Lotus

Publix muenster cheese and Reunite. Yes, I'm certain this is the upscale way of "doing" college.

I always wondered how my sister managed to have enough free time in her four years at this institution to find such websites as threebrain and such videos as Kitty Cat Dance; now I know.

The secret lies in the ample amount of work there is to do, and simply being one of the masses and choosing not to do it - any of it - until "it" absolutely must be done.

But hey - who cares? Really. The point is I went to yoga tonight and the instructor said "nasty-nasty."

Getting-it-donedess

This has been a very productive week, and it's only Tuesday. Not that productivity has the slightest thing to do with beaches, but hey - why not?

Things are looking good in the academic sphere. My previous worries of graduating only with a fair amount of stress have abated in the wake of actually speaking with someone on what I need to do. I've also taken the time to clear up a few personal issues (always helps with sleeping) and I've even gone so far as to - dare I say it? - prepare far in advance for an upcoming quiz. Quiz!

These people...

I'm going home this weekend, something I really haven't done at all sophomore year. It is becoming increasingly obvious that my parents won't be around forever, and even if they are I'll end up moving eventually. Sad circumstances have readily brought that to my attention as of late; you have to cherish others while they're around.

So anyways. Despite everything, I realize how much this blog is lacking. I'm working on it, ok?

Taps

Today was the most terrific day I've had in a very long time. I went to see the Battle of Olustee re-enactment with my dad. It was pretty cold but so beautiful in the sunlight, and both of us smelled like gunpowder by the end of the show - black boogers and all.

I'm won't bore you with a full description of the entire battle, but I will share some of the pictures I took. Hope everyone else had as great of a Sunday as we did!

PS: The South kicked major ass at this place, and yeah - they shot the Union in the back. Yet for some reason, I kept referring to them as "we." I sicken myself.

PPS: Nevermind. It's taking quite a while to load the pictures. I'll bore you with them in person.

Carnations...

...really are my favorite flower.

In short:

Yes, you're reading this.

No, there isn't much new from the last time you read it.

Yes, I've written since then.

No, you may not see it.

Yes, the pictures are all mine.

No, you still may not see it.

Capeesh?

Veneral Disease

For the most part, today wasn't fantastic. It only outright sucked in the evening, so I suppose that isn't too bad.

I am thinking of starting anew, taking off some (or all) of the posts I have written since I changed the address, once again making this a public matter. Not that I have much to say, but I do enjoy writing; I may not know it, but I need it. Someone else doesn't have to read, I just need to write.

Anyways, it seems as though Valentine's day is indeed another day in the life. I woke up telling myself that very truth (for I really do believe it), and my suspicions were completely true. Our relationship may be teetering dangerously close to the edge right now (perhaps I'll take this post off as well), and for this reason today just felt... crappy. But who really needs the purple monkeys? They make for wonderful company, but shouldn't the one you love be worth a purple monkey any old day? Granted, that's when I got mine - but YOUR purple monkey; you should be given one more often.

I don't know. The only part of the day that made me feel special was the very end (when I also felt the worst). A phone call to someone back home cheered me up and got me laughing when I was already silently crying; a movie with a quiet roommate kept me on the up-and-up; and a surprise visit from a very busy friend made me feel perhaps the best I had all day.

I'll be honest - life isn't so fun right now. I've got a lot to worry about, and those worries aren't for nothing. I need to dwell on some things lest I never figure them out. I know I don't have it so bad; despite everything I've said and have been saying, I truly know this not only in the depths by on the surface as well. It's just overwhelming sometimes this feeling of hopelessness, this panicky disarray of careless apathy - yes, that made sense.

I have some really good friends, though, who ease their way into making me know I'm worth a something, and they do it best when they don't know I needed reassurance.

It's beautiful. It's long. It's Valentine's Day.

Friday I'm in Love

This is the element I'm sure I most enjoy -
Twilight,
The cool of mid-October kissing my shoulders,
Anticipation so real I can feel it in my toes...
This could be dangerous;
This could be fun.
I'm sure the exhilaration is a combination of several beautiful things,
But when I think of what the evening might hold -
All the potential lying dormant in a blanket of ifs -
I can't help but smile,
Breathe,
And feel the lovely synchronization of life.

I'm bringing posties back.

First post in over a month. Here I go:

Sophomore year is a little crazy but everything I dreamed it would be. Classes, job, short-distance relationship... it's going alright. I love my roommates and I'm making friends wtih new people. I'm busy, but not so busy that I can't do anything (Well, this week is OK at least.). I'm maturing (I think) and with this maturity comes a deeper reliance on coffee.

My life is air-dried hair and library movies.

I like it. I really do.

Go it alone.

You will be happy to know that I have been doing a lot of thinking lately about pretty much everything, much of which first surfaced on that quiet, lonely drive to Gainesville Friday night.

A life is worth more than many people realize. I have had a lot of experiences. Age aside, I've almost lived out an entire life: I have traveled; I have lived away from home; I have held a job; I have budgeted; I have learned the difference between love, lust, and jealousy; I have written entire anthologies on adolescence, God, the infinite search for meaning; I have had time to watch the clouds drift by and contemplate all these things in an afternoon of lemonade and no-see-ums.

I don't know what's going to happen; I don't know if anything ever will. It's an anniversary of sorts today and I'm going to say what I intended to say, even if it never means a thing:

I'm doing alright. I wish I could've seen me then. I wish I could've sat me down and told myself a story - warned myself maybe - and made my eyes wide with awe and disbelief. I'm ending the process of growing up (finally) and most things don't carry the same definitions and taboos. It's OK - whatever it is, it's OK. Nothing has to be perfect, including happiness. The only person who can ever know for sure is me, and even then it's debatable. All the sleep-overs and concerts and first dates and full moons add up to some sort of Counting Crows lyric, though I haven't decided which one just yet. Most things change the way most things never do; it's all a wheel of perspective and subjectivity, but there are a few black and white facts in between all the interpretation and figuring out. There's a lot going on in general, espectially when life seems stagnant. There are chances that really should be taken and others that can slide.

Not everything has to be missed to be remembered, though, and today I'd like to believe that more than anything.

Woo is me!

BEST DAY EVER!!!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

HA!

I can't stop giggling to myself. I'm alone in my room, the door isn't even open, and I just can't shut up. I'm such a girl.

But you know what? It's Friday, I earned it, and I don't care.

So nyeh.

Enter: Gnarls Barkley

I awoke this morning in that old 5:00 AM terror, tangled in sheets and being strangled by my own hair. I was gasping for breath and the moisture above my lip (though my shoulders were bare) helped me to recognize that yes, I had been taken by surprise, so rudely ousted from dream to hyperdream. And it was at that moment - my elbows supporting me, my eyes hovering about in wild disarray - that I truly, honestly questioned not the hour nor the day but my entire being. No Where? could suffice; no recollection of unconscious mindplay or repositioning of my startled body would have done. Instead I thought, "Who am I?" and immediately fell back asleep.

Yes. That actually happened. ...I think.

I've been writing some of the weirdest shit lately.

No, I meant on paper. But thanks for your encouragement.

Ever since my first writing experience in which I told the story of Cinnamon the talking cat in all her glory and misadventure I have found a certain pleasure in writing, one which I have replaced time and time again with new, sometimes less-productive means. I always seem, however, to come back to this basic method of communication with myself. Whenever my thoughts run dry and I feel I will never again pen a pathetic, metaphor-ridden line, I somehow manage to write. I don't always think, and indeed I do think this is a central reason why my hobby cannot simply up and die.

It is a mode of self-discovery for me. I like art - I do. I don't always like your art, but (biased as I am) I will always fall in love with mine. Sometimes it is easy to understand; other times it is a labyrinth of red and white, me standing in the center, the target. I don't even know what I've done most of the time until I reread some novel passage months after the ink has stained, realizing only then that perhaps there was more to what I wrote than originally intended.

I'd like to think I effect some sort of interest by never sharing a majority of the lines I scribe, but in all honesty I'm never hiding them, either; my entire collection, the past nine years of my life, is relatively easy to find. And besides - if I up and died tomorrow, wouldn't someone find it anyways? The only part about this fact that bothers me - truly bothers me - is that if (Well, I suppose when would be a more appropriate word - wouldn't you be intrigued if you stumbled upon a copious collection of loose-leafs and wire-bounds?) all my friends and family were to read my writings, would anyone ever really get what each piece meant? Sure - what they become is much more important, I know, I know; but you can't read the whole if the pieces don't make sense.

I'll wrap this up: My blog sucks.

Short and sweet

Sometimes things don't turn out the way we imagine they might, but it's important to remember that the destination isn't the point of interest.




That's all I got.

Lluvia

Rain always makes me feel so good.

A Few Little Birds

I love how much one person can change your life and the way you live it. Moreover, I love how several people can change you in several little ways.

Yes - this is going to be just what I've been needing.

Something tells me I'm into something good...

I can see myself growing in a place like this. It is a corner in an apartment and I can rightfully say it is all my own. I can see the sun waking me on winter mornings and I can hear the laughter from all the far-fetched ideas that could be shared around coffee and tea. I can see myself feeling hopelessly at home here in the space of another month, and I can see myself healthy and happy and smiling for eight more that - like it or not - will likely pass very quickly. I can see myself becoming aware. I can see myself writing more and learning new ways in which to relieve stress and anxiety.

I can see the happiness and the help and I can see the growth already.

Blur

Time always has a way of creeping up on me, especially when I think it has come to a sugary slow stop.

As I sit here on this last night I'll be spending at home, I can't help but contemplate how this has happened once again. Old friends trying new things, like relationships and drugs; new friends trying old things, like recalling childhood television favorites and having the same mannerisms. It seems as though time has gradually melded everything different into something rather the same.

Life sure is beautiful.

There is, however, one frustration that must naturally come of all this:

I'm tired of these mother fuckin' snakes on this mother fuckin' plane!

Come sail with me...

Today was astoundingly beautiful in so many ways and fortunately, even through the Pepsi problems, everyone else seemed to enjoy the beach one final time before the end of summer.

"Well, I didn't have my coupon at the time, and the person I checked out with told me I could bring this back with my receipt..."

Today has been quite blah. Maybe it's because I'm tired and out of things to say, or maybe it's got something - a teeny, tiny little something - to do with all the excuses I'm so sick of hearing.

But probably it's just the fact that I've kept this miserable excuse of a generic LJ for almost THREE BF-ING YEARS.

I don't know. Just a speculation.