Wait.
What's happening?
I don't know that this feeling is.
It's like blankets in winter, or the first time you use the fireplace, or christmas lights for no reason, or using lamps instead of overhead light so everything gets that warm glow and photographs turn out more personal and deep.
It's a little like feeling full, or being resolved, or maybe even the feeling you get when you've been driving aimlessly and lost for a really long time and you finally recognize your surroundings and you know you're safe.
I feel......
peace.
Time to get a new blog.
<3gen
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
"Your Love Will Be Safe With Me" or "I Love You For Your Little, Startled, Thoughtless Ways"
I think this is one of those grown-up lessons.
I'm slowly discovering the real depths of how self-involved and self-centered I can be sometimes. I care about other people immensely, and love to make them happy. You guys know this about me, I hope. But I'm not a very good listener, because much of the time I only act as if I'm waiting for my chance to speak. And I'm seeing more. I'm seeing that I very rarely consider the effects of my actions on other people aside from how I will feel about it, or how it will affect me.
I have had no problem seeing multiple people at once, dating a few guys, a few girls, and talking about it honestly (oh honesty, how often you lead me into trouble). But when I am seeing someone and they talk about other people they have feelings for, it makes me feel bad, I feel hurt. I have just been assuming all these years that they couldn't possibly feel the same way. They didn't care about me, since they didn't say it out loud every six seconds, so I can talk about whatever I want and it won't hurt them. How stupid is that?
I need to start really working on my listening skills and how perceptive I am. For so long I've thought I knew people really well, I listened, I was a good friend and always there for people. I'm seeing now that I should be better at it. I have got to start paying attention to other people, really start listening and taking it in and not just considering what's happening in relation to me or when I get the next bit of attention.
And as far as my habits with boys, well, we all know that I've been learning those lessons for years now. But it's always been all about me, right? I was subservient and dependent for so long, that I went headlong into being thoughtless and careless with people and that's not balance, it's just the inverse. What I need is balance. What I need is a way to understand my own feelings and pay attention to what I'm saying and how it would make me feel. And maybe if someone else says the same things I do, I need to remember that.
These seem like easy lessons, obvious even, but if there's anything that I've been wrong about for the longest time, it's love and relationships.
So hey, I'm listening this time. I'll figure this out. I'm gaining strength every day. I'm growing up.
And then I fell for a boy with blue eyes who I've known less than a week.
There is reason in everything.
<3gen
I'm slowly discovering the real depths of how self-involved and self-centered I can be sometimes. I care about other people immensely, and love to make them happy. You guys know this about me, I hope. But I'm not a very good listener, because much of the time I only act as if I'm waiting for my chance to speak. And I'm seeing more. I'm seeing that I very rarely consider the effects of my actions on other people aside from how I will feel about it, or how it will affect me.
I have had no problem seeing multiple people at once, dating a few guys, a few girls, and talking about it honestly (oh honesty, how often you lead me into trouble). But when I am seeing someone and they talk about other people they have feelings for, it makes me feel bad, I feel hurt. I have just been assuming all these years that they couldn't possibly feel the same way. They didn't care about me, since they didn't say it out loud every six seconds, so I can talk about whatever I want and it won't hurt them. How stupid is that?
I need to start really working on my listening skills and how perceptive I am. For so long I've thought I knew people really well, I listened, I was a good friend and always there for people. I'm seeing now that I should be better at it. I have got to start paying attention to other people, really start listening and taking it in and not just considering what's happening in relation to me or when I get the next bit of attention.
And as far as my habits with boys, well, we all know that I've been learning those lessons for years now. But it's always been all about me, right? I was subservient and dependent for so long, that I went headlong into being thoughtless and careless with people and that's not balance, it's just the inverse. What I need is balance. What I need is a way to understand my own feelings and pay attention to what I'm saying and how it would make me feel. And maybe if someone else says the same things I do, I need to remember that.
These seem like easy lessons, obvious even, but if there's anything that I've been wrong about for the longest time, it's love and relationships.
So hey, I'm listening this time. I'll figure this out. I'm gaining strength every day. I'm growing up.
And then I fell for a boy with blue eyes who I've known less than a week.
There is reason in everything.
<3gen
I love you
For your little,startled,thoughtless ways,
For your ponderings,like soft dark birds,
And when you speak ‘tis a sudden sunlight.
I love you
For your wide child eyes,and fluttering hands,
For the little divinities your wrists,
And the beautiful mysteries your fingers.
I love you.
Does the blossom study her day of life?
Is the butterfly vexed with an hour of soul?
I had rather a rose than live forever.
--ee cummings
Sunday, May 10, 2009
"We Were Only Freshmen" or "Like A Story Told In The Faultlines of the Soil"
What I've been thinking about the most were those moments when I really thought I couldn't make it.
Nights when I had two projects due in less than 3 hours and I hadn't slept in 46 hours. Those nights when I was running on nothing but espresso, text messages, spellcheck, and cigarettes.
Mornings when the hangover was so bad I was sure it was cancer, brain cancer, a tumor the size of a grapefruit. They were going to have to saw my head open and let my brain expand. Mornings when I woke up much too close to the toilet for my comfort.
Days when I had $35 in my checking account, and the cable bill was $46.50, and I knew I'd wasted my money on lattes, toys, and thrift stores. Days when I had saltines and pickles for dinner.
Nights after breakups, after falling in love, after ruining myself over so many boys because I was just so. in. love. And I was just so. fucked. up.
I used to text Lindsey late at night, "Can we just drop out of college and move to Mexico?" Several times she said "Yes. Be there in 10 minutes."
But here I am at the end of it. Even the most devastating things, even the moments that made me wish I were dead or back home or wishing I were blind so I never had to see the world again, I made it through them all. I'm here, on the other side of the giant tunnel of youth, from preschool to graduation, and I came out of it alive.
It is actually physically jarring how different you are when you start college and when you end it. I am absolutely delighted with the person that I have turned out to be.
I have strength I didn't know I had, friends I never knew existed, power that only God can give. And how I start this new chapter, with a 9-5 job and a regular paycheck. I pay my own bills, I have my own health insurance, I'll do my laundry. This is what it's all been building up to. This is the moment. Right. Now.
Tomorrow I start my full time job. Last night I met a nice boy with soft hands and a sweet smile and I'm comfortable. My sister is about to be a senior in high school. Lindsey and Linn leave for Kenya in less than a week.
My next goal is to read everything Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.
Let's do this.
<3gen
Nights when I had two projects due in less than 3 hours and I hadn't slept in 46 hours. Those nights when I was running on nothing but espresso, text messages, spellcheck, and cigarettes.
Mornings when the hangover was so bad I was sure it was cancer, brain cancer, a tumor the size of a grapefruit. They were going to have to saw my head open and let my brain expand. Mornings when I woke up much too close to the toilet for my comfort.
Days when I had $35 in my checking account, and the cable bill was $46.50, and I knew I'd wasted my money on lattes, toys, and thrift stores. Days when I had saltines and pickles for dinner.
Nights after breakups, after falling in love, after ruining myself over so many boys because I was just so. in. love. And I was just so. fucked. up.
I used to text Lindsey late at night, "Can we just drop out of college and move to Mexico?" Several times she said "Yes. Be there in 10 minutes."
But here I am at the end of it. Even the most devastating things, even the moments that made me wish I were dead or back home or wishing I were blind so I never had to see the world again, I made it through them all. I'm here, on the other side of the giant tunnel of youth, from preschool to graduation, and I came out of it alive.
It is actually physically jarring how different you are when you start college and when you end it. I am absolutely delighted with the person that I have turned out to be.
I have strength I didn't know I had, friends I never knew existed, power that only God can give. And how I start this new chapter, with a 9-5 job and a regular paycheck. I pay my own bills, I have my own health insurance, I'll do my laundry. This is what it's all been building up to. This is the moment. Right. Now.
Tomorrow I start my full time job. Last night I met a nice boy with soft hands and a sweet smile and I'm comfortable. My sister is about to be a senior in high school. Lindsey and Linn leave for Kenya in less than a week.
My next goal is to read everything Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.
Let's do this.
<3gen
Thursday, April 30, 2009
"Beauty Exists Only In Struggle" or "3 Voicemail Boxes, 2 Bright Pants, and 1 Pair of Heart-Shaped Sunglasses"
OH. DEAR. GOD.
I am, officially, 9 days away from graduating college. I am 9 days away from the following signs of grown-up-titude:
--My own health insurance
--A land-line home phone
--A work phone number
--Operating a fax machine
--Business cards with the word "administrator" on them
--Alcohol intended to last more than one evening
WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?
I remember sitting in Mrs. Amamoo's kindergarten class, practicing writing my name, becoming increasingly frustrated with how many E's were in my name. I could see into the Mrs. Cain's first grade classroom (I can't believe I still remember her name). And I remember, so distinctly, looking into that room and thinking to myself
How did I get here?
How did I get from rolling myself over, to walking on two legs, to tying my shoes, to spelling my name, to fingerpainting, to riding a tricycle, to playing dress-up, to getting a little sister, to picking out my own clothes, to stop getting toys for christmas, to wearing makeup, to getting allowance, to getting boyfriends, to getting kisses, to being rebellious, to learning to drive, to reading literature, to graduating high school, to drinking my way through sophomore year, to being in love, to losing it all, to gaining the world, to figuring myself out, to being THIS FUCKING CLOSE to being a REAL ADULT.
You just don't plan your life this far in advance, you can't. Even now, being 9 days away from the real, live world, I'm having trouble picturing it. Every age and year until 22 has a milestone, has memories, has a clear picture. After this? Things get blurry. What does the world after school look like?
If you had told me when I came to college that in 4 years I would be in love with a class of four year-olds, outwardly bisexual, without a boyfriend and LOVING IT, living with my male best friend, and have a job as a church secretary, I would have gotten offended, climbed in bed with my boyfriend, and snuggled blissfully into crazytown.
The craziest thing?
Everyone was right.
About everything.
And I had it all so very wrong.
Thank God.
<3gen
p.s. I'll probably get a tumblr soon. Further bulletins as events warrant.
I am, officially, 9 days away from graduating college. I am 9 days away from the following signs of grown-up-titude:
--My own health insurance
--A land-line home phone
--A work phone number
--Operating a fax machine
--Business cards with the word "administrator" on them
--Alcohol intended to last more than one evening
WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?
I remember sitting in Mrs. Amamoo's kindergarten class, practicing writing my name, becoming increasingly frustrated with how many E's were in my name. I could see into the Mrs. Cain's first grade classroom (I can't believe I still remember her name). And I remember, so distinctly, looking into that room and thinking to myself
"I am never, EVER, going to make it to first grade."
How did I get here?
How did I get from rolling myself over, to walking on two legs, to tying my shoes, to spelling my name, to fingerpainting, to riding a tricycle, to playing dress-up, to getting a little sister, to picking out my own clothes, to stop getting toys for christmas, to wearing makeup, to getting allowance, to getting boyfriends, to getting kisses, to being rebellious, to learning to drive, to reading literature, to graduating high school, to drinking my way through sophomore year, to being in love, to losing it all, to gaining the world, to figuring myself out, to being THIS FUCKING CLOSE to being a REAL ADULT.
You just don't plan your life this far in advance, you can't. Even now, being 9 days away from the real, live world, I'm having trouble picturing it. Every age and year until 22 has a milestone, has memories, has a clear picture. After this? Things get blurry. What does the world after school look like?
If you had told me when I came to college that in 4 years I would be in love with a class of four year-olds, outwardly bisexual, without a boyfriend and LOVING IT, living with my male best friend, and have a job as a church secretary, I would have gotten offended, climbed in bed with my boyfriend, and snuggled blissfully into crazytown.
The craziest thing?
Everyone was right.
About everything.
And I had it all so very wrong.
Thank God.
<3gen
p.s. I'll probably get a tumblr soon. Further bulletins as events warrant.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
"Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me, When I'm Sixty-Four?" or "The New Top Five"
1. So, my hair is brown.
I'm not entirely ok with it just yet, but I'll get there I guess. I feel sort of ordinary all of a sudden, and kids don't smile at me like they used to, and there are people who don't talk to me so easily. But last night my friend Daniel said to me, "What about all the people who didn't talk to you because of the hair? You'll have to find a way to be bright and have that energy without being pink anymore."
I suppose that's good advice.
2. I got the job at Canterbury, which is absolutely amazing. It pays great, it has health insurance, and I get to organize things and make things efficient all day, talk to people, act as a voice and a face for the church. It's a fantastic job, and I'll have the money to spend the next few years getting a Masters of Education with night classes. It's exactly what I needed, and I still get to keep my job with my class at church.
3. I am having senior-itis like I did not know existed, and I can't even motivate myself to write a three-page paper that's nothing but opinion on the Beatles. I had to write THREE PAGES on nothing but OPINION on MUSIC and I couldn't do it. That's insulting to my English Degree that awaits me at the end of this tunnel. But at this point, studying and producing assignments is equivalent to pulling an angry cat through a keyhole. Not only impossible, but clawing.
4. In my personal/emotional/sexual/relationship life, things are balanced. I feel at peace, in control, and comfortable exactly where I am and with exactly what I'm doing. I don't know how long this feeling will last, or how many nights I'll feel great before I get right back to writing metaphors about tears in my notebook. But for right now, I feel just right.
5. I am incredibly ready to be a grown-up, done with college, with a real job and a real salary. I am also terrified that, in reality, I am overwhelmingly unprepared.
Then again, isn't everyone?
<3gen
I'm not entirely ok with it just yet, but I'll get there I guess. I feel sort of ordinary all of a sudden, and kids don't smile at me like they used to, and there are people who don't talk to me so easily. But last night my friend Daniel said to me, "What about all the people who didn't talk to you because of the hair? You'll have to find a way to be bright and have that energy without being pink anymore."
I suppose that's good advice.
2. I got the job at Canterbury, which is absolutely amazing. It pays great, it has health insurance, and I get to organize things and make things efficient all day, talk to people, act as a voice and a face for the church. It's a fantastic job, and I'll have the money to spend the next few years getting a Masters of Education with night classes. It's exactly what I needed, and I still get to keep my job with my class at church.
3. I am having senior-itis like I did not know existed, and I can't even motivate myself to write a three-page paper that's nothing but opinion on the Beatles. I had to write THREE PAGES on nothing but OPINION on MUSIC and I couldn't do it. That's insulting to my English Degree that awaits me at the end of this tunnel. But at this point, studying and producing assignments is equivalent to pulling an angry cat through a keyhole. Not only impossible, but clawing.
4. In my personal/emotional/sexual/relationship life, things are balanced. I feel at peace, in control, and comfortable exactly where I am and with exactly what I'm doing. I don't know how long this feeling will last, or how many nights I'll feel great before I get right back to writing metaphors about tears in my notebook. But for right now, I feel just right.
5. I am incredibly ready to be a grown-up, done with college, with a real job and a real salary. I am also terrified that, in reality, I am overwhelmingly unprepared.
Then again, isn't everyone?
<3gen
Friday, March 20, 2009
"Peculiar Travel Suggestions" or "Finding Niagara"
So I read Cat's Cradle in one night, and came upon a superb quote the night before I embarked on a completely spontaneous, totally unplanned, fantastically unpredictable adventure with one Lindsey Mullen:
So we had a mantra. Then we had plane tickets, then we had two seats on a plane to the Buffalo/Niagara airport, and then we had a destination. And then we had the adventure.
If you want a play-by-play, there's twitter. If you want the highlights, there were friends we met on the bus that were always helpful, there were tiny birds that ate out of our hands about 10 yards from one of the most marvelous natural occurrences on planet earth, and there was a seriously beautiful stroke of divine intervention that led us to a positively fantastic hotel. Dearest thanks to Hotwire.com, your friendly neighborhood Buffalo airport security guard who also might be a drug dealer, and public libraries.
Buffalo and subsequently Niagara were, respectively, ghost-towns, but as Lindsey and I traveled the streets and public transit, we learned to appreciate it. It was quiet, chilly, and plenty of room to breathe. The houses in Buffalo have some of the most delightful-looking architecture I've ever seen, and we stumbled into a used book store full of hippies and a whole section of home-made zines. Sometimes whole streets would smell like garlic, and we danced to music playing from an outdoors store, and survived on nothing but crackers and clif bars. Then a doe-eyed little cheerleader from the church of Scientology gave us a free DVD.
The whole trip cost less than $300, including plane fare, hotel, food, and transportation. We only ate one real meal while we were there, and I think that the best way to appreciate food is to live on vending machine fare for a few days, then eat anything warm and soft. It'll be so good you'll insist it's manna from God himself, given only to you out of love.
It was a fantastic trip, and I didn't panic when we didn't have a place to stay, or when our friend Germaine tried to get us to stay in a hotel/front for human trafficking operation/crack house, or when Niagara was a town of abandoned buildings and closed Mediterranean food trailers.
My head was completely clear. It wasn't that I was making an effort not to think of my ex-boyfriend new happy-and-drug-free relationship, the work I have to get done for Apwonjo and graduation, papers and midterms, college sophomores who have still stolen my heart, my messy room, or my still foggy job prospects, but the thoughts weren't even there. I thought of nothing but Niagara falls, warm coats, Lindsey's smile, meeting new people, seeing new things, and appreciating how lucky I really am.
We only took video, no photos, so we'll take still shots from that later, and make a little travelogue. But for now, verbal description will have to suffice.
"Peculiar travel suggestions are dance lessons from God."
So we had a mantra. Then we had plane tickets, then we had two seats on a plane to the Buffalo/Niagara airport, and then we had a destination. And then we had the adventure.
If you want a play-by-play, there's twitter. If you want the highlights, there were friends we met on the bus that were always helpful, there were tiny birds that ate out of our hands about 10 yards from one of the most marvelous natural occurrences on planet earth, and there was a seriously beautiful stroke of divine intervention that led us to a positively fantastic hotel. Dearest thanks to Hotwire.com, your friendly neighborhood Buffalo airport security guard who also might be a drug dealer, and public libraries.
Buffalo and subsequently Niagara were, respectively, ghost-towns, but as Lindsey and I traveled the streets and public transit, we learned to appreciate it. It was quiet, chilly, and plenty of room to breathe. The houses in Buffalo have some of the most delightful-looking architecture I've ever seen, and we stumbled into a used book store full of hippies and a whole section of home-made zines. Sometimes whole streets would smell like garlic, and we danced to music playing from an outdoors store, and survived on nothing but crackers and clif bars. Then a doe-eyed little cheerleader from the church of Scientology gave us a free DVD.
The whole trip cost less than $300, including plane fare, hotel, food, and transportation. We only ate one real meal while we were there, and I think that the best way to appreciate food is to live on vending machine fare for a few days, then eat anything warm and soft. It'll be so good you'll insist it's manna from God himself, given only to you out of love.
It was a fantastic trip, and I didn't panic when we didn't have a place to stay, or when our friend Germaine tried to get us to stay in a hotel/front for human trafficking operation/crack house, or when Niagara was a town of abandoned buildings and closed Mediterranean food trailers.
My head was completely clear. It wasn't that I was making an effort not to think of my ex-boyfriend new happy-and-drug-free relationship, the work I have to get done for Apwonjo and graduation, papers and midterms, college sophomores who have still stolen my heart, my messy room, or my still foggy job prospects, but the thoughts weren't even there. I thought of nothing but Niagara falls, warm coats, Lindsey's smile, meeting new people, seeing new things, and appreciating how lucky I really am.
We only took video, no photos, so we'll take still shots from that later, and make a little travelogue. But for now, verbal description will have to suffice.
Friday, March 6, 2009
"There Is No Home Like The One You've Got, Cause That Home Belongs To You"
I need to go outside more. It just makes me feel good.
So yeah, I pretty much failed a midterm in one of my favorite classes. And yes, I got what can only be described as "royally rejected" from the guy that I've been gettin' weak in the knees for since November. And I've been worried about what to do after graduation, having no plans and no income, and every try in the job market collapsing like a flan in a cupboard.
But I have GOT to start remembering what I do have. Thanks, Tegan&Sara, for pumping all the sad girl lyrics you could through my speakers and into my veins, but let's take a break. It's a beautiful day outside, and tonight I go home to see my family and my dogs, and tomorrow I get to see Rutsky. I should be happy that I am starting to mend a friendship that I had no business breaking in the first place. I should be happy that I've got great friends and a good family and a nice computer and cowboy boots and a great job- even if it doesn't pay that well.
It's time to make spring break plans with my dream girl, and make some art to hang on people's walls, and cook lasagna and watch good movies and read Kurt Vonnegut and just go outside more.
<3<3<3gen
So yeah, I pretty much failed a midterm in one of my favorite classes. And yes, I got what can only be described as "royally rejected" from the guy that I've been gettin' weak in the knees for since November. And I've been worried about what to do after graduation, having no plans and no income, and every try in the job market collapsing like a flan in a cupboard.
But I have GOT to start remembering what I do have. Thanks, Tegan&Sara, for pumping all the sad girl lyrics you could through my speakers and into my veins, but let's take a break. It's a beautiful day outside, and tonight I go home to see my family and my dogs, and tomorrow I get to see Rutsky. I should be happy that I am starting to mend a friendship that I had no business breaking in the first place. I should be happy that I've got great friends and a good family and a nice computer and cowboy boots and a great job- even if it doesn't pay that well.
It's time to make spring break plans with my dream girl, and make some art to hang on people's walls, and cook lasagna and watch good movies and read Kurt Vonnegut and just go outside more.
<3<3<3gen
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"I Just Want Back In Your Head" or "I Feel You In My Heart And I Don't Even Know You"
and then they sent it to me. Now they live in my head.
"You Wouldn't Like Me", by Tegan and Sara
There's a war inside of me
Do I cause new heartbreak to write
A new broken song?
Do I push it down?
Or let it run me right into the ground?
Oh I, I feel like
I wouldn't like me if I met me
Well I can't stop talking for fear
Of listening to unwelcome sound
And you haven't called me in weeks and
Honestly, it's bringing me down
Oh, I, I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me
I, I feel like you wouldn't like me if you met me
And don't you worry, there's still time
Don’t you worry, there’s still time
There’s nothing to live for
When I'm sleeping alone
And I wash the windows outside in
Hopes that the glare will bring you around
I, I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me
I, I feel like you wouldn't like me if you met me
So you don’t you worry there’s still time
Don’t you worry there’s still time
So you don’t you worry there’s still time
Don’t you worry there’s still time
So you don’t you worry there’s still time
Don’t you worry there’s still time
Sunshine is days away
I won't be saved, I know all the words
I can't say that I'll love you forever
Sunshine is days away
I won't be saved, I know all the words
I won't say that I'll love you forever
Thursday, February 26, 2009
"Whatever The Mess You Are, You're Mine, Ok" or "It's Not Easy To Be Human"
I have so many things to update about, and yet all that's on my mind is that if my back upper back were also a man, I have clearly slept with his wife and killed his dog.
I carry a laptop in a horribly inefficient messenger bag absolutely everywhere I go, for fear of leaving the still unpaid for computer anywhere but by my side. I am sleeping on various people's couches 3 nights a week, which lack in both back support and sufficient pillows. I spend inordinate amounts of time on my laptop, needing it for school and work and play and to update my facebook 24567 times a day. I regularly hoist up 40-50 pound toddlers up onto my hips and sometimes shoulders, carrying them around and sometimes whirling them around behind my back. Not to mention the pair of very beautiful, but also very heavy 36DDD boobs that I've got to keep afloat with nothing but pretty ribbon and what is likely coat-hanger wire.
Seems I may have developed some back problems.
I am, by all accounts, a muddled-up mass of injury at this point.
I still have a little limp on my left leg and now what appears to be a FUCKING STAB WOUND from the blue party last week, so the left leg is out of commission. My right leg is essentially fine, but it's pickin' up lefty's slack and it ain't happy about it. My hips, try as they might to avoid it, are bumped by my messenger bag, car doors, and door frames on such regular intervals that I've got two, half-moon shaped bruises atop each one. My right shoulder is the one that seems to be enacting the wrath of a drunken cuckold, and my uterus is in the process of punishing me inordinately for not bearing child this month. That last one, however, should always be regarded as a blessing. This all on top of the typical behaviour of little sleep, high caffeine levels, and pathetic eating schedule.
Wah, wah, wah, so on and so forth, poor me, poor me.
Anyway, I'm sorry to not write about visiting Graceland, Too with my friends in Holly Springs, MS at 1AM where I encountered the single most insane experience of my life. Add I don't have time to write about how I solved my boy problems, and even though there were tears and I'm still feeling a little rejected and in the process of licking my wounds, it's over, and that sure is better than having a "boyfriend"- blech. And I would post about how I was getting more and more scared of graduating, but once again the illustrious Miss Mullen of all things Glorious and Glitterous stepped in and eased my nerves.
But for now, laying on my bed and typing like this?
I THINK THIS IS HOW IT ALL STARTED, YOU MORON.
<3gen
I carry a laptop in a horribly inefficient messenger bag absolutely everywhere I go, for fear of leaving the still unpaid for computer anywhere but by my side. I am sleeping on various people's couches 3 nights a week, which lack in both back support and sufficient pillows. I spend inordinate amounts of time on my laptop, needing it for school and work and play and to update my facebook 24567 times a day. I regularly hoist up 40-50 pound toddlers up onto my hips and sometimes shoulders, carrying them around and sometimes whirling them around behind my back. Not to mention the pair of very beautiful, but also very heavy 36DDD boobs that I've got to keep afloat with nothing but pretty ribbon and what is likely coat-hanger wire.
Seems I may have developed some back problems.
I am, by all accounts, a muddled-up mass of injury at this point.
I still have a little limp on my left leg and now what appears to be a FUCKING STAB WOUND from the blue party last week, so the left leg is out of commission. My right leg is essentially fine, but it's pickin' up lefty's slack and it ain't happy about it. My hips, try as they might to avoid it, are bumped by my messenger bag, car doors, and door frames on such regular intervals that I've got two, half-moon shaped bruises atop each one. My right shoulder is the one that seems to be enacting the wrath of a drunken cuckold, and my uterus is in the process of punishing me inordinately for not bearing child this month. That last one, however, should always be regarded as a blessing. This all on top of the typical behaviour of little sleep, high caffeine levels, and pathetic eating schedule.
Wah, wah, wah, so on and so forth, poor me, poor me.
Anyway, I'm sorry to not write about visiting Graceland, Too with my friends in Holly Springs, MS at 1AM where I encountered the single most insane experience of my life. Add I don't have time to write about how I solved my boy problems, and even though there were tears and I'm still feeling a little rejected and in the process of licking my wounds, it's over, and that sure is better than having a "boyfriend"- blech. And I would post about how I was getting more and more scared of graduating, but once again the illustrious Miss Mullen of all things Glorious and Glitterous stepped in and eased my nerves.
But for now, laying on my bed and typing like this?
I THINK THIS IS HOW IT ALL STARTED, YOU MORON.
<3gen
Monday, February 16, 2009
"The Not-So-Good Leonora" or "My Analyst Warned Me, But You Were So Beautiful I Got Another Analyst"
This is what I really wish this blog could be like.
But I'm afraid that my writing skills are not up to par, I am far too honest and far too personal, and it will always be apparent that this is yet another place I go for affirmation.
But you guys still like my way a little, right?
See, there it is. Right there.
<3gen
p.s. Preview for next post: Graceland Too in Holly Springs, MS, how I'd forgotten how truly glorious it is to be single, and how I am slowly becoming afraid to graduate school.
But I'm afraid that my writing skills are not up to par, I am far too honest and far too personal, and it will always be apparent that this is yet another place I go for affirmation.
But you guys still like my way a little, right?
See, there it is. Right there.
<3gen
p.s. Preview for next post: Graceland Too in Holly Springs, MS, how I'd forgotten how truly glorious it is to be single, and how I am slowly becoming afraid to graduate school.
Friday, February 13, 2009
"But You Still Crumble At My Name" or "I'm Building Lonely Mixtapes All Night Long"
Never wish that your life were more interesting. EVER.
<3gen
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
"Like He Was The Hat And Those Songs Were The Rabbit" or "The Earth Is Warmer When You Laugh"
I am so tired of having to take care of this silly physical being. Why can't I just run around in cowboy boots without arch support, tense my shoulders over a computer for 6 hours a day, stress myself out,consume nothing but lattes and beer, and sleep two hours a night? Why is that so fucking bad for me? Come on, it's 2009, why haven't we figured this out?
Well, since it appears that the above scenario doesn't bode well for feeling very healthy, I certainly haven't. I've been hitting that stage where you meet people on the sidewalk and they say, "Oh hey, you look tired!" At which point you just want to say something like, "Well thanks," or punch them. I've begun craving the Victorian Era where it would be perfectly acceptable for me to walk into class, discover that my test in not in fact a week away but is today, and just faint onto a nearby couch. But nobody invests in fainting couches these days.
Inside all of this physical abuse my emotional center has turned into something resembling a poor little bruised peach. I just can't ever turn off these pesky little neurons that keep firing and re-firing, analyzing and over-analyzing, alternating between being convinced that my needy-little-self is what makes me so gosh-darned-lovable, and perpetual loathing of how that needy-little-self might be the thing standing between me and what I want. The other night I sat across from him while he talked about music, and wrote down every word he said. God, it's just as tiring to try and take care of this emotional peach as it is to take care of my vital organs.
More than an adequate fainting couch, I've been craving escape. I want to hide, disappear. Instead of work, school, friends, parties, I want to sit in my room and organize my music files, read all the books I've got but have never read, paint my desk, sew a dress. I just want to lock myself in my room for days and stay in bed under my big, white comforter and pretend I'm in the clouds.
My strange sleep schedule has lent itself to intense and frequent dreaming. Every time I wake up I'm so disappointed that there's this big, great, free adventure happening in my head, and I have to miss it so that I can do things like eat, work, and live.
<3gen
Well, since it appears that the above scenario doesn't bode well for feeling very healthy, I certainly haven't. I've been hitting that stage where you meet people on the sidewalk and they say, "Oh hey, you look tired!" At which point you just want to say something like, "Well thanks," or punch them. I've begun craving the Victorian Era where it would be perfectly acceptable for me to walk into class, discover that my test in not in fact a week away but is today, and just faint onto a nearby couch. But nobody invests in fainting couches these days.
Inside all of this physical abuse my emotional center has turned into something resembling a poor little bruised peach. I just can't ever turn off these pesky little neurons that keep firing and re-firing, analyzing and over-analyzing, alternating between being convinced that my needy-little-self is what makes me so gosh-darned-lovable, and perpetual loathing of how that needy-little-self might be the thing standing between me and what I want. The other night I sat across from him while he talked about music, and wrote down every word he said. God, it's just as tiring to try and take care of this emotional peach as it is to take care of my vital organs.
More than an adequate fainting couch, I've been craving escape. I want to hide, disappear. Instead of work, school, friends, parties, I want to sit in my room and organize my music files, read all the books I've got but have never read, paint my desk, sew a dress. I just want to lock myself in my room for days and stay in bed under my big, white comforter and pretend I'm in the clouds.
My strange sleep schedule has lent itself to intense and frequent dreaming. Every time I wake up I'm so disappointed that there's this big, great, free adventure happening in my head, and I have to miss it so that I can do things like eat, work, and live.
<3gen
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
"Reasons To Love You" or "The Best People I Know"
I'm tired of writing about myself. I want to write about you guys.
Yeah, you guys. All those glorious little humanoids that I love so much, and why I love ya, and why we're friends, and why I think you're just so gosh darned cool. This blog is such a monument to my self-indulgence and vanity, let's take a break. I just want to talk to you.
Dear Mom,
There are times when your absolute marvelousness crashes into me like waves on the California shore where you used to live and wanted a basketball for Christmas. You are the smartest person I know, the most level-headed person I know, and you make me feel better about absolutely everything. Sometimes I just don't know how you do it all, or how you manage to express love in such a healthy, beautiful, and balanced way. I hope and pray that I turn into my mother.
Dear Dad,
I tell you, there's just no love in the world like Daddy for his little girl. Things haven't always been easy for you and me, but only because we are so much the same. Chronic extroverts, loud in public, always want to make the whole room laugh. And you certainly do. If I can trust you to do anything, you can always make people smile. While mom is ready to push me out of the nest with my fully-grown wings, you hold on tightly and insist that I'm not yet ready to fly. I cling to you still, as I may well into adulthood, trying so desperately to stay the little girl I am inside. You show me remarkable wisdom every day, while also teaching me so many things about myself. Even when you frustrate me most, it teaches me more about love.
Dear Anna,
Heavens, has it all been said? So many times? We are the wands, we are the vikings. You are my heart and I am yours. You are everything I dreamed you would be the day that you were born, and I love you more every time I think about you. You have saved my life so many times and never known it, and when everything else has seemed collapsing and crumbling, there has always been you. If I knew anyone who deserved to be a Saint, it would be you. Just don't get lit on fire or anything, be the sort of saint who dies of old age while dancing fiercely in a storm of firecrackers and wild swans.
Dear Linn,
You make me feel a little less crazy, and a little more crazy, and you make me laugh like nobody else. You and I come from the same place, and our backpacks weigh as much as our hearts, and our brains never turn off, and we're always caffeinated and no one understands what we mean but us. You are the only friend I can study with effectively. Also, never stop telling me when I'm being a bitch, I need that.
Dear Lindsey,
I've said it a million times, and if anyone has been given love and credit on this blog, it's certainly you. I don't seem to be able to talk enough about how much I love you. You remind me to be spontaneous, that time is a construct, and that yes, we need a baby seal. You put up with me at my worst, and you are always honest with me, and you deal with me being stupid and mean gracefully and kindly. Also, never stop telling me that I'm being loud, I need that too.
Dear Ginny,
You remind me sometimes that I'm not alone. You make me feel less ridiculous, less silly, like I'm not the only one. There are some days where I feel like I haven't learned anything, and I feel silly for letting boy problems make my head spin, and everyone around me is agreeing with me that I'm much too mature to let relationship problems bog me down so much anymore. Then there you are, telling me that it's ok if I still get emotional sometimes, and maybe it isn't ridiculous, but maybe it's okay if I fall in love all the time. You make me feel okay about being in love with everyone.
Dear Alex,
On those nights when only the Christmas lights on your mantle are lit, or you strike a match in a dark room, or all the clocks in the whole house are wrong and you say, "Hey, can I read you something? It's really amazing," those are the nights that I want to remember forever and forever and forever. When you smile and dance around a room, or talk about one single song for thirteen minutes, or read a poem when no one in the room wants to hear it but you read it anyway because I want to hear it and I could have you read me stories all day, those are the best parts about you in the whole world. I wish I read as much as you do. I wish I had a smile like yours.
Dear Daniel H.,
There are certain friends that you have, and no matter how much time passes, or what you go through together, or how much time passes between phone calls, they are always there for you no matter what, and we're those kind of friends. I love that we have managed to stay close over the years, and nobody gets you like I do, and nobody gets me like you do. I like putting up with you. I like watching you get silly perturbed over little things. I like that I can be honest with you, and you with me. I like that we have learned each other so well. I like that we will always, always, be brother and sister.
Dear Cooper,
I say this with complete sincerity and no exaggeration: There is no one else in my life that I can be so completely myself with. I think this feeling is mutual for us. We've talked about it before, but you and I were just meant to be roommates. We know each other like mapmakers know the land, and we've surveyed and drawn borders and we could walk around with our eyes closed. There are nights when we both are saying nothing in particular, but we just laugh and we just get it. And it just works. I know you and all your quirks, and I love them. You know what to expect from me, and you always make me laugh. You and I can always have a silent conversation in a room full of people and that's perfect.
Dear Ben W,
I don't think I yell louder or smile bigger than when you walk through the door at a party. I know that we don't see each other very often, but I think that maybe that's how we're supposed to be. So every time I see you, I yell and get so excited my eyes start to water. I want to hug you more, though. And have coffee with you more, and jump on you more, and dance with you more. So maybe I lied, maybe we need to see each other much, much more often. And also, you're a brilliant writer.
Dear Ryan Spain,
I like that we are friends again, and that we have crossed so many bridges together- even while they were burning. We will always have strings stretching between our hearts, and we'll always have little secrets floating between us that make us best friends. We have been to the edge of the earth together, and we will always keep each other from that edge again. We are the lovers.
Dear Ryan Scruggs,
You and I are the same. We have the same heart, the same sigh when we feel lonely, and I think we will soon be at point where we can hear each other at night lamenting over the same lost things. You can always understand me, and you are always there for me and you always make me laugh. Over the years we've seen each other through so much, and we've always managed to laugh. You will always be a force of optimism and laughter in my life.
Dear Laura,
Goodness gracious you're cute. I love that you have come into my life, and into James's. Your laugh can light up a dark room and you are always up for an adventure. I've never met someone who seemed so at peace that they radiated peace from them- except James, of course. You're always ready to stay up another hour, cook something ridiculous late at night, and go on a big glorious trip for that crazy thing called love. You have a knack for making families everywhere you go.
Dear James,
Can enough be said about you, my dear? A source of strength, wisdom, and endless, endless late nights of ridiculous laughter and absurd stories that no one will understand years from now except the few of us who were there. You can make fun and beauty out of absolutely anything, and I will always be amazed by that. You are one of the most determined people I know, and the amount of knowledge and travel that you have accomplished over the years makes me so proud of you. You and I have been through the fire, and I love you so so so very much for the person that you are. If I could be like you in any way, I would love to be able to have the courage that you have to try new things. Oh, and be good at them. That would be nice, too.
Dear Ben R,
You and I will always be a beautiful thing. You will always play music late at night, and I will always call you while I walk through dark parking lots because I know that you want me to be safe. We will always be friends. One way or another, at one time or another, we will always be friends.
Dear Daniel M,
I smile just thinkin' about you. You can always make the world seem a little more manageable, a little less scary, and a little more musical. You have fun with absolutely everything and god knows we all need more of that in our lives. You live your life as a series of beautiful moments, and I want to be in more of them. Just to see the brightness of it all.
Dear Jeremy,
I wear your necklace for good luck. It means the world to me, still. As do you.
Dear Kat&Liz,
I include you two together because you both are my creative inspiration. Kat, you are my painted bird. Liz, you are my vintage pillbox hat. You are both the artists I wished I could always be but never had quite the skill or the passion, and it delights me to no end that you are both in the world. I miss you terribly and kick myself for not orchestrating trips to see you more often. Have no doubt, I will.
Dear boys: Logan, Morgan, Paker, &Michael
It is so wonderful that you kids haven't gotten tired of me yet, because goodness knows you're the most fun kids on the block. Logan, I'm never going to understand you and that's always going to make me happy and love you more. Your knowledge of music will always absolutely dumbfound me. Morgan, you're a great guitar teacher and I love how much you make me laugh. Half the time I don't understand your sense of humor which somehow, some way, makes it even funnier. Parker, I like that I can look at you from across the room and we shake our heads and think man these people are crazy, and that now I've found one other person that understands how great milk actually is. Michael, get a facebook.
Dear Jennifer C,
Thank you for being such a glorious mother, and such a good friend. I know I have told you again and again, but you have managed to raise two little kids so full of joy sometimes I think they're going to start lighting up from the inside. I always feel comfortable around you and I feel like I've gained a second family. You're one seriously awesome woman.
Dear William F,
Oh, you get it.
<3gen
Yeah, you guys. All those glorious little humanoids that I love so much, and why I love ya, and why we're friends, and why I think you're just so gosh darned cool. This blog is such a monument to my self-indulgence and vanity, let's take a break. I just want to talk to you.
Dear Mom,
There are times when your absolute marvelousness crashes into me like waves on the California shore where you used to live and wanted a basketball for Christmas. You are the smartest person I know, the most level-headed person I know, and you make me feel better about absolutely everything. Sometimes I just don't know how you do it all, or how you manage to express love in such a healthy, beautiful, and balanced way. I hope and pray that I turn into my mother.
Dear Dad,
I tell you, there's just no love in the world like Daddy for his little girl. Things haven't always been easy for you and me, but only because we are so much the same. Chronic extroverts, loud in public, always want to make the whole room laugh. And you certainly do. If I can trust you to do anything, you can always make people smile. While mom is ready to push me out of the nest with my fully-grown wings, you hold on tightly and insist that I'm not yet ready to fly. I cling to you still, as I may well into adulthood, trying so desperately to stay the little girl I am inside. You show me remarkable wisdom every day, while also teaching me so many things about myself. Even when you frustrate me most, it teaches me more about love.
Dear Anna,
Heavens, has it all been said? So many times? We are the wands, we are the vikings. You are my heart and I am yours. You are everything I dreamed you would be the day that you were born, and I love you more every time I think about you. You have saved my life so many times and never known it, and when everything else has seemed collapsing and crumbling, there has always been you. If I knew anyone who deserved to be a Saint, it would be you. Just don't get lit on fire or anything, be the sort of saint who dies of old age while dancing fiercely in a storm of firecrackers and wild swans.
Dear Linn,
You make me feel a little less crazy, and a little more crazy, and you make me laugh like nobody else. You and I come from the same place, and our backpacks weigh as much as our hearts, and our brains never turn off, and we're always caffeinated and no one understands what we mean but us. You are the only friend I can study with effectively. Also, never stop telling me when I'm being a bitch, I need that.
Dear Lindsey,
I've said it a million times, and if anyone has been given love and credit on this blog, it's certainly you. I don't seem to be able to talk enough about how much I love you. You remind me to be spontaneous, that time is a construct, and that yes, we need a baby seal. You put up with me at my worst, and you are always honest with me, and you deal with me being stupid and mean gracefully and kindly. Also, never stop telling me that I'm being loud, I need that too.
Dear Ginny,
You remind me sometimes that I'm not alone. You make me feel less ridiculous, less silly, like I'm not the only one. There are some days where I feel like I haven't learned anything, and I feel silly for letting boy problems make my head spin, and everyone around me is agreeing with me that I'm much too mature to let relationship problems bog me down so much anymore. Then there you are, telling me that it's ok if I still get emotional sometimes, and maybe it isn't ridiculous, but maybe it's okay if I fall in love all the time. You make me feel okay about being in love with everyone.
Dear Alex,
On those nights when only the Christmas lights on your mantle are lit, or you strike a match in a dark room, or all the clocks in the whole house are wrong and you say, "Hey, can I read you something? It's really amazing," those are the nights that I want to remember forever and forever and forever. When you smile and dance around a room, or talk about one single song for thirteen minutes, or read a poem when no one in the room wants to hear it but you read it anyway because I want to hear it and I could have you read me stories all day, those are the best parts about you in the whole world. I wish I read as much as you do. I wish I had a smile like yours.
Dear Daniel H.,
There are certain friends that you have, and no matter how much time passes, or what you go through together, or how much time passes between phone calls, they are always there for you no matter what, and we're those kind of friends. I love that we have managed to stay close over the years, and nobody gets you like I do, and nobody gets me like you do. I like putting up with you. I like watching you get silly perturbed over little things. I like that I can be honest with you, and you with me. I like that we have learned each other so well. I like that we will always, always, be brother and sister.
Dear Cooper,
I say this with complete sincerity and no exaggeration: There is no one else in my life that I can be so completely myself with. I think this feeling is mutual for us. We've talked about it before, but you and I were just meant to be roommates. We know each other like mapmakers know the land, and we've surveyed and drawn borders and we could walk around with our eyes closed. There are nights when we both are saying nothing in particular, but we just laugh and we just get it. And it just works. I know you and all your quirks, and I love them. You know what to expect from me, and you always make me laugh. You and I can always have a silent conversation in a room full of people and that's perfect.
Dear Ben W,
I don't think I yell louder or smile bigger than when you walk through the door at a party. I know that we don't see each other very often, but I think that maybe that's how we're supposed to be. So every time I see you, I yell and get so excited my eyes start to water. I want to hug you more, though. And have coffee with you more, and jump on you more, and dance with you more. So maybe I lied, maybe we need to see each other much, much more often. And also, you're a brilliant writer.
Dear Ryan Spain,
I like that we are friends again, and that we have crossed so many bridges together- even while they were burning. We will always have strings stretching between our hearts, and we'll always have little secrets floating between us that make us best friends. We have been to the edge of the earth together, and we will always keep each other from that edge again. We are the lovers.
Dear Ryan Scruggs,
You and I are the same. We have the same heart, the same sigh when we feel lonely, and I think we will soon be at point where we can hear each other at night lamenting over the same lost things. You can always understand me, and you are always there for me and you always make me laugh. Over the years we've seen each other through so much, and we've always managed to laugh. You will always be a force of optimism and laughter in my life.
Dear Laura,
Goodness gracious you're cute. I love that you have come into my life, and into James's. Your laugh can light up a dark room and you are always up for an adventure. I've never met someone who seemed so at peace that they radiated peace from them- except James, of course. You're always ready to stay up another hour, cook something ridiculous late at night, and go on a big glorious trip for that crazy thing called love. You have a knack for making families everywhere you go.
Dear James,
Can enough be said about you, my dear? A source of strength, wisdom, and endless, endless late nights of ridiculous laughter and absurd stories that no one will understand years from now except the few of us who were there. You can make fun and beauty out of absolutely anything, and I will always be amazed by that. You are one of the most determined people I know, and the amount of knowledge and travel that you have accomplished over the years makes me so proud of you. You and I have been through the fire, and I love you so so so very much for the person that you are. If I could be like you in any way, I would love to be able to have the courage that you have to try new things. Oh, and be good at them. That would be nice, too.
Dear Ben R,
You and I will always be a beautiful thing. You will always play music late at night, and I will always call you while I walk through dark parking lots because I know that you want me to be safe. We will always be friends. One way or another, at one time or another, we will always be friends.
Dear Daniel M,
I smile just thinkin' about you. You can always make the world seem a little more manageable, a little less scary, and a little more musical. You have fun with absolutely everything and god knows we all need more of that in our lives. You live your life as a series of beautiful moments, and I want to be in more of them. Just to see the brightness of it all.
Dear Jeremy,
I wear your necklace for good luck. It means the world to me, still. As do you.
Dear Kat&Liz,
I include you two together because you both are my creative inspiration. Kat, you are my painted bird. Liz, you are my vintage pillbox hat. You are both the artists I wished I could always be but never had quite the skill or the passion, and it delights me to no end that you are both in the world. I miss you terribly and kick myself for not orchestrating trips to see you more often. Have no doubt, I will.
Dear boys: Logan, Morgan, Paker, &Michael
It is so wonderful that you kids haven't gotten tired of me yet, because goodness knows you're the most fun kids on the block. Logan, I'm never going to understand you and that's always going to make me happy and love you more. Your knowledge of music will always absolutely dumbfound me. Morgan, you're a great guitar teacher and I love how much you make me laugh. Half the time I don't understand your sense of humor which somehow, some way, makes it even funnier. Parker, I like that I can look at you from across the room and we shake our heads and think man these people are crazy, and that now I've found one other person that understands how great milk actually is. Michael, get a facebook.
Dear Jennifer C,
Thank you for being such a glorious mother, and such a good friend. I know I have told you again and again, but you have managed to raise two little kids so full of joy sometimes I think they're going to start lighting up from the inside. I always feel comfortable around you and I feel like I've gained a second family. You're one seriously awesome woman.
Dear William F,
Oh, you get it.
<3gen
Monday, January 26, 2009
"I Would Be In Love Anyway" or "You Gotta Love Livin' Baby, Cause Dyin' Is A Pain In The Ass"
Frankie wrote this song for me. He and I, see, we're kindred spirits, and he knew it back then. He knew there would be a girl like me, who needed somebody to croon into her ear something that put her complicated, convoluted, fickle and difficult feelings into such simple little words that it would make her smile.
This song is my life story, and Frankie wrote it just for me.
"If I lived the past over
Saw today from yesterday
I would be in love
Anyway
If I knew that you'd leave me
If I knew you wouldn't stay
I would be in love
Anyway
Sometimes I think
Think about before
Sometime I think
If I knew then
What I know now
I don't believe I'd ever change
Somehow
Though you'll never be with me
And there are no words to say
I'll still be in love
Anyway
If I knew then
What I know now
I don't believe I'd ever change
Somehow
If I knew then
What I know now
I don't believe I'd ever change
Somehow
This song is my life story, and Frankie wrote it just for me.
"If I lived the past over
Saw today from yesterday
I would be in love
Anyway
If I knew that you'd leave me
If I knew you wouldn't stay
I would be in love
Anyway
Sometimes I think
Think about before
Sometime I think
If I knew then
What I know now
I don't believe I'd ever change
Somehow
Though you'll never be with me
And there are no words to say
I'll still be in love
Anyway
If I knew then
What I know now
I don't believe I'd ever change
Somehow
If I knew then
What I know now
I don't believe I'd ever change
Somehow
Saturday, January 24, 2009
"The Smell Of Mustard Gas And Roses" or "Valentine's Day in Dresden"
Don't we all have days like this, ladies?
Wrapped up in a down comforter on your couch, a batch of brownies on the coffee table, watching Sex&The City and contemplating what it is, exactly, that got us into this mess? And why, exactly, we can't seem to get ourselves out of it?
And somewhere between the middle of the brownies, episode four of single girls with lots of money and beautiful dating prospects, and whenever you start to think that you may need to venture into the world at some point, you start to wonder why you let relationship stuff matter enough to put you in this couch-and-comforter situation anyway?
Then you sigh, pick up another brownie, and settle in a little deeper.
Fuck you, Saturday.
<3gen
Wrapped up in a down comforter on your couch, a batch of brownies on the coffee table, watching Sex&The City and contemplating what it is, exactly, that got us into this mess? And why, exactly, we can't seem to get ourselves out of it?
And somewhere between the middle of the brownies, episode four of single girls with lots of money and beautiful dating prospects, and whenever you start to think that you may need to venture into the world at some point, you start to wonder why you let relationship stuff matter enough to put you in this couch-and-comforter situation anyway?
Then you sigh, pick up another brownie, and settle in a little deeper.
Fuck you, Saturday.
<3gen
Thursday, January 22, 2009
"Let Me Hold My Broken Parts" or "A Pretty Girl Is Like A Violent Crime, If You Do It Wrong You Could Do Time"
Sometimes I feel two things at once.
1. I had the most miraculous birthday. I walked into Lindsey's house for the one millionth time, and it felt familiar. Linn and Whitney were next to me, friends were in the kitchen, everything felt comfortable and at peace. The kitchen door was closed, and the lights were off in the living room. I thought nothing of it. Lindsey's face glowed with that smile. I walked into the living room to have what sounded like a hundred people yelling SURPRISE, and a few loners saying ASTONISHMENT! Thanks, Will Thomas...
I looked around and saw the most friendly faces, faces of people that I loved, and I filled up to the brim with this desire to want to pull them all together in a big hug. We played music and danced all night and I even got a kiss from a boy I like. I felt whole and colorful and that things were just like they were supposed to be. Lindsey let me climb on her coffee table and sing Christmas songs, and then she was the best girl in the world. Everyone was the best everything in the world.
I was renewed.
2. Amidst all the renewal, in the days following my miracle birthday, I also became painfully aware that there seems to be little I can do about my habits with boys. It appears that I will never be able to look beyond "what feels good right now" and see "what will hurt later." I won't be able to hold myself back from "what my heart tells me it wants" and see "what the boy tells me he wants." I seem to be taking carpe diem to a dangerous level (both with my heart and with my liver), and it makes me feel pretty unwanted most of the time. At the same time, I'm behaving in a way that is ensuring I remain feeling as such for as long as I possibly can.
3. Feeling overwhelmingly loved and perpetually unwanted at the same time is very confusing. It makes me need more caffeine and my fingers hurt often. Like they're craving to reach out and hold something but I don't have the direction. Or like I'm in withdrawals.
<3gen
1. I had the most miraculous birthday. I walked into Lindsey's house for the one millionth time, and it felt familiar. Linn and Whitney were next to me, friends were in the kitchen, everything felt comfortable and at peace. The kitchen door was closed, and the lights were off in the living room. I thought nothing of it. Lindsey's face glowed with that smile. I walked into the living room to have what sounded like a hundred people yelling SURPRISE, and a few loners saying ASTONISHMENT! Thanks, Will Thomas...
I looked around and saw the most friendly faces, faces of people that I loved, and I filled up to the brim with this desire to want to pull them all together in a big hug. We played music and danced all night and I even got a kiss from a boy I like. I felt whole and colorful and that things were just like they were supposed to be. Lindsey let me climb on her coffee table and sing Christmas songs, and then she was the best girl in the world. Everyone was the best everything in the world.
I was renewed.
2. Amidst all the renewal, in the days following my miracle birthday, I also became painfully aware that there seems to be little I can do about my habits with boys. It appears that I will never be able to look beyond "what feels good right now" and see "what will hurt later." I won't be able to hold myself back from "what my heart tells me it wants" and see "what the boy tells me he wants." I seem to be taking carpe diem to a dangerous level (both with my heart and with my liver), and it makes me feel pretty unwanted most of the time. At the same time, I'm behaving in a way that is ensuring I remain feeling as such for as long as I possibly can.
3. Feeling overwhelmingly loved and perpetually unwanted at the same time is very confusing. It makes me need more caffeine and my fingers hurt often. Like they're craving to reach out and hold something but I don't have the direction. Or like I'm in withdrawals.
<3gen
Thursday, January 15, 2009
"It Was One Of The Beautiful Girls Who Woke Me Up" or "One Year Older, One Year Closer To It All"
I think actually this time, the morning of my first day of being one year older, I actually felt a whole lot different than I had felt on my last day of being 21.
Unfortunately, I don't think I'm gonna know all the lessons I learned between 21 and 22 until I get to 23. Not to mention that there is a significant portion of blog-o-land taken up right below this entry of all sorts of delicious life stories that just scream of learning lessons and getting to know myself. It's just not necessary for the birthday, thanks for having me in January, mom.
However, there is one thing that is worth noting, and it has been noted several times on this blog, and every other corner of the internet where I go to be compulsively and chronically extroverted:
Lindsey Mullen can not be described in word that I have at my disposal. I have been praying to God, or some form of a God, since I was a child, younger than a child. I have prayed for everything any human being prays for: possessions, love, fixed problems, easier roads to travel, doom on others, ability to remember math problems. Never has a prayer been answered in such bright light, such ineffable wisdom that only comes from knowing all of creation, and with such powerful love as the answer that created, and delivered so undeservingly to me, the friend and miracle that is that girl.
<3gen
Unfortunately, I don't think I'm gonna know all the lessons I learned between 21 and 22 until I get to 23. Not to mention that there is a significant portion of blog-o-land taken up right below this entry of all sorts of delicious life stories that just scream of learning lessons and getting to know myself. It's just not necessary for the birthday, thanks for having me in January, mom.
However, there is one thing that is worth noting, and it has been noted several times on this blog, and every other corner of the internet where I go to be compulsively and chronically extroverted:
Lindsey Mullen can not be described in word that I have at my disposal. I have been praying to God, or some form of a God, since I was a child, younger than a child. I have prayed for everything any human being prays for: possessions, love, fixed problems, easier roads to travel, doom on others, ability to remember math problems. Never has a prayer been answered in such bright light, such ineffable wisdom that only comes from knowing all of creation, and with such powerful love as the answer that created, and delivered so undeservingly to me, the friend and miracle that is that girl.
<3gen
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
"Romanticism Has Never Been Properly Judged" or "Maybe I Was Born To Hold You"
I hate that my birthday is so close to the new year, because I feel like maybe I'm supposed to learn a whole bunch of lessons between then and now.
But I think this time, I did.
22 tomorrow, kids.
<3gen
But I think this time, I did.
22 tomorrow, kids.
<3gen
Saturday, January 3, 2009
"God Loved You The Best" or "So This Is The New Year"
Typically for these year-in-review blog entries that all good bloggers must inevitable create, I sift back through all the posts I've had, I read letters I wrote and didn't send, and I turn through the pages of what is usually a 10-inch-tall pile of notebooks so that I can remember what the last 12 months really felt like.
This time, it appears from January to April of 2008, I sailed off the edge of a very flat earth. There are no journal pages, I can't find so much as a scribble in the corner of some class notes about what those months were like. I mean, I remember what they were like: great masses of loss, dreams where I hugged God wearing roller skates, a hurricane of hands and glances that meant nothing to me and something to everyone else. They were a very dense, and very hollow few months.
In April I was a girl growing up in East Germany, until the wall came down and I had to figure out how to live in a country where the signs changed, the borders blurred, and I couldn't go to the grocery store without being reminded of what had disappeared, and what had been gained.In May I was frustrated when disappointment moved in with something that still looked an awful lot like love, and when I held my ear to the wall they shared I only wished they would quiet so I could get some sleep. They fought every night and into the morning, stomping their feet on the floors and sometimes something that sounded like scratching on the walls.
In June I discovered God in a three year-old boy. I understood that I needed love in my life, but that I had been looking for it in all the wrong places. Because right in front of me, the whole time, was a little boy who thought I could make the whole world better, and I could always take care of him, and when he heard me come in the door he ran to me and jumped into my arms and there was no one else in the whole big wide world that loved me like that. In June, I met the best man I've ever loved.In July, I became a book.
In August, I had a bubble fight in Lindsey's kitchen.
In September I dyed my hair pink.In October I ignored everything I'd ever learned in Biology and started to ignore human functions necessary for life. I didn't eat enough, didn't sleep enough, drank too often, kissed too many people for very strange reasons. I slacked on school work, put too much effort into charity work, and lost ground on all of my self work. But I felt whole, and the heartache that the year had plagued me with started fading.
In November, Obama won the Presidency, I pulled off the biggest event for charity in Africa I had ever tried, went head-over-heels for a boy, and began clawing desperately at the end of the semester while trying not to fail out of college. December was sleep, friends, and not looking back at the past at all.
So here's January, and it's raining, and I turn 22 years old in 11 days. This year was exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.
<3gen
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