The Insignificant Blues

This week has been a doozy of a week.

I should rephrase that. This has been a doozy of the past two weeks.

I need to rephrase that once more. A doozy of a summer.

I think we only feel the dooziness of anything during the quiet moments in which we are explicitly realizing that our happiness could, quite actually, be on the chopping board. And someone is wielding the knife like Top Chef. Julienne. Jardiniere. Paysanne. Chiffondae. Whoever this person is, they are sizing up your happiness, they are deciding how it will be served, and they are practicing their culinary skills without remorse.

I grieve over every missed happy scrap that is taken away and eaten by someone else. I won't even realize the person was holding something sharp, and there it goes. Tossed into a salad of misinterpretation, anger, rejection, and hurt feelings that can only make the stomach ache and feel ill.

These aren't the times when you're more than happy to share my happiness. When I have used a loving hand to pluck my happiness, place that happiness in a jar, and then give that happiness to whom I choose. Or when I'm thoughtlessly tossing it around as if it's some parade, and my happiness is the candy, and everybody will have it thrown in their faces whether they like it or not.

No, these are the moments when someone steals that happiness. When I allow someone to steal that happiness. When I realize I'm giving up that happiness to someone, giving it to them reluctantly, having it cut as tossed as if it were spoilt. When I do pluck my happiness and hand it over, and it is looked over, or barely glanced at, and I realize I can't place that happiness back because I plucked it, and it isn't like a lost shadow, you can't sew that back onto your feet, flick your shadow back, and have it mimic your every move like some mirror you carry around whenever there is sun. Happiness isn't like a shadow, not in the least bit, because you can be happy in the darkness, where shadows don't even exist, or at least you can't see them linger like the soft, warm happiness that makes it's way through our bodies, touching our souls, wherever they reside, and settles in to an area to start growing more happiness.

You can say happiness is like shadows because they both grow, but I would say that isn't correct because shadows don't breed more shadows. Happiness breeds itself, on a regular basis.

No, happiness is more like the sun. And it goes away as an eclipse, overcome with shadow. And you begin to wonder if it's still there, if it's still growing, if the pain you're feeling is someone who does see it, and they're taking it for their own. You're there for this indeterminate amount of time. And you begin to wonder whether there is any hope of being happy again.

This isn't a quiet moment. This whole week has been a combination of highs and people slaughtering my happiness. There wasn't really a middle ground. I was either extremely, undeniably. excruciatingly happy, or I was extremely, undeniably, excruciatingly depressed (for me). And it wasn't just me.

This week has been tough on a lot of us because we're at a loss of what to do. Not only is the government shut down, but it's almost as if life itself has. It's worse than when people are voting for a president because people are literally suffering. This isn't some faux tweet, lame Facebook lie, or empty threat about the outcome of an election. It is people actually not getting food on the line. It is people actually not getting blood transfusions on the line. It is people actually not getting paid on the line. And the media is squeezing the story for every last drop of juice it has to give. I have never seen such degrading work on their part. I have never seen such bias on what is supposed to be giving us news. And the whirlwind has caused many to fall behind an eclipse, lost for hope.

The first thing I do when I feel I've lost hope is search for kindness. Kindness breeds more kindness, such as happiness does. But it's been so hard to find this week. People are so angry, so unforgiving, so stubborn. I watched videos of people yelling at those just doing their jobs, people waving off what "doesn't effect" them, people just plain being rude in the most important time we need to be together.

This doesn't make me sad for just my nation--it makes me sad for our entire world. And it makes me afraid. Pride has a not-so-funny way of making bad things worse. No one likes to feel shame. And the way the media has been portraying things, there will be an obvious winner and loser that will ring for weeks, months, even years to come. And my fear is that this pride will cause this to stretch much further than it ever should. I say this as a legit fear because I, myself, have been prideful over the most minute shit--everyone else is just as human. You get a group of prideful humans together being watched by the entire nation, world even, and you tell me what the outcome is supposed to be.

The worst part is, the media is freaking out so much more about how childish the whole event is, I haven't heard one iota of how we can help the people who are currently in need. Either they're too busy placing the people at cause in a good light, playing on the heartstrings of patriotism (because nothing screams "Our Country 'Tis of Thee" than talking about our children suffering from lack of White House tours...skip the fact that more children are unable to get food due to the WIC program not being provided), or they are too busy pointing out the fact that that is exactly what is happening. While we're being placed in a hostage situation, we're playing into that hostage situation by feeding into the negative fuel.

Social media hasn't been any better. We're being flooded left and right with jokes, videos that will explain best on what is going on, articles about debt and other scare tactics so we drive ourselves into a panic. This isn't including the friendships being strained or the enemies being created. A zombie apocalypse sounds more pleasurable.

While I was suffering from a bout called Lack of Kindness, I remembered that kindness has to start somewhere. Hell, the government started with us--and we were in a hostage situation then, too!

So, while half of the government plays games with us, like we're some insignificant pawn to what they truly want in the end, don't let them think you are insignificant. We do have an opinion, we are allowed to show it, and we can use our voices to tell them what to do, as that is what the government is supposed to do--what we want, not their pride. And, while we're at it, create the kindness we so desperately need to see.

Donate Blood.

Give food to your community, or anywhere else that may need it.

Most importantly, don't let those people chop out your happiness. They are taking it when they don't deserve it. However, do give it away. The more kindness and happiness we give away, the more it will breed. And we need as much as we can get right now. Focus on what we can do in this moment, and don't forget what we are capable of.

Update: If anyone wants another good community, check out The Bloggess. She has a way of not only making you feel normal in a chaotic world, but that there are others, just like you, wanting to make the world a better and greater place. She first gave me some good tips on her Twitter feed for this where no one else would, and some pretty magical things happen on a daily basis.

River Sticks

I wasn't sure if I wanted to write today, so then I took a moment with my journal and meditated for a good ten minutes to see what I did want. What was my heart wanting? What did it need? What was it that I couldn't seem to get out?

After ten minutes of not actually meditating because my mind is always going about twenty bajillion miles a second and every noise was distracting me while I was already distracted by what I wasn't trying to think about, I decided that what I wanted was some damn good space that wasn't anybody else's to share because everything was a distraction when you weren't sure if your space is ever your own anymore.

This got me to thinking about myself and relationships.

I think romantic relationships have been on many people's minds recently. My best friend Mandikat is currently missing her husband something terrible. He had to leave for Scotland to finish off the whole Grad Student thing, but saving the money only had enough to bring one over at a time. Since then, she's been living with her mom here in Minnesota, waiting until things are settled enough that she can bring herself, her cat, and her dog overseas to join him.

This weekend, I hoped to stray her thoughts from how much she was missing him. But it's been difficult when she then talks of how much she loves the person she found to finally be hers. Difficult in two senses. One, because she is truly having a hard time, and nothing can be said to really get it off her mind. Two, because it just has made me realize how much I want that of my own.

I remember when I first realized I was ready to "settle down". When I say settled down, I don't necessarily mean marriage. Marriage is of it's own accord, and too serious to think of at the moment. Marriage brings about other questions that I already seem to have answered (only adoption if any kids at all, etc.). No, when I say settle down, I mean okay with having a serious relationship that would bring about topics such as, "We've been hanging out to much that it's probably more convenient and money saving if we move in together."

This is a huge step for me, and it was when it came about when I realized I could compromise this. I have been alone for a very long time. Not lonely, but alone. I've always had my own space, lucky enough to not need to share a room with a sibling while growing up. I shared a room with a roommate at the end of high school, but I managed to become an RA for that last year and have my own space. I then had my own space once more after Freshman year of college. I was used to my space, liked my space, and had a hard time sharing it. While I tend to be a very extroverted person, I have this small part of me that is still introverted and needs this space for my quiet moments. Moments where I can read without constant questions from those around me. Moments where I can write without worry that someone is talking to me and I'm not paying attention. Moments where I feel as if I am completely myself, utterly, because there is no other pretense to be when there is no one else watching.

Over the years, I have gathered some rather magnificent friends. Slowly, these moments have come to include them. It's not a second but first nature around them while in my personal space. I could work on my things while they did theirs without worry. We were comfortable.

I realized I was ready to share my space about two years after I graduated college. I was still used to keeping all of my items in my room, in one space, a sanctuary of me. But I was looking for a new place to live and make my own. I was done with that chapter of my life. I wanted an apartment, and I wanted to embark on a journey of me.

What I got was my brother as a roommate, and then a stranger.

My brother, I couldn't place anything out in his house because it was his space, not mine. He owns the house, and he didn't have a job at the time--it was his domain that I didn't really reside in. He'd stroll into my room without question, maybe knocking before bouncing in to bug me as an older brother does.

The stranger, I didn't connect with in a way that made me want to venture out of my sanctuary. I couldn't write without being pestered, couldn't read without "Tell me about blah blah blah", couldn't even play a video game without some story coming out that I didn't want to listen to. And it just made me rude, so I'd go to my place where I wouldn't have to be.

But even that got displaced in one moment that I forgot to lock my door and my roommate thought I wasn't home, but I was instead sleeping.

It may seem odd, but this hardened in me how much I realized that I would have been okay with this had it been someone I loved. I've been literally on edge even in my room, now. I hear a car door slam outside and I hope our door doesn't open because I don't want to deal with whomever walks in. And I'm not getting as good of sleep.

My space isn't my own anymore. Locking my door to get my space has me saddened, and I'm still leaving my things only in my room, not filling the house as I wish. And the frustrating part is that I actually want to share it, and can't figure out how. I'm in this stasis. I have sticks bringing my life river to a slower trickle. And I'm being driven insane with the patience needed to pick through it before I can move on.

I'm so anxious about sharing my space again, however, that I'm missing opportunities. I'm beginning to talk myself out of things, make firm assumptions of what I believe to be true, and am making the slow step back into a bitter heart I've worked so hard to make open and warm. I can tell because the nice gestures coming my way recently have me more surprised that they're occurring rather than the initial gratitude that had me so thoughtful rather than realizing this a few hours to a few days later.

I'm forgetting to take chances. Make mistakes. Get messy.

I once had this peaceful dream, where I was with someone, and we were together, just laying side by side, and, although we were separate people, our own entities, we were exactly where we needed to be, by each other, and that was what allowed us to be ourselves. This was some known fact before I woke up and realized that it was just me. It took the extra second because I had this natural urge to send an arm out, and it touched bare blankets before my confusion turned to reality.

I sometimes think I feel that in people, the secure comfort of sharing a room, but I've been recently cutting that feeling off in the old fear of the past rehashing itself. But I decided that I wouldn't allow that to happen this year. And I always keep to my promises.

Chapter 1

I'm terrible with goodbyes. Quite seriously, I could be considered the epitome of a Minnesotan goodbye: say goodbye, talk for another twenty minutes, then actually leave.

I'm not 100% sure as to why I do this. I've never had anyone abandon me or leave me behind--not in any serious sense. It's just always been.

I like the term, "I'll see you later."

I don't know why I believe in that line better than goodbye. I always somehow believe that all paths will somehow one day cross again, whether it be in a few hours or a few years--sometimes, I fully believe a whole new life.

I believe that there are some people you are just meant to meet. Meant to have experiences with. Meant to have moments, however fleeting, where you connect. I have friends who I am so comfortable around, it's as if we've never been without each other. I feel as if I'm coming home when I'm around them.

And maybe that's why I don't like saying goodbye. It seems so final, resolute, an end. It doesn't seem correct to say that to a friend because it isn't an ending--it's just a time period that we wait until our next connection.

I said goodbye yesterday.

It seems like a tough decision, but it was a long time coming. It was becoming work, this relationship, and it seemed consistently frustrating whenever there was a meeting. Looking at it now, it seemed to have gone in reverse. The beginning was so fast, close as atoms, talking non-stop...to barely even knowing what was going on in the other's life with the most awkward communication, like trying to translate the robot dance to Morse code.

After realizing that I'd achieved my goal, of saying goodbye, I've been melancholy. Not that I made the wrong decision, because I don't believe I did. Maybe I would see this person again. But more that I accepted that I wouldn't. I don't accept these things lightly, particularly when it's not done in a malicious nature. I've been down, but not regretful or anxious. I think it was one of the few times that saying goodbye felt right, even--and I never liked that notion.

As I drove home and thought back over the time that has spanned, it was like reading chapters of a book backwards, and the closed ending was the beginning. I saw the dust of the old story rising when I shut it, and I mentally placed it on a shelf with some other stories that weren't as thick volumes. It had been a good read, but rather bland toward the end. Not nearly as exciting as I'd predicted when it was first picked up, when it had started with so much promise. The adventure turned stale, perhaps boring.

Not everything quoted from this book will be considered noteworthy. Some may even need reminding what it was important. But it was worth the read, I decided. I was glad to have gone with it, even if the cover wasn't necessarily what I was used to.

But, now? It's time for a new book with a new chapter that could quite possibly go on forever. And I'm even okay if it doesn't.

A Year Over A Quarter Of A Century Old

Today, I turned twenty-six.

Last year, I was twenty-five. I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish, a few only having been truly checked off.

My first was to run a 5K. This was so incredibly important to me, and my best friend Mandikat made this happen. She started her own journey, and instead of being selfish, she prodded me to join in with her on her body experiment. I began to run, every day. I listened to zombies gnash at my heels, every day. I was able to focus on myself, for once, and I found out how much control I could really have over my life, body, and, most importantly, my happiness. And I did two 5Ks. I thank her for that every single day (at least, in my head I do. Sorry for not always being as verbal, Mandikat <3 p="">
My second was getting another job that got me over what was considered average for my age mark money-wise. I amazingly found this during the fall, when I could have been considered at my worst. It took me some time to make a decision about if I could actually make the jump, and then it was actually doing it, all the while inner emotions/turmoil dispersed around me like fireflies. The lights would blink, showing me all the things I could have--but then it would go dark, and I'd be lost for those few moments, floating around in limbo as I shook, debating on what was right and wrong, and if I was strong to do what I wanted to do. I not only took a deep breath and took the plunge, but I also found it was one of the best decisions of my life thus far. I gained my social life back. I found new friends. I learned that working at a company can mean being more than a minion. I learned the value of fifteen minutes--and how much gas that would be. I also learned more about family, and how to live with my brother again. I'm pleased with this.

My third was to find more about myself in love. Seeing how my previous years I was too scared to really dive in, I promised myself that a quarter-century was long enough. I realized that, after running and realizing how life was without a social life, I was ready for love. Not just some crush as I've had in the past, but a good steady position. It wasn't that I wasn't afraid of getting hurt--it was that I saw that I could handle that hurt, and knew I'd be able to get through it if I was rejected. This was the most difficult for me. I've always struggled with this, but I was determined to not let anything deter me.

I found out that not every guy is honest. I got that because there was a guy in which I made a connection, and for two months, we spoke non-stop every day through messages, sharing stories and experiences. It was simply amazing, how much we had in common, and I'd finally found someone at work who got my nerdy behavior. After those two months, I mentioned him to a coworker, who promptly told me he was engaged to someone else--and he'd never spoken a word of her to me. It was the first time that I saw why a girl would try to steal someone away from another. I "got" it. And it wasn't me.

I also realized that not every guy is who they say they are. A single guy for a week wooed me, and I found out that he was not only a swindler of hearts, but he lived with his ex-girlfriend, with whom he had a child, and also had another child, the same age, with another. All working at the same place.

I picked up a stalker for a couple of months.

I especially saw that guys were not the assertive behaviorists they claimed to be. The amount of guys who accumulated crushes were embarrassing--but even more so that I was told about them when I was leaving my old job. None of the guys I would have seriously considered, but the fact that they were all very outgoing guys, it was very disappointing to find out that no one had the balls to say anything (especially since I was none the wiser).

The closest I would say that I would have come to "love" was dashed away so fast, and so complicated, I don't think I've really ever gotten time to really discern it being over. It's the first time I lied to friends about being okay. The first I was dishonest to myself about being okay. And the hardest thing I've tried convincing myself out of.

Friends have told me that being friends with someone you had any romantic things with is basically impossible. I took this as a challenge. I thought I'd proved them wrong. But, as it turns out, disassociation is the only thing that takes away the confusion and allows you to move on enough to be friends. If you disagree with me, then the other person is going through what I'm dealing with, which is: trying to not take things personally; assume that every single action/spoken word means absolutely nothing unless clearly stated in a factual way while staring at your face and is willing to sign a testament that it is indeed truth; comparing every single other opposite sex to the commonalities that seemed to work so well; wishing they'd never see you again; wishing they'd somehow see you again; wishing they'd see you again but with them over you and having you see what you missed out on, even though they want your happiness at the same time; wishing they could somehow meet NPH (this doesn't really have to do with relationships, but I assume that every single person in the world wants to do this, which is why it was added to the list).

This last thing I've somehow learned the most about, and yet absolutely nothing. Every time I seem to have learned a new truth, it's completely negated in another form. Love-hurt has basically become a virus in my eyes--it slowly becomes immune to behaviors, and you just have to keep coming up with more to block what is inevitable, and you just keep coming back to the traditional friend support system that is considered your herbal supplements. They work, but they just don't prevent it from happening again.

This love taught me that you sometimes need to accept things and walk away. You can never fully understand why some relationships don't work, despite it having every sign pointing to "YES". Neon signs. With their own arrows pointing to those arrows, and people taking pictures of those to place on the internet for others to make memes about because they're ultimately jealous of what was found. This love taught me that connections can be denied and pushed away. That it really is up to each individual what they decide to do with what is laid upon a table. And that I will sometimes just never understand why someone would say 'No' to what is seen as a great opportunity.

It taught me the importance of placing blame on no one, and the patience of healing. I found it so dramatic, and still do, and it wasn't love (way too fast for that), but I was definitely infatuated with the happiness and feeling, and, being myself, I know I can take growth from this per usual and, eventually, I won't look back at the moments and miss them. Eventually, I won't have a hope that is there simply because I don't want to feel sad at the potential anymore. And I eventually will have all of the gears working on the same machine rather than some keeping a door open "just in case" because I don't like burning ideas to spread ashes in the wind for others to use in their gardens unless proven for the best.

So, love wasn't checked off the list. But learning about myself in love was. So was making new friends, facing my fears head on when they arise in a situation, trying new things I'd typically say no to because I judged it too quickly, embracing life every day because it's too short, singing every day, allowing myself to be vulnerable around others so they can see I am a person, too... and not allowing a mishap with a shot at love determine that I won't attempt again.

Twenty-five was an amazing year for firsts and rediscovering. And the bonus about being this young is that I can repeat that for so many years to come. I find that I'm blessed several times over, and I'm always surprised at this. And, the fact is, I think I always will be surprised. But I'll never be not thankful. How can I be when, after so much struggle, I have so much more outweighing on the scale that shows epicness?

This next year will be even better. Challenge accepted.

Because, You Know, I Haven't Updated in Forever. So, Here's a Novel For You.

Something I've slowly learned about myself over the years is how I've gone from being an open idealistic lover to a more closet romantic woman.

Most people find the small changes in themselves. “I used to like the color pink—now I can't stand the thought of it.” or “The taste of shrimp disgusted me, when I was a kid. I eat them at least once a week!” and, the ever popular, “I never believed in ghosts, until one haunted my bathroom after I moved into that creepy cabin.”

I'm kidding. No one ever stops liking the color pink.

I'm happy to report I'm not quite the cynic I once became after my college experiences. I was quite the innocent, growing up with parents who taught my brother and I well. Not that he and I weren't little shits (and that we still aren't), but we took our parents' word as truth.

Don't do drugs, they can screw up your life. Good friends will have you smiling at the end of the day. A clean room instigates a clean person (we both didn't follow this last rule until closer to the more 'now' time; it's mostly true).

But one of the most we held true to our hearts was the importance to be with the ones we love, and never settle for less.

I can freely say that this was what changed with me most, was how I went about their advice.

At first, I lived in a Disney-esque state. I lived in a small town, and dealt with small matters. But I dreamt big, and, in the face of what I thought was considered animosity, I stood for justice. We didn't have much to go against in our tiny town, at least, not in my eyes. And I had the hardest time understanding what seemed to be the simplest of matters, such as why someone would take the time to be a bully.

I remember a distinct moment in which we were all standing in line for lunch, and a small group of the said “popular” crowd started picking on one of the boys for wearing a Spice Girls shirt. During lunch time, there were only two lines, and our lunch periods collided for 5^th graders all to 9^th graders; we were in 8^th grade. This meant that there were well over 100 spectators, watching either in silence or snickers, while three kids who were meant to be looked up to mercilessly insulted their classmate for wearing a shirt with a girl-band on it. I was with two of my friends, who ignored the scene and talked with each other. I muttered darkly as the boy tried to ignore them, failing miserably, his cheeks getting redder and hotter as the bunch continued with their banter. He opened his mouth a couple of times to say something, but then stuck his hands in his pockets and faced forward instead. The anger in my heart couldn't take it any longer.

“What, is that bugging you?” I asked, my voice barely louder than their rambles. They glanced over at me, then shrugged it off and went back to it. “So, what, is it because of his shirt?”

“It has five girls on it,” one of the boys, Jeff, said.

“So? I like the Spice Girls.”

“You're a girl. If he likes them, it's gay,” he sneered. This was during the time when we didn't really know what gay meant, but the term was thrown about like we did. All we truly knew was that it was considered derogatory, and it was looked down upon.

“So, him wearing that. It's affecting you in some way? To a point that you need to tease him, make fun of him?” I jerked my thumb at their victim. My voice had gotten louder, and some people had stopped talking to see what was happening. “As far as I can tell, you're only making yourselves look dumb.”

“Like anyone will listen to you.” It was true, I was considered an outcast at this point.

“At least I'm not the one everyone wants to shut up. And that's what you should do.”

The boys tried to laugh it off, but the crowd had turned slightly against them with my words. My friends growled at how they were jerks, but I was still angry. I was angry at how the three popular kids had such power that they could tear down a boy, and cause a crowd to ignore their incessant idiocies. I was angry that no one else in the crowd had been willing to say something. And I was angry knowing that my words hadn't changed a thing in their demeanor.

When I got to the counter to hand over my lunch ticket, the adult manning the counter said, “I saw what you said and did there. Good job.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, but, in that moment, I was angry at her, too. She was an adult, and she didn't do anything to stop it either. I had been the only one who took the cards that were dealt, whereas everyone else passed.

These are the things I learned at school in my small town. As I explained the situations that didn't make sense to me while growing up to my parents, they'd press their lips together. These are the things that don't change, unfortunately, they'd tell me, and maybe a bit to themselves.

I was lucky, and relieved, to leave after my sophomore year of high school to my arts school. Most kids would be devastated to move during this time, to have to leave their friends and life. I, instead, was content with the knowledge of not dealing with the people in that school again. And that's where I learned more about the grey areas of life.

My most favorite people in the world (still to this day) did drugs. The teachers and adults treated us as equals, rather than children to scold and send on their merry way so they wouldn't have to continue to be dealt with. And I found that not all things depicted in movies weren't exaggerating about our world.

And it was where I had my first dashes at the idea of love.

You see, at my other school, the thought of being at all romantic with any of those, for the lack of the better word, jerks, made me want to hurt someone. But my new school? It was filled to the brim with people who were different than anyone I've ever met. Artists, in every single person, and they weren't afraid to show it. The school encouraged everyone to be themselves. And it was amazing.

I won't divulge into any details, as I'm sure my stories aren't as exciting as the next, but I had my few dashes with boys that got me realizing that love wasn't as easy as I'd anticipated. I'm unsure whether it was because of my small town, but I didn't have too many crazy families to deal with. I didn't know too many divorced parents, and the ones who happened to be were very civil. And I didn't know any parents who fought, either. Not any fights that weren't unhealthy, anyway.

I have a theory about these things. People who I know who have had horrible things happen to them, they have a choice in life—to either make it worse, or better. I have been innumerably lucky to know the people who have chosen to make their lives better. The ones who were too poor to have enough food to go around, the ones who came from houses with parents who didn't care if they were home or not, the ones who were abused emotionally...physically. Tragic back stories that these unbroken people decided to change to brilliant futures.

But I got lost in these stories. The chipper girl who was ready for adventure and life, she faltered at how possible it was for her to take on the world when it turned out to be just as big as she'd hoped.

The chances I had at love, I wasn't ready for. I knew because I learned from other people's mistakes. I watched while people got insipidly drunk, would make out with a random person, then later lament to me about the woes of how it was all going wrong. I was told the stories by my guy friends who would purposefully lead a girl on, use them, then toss them aside, laughing the whole time. Some girls weren't much better. For college, it was considered a time to experiment without any ramifications—no one thought the consequences could touch them, the immortality of a young adult.

Perhaps I took too much of a protective stance for myself. All I knew was that I didn't want to be placed in that same category, looking pathetic and weak all because I wanted to feel as if I'd had some connection with someone. Because that's what I saw in those girls after they finally sobered up, realized what they did last night, and tried desperately to justify their actions and make it all okay.

Their actions didn't mean anything to me, but I knew what I wanted. I didn't want the one night stand people would giggle over having. I didn't want to have the bragging rights people smugly spoke of having due to the amount of people they hooked up with the night previous. I didn't want to deal with the drama my friends consistently had on whether a kiss was just a kiss—or if it meant something more.

Because, somehow, deep inside, I knew that it shouldn't be that difficult.

As the years went on, I became more cynical of how love was, and less impressed with my generation's attempt at finding it. I became who I wasn't. I mean, I became not who I intended to be. I was hidden behind a mask because it seemed too difficult for me to grab the world and see how I could change it for the better anymore. I couldn't seem to fit in.

This past year, I had a more official coming back to roots. I was lost in three separate phases, growing up, but it took me until now to finally pin down what it means to be myself, and what it means for me to love. Always a work in progress, being me (I am so far from perfect, if it were a scarf, it'd be labeled infinity long...if that makes any sense at all), but I feel at home where I used to feel chaos earlier. I can love as I wish.

I'm not as open as I once was about it. Before leaving my lovely (/sarcasm) school, I used to gush about the type of love that transcended time. About connection, and how there is one person for everyone.

But now I'm wiser. I still believe love transcends time, for friendship and otherwise. And I believe that everything is connected, that people connect and should listen to their soul more on where they should be, who they should be with, in life. But I also believe, now, that there are certain people for certain times in your life. The opportunities we are given, especially in love, are to guide us in life, to teach us how to become even better than we are now. I've had connections with people who have been my friend for years now, and I've made quite a few more connections this past summer that are only going on a couple of months. There has even been a connection with someone that only lasted a week, and I would never give those moments back, as I was able to place a piece of my puzzle together on how I can better love someone. Love is easy, really. When in doubt, love. You don't need a definition, you don't need to perfect the rubik's cube that is love before attempting it, you just...do it.

So, maybe I'm not as open about it. I still find myself shying away from situations, or balking from sharing. Particular moments from this past year has gotten me more comfortable with myself, that balance between my roots and how I want my future. There were no mistakes in my eyes, just life. The romantic core I have has survived, and I intend to feed it.

But not before I feed my other love, adventure. Because that was another thing I once gave up.

Never again.

Extras

Ricky Gervais is a genius.

I have said this many times before, but I don't think this will ever go untrue. An old friend, Jason, originally showed me his work from The Office my freshman year of college. At the time, I remember thinking of how sad the show was, and how awkward. It made my stomach uncomfortable to see how these characters interacted with what I considered to be normal--except that none of the characters really were.

But it wasn't until Extras came out that I really began to see how much Ricky was going to effect my life.

Extras is probably my secret go-to series. Futurama is the one I watch religiously; I am most avid about watching The Avatar Series live while taping it for later; Doctor Who has made it's mark; Joss Whedon has my loyalty forever. However, it's Extras that, whenever someone asks me to watch a show, it's on the tip of my tongue to suggest.

I find it needs to have a special crowd to enjoy it. People think that sci-fi and fantasy needs a special crowd, but it has become more common and accepted over these past few years, and easier to get a watch out of. Many shows have gone generalized to get as many ratings as possible. I don't blame them, as this is what will get them the cash to continue, but this is where Extras shines.

For starters, the show is filled with parallels. The show is about extras, the people who mill behind the "real" actors/actresses, and their struggles to make it big--and the guest star is played almost as an extra for the show. Andy (played by Ricky) has an imbecile of an agent (Stephen Merchant, co-genius), and his best friend, Maggie, plays the endearing clueless friend, who is also an extra.

What Ricky does best is relationships. He has this way of writing characters as real life, even if the content seems extremely improbable. As most British humor, it's not just what is said, but it's also what isn't said, with body language and facial expressions. All of it seems so natural, you feel like you're experiencing it first hand.

This is also the first show that I've ever watched that has the best ending to a series ever. If the British do anything perfect in television, it's knowing when to stop a series before it becomes a blackened piece of steak on the grill. The Christmas Special that ensued as the ending has me in tears every time, from both laughter and empathy.

American television is usually different from other countries in this respect. It's not that I don't enjoy it, but writers and directors tend to shy away from an ending that shows the true picture. The ending could be sad, yes, but it's usually because of something that is completely out of the character's control, like the death of a loved one, or incredibly dramatic, like they killed the loved one.

What I love most about Extras is how they show the normality of what Hollywood most likely is. The glorified aspects, what we have placed on a pedestal--it's not what it seems. Given, the guest stars on the show are the finest of sports in playing the opposite of their personalities for humor purposes, but it brings about the point all the same: we're all human.

Relationships in this show are abundant. After watching a few episodes, where I am in life is forefront. I begin to interrogate myself.

Am I doing what makes me happy? Am I treating people as I wish to be treated? Am I taking myself too seriously, and should I become more or less of an adult? Is my dream something I can achieve my way?

When I begin to question myself, I know I'm on the right path. There is nothing wrong with me making sure that my values and morals are up to my standards, or if I need to change because I have become wiser. And I start to see my own parallels with the show. How I begin to feel like an extra in my own life, even, despite me being the star. And who goes from being a leading role to an extra so fast, I don't even realize it.

Jason, who first introduced me to Ricky Gervais, was a man who easily made a good portion of how I work today. He was always finding niche films and video games, burning me music I enjoyed immensely but never heard of. I took it all for granted, him teaching me to enjoy the most bizarre things, and I give him credit for me being able to do that today. It wasn't that I didn't already find the unique, but he opened a curtain of possibilities I thought only held what I'd already seen. I take more chances on books with covers easily judged, to say the least. And I haven't seen him since the end of that year.

When I was four years old, I was positive that Josh was going to be my bestest friend for the rest of my life. We did everything together, from swinging on tires to pretending we were pirates on a safety raft. I remember that I'd always make my father change the names of a particular book about a girl and boy who were best friends to our names whenever he'd read it to me. I was devastated when we moved, and swore to never forget. I'm ashamed to say that it took me quite some time to realize I hadn't thought of him after the first couple of months in our new house.

The friends I was so close knit with in high school I don't even keep in touch with, nowadays.

People mill in and out of our lives. Speaking to Rose, a new friend of mine, I brought about how rampant emotions can be about something so natural. Pangs of memories from past relationships, friendship or otherwise, seem doomed to mingle their way into our heads and make us doubt what truths we already claim for ourselves. It's not just how we may have handled a situation, but it's the curiosity of whether we've changed for the better from these events. We feel guilty, as if the lesson wasn't properly learned. Sometimes, we create our own self-fulfilling prophecies, good and bad.

I think this is why I enjoy the end of the Extras finale so much. In every episode, although enjoyable, we see Andy slowly but surely dig a hole for himself as he seeks to gain his goal of being rich and famous. In the process of talking about having integrity and not being a sellout, he becomes what he hates. We see in these quiet sections these moments of clarity he has, as if he's watching himself. And he can't stop.

It's like watching a horror film, except it's all metaphorical (you can come up with the phrases yourself).

And he makes this decision that no one seems to understand--the right decision.

It's simply phenomenal. Every bit of it. And it only takes 13 episodes to get there.

What, I Have To?

Despite having never truly been, I have always believed love should be easy. It's a natural, free state that requires nothing in return.

And yet, it seems to be the most difficult thing in the world to describe, to show.

Love, to me, should be like rain: soothing, yet loud. Gentle, yet makes it's mark. It washes the soul to make it fresh, ready to grow.

I do not believe there is such a thing as too much love. Although some can drown in it, and it may take some time to recover, true and honest love, unselfish love--one cannot get enough.

There are days when I bask in love.

My mischievous-love comes out to play many times. It's shown through pokes and teases, a smirk and my eyes dancing in laughter.

My affectionate-love typically goes hand-in-hand with my mischief. My teasing is accompanied with a snuggle, my poke with a kiss. If you know me, my smile shows just how much I adore your presence.

Tough love is my rare love. I use this love when I've had enough. When my other love isn't listened to. When, simply put, you need to get over it--and so do I.

Although there are many other types, true love I've never had. Perhaps this is because I believe that type of love to be the most complicated and hard to obtain. It's filled with compromise, forgiveness, and definitely stamina to stand the test of time. At it's core is friendship. It isn't like the blockbuster films, it cannot be contained in a little box with a delightful bow on top.

One cannot assume they've found their true love without trials and tribulations.

You don't fuck with this kind of love.

I'm not one to conform (as many of my family will tell you). I have my way of going about things, and the more you push me one way, the more likely I am to go the other in defiance. This is mostly due to the fact that I want my decisions to be my own, not because I saw everyone get into a line. Too often, people stand there, not even knowing what they're standing for, but they saw the line, and everyone seemed to have a good purpose for it, so why not do it yourself?

And true love isn't a conformity. Not really, in our world. How many people have gotten married and divorced this year? How many people are on their third marriage? It common, and not shameful, to have to go through this much trail and error to find who you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with.

But I'm not one to conform. I want it right the first time. None of the bullshit. Straight to the punch. One day, I'll get it right, because, my other belief?

When you know, you know.

A Venting of the Heart

I've never quite understood dating.

It's like I've some sort of spliced gene; I've got the quality, but not the substance.

Many times, I've pondered what it all means, and what it's meant for. Projects for school were dedicated. I tried to make a science of it, love. I watched documentaries, read books, made lists... I tried to control it.

Apparently, every body except me knows that you can't control love.

A friend signed me up for an online dating service. At first, I was completely open to the idea. After all, I live in place that barely gives me a man to look at. And the men who are there... long story short, they have more than enough problems.

It was fun, for a time. In the oddest way, I saw that I was attractive. People visited my site on a good average. I received many messages, all telling me that not only was I cute, but I had intelligence to boot. I was different.

I wasn't quite sure what to do. I responded to everything and everyone. I tried to do as the site said as well, which was search and message others; they said that females found better matches if they were just as assertive.

This has proved time and time again to be wrong in my experience. Assertiveness gives me nothing but trouble. Don't get me started on flirting.

This is mostly due to my inability to tell if people are flirting to be fun or serious. I flirt to be fun--a lot. It confuses a handful of guys, but once they see my sense of humor, they all join in. The problem with this? No one can tell when I'm seriously flirting. And it can get touchy oh-so-fast. Mostly because I can't tell if someone I start to seriously flirt with is being serious either.

Then, the bee dance commences. The godforsaken does-he-like-me-or-not bee dance from hell.

You know what I'm talking about. The part of when you can't tell whether he said he liked you in one way or another. The part of when he hugs you for longer than you expect and you think it means something. The part of when he smiles and you can tell he's genuinely happy around you.

And who can forget the part of when you act like a fool who can't stutter a word. The part when your message doesn't resound what you meant, or it could be taken both ways. When you stay up all night thinking of why he didn't message you back. The part, especially, when you realize you have no chance.

I stopped going to the website for a few weeks. It was all too much, the messages, the searching, the wondering if they're desperate--or if you are. The messages began to dissipate, but I still checked my email in hopes of finding something. Three successful marriages did occur in friends from dating online, so there had to be something to it, right?

In the science way, I came to a conclusion. It didn't matter whether I dated online or in person--I got the same response. People who I didn't like asking for dates; people who I would totally date not at all interested; people who both parties felt the connection, but something came up and nothing could come of it.

I'm fucked either way.

So, in a subdued way, I made my way back to the website. I updated my profile. I started answering questions to get better matches. I wrote back to people who had messaged me weeks ago and I hadn't responded.

Oddly, I started receiving a stream of messages, like I'd unblocked a pond that had once been a stream.

All these people, like me, were putting their hearts at risk, and thought I was worth it. They unabashedly said I was pretty and they were interested. They were doing what I couldn't: saying, "Let's go on a date." These people were doing much more than any guy in my "real life" would do--ask me out besides making me feel like I was wanted.

I'm still fucked--after all, I'm just as susceptible to the pros and cons on both internet dating and face-to-face. And, the guys all seem to be the same, no matter where I go (seriously, guys? Can you prove me wrong and be straight up for once?).

But there's a respect I have for online dating that I didn't have before. People who would never have the courage otherwise have a chance to get their word in and say something.

The bee dance has changed. And, until the guys out there are just as willing as the internet ones to come straight up and say "You're the one I want to date.", I'm apt to continue clicking away and finding what I want in life.

Fun Fact: The bee dance has always been a term I've used to explain how difficult it is for me to date. There always seems to be these steps I don't get, complicated steps that are supposed to mean the simplest of things--like "That pollen I got from that flower is right over there". I don't hate bees, but God knows I hate that dance.

To Start Off

I contemplated many ways to start this blog again.

It has taken me many months since my last entry, but I went with what a good boss told me at work: Just do it.

Now, I know the Nike line is tm'd and all, but reading it does actually give me something to think about. Over six months ago, I promised I would start writing again. And I did. For a while.

But then I got bogged down with how to go about it, whether I should use my other site, how I would change my other site to suit my needs...

And then I thought, "Why stop? Why not do both? My journey still hasn't ended--it's still in the beginning!"

So, it's been settled. I will use this particular blog for whatever I wish (beware!).

The other will be a continuation of what I once started as a project and never quite finished due to becoming slightly confused at my over-analysis of what love is and what it can be.

Be sure to drink your Ovaltine, and see you soon!

Ideally...

I would normally try to make an excuse here of how busy I am as a why I have not updated in many weeks.

But I'm not really that busy. I actually have Monday's, Thursday's, and Saturday's off, in which I should probably be writing and sending off papers to my individual study I'm taking, but, instead, I replay old video games I haven't had the chance to beat for some time, watch an old video, sleep... The things I used to do every day when I was a teen.

Ah, to be a teen again. I find it humorous that so long ago, I thought I knew the world, and now that I realize I didn't, I now feel that I know the world. A lesson learned is to be learned over and over again.

But enough about those silly things. I've hashed those principles over and over again, and the only thing they lead me to doing is to enjoy the now and prepare only slightly for the future (because, we all need to be flexible, non?).

But it's that flexibility matter. Throughout my entire life, it will always be. Never mind the need to stretch your muscles, but mind the flexibility of our minds and morals. Of what we choose is correct, and what is not.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm making a list inside of my head in what I feel is okay for me, and for others, to do. I could come up with these graphs, put them on display within my perimeter, allow people to read them before deciding to approach me. Or not to.

I feel at the moment that this would waste less time in my future. Perhaps speed dating isn't all that bad of an idea, if one thinks about having to place everything on the table. Two minutes to interest someone, or get out.

But then, that's just depressing, isn't it?

Instead, we flounder ourselves about, filling out applications via body language and spoken word, hoping and wishing for what we want most out of life. This could be a lover, a friend, to be left alone, to laugh, to smile, or even to kill (in those bad cases).

I've often looked down upon those who put on a facade. Why pretend something you could care less about? But then, there are rules to these unknown games people play daily.

Many of these things can be chalked up to just being polite. For instance: Don't like someone? Don't talk to them. Unless, of course, they talk to you, in which case, be polite, but not too short, because then they'll know something is up. Just as being bored in a conversation--try to listen, but fade out a little to think of something you'd rather be talking about or doing; then, when they seem to be asking you a question, don't bother telling them they weren't interesting enough to keep your attention, but have a non-committed noise come from your mouth, such as "Uh-huh," or "Oh," and possibly "Perhaps," which just indicates that you have your own opinion on the matter, but it's too complicated to really get into at the moment.

That's the blessing of friends, I suppose. Whereas everyone else in the world judges you by a simple look, a friend (a real friend, mind you), is one that only judges at rare times, and does everything else without a question. Yes, they may laugh when you don't want them to, but, in the end, all that matters is that they're still there. A true friend is one that will help hide the body.

I sometimes wonder about my commitment toward these things. Amber, who is more busy than I am, has managed to see me and come bearing gifts (which, by the way, couldn't have held much more of the spirit of who I am--a crocheted blanket, my very own teapot, and The Prince of Dreams, all about Neil Gaiman? I'm so pleased, I could hug you forever!).

I sometimes feel as if I find myself only to lose it as I continue to question my way of living. As I become older, I realize things I wish weren't true. Like giving up certain hobbies because I suddenly only have time for some. Or that you have to do many things you don't like in order to get where you want to be in life, such as a shitty job, or giving up one goal to achieve another.

You can't always get what you want.

Random Fact; But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.

It's Real

Today, while I was in the car with Russell, I confided in him that I sometimes think of my car, and how, even after I put on the brake, though it is fully stopped, when I let it go, I know that it would still creep forward at a speed to smack the back end of another car, and leave a nice good mark. "It's weird," I said.

Yet, I feel like I do this with life all the time. I forget to keep a hold on my brake, and so I creep forward, then smack into something, making a dent. Sometimes, I can't afford the repairs. And I move on, hoping that the dents will be fixed, or maybe replaced with a new body.

And I look around and see the damage on everyone else. A dent here. Some paint scratched there. And the price that has to be paid in order to fix it.

In most cases, seeing what everyone else has to repair is when we look at ourselves to manage what we've got.

I see mine.

I see one that is on my right pointer finger. The paint is scuffed where I judge others. Where I compare values. Where I gossip.

Another is a spot on the bottom of my foot, only exposed when I choose so. A little bent out of shape because of being self conscious, about weight, thoughts, situations... This fender bender is fixed most often, just as often as it's re-bent.

At the nape of my neck is a sputtering engine, where I think too much. Two lines from being keyed, from where I put my hands in too deep. Behind my right ear is where I won't listen, the radio that only receives static.

I see a small dent, near my left knee, where I can't love like I once did.

I also see the good things.

My right shoulder, a windshield wiper, holding my sense of humor. The fluid to wash it is my awkwardness.

My left elbow, the door that only shuts if you slam it hard enough, is my ability to give a great hug.

All of my toes hold my intuition (door locks, of course).

My wrists hold my inner beauty, just like a wheel, how it drives the course.

I love my car. Sometimes, I get frustrated; but I wouldn't trade it in for anything. It can still be fixed up, but it's definitely not broken. I'll keep tuning it until I get it right.

Random Fact: No, Mom and Dad, this is not my way of telling you I got in a car accident. It's all a metaphor. Except for the remark on keeping my car--I love my Jeep (I'd totally still pimp it out though).

What I'd Rather Do

Despite the happenstances I've been in the recent, I am fairly happy. I'll blame it on the great atmosphere I've been blessed with.

It's a tough thing, being positive. I remember a specific time in my life when I didn't think anything could be harder. I didn't get it. I'd forgotten my entire past of being able to manage, and the future seemed unbearable. The people who were positive either had better luck than me, or were fake.

It's amazing what a mindset can do to alter one's perceptions.

A few days ago, I found out I wasn't eligible for a free tuition/room/board program. Not because I had too much money, not because I wasn't getting good grades, not because I was anything. Except that the profession I decided to go into wasn't "needed." Other people who aren't financially in debt, or already hurting in money as it is, are getting this program, but because I am going into a writing industry, and working with film, I am not needed within our workforce.

My last four years at college rushed to me. My love of what I'm going for suddenly seemed like a hobby. My worst fears about what I wanted to do with my life were right in front of my face.

What if I don't get the job I need and I end up a waitress/video game seller for life? What if I do get a job with what I love, but I can't ever make ends meet, and I'm forever working and never having a life? What the fuck am I going to do after college if even a workforce won't take the time to deal with me?

I allowed myself about ten minutes to mope. I called my father and chatted with him for awhile, and, as usual, he helped me open my eyes at how blessed I was--at least this wasn't a dire situation, where I was dependent on it in order to finish college. At least I will be happy with what I've accomplished.

I remember in Jr. High, we were talking in class and had an extra ten minutes. We were told to take out a piece of paper and answer a few questions. One was "Where will you be in ten years?" I put, "Happy." I wasn't stupid. I get the question. It's supposed to be a time when you write out your dreams of where you hope to be. But I figure that I can cheat the system. If I put happy, then it doesn't matter what I'm doing, because I'll be glad at where I am.

Back in those days, I thought of how easy it was to be happy. I had a great family, home, friends... And after adding more of what life has to offer to the equation, it was easy to forget all of those things and get lost. I'm not going to lie, I was lost for a while.

New Zealand helped me find myself again.

My parents and brother helped me (probably without their knowledge), and I have never felt as close to them all as I do now, and it keeps getting better.

New friends, new experiences, new thoughts and ideas...

I could have allowed so many things ruin my chances. I've always bounced back. A workforce that says I'm not "needed" isn't going to change anything. All that means is that everyone else is going to have to watch out, because I'm great at what I do.

And after college, I'm going to prove that.

Random Fact: A snail can crawl across a razor blade without getting injured. This is possible because they excrete a slime that protects them.

Can't Give Me What I Want

As some of you may know, someone stepped on my MP3 player last week, causing the screen to crack. The player still works, but I can't see where I'm going. I usually end up just listening to my playlists, which is great, but I dislike because I have so much more music to listen to.

Curious, I went to the Philip's GoGear site to see if they continued to make my MP3. Though I've had it since Freshman year of college, I thought that perhaps they had an upgraded version, or perhaps some kind of cool policy of trading in my old one for a new. If it had 30G for memory, I didn't really care. I have a lot of music I wanna listen to. I love shuffling through my old music.

Did you know that you can't just get a normal MP3 anymore? At least, not through the internet. It has playing video, talking on the phone, playing video games...

I've decided.

I just want a freaking 50G MP3 Player. I don't need a video player. I don't need it to play video games. I don't need it to make phone calls. I need a freaking MP3 Player right freaking now.

I already have things that do all of the above. Just because it has more doesn't mean it's better.

So, I've gone through some looking. And I think that, through process of elimination, Creative Zen is my best bet for being happy. I know they're good, they have the gigabyte quality, I don't hafta use freaking ITunes, and a little birdie told me that I can actually use an SD card to have even more memory, if I need it. I don't want pictures on my MP3, but maybe if I could just swap the SD card from my camera to that... possibilities.

However, this year doesn't consist of that for gift possibilities. I'm looking at HDR-SR11 60GB High Definition Handycam® Camcorder. Or maybe Sony's 5.0MP Handycam High-Definition Camcorder. I'm really liking that it will record straight to the device, rather than me investing even more money into something. Perhaps I'll just go get a 5.0MP Handycam High-Definition Camcorder.

If only I could afford it all...

As for other aspects, I have to learn that patience is key. I can't control the universe. But, for fuck's sake, I certainly wish I could.

A life of bad timing is the worst. At least that of which couldn't happen won't have the bad twist in it's entirety--being home will be a blessing of it's own.

Random Fact: The only word in English with three consequtive S's is "godessship".

Finally Good

After the election. After the stogie. After the party. After the hugs and screams.

After that feeling inside of me, and the realization that I was proud, and things were going to change.

I went back to my room, sat and wondered what was next.

Then, I placed a CD in my player, hit play, and lay back to lavish in the idea that, yes, things were going to finally be okay.

Random Fact: President Barack Obama is the elected 44th president.

Write

Last night, on a whim of wondering, I took a few of my old notebooks to bed from last year, two of random, one for a writing class.

This is the first time that I have looked back at myself as a writer and was impressed. Some of you out there have told me over and over about how good of a writer I am, but I disagree--there are many out there who do this same thing, and I never really see how I have something better.

But I was impressed. I see how I've changed, but not necessarily for the better or worse. I look at the things from two years ago and realize that I used to write everything down. I'd get an idea for an opening line, a scene that crossed my mind for no reason, a character that I had to write a synopsis for, then later would go back and really describe my thoughts.

And now I can barely find time to write a blog, much less write those passing thoughts. Except that I don't have any less time than I once did. So, what happened?

The passion isn't lost. That's for sure. As soon as I read a book or have that extra time, I start thinking as if I'm writing. I start describing things in my head, finding new ways to tell the way a curtain is swaying, or the way I clutter my desk.

I just stopped writing it down, which is a terrible thing for me as a writer to do. I somehow decided that the importance to get those thoughts out for someone else to read wasn't.

And I started reading old material left on my computer, too.

It all really started getting me excited for the next semester--more writing classes. And, hopefully, that means more posting on my part.

Random Facts: The name hippopotamus comes from the Greek words "hippos," meaning horse, and "potamus," meaning river.

New Community

What a hefty few days that have been going on. I've barely even talked to my parents, let alone my fellow RAs, to show how busy I've been.

A lot of what's been going on has been developing community. Community within the floor, the hall, the classes, the school... Building a community takes freaking forever. Which is amazing, considering it's all so much common sense.

To be honest, I've never considered myself to be really good at making the whole friend thing. I love to laugh, learn about people and hang out, but, for some reason, I'm weary about getting too close. And I think that people can feel that weariness, because I see that when I pull away, they pull away, too. Though intuition can be lost, this small part of our human selves has stuck around.

I do find it sad that I pull away. Perhaps it's the easy way out. It's always easier to just do something else rather than take the time to forge and become someone's friend.

But I don't like forced friendships. I like being real and letting things develop as they should. I hate bouncing in on things uninvited (I take invitations seriously, not only showing that you care for their presence, but you took the time to think about them because the time would be better with them included in on the event). I don't like gossip matters, mostly because if I have anything to say about someone, I'll either say to their face or would tell only one other person in complete confidence because the matter isn't big enough for me to bring to the surface.

And I have the weirdest quirks.

When I watch a movie/show, I like to sit and watch. Sometimes, I'll comment, but, when I do something, I focus.

When I play video games or read a book, I completely blank out anything else around me to a point of, if you ask me a question, don't be surprised to get an answer five-twenty minutes later than when you asked. This also plans into wanting to finish projects when I start them so they actually get done (I don't do that whole slowly-but-surely-work-on-that-paper).

On that note, I also forget very easily. My parents can vouch for the whole Talk-And-Work I can't do. It can be a positive feature to focus on things, but probably not as intent as I can be. I typically will stay on task... with whatever priority I suddenly decide to have.

And I hate interruptions, like a plague. Especially when I can tell that your interrupting to talk more about yourself and aren't hearing anything of what the other person is saying. It's such a respect factor, like showing up on time--are you worth their time or not?

The analyzer I am (the kind that over-thinks and comes to crazy conclusions), it's hard to not take things personally as well. It's sometimes a little too late that I realize not everyone as the same expectations as me. That their common sense meter is different, or lacking. But, even if I were to see the other side, come up with logical reasoning for actions and try to emotionally rationalize myself accordingly, I still find myself relaxing by myself, unwinding without the need of others.

There are very few people in any of my relationships that I feel completely at ease with. I find it a compliment to know that with Mandikat, all I need is to be around her. In high school, I'd go to her room, then we'd do completely different things. She'd play Final Fantasy while I crochet. I'd play Legend of Zelda while she practiced her music or drew. Sometimes, we wouldn't talk for hours. We'd just do our own thing, loving the fact that we didn't have to always be talking or doing something to impress the other. She's just as much my family as my family is, in that sense.

It's times like these that I know I'm blessed with what I have. With my quirks, I've still managed to find some people that I can officially say are with me for the rest of my life.

And it sucks, because those people aren't in close proximity to me in the least. Besides my immediate family, Mandikat's at home, Russell is busy with his hall, Ashley is all the way in Minneapolis, Matt's in another state, Spooner left for the West Coast... What's great is knowing that, when I see them again, nothing will have changed. But it sucks because I wish I had that connection with everybody.

How wonderful would it be to know that being yourself is okay in any situation? No stress over what you say, because everything will be understood. No need to worry about doing something for one another because you know in your soul that whatever you do for them, they would do back, tenfold. And what a feeling to know that a mistake on your end isn't the end of the world with them. The respect is mutual. Comfort is constant. No hard feelings. Nobody left behind.

When I look at most of those relationships, I can say that they are the most effortless. It's no breath on my part to keep those alive, though there can be some bumpy areas. Those special relationships really were sent from above, because we clicked. The understanding, the appreciation, the respect, the comfort... All such different people, and yet we found peace with each other.

What is it within me that can't do this with everyone? Whether it be a lack of quality or feature, on either part, I find it interesting, if not hurtful, not being able to discover this. What a process to know that, not only do you not feel the connection, but neither does the other. And that perhaps you're trying, but the other isn't.

I just love connections. I love sharing ideas, thoughts, stories... those flickers of life really make my day. It's not the need to impress, the forceful shove of information down my throat or how attractive you are... It's the unexpected, with sincerity, laughter... The beauty in the eyes that burst forth the fondness of life they have. That's the spark people talk about.

I hope I can rise out of my own insecurities enough to really become comfortable with people. As much as I claim/feel wonderful with myself, I think there are still a few more things to work on. And I hope that, during that time, I can connect with some more people who can stay in my life forever as well.

Random Fact: A female ferret will die if it goes into heat and cannot find a mate.

Wonder No More

I can't believe I was actually wondering why I wasn't getting good enough sleep. Set aside the fact of hot, groggy weather with no AC, but also add in getting woken up around 6:30-7am thanks to student workers who think that, because they have to get up and do work, they should wake everyone up with slamming beds one floor above me. For crying out loud, I get enough to keep me from sleeping, I don't need the sound of bricks slamming against my door, too.

I'm a twinge crabby, as I'm not feeling 100% up-to-par, and I think it may have to do with the fact of getting small sleep, but also feeling as if I'm being slowly roasted in an oven, my innards boiling in this godforsaken heat with no AC while I'm on the 7th floor. Last night, Tanya, her sister and I jumped in the lake to cool off. And I keep wanting to do fancy stuff with my long hair, but most of that means the hair is on my neck, as I don't want to have my hair up all the time.

I also got a little miffed at Gamestop while talking with my boss. Not so much at him, but just in general. We were talking about how the actors guilds may or may not go on strike, which led to the why, which led to the how, which led to the sales of DVDs, to how "actors need to eat, too", to, inevitably, how they were handling the interweb, with people watching the television shows for free, some people even downloading them.

My boss said that there were a "team of scientists trying to come up with an Internet 2.0" where they could have laws and make people unable to do some of the things they were doing now. I argued that it's the 'world wide web' for a reason, and if they took that away, that'd just be ridiculous, and shouldn't we be more concerned about other things, rather than the idea of getting those few million dollars in their pockets, where they're already rich enough as it is? I didn't say this, but I was thinking "we've got wars, hunger and people going into debt every day, yet we're worrying about how to control everyone on the internet?"

I finally said, "Why do we always do this? Put up laws and stop people from doing things? I mean, it never really works, does it? We made marijuana illegal, and did that stop anyone? I'm pretty sure I smell or see it at least once a week (especially working in retail). It reminds me of Megan, the girl who committed suicide when a fake friend on Myspace belittled her." I've written before on that matter, but I still have to wonder why it's so hard for people to see...

I went on to explain how it's not just supervising your children, but think about it. Every single time something bad happens, we immediately put up a law or barrier to stop it, and we all nod our heads in agreement that that is the right decision--how else would be stop someone from doing something?

Is it really that hard to pay attention? To raise our children with knowledge of what's right and wrong, rather than placing rules and assuming that the rules will have people abide by them? Just because it's a rules doesn't mean that it doesn't need explanation. I mean, if it were enough, we wouldn't have the bible, which explains (I haven't read it, but from what people keep throwing at me) why we should believe in God, and why the ten commandments are so important to live by. And even then, some people don't truly understand, or try to understand.

A silly argument, as this is why I believe it worked so well for me, but my parents didn't just say, "No drugs or alcohol before you're of age! You can't do this and this and this because I said so!" I mean, they used the "I said so" phrase a lot, but that was only when we didn't really listen to their explanations. Besides the point. What I'm trying to say is that they instead said, "Listen, we've had our experiences with drugs and alcohol, and, believe us, you don't want to be involved." Condensed version of what they said, anyway.

And you know what? I believed them. I still do. We have a (forever thankful for this) trusting relationship. Remember that word? Trust? How often can you say you put trust in your kid? Isn't the old saying, "Treat others the way you want to be treated"? That applies to everything. Respect. Trust. Love. If you only give out so much, people aren't stupid--they're going to see through. And it works for the positive aspect, as well. When a teacher decides to drop formalities and be casual, a student is more likely to do the same.

I still stand by the fact that everyone will always be a bit fucked up--it's inevitable, and, to be honest, it gives a sense of interesting life. But you can still be fucked up and have good morals--what do you think Lifetime is?

After I explained my thoughts to my boss (in less words), he didn't really reply, or say much else on the matter. I'm not sure if he agreed or didn't know what to say. I mean, what else can you say? It's a little hard to refute the fact that we could put as much effort that goes into making these "rules" into actually raising our children and making ourselves and society better, making a real difference. And I do believe on some subjects that by making things simpler, we've just made things harder for us in the long run.

Random Facts: non dairy creamer is flammable

La La, How The Life Goes On

A lot has happened, and yet, it's nothing really out of the ordinary. I've often wondered what makes me type anything out at all, as, though it's fun to go back and see what I did write, it's nothing particularly needful for anyone else.

I saw my brother's new place, helping him move in some items (though I didn't do much). Seeing his house made me excited to get my own, someday. Decorating and making it your own... very appealing. Of course, my mother thought differently:

Mom: I hope you're out of your crazy phase when you get your own home.
Me: Crazy phase?
Mom: Yeah, funky-crazy phase.
Me: I'm... funky-crazy?
Mom: You don't think so?
Me: You do?
Mom: You don't?
Me: ...I guess I thought I'd calmed down since I'm 21.
Mom: Nope.
Me: Apparently not.

Our own perspective of ourselves is always disproportionate to what we really are. I think I've always found things to be different and weird, and I always figured that there were weirder/funkier/crazier people than me.

But then I thought about it. If I did get a home, what would I end up doing? Given, this will be many years down the road (along with marriage and all that other grown-up crap I don't intend to involve myself with until way in the future), but it was an interesting thought to me.

I know I want vivid colors, considering I have to look at it every day. Violet for my room, probably. Blues in the master bath. It'd be nice to have a nice brown with light pink for the regular bathroom everyone else could use (depends on if I decide that's too girly, though). I would like a deep red for the living room, and probably black accents, or maybe to make it more of a country home, a turquoise with all natural wood. The kitchen would really be the hardest. It seems all too easy to say "Let's go with yellow." I really don't want yellow. Any type of it. Maybe orange, or a sunset red (oooo, with dark stained wood!).

Anyway, it just made me excited for the part of the future that scares me--the eventuality that I will, indeed, be on my own and "grown up." Out in the world, putting to use, hopefully, what I'm going to school for now.

On a side note, I saw an Ice Cream truck and became extremely excited, deciding immediately to get a Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtle-with-bubblegum-eyes-cicle, only to find out that whomever bought it was too lazy to take off the pictures and was using it as a moving furniture truck. How disappointing.

Childhood changed so quickly, I feel. Those moments in Richfield seem a whole different universe from now, when Ice Cream trucks would often enough pass by. I think the closest thing I've seen to one is a Swan's truck, which really doesn't count, though you could say it's an Ice Cream truck for adults. Actually, I lied--New Zealand had quite a few, but they held actual ice cream, rather than cartoon characters.

Those days, filled with my then-best-friend Josh, whom I last saw at my brother's graduation party (what, five years ago?), walking across the street to make things out of old toilet paper roles and run away from the wiener dog (scar on my right hand next to my wrist). I barely remember much. I don't even remember the day that I suddenly didn't talk to him, or my gal-pal. I don't think I even spared a thought until my mom said we'd be seeing him and his family for his sister's grad party. I've dismissed so much of my small childhood, when that's really when the real stuff happens. Creativity was never so unabashed, never having to color in the lines, worry about glue in my hair or whether or not my clothes could handle whatever trouble I got into. Everything seemed so much more durable then, particularly my heart.

And, of course, things have changed. Things that were harmless then aren't quite so now. Half the fear of having children is knowing what I have to worry about.

And I can't even take care of myself! In the past three weeks, I've knelt on broken glass, gotten five cardboard paper cuts, smacked myself into a fence via bike and ripped part of my nail on my pinky toe. For heaven's sake, as soon as one heals, it's sure to be quick that I'll have another injury within the day.

I stick around for the amusement. Yesterday, I was told a dream (nightmare?) by a friend: Freddy Kruger put her and her cousin on an all liquid diet and forced them to do paint by numbers in their spare time (I plan on getting her to enter this in here).

Random Fact: Fresh water from the River Amazon can be found up to 180 km out to sea.

My Virtue Of Patience Wavers

Apparently, vampires wasn't only on my mind. Yesterday, Russell rented Interview with the Vampire, and Martha had never seen it. It'd been a small while since I'd seen it, though I knew that Tom Cruise did a little to well creeping the bah-geezes out of me as the little-too-enthusiastic-to-be-a-vampire vampire. So, while I wasn't trying to not fall asleep (it's a long movie and it was past midnight), I payed attention to Martha's reactions, which are always a movie in themselves. I ended up being giggly most of the night, a cuddly.

I blame the whole experiences on Tanya and Jessica, who decided it was time for me to read a favorite series of theirs about vampires, though, to tell the truth, it's young adult and very much so romance. Sickeningly so. Apparently, four books worth of sickeningly so.

And, now, going to be a movie. The trailer looks cheesy, the characters don't look anything like I read and it makes everything so much more creepy than the books actually seem... And, yet, here's me, the girl who read the book and feels slightly excited to see it in person. When will I ever learn?

Besides the point, since I've gotten back into my vampire fantasies, I've been struggling not to buy Charlaine Harris' newest part of her series as well, whist also freaking out because September is drawing near, with True Blood, something I wrote about before. It seems I'm not the only one who wants some vampires on screen more often. Though I'm still awaiting who they've chosen for Eric, I'm still excited to see my favorite series come to HBO. HBO. A series. I love when it's a series because they don't have to leave so much out. I hope that's hint enough.

As it is, reading Twilight was pretty fun, to say the least. Since reading All Together Dead, I've been on a fantasy hiatus, no books interesting me or just plain too lazy to trust a title. Since I'd forced my books on Jessica, I found it only fair to read something she recommended.

God, were they in love with each other! They were so in love that I began to actually start being optimistic about that true love gushy crap! And it ended on such a sour note, too! She wanted to become a vampire, but let's not get into that (as much as I love to read about them, I don't think I'd ever want to be one...). I actually enjoyed it, and finished the book in two days. Besides myself, and never wanting to admit to anyone that I was on a love-high, I started the second, amazed I was so entranced and that I wanted more.

Let me explain. A seventeen-year-old girl goes to school, meets a boy who frustrates her to no end and they end up getting together. Normal. Many love stories start out that way. But then said boy is a vampire, has girl find out, he stays in her room at night, throughout the entire night, and they have no troubles with her knowing anything until one random vampire decides that he wants to hunt her down and kill her? I have to keep reminding myself and Tanya and Jess told me: This was a love story, not just with it on the side. It just seemed wildly irrational for a 110-year-old vampire, though still the age of looking 17, wasn't to fall in love with an actual 17-year-old and... I donno, not control himself.

I think that's why I got the love-high. By the end of the book, I'd bought the fact that love has no boundaries. And it was blissful.

And then that damn second book. By the third chapter, they were broken up and I ended up being on an emotional roller coaster Stephenie Meyer left no detail out of how excruciating it was to not be around the one you love. And then, when she finally seemed over it, she wasn't and he came back and then there was another boy involved...

Ugh, the complications were endless, and I'm very sulky to start the third. True love or not, vampires and werewolves aside, I have to say, I hate that love complication crap. I didn't want to be caught up with it in the first place, and I realized that, while the story was interesting in all that, I'm adjusting to the form of writing. Everything is so normal, and I can guess most of everything before it happens, which gets boring. Jess told me that it was science fiction for people who didn't like science fiction. But the love thing still catches me off guard.

It's probably why I'll start my next novel when I finally get off my desk duty at five.

I just keep trying to think of what else life means, as these portray that it's love and nothing else. I mean, there's more. But what really keeps us all from going crazy? I mean, I am bored. Bored. And reading these books have made it perfectly clear how incredibly boring not only my love-life is, but just in general how quickly I made a nice little schedule for myself. How life purposefully makes that schedule with having to work two jobs, try not to use my car for gas purposes, keep up to date with friends and conserve money as best I can.

A few weeks ago, I found my glow-in-the-dark stars and quickly placed them above my head where I could star at them a few feet away from me before falling asleep. My father, when we decided to go from my frilly pink room to sky-blue with green grass and clouds, used glow-in-the-dark paint to put stars in my sky. Every night, I'd stare up at them, touch them. Last night, when looking at my own stars, I couldn't help but think how much closer they seemed when I was a child. Everything seemed so much closer, and now it's so far spread, like thinning butter. I keep wondering when it'll run out.

I look at my boring life and every day wonder how I can spice it up. And I begin to see that perhaps I'm the only one who has a problem with it, and if I want to add some spice, I'll be the only one wanting to do it. It's difficult to get my friends to go spend the day at the beach, or just bike past it in the least. I think that's why I've been so unwilling to really talk with Mandikat, as she's doing exactly what I want to do, and can, because she has no financial worries in the least, besides her loans. She has a new boy on the prowl with her, no worries of gas, car insurance (car maintenance or anything car related for that matter), food, living, jobs... It's embarrassing for me to explain to her how I can't do many things with her because I can't afford to do much after spending the gas to get to her. Even if I had a car with great gas mileage, I don't think it'd be much different.

I just don't like the idea of being stuck. It makes my insides squirm, especially when it's boring me. I sometimes love the tedious, the without-thought-work. But when that's how life begins to feel, I feel this itch to run. Start a water balloon fight or something. Something besides working and doing the mundane details of life.

Some people would say "Welcome to life. Better get used to it."

But I don't think I have to choose that. I don't think I have to "get used" to anything if I don't want to. I just need someone to agree and not hesitate so much. If we really want to do something, I've always believed that it will happen when the mind is set (mostly because I've done it every time).

I'm bored. Come play with me!

Random Fact: The first TV soap opera debuted in 1946. It's fascinated the rest of our population for ages thereafter. Whether you want to be or not.

The Answer Must Be Behind Door Number 2!

I find myself in a hard position.

There is a certain air of hypocrite-crap when it comes down to not liking someone, yet still having to work with them and all that jazz.

Personally, I find it hard to do more than be polite and meet the standards of being a nice person without them noticing that I'm avoiding/ignoring them, even making it natural to do business with a quick hello and goodbye. My response to someone who, for some reason, isn't in my path of "friend," I guess isn't a great one. I'm sure that, if I looked past the odds and ends of reasons that first brought them to just "Yeah, I'm acquaintances," there would probably be something of a friendship.

But I think about what I would think if I found out that someone was really being my friend when, in all reality, talked behind my back, never truly liked me or something to that effect. Where is that line of "Polite" and "Liar"?

I seem to have defined it as I just don't hang out with them on my free time. I try not to offer my free time up to them, unless it happens to be somethings simple as "Have a cup of sugar." Anything past (such as a DVD or video game), I wouldn't give it to many other people either, so I feel as if I am in my rights. One of the worst things is giving someone the wrong impression, so when I see someone acting the friend, yet not to their face, I begin to wonder where anything lies, especially with the people I myself call friends (am I in that same position?). I am reminded of high school.

To be honest, why waste time around someone who doesn't make you happy? In any situation, unless dire to a job or something to equal value, there is simply no reason to give someone the wrong impression or lead them on in any way. But it's hard to do that without coming off as someone who's cold/a complete bitch. The balance is hard to find (unless being a complete bitch is appropriate, such as a cheating boyfriend, spouse or someone who uses their free time to make yours a living hell).

So, there's me, who doesn't like to give the wrong idea and just does pretty much the bare minimum, but then there are friends who, though they talk about only wanting to do the bare minimum, and do more. And I'm curious. The first presumption is that they are only doing this because, even though they dislike this person, they still care about their opinion and do the opposite of what they want to appease. Or, they are being nice because, beyond their judgment, they know that being nice is better than being curt-polite.

Either way, if I think they're doing it for caring about their opinion, I think, why? Why give the time of day to what they think?

Ah, the all tell-time question that is hard to figure out and keep the answer at ready hand. If we do give the time to an opinion, it's because we care about what at least someone thinks. Otherwise, there isn't a second thought. I don't know if I'm being awesome at not having a curb around what I do or if I'm just being a jerk. Because if I weren't being a jerk, wouldn't everyone else be doing what they've been saying they want to do, rather than skirting the issue and allowing their feelings be misunderstood? So, am I being difficult because I can't appease or because I'm not that better person to look beyond judgment?

The position I really find myself in is difficult because if I choose to not be around any person that makes me unhappy, it usually means me being the left-one-out. Typically, there would be others around so I wouldn't have the difficult decision, but since summer approached, there is literally no one but staff here to keep everyone interested. I'm not necessarily unhappy, but extremely awkward, for no particular reason except that this person is extremely awkward. I find myself strained for conversation besides the mundane, and I feel as if anything I say is sucked into his life form which is dying for some sort of human contact. Normally, I'm okay with this sort of thing, but, normally, the person hadn't at one point asked me out. Now, it's not just his socially awkwardness that adds to the situation, but the awkwardness of me saying, "Sorry, but no... I've just got too much on my plate."

And then that, not even knowing him for a month, or ever seeing him outside of a one hour class, he said, over the phone, "You can't hear it, but I'm pretty sure my room mate heard my heart break."

It's really a mix of everything. I don't know how to react to a sentence like that when I've never gotten any guy saying something even close to a romantic setting of watching a movie. I barely know the guy. And there's a kind of creepy, awkward feeling to him.

Plus, that's really a cheesy line. Would only work on, like, the tenth date. Seriously. I don't date and I know this.

So, really, the situation consists of this person now hanging out with my staff friends because he's now on staff. And since they don't know him, knowing only of what I've said (and because I'm not the type of person to come out and say "Don't hang out with him!" since I believe in other's getting their own opinion without me trying to manipulate their ideas), he's slowly making his way more and more into the daily activities I do.

I've decided to really take this as a time to work on taking the past person I knew and allowing myself to see that people do change. As my mother once said, "People change. This doesn't mean you have to go all out and be their friend, but you could see that something has changed to where you can be comfortable around them." And I know that my polite to someone I know is usually short, curt and to the point. Usually making me seem like I'm not as polite with want, but need. Which usually equals Bitch.

An opportunity to take, and we'll see how I do. It's almost a must, to be honest. We're a small staff, and there is that decision of looking beyond judgment and sucking it up. But I do have to look to my own securities. I simply do not want this person hanging in my room at this point. I really won't be able to handle certain situations, and rather than me be an immature adult (more of one, I should say), it's better to not even get into the point until I feel I can handle it.

And as for the friends who can't decide which side they are on, whether they even see a side, I have to realize that that is their choice. I can tell them my own insecurities, and hope they understand and can tell me theirs, but their decisions are something I can't control. And I don't want to control them. Trying to control myself is hard enough as it is.

A thought: Even if a person has changed, it's hard for me to get rid of the old image I once had of a person, as that's the one we're left with. We almost don't want to leave that image, in case we see a small inkling of that old person, so we can scream out that we're right or to at least save ourselves some hurt for the future. But if we had been there during that change, proof of what they'd been through, we're more likely to stick around. But, in this world of "It's everyone for themselves!" it's... well, it's everyone for themselves.

I hope that someday I can get past that and realize that, in order to cause change, we have to understand it and go through some ourselves. Because there is living life... and living it. The latter has always been my favorite and most memorable.

Random Fact: The lifespan of a taste bud is 10 days