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?