It is a good morning, isn't it?

That reminds me of an activity I did when I was in Italy this summer. If you put different emphases on the ending, I could be asking two different questions up there. I like them both.

Well, my semester is winding down to a close. I need to finish a paper and continue studying for an exam and then I'll be done. I'm still deciding on how and when I'll leave. I need to get my statements of purposes revised and lengthened and then submitted to two of my professors. I want to complete those grad school applications to the best of my ability before I head out. Not to mention the packing that needs to be completed. What a whirlwind. But an absolutely good one.

I'm looking for a job, this time as a college graduate!!! Who would've expected this level of excitement? I didn't. I'm nervous, too. Going home will be brilliant. I enjoyed talking to my professor the other day because he correctly identified how it feels, there is grief yet triumph. I liked that guy :) (in a total, he is a Dad figure kinda way).

I'm so blessed and thankful and I know my life will be great. It is a beautiful day, so I'm just gonna concentrate on that for awhile.

Life Changes

I sometimes forget that the life I'm living is my own. I get so caught up in what I should be doing or what others are doing, I forget that that time translates into things I am actively doing: worrying, worrying and oh yeah, more worrying with the occasional mix or sporadic activity.
Well, today is the day for cataloguing my things. I woke up, ate a chocolate croissant with my wonderful roommate. She's spent some time abroad so we usually have lots to talk about, even though on paper we are completely different (when I like country music, she likes alternative, I believe in God, I'm pretty sure she's an atheist, I'm from the South and she's... you get the idea). After breakfast and a cup or two of coffee, I headed out to take the GRE. It is an exam needed in order to get in to grad school. As I'm applying to a few schools for the Fall semester, I had to sign up quickly for the exam and I tried to study as much as possible over the last couple of weeks. This has been a little hard on me because the timing coincided terribly with finals in my last semester at SSU, along with preparation to move out of this place and back home. I'm the first to admit that I'm rather slow at catching  on to transitions, so I'm trying to let it all sink in. Every where I go, I take note that this will probably be my last time in this place or that. I'm surprisingly okay with that, though. Hey, I might be back to visit. One of my best friends is here. She isn't the type of person I go running to with every detail, but let's face it, I don't have many of those people. That's kind of a weird fact. I have friends and family who I love dearly, but none of them are intimate. I've had some hard times adjusting to this over the past few months because up until now I was used to having at least one person who knew my every mood, all the good and bad and all that accompanies that. About Holly though, she is the kind of person I can talk to about any relevant topic on my mind, sometimes having more to add than I do and sometimes a great listener. She's a great person to be around and I'm really going to miss her.
We had lunch today, after the exam and we got to talking about future plans. I'm not sure what I'm doing. I'm moving home. I know I'm lucky to have that option. I'm between jobs and trying to figure out what it is that I would like to do. I think the first order of business is to get some experience, maybe a car? Anyway, my life is kind of in limbo until (fingers crossed I get accepted) I get into grad school. That would determine what I'll be doing from Fall on out for a couple of years at least. Until then, I'm just going to try to find something I love. I think being surrounded by people who love me is a great way of finding that. I'll  miss my independence for a bit though. I treasure the moments when loneliness is just a word and I'm able to get along with my thoughts and the music is on and the drawing of night isn't something to fear. I'll miss being up here, too. I've spent my adult life surrounded by redwoods and Bodega Bay. I've spent my time making memories on the walking paths and I know every single local Starbucks. It's going to be weird going home, seeing people I went to high school and potentially running into them or their family members, even. I just pray God takes me from here to there and everywhere else on this Earth because with Him, my last semester of college has been better than any other and I can only believe that this will continue.
So, finally, I'm graduating this week. If I can get through school this week, doing just two essays and two exams, I'll be done. I'm totally refelecting here, but I can't believe I'm the same eighteen year old girl that left high school imaging the day I would graduate college. I couldn't picture it back then, I was so bright eyed. I didn't even relate college to the same experience as I've had now. I wanted to learn, sure, but I wanted to express myself, I had a whole new opportunity in such a brand new atmosphere. Now, I'm glad to be leaving the experience behind. I'm changed, sure. More experienced, stronger, but in a way I'm still naive. What does the world have for me now? I know it is up to me to explore and figure it out and I can't wait. Like I said, I'm blessed. I'm blessed to have a mother who understands that I need to be independent and I want to feel like I'm making a decision because it is the right one for me, not because I should or because most people do. This doesn't mean I'm right, most of the time I haven't been, but I'm trying to listen to others now and I'm learning to not listen to just any old voice. Sometimes the ones I want to hear aren't the ones that are the best for me, and I know that. Part of me wishes I could figure it out right now, that I knew my next step and that I was excited to take it, but I don't and I have to be okay with that for now. It'll work itself out and I won't stay stagnant until then.
So, to anyone who feels what I'm saying, I wish you the best and I'll pray for patience for myself until the right timing comes along. I'll pray for wisdom to find the "right" thing or the knowledge to know when I need to make a change and the strength to continue following God's path for me, in other words, to continue asking for help and seeking the guidance that I know is right. Clearly, there is a lot going on and that is one thing to be excited about. I like being busy :) (I should probably be careful what I wish for, right?) hah, well, good night everybody.

How was my day?

I'm so glad you asked. It was neither bad nor good. The day was a combination of incidents that have left me feeling displeased, distracted and in an awful mood! I'm not angry, just glum, like the weather. I am sad after discussing Grad School with one of the professors on campus. Instead of being uplifting, he gave me all of the reasons why graduate school is not a guarantee of a potential career and pointed out areas of study that I didn't have answers for. I felt like he was deflating rather than encouraging and that honestly sucks because if doubt is a thing, it is a thing I don't need anymore of. The worst part is that I can't stop playing the conversation over and over when all I want to do is turn my negative emotions into a positive outlet. Now, I'm watching Payback, a movie in Arabic that I can understand nothing more of than body language. There is a lot of tension going on, that much I can tell, but the director is a female who was imprisoned for her radical ideas, so I support that.
This is where I am now: I desperately want to have a goal. A mission to fulfill that can't be deterred. Maybe I should wait another year before I apply for grad school. Apparently one month before application deadlines is cutting it exceptionally close, but I don't like the alternative, of going home and waiting for a year. Then again, I could go abroad and teach English like I had planned just a few months ago.
In the midst of these thoughts I remember that I must finish this semester first. No big deal, just a couple of papers to write and finals to take. I know I can manage, I just wish I didn't let myself feel overwhelmed. Perspective helps a lot. To change mine, I need only realize that after all this time I have been trained to read and write in a way that would not only prepare me for life after college, whatever it is I will choose, b ut also well-enough for the next couple of weeks, come what may. That helps. So, what to do next? Read a book this weekend, write a paper by Saturday, finish another by Sunday. I've finished The Hobbit! It feels like cheating that I "had" to read that book for a class.
Well, it seems like my movie is getting to the good part... I think a man has picked up a prostitute as part of a plan because she has now pulled a gun! Good grief, I better start watching!

Oh, quick side-note. Last night I finished Karen Armstrong's, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life. The book was miraculous and life-altering. The ending was the antithesis to my conversation with my professor ;) I should probably purchase the book though (library rental-not stolen) because it is a reference I could use for the rest of my life. I've already found myself slipping on the first steps of meditation, not that I have forgotten the beneficial effect of them on my life, but selfishness is addictive and I've found myself devoting time to not such glamorous alternatives.

I also watched "Religious" again last night. It made me want to write Bill _____ a letter, but I'm sure he gets enough of those.

Good night!! <3

Feigning it.

You know which word could go extinct? Probably many, but the one bothering me recently is clutch. Clutch as a noun, the purse. The imagery drawn up, due in part to the verb, is contradictory to the object. What is intended to describe an elegant evening, compact purse instead provokes an image of a clawed hand demonically grasping an item, never to be relinquished. Ugh, I shudder to think this is what I look like whenever before I have been the unfortunate bearer of "the clutch."

Another recent idea, and by this I mean not necessarily current but an idea now coming to growth in my mind after being planted some time ago as a baby inkling, a seed, is sustainability. An interesting idea due to its binariness. In a recent documentary, "Dirt" the cinematography explores many supporters of sustainable farmer and its benefits, especially in opposition to the drawbacks of globalization and capitalism. The drawback of the film was that it referred all of us "little people" as hummingbirds placing one drop of water at a time onto a massive forest fire. That is the effort we can make, in this way we would be doing out part. It was meant as an encouraging statement. I wonder though at what point is this not true, wouldn't it have been better to show which areas can be improved in ever individual's life, so that at least we know our efforts are not in vain? The book I'm reading, Sustainability Radical Solutions Inspiring Hope, does indeed inspire hope. One man built an entire jungle on an L.A. high school's property to encourage the community and to teach the students. I love that. It gets me thinking, if he can do that, what else is there to do? The hardest part of this thought process for me is buying into the idea that processed food really is "bad." To be honest, I love doughnuts, not the crap you can buy at the grocery store, but the ones from a Mom and Pop bakery, fresh and made with love (they are- I can taste it). So, while I support "enlightening" others about the ground breaking information of eating fresh and locally, I have to get over a twinge of guilt I feel at not tyrannically supporting my own rules. Locally, I can fully support that. I like the idea of buying what those around me have struggled for. Yet, would other countries really be okay if the American government stopped importing their crops? It seems a little cruel to quickly pull away support in favor of the souls closest to you. I know that isn't the idea, I know that ideally the far away countries would become self-sustainable and then reach out as locally as they were able. It would be an adjustment and one that the detriment of our economies is probably making worth the change. So, perhaps this will be one more hummingbird effort I can make, more conscientiously buy local. Buy American made products and keep hoping that this country will come back together before it is too late.
The important thing to remember here is that it isn't a move of elitism. It isn't that I find American culture superior to any other, but if I don't work for improvement here, who will? Worse yet, if I don't work for change here, where else does that put me and what ideals will I ever be able to fully embrace?
Sometimes I think for this time in my life that these thoughts are too heavy, too much for someone of my age. Then I remind myself that I'm old enough for everything else, thinking should definitely be on that list and it isn't as if I am alone in these thoughts, hence the books and documentaries. In fact, given those materials and the countless people who are able to intelligently discuss such topics, I'd say I might be a little behind.

The weekend is over. Danielle is on her way back to Santa Barbara and I am back to considering what it is I am suppose to be doing. Work, school work, cleaning, life planning. All of the things I'm not great at, but want to get better at doing. Necessary and beneficial, so why not? It's overwhelming though, you know? Trying to decide what should come first. Danielle's really great at it, she's inspirational actually and her visit couldn't have been timed any more perfectly. It has made me do some reflecting on where I'm headed for this next year, where do I want to be this time next November, that sort of thing.
I want to be in my career at that point. And not just want to, I will be. I'm done floundering around. That means more school. That much I have arrived at. Now, like a domino effect, that also means funding for school. That means the search for scholarships and filling out of applications needs to begin. That means aggressively pursuing. That also means maybe one or two more years of not quite being where I want to be, but getting there. Part-time job, possibly. Living at home for a year to save money, maybe. Car, necessary. Here we go!!! Thank God for these changes and for the strength to go through with them.

Well, it is the day before my birthday and it has got me feeling all excited. The beautiful Fall weather and the approaching two holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas, are undoubtedly fueling my euphoria. I'm diving right in and playing along. I've never felt happier and I can't even begin to number the reasons I should be so thankful. The people in my life are amazing and their strengths are strengthening me. I know I have seen too many fantasy films when the image I use to describe the transaction is a dying woman who extracts the youth from all the beautiful people she encounters, thereby regaining her own strength. That's okay though, the part I need to remind myself of is that it doesn't endanger the victims, in fact, in my story it is more than a benevolent relationship, it is dually beneficial. In my mind, those I encounter will be nourished by whatever shine I can impart on them. I trust in God that what they see will be what they need to encourage them and the process will be cyclical. That way the light is moving around the world to the reaches that I can only hope to see. Maybe someday. For now, I'm perfectly content to dream about it and to love the view I have.

My mind is racing, probably thanks to the large cup of coffee I just drank. Mixed in with anxiety about what it is I should be doing, what I need to accomplish verses what it is that I want to do. That's the think though, I'm not even sure what it is that I would be doing if I could do anything in the world. I guess I'd pick to be here. In a warm coffee shop with Adele on, I even scored the plush chair. Can't really beat that. So, my thoughts of what to do next are what are keeping me back, in a sense. I know that I need to do homework, there is infinitely a paper to write, a book to read, a project to prepare for. There is a future to plan for, programs to apply to and then there are the intricacies of daily life, a flight I need to cancel, a room that needs to be cleaned, groceries that should probably be purchased. Why is it that I don't want to do anything besides sit here? Sit here and type every thought that comes to mind? Probably the caffeine that has an ADD effect on my thoughts. Maybe its emotional though. There is something about this crowded place that reminds me of home. The people all around in the midst of their days, none bothered by my existence, neither readily seeking out my opinion. All of us content to be in our own worlds, yet creating a universe in which we are all coexisting. I like that. I like the feeling of unity and of knowing everyone takes moments, as I am, to just make time stand still, to make it hover like a cloudy atmosphere. Thats what we're doing in a sense, it doesn't matter what the clock is doing because no one is looking. I love that.
There's a confession I  need to get off of my chest and since I'm not in therapy and probably won't be, I'll lay it out here. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of striving for something that might not work out. I'm not going to be though. I'm striving towards overcoming that. Biblically, I know I was not made to be a vessel of fear. Historically, I know they say the only way to success is to try, try, and try again. Logically, what is the worst that can happen?
So, what is it I want to do? I want to write a ten page paper for class and I decided to do a fictional piece about a girl who is using logic to convince her audience that English is a necessary area of study... I wrote the introduction already, but I am struggling in making it take off. Who should her audience be? Plus, my professor wants me to make it a genre fiction, leaning towards detective of sci-fy. Um. Okay. She is a girl with magical capabilities. She is actually living in a dream world. Or should small(ish) aspects be that fantastic? Should the characters in the story be reincarnated, yet this does not affect the seriousness of her proposal? So, she is writing to a world about the importance of language and literature because she recognizes that the world is becoming a place where virtues are silenced and the feeling of being lost is amplifying, but the background piece is that she is on a journey of self-discovery. She has her own personal life that is going up in smoke, so she burrows further into the world of literature. She becomes a piece of literature? No. She begins reading so much that she discovers that history in fact does repeat itself, but then what?
How about, the world is a little different in that once every one has a mission and once your mission is complete, you can leave, move on, maybe to come back and do another? The kicker is that you fall so in love with your mission, you can't help but complete it. This happens to the main character, her life goes on and she feels compelled to help people embrace literature. She knows that once her study is complete she'll die and move on, but she is okay with that and tries to dedicate her whole life to the study. Of course, along the way she falls in love with a man who has yet to discover his life mission, they vary so much, and she tries to stay as unattached as possible to save him from the hurt. In the end, either she can die or she doesn't die because what she thought was her life mission really wasn't. It was a distraction from fully loving another, an unselfish love that she finally demonstrates when she admits it all to the guy upon which she dies in a moment when her soul reaches complete ecstasy. It's okay though because he will recover.
Now, to put that into a story? Good luck!

Fall into something

Something changed the other day. I was thinking about my life and trying to map out the last couple of years. The problem, because there was a problem, was that I always started at the most recent moment and tried to go backwards. Remember the problem? Well, I always got stuck. I got stuck on the last mean thing I said or the fact that I checked my bank account. There was always a roadblock and instead of moving towards a better answer, I shut down, I felt defeated. So, I finally asked myself, "When did I stop thinking I could move forward?" I wanted to pinpoint the moment in my life when it all got so confusing. That brought up some pretty depressing truths and I don't know if I am more disturbed by the fact that all of those events have been silently experienced or that they have, in turn, silenced me. So, how do I correct that situation. I get it out there in the open. I write about it because that's what I do. When I had a problem with my mom when I was still in elementary school, I would write her a note and leave it on her pillow. We never talked about them, but I knew she got them. When I wanted to tell a boy I liked him, I wrote a letter. When I needed a friend, I got a diary.. you get the idea. And now, in the world of blogging and media, I'm turning to electronics and praying that those wrongs can be corrected, for now, at least.

I never came up with a moment. I remember high-school, never doubting a moment. I had my friends, my boyfriend, cheerleading, school and grades high enough for college. I had energy to get me through days on end and the stamina to go with it. That led me on to college. I can remember loving my first couple of months. I still had my friends and I fell into the groove naturally. Nothing amiss there. But then, where's the sophomore year? I had started smoking weed by then and my family was obviously not a part of that and we obviously didn't talk about any of that. See the problem is that I know my problems are small scale and I wasn't brought up to complain. You make the most of what you've got and thats the only way to live. But, I couldn't I couldn't be happy because something in me was wrong. I wanted more from my relationship with my boyfriend at the time. I wanted change so badly. That's the only reason I can think of for applying to study abroad. But, I went. Even then, eating disorder and all, I was happy. The newness of the place and the absolute happiness of the people I was living with. Those might have been the best four months of my life. Then again, I cried over my ex on the computer almost every morning. How can those two feelings exist simultaneously. To feel great lows in order to feel great heights. Something like that anyways. And then I went through a depression when I got back. That was awful. I came home to nothing, essentially. My family was there, which kept me alive, to put it boldly. Then I met someone. Not sure why I did that. I guess I never felt my relationship was satisfying, so off I went, looking for love, looking for passion and I found it. I found it in a guy who wound up in prison. Really. I couldn't make this shit up. Well, dream crashing as all of that was, I linked myself up with a former roommate and thought I'd head back to college, pursue the degree in the only way I had ever known how to. I left. Is leaving something I do because I'm reenacting an event I had seen happen as a kid and now I'm trying to replace that hurt or because that's what we all do, for the freedom of it all?
Needless to say that last year didn't get any better. In fact, it got much worse. Better in the sense that one disorder took a backseat to another less physically damaging. Well, shit I don't know why I'm sugarcoating. I finally stopped the bulimia and replaced it with terrible, dangerous sexual encounters and lots of drug using. One drug, two if you count alcohol, but large quantities. Like I mentioned earlier, maybe these issues are small to some people, but I can't help feeling like I want them off my chest.
Clearly these life choices led me into a relationship I could have done without. It never made me want to be anything more than I was, which might sound charming, except I find it disgusting and minimizing. Nothing in that relationship was about me. Which I thought was the right thing, what did I do to deserve a relationship that made me actually happy or even followed along with the principles I had and the expectations I had all of my life? I was wrong, obviously.

I can't tell you what changed. I can't tell myself that I'm any better now than I was then. All I know is that when I pray for something, change happens. Seriously. Before my first overnight camp, I prayed to have the strength to stop wetting the bed, because I did, and then I did. When I prayed to somehow overcome bulimia, it went away. I don't even think I could make myself throw up at this point which is a miracle. The answers to my prayers don't hit me in the face, but I can feel them and I'm thankful.
I know this is personal and it probably has no place in the viral world. I know I don't have any answers, but I have a story and I'm learning how to cope with it.

The next step is falling into love again, with myself, with the person I used to know who followed her heart even when it led her down the different path. Maybe thats the point, I had to go down all of these roads to finally find the right path. The funny thing is, I always knew that it took me longer than most people to do the same activity. I just have my way of doing it, my own slow, thorough way of completing tasks and I can't let all the obstacles keep me back or hold me down. That's why I'm writing. I'm writing to fall in love again with being in love and following my instinct and because I can and because I'm thankful for being able to do what I love, what ever that might be next.

Did you know?

So, I'm  sitting here with a finished bowl of delicious peanut butter oatmeal and a cup of coffee, getting ready to get ready for work, but wanting to blog just a little bit.
I turned to my Bible this morning for a boost of encouragement, to get myself headed in the right direction. It came down to this, I keep seeing the same ideas when I read and all that means is now I'd like to share them. Where to begin? Not much time this morning so I'll be precise and hopefully come back at a later point...

1 Corinthians 12. The verse is titled, "Spiritual Unity of Believers."
I am so happy I found this section. Here's why:
12:5, "There are differences of ministry, but the same Lord." And 12:13-15, "For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body-whether Jews of Greeks, whether slaves or free-and have all been made to drink into the Spirit. (14) For in fact the body is not one member but many. (15) If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I am not of the body," is it therefore of the body?
Finally, 12:18-19, "But now God has set the members, each one of them, in the body just as He pleased. (19) "And if they were all one member, where would the body be?"

Basically, my take is, we are all on this Earth for a purpose, we have our roles and we fulfill them just by existing. Not one piece is better or less than the other and no piece has the right to contradict this knowledge. Simple, but pure.

I love this because I see it as unifying any people who come together to praise the Lord, to preach love... it shows me that we should all be working together and not fighting one another. When the Catholic church stumbles it is not for the Christian to feel exhorted, but for us to raise up and pray together for healing. I want this message to stir around the world that in unity there is strength  and only then can one true message be sent. God loves us and with that Love, peace is possible.

That's it for now, I'm off to work. God bless and keep you, Amen.

Riding in the Rain.

The feeling was incredible. I rode home in an absolute downpour, could have used window wipers, it was that legitimate of a dowsing. Well, I loved it. The smells were incredible. You know how candles come in "Fresh Rain" scent? Well, truthfully I could have packaged the smell today with that exact label. It was delicious. It was a liberating ride.
I'm still on a journey and it requires a lot of changes to my thinking. God, please grant me patience for the changes to become permanent and the kindness to allow myself the time it takes and the forgiveness when I stumble, especially if I don't want to admit it right away. God, please also let me feel your presence and allow you to work through me. Thank you. Amen.

Distracting myself from myself... by myself.

Here's my review on 1984,

The first part was great. It was mysterious and poignant, but disgusting enough to be relatable. I felt some affinity to the main character for his separateness, the conspiracy, his desire to write. I was even enticed by Orwell's disturbing bedroom scene with the ancient prole, slut woman. "The worst part was, I did it anyways." Whoa, caught me off guard and I liked it. So, I kept reading. Then came Part 2. The love affair, which besides being completely unbelievable, is also boring. Not so much their antics, but the fact that at this juncture in the book, Orwell takes the liberty of becoming abundantly verbose, thereby inducing a chronic boredom in me that almost overwhelmed my desire to finish the novel, until, thankfully, Part 3! I loved the meeting with O'Brien. It was so Batman, initially. Then it turned weird with the betrayals and burn outs. I get what Orwell was doing, but for all the hype, I'd say I was let down. What make-believe brotherhood would go through so much time of creating that painfully long handbook/guide thing only to reveal that it was all a hoax at the end? Did reading the book prove his commitment to the brotherhood even more than answering "Yes" to pouring acid on children's faces if required to do so (disturbing!)?
What did the ending mean though? So, he and his lover split because they sold each other out eventually and couldn't face it. They were devoid of feeling, so what did it matter being together anymore? It would only cause more pain and confusion, had they been capable of those emotions anymore. But he fell in love with Big Brother after all? Why? How? After all of the resistance his hopes had been crushed and utterly destroyed, the once small voice in his head turned out to be a lie, just like everything else he had ever known. I guess I would give up hope too at that point. But which side am I on? Are we on?
There are numerous topics we could assign Orwell's logic to; love, for one, country, obviously. Politics and relationships, of course those are the two I get stuck on. I suppose if I can overlook all of the blatant usages of rhetorical devices, the ideas behind 1984 make it a "great" book. It gets ten points for originality anyway.

I started reading another book. It is called Point Clear. I can't put it down, I even brought it to work and read it on my lunch break. Suffering writer weathers a hurricane, all good until... the romance is as dry and boring as the most insufferable date. I'm already 170 pages in and they have slept with each other twice, exchanged at maximum 15 or so words and now he has left with an "I'll call you." Slightly on the depressing side and I'm hoping this book has a redeeming quality, approaching quickly.

Goodnight world. I can't say this was the best ending to the day, but my day certainly wasn't bad ;) Thank you God for everything you've given me, including the capability of seeing as clearly as one can during the eye of a storm. Grant me that vision Lord and the strength to stop looking back. The strength to look forward and to see what it is that will lead me closest to you. Amen.

Ketchup.

I've arrived at the point that I wasn't sure I would ever come across. It isn't like the words weren't fruitfully circulating. Why would anyone become an English major? A question, I'll admit, that might have been helpful all those years ago when I was applying for college, back in the day before my high school graduation. I never really thought about, although that isn't a fair excuse because I question what all I was actually thinking about then. Boys, certainly. Work and school and football and cheerleading and my car (freedom) and the radio. I was dancing and singing. All of which, as you can see, don't require the full capability of my brain's attention. Not that I am undermining my intelligence! I'm here, aren't I?
The point is, I've been thinking recently, about what it means to be an English major. What am I going to do now? What skills do I have that might qualify me for positions and even allow me to excel? What stigmas or false pretenses do I have from this journey in college, what do I want to leave behind, in a sense? I think that last question is important because in this environment of learning, I feel like it is possible I have picked up some negative traits as well. Like, questioning everything. That is a motto highly regarded in a college campus, but you know what, it hasn't gotten me very far. I question myself every time I make a decision until I'm wallowing in self-doubt or confusion and maybe I'm taking the idea to its extremities, but it has affected me in other ways as well.
Before I had a car, my first two years of high school, my mom or siblings or the parents of my friends were my means to and from school. I was generally happy with the set-up, except for the hours of stress and anguish waiting on my sister and mom for what felt like infinity and typically led me straight to the attendance window for a tardy note or something to that effect. Like I said, even those uncomfortable circumstances are now blotted out by the feeling of togetherness I have from those memories. I was late, sure, but I also had a sister to blame for my troubles and a sister to whine to when I got glares from my teachers. She was late, I was late; we cared and did not care all at the same time. The same is true of my experiences whenever my mom became the shuttle to, but mostly from, school. She was not very good with time. I told her activities started an hour before they actually did and ended only a half an hour earlier because if she was late I could always hang around with the kids who stayed late too. Either way, I'm not exaggerating. That lady would come to get me as the sun was setting and it was all I could at times to not panic and remind myself that she would come, eventually. With all of that said and done there was something my mom did that caused my anger to subside and recharge my battery for whatever the next day would bring. We had our little routine and maybe it wasn't perfect, but I came to rely on it, to expect it. That was enough for me, the comfort of an unstable stability. I never thought more about it because as far as I knew, every family had issues, every child had their secret pain, mine was no different and it was certainly not the worst.
When I got to college all of this started to change. I began to "think critically" about what all of these issues meant, what effects they had had on the person I was now. It isn't that college had been the first time someone had told me to think of my past in that way, I saw a counselor once or twice when my parents divorced and in church your problems are never your own, they are the sins of your fathers and so on. However, "the self" became the utmost. What had become of me? Who had that little girl come up to be? A question I will most likely never answer, mostly because I don't care anymore. Honestly. It is a bore walking around with all those labels on me. "I am such and such a person and I do X,Y and Z. I don't like this and I will certainly never be doing that." It is unrealistic and unhealthy. I could never live up to those standards and expectations and the worst part is that they were my own. The people who love me never asked those questions. I thought it was a lack of concern about who I really am, but I think now it is something else. They saw me for what I was capable of, they saw the good in me, they were friends and family. We weren't perfect, but we co-existed.
I'm realizing now that those times produced happiness because they were authentic. I was never questioning their love and weighing out the costs and benefits of reactions to gauge the damage done on our relationship. Do you know how time consuming that is? Not to mention dreadfully painful and self-destructive. I guess I'm coming from a place of nostalgia. It isn't that I'm not thankful for the past, most recent years, of my life. I am. I'm thankful for the experiences, for the family I still have that loves me from afar, for the skills I have worked on (my vocabulary has definitely expanded), but I'm also dreaming of what will lay ahead. I'm thankful for the people God has put in my life, then, but also recently that have inspired me to think like I did back then on what it is that I want to happen in the future. Who is it that I see in ten years? As the picture of myself becomes clear again, after what feels like an eternity but I know hasn't really been, the fading away of the morning haze that had to happen to get me to this place for which I am extremely thankful because over all, the journey has been rough but it would probably go unaltered, I could never change a moment if given the opportunity because right now, God has me where I want be. Anyway, coming from this place, I'm looking forward, rain or shine and I can't wait to decide and see where I'll be next.
Amen.

Biblical Evidence

What does it mean that I would base my feelings, my strength, my argument off of Bible scriptures. It probably means a whole lot to some people and a whole lot of nothing to others. To me, it means that I read a passage and it registered with the state of my country. It means that I have been praying for peace for awhile now and I feel like a clue was revealed. It means that it is still a good piece of advice and anyone claiming wisdom might look at the words and their meaning before making any prejudiced judgments.

In Jeremiah, the Old Testament, the Lord is commenting on the rebellion of Judah, through His prophet, Jeremiah. We, Americans, are obviously not in Judah nor do I think Judah as a place still exists as it did during the interaction to which I am referring. However, God makes a point that He was with the people until they found wealth or success or liberation and then as soon as this happened, they deserted God. The phrase, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" jumps to mind. In fairness, I have not completed Jeremiah yet, I'm trying to read a little at a time, per day. This section just got me thinking, were our [Americans'] forefathers believers in God, in religion? Were we not established as a secure nation that saw a wealth of goods and currently has an advanced medical system with the CAPABILITIES of caring for our sick, fatherless and suffering? Does it not seem troublesome to abort the principles our country was founded on because in present day society it seems politically incorrect to praise the name of God? It isn't black and white and I know that. I know that multi-culturalism presents a challenge to this monotheistic view of mine. I also know that some people can harp on for a good ten minutes on the terrors of war that religion produces. Shall I counter you with the terrors of war that the progressive appeal for power and greed have inflicted on this and other great nations. I'm not saying I have all the answers. I'm saying Christianity preaches, at its core, love and people have skewed this representation. I'm saying we should give God another chance because I see either black or white. Yes, the opposite of love is hate and what I hate is evil. Am I wrong to say that we should all turn from evil? Am I any more insane than one who can stand and look me in my face and say they only want to embrace evil? Where, might I ask, does that view get you? Do you get closer to your family and feel the evil in their embraces? Do you stop and smell the flowers and delight in their stench? I can't see it. And, yes, you're right, I don't want to.

Long Time Coming. LTC.

I've been meaning to write for so long. I can't wait to get all of this off of my chest. 

I don't have much time, school starts in, oh well I'm suppose to be leaving in one minute. I'll have to be a little tardy. And presumably resume this argument at a later time. That's okay by me. Actually, it will be nice to have something to come back to. 

So, what am I on about? I had a revelation last night. About the state of our country. America, to specify. I can't rest here comfortably. I haven't been able to since I came back from Wales. I thought it was something I was doing wrong, honestly. I thought maybe I was being pretentious, that was a thought nurtured  by fellow Americans and then amplified by my own self-doubt. Awesome, I know. With that aside, I also considered that maybe my eyes had been opened to the glories of the Earth and America was the door mat to this exploration. I wanted to simply say adios to the country of my childhood and relocate to one of the more cultured, refined civilizations that waited, rather existed, across seas. However, my family is here, my heart, my mind, memories. They all exist here too and with that I can't convince myself that my permanent home is one where none of these will be too. I can't split myself in two and go on. For now I am simply eight hours away, by car, and I feel a longing so acute at times to see my little sister's sparkling blue eyes when she is laughing in, embarrassment perhaps, at my antics or to smell my mom's perfume and to be strengthened by her vivacity. I just can't see, it doesn't make sense.

What then, I wonder, constantly, is the point of my experiences, my longings? To come to peace with it all. To be in one mind, that is what I'm searching for. Now, at this point in life, I am starting to see a solution. I feel strife in my daily life in the United States because I should, we all should. Somethings are wrong, fundamentally, logically, personally. We are a people so far askew yet we cal our existence abstract and appease ourselves. Well, it is a lie. Just as I had naively mocked a Picasso at the beginnings of my studies of art appreciation, claiming I too could throw colors on a board, smear them around, call it beauty, confess my insanity, maybe keep my ears... I have, actually. I'm still waiting for recognition, but I surrender. The point is we can continue to claim that what we do is not wrong, but it won't make the problem go away. I want us to look into our souls and see what does not sit right with the morals I know every one is capable of understanding because they ARE inherent and then start to make a change. How? Well, let's work that part out together because apart from wanting to put on some walking shoes and march across to Congress and demand that they bring every single one of the members of the armed forces home and give the money, that we don't have yet continues to be spent, back to the countless number of starving and abused children and homeless mothers and fathers or even families so disturbed by poverty and perverted morals that they have forgotten how to love one another, until I reach the point when that is the only goal I have on my mind, maybe we can come up with other solutions. I'll keep daydreaming though. Also, I'll post with some of my inspiration for this fire inside of me and hopefully a little bit of proof that I have not completely gone insane, although I am hesitant to claim otherwise. I'm okay with that though. I'd rather be crazy than impassioned to not move or feel for one more second of my life. 

Ray of Sunshine

Instead of being this sparkling commentator it seems I have been the stater of irritants. I wish it were different, however, here I am.

First up, If I want to get a book published apparently the way to do so is by claiming to write a piece on a time period in history and then carry-on with whatever "secret" agenda I had. I'm venting about the most recent novel I read. I am planning a topic secret event so I cannot reveal the name of the book (just in case!) but the sneaky little author's name is Robert Stone. I bought his book thinking he would enlighten me on a subject that I knew, and still know, little about. Turns out I'm very knowledgeable on his time in the Navy and as a write. Thanks, Mr. Stone. I'm glad I bought the book at The Goodwill instead of full price. Not that his life story isn't worth the buck fifty I spent, but I could have gone with out the deception. Well played sir, well played...

All the Air is Gone

I feel deflated. Maybe I'm just tired. I started my day with such high hopes and aspirations, but now, as I sit down at my computer to do what it is I really want to do, I feel exhausted. It is a strange phenomena. Today has been such a blur, honestly. I started working at a job I never thought I would take. Yet, I know how awful statements like those sound. I don't want anyone to think the job is beneath me, or that I think that, because I don't. I'm grateful to be making money. I just want to be making money in another situation, doing something that doesn't require me to wear a visor, preferably.

Besides that, the first day on the job was great. I like working. I like feeling like I am being productive, no matter what the task, it feels better than sitting around fretting about meaningless topics. Plus, they gave me Sunday off, which is awesome because I have really enjoyed going to church lately and now I don't have to give it up. Also, when I got out of the shower I realized one of my earrings had fallen out, but then after going to my room for a bit, I cam back and found the earring on the bathroom floor. I was amazed! (It was a little stud).

So, I keep inverting my letters while writing and I am getting super annoyed by this board I have balancing on my wall because it is not properly supported and every time the desk moves, it shakes, so I think that means I am too tired to write the amazing blogs/ stories that I was dreaming about producing when I was at Starbucks today during my break. I also feel like that is an excuse. I would give anything to feel like something I wrote had real value, but that is hard to measure with art, I think. It draws up psychological questions, like whose value would I accept? Why does it matter so much when others don't value it? It all feels silly, I guess. Doesn't it seem like if you love doing something you would do it more often? Except that when I do write and I feel like I'm getting some where, I enjoy it. It is thrilling and captures all of my attention, it makes me feel good actually. I'm wary of that emotion though, I feel like feeling that way is a negative, it feels too close to conceit, but if I don't feel like that, will I always feel inferior in my position, my career? That sounds awful.

I have so many questions and I feel like they could be answered by less thinking. If, like Voltaire suggests, I just let life happen to me and stopped asking questions I might finally be satisfied. However, what would I experience? Monotonous tasks. Even security I could have with a God who goes where I go and is everywhere I am. The problem with questions is that they never end. If you regard one past experience to help with the future, you really can't shut the door on the other more negative memories. At least, I don't think you can. It doesn't seem right. I don't know what to do with my ghosts though, the one who keeps coming back to me and making me feel like I left something behind, that I did something wrong and that the only way to release this spirit is to make it right, now. The bigger problem is that I have no idea how to do that. How do you? If anyone knew that would make this stage in my life a million bucks worth. Thanks.

'Rock Around the Clock'

Ever notice the lyrics of songs these days? I'm sure, like me, most people belt out the lyrics to their favorite tunes, at least every now and then. This means that those who do are conscious of the words that these songs are comprised of. What, I am wondering, is the effect of these words on our daily lives? Do the similarities between people cause them to share musical interests? Are the plights of our souls compounded by the stories we listen to daily through the lyrics in the songs we choose?

I got thinking about this because of the recent changes going on in my life. I noticed a couple of years back how I went through stages with the music I most commonly enjoyed. At times, perhaps the most peaceful in my life, I enjoyed the simplicity of themes, mostly love, and the sound of innocence from artists such as Taylor Swift. This is contradicted by other periods in my life when I would turn from the angelic, teen song-writer to an angrier, harried version, Alanis Morissette. Now these stages could be months apart, but there were also the daily changes from old-school R&B, perhaps a little R. Kelly or Boys 2 Men when I was feeling sensual or SIA when I was feeling fragile to Rebelution during a playful mood. It is only recently that my tastes are undergoing a change and I feel uncomfortable with what my ears have been allowing my heart to tune into. I say this light-heartedly and mean no offense to light rock followers. Even though it is a reaction to turn the song when one of these starts to play, I have recently let them play on and it has been to my enjoyment. Like a sneaky, heavy handed bartender, this music sweeps me off my feet and it is utterly out of my control. I feel childish as my body reacts to the outdated lyrical allusions and positive beats. I probably shouldn't be complaining, but it is weird, like an out of body experience.

It did get me thinking though about the causes for the change. If, indeed, it follows with my recent re-conversion to a life led by faith in God and therefore a more "pure" approach to the daily life, in the Christian sense of the word, are my ears and body filtering the appropriate material on a sub-conscious level or is my brain on terms with my heart and making the best effort to remain one whole rather than parts divided?

If this is confusing, I should probably back up anyway. I am suggesting that what we listen to affects what we think or how we think even on a daily basis. I am thinking that modern music, within the last 20 years or so, is typically based on love. All types: unrequited, fantastical, sensual, dangerous, flamboyant, obscure, innocent, familiar... What is, and has been, the effect of this on society? Do we mimic the music and is it a cyclical situation (I won't call it a problem because that is entirely personal at this point and unfounded)? I don't have the answers here, just somethings I'm thinking about. Comments welcome!

Frustration

Today was my first official day back as a Sonoma State student. By official, I simply mean that it was the first day back after syllabi had been distributed and some people have already discarded their sense of uniformity in preference of the ever controversial, much loved sweat outfit. It isn't that I have any feelings against this demonstration of personal comfort, I note it only to illuminate my own separation from that innocent, self-absorbed mentality that entitles one who means well in being present, but offers much less effort beyond that. Maybe the times have changed, maybe I'm off in my accusation. I will concede that the little effort being shown is sometimes all the student can give, if they are to be present at all, in which case, as in the other, I reserve judgment and simply state it as a result.

Some may wonder, what makes me an expert on student appearance or even gives me the authority to speak like a campus veteran? Well, kudos, because I am as good at hiding my secret sensitivity as a bulimic who has throw-up on her elbow. I spent the last few hours of class today trying to out run that thought, though it followed me out the door of that fateful meeting. As is the usual for me, I was drawn to a fiery student next to me, let's call him Andrew, Drew he would insist. A respectful individual with the intelligence to back his reserved yet confident position. I had noticed him the first day, along with others, and honestly had overlooked the amount of thinking he was doing based on his appearance. A rookie mistake and completely unacceptable! Be that as it may, we sat in the same places today and I quickly felt an affinity with him, although to be honest, his thinking may well have passed my own as his thoughts came out clean and polished when I produced similar quality with what felt like a much clankier machine. All this to say that, as clearly as in a dream when you've shown to class wearing nothing more than your chonies, I felt a huge label of "Too Old for School" across my head. Vanity of all vanities. However, there I was and there, in my mind, the thought resides.
My self-esteem was not the only tragedy in today's activities. My idealism was confronted, as it had been in the early stages of my experience in higher education. I walked into class with a giant misconception and without any reason. For, my first assignment had been to read a piece by Bacon in which he suggests a radical reform to education and perception of knowledge. Given the year of 1620 you might imagine the vast inclusion of religious references. To my satisfaction. I am at a place in my life where I find comfort in offering up my contentions and related, rather admirably, to Bacon's divergence from topic to pray for Divine leadership and ayuda. Well well well. Welcome back, Jennifer Webb, to higher education in a liberal, public education system. Not only did I find myself surprised with the force of anti-religious sentiment coming from the students, which I feel wouldn't be so bothersome as I am used to differing opinions, but it knocked me on my feet to realize how far changed my own perspective was. Here I was relating to a speaker, and had whole-heartedly contended with his remarks, and thinking I had understood him and then I get to class and apparently what he said was heresy in sheep's clothing and his poetic metaphors were all about his latent sexual desire. I was in a precarious situation. Before I knew what was happening, my hand was up defending a prayer to a God for safe-keeping  and it was stated in what could have only been the most righteous, 'naive,' matter-of-fact position. I figure I'm alright there, as long as I can keep a handle on my frustration enough to deliver my thoughts in a rational manner, as opposed to a half-crazed religious zealot. Where would the fun of that be, anyway? So I press on, knowing I will be defending a dying breed. Wondering though if feelings like mine would be considered strife? I hope so in the sense that there is something of a flame being ignited when you have a point to prove or an honor to defend.

His love.

She was addicted to drama, as fate would have it. From a young age she had learned to satisfy her soul on excessive intake of extreme emotion. When there was little food in her cupboard, she gorged on the secret indecency of a heart wrenching cry. If she felt alone, a mania-like curling of laughter might escape her youthful lips, anything to fend off the beast within. As she aged, and was able to participate in such exchanges of one adult to another, the stories from those she encountered were her drugs, before she knew or knew of, the lable 'co-dependent' in that she would listen and be transported to their souls, their lives and the drama enfolded would transport her from a troubled mind and fragile, eccentric spirit, to that of a dramatic encounter between two strangers. Life around her was an ever unfolding film that only drew curtain when she sat alone in her room. That was always a dark and scary place until she realized she was living a drama all her own. It was one of tears and depression and life-shaking pain and it was exhausting. It took years to realize that it was a drama she was writing all herself and it might take many years more to turn this tragedy into a comedy, but it was a conversion worth making. It would not be a love story unrequited or a comedy based on the pain of others, simply an appreciation of life and love and the problems that unfold throughout in the ordinary. It would be nothing more than her story, but it would be the story of her and she would be deciding the joy and the exciting and the inspiration which would ensue.
For years she had no idea what was missing. It felt like the Grand Canyon had been created in her soul, the schism between who she knew she could be and who she felt herself being was that great. It was not until she completely fell apart that she was able to see God. She saw her opportunity to live her life when she finally surrendered to the need she felt for Him to lead her life. Like the song says, she found him when she fell apart. She lay on the floor thinking her life would never go on and there was no way for her to continue when she opened the Bible, turned up the radio and waited. Waited for the flood of emotion to pass, waited out the negative voices that screamed failure in her ears, waited until she had the strength to look at herself in the mirror and ask what it was that she needed. She stared at those landscape colored saucers and she forced herself to keep staring until she asked, "Why?" She was wondering why she couldn't look into her own eyes with an eighth of the amount of love that she had so often bestowed upon previous lovers. Not that she wanted to elevate herself to any level, in fact she feared pride. She feared vanity almost above all else, most certainly beyond her fear of failure, as it was a constant reminder each time she happened upon any reflective surface.
Love though, she knew she couldn't do without it. In any religious context one is to believe that they must love themselves in order to fully love others. So, tonight she lie there and she made herself ask that question. "Why?" And she waited. She waited for God to speak through her this time. No answer from her mind and the knowledge she possessed would give her a satisfactory answer, it most certainly hadn't worked without God in the last few years. Until it clicked. It clicked and she saw what she missed at every other similar exchange between her being and its reflection. There was nothing that she did that should incite any sort of the unlove she so frequently felt when the thought of herself came up. It wasn't that she spoke negatively in her own mind which made her circumstance that much more confusing. Before now she would not talk harshly to herself, but as her friend once stated, there was something fundamentally wrong, most always.
To her, although she wanted to ask she wouldn't, the why, the question of why it took so long for her to realize that their approval and their love and lack of showing it, why all of that took so long to not matter, wouldn't matter. Time was gone once it passed and it wouldn't be regained with the why, that much she knew. From this point on she knew it would be different. Before this night, the night of her breakdown, she knew God loved her and she knew she was suppose to believe that, but it was almost impossible to convince herself that the ruler of this world would truly love the girl at the bottom of the world who kept complaining in a time when people were struggling for nutrition and support and safety. Well, she heard his voice through all of that and for the reasons she already listed, she couldn't ignore the answer. He loved her because she tried, because she would be great, because she needed him and she looked to him to strengthen her and she wanted more for her life and realized it would only happen when she let go of them and reached for the one who made her. How much better would life be once she gave up trying to please others and realized that she was already pleasing in his sight, especially because He could see where she was going and could see the heart of her efforts to get there? From all of that she felt loved, she could love herself and she could go on. Go on writing her story and rejoicing in all the acts of love that would most certainly accrue throughout the way.

One) Ice-cream eater.

Yes, a very realistic goal that one could definitely accomplish based on the daily. Clearly, as this goal did not require the upmost of thoughts, she moved ahead, satisfied.

Two) Already her palms began to sweat. Somewhere between the last bite of her popsicle and the one sided parenthesis, she struggled with the demons inside that threaten to extinguish any morsel of one's hope or self-worth. Think, think, think...

Damnit.

2) Looker at the clouds by day and the stars at night.

See, overcoming challenges WAS possible and, she added with a sly grin, she'd come up with something of a feat. Not everyone could say they hold both a day AND night job! Well, number 3.

3) Drinker of water (and other liquids, obviously). Now she really felt like she was selling herself short, but one cannot overcome desperation without fumbling with the bra strap for a bit. She was aimlessly walking on the edge of the cliff, except this time, she wasn't looking down and she wasn't stepping away. Too many hours had been wasting cautiously cocking her head towards the furthest part of the crust only to casually look away, pretending she wasn't all that interested in the unknown, the exciting after all.

4) Reader! This was good. Not too far-fetched, everyone reads, right? She wasn't claiming to be the next big, oh wait, is there any person who achieved fame based on the quantity of materials they had read? Probably not. And, point made. So, she would read. Labels, signs, books, magazines. Good, good... Oh, God. Had she really just called herself a "reader" because she was guaranteed to browse magazines? The desire to call herself ridiculous was easing up, persistently, like that damn skirt she had worn the other day. The little bugger just wouldn't stay put and try as you might, or empathize to the extent of your capabilities, and you will probably never accurately imagine the extent to which an unfitted, or rebellious to gravity, skirt threatened this girl's perfectly upbeat outlook on that day. Anyways,

Number 5!
Such a great number. The day of her birth and meaningless besides. She would make this number important, relevant. Option five would be, well, something terrific, really great, she would come up with an option both plausible and enticing. So. Life-long, committed non-smoker? Too hypocritical. Tattooed body, vowing to never regret those three works of art, even when she was old and gray, at the age whenever every "well-meaning" soul told her she'd regret them? No, too abstract, too condescending for such a youthful state in her life. Strike two, but fortunately, this girl was accustomed to the rules of the game (they were her own, in perspective). She would be cultured.

Wow. That came out of nowhere, she sat back reflecting. Up until this point she thought only crap was capable of fumbling from her mind, or so it had seemed up to this point. However, this one, she quite liked. It fit. A guarantee she felt comfortable offering herself up to because she felt quite certain it didn't mean altering any aspect of herself she knew, up to this point and it carried with it a wisp of optimism, a promise she might shine up and stare into every now and then. It also meant she could mine a little deeper into a tavern she stumbled on a few years back, it was a place in her center that was positively delighted with all the subtle differences between her and him and us and them. With the same flowers that grew in Rome, but also at home. With the smile of the child on the metro abroad, that brought the same smile to her lips when she walked into her sister's home and saw her nieces and nephew watching their mother cook. She found love in every crevice of the world and she felt confident that if one of her life's options was to seek out and appreciate cultures, as she had done up to now, well then, that was one option she was happy to include.

Phew, number six. A silly number, in her mind. So close to sex that she often felt like exclaiming that she had a sex-pack of colas at home and sex toes, instead of five. See who would be turning her down after those statements! Who was she kidding, sex was too often floating around in her mind and there really was no reason to relate the quantity with the action, their middles were completely different. Sex, six, six, six, six. Six languages. ATTEMPTED languages, that is. Very closely related to five, but more, as sex often is.

Seven! A faithful drinker of Sprite, as opposed to Seven-Up. Honestly, who are those makers of 7-Up and who do they think their fooling? Too incredulous and inflamed with indignation to stop and consider the absolute foolishness of her own to let this make her list of life options, but then again, at least she had something to be faithful to near the top of her list.

Eight) She promised herself to absolutely, always love her mother. The woman had given her her lips, her life and her button nose. She had inspired her at a young age to not give a rat's ass what anyone thought, even though the reasons for this determination were somewhat fuzzy in both of their thinking. It didn't matter. Her mother's life was full and her beauty only became fuller with age and she was pretty sure that number eight was an option she might always live up to, no matter what lay ahead.

Number 9) A little crazy. If she could commit to this number, she thought, life might actually be a lot simpler. She did this test on herself every once in awhile actually. You see, our girl had this habit of caring too damn much what others thought, at times. So, to push herself out of herself she would think of the most obvious flaw that one might carry, unsuspectingly. Like, a huge splot of brown right in the middle of her pants and then she would walk around with head held high, smiling more at passer-bys with the knowledge of her secret game and less to do with her actually joy at their brief, much too meaningless interaction. Number nine looked feasible and not too harmless, it had potential anyway.

10. Quite a serious number, in her opinion. Even as we aged, the double digits carried with them a certain coming to age type of importance. And, now? What would number ten be to her? She felt that same fear of failure creeping into her vain. Was this, a list of nine articles, half absurd, half absolute regardless of effort, be the result? No. No, she reminded herself. No more backing down because the fear flared up. What a bunch of rubbish and an idea she would never put up with if a friend or loved one or stranger, for that matter, felt the pangs of its existence.

On a dime then, what would she wish for? To push herself this time, she would claim, no more giving up. Enough of it. If one has the stamina enough to form a dream and voice an aspiration that revealed itself to one in the whisper of a dream of as the rainbow after the storm, then she was done being the one to dash her own hopes. Not that she wanted to do much editing or constricting on her list, but as this was the beginning and her whole life was going to be a seemingly large commitment she would place a sort of lax approach on this item. It must be any fully-developed dream or goal and once it was there, once the heartbeat was felt for example, there would be aborting. Well, she always responded to sternness.

On to eleven. Eleven eleven, send a wish up to heaven. That is what she heard, anyways, from someone who quite believed in the positive ramifications of this action and she had been quite fond of this certain person, so it only seemed fitting. Dear Lord, she'd wish, whenever she spotted this duplicated number on the time.

It's been a long time...

I woke up today, the same as most other days. From the place I sit now though, I realize that something has changed. Nothing new, but altered to a time that I have been before or a place that I have lived in. It is familiar, not boring. Calm and peace, yet notably new and fragile. I love this place. I need to protect it. Like  a new mother who has known these feelings in the past, I am without the rules and guidelines of nourishing and caring for another. While I recognize the tides, I am unfamiliar with the path that this sea or flood of emotion will take. Whatever it may be though I would like to never cease following this path. It is one of self-fulfillment true, but I know it will not be led simply for myself. It is from the prayer I uttered asking for strength and certainty in order to be an example of something better. So, I'll search for happiness because it is what I desire, I desire to find happiness to spread the seeds throughout this place. I want to smile, I seek to be loved because only while loving and smiling am I utterly enthralled. When I am thus satiated, in a way beneficial to most, I believe it will be a domino effect in the most simplest of manners. It takes work, like a honey bee, one so sweet that produces a joy to all who try it, must do what comes naturally and effectively to help others reproduce their own beauty.
There was a time when I felt that to search for beauty was a vanity unforgivable, if I were an artist one might have said I was in a perpetual state of blueness. I feared twinkling because I couldn't deal with the attention it provoked. I lacked understanding of a higher meaning and therefore fear reigned in the forefront of my mind. Then, like the simplest of gestures that at once can cease a quarrel amongst lovers, the words came to me that to sparkle is a gift, to hide it is a shame, to fear it is a waste and to abandon hope would never work. Life continues regardless of who opts out of its game. The trees and flowers and birds were His examples. All created by the same, so why would I feel not worthy of the same attention or self-worth? Do the roses hide their colors because you and I so readily accept their perfection? No, they go on beaming because that is their duty, at least as far as you and I can see.
I do not claim the perfection of those I've mentioned, but I reiterate the semblance to our origins. Now I know some who call this science, the workings of nature to create our intricacies and all the aspects of our lives. That's fine. That is fine to understand that we have all come from the same place. I call my idea of this a maker, the only difference is I will not claim to now the "how." Who could ever believe that they know something when they were never present to me is not more intelligent, just one more inclined to have the answers. I would like to think that as the world continues to heal itself and outsmart those who figure it all out that we could take a hint and stop short of just being in amazement at it. I am a curious being though as well, so if you must know than continue to search. I hope when you find the right answers you will share with us that they may be beneficial to all and with all our best interests in mind.
My journey will be a different one, of that I am completely aware. I'd like to study and to learn, but also to live and enjoy. It is this balance I'm still figuring and I pray my life will continue on in this way.

Staying in touch

Isn't it strange how saying "let's stay in touch" can take on a completely different meaning than "I need to say in touch with my emotions"? Quite obviously the desire to 'stay in touch' with a romantic interest takes on a divergent meaning as well.
To say one thing and to mean another, what an odd concept that we developed. Would life be simpler or duller if we erased all of these phrases and simply said exactly what we meant?
I need to, I have a desire to comprehend how I am feeling throughout the day, all day, but at the same time I do not want my day to be ruled by my emotions. Therefore, I would like to be aware of how I am feeling because I think once I am aware, I will be able to match my activities up, or align them, to create a positive flow of life rather than one convoluted with mistakes and regrets. I think that would help because I would know what I want to do before I do it. I just realized though that that would also entail having the logic to work out whether what I want in the moment will coincide and reinforce what I want for my future. That would be a detail I would definitely like to grasp, the problem is that I am unsure as to what I want my future to be. I guess that is why I am in Rome though. I couldn't figure out all of the small details, so I went as broad as possible. I know I like being abroad. I know I enjoy learning. I love feeling alive and conquering challenges. I'm interested in cultures and I like learning the intricacies of places otherwise unfamiliar to me. With all of that said I'm confident now that my decision to come here to take this course was a wise decision. Now that I'm here though I want to make the most of my thoroughly brief time. I want to enjoy the sights, feel brave some more, lose myself only to find me again and to continue meeting people that remind me just how small the world is while simultaneously exploding the idea in my face that I have yet to scratch the surface as some of them have or even because of what they can show me that I didn't even realize I was missing.
I still want to enjoy the small things though and I do not want to chase some mythical being called intellect. I know I will never be able to become familiar with all the places of the world, but I'd like to try.
Today was one of my favorite days in Rome so far. I did absolutely nothing. I sat in a park, listening to an accordion player, who was playing for a group of elderly people and they were enjoying each other and delighting in each new song he began and I read. Ironically, I sat with a copy of Death in Venice, an old copy I picked up on my last day in town and it was coming to it's climax, but I left before the conclusion. I'm always that way. I near the end, but instead of coming to a point of closure I decide to prolong the inevitable. That and there were two little boys riding scooters and playing and I was rather distracted with their antics, so I wondered on home. The day though, was wonderful and relaxing and inspiring. My book is so cliche-ly poetic and I ate it up like a girl receiving roses and chocolates. There is something so satisfying to me about stumbling on a poet's work that is so full of self-expression and lacking in any sort of survival's restraint. I'm not sure if I'd call it hope, but it was certainly refreshing.
I came home and made a patriotic salad full of greens, a sweet and perfect red tomato with a cheese I couldn't tell you the name of, but I know it was packaged in a way I have never seen before and didn't look like any cheese I've ever bought. That combination with a sprinkle of olive oil, pepper and salt concluded my meal and I couldn't have been happier. Home-made meals always do that to me and so far this is day two of what I hope is a continuous streak of American made, Italy provided delights.
Of course, skyping with my mom afterwards was an excellent way to conclude the evening. She and I are, after all, doing our best at keeping in touch.

Support

It comes in all shapes and sizes. 

In colors of violent brilliancy

and whispers as quiet as the night.

It comes at times when it's needed

and at others when you already feel right.

It is more than words, yet it is the easiest thing to give.

No ribbon or bow is required to pass it on to one another.

From friend to friend, lover to lover,

child to mother, stranger to his brother. 

She said," Wait for me."

I said, "How long?"

She said, "Did you see that?"

I asked, "Again?"

She said, "Come play with me."

I was no longer there to answer.

Sometimes the time will trick you.

It will stand still and convince you that you're moving.

You feel as though you've moved ten thousand paces when in reality you took one step back and have only set yourself behind.

Behind the place you've dreamed off and into a day that you never did.

You never noticed this back sliding because the ones around you aren't those who love you and they probably never did.

If and when you look up from the bottom of the hole,

remember at least that you didn't get there on your own.

So while you vow to not stay there

because in your heart you know you're good

look around for those who will help you and then be cautious of the wind.

Do not let them blow you from to and fro

to not let them tell you only the things they know.

Listen patiently and intently,

but then be true to the ever growing voice inside of you.

When it is time to leave, you'll know it 

because the whole journey is about you growing. 

It's just a blog, it's just a blog.

I'd like to go back to the beginning. The beginning being an indescribable spot, a fluctuation between multiple memories with the precise hopes of revealing it all. The beginning is the same as the middle, not to be confused with the whole. The beginning is what formed you, but also has very little to do with where you might end up. These are things I have taken for granted, masked behind the screams of feminist outrages. These are the topics no one is paying attention to because it is a time when the cries of hungry children and divided families are silent against the weight of the greed for gold and silver. I agree, the representation of a typical fantasy princess is as different from the head-strong, decision-making king as could possibly be. Polar opposites, as some might call it. The idea that a woman is much more than a great cook, master sewer or even multi-talented house-keeper is firstly not a knock to women who choose to do so. Someone has to do these things, obviously. The more kudos to you who have the stability of income with which only one working parent may be hands-on twenty-four hours a day, most days. However, this is to say that some women prefer to do other chores. I myself must be a current day, transgendered being because while my female nature knows the mystery required to do the dishes and scrub toilets another part of me wants to write a book and share some of my ideas with the big boys. I have been educated enough and seen a decent amount of the world to know that the dilemma and tragedy of undedicated and lost women and young-girls is, indeed, an epidemic. I wanted to know why and my only hope is that this piece will make it beneath your eyes, into your mind and out again of your very mouth. Spread the word(s), please. Let all the young people of this generation, male or female, know that they have been misled. Housecare and parenting does not a bad person make. Those are honorable and necessary in order for our society to continue developing with respectful and patriotic citizens. On another offense, please tell them that a good alternative to a failing economy is to turn on the image that the media has so recently and completely honored; sleaze-balls. Yes, sleaze-balls. People who have no other objective in life than to enjoy every second, without a thought or pretense as to how others may or may not be affected. In addition, in order to turn ourselves off to this image, through a tried and true method, I humbly suggest turning your eyes from the representations, if not only for the moment to look at whoever is around you and ask how you might help them, love them and in turn enrich your own soul that we each one of us most assuredly has residing in us. 

The problem with the argument I am presenting is that the tangents I could take are endless, so I will try to stay on the main road while taking side streets when only completely necessary or slightly beneficial. I think young people are lost. They are floundering and adults are too busy, too preoccupied, too angry, too hurt to take the time to correct what seems to me to be mortally wrong with our nation. Like, Stephen Kieman said in his book, Authentic Patriotism, I know problems exist all over the world, but if we cannott help our own people than we should seriously be considering the appropriateness of "helping" others, especially when half of our citizens and most others from around the world don't consider what we do as help. If, however, you are reading this and anything I say applies to your country and you feel you could be influential to people I only dream of meeting, than by all means, please help your young people too! I don't presume to know the state of youths around the world, much less throughout the United States. I only have my experience, a California born and raised youth to adult who spends her time tutoring kids who can't tell me a dream they have beyond the weekend. No dreamers, no politicians waiting for their age to match up with their ability and no awareness of themselves or others. It is truly a sad situation. I want to yell at the parents for bringing children into the world who only fear the night or to slap the school system for not inspiring more in a child than adequate behavior for lining up properly or for sitting quietly, mostly. Above it all though I want to plead and beg with the people who have become so disconnected from each other that seeing a child with no shoes sparks the comment, "I wonder if his family is even legal" rather than "that poor child, what could five dollars do for him?" What I'm wanting is compassion. Compassion because we cannot understand every situation, all we can do is take care of the here and now and I know that as a kid compassion and sincere love from an adult is what got me to where I am today.

That is just the beginning. I am not, as has been critiqued in the past, some hippie-flower person claiming that love will bring about peace and end all travesties. Instead, I'm admitting that I lost my way and had forgotten at age twenty-two how to try. If you don't understand what I mean, try making someone else's day and see how it alters your own. It may not feel like magic and fireworks the very first time, but trust me when it clicks, when you smile at a kid because they are looking at you and you don't know what else to do and then they smile back it feels like the day just got that much brighter. I loved Kieman's book, but I wanted to add this section if I could. Not everyone can come up with a sincere, life-bettering hospital system and I know that isn't the point of his book, so I just wanted to add this little piece. Start small. Start as small as you want to and I can't tell you much more because I'm beginning there myself. I do know that you will surprise yourself at how quickly your habits can change and how the good deed-doer will just ooze from your own mind and sneakily catch you off your own guard. Perhaps you could start with your own kid or even your family if you need to. Maybe you already show all the love to your family that can possibly be squeezed out of you? Than move on to showing the globe some love. For me, I imagine every trash I return to it's rightful spot, the garbage can, has benefited someone else's day. Maybe I am stretching my imagination, living in a daily fantasy where my neighbors appreciate my effort, but I'm not running back to reality. I like it here and I like to think that others started before me, so I'm not as lonely. You should join me, after all, it would be no fun to go on a journey completely alone.

Quitting

I realized this morning that my entire life, all 23 years, has been about quitting. I am, of course, the girl who learns through doing. Does it hurt to bang your head into the wall? Well, yes, it hurts him and her, but would it really do the same to me? *Five seconds later*, "indeed!" It does inflict pain. So, then I know. At least down this route I usually have first-hand accounts of circumstances that others bring up as topic fillers or gossip-bits.
Anyways, I wouldn't say that I am a quitter, just that I was seeing the world in that light and have only, just now, realized this. Instead of perceiving the transitions in my life as just that, as moments when change takes place in order to move me up or along even, I saw it as a step-back. I guess I'm thinking of life more as a yin-yang type existence now where the items of the paradox, whatever they may be, co-exist rather than pull in completely opposite directions.
The best example I have is my struggle to find a sustainable life-style here, when the home I've known is there. The schism between the two felt like a huge void that I was running from. In one plane I was the young girl, family-oriented and people-pleasing and confident in that role and in the other I was self-reliant,  education-grounded and free, in more than a few ways. In my mind, these two were black and white and I could not see that gray was an option. Most likely because when I went there I heard all the negatives of here and so I began to believe that my life-style choice had a hierarchy, one that I knew intuitively was "wrong" while the other just wasn't "right."
It took this year, a most unpleasant 10 months to be honest, to give me a new beginning. See, the old me would have said, "Time to start over. I'm done with blah, blah, blah." I'm trying something new now. I am building, rather than casting the entire model aside. In reality, that isn't how life works and, if it is, there are only so many times we can start from the beginning, which are actually ruins before we give up and hopelessness sets in.
The first step in my perspective-changed being is to acknowledge that I like the way my ground floor was built. (I'm speaking/thinking entirely metaphorically here.) Once I was able to admit that or to see that, once again, I started to see that it eliminates fear as to what I'll create next. That first level will always be there, so the more comfortable I am with it, the easier it will be for me to try new things and not worry so much about making the "right" decision or even about having the appropriate response.
One of the struggles I'm having with this new outlook is how to react when certain characteristics I have bring me down every once in awhile or make me feel guilty in a situation that another individual might never think twice about, but I guess I'm still learning.
I still won't regret any of the choices I've made, but I will remember my "growing-pains" and pray to God that I remember the lessons I've learned. The hard way, of course.

Duplexity

Why is it that your noise drives me to the edge of a cliff?
That the only noise I long to hear is the birds calling to each other in the air?

Why is it that enough is really never enough?
That what I have or have been given leaves me longing for I don't know what?

Why is it at times that I crave solitude?
That one second I find joy and the next finds me in the most opposite mood?

I have never been in the situation where I tried to identify this uncomfortable uniformity
because what I have to compare it to is nothing but ordinary.

One fact in me I keep returning to is that this modern life is quite boring.
I hate the way we wear our clothes, premeditated, stressed over and painfully gained.
The weight of what I'm doing never allows me to commit.
Do I want to wear what you do and have each hair most perfectly aligned?
At times.

Do I stop for a minute and try to realize that what I tell myself every day is the most complicated of lies?
I do.

I sabotage my happiness because I feel I don't deserve it
I look for you for guidance as if I've never heard it
In reality, I'm waiting for some kind of change.
Either one in me that makes me strong enough to be who I want to be
or a change in the world that finally makes me.
I'm sick of all the things I do not know
and all the things behind me
Maybe it would be better to look ahead now
and make the changes that I would like to see
I'm scared of what they might bring though
and fear is unusual for me.
Since I was a little girl I went anywhere alone
never fearing what lay in wait for me
never waiting to examine the possibilities
I did it naively, or do you call it bravery?

I can't read a book when I don't know the language.
I can't write a story that just isn't in me.
I can't live this life, day to day,
I can't see the future, any way.

I can't understand people
I can't quit being absurd
the more I think of things I can't do
the more I realize there's one I can. complain.

If I could, I would. trust that.

She just wanted to be alone. As awful as she knew it sounded, it was true. When she lay there thoughtfully, the same idea played again and again. She lay in bed, wondering about the meaning of life and about all the opportunities that lay within her reach and she knew, she was fulfilled. Had she possibly had the greatest love of her life and more memories than she could truthfully ever need or was it a sad case of lost hopefulness in which she felt like Alice through the hole; a young, lost girl in the midst of finding the meaning of life, but was she choosing to stay in her life, a life as made-up as the importance of the science of dinosaurs which she validly claimed was a waste of a subject in school? As were most, for that matter. What was she living for? Over and over without ever reaching a conclusion, but not feeling desperation in those moments, instead she was sedated with a strong sense of calm in which she tried to ignore any outside influences that so abrasively conflicted with the serenity of thinking about everything and also absolutely nothing. 

The roundness of her thoughts might have indeed been causing more anxiety than she cared to acknowledge, however she doubted it. She knew that in civilization, in hers at least, the ability to be a "team-player or a "socialite" was extremely important, but how could one participate in a culture where one felt no more connected to the activities than one did while witnessing two complete strangers embrace? Not only was she heavily conflicted with her own realization of separateness and her own aloneness, but she also had the awful weight of humiliation that one might experience when being observed while being the observer in such an intimate moment as mentioned above. 

She knew it was all about perspective, perhaps yet another reason for the inner-struggle she housed while dealing with these years of silence. What would happen, she wondered, if she pulled herself out of the reach of those who have claimed to care and those who she knew truly did? She had come close to something similar before. Not quite suicidal in her thoughts, perhaps close, but not being one for absolutes it was not likely that she would ever pull the triigger or tie the rope and pull the knot. She wasn't suicidal, just a great relier on quiet, peace and thoughtfulnees, things which never came easily with the obtrusion of people, those from the ones who claimed to love her most.

Maybe, she wondered, the problem is not who loved her, but who she chose to love. Something similar had been said years before but she ignored the advice. She felt devastated by the cruel words too much to acknowledge their validity. In fairness, no one likes to admit their faults, specifically when it is one that happens sub-consciously. It is vastly different to being told that you chew too loudly and to know that a small alteration of jaw strength or saliva intake could be modified and therefore cure your annoying habit than to be told that the way you love is faulty; that something as innate and internal as your beating organ could also be the thing plaguing you and ostracizing you from the whole of society and all that it's members may have to offer you.

What then? What can one hope for in a case as desolate as that? In fact, she had appeased herself with any number of scenarios.

A Combination, really.

How does it sound when you're heart is the only thing to speak?

Not your mind or your desires?

I hear the sound each day and it sounds like rambling.

Not the kind that relaxes you, 

Not the running of a stream, just a little bit off beat.

So today I listened to myself. 

To what my heart had to say 

and then I listened to the phrasing,

why did my mouth put it out that way?

I didn't mean to hurt you and I never wanted to mislead.

While you think that I misled you and you think that I'm confusing,

I sit back in agreement because who knows what really happening?

I said some things I thought I meant

but looking back I see,

I represented a part of me that I wanted you to see,

but in that portrayal I left off another piece.

So you see I wasn't lying,

I just wasn't giving you all of me. 

My thoughts now are to change that, but I'll keep that to myself.

The truth, well people claim is, 

there is no real changing anyway.

So I'm stuck being me and deceiving those I meet.

It looks a lonely road ahead of me, 

until my heart and mouth and mind can finally agree. 

What would I change?

No more false words that appease you,

no more rambling for fun. 

No more thoughtless remarks that hurt you

all those niceties are done.

I spend my time trying to be sweet and calm and smart and funny.

The truth is, I feel those things, they somewhere reside in me.

However when I push them out, they lack genuinity.

They show the face of a card that perhaps one expects to see. 

As in a deck of cards, I'll show what a player likes, usually. 

But if I never show my weaker pair, a 2 or 3 of spades,

how will the winner ever win if he already holds the aces?