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.