear parties up there. Sometimes I hear them screwing right above me. Tonight I heard him screaming at her. Telling her to shut the fuck up, her voice is aggravating. Telling her to work out with him because he knows she doesn't like her figure and she's too much of a lazy ass to do anything about it. I never hear them laugh.

Tonight I went up there and I told him that I was working on a paper and it was hard to do over his constant screaming "Shut the fuck up!"

I haven't heard anything since.

Is this how men are?

hark, hear the bells

 Favorite Christmas songs:

1. Ukranian Carol (Carol of the Bells)
2. Happy Xmas (War Is Over)
3. The Most Wonderful Day of the Year
4. Baby, It's Cold Outside

Something inside me feels excited despite everything when I hear these songs.

God, I'm really afraid of what comes next...


living in an altered reality

I had a dream yesterday that I was sitting at a long table in a room where many people were getting up, moving around, chatting... general din. I was sitting next to a handsome young man, and we were both reading rather large hardcover books. I realized that our book covers were overlapping and I looked at him and said, "You know what, I'm really sorry, I'm cramping your style!" I scooted over so that my chair wasn't so close and I moved the book over so that they weren't touching anymore. He looked at me, called me cute and said something about my lovely brunette hair, then made the book covers overlap again.

A dream. A fantasy. That someone in this world called me cute. That's really all I want, is just to be noticed, I suppose.

Yesterday and today so far all I can think about is everything I would have done differently, how maybe I could have fixed things if only I'd done this, not done that. I know it's ridiculous because you can't change the past, and we were completely dysfunctional. But sometimes... no, I really can't continue with that line of thoughts. It'll get me in the end.


channeling katie

A current thought:

Very little in this world could possibly be better than my red-with-snowmen flannel sheets, Pepsi, a knotted fleece blanket made with love by one of my very best friends, and the ambient lighting of lamps. I am satisfied.


limericks and a teenage dream

When I met him, my life and myself were still forming. I would love to say that once I knew who I was, that I was strong and powerful in my own right. Incorrect. I was fourteen and I was young. I knew very little of myself. I learned differently through the years... differently than perhaps others had. I'm not sure if I learned slowly or very, very fast, but it seems different than how other people did it (which frankly isn't out of the ordinary for me).

Three months ago, approximately, I lost everything. And I hate to say that because I would love to think that I was strong and powerful in my own right. Incorrect. I was twenty and I was young. I spent three months crying. A hand-carved top brought with love from India; a half-empty, half-cold bed; notes ripped from the corner of a school notebook and passed covertly, then hidden for years in plain sight under my earring tree: these slowly killed me. They have powered remedial poetry like a locomotive, but no fiction comes from this kind of pain. Poetry can hide in the darkness of itself. Fiction requires you to say so much more than you ever wanted to.

Today, I realize I have not quite lost him. Not quite. I did lose so much, so very very much, but not him in his entirety. I'm still twenty, but so much changes in the course of a day when you're this young, and perhaps I am strong and powerful in my own right. This is work. This is a job, and I'm getting paid in gently receding heartache. Deleting the old love letters hurt, but I did not cry. I cried when I found them months ago, and I cried when I tortured myself and read them, wishing desperately for what had been. I could wish to have naturally green hair and a leprechaun to myself, but that's not going to happen and neither will wishing for what had been. And that's why I didn't cry when I deleted them. I was just throwing away the shells, the skeletons of something long past.

I'm still working very very hard to make myself alright. If my friendship suffers in the meantime, that's fine by me because this friendship wouldn't work anyway if I, a pivotal part of the thing, were not alright. I'd like to get it back to good working order, but I have to get myself there first. It is the worst emotional pain I can imagine to think of the two of them together, where I had been. Quietly under sheets. In the passenger seat going no where. A replacement. But that accomplishes nothing for me and I know that.

I am going to Spain in May. I'm going to work towards my career and I am going to continue to travel. At some point, I will move to Chicago or Denver or both. Marriage is not on the table for me any time soon. I have things I have to accomplish for myself, and if I go and get myself married, that's just one more thing I know I'll throw myself at wholeheartedly and there are other things I need to throw myself at first.

I will be okay. I will be strong and powerful in my own right. It just takes so much work.


do work.

Sometimes the things you wouldn't expect to help, actually do help.

I'm reevaluating the people in my life. Let's face it, this kind of forward thinking should have been done a ridiculously long time ago. I'm going to hang on to the people that love me no matter what: to quote Beth and Heather, "I wanna show you my love with my strength but I'm afraid I'll break you! I wanna hug you harder but I don't wanna break a rib!" (Good late night at Taco Bell.) As for the people that are around when it's convenient for them? Eh. I don't need that at this stage in my life. That was fine when I was younger and had more people to hang out with than I knew what to do with. These days, life is moving too fast for that and I want people to move in tandem with me. If I graduate, they're still there for me. If I move home, we'll still talk. If I move somewhere else, we'll visit. I should not be constantly angry with the people I thought were my friends. Good friends don't leave you confused and angry every single time you get off the phone.

The semester is almost over. I am gearing up to have a good final semester. I bowed out of any executive position in my organization, even the one I most wanted, in order to relax and have fun without any concerns. Jaimee and I are going to start working out together next semester because I have a rather lofty goal of getting my body to look like it never went to college. Come New Years, I won't be eating any fast food, just like last spring semester. Things are looking okay in the most tangible senses.

I don't care what people think or feel anymore. I'm going to work for me. For once. And I can think of a few people who won't be particularly fond of that. You know what? I just don't care.

Have you ever looked Fear
in the face and said,
"I just don't care"?



This morning I had a dream that it was today and I was leaving to go back to school. I was walking from my house to Megan's (because for some odd reason all my things were at her house) and I was clutching the little brown bear you gave me when I was fifteen. When I was very near Megan's house, I heard you very loudly telling people I love at my house that you wanted to see me before I left and you were going to catch up to me. I heard you running down the road, and when you caught up to me you did not slow down: you ran past me to a group of people. You talked to them for a while. Then you went and looked at the cars in the driveway. Then you went inside. You never said a word to me. Then I left.

I have realized that I always say I want to come home and see my friends, but what really happens is I come home and I miss my friends. My really good friends. The ones who don't PMS on me every other day (which is an interesting thought considering all my other friends are girls).

And I don't appreciate you directing an entire entry toward telling me off. I was angry last night. Everyone was out with someone, and I was alone. But I don't have to explain myself, because it was a blog entry and I was saying what I was feeling. If I am going to wake up every morning after I compose an entry to find a publicized diatribe in my honor, I'm not going to feel able to write my thoughts.


facebook is the debil

^^ Isn't it pretty?

Yet another person I know engaged. Just gonna bite my tongue. One day. Onnnneeeee day I will be loved. I just have to keep convincing myself of that. One of these days. And if I keep deluding myself, maybe one of these days it'll be true.


a little wish

One day, I will meet a man. He will be wonderful. I think that's all.


these are a few of my favorite things

You Fit Into Me

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye.

A fish hook
an open eye.
- Margaret Atwood

Solitary Observation Brought Back
From A Sojourn In Hell

At midnight tears
run into your ears.
- Louise Bogan


Razors pain you; rivers are damp;
acids stain you; and drugs cause cramp;
Guns aren't lawful; nooses give;
Gas smells awful; you might as well live.
- Dorothy Parker

Upon Entering

I shall die in my boots.
Kick open the saloon doors
of heaven or hell,
lasso the darkest hombre
and shoot any hat in the house
who doesn't buy me a drink.
- Kim Konopka

A Man Said to the Universe

A man said to the universe,
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe
"the fact has not created in me
a sense of obligation."
- Stephen Crane 



the warmest blankets

I want to wallpaper my eyelids with all the most beautiful quotes in the world. Movies and poems and songs. I want to cry beautiful words. And every time I blink, it's like clicking onward to the next slide of the most wonderful slide-show, a brand new heartbreak.

There you are,
sitting in the garden,
clutching my coffee,
calling me Sugar.
You called me Sugar.



Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming swimming swimming. OH OH O-OH! What do we do? We swim swim SWIM!

I may not be able to watch Finding Nemo on Netflix, but god dammit I will watch something Disney, because god dammit dreams come true! A dream is a wish your heart makes!

My brain is cracked. I think I've got some kind of mania on my hands here, too. I didn't want to admit it for some reason, but I've noticed that when I'm in a good mood and not thinking about how everything absolutely sucks, I'm hyper or jittery. Right now, I'm not necessarily happy but my hands are shaking and I'm vibrating. That's bad. Not to self-diagnose or anything, but that's probably generally bad.

And I'm sure pop psychology has its place and I'm sure some of those methods are very good and work on many people, and I know those closest to me only want the very best for me, but I just don't see how completely murdering a relationship that means a lot to me could ever be productive for me. Again, I'm sure pop psychology has its place and I'm sure that's a method that works for a lot of people, but I'm not interested, god dammit.

In other news, did you know there's really no difference between organic fruits and veggies and normal fruits and veggies? They taste the same. And really, calling a fruit or veggie organic is just repetitive redundancy. Silly hippies.


thursday can't come fast enough

"I knew it the very first time I touched her... it was like coming home."

"Never steal, lie, or cheat. But if you must steal, steal away someone's sorrows. And if you must lie, lie with me all the nights of my life. And if you must cheat, cheat death, because I couldn't live a single day without you."

 One day.

And it's not true what you said. Not every man would run. Someone will stay. Maybe. One day.

don't call me

I would really like to go home now please. I very much feel like I'm going to vomit and I can't breathe. I just want my mother. My head and face really hurt. I feel two-timed and angry. I feel not-enough. But I mostly feel like I'm going to vomit. Can someone please just take me home?


honey don't

 It's day one. D-Day. The end of it all, or maybe the beginning. Or maybe nothing at all.

I'm nervous, for some stupid reason. I'm not wasting money -- in fact, I'm not spending any at all. And really, there's only one direction, and that's up, right?

I'm not making this up, right?


"this'll be the day that i die"

 There's a lot of wisdom to be had in classic rock.

Did you write the book of Love,
and do you have faith in God above?
Well, if the Bible tells you so.
Do you believe in rock 'n roll?
Can music save your mortal soul and
can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well I know that you're in love with him
coz I saw you dancing in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues!
I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
with a pink carnation and a pick-up truck,
but I knew I was out of luck
the day the music died.

Or how about this little gem:

A singer in a smoky room...
the smell of wine and cheap perfume.
For a smile they can share the night,
it goes on and on and on and on.

I think there's a lot to be learned from classic rock. I think they knew something Lil Wayne just can't seem to grasp. I think they held the secret of Life or something. I think I should take up listening to classic rock more often. Jesus, isn't that what parents' old records and a well-tuned Pandora station are for?

And by the by... I actually did dye my hair. I take small steps outside of my comfort zone, and I do them on my own time, but I do take them.


roses and thorns

I can do what I'm told... occasionally, and when it suits me. Like a cat. Only if it's my idea.

So I was told to consider roses and thorns. The good things, and the bad. The bad things that I have to focus on, because they're an important part of my day.

Okay, so, roses: Bollywood movie today with some friends. Might dye my hair (!!!), who knows. Might go grab a cheap dinner with friends. Had a mostly great conversation with my best friend all morning. Finally got in contact again with my other best friend, and so far it's not inflammatory.

Thorns? I dunno, part of my all-morning-long conversation with my best friend took a pretty severe header at one point, but all is recoverable. Neal might not come for formal, which would suck. I have a lot of homework and not a lot of time because I kind of spread myself thin today.

Those are pretty weak thorns. But it's a lazy Sunday... how bad can it really be?




God hates me. I'm convinced. Please, for the love of anything and everything that's holy, can something please look up? I had this outlook for my future, that maybe I could be special and make a difference. Of course that got smashed. What the hell am I doing anymore? Why the hell am I bothering?

Tomorrow, first thing, I'm going to figure some things out. I'm going to see what's wrong. I pretty much already know what's wrong, but I'm going to get it straight from the horse's mouth. Wish me luck with at least one of my mother fucking endeavors.


the emo-ness never ends

What it really comes down to... is scarves. Scarves. Why could I finish yours... and not my own?

There is a big problem here. And I am going to try really hard to fix it. I just feel meek, like I'm stuck feeling like this forever. Like I'm going to be stuck with this incomplete scarf forever.


it's getting colder

Last night I was laughed at for not having been on a date in months, and if you exclude my ex, never having been on a date. I was also called selfish. Later I was called a bitch. This morning someone else called me a whore.

Where the hell do people get off? And why am I used to hearing most of this? How could I ever get used to any of that?

And while I'm totally apathetic, anyone else wanna take a hit?


passing thoughts

I'm a change junkie. I may not handle change very well, but I constantly seek it out. I guess it's just one more brand of masochism on my part.

I can't hear anything out of my left ear right now. This is glorious. The cynical part of me is reveling in the halfway silence.

Happy Halloween. I was going to be a gypsy, and it was going to be really neat, but I'll save that for next year.

My bedroom is like a death bed of sickness. There's a thermometer, a bottle of Tylenol, a dirty hot chocolate mug, a Nyquil container brutally ripped open, and socks everywhere.

Am I stopping myself from being happy because there's something that tastes sweet and a little bitter about being sad? Or are things really, legitimately, irreversibly messed up right now?

I'm always the one jumping in front of the oncoming traffic that is Life trying to fix things... so why haven't I bothered fixing things lately? I'm in shambles. One friendship is severely twisted, one needs counseling, and one is really messed up. My writing skills have taken a header. These are things I could fix. Why haven't I?

When I was dropped off at Lambert today, I looked around at all the people being dropped off by loved ones and I thought of where all these people were going, and why. Texas kept jumping into my head, maybe because I haven't really explored it much yet. Everyone was going to Tulsa and Dallas and Houston in my head, apparently. I so badly wanted to be going somewhere interesting, like where these people were going (maybe Texas, maybe not), anywhere but Kirksville. In May I'll be going to Manhattan, though, and that's pretty damn interesting.

Love Your Body Day on Friday with Kim. Manicures, pedicures, yoga, massages. Could be a not-half-bad week :)


so conflicted i typed it from my phone.

I am extremely confused. I feel sick as a dog, but I wonder if I feel like this in part because my emotions are in the way. I'm happy to be home, but I wonder if it was a silly idea missing my last undergrad Halloween. My freshman year, I handed out candy in the dorms and went to bed. My sophomore year I went out with my best friend and my boyfriend of the time, both of whom came to visit, and I remember my boyfriend being irritated with me and then dancing with a bunch of women, then sitting back and telling them to "just do whatever, I'll sit here and watch." And this year I've come home. I spent $60 on (albeit reusable) jewelry for a costume I won't wear because my two in-town friends are for once out of town. One is visiting a mutual friend who currently hates me. They are both very excited to hang out. They're having an absolute blast together. They are both coming up to my school to visit me in a couple weeks for my formal, but because I told them to, not because they chose to or particularly want to. At school I would have been dragged out to a party, date dash (for which I have no date). I would have stayed out for a bit, then turned in no later than midnight because I feel like shit, microwaved.

I think this weekend is just kind of a mess no matter how you cut it. I'm sad though, that for once someone cared enough to seek me out and I wasn't fucking there. I just don't know how to feel besides constantly angry. That's all I ever seem to be anymore is angry. Maybe not on the surface, but underneath it all I am angry.

I guess the one upside is this: all I was really excited about was going to sleep cuddling with Oliver, but he didn't want me. In the process of typing this, however, he has returned and is cleaning himself, preparing for the long haul that is a full night's rest with me :)


The New Madrid Fault in My Life

This weekend is not lining up as cleanly as I might like. If I stay here, I'll be alone for most of the weekend watching movies and playing my new Sims game, and Saturday night will consist of a party I briefly attend, only to be ditched prematurely by people who said they'd stick with me (not an assumption: this has happened at almost every party so far this semester, and we're past midterm), or I'll turn in early of my own volition because I'm sick. If I go home, my parents will be around, but my friends won't be, meaning there will be no sort of festivities at all. Unless I convince them to go to a haunted house with me... and that seems fairly unlikely.

I was really kind of looking forward to Halloween. I was going to be a gypsy. The closer it gets, though, the less I care.

Apathy is setting in hard. Either it's senioritis or general discontent, I'm not sure.

I had to turn the heat on today. Winter's coming and there's no ignoring it anymore. Winter is going to be rough this year. More specifically, Christmas will be rough this year. Interpersonally, everything's messed up and I don't really know how to deal with it. I don't even want to think about it.


it's just a jump to the left

I am moving forward. I applied to Teach for America. I'm a big kid. I'm doing things not because I have to, but because I want to, because I fucking can.

Today, I'm going to finish my story. Tonight, I will watch a movie and knit. Tomorrow, I will have lunch with a friend and register for my last semester of classes.

And this weekend? I'm dressing up as a gypsy, I'm partying, and then I'm taking it down a notch and playing my new Sims game. Oh, and crafting. And watching Bollywood movies in bed.

All I ever wanted was to be happy. The kind of happy that glows, that really pisses off unhappy people. I'm slowly figuring it out. And I don't need anyone.


And you know what else?

I'm not a rag doll. Why do I have to keep reminding everyone that I am, in fact, a grown woman and deserve to be treated as such?


Things I Want to Say and Can't

Hit me up when you wanna put your big boy pants on.

Let's chat when that whole rectal-cranial approximation thing clears up.

I just don't give a shit.

I'm in pain.

You wouldn't understand this level of masochism if you beat yourself in the head with it.

Stop talking.

Do you have any idea what's going on in my life, much less my head?

You're vain and you talk too fucking much.

Make it stop.

I surrender, Life. You win.


it was a beautiful letdown

And I'm looking through the glass
where the light bends at the cracks,
and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs,
pretending the echoes belong to someone...
someone I used to know.
- The Postal Service

I've never gone through something that I felt the need to emotionally deal with so single-handedly before. It's refreshing, but at the same time wholly terrifying. I want to talk about it, or rather scream, but there's no one really adequate to talk to about it because I don't want to hear what I'm doing wrong, I don't want to hear stop. I just want to scream. And as it seems, being an island unto myself is apparently the only way to scream uninhibited. I have also found talking to myself to be more effective than perhaps I would like.

Last night I convinced myself that God (in whom I don't completely believe) was going to wait a while to show me someone perfect, because He knows I deserve someone perfect and He doesn't want me to waste my time with people who aren't. Do you know how comforting I found that line of bullshit? Extremely. It's pretty clear to me that I'm completely losing it.


Bursting at the Seams

I remember he taught me what a Superman was,
because he thought my handwriting
demanded a jolt against the naïvete.
And I don't want to learn how to dougie.
The dullish bass of sex and sweat
makes me long for the rallying diabetic sweet
of a well-timed guitar chord.
The bass slowly vibrated me apart.
Faye wants this over with, but we forcefully go on.
Tomorrow I will realize the treasure hunt continues.
This woody drink is my shirt on the floor,
and in the morning I will be preposterous.
Soy un ejemplo triste.
My high high heels wobble derisively.
The bass in here is sickly sweet as I vibrate away.


This was an assignment for my poetry class, where each line has a goal/project, like "Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective", "Make a nonhuman object say or do something human (personification)", "Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense". So I took it line by line, project by project and made a poem. I thought it was interesting what finally came out.
And so I share.


the forgotten post-it

Maybe my life is a Bollywood movie. Maybe unbelievable bliss is followed by immeasurable pain. If this were a Bollywood movie, I would be Kajol. Only Kajol can be as graceless, tactless and goofy as me. And the male lead would be...? Well, I can't address that right now. But I know I would be Kajol. And the male lead would think I'm an idiot for a long time. Sigh. Now, for something completely different.

My life is a constant string of reminders, is what I've come to realize. Reminders on post-its, on my hand, in my planner, on scraps of paper, and worst of all, in the back of my head. I can keep track of all the other modes, but it's the reminders in the back of my head that always get lost. Which means that the reminder I'm most keeping track of right now is one that needs to be written down somewhere. I'll post it everywhere:  

Keep it together, Erin, and deal.


Fifteen Years Old and Not Counting

If one more person that I know personally that is my age (or younger!!) gets married before me, I'm going to have to throw a fit. Which means I'll probably have to throw a fit in the next week or so, because it seems like every week I'm finding out about another person getting married.

I could deal if it were just the lucky few, but it's not. It's like, fucking everyone. Either we're in the 50's, or I'm completely missing something. I just checked my calendar to be sure, so apparently it's the latter, that I'm missing something.

Are they misguided and doing things too early? Is this the new norm that I have yet to accept? Or am I just unlucky?

With the way things seem to go lately, I'm going to say probably all of the above, with particular emphasis on the whole "I'm unlucky" end of things.

I have friends in the exact same boat as me. EXACT SAME! Well, okay, just one friend, but she dated the same guy for even a bit longer than I did. And do you know how she's doing? Really well. She's still afraid of dating, but she's capable of flirting, messing around, whatever. You know what I'm capable of? Blushing like an idiot and/or consistently saying the wrong things.

I'm going to stop trying, and when somebody sees me for me, it'll be a good day.


Sunday Morning, Sun Is Shining

Oh my god. I did it. I planned an event and it went so smoothly. As I looked around yesterday at all the dads and their daughters, and my mom just taking pictures and people racing canoes and enjoying my dad's chili, I remembered They're all here because I invited them. They're all here because of me and suddenly I felt like I was king of the world.

It felt nice having people tell me I'm funny. Too often I let a specific three people in my life tell me what I am and what I am not. Everyone else thinks I'm funny and entertaining. Everyone else thinks I'm sweet and caring. So what are those three missing? Maybe they're specifically trying not to laugh when I crack a joke... frankly, it wouldn't be unlike them.

I'm excited to go home for midterm break. Not because it's home or because I have anything spectacular planned, but because it's just one more motion, one more thing I get to do.

I think I'm successfully moving forward. I realized it last night at dinner, when I suddenly became really excited for future Prim Rose mixers with ATO. It's about time. There are things in life that I just know I deserve, and I refuse to be denied.

Today, I am going to cook dinner for one of my best friends, watch movies, study for a test I actually think I can pass, and eat the gourmet cookies I baked for my parents. It's going to be a great Sunday.


Mental Breaks

^ Madrid

I'm happy for the cooler weather. Granted I'm not totally prepared for it, but I appreciate it all the same. It's like a slap in the face for monotony. At some point the cold, too, will become monotonous, but right now it's a beautiful break.

I'm currently thinking about Sid, 24/7. Sid is my newest character. My goal with him is to make him the kind of character I can use again and again, kind of like "Sid's Adventures". Sid is kind of an amalgam of a lot of people in my life. He is kind of cold and unsatisfied (but not for the lack of trying), and he is a dreamer to the nth degree. He drives a stick because he wants control of something. He likes to sit back and watch life happen around him, and he feels that if he interferes, he'll throw something off cosmically. Sid lives for his newest focus, anything that will draw his attention in a completely new direction for a time. I think he is married, and not particularly thrilled about his spouse, but it has already happened and it is a comfortable life, so why interfere? Why rock the boat? He is a joker, but no one ever seems to truly understand his humor, and more often than not people are offended by it. He lives for his moments alone. He likes to cook but never seems to expand his repertoire. He is in love with the past.

I'm making him a kind of sad character right now, but I don't intend for him to be pathetic, so this sketch doesn't really do him justice. It's not that he's sad, he's just placid.

I kind of wish I could write a character like Robert Langdon. Someone up for adventure. I need an adventure before I feel adventure-y, though. Hence, Spain.



One day, I will write a poem about you.
I will write about your whatever hair
and your deep brown-blue-hazel-green-grey eyes.
I will write about how attractive I find you.
I will write about your toes,
because you’re the only one
whose toes I love.
I will boast about the good you are doing
in your whatever career.
I will tell my girlfriends
everything you secretly want me to say
but protest to all the same.
I will write about your hands.

We will travel.
We will visit places,
and we will take pictures
to show to all our friends
when we return home,
We will read in bed,
and we will watch movies
until our eyes grow heavy
and we melt into each other.
We will listen carefully
and think even more carefully,
and then speak with utmost care.
We will pick out Christmas presents
like our lives are on the line:
a beautiful whatever
for your beautiful mother.


A Long Road

"You can go govern some other little fucker's life."

Things like this tear a hole in me. They remind me that I deserve to be surrounded by people who respect me and who love me, because I am an interesting and caring woman. They remind me how this painful chasm came to be in the first place, and at times I am grateful.

But they also make me wonder who I am, what I am. They make me question my very self. They make me wonder how I got here, in such a place where the people I hold dearest feel they can say these things without any repercussions.

I have a long way to go, but things like this remind me to keep walking.


A Modern Woman Hitting the Fork for the First Time

^ Chernobyl
I'm starting to feel my life and my thoughts pulled in two very different directions, and I guess that's what being a modern woman is. Here's why:

I keep thinking about love and romance, and will it find me? Or will I find it? And if it finds me, how will I know? And how do I go about looking for it on my own? I'm terrified, because I'm really only fifteen years old in the dating world. I'm still hoping that I don't have to dress in high, high heels and deep cleavage for the gentlemen of St. Louis's nightlife to see me; I'm hoping they'll just see that I'm silly and interesting and want to talk to me because of that, not because of some carnal, testosterone-driven interest. And it kills me that even in this mode of thinking I'm torn in two directions. I want to move on from the radioactive debris that is my most recent (and only) relationship, but I'm constantly pulled back to it. Yes, I want to get married and I want to have children. And I want to have what two of my friends have... six years of solid love. But I lost that, and it's time to move on.

The other half of the modern woman is, of course, her career, and with my romantic life on hold until I graduate and leave Kirksville, the career end of things is more or less taking over. I want to graduate... NOW. I want out. I've had enough of academic institutions and simply being the show-pony through a flaming hoop for them. I need to get into my career, which, ironically, is the same damn thing. (Is this not the world's worst viscous circle?) I want to teach for good things, and teach the right things, and I want to get out there and do it already!

But first... I want to travel. For once, I want to do what I want more than anything in the world. For once, I want to feel like I'm in control of something. I want to feel alive, because I feel like a walking corpse going to class every day.

I just want to feel something. Everyone else has a passion. Am I burying my passion(s)? Or are they gone? Why does everyone else feel and I just sit here?


Please Help Me!

All I've ever dreamed of was traveling, and with your help it could be possible! Please, even if you're a stranger, and even if it's just $.50, any little bit will help! My plans are to tour Europe when I graduate college. Please help, it will be much appreciated!


A chill in August

I'm surrounded by books, yet I'm not particularly excited to read them. I'm surrounded by photographs, but they often represent little more than ink on nice paper. I'm surrounded by friends, but I take them for granted. I'm surrounded by tools of the trade: ink, paper, computer, printer, pens... I could write anything, but I have no thoughts to push my hand.

I am slipping, and I need to grip a little harder and make sure it doesn't all slip away entirely.


A ripped out page

The green monster of jealousy is a dirty, hateful bitch. I want to go to Spain, or anywhere else. I want a job. I want to be the life of the party. I want to make people laugh. I want to be hugged and kissed when I least expect it. I want to be the love of someone's life. I want to be everything I see around me.
I know why I can't write anything lately. It's because I don't feel anything. In the past, I wrote because my heart was on fire -- anger, love, lust, confusion, anything. I wrote because I felt so much, and I wanted to make people who felt, too. But I don't feel anything, so why would I make people who can't feel anything?

Santana watched as her focus on the cheap painting across the room went in and out, in and out, like a disoriented camera lens. She could get up from this god forsaken couch, she could do something. She could work out, call a friend, watch a movie, play a game, sky dive, for christ's sake. She could do anything. Or not. The green couch had eaten her alive, completely, and the cheap painting with its overly manicured strokes had already engaged her attention. I want to go home, she thought miserably, and yet she could not put a place to the wish.
She wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Leftovers from a cooking spree and some bad eggs and cheese peered back at her from the depths. The cabinet yielded even fewer results. She returned to the couch, to her spot, where the print of her rear remained.

See? Who would read that schlock? I couldn't write anymore at the end there. I didn't have anything left to say about this sorry woman's life.


Waiting on wisdom

I wonder what happened to me. I never used to be like this. I never used to be... pathetic. It's time for a change, but I don't know how to make that change, or what that change should be. Major life changes should be easier understood... that's the trade-off for how hard the process of the life change will be.


Outstanding Observations of the World Cup

USA fan's poster: "Where is the quarterback?"
North Korea fan's poster: "Kim Jong Il thinks I'm at work!"
Thomas Jefferson and George Washington appear to be attending the USA/Slovenia game today.
England's goalie may as well have curtsied the USA's goal in.
Denmark kicked the ball into their own goal. Way to be.


not listening, or listening too much

I am not what I profess to be. I am not lacking jealousy, and I am not proficient at Spanish anymore -- at least I don't think I'm proficient anymore. How would I know? I am not selfless, and I am not tranquil, nor am I an avid reader and writer. I am not always timely. I am not clear on what I'm doing. I am not doing what I want. I am not fat and I am not ugly.

I am not what others say I am. I am not pathetic and I am not selfish. (It is not my fault.) I am not stupid. I am not happy taking the easy way. I am not a bitch.

I'm just... conflicted, but who isn't?


thanks for the cat

Right at this instant: the backs of my thighs prickle with anticipation because I can't wait to see him, even though I know he's downstairs. He's vacuuming, and I sit at the edge of my bed, perched and ready to pounce should he come up those stairs. Come up the stairs.


what now?

I need to get my typewriter up and running. It makes you dedicate yourself to your thoughts and ideas: there's no going back, it's down, it's written, and now you have to live with it.
I feel like anything I write or say right now will be trite and worthless, so I suppose it's time to stop. That was quick.


the years are paper

I am sickeningly, painfully, frighteningly, stomach-turningly in love. Despite anything and everything, I remain disgustingly attached at the hip, wooed and romanced like a twisted princess. I am terrifyingly in love, and no one seems to understand, not even me and him. I am still fourteen.


big wheel keeps on turnin', i'm gonna keep on burnin'

Things feel too easy. I must be missing something. There's no conflict. My life is a book being written as we speak, and it makes me uneasy because I'm not the one writing it. We're in a state of rising action... rising toward what? Things seem to fall into my lap. Grades are not too terribly difficult to come by. I'm graduating early. My relationship is weird and frustrating but there's love there, so it functions. I have friends and family. I don't fight with people. Any internal questions fade from memory within hours. Something is missing. There's no conflict. I'm not afraid. I want a conflict. I want something to come fuck me up. I want to be shaken awake, and I want Life to scream in my face. This is not to say I need my life to fall to shambles, but something has to happen. It feels like I'm on a wheel: no matter how fast or slow I run, I will still be on a wheel, in the same cage, going no where. Except I'm going somewhere. A very predictable, bland somewhere. I need an upset. Knock me off the wheel, wake me up please someone something anything wake me up.


Hot Seat Failure

There are things in my life that I say and then regret for a very long time. Sometimes it's because of the repercussions on someone else... sometimes it's because of the repercussions on me. Example: during a moment in my new member season of my organization, we were supposed to sit in a chair one by one and everyone else would say something kind about that person. When my friend got up, I didn't know her very well yet, so I said I really appreciated her service to our country and that she was a strong individual (she did a tour in Afghanistan). What a truly stupid thing to say. In a moment of perfect sisterhood, I torched it with patriotism. P.S., I'm not even a patriot. Patriotism bugs the life out of me. And she's not even one of those people who revels in their wartime... she kind of ignores it. I will forever be embarrassed by that moment. I had another moment like that today.



All semester it seems like I've been hearing constant talk about the interconnectivity of women, the strength of women. That's all fine and good, but when your back hurts like it's broken, you're sobbing uncontrollably and you know the only person who will be able to make you feel even a little bit better is 204 miles away, interconnectivity and strength are at the very bottom of my totem pole.
What is the strength of women? Or the interconnectivity? Does strength mean not being able to say "I need you" to our lovers? Because that might be seen by some feminists as a faltering in feminine strength. Maybe the acknowledgment of a kind of love so deep it's a painful need is, actually, strength.
And how about interconnectivity? Is that supposed to be my ability to understand other women, inherently? As silly as that sounds, it may well be true. Nuances go over my head, of course, and women say and do nasty things sometimes, but on the whole, I do understand. I would hope that they understand me, as well.


Hips and Lips

My first thought is that it's about me. Shakespeare reinvented. And then I remember it's a figment of imagination. Fiction.


Reaching 88 in the Delorean

I love the feeling of singing a song you didn't think you knew anymore, but you know every word. Someone could say, "Hey sing that song!" and your response would be, "I can't," until you actually hear it. And it just flows. It's like re-living the days you fucking loved that song. It's a time machine.


The Devil Wears Prada... or Truman Sweatpants

I need to get the hell out of dodge. This stage of my life is not one that is working for me. I don't like everything being so fluid. And this stage of my life is causing me to absolutely hate people. I've developed such an angry animosity to virtually everyone around me. So often I wake up and decide I don't want to be spoken to. That's not normal. God save the Queen, someone get me out of here. And I desperately miss having little Oliver around. I hate knowing he's elsewhere and that he's not really mine at all. It makes me want to cry.
Wedding planning, anyone? Wedding planning? I think I want to go into that.


Oliver Cheshire Twist

I haven't been sleeping too famously this week. A small cat named Oliver has been trying to gnaw off my face every time I'm not looking. He's sweet as pie during the day, but at night...? Cannibal.

It feels like some relationships are just a one-way street, or they demand just too much. Not the cat. I mean other relationships. Like... roommates. Okay, I'm sorry you could hear the TV through the paper-thin walls for ten minutes. I'm not sure what you want me to do about that. I'm sorry everything isn't always perfect. I'm not always perfect. Hell, I'm not perfect at all. If you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down. Is that the Goo Goo Dolls? Well, whoever it is, thank you for your very opportune words. I need to finish that damn letter, when I'm not angry. It needs to be read. My words and my thoughts need to get out from time to time. The real ones. Not the made-up opinions in class, or the "Oh I'm fine, just kind of tired." No, the real thoughts.


Planes, Trains and Automobiles

There's a certain romance about old things, classical things. Vintage dresses, from flapper to medieval make me smile (ignoring, of course, corsets). Beautiful, shiny old cars that still look like the horse was removed from the buggy and an engine was put in instead make me want to go for a sunny drive. A guitar rift from The Beatles or the Rolling Stones makes me want to laugh, and a long violin note makes me want to read, or kiss deeply. I might go for a very long train ride this summer, across the great expanse of the West. I picture red carpeting and chandeliers and tea. I know this won't be the case, but that's what I picture, and I want to share it with someone I love very much. Maybe, when I'm much older, trains will be one mode of transportation for me and my yet-unknown love as we explore the corners of our own country that we never bothered to inspect before.


Say, "I am wonderful."

I'd give anything to be satisfied with my body. I'd love to be one of those women who's still curvy and soft in all the right places that can say "My body is a beautiful one." I don't want to be stick thin and bony. I like being curvy. But why can't my curves be pretty curves? My body is like one that is under construction, the road taking weird dips and turns that don't seem right. I want it to be a scenic drive -- curvy in all the right ways and beautiful.


Let's see how far we've come.

At this point, I don't even get sad anymore. Tears are inadequate. They just cause headaches and make people think you're weak when really, you're so full of every imaginable negative emotion it all spills out. Anger is so much more viable in a world like this. Anger says something. Anger slashes. And when I am slashed emotionally, I'm angry and I slash back.



"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Too true, Eleanor Roosevelt, too true.
Apparently women of ancient Greece had access to dildos. I am obviously very into my research right now.
I wonder what it is about home that I miss right now. I can't pinpoint it.
I wish my phone would ring, but even if it did, I don't know what I would say.
Hello. I miss you. You're hurting me. I have homework.
That's a horrible conversation.

Nothing lasts forever, 
but be honest babe,
it hurts but it may be the only way. 
We have not hit the ground, 
it doesn't mean we're not still falling.


tie up my lover's tongue

I talk too much. Allllwayyyyys. I should take notes from the words of those I admire most -- those who are concise.
I recommend reading this blog: http://ktzpage.blogspot.com/
She's lovely. And I admire her. And she's in love with my uncle, which makes me love her all the more.
I wanna go home. Everything is simpler at home and in person.

I've got a cupboard with cans of food,
filtered water and pictures of you,
and I'm not coming out until this is all over.

And I'm looking through the glass
where the light bends at the cracks,
and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs,
pretending the echoes belong to someone...
Someone I used to know.