Thursday, December 30, 2010

there's no such thing as ghosts, there's no such thing as ghosts.

I feel like I owe an apology. How about this, I will give one gi-normous apology to last forever. I tend to get in one-minded tracts where I focus on one thing entirely and forget about all else. This usually leaves me to neglect other areas of my life. So I apology for this past month (two months) and in advance for neglectful postings. I promise I will really, really try to be more consistent. I really do. With all my heart.

That said how was your Christmas? All things considered mine went pretty well. It was remarkably different from Christmases past, but that's to be expected. We didn't want my aunt Patti to be alone Christmas Eve so we invited her to spend the night. We went to Midnight Mass, which was just beautiful. I can confidently say I will be attending for years to come. Exceeeept... You see it had snowed like six or seven inches the past two days. So when I walked out after mass a huge gust of wind blew a mountain of snow off of one of the church steeples. And who did it land on? Me, of course. I was absolutely covered. After that I was like, all right I'm going home and going right to bed. I consider myself lucky, however. At least there wasn't any ice that flew down and hit me in the head. It would be just my luck to spend Christmas in the hospital (which reminds me of a real tragedy that I'll talk about in a bit).
Like father, like daughter.

Since we went to bed so late we didn't get up until around nine-thirty. Which is pretty good for us. When we were little my older brother Conor and I would get each other up at like six and try to get our parents to let us open presents. Every. Year. Tradition is we get one big present and a few smaller ones. My big present was a #80 Donald Driver jersey. Go Packers!!! (You're forgiven for being anything but a Packers fan, I understand it's easy to get confused as to who the best team is.) And then I got a bunch of DVDs. (Including Veronica Mars Season 1 boxed set. EEEEE!)

On a more (much, much more) serious note, a tragedy has happened to my community over Christmas break. Real early Christmas Eve a boy(we'll call him DC) I go to school with was rushed to the hospital. Apparently he had been at a party in the downtown-ish area (totally sketch) and got into a confrontation with a twenty-two year old there (DC's seventeen). They got into a fight and DC ended up getting knocked out. They waited awhile before actually calling the police. My friend's dad is a firefighter in that area and he said that when he got there he didn't even recognize DC. When he got to the hospital they had to put him in a drug-induced coma in order to do immediate surgery on his skull because his brain was swelling. The newspapers say they're slowly taking him out of the coma. But who knows what he'll be like when he wakes up? I feel so terrible about it all, everyone does. It's just so horrible. You just can't imagine that happening to someone you know until it actually does. I wasn't close to him really at all, but our school is so small it's hard not to know someone. It's really amazing how our community has come together. He was on the basketball team and they've opened up a fund for donations for his family. He's in my prayers and I'm sure everyone else's.

Does anyone know this movie?
I think I've got everything caught up to date (for the most party anyways...). I really need to go upstairs and clean up my room now... But I'm watching this series called The Haunted on Animal Plant and it's seriously freaking me out. Especially since it's dark out and I'm home alone. I'm extremely superstitious and get freaked out easily. I could have sworn I heard some China fall upstairs... I really have to stop freaking myself out.


I guess I'll go upstairs now...


Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone! Enjoy your holidays!

(BTW, has anyone seen this?  Whose idea was it to use an inflatable dome in MINNESOTA?! Dumby slaps for youuu!)

Saturday, December 4, 2010

name change

You may have noticed but I have decided to change the blog's name from My Blog Will Steal Your Soul to Just Give It a Few.

That's all.


It snowed today!!! Okay, it wasn't the first snow of the season. It snowed a wee bit on Thanksgiving, not enough to stick. Today there was like an inch. An inch really isn't a lot, but it's promising. I absolutely love snow and winter in general. Some people hate it, but I can't get enough. I don't know, something about winter just feels magical. The way the ice glistens on the trees; the crunch of snow beneath my brand new Sperry Top-Siders; curling up beneath a blanket, reading a good novel while the winter wind whistles outside. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. It also contains my most favorite holiday ever, CHRISTMAS! I love the whole Christmas season. I really can't contain myself. I know it will be kind of hard on everybody this year, because of my gramma passing, but I think she would want us to really have a good one this year. I think we'll all appreciate each other a little more because of it. Oh, I also can't forget to mention that my birthday's in February.

We finally got our Christmas tree today. We went out to the local hardware store where the Boy Scouts sell them every year. After we had picked out our own my dad goes, "We should get Aunt Patti a tree, too, shouldn't we?" Aunt Patti is my dad's oldest sister. We're really close, I only have two other girl cousins, but they're not really around all that much. So my aunt Patti and aunt Mary kind of dote on me. So we picked out a small-ish one and strapped it to the top of the Cherokee with our own. She lives on the ground floor of the family's old house and my cousin Michael lives on the top floor with his girlfriend Shannon. We got there and she looked like she was going to cry. Michael and Dad set it all up for her. She said that she wasn't really in the mood this year, but by the time we left she was already looking for all her decorations and talking about going shopping for lights.We haven't put our own tree up yet, I think we're doing that tomorrow. I can't wait, I just love the way Christmas trees smell.

After dinner we went and visited my grampa Jerry. It was weird because it was so quiet. The whole family had practically been living there all week. There was no one else with him, so there wasn't any excitement. I felt really sad as soon as I walked in. It just wasn't the same without her there. You could just tell something was missing. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I just miss her so much, everyone does. Their dog Cubby was acting unlike himself. Usually he's all playful and jumpy, but tonight he laid down the whole time and kept looking at the doors expectantly. He kind of freaked me out, at one point he looked directly over my shoulder. Not at me, at the the area above my shoulder. I guess I'm just superstitious.

It seems weird that I have to go back to school tomorrow (I have four days of homework to finish tomorrow, joy). School just seems like a completely different, unrelated life. It was easier at Gramma's house, because everyone else there was going through the same thing. We all had this huge thing in common, we were all dealing with it. I feel like no one will really get it at school. I know they've all lost people in their lives, but not the same person as me. But it helps to know that I have family member I'm close to and can talk to about things.

Wow, long blog today! Guess I'm just making up for the past few months. Buenos noches, amigos!

Thursday, December 2, 2010

short and sweet

Every time I click "Next Blog" it's always a blog about shoes. Blogger knows me so well.

Helllllo beautiful.

"My wild Irish rose, the sweetest flower that grows..."

My gramma F (W) passed away early morning this past Tuesday. God, I don't even know where to start. You could say I'm still in kind of a daze about it all. It just doesn't seem real. The funeral visitation is tonight, the funeral tomorrow. It'll probably hit me then. I wouldn't say it was much of a shocker. She was seventy-eight years old and her health had steadily been going down hill for the past year or so. She'd been through so much; she was a fighter, for sure. I think we all sort of saw it coming, her especially. Just the things she would say and do; we were over there for Thanksgiving and she was pretty insistent about giving my dad a wooden crucifix that had been my grampa W's..

I'm not going to get into the details much. I mean, I really don't think that's what's most important, anyways. That's not what we're going to remember about her in the future. I'm mostly just writing this to honor her a bit. I wanted to do a reading at the funeral, but I think I'm going to be wayyyy too emotional for that.

Gramma was really an amazing, wonderful person. My dad is the middle of nine kids, so the household was a bit tight. Gramma didn't work and my grampa worked three jobs at one point, just trying to feed everyone. She somehow always managed to get everyone fed, though. They say she was constantly doing laundry, cooking, and doing everything the kids needed her to. I don't know if I could even do it. She loved them so much. They were her life. They didn't exactly live in the best part of town, so some of the families that lived around them weren't exactly ideal. My dad was telling me how whenever one of the neighbor kids needed somewhere else to stay she would always let them. She even let one of them move in with the family. He said that you never went to dinner expecting it to be just the family, there were always other people. But somehow, even with all those kids, no one left the table hungry. She make it work somehow.

She wasn't like that with just her kids, though. Gramma always took care of my cousins and I. First thing she'd ask when we came over was if we were hungry. Then she'd go into the kitchen and start putting sandwiches together. It didn't matter whether you were even hungry or not, you were going to eat that sandwich. When I was really little, after my grampa W. died, we used to go over and stay at her apartment with her. She would let us stay up as late as we wanted. My uncle Kenny was living with her then and she would always make him go get us pizzas. We'd stay up late eating pizza, drink Surge (remember that stuff?), eating candy, and just being idiots. I'm pretty sure I saw my first rated-R movie at her apartment when I was like five. You could just tell how much she loved us.

I don't even know if anyone read this or not. And it really doesn't even matter to me. I kind of felt like I just needed to say something. My gramma was one of the greatest people on this earth. She had the biggest heart, the warmest heart. And I'm extremely proud to be able to call myself her granddaughter. We're all going to miss her so much. But it's a comfort knowing that she's no longer in pain. She's with Grampa W now, and she's with God. Rest in peace Gramma, and know that we all love and miss you so, so much.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

awake from the dead

Wow, it's been quite awhile since I've posted anything. I've been super busy with school and everything else there's just been no time! I'm not going to make any promises, but I'm going to try and start posting again. Yeah, we'll see how that goes.

On another note I now have a tumblr! Yeah, yeah, yet another website to keep updated. But it's just so addictive. If I'm not careful I'll end of living on the internet. So if you would go ahead and check it out. Who knows you might even want to make an account (assuming you don't have one already). I'm warning you, it can be addictive.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

In an Empty Theater

I sat in the very last row of sweat of the auditorium. I reclined, resting my feet on the seat in front of me. This was a ritual I had developed a few years back, when the show was just starting to get popular. I would let myself in early, so early the janitorial staff wasn't there yet. The floor of the stage gleamed, having just been waxed the night before. Only the stage lights were on, making the band set up look a little creepy, like a ghost band could start playing at any moment, with all those colors and no people. I knew that stage like the back of my hand. The floor boards squeaked about three feet from stage left entrance. The curtains, despite Aunt Clara's best efforts, smelled like sweaty feet and rotting tomatoes. I knew where all the trapdoors were, all the special effects switches, and about a million other little things. Yeah, it was a large stage, but the set up was simple, the back drop a simple cloth with lights shining through.

The real reason I sneaked in so early was the house part of the auditorium. Where all the guests would be watching the show from. It started out when during one of the shows I'd noticed the audience was a good amount larger than it use to be. I guess no one told me about this development because they knew how nervous I can get. But let me tell you, finding out on stage, in the middle of the show, was not the greatest way to find out. I got through the rest of the show somehow, but I was totally freaked out. I had never seen the theater so full! It was good news, more people equals more money, but despite this I got so nervous every show after I couldn't focus.

That's when I began my ritual. I would take in the empty theater, try to commit it to memory. All the vacant chairs, seats folded up, gum stuck to the bottoms. The way the lights along the aisles lit up the floor and row letters. The worn-down burgundy carpet everyone talked about replacing but when it gets down to it no one seems to have the heart to do it. The purple tapestry embroidered with floral designs that Great-Aunt Eliza draped all over the walls so long ago. She claims to have hung it in order to cover the "hideous, puke colored joke of wall-papery," but I think she just wanted an excuse to show-off her award winning embroidery. Because of those tapestries no one could quite figure out how to get lights on the walls. Even after Great-Aunt Eliza passed, it seemed like a disgrace to her name to take them down. So someone (Pell) decided to go the redneck way and string up Christmas twinkle lights along the walls. I won't lie--looking at them then they looked pretty good. They cast a twilight-ish, twinkly glow over the theater, catching some of the silvery threads in the drapes. I've always thought that the theater looks like it could be part of a fairytale.

This setting is what I tried to imagine when I was on stage. The vast emptiness. That way I could replace the crowded image with this one. It didn't help that the night before, at the weekly meeting, Uncle Charlie had shown us plans he had drawn up for expanding the seating. Personally, I thought the seating was just fine. But Uncle Charlie's always trying to find ways to make more money. And his plans usually involve spending more money.

I was so lost in though I failed to notice Pell had come out onto the stage until she started talking. "Oh my!" she exclaimed in an exaggerated Southern belle drawl. "This theater is so empty! Just like my poor, poor heart!" And with that she flung herself down onto the ground. Pell has always been on the dramatic side.

"Oh, whatever is the matter Miss Annabelle?" I played along in my best Southern accent.

"Men! That's what the matter is! I am just oh, so tired of their foolishness!" She was sitting up by this point, looking out dismally into the audience.

"Good heavens! What ever shall we do?! Why I--  he-- okay. I'm no good at this."

"My, my, my. Miss Elsie. You do disappoint me. Here, I shall come and tell my story." She pushed herself up and went backstage. We never used the audience steps to go on and off stage. Technically because you would be breaking the fourth wall, but mainly because they're steep and many of us have nearly broken our necks trying to use them.

Pell emerged from a door hidden behind a large tapestry displaying a doe frolicking in a flowery field. If anyone belonged in this fairytale theater, it was Pell. She could have just stepped out of a fairytale herself. She's ridiculously short, like five foot--maybe--and stick thin. With her black, bobbed hair and wide blue eyes she seems more like a pixie than human. Even the way she carries herself, she bounces and floats along at high speeds--and somehow manages to do so gracefully. Pell has extremely lightly colored skin that only she could pull off. She wears absolutely no makeup. She doesn't need any help standing out. Floating up the aisle towards me, I could see how Pell was the crowd favorite.

"Where the hell have you been?" I demanded as she settled into the seat next to me.

"Now, now, now, cuz. I've been gone for a week and that's what you've got to say? No 'I've missed you!' or 'Never, ever leave me again!' I mean really I am--"

"Cut the crap, Pell. Everyone's freaking out and you just waltz right in, at an ungodly hour, and act so blase about it."

"Sorry, Mother dearest!"


"You can stop with the death glare, Miss Good-and-Steady."

"I'll stop when you tell me what happened."

"All right. How about this--I"ll tell you over a delectable breakfast at the Cafe. Sound good? Okay, let's go." With that, she hopped out of her chair and glided towards the exit.

"Okay, but you're going to tell me. No matter what," I called after her as I followed her out. I took one last look into the empty theater before shutting the doors. By now I knew it well enough that I didn't have to go in every time. But something about it calmed my nerves, like a comforting bedtime story that my mother would tell me when I was younger.

It's here!

School. Would it be too cliche to say that it feels like summer just started? Probably, but that's literally how it feels. It seems like just yesterday we were throwing a bonfire in honor of finishing finals... I'm going to embrace the nerdiness inside of me, however, and say I'm actually kind of glad school is starting. Don't get me wrong, I love summer. I thoroughly enjoy sleeping in until noon everyday. But I'm the type of person who needs something to do, a purpose. After a while spending day after day doing nothing and having nothing that needs to be done gets a little old. It would have helped if I had managed to find a job... But no such luck. I'm also excited to see some friends that I didn't get a chance to see this summer.

Another reason I'm excited for school? School supplies. I can't even begin to explain to you my obsession with school supplies, office supplies, etc. If it's cute, color coordinated, accessible, and organizational you can bet I want it. This probably indicates I have a touch of OCD, combined with a touch of ADHD. I'm a helpless cause. It seems everywhere I go, the mall, the grocery store, Target, anywhere, there's school supplies (or office supplies or dorm supplies). Don't even get me started on dorm stuff. The day I get accepted into a college and need to buy stuff for my dorm will be the highlight of my life. Those stores had better stock up because I will buy the place out. It's like a second Christmas!

I should probably tell you that I live in a college town. The college itself isn't huge, but it's big enough. And the majority of the places I go are around campus (plus my mom works in the accounting department). So, at least to me, when summer rolls around the town seems to kind of empty out. When fall comes, though, you can see the student population pour back in. I guess it's that energy that makes me like fall, and school starting, so much. The excitement and activity just add so much, you can't help but get drawn in.

Tomorrow's my last day of freedom. How do I plan on spending it? Cleaning my car, getting my supplies ready, bathing the dogs, and reorganizing my desk. What a way to bring the summer close with a bang!

Tuesday, August 3, 2010


hile getting my crime show TV fix (Rizzoli and Isles) I saw a preview for a movie that will easily satisfy two of my obsessions. Facebook and guys that are geeky enough to be cute, if not hot. Yes, I'm talking about a movie about Facebook. It's called The Social Network. It's basically about the founding of Facebook. I know that Facebook's kind of turning into a cliched, oh let's go stalk people's lives because we have nothing better to do with our lives website. But that's not really what it is. While it can be that, let's not forget that it was created to help connect with friends, family, or people who we've lost touch with. I think it's interesting to learn how things like this came about. I mean it really is amazing how a group of people just thought this up and created it. I never cease to be amazed how human's minds think up extraordinary things. The human mind really is wondrous.
Aaaanyways... back to the movie... I am definitely going to go see it. Granted, I'll probably have to drag one of my friends to go see it or else I'll be seeing it by myself. "Yeaaah, this seat is taken I swear! They'll be back soon..." My invisible boyfriend will just have to get stuck in traffic that day.

Just wanted to share that little piece of bliss with you. I've gotta get up early because I now actually have something worth waking up early for. Instead of sleeping in 'til 10...11...11:30... But hey, that's what summer is for.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

"So stupid I enjoyed it"


The title says it all.

It's no biggie, really.

Ooooh, how I love my life! (Note the sarcasm.) All my life I've been one of the world's biggest klutz. A wonderful gene I seem to have inherited my dad. Thanks Pops! I was a rather clumsy child, always covered in scrapes and bruises. In fact we went through band-aids so often my mom always let me pick out a box of band-aids every time we went to the grocery store. I shouldn't say let, more like I'd tell her I just wanted to look at them and then she'd end up buying me a box. Yes, I was an odd child. I had a kind of obsession with band-aids.

Just to let you get a feel for how clumsy I am I'll just slip in a few anecdotes. When I was three my brother (who's three years older than me) had to get X-rays at the hospital. It was a nice wintry day, snowing fairly heavily. As we were headed toward the door Conor and I decided to pretend we were ice skaters. So we were gliding our feet along the floor and pretending to twirl around and jump. We get to the end of the hallway and because Conor was older and bigger than me he beat me there. Just as the automatic door was opening I slipped on the rug and hit my forehead against the doorjamb, splitting my forehead wide open. Now what are the chances of that? It wasn't that big of a gash though, I only had to get three stitches. I used to go to a Catholic school and stayed after during the after school program because both my parents worked. I'm not quite sure how old I was or how it happened, but I ended up running into a brick wall. Yup, I know. Go ahead and laugh. I still have a scar on my knee. Last one I swear, when I was nine or ten I played in a summer basketball league. I jumped up for a rebound, some chick pushed me, and I landed on my foot wrong. It ended up broken and I was in a boot for just about the whole summer.

Now that you understand how I get injuries quite often and sometimes in weird manners you can see how it was bound to happen again sooner or later. This evening my family sat down to a lovely dinner of tacos. And my brother  was with us for once, this hasn't happened that often ever since he turned nineteen. My puppy Maggie was all worked up because my uncle Tom stopped by to drop off some fireworks for my dad. She had just drank from her water bowl and because of her bloodhound genes her jowls were dripping water EVERYWHERE. It was totally gross. As I was trying to avoid her slobbing mouth, she bumped my leg and I slashed it on the track of the insert of the bottom of the table. And I was left with a nice wide gash on my knee. I won't go into detail, but I will say it was bleeding pretty bad. I remember saying "Why does this always happen to me?!"  a few times, which made my brother laugh. He was so sweet though, he kept asking if he could do anything to help.

My dad decided I might have to get stitches. So we went to the quick fix place (I'm not sure what it's actually called) because we would have been in the hospital emergency room for hours just waiting to get treated. The doctor came in and took a look. He said that since the metal came in at an angle there was outer skin split away from the thinner, inner skin. And it would keep breaking open because of the bend in my knee. So instead of just having it glued shut I now have seven stitches in my knee. He had to give me several shots to numb it first. I won't lie, those hurt a bit. Once it was numb he started sewing me up. It didn't hurt, of course, but it was so weird! I could feel it tugging and moving around, and I knew it should hurt. I was a little queasy at first. But now it's all good, I have to go back in twelve days to get them taken out. Oh and did I mention I'm supposed to go shopping tomorrow? Maybe I can get Jordin to wheel me around in a wheel chair...

Friday, July 16, 2010

Living Art

I want to start off by saying I sat down here with full intentions of writing about something that's been nagging in my mind lately. But I'm pretty sure I have ADHD because I somehow ended up on Photobucket  and then I somehow ended up looking at pictures of tattoos. Don't ask how this happened, sometimes I just have no clue how my brain works. So now instead of hearing about a legit problem in my life, you will be subjected to my rambling on tattoos.

From the start tattoos have always fascinated me. I mean let's think about it. Actually liking an image/picture/quote/etc. enough to have it permanently inked onto your skin. I repeat: permanently. And it's not just like la-dee-dah I'm going to get this drawn onto my skin and it'll stay there forever! (As I believed when I was a young child.) I mean it does happen like that, except you probably won't be la-dee-dah about it (unless your a masochist or you've had it done so many times it doesn't bother you). Because it's going to hurt. A combination of my Catholic upbringing and my parent's personal opinions of tattoos influenced me to look down on tattoos/people with tattoos. It's like there's some kind of taboo on it. It can be considered trashy and scummy to have tattoos. Despite this I was always fascinated by them.

Now I may or may not have offended. You might now be considering me some snot who thinks she's better than everyone else. I promise that's not how it is. Now I think it's kind of cool. It takes some guts to go that far to express yourself, putting personal stuff out there for everyone to see (or not, depending on placement). Either that or your extremely drunk, which I still refuse to believe happens as much as I've been told. It's taking the saying "wearing your heart on your sleeve" and putting it in the literal sense. Some people's tats can be so personal, yet there they are. In my opinion, that's really awesome. To be that comfortable, to just not care what people are going to think. It's also a good bullshit blocker. People are either going to like you for who you are or they're not. Tattoos are an intense way to express yourself. And I really admire people who do express themselves in that way.

I won't lie, I totally want a tattoo. Nothing major, no sleeves or anything big. Probably something small on like my ankle. (I would choose like the most painful place, but once I get something in my mind I can't let it go.) Something meaningful that's there forever. I kind of like that concept.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

James Bond, girl style

I not so secretly wish to own:
  • Dr Marten's
  • RayBans
  • Jeep Wrangler (I'm sorry Mallow, but can I put your top down? No, because that's not how Cherokee's are built.)
  • Crotch-rocket (For those who don't know, please Google. They are amazing. And no, it's nothing dirty.)
  • A magical, never-ending library filled with thousands upon thousands of books.
  • Lastly, a helicopter. Just because.
And I not so secretly wish to be a Dr Marten/RayBan wearing spy with escape Jeeps/crotch rockets/helicopters who uses her library to gain knowledge on how to rid the world of evil. Hey, a girl can dream.

    Wednesday, June 30, 2010

    dumby slaps for Kate!

    I never plan on doing stupid things. I swear to you. Would it be cliche to say they just sort of happen? I guess I understand why people say it now. They really do just happen. Don't get me wrong, I know it's all my fault. I don't have to make that one choice that changes everything. I could always just do what I know I should. But that's rarely ever the case now is it? I guess I was beginning to feel invincible. Getting away with all the crazy stuff that's gone down in the past, God what is it now? Four, five months. But no one's invincible, nothing lasts forever. I'll admit I knew this day would come, I just always put that thought in the back of my mind. But that day has come. Not even fifteen minutes fresh. My summer's changed now, the rest of my high school career probably. Now I have to think even more critically. Possibly even do the right, responsible thing from now on.

    I know what I did was wrong. I know this. I know this. But good stories hardly ever come from following the rules, obeying the law. And that is how I justify myself. In the end all we have is stories, and who wants to be stuck with sucky ones? I've created a lot of trouble for myself, but I've learned a lot these past months. I can get through this and come out even better.

    Tuesday, June 29, 2010

    Bianca and Bailey

    I cried once after Bianca died. Only once, right after we got the call from Mom and Dad at the hospital. Mom was sobbing in the background as Dad quietly explained that the car crashed right into the driver's door. Causing so much damage that she couldn't last through the surgery needed to save her life. As soon as he had hung up the phone I threw myself face down onto my bed and cried. It was one of those cried that seems to take away all of your strength. Great, body shaking sobs that start from the very center of your body. You cry so much, so hard, you can hardly breath. And once you're done you wipe your face and feel dried out, your body hollow.

    After I cried I sat up on my bed and just stared at a picture of us taken recently, I think at our brother Ian's birthday party. We were both sitting close together on the couch, looking off to the side laughing. You would think I'd be used to it by now, but it always made me feel a little weird seeing her, looking exactly like me. My twin, my carbon copy. We both had long blonde hair, blue eyes. Our body's built the same: five foot six, not extremely thin, but definitely not fat. Our foreheads and noses crinkled the same way when we laughed. That's all anyone sees when they look at us, our twin-ness.

    No one ever really looks for our differences, but as twins, trust me, we did. Like how her nose was slightly up-turned, mine more straight. Her eyes were a deeper hue of blue while mine had a greenish kind of tint to them mixed in with the blue. As a dancer she spent more time inside than I did, so I was tan while she was paler. Her body was tin, less curvy than mine, the way dancer's bodies usually are. I rode horses, so my legs were more muscular, I was just more curvy over all. As we grew older these little differences became so important to us. We tried to separate from each other, detach, distance ourselves. Never did I imagine the distance would become too great. Big enough to separate us completely. But one little crash did it in the span of a few seconds.

    While the differences in our appearance may not have been obvious, our personalities were. Bianca had been born first, fearlessly leading the way just as she would in just about everything else. She had always been the more outgoing one. She was the one who made the first friend in pre-school, a girl names Shelby who was timid and shy like me. But where as Bianca made me shrink back and kind of disappear into the background, she made other people more outgoing like herself. She was always surrounded by large groups of giggling friends, gossiping, getting ready to go places, and then disappearing to parties and dates. I preferred to have less friends. Not because I couldn't make them, but because I couldn't stand the constant chatter, all the drama. Same as with boys. While my experience is only limited to two, Bianca had a steady stream of boyfriends from the day we turned thirteen.

    It wasn't just that she was more outgoing or personable. She was more lively, defiant. We contrasted, night and day, a bold slash of red and a docile dot of yellow. She was always in motion, from one thing to the next. Always getting in trouble for sneaking out of breaking curfew. I, on the other hand, was back in the shadows, moving silently through life, doing what I was told. I found it easier to let her be the shining star. It was enough for me to just be near her.

    Monday, June 28, 2010

    Excuses, excuses.

    Hello blog-world! I know it's been a while since I've last been here so this one will be an update of sorts. There really is no excuse but it's been kind of impossible for me to get on as of late. My family went on a little vacation to Tennessee a couple weeks back to stay with some friends. It was a grand ole time, yours truly shot a gun for the first time! Funny that that was the highlight of the trip... You probably won't understand unless you've shot one before, but it really is a rush. You just feel so empowered. It made me want to become a certified bad ass, Lara Croft style. Granted my aim isn't so good... But nevertheless I think the Russian mob has found themselves an excellent hit-man. No? Okay then, back to business.

    I fully intended to follow up the last blog with something of substance. But, as you can tell, that didn't happen. Our internet became a little shaky after that before cutting out completely. Comcast (our internet/cable provider) came out and patched it up but that's just a quick fix, they have to replace the line.

    A little side note to that. The internet started acted up after a dispute of sorts between my dad and our lovely neighbor Jelly Belly (not a real name obviously but I don't want to embarrass the poor man. Although he did leave me without internet for a week...). See our neighbors are bonefied wack jobs. They're a couple in their fifty's who are living off Jelly Belly's disability checks. Even though he built his house himself just fine. (Strike one: I hate people who take advantage of things meant to help people who are actually hurt.) Jelly Belly is very self-centered and his wife, Loony Tunes, is just that. Loony. Long story short: the cable box is in their backyard. Our neighbors behind us had problems with their cable and called Comcast. The Comcast worker let himself in the yard (perfectly legal by the way, it's called an EASEMENT dumby, you shouldn't have fenced it in). Jelly Belly came out screaming and yelling and someone called the cops. Jelly Belly went to tell (gloat to) my dad about it when he got home from work. But my dad wouldn't have any of it and told him off. And then the internet went out. The Comcast worker says it looks like someone took a knife and nicked our internet wire. Hmmmm....

    Now don't go thinking my dad was just starting trouble. Ever since they built their house and moved in they've called the police/park district/city/fire department on all of their neighbors whose land touches theirs. Everyone's just sick of always having to worry about how they're going to react to every little thing we do. My dad lost his temper at last, simple as that. Of course now we're going to have hell to pay... But whatever. If your life is so small that you have to force your opinions onto everyone else, then go on ahead. Because the rest of us have bigger things to worry about. (Sorry if this has bored you, it's been a bigger issue in my life recently and I felt I should let you in on it.)

    And that my friends is the reason this blog has not been updated in quite a while. I promise, though, I will keep it up. And next time it will be something more enjoyable.

    Monday, June 14, 2010

    A Cherry Pickin' Good Time!

    Yesterday I had the divine pleasure of spending two full hours picking cherries from a cherry tree. You see, my Grampa Jerry has this cherry tree in his yard that he uses to make his infamous cherry pies, from scratch. They are amazing. Enough said. But since he's not quite the strong, youngster he use to be he's not really up to picking the cherries. So, being the wonderful granddaughter that I am, I volunteered to go over there with my dad and pick them for him.

    It wasn't quite so hard in the beginning. We were just getting the bottom ones first. Kind of made my arm a little sore, but no biggie. Then it came time for the top stuff. We went to the garage and managed to find some pretty stable ladders. Which is a good thing, because out of everyone in the family my dad and I are the two most likely to fall off of those ladders. I get up there and realize I'm going to be there a while. There's cherries EVERYWHERE! Branches keep smacking me in the head, threatening to knock me down. Bugs are flying straight into my face. The way I'm situated on my ladder, if I angle my face a certain, I'm looking directly into the sun. After ten minutes I'm drenched in sweat. I don't know how, but we managed to get the job done.

    I have to give myself credit, though. The whole time we were picking cherries I never once entertained the notion of just quitting. I know my dad would have let me, but I didn't even think about it. It made me realize that not everything in life is free. We take so much stuff for granted, like being able to buy cherries at the store. I mean, why grow your own cherries when you can just buy them? But it's not quite the same. You get a little more out of life knowing that you worked hard to earn those cherries. They weren't just handed to you. I believe I'd rather earn my things from hard work and determination. Not by cheating my way through.

    It also made me really respect laborers. The people who get out there day after day and do the hard, back-breaking work that others can't, and most don't even think about. Jobs like picking cherries, building houses, keeping our sewers nice, etc. We assume that these odd jobs just get done, just happen, no one ever really stops to think about how they get done. Who is making them happen. I really do admire these people for their hard work, because honestly, I don't know if I could do it. Sure I can do work. But work like that?

    Well, there's my little rant for the day. Kind of random, but kind of necessary. In a way.

    Words of Wisdom: NEVER leave your cell phone behind. You could miss out on an opportunity to meet a guy who stole a car just to meet a girl and her friends at the local zoo. And he doesn't even have his license yet.

    Tuesday, June 1, 2010

    Hilda Goes to the Dentist's Office

    Meet Hilda, my new traveling companion. She goes where I go, always swaying to the motion of my car. Hilda is quite new to this world, having only lived on a shelf at the back of a store up until last week. She aspires to be a world traveler, and that she may be someday.

    Friday, May 28, 2010

    A real blog?!

    lover, lover.

    Every time I sit down at my computer to blog I get half way through and then quit. I can't do it, I really can't. I don't know why! I love to talk, it's what I do best. Well, some people might disagree on that one, but that's because they just don't appreciate a good conversation. And I'd like to think that I do have interesting things to say. Whenever I talk to people I never see them rolling their eyes, yawning, looking away, etc. In fact, I've had people tell me I'm fun to talk to. I just can't quite... But I will do it! I'm going to finish this blog, post it, and NOT delete it. I promise.

    Okay. After many minutes of brainstorming I think I've got it.

    After many years of sitting around in my bedroom (friend's bedrooms) complaining about how it sucks to be fifteen (fourteen, thirteen, etc.) I've finally reached my junior year in high school. We're sixteen, yeah baby! I'm not going to say it's different than I expected it to be, because it's totally not. So far, (I say so far because I've only been sixteen for four months) it's been pretty much as I dreamed it would be. Not completely though, nothings ever EXACTLY the way you think it is. But then again it is different. There was this girl who I'd been friends with ever since I started at my school way back in the fifth grade. We knew everything about each other. I honestly don't think there was one thing about my life she didn't know, and vice versa. And then one day everything just, changed. All right, not one day. Looking back now I see that it was slowly happening over time. The way those things usually do. I started doing more things with other people, time began to escape my fingers, I heard she was saying stuff about me, and then silence. Nothingness. It was like there was this wall built between us that neither of us could breach. Basically, it fell apart. It's sad, it truly is. I loved this girl as my own sister. It's also sad because I don't feel anger, hatred, hurt. All those things that show you still have emotion for the person. I feel indifference, the opposite of love. I've changed, or grown up rather, and she's different too. We just don't mesh anymore. As I said it's sad, but sort of a release. I don't feel like I have to pretend anymore, which is worse in a ways.

    It's weird, realizing this. I'm growing up. Just a few months ago I would have been all over this drama like a mouse on cheese. I mean I LIVED for drama, it was like the air I breathed. And now I just try to avoid it like the plague. Really, though, who has time for it? There's just too much to do and see to worry about who said what, she did this, I didn't do that. I can feel myself crossing the threshold from infinite childhood. I say crossing because I know I haven't crossed it. I do things I maybe shouldn't, I act a certain way that really isn't acceptable sometimes. Maybe that's a good thing though, I don't think I want to ever really be fully grown up. To me, it sounds awfully dull. I love my adventuresomeness, my spontaneity, my drive. I hope to God I never lose these. I like that I've grown up, matured, yet I still know how to have fun and let loose. For some people it's one or the other: either they have a stick up their butt or they just don't know how to act mature when the situation calls for it. I like to think I'm somewhere in between, and I hope to stay there once I reach my full maturity.

    Words of Wisdom: Never buy torn up jeans. Cheap jeans, sand paper, and a washing machine will do.

    (I did it! Woooooo!)

    Tuesday, May 25, 2010

    Every twist and turn will lead to you.

     This course that I've chosen is the hardest one. Full of obstacles meant to discourage the lion-hearted. A dragon to breathe fire and lies, an army of gnomes to block the path and protect the keeper. The wide mouth of the clown is only a distraction, a hidden tunnel will help to avoid this irrelevant character. But I know what lies at the end of the course, into the windmill and up the tower. I will battle my way through, just to get to you.

    Wednesday, May 12, 2010


    It's sad to say, but I've come to the realization that some friendships just aren't meant to last. They call friendship a flower, it's a beautiful thing. It blossoms and flourishes to become a colorful, magnificent flower. But like most flowers, it will wither and die. Maybe that's just how they are, but I find it hard to believe that it's meant to be that way. Once it withers, though, there's no going back. Things are said, looks are exchanged, that you can never take back.

    People grow and change. I had always been told that as I grow older I would most likely grow apart from people I called my best friends. I never listened to them, I thought they were wrong. There was no way that could happen to us. This wouldn't be the first time I'm wrong. As a matter of fact we did change. I, for the better, all though I know she disagrees. We no longer see eye-to-eye, she thrives on the drama she denies she created. I leave my seeds of secrets to people now closer to my heart and mind. I know she resents that, but how should I trust someone who talks behind my back?

    I don't want to lay the blame on either side, I know that isn't fair. But I think that if she really had wanted to save the friendship we had, she should have came to me. It is not all right to talk to others, without talking to me, and tell how it's all my fault. It is not okay to go to Facebook and make an accusatory status about me. It may not have been direct, but everyone was aware of whom it was about. Come to me first, if you really wanted to fix it. I cannot honestly believe you cared all that much.

    I've come to the conclusion that this flower is dead. The petals are shed, the stem is dry, and the colors have faded. I never thought that I would say this, but it's kind of a relief. I know where I stand. I know who I am. I think she should know that I've moved on from our friendship. After all that's happened I don't think it could ever be the same. So let's just part ways and leave things be. We're older now and I really don't find all this drama worth the hassle. I smile at the thought of all the good times we had, and, in the end, that's what I'll remember most.

    Monday, April 5, 2010

    Elsie and Pell

    "Hey Elsie, why don't I ever get to drive places anymore?"
    "Are you really asking me that?"
    "Did you really just answer my question with a question?"
    "Are we really going through this again?"
    "Just answer the question."
    "You don't know?"
    "If you don't answer my question I'm going to--"
    "Fine, fine. Well, first off you take every corner going AT LEAST thirty, you try to 'pop wheelies' at the curb when we're in a parking lot, stoplights and traffic signs clearly mean nothing to you, and if that's not good enough, you have a catch phrase you use often: I can make it! Even when you obviously can't."
    "Exactly, Pell, exactly."
    "No. I thought you enjoyed it."
    "Enjoyed what?"
    "The Pell Driving Experience. I mean, Elsie, you lead a pretty boring life. I figure--"
    "--might as well spice it up, let her experience the rush of a brush with death."
    "You are a piece of work."
    "You'll thank me later. Just wait for my next adventure for you..."
    "What?! No. I refuse to take part. You are crazy if you think I will--hey! Don't walk away, I'm not done here!"
    "And there, perched comfortably on my pillow, was Markus."
    "Markus as in the spider who taunted you as a child."
    "Yes, Elsie, is there any other Markus?"
    "Well, there's Mar--"
    "Rhetorical: meaning shut the hell up."
    "Pell. That is so not what rhetorical means."
    "Can I please get back to my story? Thank you. As I was saying, there was Markus. Like I hadn't taken charge so long ago and forced him from my room forever."
    "Right, by killing him."
    "Elsie! No! I could never--. Well, you know."
    "Did I not just watch you knock out Gary Remelman in gym yesterday?"
    "Yeah, but i didn't kill him! Sometimes you are so impossible. No. I asked him, kindly, to never show his feet-tickling, web-spinning, head-dangling face again. And he didn't. Until now."
    "When I tried to sleep at night he would dangle above my head and taunt me."
    "Huh. So what'd you do?"
    "Captured him. Snuck him into the caf and released him--"
    "How humanitarian of you."
    "In Rob's milk."
    "Oh shush, it's not like I poisoned him. He almost got a dose of--. Well never mind."

    A Trio of Poems

    So here are three poems that I wrote back in January. We were doing a poetry unit in my English class and we had to write an ABC poem, an object poem (I don't actually remember what it's called), and then a free verse poem. Here there are!

    ABC Poem
    A nother day is about to begin
    B oundless opportunities await just outside the door
    C hoices are for making, just say when.
    D on't let those people who are waiting for
    E verything to come crashing down on you
    F orce you into giving up on
    G olden victory on which they wish to poo.

    The Piano
    A telegraph of emotions and feelings
    Sends signals conveying that which I cannot say.
    Those who carefully listen decipher my code.
    As I hammer my dots and dashes, and get carried away.

    Immune to the World
    What kind of world do we live in,
    where some people only care for themself.
    Where people are only for the using
    and friendship grows dusty on a self.

    What has this world come to
    when in order to survive you must take and take.
    When you have to stab your friend in the back
    and cause their whole world to break.

    Well, I've grown stronger and wiser,
    the trickery no longer works on me.
    I've found a new way to survive
    to which my pride and honor is the key.

    I realize that these probably aren't my best. They've sort of made me realize that my poetry tends to be kind of literal. I've been trying to work on it. I know some poetry is good when it's like that, but all of my poetry is like that. You could say I've been kind of using these to base myself off of to improve. It's a work in progress and we'll see how it all turns out!

    red booth diner.

    I'm not quite sure how long we sat there across from each other. All I knew was that my butt was seriously starting to hurt and my brain was buzzing from trying hard not to return his gaze. I started to shift my position when it became clear that my bare skin had become stuck to the vinyl of the beat-up red booth. Wincing, I ripped my legs fast from the seat. "Just like ripping off a band-aid," Dad would say, "fast and all at once." And then we'd see who could do it the fastest. Giggling and squealing like the little girls we were.

    "What is it?" he demanded softly, snapping me out of the wave of nostalgia.

    "What are you talking about?"

    "Your eyes--they changed. Like you were remembering something. Something that made you happy."

    "It's impossible not to remember in this town." I replied. Everywhere I went something reminded me of her. Autumn was the worst with it's apple cider, mountainous leaf piles, and school starting. I remembered this one time--

    "You're doing it again," he playfully warned me while tugging on at my hair, laughter in his eyes. But then suddenly his voice became softer and serious. "You know, it's okay to remember. They're part of who you are. Your past. She wouldn't want you to forget."

    "It's just impossible to get on with my life when I'm constantly reminded of life before--before... it happened. Before, when there wasn't an after. Only tomorrow." As a rule, I generally didn't talk about what had happened. But on the rare occasion I did, I picked at my hangnails and avoided eye contact at all costs.

    But the silence was too long, curiosity got the better of me and I looked up. I was expecting him to be looking at me with sympathy or pity, searching for the right words to "comfort" me. He knew me too well, though. He knew that's not what I needed, nor wanted. He just gravely, steadily gazed back at me. Saying nothing, but giving me exactly what I needed. He was simply there. And that was enough.

    Monday, March 1, 2010


    Kate: know what word really pisses me off? hiya. its SO ANNOYING. and i don't even know why.
    Caryn: It makes me think of a hyenna. Or however u spell it. hi-e-na
    Kate: its just so annoying though! whenever u say it just sound too peppy.
    Caryn: Yeah like they are too happy and u just wanna be like shut the f*** up!
    Kate: i despise happy and peppy people. it makes me wanna run over their puppies and make them unhappy and unpeppy. especially if i'm having a bad day
    Caryn: Oh man. Same here. Its like they've never been unhappy in their life and you just wanna chop their toe off or something
    Kate: they're like evil robots who are trying to destroy the world with happiness and pep
    Caryn: They need to get struck by lightening.
    Kate: or be shown slide shows of starving african children and orphans and diseased puppies and kittens.
    Caryn: Or pushed down a water slide so they'll rust
    Kate: or forced into slavery because if they're so happy and peppy all the time they'll be happy to do the work
    Caryn: Yes! We should do all of those to them
    Kate: HA! i'd like to see them say hiya then!
    Caryn: They will fell pain and sad feelings!!!
    Kate: we're so evil. how do we live with ourselves?
    Caryn: How would we NOT live with ourselves?

    You don't have to tell me, I know we're sick and demented. But that's what best friends are for, right?

    Friday, February 26, 2010

    where kate loses her mind.

    Have you ever had one of those days where a smile feels foreign on your face? No matter how hard you try, it always seems fake. You can feel gravity pushing down on the corners of your mouth until it's too heavy and you have to stop. I hate that feeling, because then I know I'm trying to be someone I"m not. Trying to please people with a smile so they think, "Good, see? She's happy. Now all I have to worry about is myself." Most people only bother to care about others out of what they see as obligation, not because they really do. I really just want to tell them to stop, it's obvious that they really don't care at all.

    It's not that I'm depressed, or anything like that. I just feel kind of empty. Like whatever I do I can't get my heart into it. I'm just going through the motions, making everyone else happy. I can't even grasp the right words and string them together in a sentence to relate what I'm feeling
    This is where Kate starts to lose it.
    It's kind of like I'm a zombie, moving through life with no real part of me. That's it! It's the beginning of the zombie apocalypse! First we start out just a little spacey, then feelings and emotions leave our bodies, but we mindlessly go through out day, until we don't even do that anymore. We slowly start to lose all sanity when eventually we're wild beasts! Feeding off human flesh, no shadow of our former selves recognizable! We're just empty shells. I would say I'm in between phase one and two.

    There we go. Now when people ask what's wrong I can tell them it's the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. I may be the only person displaying these symptoms, but it's just a matter of time before everyone else does, too. You'll see.

    Tuesday, February 23, 2010

    Dear Kitty,

    Well, hello there! This would be my first diary-esque blog, I guess you could say. I've been trying to update more frequently, but it's tough with school and everything else. My life is just so jam packed! When it gets so hectic and busy busy busy I have minor break downs followed by me doing as many things as possible to try and recuperate followed by more break downs. See the problem? It's a never ending cycle.

    I guess it's my OCD-ness being controlled by my ADHD-ness but whenever I get overwhelmed I go into list making mode. Meaning I make a list for every possible thing. There's just something so gratifying about getting one of those things done and being able to put a slash through it! Then I get self-empowered and accomplish two more, and so on, until BAM! no more list.

    Soooo, here's one of said lists:
    • Find a job. Oh how I would love the satisfaction of checking this one off! I've applied to five different places: Olive Garden, Journey's, Von Maur, PacSun, and Culver's. All last weekend, not a bad start I'd say. I already got a call back from Von Maur for an interview. I know, I know. I should be ecstatic, but it's so fancy I'd feel like a poser. Plus I'd have to buy new dress clothes, because I've got close to nothing. Besides, I think I have a good chance at Culver's because one of my cousins worked there and the manager remembered her and really liked that fact. So I guess we'll see on that one.
    • Name car.  Why's this one slashed through? Because I've named it, silly! And because when I make a list I put something down I can get done easy and check off. It's not cheating, it gives me a sense of accomplishment to go on and check more things off. Enough of my senseless rambling and the name is... Tucker!
    • Write more. While I have been doing this more lately I really need to get on it. Like really GET ON IT. I have an idea for a story formulating in my mind, but I need to get it down on paper before it vanishes from my mind. This also includes my journaling/diarying (diarrhea? say it out loud. see what I mean?)  efforts. I want to be able to look back and see what all I did when I was a crazy teenager.
    • And last, but not more healthy! Dang woman, it ain't that hard! I lack motivation, that's my problem. But I will mind my motivation and we will become best friends, gosh dang it! If it's the last thing I do.
    Well there ya have it! A blog/list from yours truly. Just thought I'd let you know what I'm up to , or rather trying to be up to. See a lot of my time is spent pondering (procrastinating) the above list. Now I need to get to the doing. Which means I must end this blog, adios!

    Fear. Qualm. Trepidation.

    There's really only two things I'm terrified of, excluding spiders. And I would say that they sort of go hand-in-hand. At least the way I see it. What I'm most afraid of is lack of experience or knowledge and not having enough time to do what I want during my lifetime.

    You know how there's those questions that go something like: If someone wanted to tell you a piece of information, but it would change your relationship with your best friend, would you still want to know? Well, I would be one of, or maybe the only, people who said yes. Not because I would want the friendship to change, but because it kills me to know there's something I don't know. I feel like to be completely in charge of my life I have to know everything that would affect the decisions I make. I don't like to be clueless.

    I would say I'm more afraid to have no life experiences. Not just any life experiences, but exciting, life-altering ones. Ones that will forever change the way I look at life. Or the way I live my life. Things like staying in a foreign country for an extended amount of time. Even just visiting a foreign country, backpacking through Europe, skydiving, or living on my own away from my family. I'm afraid of living a boring life here in Nowheresville, Illinois my entire life. Talk about being terrified. I don't want to live a boring life like I am now, forever. I just might go crazy.

    This kind of goes with being afraid of having no life experiences. I'm also afraid of not having enough time to accomplish everything I wan to in life. I'm not necessarily afraid of death itself, more just dying to early for me to do what I want. For me to complete my "bucket list", if you will. Or even to become successful at my career or whatever I decide to do with this life of mine.

    It seems as I get older I kind of release my irrational fears, like the dark, and my fears are now not actual "things." You can't grab a hold of them in the actual sense. They're like vapors, forever hovering above or around me, haunting me. There's nothing to about it, though. I just have to keep living my life and do those things I so truly want to do.

    Devoid of Anything At All

    I want to feel nothing. I want to lie down on a bed made of air and float. I want to float like a feather. Drifting back and forth in a nonexistent breeze. I don't want to let my feelings take me over. I don't want to feel anything anymore. I want to live, without regrets, without inhibitions. I don't want my conscience and judgment to win over my need for freedom. I don't want to feel anymore. I want, need, my body to grow numb--unaffected by outside influences.

    Maybe, if this happens, I can be alone with only myself. Maybe then I can finally allow myself to do what I need to do in order to stay true to who I am. Emotions only get in the way. Maybe, by letting these feelings go, I can do what I need without a twinge in my gut or any other emotion-fueled reaction.

    I want to feel nothing, in order to find myself. In order to learn what I need to do to recover the person I once was and become who I want to be.

    Man, I really need to update more often... I wrote this at a time when I was feeling, I guess you'd say lost. I'd go to bed at night and realize that at the end of the day I couldn't think of one thing I did that I was proud of. I found that I had lost what made me, me. Everything part of myself that I loved. I was giving into people because I didn't want to have to explain myself, it was easier just to do what they wanted. And that wasn't right. I can't say that I'm 100% of who I used to be. But I'm almost there, I can feel the real Kate stirring, ready to make her comeback. And then some.

    Wednesday, February 10, 2010

    Or maybe it's the same either way.

    I could feel the heat climbing up my face. I was sure my face had to be a lovely shade of flaming red. I mean, it's not like people were out and out staring--but I could feel their glances life needle pricks on my skin. Sneaking a peek now and then, trying to be sneaky about it. I don't know which is worse. Or maybe it's the same either way.

    As the class seemed to drag on, they were getting more and more blatant about it. Waiting two or three seconds longer each time to turn their heads away after I looked at them. It happens so often, I know it shouldn't bother me anymore. But all I could think about is how bad I wanted to get out of there. I needed an escape.

    Aging, Not So Gracefully

    "It gets easier as you get older." Really? They must be joking, 'cause that's a lie. It's actually the exact opposite. It seems another year goes past, each harder than the last. Life gets so much more complicated. Can't we just go back to when our parents were in charge of our lives?

    Things were so much simpler when you didn't have to question the relationship with your best friend. You were simply just best friends. Now? Define the term. I'm not even sure if I've got one anymore. It seems like the more I try to climb this wall that was constructed overnight the higher it gets. This wall, made up of secrets, bad feelings, awkard situations and silences. What more can I do when I'm the only one who cares enough to try and fix this mess?

    And whatever happened to boys having cooties? Talk about life getting harder. Now we ahve to worry about who likes who, does your hair look good today, is he flirting with me because he likes me, yada yada yada. It should be simple enough: he likes you, you like him. The end. But we all know it's not. It's all just a big guessing game, and one wrong word and it's all over.

    It's not just moody best friends or indifferent boys, though. Life in general is just... harder. Now you have to make all your decisions for yourself. Sure, your parents or whoever can help you. But in the end it's you who has the final say. So now you've got to decided which is good or bad, fair or unfair, right or wrong, blah blah blah. And it's too hard to decide! 'Cause one wrong decision and suddenly the whole frikken world is pissed at you. What the heck? Why don't people warn us about this stuff?

    In the end it comes down to this: life only gets harder the older you get. You can't expect life to be easy or you're pretty much setting yourself up to fail. All you can do is take life as it comes, stay true to yourself, and hang in there. I have to believe it'll all work out in the end.

    Friday, February 5, 2010

    The Place that is Me

    Find your setting. Well that one's easy. I'm sitting in a room where my imagination has clearly been set loose. It's full of and decorated with things that are solely meant to distract me from reality. Over there, in that corner? Oh yeah, that's just a bookcase full of books I know from cover to cover, CDs of which I could sing every track, and movies that I can quote at the drop of the hat. I like to think of myself as accomplished... in procrastination.

    The walls are plastered with anything you can imagine: movie posters, pictures cut from magazines, images dug out from rummage sales, a bulletin board covered with whatever you can think of. I'd much rather look into those windows than the one facing the dismal street outside. Why look out that window when I've got multiple ones displaying foreign scenes, dashing colors, wondrous stories in each picture. I mean, does my neighbor taking out his trash really compare at all to the deep, crystal blue of a Grecian harbor?

    Now that might be enough distractions for you, but not me. Piled, stuffed, hidden away in every place imaginable are random, colorful objects that you can't find just anywhere. I pride myself on being a successful collector of stuff. Got any junk you need to get rid of? I"m sure there's a spot for it in my room. I've got martini glass lights, dollar store trinkets, leis, old souveniers, grain bin piggy bank; I could keep going but I think you've got the idea.

    You see, to me, my room is where I hold my memories. My hopes and dreams. My regrets and accomplishmenhts. My everything. Every object, every picture, every piece of junk holds a special meaning to me. Places I've been, places I wish to go. Memories I've created, more memories I hope to create. Achievements, accomplishments, failures kept out in order to learn from them. Yes, it's busy and distracting. And yes, it's a bit weird and random. But it's a reminder and symbol of every I am.

    Blinded by Self

    With your head in the clouds, you're always
    First to fall, last to know.
    What's the point in getting back up
    When all you do is fall down again.

    Always on the wrong side of the fence
    Wondering how you got there.
    Life is such a blur
    When all that you see is yourself.

    Caught up in your own mess of a life
    It's impossible to see the suffering of another.
    Strut on by with your nose in the air
    Don't look back it might be contagious.

    Regret is a bitter tasting thing
    Tasted only when it's too late to stop.
    You will continue to walk with your head in the clouds
    Only until you trip back into reality.

    Of Summer Past

    As I lay here in this field of clover
    I dream of a youthful summer.
    A magical time when days were full--
    Full of innocent child's games,
    soft, billowly clouds forming shapes before my wondrous eyes.
    Full of warm summer sun softly baking my skin,
    nights of fireflies transforming my world into one that of mystic.

    As I lay here in this field of clover
    my own adolescent summer almost over.
    The leaves will turn, the air will chill.
    Soon frost, then snow will kiss the ground
    making my visions seem that of a lie.
    But then -- buds will sprout, new life bourn,
    thunderous rain will awaken new life.
    Summer will approach, then come.
    I may hope and wish my heart away,
    but summer of childlike bliss will come no more.

    Sunday, January 24, 2010

    Grow Up

    What's that you said?
    You want my help?
    Oh my, how incredibly selfish of me!
    I seem to have forgotten--
    Forgotten that you're the center of the universe,
    That they very second you need me
    I should drop what I'm doing
    and come do whatever you ask of me.

    Your pedestal reaches so high
    I can barely see you up there.
    It's like you're the queen -ahem-
    king of the world.
    The world is yours for the taking,
    the people, yours for the using.
    What do us little people matter anyways,
    we can surely not compare to you!

    When you wake up from
    this heady delusion of yours-
    I will be waiting rght here for you.
    So I can give you your just desserts.
    And no they're not poisoned...

    **I wrote this when I was really pissed at someone. It's not so much a poem as a rant written in stanza.

    Monday, January 11, 2010

    Not the sharpest tool in the shed...

    I am going to admit it: I'm kind of a novice at writing poetry. While I have had many lectures and courses over it for about the past five years in my English classes, I've never really done much with it. I would do those monotonous assignments where we had to write two or three poems in each variety over the give subject. Along with my fellow classmates I would moan and complain. "What's the point?" "This is sooo boring, we've done this every year!" Then I proceeded to go home, fudge my way through it, doing just enough to get a decent grade on the assignment (which, to tell the truth, wasn't hard at all.)

    However, as I've grown and developed over the years (quite beautifully I might add...), I've discovered that poetry isn't quite that bad at all. I've found that if I actually spend time on reading poems, developing my skills on reading and writing, and studying structure it's kind of a big deal for me. I find it to be much more helpful when I want to express myself. Sometimes it's just sooo much easier to get out what I'm trying to say or what I'm feeling without having to conform to the structure and rules of sentences and paragraphs. Oh, sure, I still love to write a good essay or story and what not. But it's always pleasant to have this free, unstructured way of expressing myself to fall back on and emerse myself in.

    The whole point to this blog is mainly just to inform you that yes, my poetry is kind of... amateurish and yes, I do need a bit more work and practice with it. However, that's how we all start out isn't it? As an amateur and needing more practice. And also that the poetry I post really isn't meant to ridiculed and graded, but for me to get out what I'm feeling, to let me have some kind of release of these pent up feelings I have inside me. Because let's face it, high school's hard what with all the drama, homework, and God knows what else. We all need some way to deal. And I suppose this must be mine.