If I were a rich girl...

I'd buy a bunch of these.

Lucky

Sometimes you feel like you've got the world and you just can't help but want to share it.

We live on front porches and swing life away.

We get by just fine here on minimum wage.

If love is a labor I'll slave 'til the end.

I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand...

Blip

I was in seventh grade Language Arts. We had been asked to write a bellwork composition about the hardest thing we'd ever had to do, a broad topic and I have always been one to think broad thoughts. Nothing came to mind immediately so I considered my life so far.

First came thoughts of volunteer work at the nursing home and how all the smells of old that stuck to you the rest of the day, even if you only went in for an hour or two in the morning and left right after, not lingering a minute more to chat with Mrs. Wren about how old she was and how she wished she was dead or with Mr. Ducatt about the War (just which one I was never sure). That seemed like a bad road to travel down, however; I had gone a representative of St. Tim's - Good old Saint Tim's - trying to get in some brownie points with God or something. Better not offend.

I thought next, naturally, of other religious turmoils. First Communion had turned into some distant and foggy white memory, but I didn't remember it being anything difficult; it had been more of an obligation. By receiving my third sacrament I was choosing to become a Catholic through and through, but when you're seven and come from my family the choice is only a tidy theory. Not to say that I wasn't scared to death of the fire and brimstone for the childish sport I'd made of picking apart frogs caught off-guard by the swimming pool drain, their bellies even more bloated than in life and longing to be poked by me, Doctor Vanessica, a compromise between Vanessa and Jessica. First Communion had been more of a blessing to be regarded with the same passivity as infant baptism and more ceremony than confession, the most frightening of them all. It hadn't been such a big deal to me at the time, but I figured I'd better do it anyways - again, not that it was a choice. Still not a strike for hard times, though.

Hmm. What about that time Great Grama died? That sucked. My sister and I were playing that most dangerous of church games: Who's Gonna Laugh First? As usual, I lost. I got a tearful spanking from my mother before I could run away. Other than that, I didn't remember a thing. Grampa's, too, received the same fate. They had died been close to the same time, maybe even the same year, so I couldn't remember much from either goodbye.

For Pete's sake. What had I been through was difficult to handle? I sure complained enough to write an entire novel on the subject, but here I was, unable to think of something worthy of my mechanical Papermate, the clean wide-ruled sheet staring back at me like it had been for the past five minutes as I tried to think of a tragedy. I was still alive, wasn't I? No one molested me when I was little, my sister generally only got me back for things I started, my parents were at least passably normal...

I had to make something up, and quick. I knew the routine: Mrs. Smith was going to call on me because I was so unchallenged in her class that I managed to effortlessly attain a one hundred and seven percent average, meaning that I would probably have something "nice" to share with everyone else, meaning I always imagined people disliked me for being a "suckup" when in reality sometimes all I wanted to do was fail (a test, not a class; that was far too risky) in order to prove I was at best average. And here I was - no composition and the second hand growing dizzier and dizzier on the yellowing wall clock. How was this happening?

I had to make something up. It had to be believable and immature - something the kid behind me would have written, something shallow and very middle school. A scar? I hadn't a clue from whence most the teeming nicks and scabs decorating my awkward body originated. Stolen bike? Never happened. Mean neighbor girl who told me trolls lived under the house? Made me sound too stupid, even for this apathetic crowd.

A-ha! Sharing my room with my sister last winter break. Nana and Papa had come down for the holiday and I was forced to let her enroach upon my territory while Aunt Rita (living with them as a result of Great Grama's aforementioned death) enjoyed the riches of Erin's Room, she ultimately being the only one sleeping alone in the house the entire week.

It was perfect: it had happened, it was as superficial as I figured most of my classmates' stories would be, and it was... not hard at all. In fact, it had been quite nice. My sister had plucked my eyebrows for the first time while I cursed (Apparently I still didn't know those kinds of words.) and we talked about boys and sex, something of which I still knew next to nothing thanks to my "when a mommy and a daddy want to have a baby reeeeeal bad, they pray for it" parents and my severe illness during Body Parts week at school. It was fun to think I was important to my normally disagreeable teenage sister, even if only because we had to get along to make Mom and Dad look good in front of the family. She even gave my comforter a special scar of lipstick the color of berry stains, just how I never figured out.

Whatever. No one cared. Maybe if I ducked enough behind the midget of a boy in front of me I could be spared just this once...






We donated that comforter this afternoon - bigger beds in rooms the size of change that still lingered with memories of bouncy balls and Lion King soundtrack dances. I wondered where that notebook was and why I didn't decide to study the art of words instead.

I can't say I've been in the writing mood lately

...so I suppose that's why I haven't been doing it.

What I can say is that I am officially half-way through college and I'm not missing any important limbs. I ended the semester on a good note and summer is off to a smooth start, too. Can't say I'm enjoying the heat, but the rain may be something to look forward to.

Butts

Pickles are ruining the entire damn world.

A Summer Song

And when the rain beats against my window pane,
I'll think of summer days again,
And dream of you,
And dream of you.

gaygaygay.jpg

Remember those guys from the PAAS Easter egg dye kits that you never used except to stick in your sister's hair when she wasn't looking? The girl I sat next to on the bus this afternoon was equally as stupid. Let me explain:

Beautiful, sunny afternoon. Jumped on the 9 and got the last seat. Bus takes off, wheels go round, etc, etc, etc.

The girl next to me takes out her phone to call who I can only assume is an equally shallow iPod girl with handbags bigger than an average steering wheel. She starts talking about ohmygosh FINALS! and, like, thu-ree papers I have to turn in by Friday, and that's why last time I made Kev drive when we went home last weekend and I just CRASHED when we got there!!!

So basically it's any old 4 o'clock ride home - until she brings her ass into it. She didn't use my dumb girl voice but if I were to recount this tramatic incident of indecent overhearing to you in person, I'm afraid I would have to use it. I swear this is what Paris said:

"Oh my gosh. I NEEEEEED to start, like, working out and stuff more. Like, you know, like I'm not gonna do the whole eating right thing and stuff, but like the working out I NEED to do. I've really let myself go. I mean, I used to be okay and now I'm, like, I'm CHUBBY!!!"

Okay. Whatever. I can deal with a fat chick. But that wasn't the end of her cry-story:

"Like, yeah. We should work out. Like, not the eating healthy shit, but like go running and stuff. 'Cause, like, I was noticing in my class today how everyone else is gaining weight, too. 'Cause now it's hotter out so, like, people are, like, wearing more, like, REVEALING clothes and we're all a little fatter. Like, winter and stuff and holidays, ya know?"

The topper on the cake wasn't that she was skinny; the only girls bitchy enough to say something like "Everyone's getting SUUUUUUPER fat!" on a crowded RTS bus are always the size of my wrist and have never had to suffer through thighs that - heaven forbid - have touched. No, no. What did it was that this bitch is in MY CLASSES! And we've had that damn assignment all semester, taint-fritter!

So you know what? Chug a Natty Ice. No one's gonna love you no matter how much more weight you lose 'cause you suck and still don't get why they play Postal Service on the UPS commercials.

Now I'm gonna go drink some Tang and watch Even Stevens.

Fun Fact!

Black olives will kill you.

Pollen-breath

Everywhere is the smell of spring and the choking allergies that follow. It's so beautiful that it's almost hard to breathe anyways.

I've finally decided what I want to do with my life. I don't know where to start, but this in itself is a step forward.

And now I'm finally tired enough to fall asleep. And thank heavens for that.

This just in:

I'm bringing sexy back.

In Love with a View

It's incredible the way time can pass without you noticing. I took a refreshing breath tonight when I remembered how it felt to hear a song and become as depressed as the tragic hero who wrote it; this time I couldn't sympathize, only remember.

I love the feel of summer heat and summer romance, but like the wind we all move on. I feel great tonight - so much better than I've felt in a long time. I don't know if it's love for someone or something that I've been missing far too long, or if it's love of something even bigger than immortal love itself.

In fact, I don't even know what I'm talking about.

This is one of those rare instances in which I find myself fine, satisfied, looking at a picture of someone long fallen out of my reach without jealousy, anger, hostility, or any other slew of pent-up and suppressed emotion surfacing to override any happy memory I owe myself.

This is my seven hundredth post. I could never make a living with the thoughts that flow through my head, but I love this simple pleasure and the simple pleasure of memories.

Oomph.

I spent some of the day outside. It was kind of cold, actually, but very sunny. How beautiful!

I can't wait for Spring Break so that I can enjoy several days like today all in a little row.

Rain Poem

Dripping, dropping
Never stopping
Now I’m sopping

This is not rain at all
But a waterfall
Or perhaps a wake-up call

All around me
Wetness drowns me
Saturation has found me

Sometimes the only way to reach
The point opposite the breach
Is to surrender to what nature must teach.

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.