a series of unfortunate events

I know it's a little early for end-of-year reflections, but I want to lay it all out, organize it, think about it, and resolve it.

Let us begin at the beginning of the year, where I was still dealing with an horrific break-up, seeking counseling for clinical depression, and watching the man I loved seemingly love someone else. In retrospect, I don't know what happened. I don't know why everyone else seems so capable of moving on, but I sank until I hit the bottom of the well, and then I couldn't even look up. Perhaps it was because I felt like I couldn't get away from it. The beginning of the year marks the middle of me refusing to speak to him, which in some respects helped. I defined it as this: when I was speaking to him, I felt so sickeningly horrible; when I wasn't, I felt nothing. I reasoned that feeling nothing was a step up from feeling horrible.

February I found out I have hypothyroidism. Not a huge thing, it just means my thyroid doesn't work hard enough. It explained a lot of things, and taking medicine for it helps. But it scared me, because of the constant medicine thing, and because the only thing that had ever been wrong with my was my vision and my allergies to silicone, grass and pine trees. Also, it meant I had to have blood drawn on a tri-monthly basis until my levels evened out (which they haven't yet, 10 months later), and I am terrified of having blood drawn.

Moving on to my 21st birthday. I went out at midnight with my ex, which was the winding down party of Mardi Gras. It was so much fun, and we discovered my favorite bar ever down on Washington Ave. It was a fun, drunken night. But also, it was turbulent. I managed to continue having fun into the following night, the actual night of my birthday, when I went out with all my amazing friends. The turbulence continued, but my friends made sure I was too drunk to care for very long. I have amazing friends :)

In April he left her, and we started talking more and hanging out more. It felt good. But I'm a creature of habit.

In May I graduated. That was a bittersweet moment. I did it a year early, which was nice and I was very proud of myself, but I also hated myself because I felt like I had intentionally torn myself away from all my friends prematurely. Why would I do that to myself? But all was well. I moved home, set up shop here. I still get to see them, though it tears me up how infrequently.

In late May, I visited Spain. A beautiful, amazing trip. My favorite part was the Alhambra in Granada, the last Muslim stronghold in Spain. So spectacular. I wish I hadn't been so lonely on that trip. It was really an overbearing feeling over the course of the entire trip, and I feel kind of petulant saying so. But I wouldn't trade that trip for the world. I'd just perhaps force a friend to go with me.

In June my dad shut down his firm. That meant no more income. I thought we were avoiding the economy, just sitting in our warm house looking out the window at it, but now we were in it, too. "Were"... really we are. I've had friends deal with this, and I suppose I just didn't understand until I experienced it, too. It sucks. I'm done experiencing it.

July passed with little activity. I searched for a job, I played computer games a lot. With no money and little morale, I didn't feel much impetus to accomplish anything.

In August I got the worst job ever. I also got a UTI. Guess which one sucks more. I really can't tell you, because they're about equal. I hate my job. It completely ruins my self-esteem on a day-to-day basis. The UTI was pretty awful, too. Also in August, school started. This was a day I had been meaning to avoid, the day I attended a school I didn't want to go to, a school where the only person I knew was literally never on campus at the same time as me. I was taking night classes, which I've always hated, and working all day during the day and on weekends.

September and October passed in a blink. I worked. I went to school. For Halloween I dressed up as a gypsy in order to loaf around my house and hand out candy to all 9 trick-or-treaters. I watched a horror movie with my family.

In November the house went on the market. This is not something I talk about, and that is intentional.

Now, in December, we are gearing up for the weirdest Christmas we've ever had, with the least accoutrements we've ever seen. I'm searching for a new job. Both my parents are looking for work. It's sort of a bleak situation, but I've been listening to Christmas music out the wazoo, and I will be buying the tree and paying for the Christmas cookies. I will make it look normal. Maybe I will buy a small trinket for people close to me (though I probably won't get to that under the glare of tuition and textbooks). I am determined to feel normal this Christmas. (A thought! I may not be able to buy anything, but I can afford a thing of yarn! I have time to knit gifties!)

I know that January 1st doesn't represent anything but another day on a new calendar. But I need it to mean something to me. This year was... not good, overall. It had bright spots, but overall I think I can say that I have never been so happy to see the tail end of a year than this one. I need January 1st to be a turnaround. I need it to start something brand new and better. I deserve something brand new and better, I think.



The realtor asked us to come up with a list of disclosures about our house, things a future buyer should know. I've created my own list.

You know that huge tree in the back corner of the the backyard, the cyprus? The one that sheds spiky orange things like crazy? It's only about half grown. Watch out.

The Christmas tree looks prettiest in the corner of the living room under the stairs, next to the bay window. That way it's in plain view as soon as you come in the front door, and it's furthest from the fireplace.

The floors in the kitchen etch. Anything you spill on it, even if it's just water, you need to clean up immediately. Sorry about that... it was my mom's flooring choice, and the bane of our existence.

Sorry about the scratches in the hardwood floors about three feet in front of the bay windows in the living room. I once had a dog, and she used to lay there, but she was sort of klutzy and would scratch the floors when she tried to get up.

Be especially nice to the walls in the foyer, upstairs and the stairwell. They're hand-painted, a nifty idea the painter had where he used either a rag or a plastic bag (I can't remember) to create that look, which makes it look like flowers and leaves. Also, the paint in the kitchen is hand-painted. The contractor, who moonlights as a muralist, painted those cracks and veins very carefully and by hand. So be careful with those.

There's a creak on the floor right in front of the stairs. Your teenagers will realize it's there and will take great pains to step over it when they come home past curfew.

On a similar note, the air vents in the basement go right up to the bedrooms. No funny business.

The rugs on the stairs are so soft and silky, but until you get used to them, avoid running up and down the stairs in socks. You will slip, and it won't be forgiving.

The closet in the bedroom closest to the front of the house is nearly soundproof, meaning you can't really hear anything happening in the house. If you're having a bad day, it's nice to crawl in there and ignore everything for a little while.

In the summer and fall, look out the window of that same bedroom, straight to the lake, and watch the light dance on the water.

The garage best houses an Infiniti G35 and a Volvo S80, but in place of the Volvo, an Audi A6 will do, too.

When you pull up in front of the house to park, line the nose of your car up with the line of asphalt closest to the neighbor's driveway: if you don't pull up this far, the mailman will make the effort to get out of his truck to leave a nasty-gram on your windshield saying he can't get to your mailbox, despite the fact that he's already out of his truck.

The playroom in the basement is the best place in the world to build blanket forts.

In the second bathroom upstairs, leave the door open a crack and the ventilator fan on while you shower, otherwise you'll overheat from the steam and feel like you're going to pass out.

Sorry about the weird outline of a dog on the driveway and a girl in the garage: it was a Halloween hijinks mishap that was supposed to wash away and some 6-8 years later still hasn't.

The screen door in the garage snaps shut faster when the weather gets colder, so if you don't hustle through the doorway, it'll bite the back of your ankle, which really freakin' hurts.

Only three of the six burners on the stove actually light up to the full flame. We don't get it.

I think that's pretty much it. I hope the realtor finds this a complete enough list.


the saddest dreamscape

I had a dream last night that I was a few years older, and I had a husband and a daughter. She was only an infant, maybe a year old. I went away for a while on a research trip, and when I returned they had developed a routine together that I was not part of. He knew what her little cries meant, and they had a system. She didn't want me. When he put her in the carrier, I asked to carry her. He agreed, reluctantly. I tried not to bounce the carrier as I walked because she was asleep, but I couldn't hold it steady. I kept knocking it against my leg.



What a terrible, horrible weekend. I feel like I spent the entire weekend in tears, but I really didn't cry that much. I just... I missed out on a wonderful weekend with my friends and instead spent the entire weekend working at a job I hate and arguing with my best friend. I thought I would be taken out on a date, but he was just kidding. I thought I'd get to go to a park again, but that fell through. I thought I might go out, but I'm broke.

And now I'm realizing that when I want to be alone, I don't get it. Either someone is demanding my attention or someone is just floating around and I feel the need to float, too. It's not normally a problem, but sometimes I just need to fucking be alone. And when I desperately want to be around people, interacting and having a good time, they're too busy.

I feel like my life is a downward spiral. I am lonely, but surrounded. I am broke, but working. I am bored, but learning. I don't ever seem to get what I want, even if it's just something little like the right ice cream. Everything feels wrong, out of place. I feel out of place.


a story about a nice man

Yesterday, an older, portly gentleman of approximately 70 came into my store. He looked slightly disoriented, like perhaps he had stumbled into the wrong store by some unhappy accident. I walked up to him and, as is customary procedure in my store, said, "Hello, sir, and how are you doing today?"

He turned his ruddy face toward me and his eyes expanded behind large glasses. "How do you think I'm doing when a beautiful woman walks up and says hello to me?" He laughed heartily. "Do I get a hug, too?"

Surprised, I laughed, as well. "No, sir, not today, I think." I appraised him quickly, noting that our store was probably not going to suit his fancy. "What brings you in today?"

He looked around. "I always walk into stores like this thinking I'll be able to wear the younger stuff, and then I realize I'm not as young as I think I am." He laughed again. I enjoyed his laugh. I informed him that our wares are relatively simple, which makes much of it suitable for all ages. I knew that what I was saying was completely worthless because he obviously wasn't going to buy anything here, but I didn't want to get in trouble with my manager for too quickly rebuffing a customer. He shook his head, thanked me for my effort.

He then told me that I was a wonderful employee. "Really, if I had a store, I would want you to work there. You're very good."

"Thank you," I told him.

"You know, you're going to go very far in life. You're just magnificent, I can tell. You're lucky in that God stretched your skin in a nice way, but it's not that, it's that your soul is lovely. You're very bright, people trust you and they like you. You'll go far in life, I know it. And there's something about the timbre of your voice... lovely, very bright."

I blushed. He thanked me again for my efforts. He left, and I stood where I had met him, stunned and pleased.


stuck elsewhere

You know, if Harry Potter was real, I'd be Hermione Granger and I'd have the most amazing, most loyal friends around me all the time, and a goofy, athletic, sweet guy would suddenly and magically realize that he loves me, despite the fact that I'm kind of annoying and a bit of a know-it-all. Despite the fact.


consistent thought

A part of me keeps waiting for you to remember me. But the problem is, you think you do remember me, and you hate what you remember. So it's time to stop waiting. It's been time, but I couldn't shake it.



So here's what's wrong.

I'm going to a school I have absolutely no interest in attending.
I'm not going back to my school, the one I handpicked because it matched me.
All my friends are leaving town, going 204 miles away.
I am romantically alone and am starting to accept the fact that things will probably remain that way, simply because I have too many negatives and not enough positives.
I can't stand my job and my managers are, legitimately, mean to me.
I feel like everything I do/say is wrong.

Is that a solid enough list? Because I feel it's pretty damn overwhelming.


it's all in a name

Sometimes your favorite characters are named something really odd. Something like Albus, Holden, Mercutio. Sometimes your favorite characters are named something really simple and familiar, like Henry, Peter or Harry.

It's easy to name your character something familiar. But there you run the danger of making them forgettable. Will they live up to their name? Is this just some plain old Harry or is this Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived? Is it Peter from down the block, that one kid, or is it Peter Pan?

It's also easy to name your characters something not unlike the haphazard results of a dropped Scrabble set. Ghjk. There you go. It's Polish. But even still, the name must be something. Mercutio, that sad, lonely, fierce dreamer. Albus Percival Wolferic Bryan Dumbledore, our mentor for the ages. Mercutio would be nothing without his soliloquy on Queen Mab that brings every reader to their knees.

Are my character names memorable enough? Will they withstand the tests of time?

I will never know unless I give them something to be remembered for.



I have so many cockamamie ideas on how to fix this.
  • I can move out, get my own apartment, lighten the load on the family.
  • Onkel Peter could move into Oma's spare bedroom and we could buy the house off Onkel Peter, maybe at a reduced price. It would be nice for the two of them to have each other as company, too.
  • We could move into Nana and Papa's guest bedrooms. (But what of our things?)
  • We can distribute our things into storage across everyone we know. Meg, her parents, Nana and Papa, Oma, Kodi, Saad, Onkel Peter, Moni and Frank, Pat, Phyllis. Just tuck our things away in any nook or cranny they would be willing to give up to a desk, a table, a bed, a chair. Even just a box or two.
The problem is that there aren't any fixes and there aren't any solutions. There's just day by day mucking through the mess and hoping that maybe the next turn will yield something, anything.

on work

I am, by nature, a learner. A sponge, if you will. I take in information at mach speed, all the time, never ending. If you teach me something, I'm likely to retain it. (Unless it pertains to math/science, of course. It's cruel to think anyone would commit those sorts of things to memory -- intentionally, anyway.) So when I start a new job, I start taking in a whole different brand of information, a different kind of learning.

I started with the various forms of literary criticism, the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, Spanish verb tenses, Rococo art.

Now I'm being asked to learn ASDs, UPCs, conversions, credit cards, reward programs, when to talk, when not to talk, when to move, when to stay put, and how exactly to phrase the word "hello".

Not hard. A lot of information, yes, but not hard.

It's the people who make it hard. Despite the constant reiteration that I'm new, and no one expects me to do it perfectly... secretly, they do. They expect me to somehow outshine any other new employee they've ever had. They expect me to know it all the moment it comes out of their mouth. Or, in worse situations that I've already encountered, even when it doesn't.

I work at a clothing store. Today I showed up for work wearing what I thought to be fashionable, appropriate clothing. I take that very seriously, because when I was sixteen I was sent home for being dressed just slightly improperly for work. A manager, however, asked where my t-shirt was. That damned t-shirt that I thought was reserved for uniform solely on weekends. Apparently not. She said, "I'm sure somebody told you that."

They didn't. I would have catalogued that little diamond in the rough of information to save from embarrassment. Granted, this is not a calamity by any means. Hardly an apocalypse. But disturbing for a brand new employee nonetheless.

I heard a manager today get very excited that the cards for our reward program had finally been replenished. Legitimately excited. Why, I wondered, in the hell would anyone care that much?

Well, that's because this is life. Coming to work at this store every single day is their career. Their sole money-making scheme. Their life. Perfection is a necessity because there's not a whole lot else going on, really.

Perfection really isn't my top goal in this job. I have classes to attend in the fall. I have relationships to manage. Frankly, I have videogames to play and movies to watch. This is my part-time job, my little source of income big enough to cover minor expenditures (like clothing, textbooks, nightlife, gas, etc.). I'm not trying to buy a house, pay rent/utilities, or buy copious amounts of Pampers with this.

But these managers, even the assistant managers... this is their top dollar. Maybe they'll go on to district manager or regional manager. But chances are, they don't have higher degrees and they're pretty well tapped out after that because any higher on the corporate ladder requires a business degree, probably even an MBA. In that respect, I'm even a little ahead in the game of life. Okay, yes, I'm working part time at a clothing store, but I have secured upward mobility for myself. I have secured a real career.

I remember at my first job, when I was sixteen, I was in the back room helping organize clearance items and stocking (and by "helping" I think I mean I was avoiding my actual job on the floor out front) with my favorite manager. He was an older gentleman, but no more than 50. I mentioned something about my dad being a lawyer.
"A lawyer, huh?"
"Yeah. He's his own boss, too. He's a partner at his own firm."
My manager sighed wistfully and paused his stacking of boxes.
"So he had to have gone to law school, then."
"Yup!" I responded, not quite realizing the distinct change in the air.
He looked down at his hands. "He must be a very smart man. That's much further than I went." He sighed again. "So I'm a manager... here."

Being a manager might be kind of a nice stepping stone, a pretty bulky piece for your resumé. But I don't think many people want to do it forever. Some people, though, don't have anywhere else to go.

Working retail always reminds me of that. These people are so hell-bent on perfection in their jobs, exhibiting dictatorial behavior over the peon employees (i.e. me), but I think the reason in a lot of cases may be because if this is all they've got, then god dammit they're going to make it perfect and right.

This really isn't Socrates-esque observations or conclusions I'm sharing here. It's more or less pop psychology, really. But it's something I think about when I'm being told I didn't say hello properly. It makes it a little easier to want to do it right the next time.



I have a job. And for a moment, I'm going to be selfish and jot down in one place the things I desperately want to get with this money. Why? Coz it's my fucking blog, that's why. Bite me.

1.  A new bike
2.  A new wardrobe, seeing as I haven't been shopping since high school.
3.  My own camping gear. And I learned from my parents: I am not lending that shit out to anyone.
4.  Uhh...

I would say "Save up to travel again" but I learned from past experience that travelling alone is not all it's cracked up to be, and who the fuck in my life (besides myself) is reliable enough to actually say yes, for starters, and then continue to say yes, and then actually save up an adequate amount of money? That would be no one. I can't even get my friend to commit to a 3 day, $250 trip to Cedar Point. Not really that huge of an endeavor. I can't imagine trying to organize a $4,000 trip to Germany or Ireland.

So really, that's not that long of a list. Therefore not really all that selfish. Boom.

Allow me to add "credit card debt" to that list. Not nearly as exciting, but a necessary evil.


bad day

I want to scream. Something is wrong today... really terribly, horribly wrong. I want to scream until my lungs rip, and I want to pull someone's hair and tell them that everything is their fault. Unfortunately, nothing in my life is anyone's fault, not even entirely my own. I'm just really... really... frustrated.

I want a couple material things right now. I want a haircut. I want some new, up-to-date clothes. I want a bike. I want coals for my hookah. That's pretty much it, at this point. And I can't get any of them. I know that sounds petulant and childish and what have you, but it's beyond frustrating. I have $30 to my name. That's it. $30 to last me the summer. And then what? Get a job then? I just highly doubt that I'm going to get hired. I don't know what it is, I just have this sinking feeling that it's not gonna happen. If it does, spectacular, great! Still doesn't solve all my problems, but wonderful.

...I miss my friends. So many of them are here, but either they have plans or I can't afford to get to them or I can't afford to do anything with them. It's like being in a glass room and watching things happen without you.

I'm feeling very disillusioned and depressed today. More so than usual. I want to get on my bike and ride somewhere and clear my head, but -- oops! -- I don't have a bike. On top of all that, my self esteem is completely in the toilet. So do something about it! Get off the computer and do something! Do what? Work out? Why? It's never had any effect in the past, why would it now? Also, I absolutely hate working out. I have yet to find some form of it that I enjoy, that makes me feel good about myself.

In short...

Nothing is perfect.


on the tip of my tongue

All I want to do is write. Painfully, desperately, hopelessly. I feel my fingertips twitching for pencil or keyboard. My brain is constantly on the brink of the greatest idea the world has ever known, like an excellent thought just on the tip of your tongue. I could write a novel if only I could come up with the idea.

SaraLee Speller headed north that day. She was unsure of what exactly lay "north", but she knew that it was a direction she very infrequently traveled, as work was to the west and her social life generally lay to the east, and her parents were oriented in a more southerly direction. North was the direction that called her that auspicious day.

It was not an auspicious day for any particularly outstanding reason. She had woken up at 7:02, brushed her teeth, and ambled down the hallway to the kitchen, where she poured bland cereal and milk into a bowl and arranged four strawberries on a small paper plate. Shortly after that she showered, dressed simply, and left the house. As SaraLee drove down the highway, a song came on the radio that she hadn't heard in years and that she particularly enjoyed. She began to dance all by herself in the car, singing louder and louder until she became determined to vocally overpower the actual singer. In the midst of her personal dance session, she forgot the highway she was already on, mistaking it for the next highway, and took the exit going in the direction the exit off of the next highway would go. In short, she lost her place.

This geographical misstep led her north, a direction she hadn't traveled in quite some time. It took her a moment to notice her mistake, and by that time the song had ended and she had already passed two exits that would have taken her right back in the other direction, safely south, toward her actual destination. It took her another three exits and yet another song to realize that she didn't want to correct herself today. Today, SaraLee wanted to mess up.

It wasn't that work was difficult or tedious or even tiresome: she enjoyed her work well enough, and she was good at it. It wasn't that her life was unpleasant, though a romantic interest would have perhaps added a bit more to the picture. It wasn't even that she felt confined or jailed or whatever people usually say by her comforting routine.

The simple fact was that SaraLee wanted to make a mistake and watch with a curious eye to see where it carried her. She very rarely made mistakes, and when she did, it was something like buying the French blend of name brand coffee grounds instead of the House blend, or using waterproof mascara when she meant to use regular (which was really more of a pain than anything, because waterproof mascara is absolutely bomb-proof and makes a nighttime face-washing regimen much more time-consuming than need be). These mistakes had an easy fix; they didn't particularly disrupt the flow of a routine day.

Driving until water or country boundaries stopped her, however, was not quite as easily resolved. What would she do without her orange toothbrush, her clothes, her facial moisturizing cream? She didn't know. It wasn't really important. She wanted to see what lay to the north. 

Whoa... okay. So my original goal was just to spit out a couple one-liners for possible story starters. Maybe strike gold with a possibility. Gold is pocket change compared to the ideas I have with this, the amount I wrote! I struck a precious gem mine! It's raining rubies and sapphires.

Maybe this is that novel. Maybe this was the idea on the tip of my tongue.


growed up

I wanna be a growed up, with a growed up house and growed up pets and a growed up lover and growed up children. I wanna rock a baby to sleep and crawl into my own bed next to someone I love. I wanna wake up and go to a job I love dearly. I wanna take advantage of nights when the kids are out and it's just us...


i spy

I spy, with my little eye, several missing pieces. Where am I going? What I doing? Where is the light? I'm not thrilled with my life at the moment. I'm waiting for things to fall into place but they're falling apart instead.

Maybe it's just a bad night and I'm letting things get away from me. Or maybe this is a moment of enlightenment, where I let myself sit and marinate in the things I usually avoid.

Or maybe I need another glass of wine.


pillow talk

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just hearing the sweetness of things. Like, how can I possibly make this sound the best? And then I think I'm being untrustworthy. But really...

am I not good enough?
Was I not good enough?

I still wonder why, even though... even though I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore.


a real morning

I wake up slowly and stare at the eleven by thirteen space encapsulating me. Yellow walls press false cheer and rebound the meager light coming through the slats of my blinds as though it were a supernova. I don't feel very good. Perhaps it's because I did very little yesterday to have warranted the amount of sleep I allowed myself.

I stare at a lamp cord hanging out from behind my dresser, a black snake against the yellow walls. I consider putting it back. I've considered putting it back for days.

As thoughts start to cascade into my consciousness, I realize I am awake and not going back to sleep as I had previously intended.

Maybe he'll come. A pathetic thought, and I shake it off immediately. He hasn't, he won't.

I consider what I could possibly make of today. Possibilities wide open, waiting, ripe. It feels like convincing. I could go shopping. There's a litany of reasons batting my idea down, only the most kosher of which being that I don't especially need anything. Ah, the plight of being a twenty-something year old woman.

I could call my best friend. Maybe he'd come. A small voice in the back of my head snorts derisively. And be the cause of disruption to what was calm and peaceful before I dared call? And he's probably busy anyway, if not physically then mentally. A new job overrides his psyche and he becomes very tense consistently until he settles in completely, which could take weeks. He would not come.

I consider the date. June 10th. The day of Shakespeare in the Park, to which I was invited by a good friend. The preset tone of the day knocks that idea away, as well. And endure the heat and humidity and cicadas? I daresay not. And to ride all the way downtown alone, then wander around the park searching for this random group of people, only one of whom I like, alone... no.

I close my eyes.

I could go fucking bungee jumping. I could conquer a new world. I could write the next great American novel, hold it to my chest and cry into its freshly printed pages, whispering "You're finally here". I could drive all the way to the southern-most tip of South America, admire the view, and turn right around. I could fall in love. I could learn to dance.

More likely than not, I will make my bed only to lay on it all day, draining my everything watching TV or playing a computer game. Maybe I won't even make my bed.



The tension in this house is palpable. And I'm alone. No way out.


a cellular level

In 24 hours, I will be at the airport waiting to go to New York, and on Monday I will be in Madrid, Spain. And what's more, I'll be doing it all alone. Everyone keeps asking if that's scary. I don't think it is. I think it's exhilarating. I am packed. All I have to worry about today is picking up some extra cash and some granola bars. Oh, and throwing all the last-minute, random crap somewhere amidst my luggage.

I'm not scared. Rather, I think every cell is literally tingling with pure excitement and anticipation. This is all I've ever wanted - to travel the world - and it's starting tomorrow.



Being home. This is going to require me to master the art of alone time, girl time, and out time. Am I up to the challenge? Well, if I figured it out in high school, I would assume that I can figure it out now.


sing to my heart

There are just a couple images I would like to share today. My brain is mush and pictures are easy to process.


kids say the darndest things

Kids between the ages of 4 and 8 relating what love is. These are my absolute favorites :)

“When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love.” Rebecca- age 8

“When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.” Billy – age 4

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.” Chris – age 7

“Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.” Noelle – age 7


right this instant

"Studying" for finals... in part enjoying the silence, but mostly wanting company... thinking about the future... marveling at how god damned cold it is outside on the first of May. And craving Pepsi.


a letter

Sometimes, you remember that things didn't used to be so bad. That's what I'm setting out to do. This one relationship inexplicably means everything to me, and I don't want to see it sink. Which is not to say that it's currently sinking, but I want to bolster it even further. I want to start all over, acknowledge the past and the beauty of it, but not take hits of the horrible parts like some drug laced with pain. And I want to remember the good things.

I love your smile. When I make you smile, I feel like I've won a prize.
I think it's amazing the passion you have for so many things. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not getting everything out of life because I don't feel the same excitement.
When you love, you love all the way, full on, and it's astounding.
You match my curiosity in all things.
You see beauty in the most unexpected places. Sometimes I think I'm not looking hard enough.
Debates with you are fiery and intelligent, and sometimes frustrating (but in a good way).
I love that when you're worried, you'll research it into the ground until you understand every aspect of it.
Most of all, I love that you're around. You may not be at my every call, and that bothers me a lot, but you're still always there.

Starting next Sunday, we've got a lot of work to do, but I think we can do it. Miss you.

a reminder


going off the deep end

I don't understand anti-gay beliefs. I know, that's a real humdinger of an opening statement, but I've just read a couple things and I'm a bit fired up. Where else to projectile vomit my personal opinions but on a public blog?

Salvation Army. An old friend's parents are generals (I'm pretty sure) in the Salvation Army. Very Christian family, which is all well and good, and the Salvation Army is in fact built on Christian principles, so that would make sense. You forget what kind of weight that carries in practice, though. The Salvation Army will refuse to help those who are homeless and in need if they are gay. I read a story of a man who went to the Salvation Army with his boyfriend and was turned away on account of his sexual orientation, and they were told that they could only receive aid if they broke up.

I must ask: why does anyone care? Not wanting to be around people who are gay because it puts a cramp in your Christian style is one thing. I say that very sarcastically, but I'm being serious: if it makes you uncomfortable, if you feel that by befriending someone who is gay goes against your beliefs, fine. You're annoying, but fine. I also understand why you wouldn't want two men/women getting married in your church. It goes against the values of that religion, and therefore is unacceptable to the patrons of that church. Completely understandable.

But why should anyone care what goes on behind closed doors? Assuming that Christianity is the be-all-end-all religion and God and Hell are real and true as the Bible states it, why do you care if they are damned to Hell when they die? It simply isn't your problem.

Also, were you aware that the Boy Scouts of America openly discriminates against those who identify as gay? This has multiple levels. If you are a young member of the organization and suddenly find the strength within yourself to recognize who you truly are and, furthermore, come out, they will forcibly remove you from the organization. If you are a gay father/guardian, you are not permitted to be a mentor/leader, nor are you allowed to host events for your child's troop because they do not want the children subjected to such deteriorated morals.

I wonder what these people think is going to happen to the children. Will too much time around people who are gay begin to slowly convert them to the dark side? Will they start shooting up heroine in back alleys because of the steady dose of moral corruption they have been suffering? Unlikely.

I think that's pretty much all I have to say on the subject.


smells like...

My room smells like man. Cologne, musk, shower, sweet. Smells like memories. It's the smell of things gone. I like having the scent around. Just the scent, though. Maybe one day I'll want the hair, the warm hand, the eyes and the face and the whole body. But today, for a while, I just want the scent. It's a weird, indescribable ghost of feeling: the feeling that I don't especially want anything more. And that is progress. My room smells like progress.


I am an emotional shopper and an emotional eater. When I feel the need to make myself feel better, I buy myself a headband or eat a Starburst. I'm okay with that. It might actually be kind of cute.


a different light

There are things that I will miss. I will miss knowing exactly where to go to find a friend at any given moment of the day. I will miss having a kitchen full of everything I like and nothing I don't. I will miss sitting in my bedroom, silent save for the pouring rain outside. I will miss the brick buildings, and the curiosity within them. I might miss walking almost anywhere I want to go. Sometimes, I'll even miss the quiet.


happy things to bear in mind

Dark chocolate. Late night drives with the windows down and crisp summer night air coursing over my skin. Driving through the country on a sunny warm day. The Beatles. Laughing about nothing with wonderful friends. An unexpected kiss. Perfect grilled cheese. Dangly earrings. Watching a movie with someone I love. My dad playing guitar. Reading.


days like that

There's a guilty pleasure in the quiet offerings of Dashboard...

And she pulled you in,
and she bit your lip,
and she made you hers.
She looked deep into you as you lay together,
quiet in the grasp of dusk and summer.

I want a passionate summer romance. I want the teenage thing -- the parks at midnight, long car rides with the windows down, kissing until you forget what you're doing. I want something pretty.

I'm such a hopeless romantic. When will it end? When will I get these things off my mind? When will I have peace in solitude?

...and what if it never happens?


distant wish

"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'." Felipe knows me better than anyone else in the world because he has cared about my everything, all the time, every day for the last nine years. On April 2, 2011, looking out over the Chicago skyline from the Navy Pier Ferris Wheel, Felipe promised to be my witness for the rest of our lives.

I don't get super worked up over engagements anymore. I figure maybe that'll happen to me someday, or maybe not. And it doesn't really matter, because I'm enough for me to figure out. 

But this one... this one kind of got me. Leave it to Lydia to make it beautiful and out-of-the-ordinary. Leave it to her to make it extraordinary. 

I want someone to care about my everything. I want someone to be my witness.


outside looking in

"Why can't you women love us, faults and all? Why do you place us on monstrous pedestals? We have all feet of clay, women as well as men; but when we men love women, we love them knowing their weaknesses, their follies, their imperfections, love them all the more, it may be, for that reason. It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love. It is when we are wounded by our own hands, or by the hands of others, that love should come to cure us - else what use is love at all? All sins, except a sin against itself, Love should forgive. All lives, save loveless lives, true Love should pardon. A man's love is like that. It is wider, larger, more human than a woman's. Women think that they are making ideals of men. What they are making of us are false idols merely. You made your false idol of me, and I had not the courage to come down, show you my wounds, tell you my weaknesses. I was afraid that I might lose your love, as I have lost it now."

- "An Ideal Husband" by Oscar Wilde

unlit candles

Life is such a delicate balance. Emotions are such a tightrope walk. And love is a game of hide-and-seek that right now isn't very much fun.


things i wish i could say

1. Don't hurt me again.
2. I don't want to be your friend, and telling me to get the stick out of my ass is not going to make it any better.
3. Get a life.
4. I. Don't. Know.
5. You're a stupid bitch with a bad propensity for saying the wrong thing every time you open your pug mouth.
6. Stop making excuses for shitty behavior and learn to be a little bit of an adult.
7. If you had learned anything at all, I wouldn't still be dealing with that double-standard crap every freaking day.
8. You are the reason I'm terrified to move home.



Last night I started working on my story again after reading several 2-page reports of it. Despite the criticism, I felt inspired to work on it (and that usually doesn't happen after criticism... I usually just want to give the manuscript to rabid dogs and see what happens).

But last night, around midnight, I found myself typing away at a brand new beginning. That's right: not only was I writing new stuff, but I was re-writing, too. I never re-write. I hate re-writing.

Steve is now... Stella, Jo's sister. Makes more sense for my character. It took quite a bit of convincing, but I think I always kind of knew that my short story didn't have room for a sub-plot.

And now, after class yesterday, I really want to write a play again. I mean, I've only written two, and the second was better than the first, which clearly displays an uphill trend, meaning I should try again!


the crane wife 3

New music for me. Learning and living anew all the time.


possessing strength

Here's how it goes, then. I matter to me, just me, and I am lovely to me. I can do what I want to do, and I can gauge the consequences on my own. I can make decisions for myself. I can love myself. I can move on.


cats make the world go 'round

Have you ever stumbled upon something that was so diabetically sweet you almost cried from the sugar rush?

It's an ad. For cat food. And here I am, grinning like an idiot.



Someday, I am going to matter to someone. Someday, I will matter.

Maybe, if I keep telling myself that, it'll come true. Do things work like that?

I am a smart girl. I know better than to repeatedly make the mistakes I make. Then why do I keep making them?


thank god and greyhound

I deleted my match.com account.

    Yeah, it was kinda like that.

I intend to meet someone who's not a creep, and I intend to meet them by complete chance.

shrug it off

Here's to a long life and a merry one,
a quick death and an easy one,
a pretty girl and an honest one,
a cold beer and another one!

- Irish saying



She said I think I'll go to Boston.
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over,
where no one knows my name.
I'll get out of California,
I'm tired of the weather.
I think I'll get a lover,
I'll fly around to Spain.

Oh yeah, well I think I'm going to Boston.
I think that I'm just tired.
I think I need a new town to leave this all behind.
I think I need a sunrise,
I'm tired of sunsets.
Hear it's nice in the summer,
some snow would be nice.
Oh yeah...


stressed break

Fuck fuck fuck FUCKITY fuck. Screwiest spring break ever. In terms of friends, it had ultimate highs and worst possible lows. In some ways, I can't wait to get the hell back to school. In other ways... I don't want to go back.

I went on a date and it was terrible.
My "friend" threw a temper tantrum during my birthday party.
My best friend acted more like my boyfriend, and guess what? He has a girlfriend.
Speaking of that, I have worked my ass off to stay the hell away from his girlfriend, and I fucking met her last night, entirely against my will. She knew he and I were hanging out and swung by to check on him. How slimy. How absolutely slimy.
I screamed to the point of blowing blood vessels around my eye. Now I have purple freckles on one eye.

My dad says that cursing is the last refuge of the intellectually desperate. That could be true. Or it could be that I am so beyond frustrated and angry that my vocabulary has really taken that much of a header.

Happy spring break. :|


a writer's coup

20 pages. What a horrifically awkward length for a story. It's too long for the story to center around a specific incident, and it's too short to develop a character over any significant amount of time. At four pages of mostly back story, I am already beginning to panic that I'll run out of space.

Jo, my wonderful protagonist, has been through hell and is coming back. She has been married, divorced, pregnant, beaten and uprooted, and she's only 28. She has a four-year old daughter and a best friend named Steve and a couple of extremely supportive parents who all want the best for her. And all she wants is to feel normal. She works now, as a teacher, having finally gotten a degree and her certification. She still lives at home, but until she can get a good, safe house for her and her daughter, she feels she should just stay at home with her parents, who certainly don't mind, coz they're awesome... like my parents :)

She wants to get back into the dating world, but she doesn't really know why beyond she thinks she's supposed to. She wants to find a healthy relationship to provide a kind of father figure for her child, but she's also lonely and longing for that brand of love.

I want her to discover herself through dating. Like, I think I want the outcome of the story to be that she's actually just fine on her own, and if love happens, wonderful, but it's not something she's going to search for.

I want it to be quirky and humorous. I want there to be several dates, several men, and several mishaps, like her daughter, Annie, accidentally walking in on her mother and a guy or something like that. I also want to include a sub-plot that Steve, her best friend, is the one giving her the most dating advice, yet he is completely buried in the closet and is too scared to come out.

Now tell me: how in the hell is that going to fit properly and comfortably in 20 pages?


unnecessary fatalism

Nothing's ever been medically wrong with me before. I sprained my shoulder skiing when I was nine, and I broke two or three toes once when I was fourteen or fifteen. Aside from that, only the first of which required actual medical attention, I spent my childhood and adolescence blissfully healthy.

Now something is apparently wrong. And it's fixable, which is wonderful. Well... by fixable, I mean maintainable. And I think that's what frightens me.

But... things will be better. Right? A cloud will be lifted. I won't... I won't be so sad all the time. And I'll feel better when I wake up in the morning, like I actually slept. These are much-needed improvements.

But nothing's ever been wrong before. And that's terrifying. I don't handle unexpected new experiences very well, I think. Anticipated new experiences are all, as my British Literature teacher would say, "fine, good, charming", but the unexpected ones aren't quite so kind to me.

Fodder for my story? Mine are physical, hers are mental, but yes... very similar indeed.


final day: day 7

Dear Me,

Hello, me. You've done wonderfully this week. Mostly ups, which is beyond amazing, and whatever downs came this way were handled with grace. I continue to learn, slowly. For example: second chances should always be given, but third-fourth-fifth-twentieth-hundredth chances are for the weak at heart who cannot see that they are being played, and I now see that I am being played. There will not be a hundred-and-first chance.

There is a man with a big smile and a poetic mind and a romantic insistence who finds me attractive. Maybe he'll be wonderful. Or maybe he's just a stepping stone. Does it particularly matter? No, not really. Because I know that I'll be okay no matter what. All I really need are books, cats, friends, family, and really wonderful food, and I have all of the above. I'm set. Anything beyond those are happy leisures.

To the next six months: may these letters treat you as kindly as that sketchy, back-door study result said they would.

And to me: it may not always seem like it, and some days may be especially hard to see this through the murk of it, but I came out on top. I am the queen of my own dimension.

Suck it ;)


P.S. - It may just be some twisted psychology, but when I hug my currently sweat-drenched legs, they feel thinner. Win.


day 6

Dear Me,

Well, oh dear indeed! I never got around to writing one to myself yesterday. That's because I was baking baby pies into cupcakes with friends :) It was a lot of fun. A lot of work... but really really fun. It was a rough day a little bit mentally, but I pulled it through. Sometimes, I have found, you can't sit there and think it through all the way because sometimes that just makes it worse. I tried to talk it through and it got worse. What made it better was ignoring it and watching Harry Potter with my little. Note to self: ignoring works just fine sometimes, too.

Today, I like my ass. A silly thing to like about oneself, but I never really look at it and think Oh my god I'm fat... instead I look at it and think Baby got back! :)

This is a silly letter today, but that's okay. I've said before and I'll say it again: I'm silly and I like it.




day 5

Dear Me,

Not a good day. Not a good day at all. Of days like this, it is important to be able to say at the very least, I came out okay. Perhaps I'm being a hair over dramatic... after all, it was just one small incident that upset me, but it was a big incident. And of this, I can say, I came out okay. I cried my eyes out for about half an hour and when I was done, I was done. Got it off my chest. Cried out the hurt and the upset and was left essentially with what I had before, which was just fine. And to say that of an upsetting thing is good, I think.

Today, the thing I love most about myself is my ability to talk to people. I may talk too much sometimes, but at least I'm talking, and usually it seems like I'm talking too much because no one else is bothering to, so at least I'm doing it! And sometimes you meet some really fascinating people and learn some really neat things doing that. Even for the times that I sometimes feel awkward, I never regret this trait. Wouldn't trade it for the world.




day 4

Dear Me,

I don't know, maybe it's these letters, or maybe it's just the tequila talking, but this has been a good week. I've been happy all week. You know, that just doesn't happy very often. I think I got smacked upside the head with a whole lot of realization this week, and instead of mulling it over and tossing it aside, I used it. I've been listening so well this week, really taking everything in. Things are fun. Life is fun.

This week has been all about breaking my own mold. I have done such a fabulous job of that! I've worked out four days in a row now, with every intention of continuing it, and I've been a bit less antisocial, which is so important for me. Like tonight, I went out for my friend's 21st! Just for an hour and a half or so, but it was still fun and I still saw friends and it was marvelous :)

Alright, now for what I love about myself today: my determination. Nine times out of ten, if I get an idea or set my mind to something, it will happen, come hell or high water. Like Spain! I was determined to find a way to go abroad this summer, and guess what I'm doing? I'll give you three guesses and I bet you only need one.

I really am wonderful, I think. Maybe it's just the tequila, but I think I may be actually wonderful. And that's not me convincing myself. It's true.




day 3

Dear Me,

Such a social day! Everything went exactly as I wanted it to, no need to curtail expectations today! I felt good. I was a little cranky for a bit, but no big deal: that's what friends are around for. I felt pretty solid about myself all day. I held my head a little higher, I walked a little straighter, and I sure as hell looked people in the eye more. And I had a piece of cake. Always a plus.

What do I love about myself today? Hmm... I love my ability to be outside the box, be creative, speak out. I don't need to be outspoken, I just have to know what I think. I love that it doesn't matter to me that some might think my style is wonky and my shoes are kiddish.... You're wrong. I am silly and fun. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Someone's going to think I'm awesome. Actually, maybe someone already does... ;)




day 2

Dear Me,

I did it! I worked out again! Jesus Christ, two days in and I am on a role! Go me. Seriously. I had the perfect opportunity to back out because of so many causes against me and I still did it. Also, kudos on not freaking out when I temporarily lost my ID, that was swell. I handled it in a very mature, calm way, and it totally paid off because when I got back to my apartment there was an email from a stranger saying she had found my ID. How nice!

Productivity may be wavering a little bit in these most horrible last two and a half months (not that I'm counting or anything), but I am still getting almost everything done, and that is no easy feat for someone who has been diligently taking classes for the last 3 years straight, including summers.

And you know what? I really do have really pretty eyes. I really do. Sunflowers indeed. And really pretty lips. And my hair may be a little crazy most days, but I love it too.

I love that I'm a little crazy most days.



day 1 to me

I read something today that said people who wrote a kind letter to themselves every day for seven days felt slightly uplifted for up to six months. So guess what I'm going to do.

Dear Me,

It was a rough day, this much is true, and it was certainly a rocky start. It's been a long time since a Valentine's Day was spent utterly alone, and that wasn't an easy pill to swallow. But I figured out that it really wasn't anything to get terribly worked up about, and that was good. 

And you know what else? I got out there and I worked out even though it was hard and it felt like it wasn't going to end. That certainly isn't easy, but I did it anyway, which pretty much makes me a champ. And I went and hung out with my friends as opposed to being antisocial on this most fateful Valentine's Day, so go me.

Overall, mission accomplished. Good job, me. Not a bad Monday, if I do say so myself.



a duel, sir

Crap. It's my last semester and I still look like I'm rockin' the Freshman 15 (ish). Time to actually work on that if I want this summer to rock as hard as I'm imagining it. So here's the goal:

Wear the same dress I wore to my high school graduation, to my college graduation.

Shwhoa. I know. It's craziness. I was significantly smaller then. And unfortunately, I didn't appreciate it. So now it's time to get back to it... or at least as close as I am physically able. (I am trying to be realistic and bear in mind that my body wasn't done when I graduated high school, so there's only so much changing I can really do.)

It's on, Body. Buh-ring it.


not half bad

Friends, man. I love 'em. Some set the standard, like with Kim and Amy (Be less emotional. Distance between head and heart. Let it slide off my back). Patty talked me down from a figurative ledge today. Meggi made me laugh, which I needed. Lexie gave me a much needed ride and decided to bake with me on Sunday, which I have desperately been wanting to do.

Friends are really difficult sometimes, and it's not often that I have that kind of luck with them. But today was just one of those days that made me sit back, reflect, and think "You know... I have it good. I have it real good."

By the by... funny anecdote. Kim turned to me tonight and said, "You're not going home this weekend, are you?"
"No," I said, "why?"
"Because this one," she replied, nodding contemptuously toward her other little (as in sister, regarding our organization), my twin, "is going home, AND because I wanna hang out with you!"
Irritated, I said, "Great, I'm just the replacement little."
Kim fired back immediately. "It's because you never sleep in my bed with me!" (A running joke about the hospitality of her bed, which she named Cloudia. Get it? Like a cloud? Ha.)
"You have a twin-sized bed, Captain Intelligence!" I exclaimed. "I'm the one with a queen! If you want a sleepover, reconsider location and come over to my place!"
She answered with a sassy tone, "Challenge accepted."


cried away my mascara

When I see your face, there's not a thing that I would change. Coz you're amazing... just the way you are. And when you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while. Coz you're amazing... just the way you are.

That song keeps getting stuck in my head like some strange mantra/prayer. Especially today.

When I see this scene, I feel happy. Not because it's a proposal or anything like that. It's because of the look on his face just before he does it. Something about that look... it makes me want to cry every damn time. Maybe because it's a familiar look. Or maybe because... I'm not sure. I just love that look.


sometimes i think 6 crazy things before breakfast

I am looking forward to this weekend, but a certain specific part of it makes me intensely nervous. If I spend this entire weekend on pins and needles because of this singular specific part, it will be wasted. So, I have to bear some things in mind:

1. Hanging out with my ex does not have to be a complete mess. If it starts to look that way, I am a grown woman, and I can leave.

2. I don't need to be angry. Hopefully nothing happens to make me angry, and hopefully there is no talk of things that really messed me up in the past, so hopefully I can avoid feeling angry.

3. Nothing is the same.

Those are really easy, and if I mess this up, it's going to reflect really poorly on me.


apathy is a force to be reckoned with

My math teacher in high school used to always say as she handed out a test, "Just remember: it may seem like it matters now, but in fifteen years you won't even remember taking this test, much less the grade you get, and it just won't matter."

That's how I look at this whole semester. Will I remember reading this? Do you really care how well I edit this? No and no, because it just doesn't matter. So why am I bothering?


so raise your glass

That's Aspen, Colorado. My parents are talking about moving to Colorado in the fall. Correction: my parents and I are talking about it. I'm pumped. I wanna go. I love St. Louis, but it's toxic: same people, same places, same thoughts and thoughts and thoughts. Maybe I'd come back. Probably. But it doesn't have to be right now. Right now is the time to explore everything. It's my time.


losing the war, and now the battles, too

I went to sleep angry, and I shouldn't have done that. They usually say that with reference to going to sleep angry with a lover, but that's not how it happened for me last night. I went to sleep angry at myself, mostly, I think. Angry at my one and only ex-boyfriend and the terrible parts of our relationship that I'm now not so deluded to look past, of course, but I think more angry at myself. I stayed. I let it happen. And now I'm still angry, still falling for the same old tricks day after day, letting my guard down for even a moment -- but a fatal moment, indeed. Worse, still: glancing at my phone to see if perhaps I missed something, a certain specific something. (I didn't. And I'm not going to.)


tough days

This semester is going to completely eat my lunch. More so than I had originally thought. For Spanish I have journals twice weekly and 2 hour homework assignments every night. For Brit Lit I have journals, and for nonfiction and for senior seminar. I'm sorry guys, I just don't have that much to say. It may seem like it, but that's because I talk in circles and I've heard tell professors don't like that very much.

I'm also very lonely. I don't understand why people won't talk to me. Is there something perpetually in my teeth? Do I smell funny?

On top of all that, my key broke in my apartment door last night and I had to stand outside in the nine degree weather wearing Chucks. Cold goes right through that little bit of rubber. I went to some friends' house until the fix-it guy came to open our door and felt like I probably shouldn't have been there.

Everything is kind of miserable right about now. I just want to graduate. I don't care if I'm wishing my life away. I've done this since I was little and it's served me just fine.


step on a crack, break your mother's back

I am issuing a formal apology to my mother.

When I was really really little and really really mad at my mother, I intentionally stepped on every crack in the sidewalk, not knowing, of course, the reality of these such things.

Sometimes, nowadays, when I'm walking down the sidewalk, I go out of my way to step over every crack, in hopes that maybe I can kind of take it back.


a brand new profession

I'm still learning how to do this, every single day, every step of the way. For example: not talking to my ex worked really well for over two weeks. Then he contacted me. And I answered, because it always makes me mad when people don't answer me, so why would I do that to them, even if they are my ex? We hashed some things out, and I had a glimmer of hope for our future. Then I saw a picture my friend had tagged of himself on facebook, and in the background my ex and his new girlfriend were making out. There were a ton of pictures of them together. Let me just throw myself a very brief pity party and say this: there are no pictures in existence of us together like that. That being said, I burst into tears at the sight of it. That would not have upset me, at least not like that, a few days ago -- before he contacted me. This all made me realize that I am not even remotely ready to take on that friendship. I need new things in my life first, I need an emotional independence. I cannot live this angry anymore. And I really wasn't all that angry when we weren't talking. So that clears that up: we're still not friends, and we're still not talking. Plain and simple.

The downside of all this learning how to cope? It takes for fucking ever and it hurts like a bitch.

The upside? I'm going to be a professional at fixing myself and coping when I'm done.

Edit: By the by, one other little note about those pictures that's a guilty thought and I have to get off my chest: my ex looks terrible. Not in the "I hate my ex" kind of way but in the "Oh my god, what the hell have you been doing to yourself?!" kind of way. It shouldn't matter to me, but I am worried about him. The bones in his face stick out. His face! I can't even imagine what his ribs or hips must look like. And he was wearing a shirt that my best friend gave to him a very long time ago when she went to New York, and he hasn't been able to wear it because it was always unbelievably small on him -- like, child-sized small. It is now baggy on him. I'm concerned. But again, it doesn't matter to me. Just had to get it off my chest.


accumulating thoughts

Am I happy?

Well, that's a doozy of a question. As a matter of speaking, yeah, I'm pretty happy. I have good friends, I'm about to graduate college (a year early, no less!), my family is awesome, I'm going to Spain in short of five months, my 21st birthday is in two months as of yesterday, and college graduation is exactly four months away as of today. I'm going to work this summer, living at home, saving to spend either the New Year or St. Paddy's Day in Ireland and a couple weeks the following summer in Germany. I'm going to re-vamp my bedroom to look all growed up. I am on the dating scene and it's exciting and I'm completely ready for it.

There's something I'm not happy about, though. I'm not happy about having to sever my closest friendship. But he was hurtful, he was difficult, and I was always in serious emotional distress. The more I tried, the worse everything felt. And so I had to end this friendship. I don't like it. I miss him so, so much... but I miss who he was when he was younger. He changed, and I don't like the person he became, unfortunately. So I was in mass amounts of emotional and mental pain. Now I am numb. It's like a sliding scale: I was very low on the scale, and ceasing transmission took me up just a bit on that scale to where I can't really feel anything. No where near the middle, and certainly not up into the happiness end of things... not in that corner of my life, anyway. I'd rather be numb than hurting. I'd rather have my old friend back than not have him in my life at all. But some decisions had to be made, and I'm coping.

So yes, relatively speaking, I'm happy.


the male species

 I'm waiting for a man to prove to me that not all men suck. Because so far, my experiences, while limited, have not been positive. And now I'm trying out this online dating thing, just because... well, hell, I'm always up for new experiences, and what can it possibly hurt? So I'm trying this out, and -- neat! People are contacting me. And then I look at the brand of people contacting me.

One guy starts spewing misogynistic bullshit. I mentioned in jest that I'm kind of a bum and he replied, "Can't count on you to clean, then! haha! I'd just have to Nazi train you!" Funny guy. Went on to say that Truman, my school, the Harvard of the Midwest, the Princeton of the Prairie, would be "easy as fuck." Now I have to hit you.

Another guy sends me a message saying "Hey beautiful, what's your number?" A little forward, methinks, but no matter. I deny the number exchange but say fine, let's chat. He replies, "How was your New Years'? Do you wear boy shorts or thongs?" Block. Blockblockblock.

I'm waiting, gentlemen of the world. I am sitting back (kind of), waiting for an attractive guy with a little respect up his sleeve who doesn't find humor in hurt. All you have to do is show up, and trust me, I can do the rest.