Super Glue My Heart Together

I hate this. I absolutely hate it. I want to curl up in a ball and cry like a child. I hate having to act grown up mature about it, knowing that life can suck sometimes and I only have so much control. I hate how my stomach hurts, I get headaches, and that I'm so easy to read when something is bothering me. I hate feeling every year as if I'm choosing one half of my family over the other half, that its like I'm ripping myself a new home. It's this terrible, unfulfilling cycle of back and forth. I'm so blessed with everything but on days like today, when I have to pack up and leave people again, I wish I didn't have to choose. I want to be selfish, I want to be spoiled, and I want to believe that I can have both halves of my family with me in the same place. It kills me that I know deep down that this isn't how life works, that people can't follow me forever, and that I need to accept things to move on.

Probably for the first time in my life, I don't know when I'll see the other half of my family again. It's always been easy to follow, not easy to execute, but easy to live with. I'd always spend the summers with my dad and every other Christmas. After I leave tomorrow, I won't have a definite date of when I'll return to my other home. I don't like this. I hate this feeling of the unknown about something I've always known. I've always been able to cope with the constant back and forth because I knew exactly what month I'd see them next. I feel like I've been laying bread crumbs all these years and now someone has picked them up when I wasn't around.

Within the hour, it will be the new year, 2011. Every year I'm always so hopeful about it and excited, but then the night comes around and I realize that it doesn't really matter. It means nothing unless we make it mean something ourselves. No clock or countdown can make reality better or our lives easier. And yet...here we are; thrilled by the idea every single year that this one stroke at midnight will change everything. We're brainwashing ourselves, but really we can change our attitudes or change or actions in life anytime we wish.

I'm being such a downer but at this point in time I don't care. I don't understand how I can be so incredibly happy and still feel so lost. For the first time in my life I'm enjoying school, I have more than two amazing friends, and I'm doing something I'm passionate about all at the same time. Why does it feel like I'm still missing something?

Hold me tight enough that I don't fall apart at the airport terminal.

My 2011 ... List of Motivation

I realize that I have some time left until the end of the month and the start of a new year, however, I feel like I want to make a list of New Year Resolutions (gasp, can it be so?!). I've never been a fan of goal setting - goals in general make me unnecessarily angry, confused, and upset - probably because I have a fear of completion. It is for precisely that reason that I think, finally, I want to start anew. It's not that I want to forget anything this year, on the contrary I want to remember it all in order to make this next year even better. I deserve it. I see this now, I understand and I want more good things to continue to flow my way. So here it is, my goal list for 2011. (Yay, I didn't cringe at the word, or refuse to do my teacher's stupid goals for the year assignment...I knew I could do it [:  ) *These are in no particular order of importance.*

• Accept the madness that is my thinking process. Acknowledge that I make things far more complex than I probably should, but accept that sometimes its the best way for me to learn things correctly.
  
• Do not tell myself, "I don't deserve to be happy" or "I can have that experience later." This is an utter bullshit excuse Chanel Violet Caulfield, and I will not put up with your excuses any more.
  
• Do all assignments. It may be painful, but do it anyways.
  
• Have a mocha budget ... cut down to three mochas a week at the most. No more than three (unless I find change in my tootsie roll jar).
  
• Write two handwritten letters every month. It's always something I want to do, but never do.
  
• Challenge myself to take more photos. I miss spending every day with my camera, and while that may be inconvenient with my new schedule, there's no reason I can't spend one day a week learning more about my hobby.
  
• Library more. Bookstores less.
  
• Do more chores at the house. Make a serious effort to these little necessities, rather than television on those "ohmygoodness there's no commitment right now" nights.
  
• Speaking of commitments, don't over commit. There are many lovely things I want to do, but if I do too many things I will stop being lovely. I will turn to my caffeine addiction, get grumpy, lose sleep, lose patience, and possibly kill (the spirits of people, not kill people themselves).
  
• DO NOT FORGET why I started writing in the first place, why it is my passion, why I wanted to become a journalist and why that idea has been stuck in my head ever since. Do not forget the important creative ideas when thinking of the particular, detail driven ideas.
  
• Don't be embarrassed of myself, for whatever stupid reason. I am myself and that is that. It's been proven a few times that people think I'm a neat person, so stop second guessing what they may think. On that note....
  
• ...STOP TRYING TO CONTROL EVERYTHING.
  
• Fail. DO IT. Don't fail a class, or fail to maintain a promise; no. Fail at the stupid things that you think are really important but in the grand scheme of things aren't...
  
• ...loosen up.

Learning to Accept Rather than Reject.

One of the most difficult things for me is accepting money. Perhaps, it's because I hate feeling indebted to someone. Maybe it's because I've always been a sucker for guilt. Whatever the reason may be, it has proved to be very difficult to accept the green bills graciously. My mother keeps buying me little things, and why they may be necessities in the life of a "broke college student" (such as socks, clothing items, etc; or not necessary such as coffee) I feel oh so guilty. I've been reprimanded several times already for pushing away the spoiling affection from my mother. I'm sorry, Mom. It's difficult for me to accept gifts when I would much rather give them.

As a result, I've decided that my goal for this Christmas will be to ACCEPT IT, NOT REJECT IT.

• I will accept my mother's unnecessary spoiling.
• I will accept the cash that she hands me and I will continue to ask her for more (eek, my heels will not reluctantly dig into the ground) if I do not have enough to see friends.
• I will not fret if I don't get them gifts until the days after Christmas because its not that big of a deal.
• I will not think about all the things I have done wrong, because I'm here on Christmas vacation.
• I will eat as much food as I want to, whether it be healthy or not.
• I will allow myself days of sleeping in and not worry about the things that "need" to get done.
• I will relax and not think ill of the future.

In addition I'm going to try and make a Christmas list. Why "try" to make one? Well, I never know what to ask for. Usually, if I want something really special, I save up for it and buy it myself. So here it goes:

• Burts Bees chapstick.
• new ink pens
• memory card reader (although I might not wait that long. I'm in desperation to upload my photos already)
• (eighteen minutes later, not an exaggeration)...socks?...geez this shouldn't be difficult. I get back to this later.

Like An Impostor of My Childhood

I'm laying in my bed after seven months of moving away to Washington state. It's the same room I slept in since I was five and I feel rather odd being here. The furniture still remains but nothing else fills these empty shelves. The desk isn't cluttered with an array of papers, journals, doodles, and unsorted receipts. My dresser has no perfume, jewelry, or childhood collectibles on top of it anymore. There is a curious feeling I can't pinpoint that's associated with being in this white-walled shell of my childhood. It's only been seven months and already I feel like a different person; almost an impostor in my own home.

I have so many memories that I've thought about, just by laying in my bed right now. I can recount the sleepless nights, the afternoons wasted listening to music on my bed doodling rather than doing homework, the frustrations I cried over as a stupid thirteen year old, the happy feelings that derived from friendships and family, the hollow feeling I felt when a relationship didn't work out well and the lovely feelings when they did. Its striking how we can contain such an array of memories in an object or a place; I think its beautiful.

I've been awake for about twenty hours now because I took the Airporter bus at 2 a.m.. I hope I can adjust to this time zone quickly. One thing I have always loved about flying is the clouds and I took several photos of them with the snowy mountains today. I particularly love how the clouds look like a separate world and no one can touch them, they remain pure. I feel so small when I'm looking down at Earth but I could never ignore how beautiful and calming it is to look down at thousands of people in an instant. That's simply incredible. The earth looks like a slab of clay that goes on forever, molded and kneaded into mountains, rivers, valleys and plains.

On a different note, I hate it when you want to talk to someone but you are afraid of coming off like you're annoying. I don't know why but I can't help it. I hate how everything that should be fairly simple can be (or at least seem to be) complex.

I also think I have a tendency to run away from my problems, as if somehow it will actually help. Things don't disappear and I know this...but its easier when I can physically get away from everything for a while. School, despite how much I love college, has physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted me as if its goal was to make me a raisin. I used to be so eager to learn and now I feel eager to do nothing but sleep.

Tomorrow I will be attending my mom's work Christmas party and I'm excited to dress up for it. I'm excited to continue eating this delicious food my (step)dad makes and I'm excited to see people I missed. I also plan on reading as many books as I possibly can before I head back to educational overload; I have a list of unnecessary book candy on my phone haha. Yea, book candy, in other words its candy for the nerdiness inside in book format....yeah that's all I can write for now. I'll try and keep this updated more.

A Continuation of Midnight Ramblings

I really must be insane. It's my only logical conclusion at this point in time. It is Thanksgiving night and I am waiting for three hours to pass by so I can go shopping with my mom for Black Friday sales...that doesn't sound sane in any way. I'm attempting to write this but so far I've been distracted numerous times.

I made my grandma's homemade apple pie today...the top crust was a fail but it was yummy nonetheless. It was my first thanksgiving here in WA and I had a good time, but I missed my other family members too. I guess they had new york strip instead of turkey in Ohio...I'm still rather jealous. They also made my "oops I overcooked the potatoes so lets make mashed potatoes instead" recipe haha. I came up with it last year by adding bacon, onions cooked in a little beer and garlic. yummm.

It's taking a lot from me to not pull down one of my books right now. I know that once I begin, I'll not do anything else (like homework, etc). Two more weeks and I'll be able to read until my eyes pop out, yay....I just came to the conclusion that by writing on here I'm not particularly accounting my day or discussing something meaningful...I'm simply talking to myself....oh dear.

...I'm not sure I want to continue..

Footprints of Ink

I cannot focus today. I'm being stubborn on purpose, and I know it. I feel like a five-year-old slamming my fists on the ground because I know things need to be done, but I really don't want to do them. I have a paper that is due Wednesday, I have laundry flowing over the rim of my hamper and spilling on the floor, I have a headache, the weather is gray and gross, and I have this over whelming urge to crawl under my covers and sleep for a few days.

All of these things have contributed to my bitter mood today and I hate how cynical I sound. Please forgive me if I say something mean and unnecessary, please? I'm truly sorry. I'm exhausted, I'm stressed out, and I feel burnt out. I don't know how to fix this. I don't know what to do right now in order to make myself feel better.

It is immensely difficult to sit down and feel this urge to write something that has nothing to do with my class or the newspaper, and not be able to properly convey how I am feeling. All my words taste dry on my tongue and when I write it's as if my pen is barely full of ink. I hope that this christmas break will prove to be energizing.

I know I'm on the right path but its like I'm walking around aimless without dropping breadcrumbs, just in case.

I Can Hear My Monotone

Despite the fact I have been writing constantly, it has been far too long since I last recorded my stupid little thoughts on this stupid little blog. Why have it? I'm still trying to answer that question...I should be writing another paper for my college class, but I have literally tossed it aside out of frustration. I feel brain-dead. I feel exhausted. I feel like I still have a lot of catching up to do.

Recently my life has revolved around: my Marketplace of Ideas class, The Olympian newspaper (where I will be hired to work for next quarter), my volunteer work at Children of the Nations, my addiction to caffeine despite my lack of income, the newspaper, writing, and not nearly enough sleep. I had to drop my math class because I couldn't manage my time properly anymore. There are so many things I need to do, I want to do, and I keep forgetting to do.

I feel as if my brain is slowly being nuked by the microwave I associate with college. Everyday I go find some caffeine to intake in order to get my thoughts flowing. It lasts for a while...eventually I crash, burn, and either nap or play Nintendo 64 Mario on the projector screen.

Yesterday, I went with Kaylee to Seattle. We both chopped off our long hair, went to the art museum, and ate fantastic pasta. That was a lovely day :] Today, I went back to Seattle with my family and saw the Harry Potter movie in the Imax theater. We got the best seats ever (thank you Miranda for temporarily being in a wheelchair?) and afterwards walked through the Harry Potter exhibition. I was sorted into Ravenclaw, I pulled Mandrakes from pots, and I sat in Hagrid's big, leather chair. It was another good day.

I miss my best friends...still. I think I mentioned this in my last post...I still miss my family too.

..Geez, this sounds so pathetic.

The Numbers Have It: I Like Writing More.

If there is one thing that I know for sure, the removal of wisdom teeth (the surgery itself) is not nearly as bad as the week to follow. Sure it sucked being stuck on the sofa for several days, too drugged out to do much but sleep and have "loopy" conversations with my newspaper editor (arguing claims over an academic paper on disturbing topics and claiming green onions are the reasons aliens in Hollywood are often green skinny things). And sure it was painful to realize just how obsessed Americans are with food (there are too many pizza commercials on television than is healthy for society), particularly when I couldn't eat anything solid for six days. Nothing could have prepared me for the stomach-ache (literally as well as figuratively) my pain medications caused. I am glad that those nights are over and I am delighted that I can eat real food again.

I miss my best friends. I miss the one who is only ten minutes away just as much as the one who is 2485 miles away. I miss talking to them and unconciously letting all of my stress melt away. They help me stay happy, and lately I'm not nearly as happy as I know I could be.

I miss my mother, father, and brother. I miss the fall drives we always would take in the beautiful valleys of Ohio in the autumn right about now. The other day we drove spontaneously through the outer back-roads of the Olympian mountains. It reminded me of those long drives in Ohio and, while it may have been comforting and peaceful, I just wanted to hug my mom.

I'm studying for my stupid Math 99 class and trying to memorize all the anal rules and OCD ways my teacher wants us to write answers down. Its just a little ridiculous. I wish I could have not gone to class and instead stayed at the volunteer position I have at Children of the Nations. Its quiet, productive, and pleasant there. Plus, I feel like I'm contributing to society.

Write to you later. I really must focus now :P

College Requires: Pens, Caffeine, & Paper

I'm not sure if I'm exhausted or excessively caffeinated at this point. Its a Wednesday, the middle of my school week and I'm tired, but when I go to bed I struggle falling asleep. I'm too excited, too eager about going back to school the next day. I love my Journalism/English 101 class. I don't even notice when three hours go by because I am completely absorbed. Math...is easy and boring. I'm sure that I only find it easy because its Day # 3 but what else is there to do? I finished all the practice and homework problems for the rest of the week. Tomorrow, I have no idea what I shall do in class again. Perhaps, I will start brainstorming questions for my newspaper articles.

My article for the school paper made the front page. Financial aid is quite an important issue, and I hadn't realized my editor gave me that kind of challenge. It came into print yesterday :] I have been nothing but smiles.

For having so much happen in such a short amount of time, I cannot think of anything else to say. I'm tired but extremely happy.

Simply Exhausted.

Freshman orientation is worse than my high school freshman orientation in the fact that I didn't know the majority of those people since kindergarten. I didn't know the campus, the best places to park, or the location of the nearest soda machine (I've now found that the cheapest ones are tucked behind the off limits/under construction area by the Tech Building. 50 cents for a soda!) I walked in, grabbed a free lanyard, collected the free folder full of information they were passing out, and then suddenly realized that I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't have any friends there to hide by or to talk to. I looked to my right and thankfully a girl was doing the same thing as myself. Introductions, hello my name is...we found safety in our common shyness...That was all Wednesday.

Spent most of the week seeing Renae here and there. Drinking mochas here and there. Yesterday I worked at the college newspaper. I still feel awkward and hesitant to ask too many questions. It was beautiful to walk through the campus on my own. It was sprinkling (of course) and chilly but magical all the same. Everything was calm and quiet except the crunching of leaves here and there. Then I spent the night at Renae's house and talked to Eddie on Skype too. It was nice to speak with both of my best friends at the same time. I'm always missing one of them, it seems.

I'm tired of missing.

Is Not Afraid of Commitment, But Instead Clowns

I desperately need school to start, even though I only have a week left. I was actually productive all day and am acting as the errand runner for the next three days. I am surprisingly happy with this prospect; it means that I will be forced into leaving the house by 7:45 every morning.

A bitter taste in my mouth. Blackberry soda turned out tasting like root-beer and grape Kool-aid had a love child. I am pondering my bittersweet day. Sweet in the sense that I achieved three interviews and photographs for my newspaper article. Bitter by running into your parents. I think they hate me now, but I could never explain to them what happened. Where everything began to fall apart. I willingly hold my tongue because I promised you I would. I promised you and have kept this promise dammit. I wish I could smile at them again. I wish I could talk to you again. Most of all I wish things had been different. They weren't and I have moved on.

I Shall Curl Into My Ball Now, Pardon the Interruption

I started today feeling tired but quite sure that I would be happy and confident in due time.

and then I saw you...dammit.

I had not expected you to be there, particularly since you told me you never liked church. In a way I felt it to be a safe haven. Stupid to convince myself that I'd never see you again. Of course I would. We have too many things in common. What did I feel? I have no idea and it frustrates me that I cannot properly express my emotions. How old am I? five? Ridiculous. I know that I did the right thing and I know that anything I may still feel is simply due to missing what we did have. I don't truly feel those things anymore, even if I wish I did.

Is there guilt, shame, regret lingering? Its possible there are those things here and there but for the most part I am at a loss of words. Blank in describing precisely what I think of you.


My dog is laying on my floor and I feel rejected. Lovely end to my day.

Little Feet, Big Shoes

Just when I had hit the point where the air felt stale in my lungs and my eyes were forever drooping, I was able to stop (or rather get up and go) and take a gigantic, deep breath of mountain air. I feel happy in saying that I feel happy. My mind feels fresh again. I am excited about so many things in the near future and in the present. The present; the right now. The term makes me want to smile: I am busy again but not stressed.

I filled out an application online and had a meeting with the assistant director of communications and now....I am going to officially start in October as a volunteer writer for the brilliant organization Children of the Nations (http://www.cotni.org/). I am beyond excited for this opportunity. Twice a week I get to go into the office and help out in any way I can; specifically by writing.

Secondly and as of this afternoon, I will be writing for my college's newspaper, The Olympian. I am really excited for this but I'm also very nervous. I wanted to work with the school newspaper at Perry by I never could fit it with my schedule. It's a time like this that I am a bit on edge. I don't want (obviously) to come to the editor with a poorly written article, although I did mention that I don't have prior experience with a newspaper. For now, I plan on working extremely hard on this article and remaining calm. I can do this properly and I have confidence in my writing abilities. I need to challenge myself this year; it's what I wanted and what I can achieve. Breathe.


The article I am assigned to write is about the dramatic increase in financial aid this semester compared to previous years. I'm also going to be taking pictures to accompany the article. I have a lot of work to do but I know that I can do this.  I cannot wait until school beings. Until I am official a college student, not just an identification number that has textbooks.

Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps.

Anonymously, Chanel

Lately, I feel as if my words are dull and that my writing abilities have been critically drained. Every time I sit down to write something, I read back and notice how stupid it sounds. I want to start something, actually I have started something but I am stuck again. Writer's block can be such a bitch. Does the writing project matter at all? Not really, but it matters to me. It matters that I cannot finish any of the writings I begin unless they have something to do with school. It matters.

I hate how I think of you again. I was perfectly happy in my little bubble before you left me those questions. Anonymous doesn't particularly mean anything, now does it? Its as if you've left this disturbing little bug in my brain and it serves a daily reminder of my choices. I keep thinking I'm going to run into you, see you, be forced to confront you at some stupid event...and then what? What is the proper thing to do, or more importantly, what is the actual thing I will do? In my imagination I will turn away in shame that I don't feel I should have, and some days I will picture myself smartly saying hello and acting as if everything I did was okay. I feel that way. Sometimes I know what I did was absolutely the right thing, the logical thing, the smart thing. Sometimes I also want to feel guilty. Guilt is my sore spot. I hate it. I will not succumb to it. Please, I don't think I can go through it all again.

I miss my best friend.

Black Hole Sun

Resumes- making them at least- suck the life out of a person. Truly elements of evil. It's a good thing I woke up in power mode today, otherwise, I'm not sure I could sit and wait for my marketing guru to get back to me on more resume writing advice. My eyes are a bit sick of looking at the computer screen but whatever. I might go blind one day anyways. It's too hot to run. The sun beats down on the black pavement with a relentless force. The week feels like it is slowly melting away and the sands of time are barely able to move from the heat's intensity. Lame poetic jargon is what keeps me going on a day like this. Or, perhaps, what keeps me going is the comforting silence that I've maintained all day in my room because I've been working. I love you, Silence.

What else shall I write here? I'm in busy mode and I thought that this would be able to keep me off task but I'm just more edgy. I need to get my resume done. I need a freaking job. Ugh, I love you summer just as much as I hate you. After all, birthday money doesn't pay for books and clothes. It just feeds my appetite for caffeine and  non required reading.

To Be Quite Honest...

I hate calling you. I hate having to hear your voice and feeling really sad inside. Out of everyone that I miss, I think of you least because I miss you so much that it is easier to deal with it that way. I miss my father- the one who didn't give me life, but who helped me through it when I looked for help. I miss the person who always reached out their hand to show me what happened was a lesson, not a death sentence. You have always been waiting for the storm to blow over to help me crawl out of my hole of insecurities and be the sturdy rock I needed. I would never suggest that one parent is better than another because that is an impossible evaluation to make. But I am saying that I only miss you so much because you are my dad and it is impossible not to miss you.

You and I- we have always connected without having to say anything at all. Whether it was through music, humor, or conversations around a campfire at two o'clock in the morning; you've never failed to inspire me to be a better person and look at the world differently.

I love you for everything that you have ever done, but there are times like today when I also dislike you for it. Quite simply, all of these great things make me miss you more.

Love,

 Your daughter.

I Will Not Paint Shame

I'm tired. I'm tired of hearing about your issues with this. I'm tired of dealing with the whole situation at hand and, although I'm old enough to know things don't just resolve and disappear, I wish they did now. There's a constant ringing in my ears because the thoughts in this skull won't stop bouncing around. High pitched whine over the intercom...attention this is a public service announcement...please remove this grown child from the premises. Thank you...

I wish that I wasn't so angry. You are making me angry, with you as well as with myself. I'm just so exhausted by all of the disorder that I've caused all because I was trying to do the right thing, the honest thing. Why can you not accept this from me? Why must you torment me so? I'm attempting to be good. I'm trying not to explode my feelings all over the page. Wet the canvas with my color of emotions.

My paints aren't inspiring anymore;

                         they dry splattered like my wounds.

The Theater Lights Are Blinding

My stomach is churning, as if I am about to go on a stage by force. They are having a big party for me tomorrow to celebrate my eighteenth birthday and my high school graduation. I don't understand why I was okay with my last party, but am deeply nerved by this one. I simply want to crawl under my bed covers and hide for the next couple days. For the first time, I am not excited about my birthday, or even about it being the fourth of July. I'm hiding in my room...part of me doesn't want to see the fireworks either.

To other people it must seem like I am depressed, but I really am not. I'm just stressed at the moment. I don't know why I am so nerved by the prospect of turning eighteen tomorrow. I am perfectly okay with taking on new adult responsibilities...so what on earth is making me feel this way? I miss my family and friends in Ohio but I am at peace with my decision to move. I feel so confused and I don't like this constant clenching of my stomach.

Current Music I'm Listening To:

• Lily Allen: [album] It's not me, it's you
• Eclipse Soundtrack
• Creedence Clearwater Revival
• Otis Redding
• K'naan: [album] Troubadour
• She & Him: [album] Volume II

Books I'm Reading:

• The Girl Who Played With Fire; by Stieg Larsson
• To Kill a Mockingbird  (again); by Harper Lee
• The Economist (magazine)

Don't Stop the Clock, Just Give Me a Moment

Perhaps, it is much to soon to write another post here. After all, nothing of significance has occurred today: I thoroughly cleaned my room, I ate pizza for two meals, and I stayed in my pajamas until four o'clock in the afternoon. Again, I find myself rambling on this stupid website because I cannot sleep. I am so exhausted and I still cannot shut down my mind long enough to fall asleep. It is already 10:40 p.m. and I wish I didn't have to wake up at 7:30 tomorrow, but I am wide awake.

I wonder why I never write about the important issues. Although writing has always been therapeutic to me, blogs are typically used as a tool for expressing someone's opinion on a serious or popular topic. On the contrary I only write about my inability to relax or my daily occurrences and what they may have taught me. I feel that I am a very passionate person when it comes to the things that interest me, so the fact that I do not write about them strikes me even more as odd.

Indeed, I have never stressed how upset I am about the oil spill and the wreckage that we, as humans who share this earth, have allowed to continue. Or maybe the fact that there are thousands of people who cannot speak up for themselves because they lack human rights that should be universal in every government. I think about these things all of the time on top of my own insignificant problems.

I read in order to keep updated on the world. I cannot watch the news anymore- it troubles me and everything has become too biased. Since when did the news decide to wield its powers as if it were a politician? It seems that people are too focused on pointing out their opponents faults, rather than delivering the news through cold, hard facts. There is always a bias, but why must everything be so dependent upon these biases? I hope that I can succeed in journalism. I want to find a way to communicate important issues with everyday people; educate them without over whelming them. Sadly, we hear of so much chaos and hatred that we have become desensitized about terrible things. We hear the devastating numbers regarding social injustices or the effects of the oil spill in the Gulf, but what are we doing about it? How often do we stop talking and start acting? I hope that we can find a way to present people with the necessary facts about and event, but also act them to care. It is important to be educated, but what is an education if you do not use it for good? for progress? for empathy toward humans and our planet?

I bought a magazine at the airport earlier this week and I cannot put it down. How many (lets round) eighteen year olds buy The Economist and gladly read it cover to cover? What amazes me more is that I hate math, however, this magazine presents statistics effectively without overwhelming you with the numbers. I feel as if they are concerned about the bigger picture. Their over all journalism makes me as happy as when I read the New York Times.

Despite the fact I am preventing myself from getting a full night's sleep, I am glad that I am writing more again. I don't care if I have someone reading these, or the fact that this is my first post where I attempted to speak of anything but my inner thoughts and problems. I hope that I never stop writing because it keeps me motivated to be a better person as a whole, to do more, to think more, and to pause the day for a little time for myself.

Like a Child in Adult Clothes

I have so much that I need to say but I feel speechless. My stomach is knotted and I want to sleep until everything is okay. I know that will never happen. I know that I think too much. I know that I need to just drink my water and take some deep breaths....its not working very well.

Anxiety. It feels like my nerves are on fire, like something has shocked me inside.

Child-like. I feel so immature. I'm desperately trying to be more of an adult, and I think I have succeeded so far these past six months. Why is it that turning eighteen is making me dig my heels into the ground? I wish that I would stop acting like a child when it comes to dealing with you. I feel awkward, embarrassed, and upset that I'm acting this way. I'm ready to throw my hands up and make a decision that I will regret. But I will not. I must stop, breathe, and think of my options logically. I wish I could tell you what I need to say precisely but  instead I only tell you a tiny fragment of my thoughts. I end up feeling like a fool no matter what happens next.

Put a joker's hat on me, and watch me entertain this cruel court.

Restless and Unimaginative.

I spent the weekend feeling ill and yesterday I was again acquainted with my stomach's functions, which was... lovely. Today I feel a lot better though and I'm thinking I should get some laundry done.

I arrived in Boise, Idaho on Tuesday afternoon and spent the next few days with my Aunt Judi. It was a nice break from the month's craziness. Thursday I met up with my aunts Quinn and Selya and I drove down with them to Idaho Falls. It could have been a lot worse being stuck in a car for fours hours or so with a sick baby and three Chihuahuas. I was very happy to see them and we stopped by Grammie and Pappy's grave site, which was a bit odd upon seeing 'Violet' on a gravestone. We also stopped by the old house so I could take some pictures of it. Speaking of Grammie, Grandma GG gave me a photocopy of Grammie Violet when she was my age- give or take- and it makes me happy.

This weekend I headed to Island Park for some camping, however, I'm not sure I can even call it that. First off, we "camped" in what was really a house on wheels (crown molding anyone?). There wasn't even a fire! It was nice to spend time with Zach though. I missed him a lot in the past two weeks. Since the bugs were so bad on top of me not feeling well I spent the majority of the time in the camper/house and finished my book The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. I haven't read any mystery novels in a long time and this one turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I cannot pin point exactly why I liked it so much, or what made me read half of the sequel in one morning but it may have something to do with the complex characters.

I am spending tomorrow and Wednesday with my great grandparents on the Pond side. I'm excited to spend some extended alone time with them because I have never gotten that chance before. It has always been small visits to see them every couple of years for an hour or so, then off to the next relative. This time I will be able to listen to their stories and get to know them better. Hopefully, I can also walk toward the back of their property and see the old Anderson house. Its incredible to still have that kind of family history still around. I plan to then visit my great grandparents on the Hudman side on Thursday and Friday :)

Why do I always write so much? Its like some weird addiction where I cannot stop. I feel so self conscious now that I let people know I have this. Before, I only had created a blog because I often wanted to vent on a computer and now I feel more aware of what I am writing. Like before, I would have complained that people bicker to much over absolutely nothing but now I'm more cautious of what I say. Always so cautious; will it ever stop? I would not be surprised if I woke up with yellow type wrapped around me one day.

I hope I get into a photojournalism course this fall. I hate to say it in a way, but I really cannot wait for school to start again. Classes keep me focused and sharp. Right now I feel focused, but dull. I want something else to think about, something with a deeper meaning. Why can I not ever enjoy vacations for too long?

no quirky ending this time.

Bursting My Own Bubble

I have always known that, while I love new experiences, I am most likely to resist change from occurring. No matter how much I may want something, I always try and reject anything from taking place in the way it was planned to be. The way I had planned for it to be. Today is my last full day in Ohio, in this little bubble of my childhood. There is so much that must still be completed before tomorrow and yet, I find myself rigid and obstinate. Pull the blanket over my head, read for two hours on the couch, purposely ignore the clock's chiming reminders of the reality. It is a good thing that my mother is not home; she would become frustrated at my attempts (or rather lack of attempt) and I would hate to have any argument.

There is so much that I must get done, however, there is so much more that I must say. Whether it was on this pointless blog (which I only have due to the convenience in fast typing) or in my journal, I feel that some draining of my thought sludge could help my increased stress levels.

I am no longer employed (for obvious reasons in moving) and I feel that it has made me quite happier in the short term of the surrounding chaos. Two weeks ago [could it have really been that long ago?] my grandparents flew in town and I spent the week immersing myself in (some rather pointless) graduation events. Usually I found myself annoyed with the undertaking and ended up skipping the Senior Picnic, for example, to hang out with Ed the majority of the week. He came over for dinner Friday night and helped us sent up the tent. The next day, I was an even bigger ball of stress and practically ran myself sick. Finally, around three o'clock, my dad called me. I came back from IGA to the house and many guests were already there. I took Ed with me and we drove to meet my dad at his hotel. All in all, I was late for my own graduation party by a whole hour (lovely timing) and continued the day in a relaxed haste (if there is such a description). By the end of the day, I had accumulated a bunch of money and gift cards, had Ed smash cake (mmm frosting with red dye stains) in my face, made numbers of short rounds to people I would have loved to converse with more, and listened to drunk people in the garage during a thunderstorm passionately discuss everything pointless with educated arguments.

Sunday, my dad came to the house for breakfast with the family and we left for my graduation ceremony around 1:30. To be honest, they had a great ceremony but I was tired and hungry after a couple hours had passed. The speeches were all entertaining, they called each student with a small description of accomplishments & etc, I received my diploma, snap snap photographs, and I spent the rest of the time in a fog. I remember seeing my mother with tears in her eyes and I recall making faces at Ed whenever he glanced over to the left. It did not feel like a graduation or a glorious completion of my thirteen year career in Perry Schools. Rather, I was sure it was another school assembly and we all happened to be wearing funny costumes: a dream of course.

Monday, Zachary and my dad left. It was harder to see my brother leave. Indeed, you know when your sibling loves you when they beat the living crap out of you first. I ended up crying when they had left. Of course...even though I'm really leaving him.

And now:
...the rest of the week has gone by in a haze of dust. My childhood has been tossed, donated, and stored in the basement. After graduation my mom helped me hurriedly pack away two suitcases of my things to fly back with my dad as I helplessly stood there watching. That is how most of the week's packing frenzy has played out: I would stand helpless, unhelpful to those trying to help me, and I would eventually crumble into a literal ball under my bed covers. Thank you for trying to help, sorry I am acting like a child again, good-day.

...I am (frantically?) typing out my thoughts and hoping their temporary dismissal will bring some relief. I feel exhausted and one of the worst things about it all is that I cannot, absolutely have failed in all attempts to talk to the one person that I want to talk to. I know that they would make me feel better in this chaotic state of being, however, I am left tired. Tired because I can't fall asleep, rather pathetically hoping I will get a phone call to help me calm down.

I have to get going, I think. I cannot just lay here all day hoping that things will get done by themselves. That is irrational and irresponsible...granted it would be an amazing occurrence in itself. I could lay back and watch it all unfold and sit here wasting my last day away.

I guess I must get going and grow up. Put my bubbles, coloring, and chalk away for a while...just for a little bit?

Lost and Caffeinated.

Thinking may just be the death of me. One day I will be thinking and my head will implode from all of the things that are constantly rushing toward my skull at a million miles per second...but I still cannot stop.

I'm graduating in two weeks, I think. Too be quite honest I don't keep track of the days anymore. People want to know my future plans as if I'm some kind of prophet. I'm as clueless about my future as I was a year ago. Why would being a graduate change any of that uncertainty? When I close my eyes and think about it, all I can picture are thousands of little post-it notes sticking on the back of my eyelids. I'm trying to read precisely what they say about my dreams, plans, ambitions but nothing is coming through. I feel as if each blink causes a post-it note to fall away from my thoughts and I'm left scrambling to try and recover it, frantically trying to grasp at my past in order to move forward. Indeed, now more than ever I feel blind to what may be heading my way.

I have so many things that I have to do and instead I sit here pondering everything. I have to pack my things, create a picture board, etc. I just want to freeze my life for a while and do absolutely nothing but sit in the sun. How can someone be so thrilled and excited to be graduating and moving, and yet feel so terrified about the outcome? I'm rushing to pick up the pieces that I feel are strewn across the floor. The mess of my room simply reflects the state I am in- a chaotic mess of my childhood and future.

Last time I wrote about how I couldn't stop thinking of Alice, Peter Pan, etc. Right now I'm in the process of thinking of something that will adequately convey this roller coaster I am on. To my dismay, there's just no single word that describes the huge transition I am undertaking both physically- with moving- and emotionally- with trying to become an adult. There's no guidebook this time, no one to help me relate to. Actually, I don't think I ever had a guidebook but it felt like I would turn out just dandy in the end if I held out long enough. There's a big void labeled my future and its looming ahead of me like a sick twisting storm. The trouble is that I don't know how to properly prepare for it or what is to come. In the past, I always had a a sense of what to expect but now I am without any true sense at all.

Violets For Rememberance, Ophelia

I'm falling in love with Sylvia Plath. She is beautiful in her writing and I'm yearning for more everytime I get the chance to. Obviously, it seems redundant to say she's poetic because that's exactly what she was. However, I'm not reading her poetry, I'm reading her journals. Her everyday thoughts, worries, and emotions raveled up into a book of truthful observation, her sentiments preserved in the bindings. Its like when I read Zoe Trope's Please Don't Kill the Freshman all over again, thirteen and looking for answers wherever I can get them. The lost ages- thirteen and seventeen. The time when you are stuck in the bindings of your own journals and looking for a way out, yet trying to carry your past with you. Your past, afterall, is the only thing that you truly know the best because it is you. That is why people repeat the mistakes of others even if they know history: I can give great advice to others, I just cannot follow it myself. Every few pages, Sylvia repeats the thoughts I have daily. My worries, concerns, hopes, all seem to tread on the same trail she has already walked, skipped, and fallen on.

I'm still drinking coffee, and despite the fact its only cup number two, I've been sucking down caffeine for the past three hours. Its my perfect kind of morning, a slow awakening followed by reading and deep thought. The sun helps erase away the nightmares I keep having. Last night in my dream, I found out I had cancer, but usually I dream of my family dying off like victims of war. It makes me shiver and want to forget why I ever sleep at all. My mother says I have abandonment issues, but how can this be if I'm always the one who feels like I abandon people? I hate leaving the ones I love stranded. I need help, I need to stop feeling as if I'm abandoning myself.

I've been thinking an awful lot about fairytales, children stories really. Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, Peter Pan...don't you see the pattern unraveling? Lost children who have to find their way back home. How is it that I don't know where my home is, yet I have two homes always waiting for me? Perhaps, that's not what it means at all? What am I thinking subconciously in my skull, what is with this obsession I have with these stories?

Another new book of fascination: What Matters by David Elliot Cohen. Its a moving collaboration of some of the world's leading thinkers and best photojournalists to create a book that presents several significant issues affecting our world today. I want to engulf all of the knowledge into my brain forever. Its moving and splendid and inspirational to the end. Unintentionally moved, cross-legged on my bed with tears falling down my cheeks. Wiped one off with the brush of my fingertips, but the impact remained inside my heart. I'm suprised my ribs weren't cracking: it had felt like a train had hit me.

There is madness in the details, a molecular violence in my brain...

All I have done really, is written today. Words to heal, to hurt, to laugh, to reexamine the world around me. Is this world growing or is it shrinking? Statistically it is growing, and fast. But part of me says this doesn't make sense. I'm meeting new people and seeing new faces almost everyday, and yet...I feel as if I'm crawling deeper into myself. My little hole to Wonderland, flying away to Neverland, and running deeper into the forest until I cannot see the light.

...the decision to make a decision is often derailed, really the whole thing is insane...

I'm stuck in this world, and I feel like a child. Stuck in my dillusions of what is not real and the things that burst with reality. Sometimes I just want to escape from the truth of what the world is, of what it means to face it like an adult. I feel rather pathetic and cowardly thinking this way, yet it keeps coming back for more. A bad habit I wish I could break more easily. Tapping my feet, biting my lips until they bleed inside, peeling the weak parts of my nails rather than simply triming them. Terrible little habits that are controlling me. I'm spinning like a top and wondering how much it will hurt if I finally quit spinning. The pavement below sure looks hard, rough with imperfect grooves. There are no patterns and I think this terrifies me. If I stop spinning and fall from the dizziness, will the pavement bruise me?

"The truth doesn't always hurt...does it?"

My Thoughts are on Trial

I feel slightly nasuas. Its rather bothersome and I really just want to go to sleep. I have so much to do but I cannot concentrate here. It is too noisy and I'm having trouble doing anything these days. Yesterday, I did pick up my college course books and I actually giggled with delight, yes I'm a nerd. I hope I can make it out of my class alive so I can start over. Its wonderful- feeling as if the world is giving you another chance to do a bit better than before.

I'm waiting on a phone call. I can't believe I'm this excited about a simple phone call to someone I just spoke to last night. There is music weaving in and out of my skull that is trying to sooth my temperment...I'm not sure its helping. It seems as if every song, every other lyric is making me think of someone. But it feels natural to me rather than something hanging over my head like a thunder cloud full of confusion. Apparently- due to my lack of motivation and concern for anything important in my life- I'm grounded. I need a slap in the face or something to care anymore. Not. Healthy. I'm acting like such a child this year and I still don't care. I mean...I know that I should care but I just don't. No excuses to use because I'm sick of hearing myself scramble for excuses in my life. Its a bad habit. I think I want to fail, just fail. I've failed at many things in my life but for some reason I catch myself doing things (or not doing things) just to hurt myself. Perhaps, I've finally hit the state of self-destruction, not suicidle in nature, just this state of a blank-slated mind. Like a noose around any motivation in my life.

Pull it. See if I can fail anymore.

Rip Me Up a New Home

There's a storm outside resembling the storm in my mind at the moment. It's odd how I can feel so at peace and yet so bothered. I'm just not sure why. Its my last day here in Washington for summer vacation and while I am happy to be back on a schedule with work, school, and my family out there; I don't want to go. Don't make me leave yet. I'm too tired of moving from place to place, family to family, and time to time zone. Its as is there's this little ripping inside of me, leaving a growing hole in my heart when I have to leave somewhere again.