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.