Stay Strong

Post #16: dedicated to David Stroud

David, I never knew you - I only saw you around on campus. A ridiculously tall guy always flanked by friends.

We're all rooting for you. People you know, people you don't know, people you've never even seen before.

We're all praying for you. Sending messages of warmth and strength and support and love.

I can't imagine the kind of pain you're going through, but I wish I could do something to help.

Stay strong, Dave.

Teenage

Post #15: dedicated to Lady Gaga

I am feeling rebellious.

Like the - I want to dye my hair crazy colors, I want to get my nose pierced, I want a tattoo - kind of rebellious.

I missed a phase in high school, and it's hitting me now.

It's not that I'm trying to "find" myself. I've already...kind of sort of...found myself. I just feel like streaking my hair blue. Getting my cartilage pierced. Tattooing a music note on my shoulder blade. It's something I've been wanting to do for a while now, and I'm finally old enough to get it done myself.

My parents would kill me. Murder me. Or kick me out of the house.

"Nah, I don't think so. More like chewed out. I've been chewed out before."

Says Aldo the Apache of Inglourious Basterds.

Too bad I've never been chewed out before. I've been a relatively goody-two-shoed daughter. No drugs, no alcohol, no boys. The least my parents can do buy me some blue hair dye, right?

Wrong.

We will have to see.

Cold & Wet

Post #14

I hate the feeling of wet jeans against my legs.

And wet socks on my feet.

And wet shoes over those socks.

Stupid rain.

Confessions of a Shopaholic

Post #13: Dedicated to Confessions of a Shopaholic

I confess. I am a closet shopaholic.

(Although if I just confessed it...the "closet" part is out the door, right?)

It's a disease. 4 simple letters and my mind goes awry. What? A semi-annual sale? 50% off clearance?

And it's not always about the clothes. Or the shoes...the books, movies, CD's. Sometimes it's simply about having something waiting for me in my mailbox. Sometimes it's, "oh, Jane's birthday is coming up," other times it's "I'm going to need this in the future...so I might as well get it now," but most of the time: "oh, it's so cheap! How can I not buy it now? I'm really just saving money."

I try to be smart about my choices. I do. I'll almost always grab something off the rack, walk around, think about it, then return it back. I'll almost always sleep on it, then realize I don't really need it - I just want it. I try to limit what I buy, how much I spend. My brain is alert for those bright red signs indicating price reductions. Clearance racks. It's the first place I go.

It's that damned fashion. Always changing, always improving. Too many cute new styles to browse through, too many fun, vibrant colors to own.

A disease, I tell you. One with no cure.

Except maybe an empty bank account.

Lazy Tuesdays

Post #12: Dedicated to Post Grad

How wonderful it would be to be set for the rest of my life - no worries, no nothing. Of course, half the fun is getting there. And Lazy Tuesdays are the best: milling around reading blog after blog, wishing I could afford a decent DSLR camera, heading to the gym only to make a detour for the basketball courts, discussing weekend shopping plans with friends...

But before I get so caught up in planning my future and before I experience multiple meltdowns of the horrors of having to plan my future, I'll bask the now. Okay, fine. The semi-now: the Summer.

Oh, how I long to be home, sleeping in my own bed, in my clean room, showering in my even cleaner bathroom. To have a place for my clothes, be surrounded by books, to watch television on the television - not on the computer. If summer was banana cream pie, my mouth would be salivating. If summer was a Starry Night, my eyes would be tearing up. If summer was Fantasie Impromptu, it'd be the last thing to listen to before going deaf.

I've got such a long to-do list that I'm beginning to wonder if three months is enough time at all.

I want to capture the best of Santa Clarita through my handy (though not so trusty) 35mm film Canon. I hope (fingers crossed!) I can spend my days playing with children during day camp. I want to renovate my room and make it my own personal haven. I want to run in the mornings, run in the nights, swim in between. I want to cook homemade pizza and chicken and chili; I want to bake banana bread and fruit tarts and carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. I want to drink Peet's mango tea freddos, eat Qdoba chicken tacos, and grab Red Mango on the go. Make weekly trips to the beach; perfect the art of boogie boarding. I want to go to church and be a counselor for high school summer camp. Most importantly, I want to be with the people I've missed the most. We're picking up right where we left off.

As much as I love it here, I find myself dreaming and daydreaming about being home. Less than 40 days until I board the plane, endure an 8 hour long flight with a stop in between, and find myself in sunny so-cal. 40 days. Jesus suffered 40 days and 40 nights without food or water. I can survive a mere 40 more days.

In the meantime, C, buckle down. Lazy Tuesdays don't last forever. Read carefully. Write thoughtfully. Finish off freshman year and go out with a bang. Success isn't easy but hard work feels good.

40 days.

I can't wait.

John 8:1-11

Post #11

You can judge the act, but you can't judge the person.

Sunlight

Post #10; Dedicated to: Lights, All Out

Sunlight is so beautiful. Today is so beautiful. Too beautiful to spend inside. Mr. Sun, I have missed you. 60 degrees, with the sun shining...such a gorgeous day. Reminds me of spring and summer...swimming, playing outside...a need for ice cream and trips to the library.

Mother Nature, let's keep this great weather streak going. The vitamin D streaming on my face is simply delicious.

Sometimes

Post #9: Dedicated to: No Surprises; Radiohead

Sometimes I just want to fast forward a few years. I'd write, sing, and perform amazing music. Win a grammy, and in my speech, tell her to suck it. Look where you are, and look where I'm at. I got here without your help, without your support, without your faith in me that I could do it. You did nothing for me in high school, absolutely nothing. So suck it.

In

your

face.

Happiness & the Future

Post #8: Dedicated to: Kris Allen, I Need to Know

I'm scared.

The future's always looming in front of me, and I have no idea what to do with it, what path to take.

Do I know what I want to do with my life?

Can I do what I want to do?

The plan's always been to get summer internship after internship in New York City, then land some fantastic job at a famous publishing house. It's idealized in my head; I'm lying to myself. I think it's going to be perfect. I'm going to be great at said internships, spend summers living in New York - never mind ridiculously expensive housing I don't even know how I'm going to get a hold of. I'm going to have the perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect life. Here's the reality of it: I'll be working my ass off for long hours, horrible pay, and a tiny apartment I share with rats, simply because it's the only one I can afford. Life's not going to be a breeze. Get it in your head, C.

And on top of that all, I'll be alone. Alone in New York City. Everyone's going back to California...no one wants to go for it in New York. No one but me.

Is it worth it all? I just want to be happy. I thought a publishing career would make me happy. But now I don't even know anymore...what is it? What is it going to take to make me happy for the rest of my life?

"What you do in your life is only half of the equation. More importantly it's who you're with while doing it."

Is it worth it to try to make it in NYC all alone? Maybe I'll make friends, maybe I'll find my circle, my niche. And maybe not. Maybe I'll come home from work everyday, exhausted, microwave myself some tv dinner, then go to sleep, only to fall into the same routine day after day, week after week.

I'm scared. It's scary. I've never been more unsure of anything in my life. And I need to know.

Ouch,

That stings.

But I deserve it. I've been deserving it. So I'll pretend like I didn't notice.

It still hurts, just a little.

March 11, 1994

Post #6: Dedicated to The True Story of Hansel and Gretel, by Louise Murphy

"What God wills is what happens. Pray for the Poles in Germany and Russia, boy."

Dobry nodded out of respect for the older man. After all, Starzec had had the idea that stopped the tanks. But he didn't pray. He had prayed for three years, and there was no good that had come of the prayers. As if hearing his thoughts, Starzec spoke again.

"We prayed that the Russians be driven out, and the Germans did it. Now we've prayed that the Nazis be destroyed. Look at the Nazi bastards on the road. They're beaten. While we're killing the last of them and driving them out, we can pray for those Poles kidnapped and stolen from us."

Dobry thought about it. It was true. The Russians had been beaten back into Russia, and the Nazis were now fleeing Poland. He shook his head stubbornly.

"It didn't happen fast enough. Half of Poland died before God helped us."

"God's time isn't our time." Starzec sighed.

"God shouldn't have let this killing happen. God should have stopped it."

Starzec gestured at the trees and the forest around them. "Do you see God? Where is he, you fool?"

Dobry flushed and shook his head. "I don't know."

"God didn't come down and kill us. I don't see God shooting children and priests. None of us met God beating up Jews or shoving them into railroad cars. This is men doing the murdering. Talk to men about their evil, kill evil men, but pray to God. You can't expect God to come down and do our living for us. We have to do that ourselves."

Starzec turned his back on the boy and walked on, feeling the pains in his knees and back and ignoring them. He had a long walk before this war would be over and he safely back in his bed in Warsaw - in what would be left of Warsaw when the Nazis and the Russians had burned and looted it - but he didn't like to think about that.

The young peasant stood staring after the older man, and he was so flushed that his eyes watered. He brushed away the tears and trotted behind Starzec, and his mind, almost against his will, began to form prayers for his father and mother, for all the Poles taken away from their country, kidnapped and beaten and starved and perhaps worked to death or dead already in the camps. He prayed, and the prayers developed a sort of rhythm as he walked, and his mind grew quiet as they moved steadily eastward towards the thunder of death.

-The True Story of Hansel and Gretel; by Louise Murphy

3 AM Musings

Post #5: dedicated to Saint-Saens The Swan

I have researched and now know more about King James I of England than I have ever cared to know. Oh, the consequences of taking a humanities centered biology class. But I'll survive.

3 more days until I am in the city that never sleeps, where I'll likely be sleeping, and often at that. I hope I fall in love with the city, with that fast-paced lifestyle I want to adapt to after college. I want to go everywhere, I want to see everything, I want to eat everything. Every tourist trap that ever existed in New York, I will faithfully experience as a tourist. And then hopefully, as a resident. How goes life in the greatest city of the nation? Can I do it? Can I live it? Can I survive?