He he he....

I passed!

A few years late in getting it, but I've finally got a driver's license.

I can't tell you how happy that makes me.

:D

Ta for now!

:)

There's nothing like an ego boost. A writer likes nothing more than validation from others....and I got a healthy dose of it today. I find I rather enjoy it. :)

For tonight, I am content.

I have Brock's birthday present completely figured out, and I'm really hoping he'll like it.

I have my driving test tomorrow morning - a retake (because apparently I didn't stop long enough at the stop signs last times, or take into account "pedestrians" on the sidewalks) - and I'm really really really hoping that I do well enough to pass it.

And for tonight, I'm hoping I don't get more sick than I've been getting.

I almost did the splits today in dance class, got a round of applause from the rest of the class lol and it was indeed a bit exhilarating....another couple classes and I'll be doing the splits completely. It's kind of weird to think about lol. I've never been able to do them before.

Anyway. For today, though I woke up at 430 and started off rather unenthusiastically, it hasn't ended too badly.

Wish me luck for tomorrow and the weeks to come! :)

Ut re mi fa sol la.....and no, I didn't get this wrong. It's original. ;)

So, it's been a while since I've written a post, and I'm not exactly sure how to go about it anymore.

A few times in the past few weeks I've thought out a post in my head, but I never took the time to write it out or post it. Other things just seem more important.

Now that school is up and going along, I suppose things have mellowed out in their way. I've been able to keep up with my work, most of it has been reading so far, with very few assignments interspersed, but it seems to work out okay. I'm supposed to be getting my first paper assigned on Monday, and I'm a little nervous, because that's a place I had trouble with last year. But, I suppose we'll see. As long as I keep on top of my work, and don't get too frazzled over it, I should be fine. Or so I like to tell myself. Must stay positive.

I'm liking all of my classes...or at least, I was. Lately, they've all been centering around the same thing: religion. It's hard to see how two literature classes and a music history class can be talking about relatively the same thing as my biblical literature class. Almost irritating. I'm hoping, as the semester progresses, there'll be less religion mixed in with the general lessons. I know that my classes have all lost their initial appeal, and become a little boring. I've already started finding myself in that mood that says "i don't want to go, i don't have to go." Thankfully, I haven't skipped yet. But I've become extremely tempted to already. My creative writing class, at the very beginning, was living up to its promise. I was extremely satisfied with it. Now, however, its starting to get off track. Everyone is becoming more comfortable with each other, and the entire class goes on huge tangents and nothing gets read and it's absolutely ridiculous and frustrating.

I've started writing poems again, though, and that makes me happy. My writing class has at least ensured that I write something at least semi-regularly. I'm still working on figuring out how to get back to writing on my book like I was this summer, I haven't been able to keep myself looking at it now that my attention is dragged away to other things. My only problem with the class is that the teacher keeps giving me my poems back and saying "this is very good, but I want you to get past your comfort zone of craft (ie. my rhyming) and write something closer to the truth." Irritating. He wants me to write free verse and sparse of word and be absolutely literal in what I say. In other words, he wants me to write like the poets he likes to read. It's fucking bullshit. I write the way I write, don't push me in another direction. If I don't want to tell the world exactly what the fuck I'm feeling, I have that right.

Anyway. I've been sick for the last week, though I think it's allergies. But, allergies or not, it's still annoying and still won't go away, and it only reminds me of last year where it felt like I was sick almost constantly.

The oddball class that I have is a dance class. Movement for Theater, to be precise. It's actually usually pretty fun. The last couple of classes we've been learning how to do swing dancing. Let me tell you, it's quite a workout. I even got a blister on the underside of my big toe, in the oddest place ever. The teacher has also been teaching us all kinds of "fundamentals" with ballet movement, things like turning, pirouettes, spotting, kicking, and many other things with fancy names that I can't remember lol. She said her main goal for the end of the semester is to have us all able to do the splits. Yikes. But I'm getting pretty close, I think lol. More than I used to be able to do anyway.

So that, at least, is my update. Brock and I are doing good, we're coming up on 9 months together, it almost seems unbelievable to me. I can't tell if it's because it feels like we've been together longer or shorter than that.  But a sobering thought came to my mind, this morning. I was thinking through all the visits he'd possibly have in this next year, and pretty soon I came to May and stopped....that's when he'll be going overseas. And I couldn't believe that that's how little I'd see him until he would leave for a year or more. Four days in October, some in November, a couple weeks in December/January, possibly something in March, maybe a visit in April, and then....nothing. And then I think of all the friends I have who are getting engaged and getting married, and we'll still be waiting. Only 34 months until we'll be getting married. Two years, ten months to go. I just hate that we have so many logical reasons to wait. It kills me. I don't want to wait, I never did from the start. But we have to. He doesn't want to be married in separate states, and all of my financial aid is tied up in Rocky. Not to mention the fact that he'll be deploying in about eight months anyway.

All I have to say is, if the world ends in 2012, I will be kicking some serious ass.

Feeling like...

I'm on the outside yet again.

Is it me? Or is it them?

I don't know, and I can't let it get to me.

I must just focus on other things, more important.

Getting things done - books, writing, eating, sleeping, working.

But I confess, that at the moment, all I want to do is nothing at all.

So how can I possibly be hurt by the things that others do, when I do it too.

This is something which I must remember, something which I must learn and move on from.

Until next time. School starts on Monday, things are theoretically going smoothly and well, though they aren't.

Ta for now.

The Last Letter

When reflecting on this past day, I am reminded of a story I wrote once. It was called The Last Letter.

More than the story itself, what I had wanted to convey when I wrote it was my own physical ailments that I was experiencing at the time. I attributed it to my backpack straps pinching nerves in my shoulders. I would get random spasms of pain from my nerves, in my neck, shoulder, head. Anywhere it could hit, it did. It was like something was stabbing my temple, and I usually ducked my head to try to get away from it. Often, it made me flinch when I had such a spasm. In my story, these happened to my character, and she was dying. This last week, I have had the same such nerve chaos that I was experiencing nearly two years ago. 

It is painful, to say the least. Horrible headaches - like sharp jabs at my temples, base of my head, neck, shoulders, and lately - lower abdomen. 

Now that I look at it, I believe the origin to be more caused by stress and lack of sleep than backpack straps. Not a fun picture to assess. Maybe my body reacts badly to such things anymore. It had too rough a time in high school - perhaps I should have treated it better. My wrist was throbbing all day today, and again, I believe it is how I have treated it in the past. My past will forever haunt me, it seems.

Bruises come, and fade, but do not completely go. They still hurt, and you can still see their imprints on my legs. Except for the recent burn on my wrist, I seem to scar more than I ever properly heal. Perhaps this is a statement on my life.

I don't mean to complain my way through this blog. It seems that's all I have done the past few posts. I apologize. Life isn't all horrible. I simply like to dwell on my disappointments sometimes. And when I do so, it helps me to think, and analyze myself more than I would if all I spoke of were good things.

I am getting along with my grandparents far better than I ever have before - and that is a fact I am quite happy to acknowledge. I have written at least 12 or 13 pages on my book in the past month, and that is more than I can say for the past year. That too makes me happy. I survived one year of college - and that amazes me. I still have friends to talk to (though I often feel alone more than anything else) and that is a comforting thought, when I can remember it. I have those who love me, and would help me if I need it, and that is something one should never forget.

But so often I get mired down in the icky details of life, the sludge that makes a murky haven in my words and thoughts.

I am at least moderately healthy. And except for the few bumps I have hit along the road in the past couple weeks, I am in a good place with those in my life. Some things can never be fixed, and other things must be accepted or be allowed to ruin you. 

Perhaps, with the events of this summer, I will learn better. Hindsight makes sages of us all. But if only the lessons are absorbed, perhaps they might help me along this road, and around the potholes and puddles.

Philosophical I wax tonight, it would seem. Perhaps in my dreams the words I have written will penetrate deep enough to be understood and absorbed and wielded with the purpose they were intended for.

Until then, and for now. Good night.

Door Mat. Walk all over me, please.

I feel like I'm living in the same house as my brother - the paranoia about my own things, and about leaving the house and putting my things in a more vulnerable position.

Not only that, through the words of a future in-law, I now feel supremely unwelcome.

The charity case. Who doesn't deserve shit because she doesn't do shit. Especially because I'm not family.

I cannot wait for the next week to pass. I want to leave. I wish I could. The sooner the better.

I'll have to find a different place for next Christmas break and summer. Make some extra money so I can afford the dorms over the holidays, or something. I'll sleep on the floor of my grandmother's basement if I can find no other option. But this - this won't be repeated.

I can't stand this, my limit has been broken. I feel like I have been both reverted back to my childhood self-and belittled in the most supreme way. There is no self worth here anymore.

I must become independent this year, as best I can, so I won't have to endure this kind of humiliation again.

Oh the Irony.

This Aching Empty
I do not mind the waiting
The silence, or the lonely
The thing I mind, as you will find
Is living without you.

My thoughts are mine alone, you see
My time - free to command.
But emptiness is hard to breathe -
This living without you.

The bed is not the problem
I sprawl, I twist, I turn alone
But when the sleep eludes me, love
I find this just won't do.
___

You can't imagine how unbearable it is to be so far apart. I never imagined it would be like this. Sigh.

Scholarships....or lack thereof.

Ugh.

It's a quarter past midnight, and boy am I exhausted. I attempted to fall asleep around ten, but after an hour of not falling asleep, I decided to get onto my computer and search, search, search, agonizingly search for writing scholarships.

One hour later. And guess what?

Still found nothing.

What was it my step-dad said to me? "You just type it into google and you'll find hundreds of them, all you have to do is look. It's not that difficult." Why doesn't he just try it?

Sigh.

I'm tired. I'm annoyed. I'm empty handed.

Thought I'd share. Maybe if I'd done this in high school, as a high school student - I would've been eligible for a hell of a lot more. Now that I'm in college, you have to attend a certain college or be (no offense meant or implied) black or hispanic or latino or native american or whatnot. One white female who goes to a dinky little private college in a highly stereotyped farmland of a state, well, doesn't exactly stand much of a chance for finding a scholarship.

Unfortunately, the best and only one I have ever come across was the Haynes Foundation Valedictorian scholarship only offered to valedictorians in my state, and probably only offered at my college. And you know what? It wasn't even that much. But I guess even the little things help.

I'd love it if I could find more of those little things.

Sadly, however, even my fantastic searching abilities uncover zip.

Until whenever, I'm going to attempt to sleep yet again.

My EASY button.

Can I simply erase the last few posts? No? That would be a violation of the past and the purpose of this blog I suppose...

Anyway. Obviously, things are much different than first semester freshman year of college. Different guy, different heart, different head - different thoughts. Different future.

I don't write like I used to. In fact, I barely write at all. I don't know if that's a problem with my mind or just a product of my new-ish life/situation. I'd like to blame college. Maybe guys. There certainly wasn't a whole lot of either of those before August '09.

I've made mistakes, too many to count. I wish I'd gone to a different college. Thought a little more about what I was doing, where I was going. Maybe made myself write a little more than I did. Worked on my book with a little more frequency. But most of all, I wish I hadn't lost sight of my dream.

Currently, I'm a little lost. I don't write, so I don't know if I'm even a writer anymore. I don't know if I'll ever finish my book, with the way I've been progressing so far. I'm not sure if I want to completely change my major from a literary to a scientific field. The reigning logic is pointed at no money with a literary major, but a greater likelihood of continuing writing. Or, an amazing salary as a science major but little to no chance for writing anymore. The other college is cheaper, but bigger and farther away. I'd save money, but I wouldn't see my family or my fiancé as much, if at all, during the course of the school year.

But I can't continue with what I'm doing right now.

I wish I could restart my entire year and a half. I wonder if that would leave me worse off, or possibly better.

In any case. Time to change the display of this blog. Time to restart where I am right now, and figure out where I'm going.

With any luck,

This just might work.

Mike

He was such a gentleman, he really was. My baby would do anything to please a girl. But he was still a baby too, at least at heart. He was always so polite. And he listened to me, he trusted my voice. Towards the end, he actually came when I called his name, instead of looking at me arrogantly from wherever he'd run to. And even though his litter box was half as big as it needed to be, he still used it. He was my heart and soul. He was my life, light of my day, the gold in my sun.

He didn't want to go into the cat carrier, I pushed and forced and tried to hard, and I got so frustrated with him. He wouldn't go in, it was like trying to drown a cat, it just doesn't mix - oil and water. But then, I couldn't blame him. The carrier was also too small, and the only times he'd been in it it was to move to a different place, with strangers. I held him in the car on the way over. I'd tried to be nice to him through the morning, clean water bowl, fresh food, clean cat box, open window and air. In the car, I told him he'd be right as rain, we'd be home before he knew it, we were just going to get a couple shots to make him feel better and then we'd go. He didn't like the room we were put in. The doctor gave him some tranquilizer in his back, lower spine. We waited for it to take effect, and when the doctor came back, he gave him some more, and some more, and some more. My baby was tough, remarkably immune to strong doses. He tried jumping off the table, his reactions were very slow by then. When I picked him up he was heavier somehow, and soon, as he was lying on the table, he would just stare ahead of him, his mouth drooping and drooling a little. Like when a cat breathes in a strong scent and their mouth hangs open. And then his head got heavy and it dropped to the table. I tried to adjust it so he could still breathe. I was sitting on the ground in front of his face, trying to talk to him still, trying to see some light of recognition. The doctor came in a last time and laid him out, shaved his arm, gave the last dose, the anesthesia that would slow his heartbeat to nothing. He left the room when there was no pulse. My baby was lying there, his arm stretched out so far it didn't look comfortable. I laid my head on his stomach like I used to, but it wasn't the same, it was like a pillow - no life beneath the surface, no gurgling stomach, no tension or breathing, just a pillow. I went around the table and knelt in front of his face again. His eyes were still open, and he looked so . . . angry, it was the same face he gave me when I did something he didn't like. I tried to apologize for the humiliating position I had to put him through, I tried to close his eyes. I tried to readjust him so he wouldn't be uncomfortable. But as soon as I touched him, tried to lift him up, it was . . . not the same. I backed up so quickly, he was dead weight, disjointed limbs, but most horrifying of all - he wasn't there anymore. He was so completely gone, and I felt like I'd betrayed him. So entirely betrayed him.

And I couldn't . . . be there anymore. That image of him - that's the last thing I remember. And then it's like a tape on fast rewind, and I see my holding him in the room, and then in the car, and then trying to force him into the carrier, and then the morning of attempting to spoil him and let him enjoy his last day, and . . . it kills me to see that it's because of me and my stubbornness that he's not here, my polite little gentleman, the most well-mannered animal, the most well-mannered cat with the stubbornest ideas and a yellow teddy bear to sleep with, is dead because of me. He's no longer here to sit like the Sphinx, or give me that arrogant look like the king of the jungle, or to lay on my side when I say I'm cold. He's no longer here to run after me to my bedroom, day or night, my little shadow, or to meow like a six week old kitten, or to soccer punch me so hard my glasses fall off my face. He's no longer here to lay on his back with his legs spread and his tail curled like a monkey's and his eyes looking at you saying 'look but don't dare touch'. And I'll never get to see his paws turn white, or his back get crooked, or his eyes turn cloudy. I'll never know how long he might have lived. He'll always be my baby, a couple white hairs here and there, a mucky little teddy bear that's never been washed, and the memory of the richest, sweetest, granny smith green apple eyes I've ever seen or ever will see. He had the loudest purr I've ever heard in a cat, you could hear it across the room, and I swear he could understand everything I ever said. He held grudges like no other, and when I left for a few months of the summer, he wouldn't let me pet him for weeks. And he loved only me, he trusted only me, and I let him down.

My guardian, my protector, my prince - I only hope he's watching over me now. And when I hear the thunder rumbling, and when I smell the crisp air of a fresh spring morning, or feel an ache on the side of my eye, I'll think of my beautiful baby boy, and know, and hope, he's thinking of me too.

I hope he takes care of my heart where he's at, and wraps his beautiful monkey tail around my soul.

Overlooked: The Hypocrisy of Life.

The hypocrisy of school grades. Who truly worked hard on these? Who got what they deserved? One never works, blows off classes left and right. Failed his first semester, did essentially the same thing second…got two As. One didn’t do any of her papers until the very last week of school. Didn’t hardly ever go to class, didn’t read the books, and still got an A. Then take the other, who stayed up all night to finish homework. Always read the assignments. Wrote A papers. Missed a couple classes and got a B instead. Maybe I turned a paper or two in late, and maybe I had a mental breakdown in between. I feel like I worked so hard. I only got a B, and an Incomplete. And why? Because of a few absences? School is for those who suck up. Good grades are for the sycophants. True learning never got a person a good grade.

I do not want to be another Amelia Sedley, watching all those less worthy getting all the glory. I don’t want to be eclipsed by everyone. I’ve been in the light, I’m the better wit and the kinder soul, but I leave for a little while, and it’s as if no one remembers how much better I can be than they. Unobtrusive…is that a compliment or an insult? It’s like I’ve been overlooked my whole life and for what reason? Timidity? A feeling of being an outsider already, a need to isolate or work on my own problems or work through my grief has led me to become more of an outsider among those who I thought were friends. My distance has led me to have only one person in the world who I feel I can rely on, and talk to, and know absolutely won’t let me down. That person is my fiancé, and I suppose it’s sad that my best friend, the only person I truly consider an actual friend now, is he. And even worse, is when I feel like I’m being neglected even by him. A busy schedule I have not, but it certainly occupies his day most fully. And when he is the only person who I talk to, and the only company I have, though he’s over six hundred miles away, it gets pretty lonely when he’s too busy to talk. I feel like a whiner. And I feel like a loner. And I feel like all of this is because of me, of my fault and origination. Maybe I was never destined for the limelight of social graces and gentility. I knew I was a hermit from childhood, life chalked it up to shyness. But though I’ve found myself capable of shining quite spectacularly, I still cower in my shell in the end. I had one semester of seeing the world of wit, sarcasm, and liveliness, and I retreated for a few months and found I couldn’t come back, found that the world I thought I had discovered and learned so well had changed so completely as to bar my reentrance into this place where I felt almost close to people, where I felt cared for, and fraternal concern was something I had missed so dearly.

Life has thrown me ups, but this year, it has mostly thrown me downs. I’ve had my moments, but I feel like it has stolen most of mine. Given the chance, I could have been quite the individual, but instead I’ve had to stumble and fumble my way through. If I have wit, it is because I have had neglect so sharp that the only way to lumber through it is to mask it with gaiety. If I have a modicum of intelligence, it is only because I have had no other company but my learning and my own thoughts. Through the tenfold mirroring and echoes of musings and scribbling and lonely thoughts, I have gained some progress in life. And unfortunately, the world I have passed my time in has occupied only myself, thus to me, life means only solidarity. If I come across contentment, I find a fortuitous fluke. If I come across closeness, intimacy, inclusion within a group of individuals loving of each other, I find it a fortunate and fleeting chance to see the other side of the universe, to reach into the sky and listen to the stars speak amongst themselves, and it gives me such a feeling of elation that it lights me up for days. But it never lasts.

The ring upon my finger promises a different path than I always predicted for myself. The ring on my finger says I won’t be alone for the rest of my days, that I’ll finally have a family that reaches out to touch your heart without the horrible need for a precursor or excuse like a familiar holiday or birthday. With this ring, I have the chance for love, and reliability, and hope. Yet, this hope that has to wait, wait for more silence, wait three years and some months, before I can finally have a life worth living, worth remembering, worth feeling.

Why is it that things always come down to this? This feeling of being overlooked, neglected, ignored. Why must it always come back to me feeling like I'm not being seen for who I am, not being acknowledged for my accomplishments, taken for granted, assumed invisible? Why do I always feel alone?

It's this constant battle with the world, fighting the hypocrisy of who gets the attention and the glory, of who is seen as the smarter, who gets the better grades and snazzier labels. It's like, in the midst of struggling to live, they've all forgotten about me. It's getting to feel pretty pointless.

--------

What is it about euthanasia?

The idea makes me feel like a cold-blooded killer.

Because when I look at him, I know what I'm planning. And he doesn't know.

Why does life make it impossible for us to protect the ones we love?

Why must we feel powerless to change fate?

Why do I wish I could die with him?

----

I'll never know - and neither will he.