Music Is My Boyfriend

“I believe in music the way some people believe in fairytales.” –August Rush

The other day in class we were talking about The Healing Connection and someone mentioned how everyone needs an outlet and a lot of people mentioned horses and riding but mine’s a little different. On the surface mine doesn’t appear to be much: a bunch of black dots on a white page, a pair of beaten up white ear buds, but it’s enough to get me through the hardest days.

I started playing piano in first grade which is about the same time I got my very first CD (Spice Girls in case you were wondering) and I haven’t looked back since. I started playing violin in fourth grade and clarinet in fifth, which soon after switched to oboe.

I owe so much to music. It saved me in high school when my group of friends from middle school was moving in different directions. I looked towards band and orchestra and found a group of friends who finally understood that part of me and didn’t think I was weird for it. Then in college I moved 1500 miles away from home to somewhere completely strange and slightly terrifying. I was lost, confused, and rather homesick so I turned to the place I knew I could find solace: music. I would walk to my lesson or orchestra feeling like my world was falling down around me and walk out practically skipping with the biggest, goofiest grin on my face. With the realization that the best days were on those days I had a lesson or orchestra I started dragging myself to the practice rooms when I was feeling crummy and low and behold I’d leave feeling much better than when I had entered.

The best five weeks I can remember having in a long time were spent at music camp where I did nothing but play all day for a full five weeks. And that’s when I made the decision that I want to be a music performance major. The thought is terribly daunting but if it makes me so happy why not. My brother asked me why I wanted to be a music major the best answer I could come was, “It makes me feel alive.” Music will always be there for me when everything’s falling down. It doesn’t ask for much, just a little time out of my day to go practice, which makes it even better because I get out of it what I put in. I leave that practice room feeling so great because I was the one making that music and it feels like you can take on the world after doing that.

"You never quit on your music. No matter what happens. Cuz anytime something bad happens to you, that's the one place you can escape to and just let it go.” –August Rush

Music is my escape. And not just playing music. Just listening to music can be the greatest escape. There’s nothing like slipping on those headphones and finding the perfect song that sings back to you exactly how you’re feeling. It’s like having a friend saying, “I know exactly how you feel and I’m here with you even if everyone decides to walk out that door and leave you.” Some people have the horses, I have my music.

“You know what music is? God's little reminder that there's something else besides us in this universe, a harmonic connection between all living beings, everywhere, even the stars.” -August Rush

Feelings About a Boy

This is a story about a boy and my unfortunate growing obsession with him that isn’t helped along at all by my friends who only seem to urge it on. It’s unhealthy; I am aware, and so very creepy it’s not even funny. His name is Garrett; terribly adorable. His codename is Drummer Boy (DB for short) after the first time I set eyes on him at a jazz band concert where he, well, played drums obviously. He is arguably the most beautiful boy I have ever set eyes on. He’s tall and slender. He has dark, well kept hair and equally dark, piercing eyes. I could into more detail but I’d rather not let on just how crazy I am because I have never even talked to this boy and you’ll only be let in on just how creepy I am. Plus I don’t like to gush; I’m afraid it might ruin your shoes and they are quite nice today.

I’ve had my eye on this boy for a little under a year ever since that fateful night when I had to go to the jazz band concert to fulfill a requirement for my music class. He’s mostly just been a small blip on my radar; something nice to feast my eyes on from time to time. He’s beautiful so he’s obviously not in my league and I’m not at a place in my life where I even want a relationship (or at least that’s always my excuse.) He’s just a nice break from all the girls and socially awkward or gay boys on the campus.

So then the other night we convinced my roommate to go to dinner with us (a rare occurrence as she usually eats in the room.) This gave the rest of my suitemates and myself the chance to show her the attractive boys (including this particular one) who usually the sit at the table perpendicular to the one we usually sit at. She gave us her stamp of approval and mentioned that DB had a rather nice patootskie (her word, not mine.) This also meant that the rest of the night she kept tabs on him (mostly for my purpose) and noticed that every time I stood up to do something (get cereal, a spoon, throw something away, etc…) he would supposedly lean forward in his seat and follow my movements. Now this only came as a slight surprise to me because a couple days before I had been walking back form class as he was walking to class and it appeared that he was staring me down as we passed on the sidewalk.

However, due to reasons that will be discussed in a moment, I didn’t take this very seriously assuming that he was probably looking at something over my shoulder and not at me because the likelihood of his actually looking at me is slim to none. We come from completely different social circles and I don’t see him being interested in a nerdy, awkward girl such as myself. So when Sam told me this, a flood of contradictory emotions washed over me: excitement, fear, disbelief, nervousness, doubt.

Why do I doubt all of this? Well in 7^th grade something similar happened. I had to walk from one part of the building through the long “glass hallway” everyday and while walking down this hallway I always passed the same boy and I could swear that he would watch me. I was so convinced that I told all my friends (who humored me and agreed that he was most definitely watching me in the hall) and of course developed a huge crush on him. He consequently was also a drummer. I started seeing him everywhere. He was in band and the 7^th and 8^th grade bands had to collaborate for the spring concert that year because their sizes had diminished so much. I was absolutely thrilled; I had delusions that after hearing my beautiful oboe playing he would finally admit his love for me. Because of course he was in love with me. Why else would he stare at me every single day in the hall?!

The band concert came and went and nothing came of it. I wrote a letter to him professing all the pent up pubescent feelings I had for him and asked him when he would get the balls to talk to me (although I’m sure at 13 I didn’t use the term “balls” in my letter.) I then proceeded to tear it up and throw it away. I even CAST LOVE SPELLS FOR THIS BOY!! I was THAT strung up on him with my preteen over-active hormones. It was truly terrible in hindsight. I had acquired his AIM screen name at some point and spent hours gazing at his profile. My male friend had also acquired his screen name and used it to blackmail me into doing things for him which kept me terrified and yet slightly thrilled, daring him to do it. He never did tell him and a part of me knew he wouldn’t.

Finally one night I was staying over at my friend’s house and we were on her computer talking to people on AIM. She also had his screen name seeing as they were in the same youth group together (she would feed my obsession with keeping me up to date on the goings on at her youth group and sometimes even taking me along.) We discussed it and I agreed she could IM him and ask about me. She did and his response was “Who?” My heart sank. She told him who I was and I think she may have had told him about my crush on him, I honestly don’t know for sure because I was too focused on trying not to be sick. I do however remember his one word response: “Gross.” I was absolutely crushed. I hit rock bottom. I couldn’t even cry. I sat at her kitchen table and just stared at nothing feeling that my life was over because that’s what you feel when you’re 13 and the boy you have a huge crush on says you’re gross. YOU DON’T CALL A 13 YEAR OLD GIRL SHE IS GROSS!! I was already self-conscious and worried about my appearance and my personality and this only proved the fact that I was ugly and pimply and…well…gross. Nobody would love me, ever. I was devastated. My friend told me not to worry about it; he clearly was an asshole and didn’t deserve me, etc… She then made me super chocolaty milk and put a curly straw in it. We spent the rest of the night watching Titanic and of course I cried harder when Jack drowns than I had ever cried before (or at least that’s what it felt like because at 13 everything is melodramatic.)

And thus why I can believe that any boy has actually liked me, especially that this one now. Maybe that’s a bold statement to say “any boy” but whenever I find out a boy likes me I have the hardest time believing it. Yes, I have confidence issues and maybe it’s not fare to pin it all on that one boy so many years ago but I feel it damaged some part of me and I still doubt that DB was looking at me that night.

The terrible thing is that with her telling me this it’s given me a glimmer of hope and now I can’t stop thinking about it and I’m quickly escalating to my 13 years old self again. I’m terrified that I’m going to be kicked over a cliff again though and if it turns out she was right I fear I’ll never be able to trust anything he tells me which is pretty common with most boys who attempt to have a romantic relationship with me. I fear they’re only saying the things they say to get in my pants and that deep down they see me as that gross, insecure, 13 year old girl drinking chocolate milk through a twisty straw and sobbing to Titanic.

So...I'm screwed up.

MEAC

I’ve had some time to let the whole experience sink in and I’m still rendered mostly speechless. I feel that the MEAC experience is one only others who have had the experience can relate to. It’s difficult to explain and I’m left, not for the first or last time, with the wish that I could just touch the page and have everything be crystal clear as to what I felt and what it means (and truth be told it would help me sort out the tumbling of thoughts and emotion.) Here goes nothing.

I new it would be an emotionally intense evening from the moment I stepped into my professor’s car which smelt overwhelmingly of my grandpa’s van back when my grandma was still alive. So basically it smelt like cigarette smoke confined to a van but it brought back so many emotions and so many memories it was hard to keep the conversation going with my professor and his daughter as they tried to make the whole situation a little less awkward as we all sped toward the unknown.

When we got to the school for the blind we were led up onto a stage overlooking the performance and the kids (or rather young adults.) I didn’t really like this placing at first because I felt almost like it was sort of symbolic, placing us above everyone, giving us some sort of power that I wasn’t comfortable having. However after it started and the lights were turned down I was glad to be on that stage so I could take in the whole scene below me instead of just a partial view which is surely what I would have gotten if seated on the floor.

I don’t think I was as shocked as others at the level of the disabilities present. In fourth or fifth grade my class was paired with first or second grade class to be their big buddies and I, along with another girl in my class, was matched with a young boy named David who had Downs Syndrome. He was a great kid and I loved being his big buddy but we often had to go to the room where the disabled kids met to retrieve him and there we saw many kids with pretty severe disabilities. They’ve always scared me and fascinated me at the same time and I’ve spent many an hour wondering what it must be like for them.

The story presented was of an orphan girl who buys a pair of red shoes intended for the “untouchables” (the disabled surrounding the performance space, lounging on mats and beanbags, some still in their chairs.) The shoes end up being cursed and the wearer can’t stop dancing and can’t get anyone to help her until she finally learns her lesson.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the performance was more about the audience than it was the actual performance. It was about engaging the children with disabilities and getting them to interact. I mean, I knew that that was the intent of MEAC but it was a whole different thing actually being there and seeing it happen and watching these kids respond to Joanne. And being the musically inclined person I am I couldn’t help but notice how they were responding to the music as well. They would start bobbing in time with it and I could just see the glee on their faces. Of course one of the best parts of the whole night was at the end when she got those that could up and dancing. I don’t even know how to explain. It was magical, it was awe-inspiring, it was beautiful, it was incredible, and I have to admit that completely overwhelmed with the whole experience I started crying at that moment. And then MEAC kids from the past started trouping in with presents and hugs, as it was the anniversary of her starting MEAC. I am so lucky to have been able to be there that night.

Of course that wasn’t the only great part. Watching these kids react when Joanne or any of her helpers came around and stroked them and talk to them or sprinkled glitter on them was incredible. They seemed to open up to her and give back just as much as she was giving to them. They reached out to her as she reached towards them. It was beautiful. Another highlight was when, downcast and hopeless, Joanne went up to a boy and sadly said something along the lines of “help me” and he instinctively opened his arms for an embrace. Truly touching.

I wish I knew these kids better both in that I got to participate in MEAC for CBL and even outside of MEAC to see how fully it touches them. Unfortunately MEAC conflicts with my class schedule so I don’t have that opportunity, but I know this is an experience I won’t forget. It’ll stay with me and hopefully I’ll get another opportunity to attend and maybe help out.

I'm Just So Lonely

I want the boy who holds open the door even though it automatically holds itself open for me.

I want the boy whose eyes, black as coal, bore into me when I glance up from the omelet line.

I want the boy who awkwardly smiles at me while I quickly pass him, unsure if we are friends or not.

I want the boy who, feeling too uncomfortable to sit next to me slides off the couch to cuddle with his dog.

He would treat me respectfully, being a gentleman.

He would ravish me, taking all I have to offer.

He would hold me in his strong, but gentle embrace.

He would talk to me about life, still afraid to touch me.

Life Sucks, Get A Helmet

Today sucks. I hate Mondays officially. More than I ever have in the past. Or maybe I just really hate THIS Monday because almost the rest of the United States has it off to commemorate the bastard Columbus (other than in South Dakota where it is rightfully called Native American Day [seriously, we’re celebrating some dumbass who thought he landed in Asia and instead caused the almost decimation of an entire people…?]) Anyway, why today is notsome:

1) Instead of being able to go to DC to see a couple of the most awesome bands ever while they're on tour (All Caps, Mike Lombardo, Skyway Flyer...) on the Mall and generally just hang out I had to do my community based learning and go to my Astronomy Lab.

2) For CBL I’m doing Read a Story/Write a Story with Kindergarteners (who don’t really know how to read or write…) Today was our first day with them which was great and I love kindergarteners but some are very rambunctious and I was exhausted to start with. Then myself and two other girls were working with Jasmine who has a generally girl’s name and has longer hair so we figured Jasmine was a girl but Jasmine is supposedly a boy. Parents with a sick sense of humor? Family name? Transgender? I don’t know but it was confusing and a little stressful trying not to be gender specific and not using pronouns. Jasmine received a ruler with a pony on it and proclaimed "Why did I get a GIRL'S one. I'm not a GIRL I'm a BOY!" quite vehemently. I imagine he often is confused with a girl/is a girl and very much does not want to be one. It's hard to tell when they're only 6 years old.

3) Astronomy only made me feel like a dumbass and completely lowered my self-confidence. We just went over our tests (which I failed.) And I found that most of my wrong answers were questions I shouldn’t have gotten wrong. Things that I know and should have answered correctly but I’m a dumbass. Also some boy tried flirting with me and I’m only all too aware of how terrible I am at flirting. Seriously. I’m horrendous.

4) Now I have to study for a Jazz History test tomorrow plus I should probably do more reading to Relational Psych but Astronomy killed my soul and I don’t have the energy and I’m far too depressed to care.

5) I’m homesick. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss seeing the stars. I miss pine trees. I miss home cooking. I miss my room. I miss sleeping in my own bed. I miss the quiet. I miss the comfortable. Fall break is coming up luckily but I can’t go home. It’s too expensive so I have to wait for Thanksgiving, which feels like eons away.

I want to quit college and just go home. Or at least curl up in bed and cry and put off my test until at least Thursday.

“Some people feel like they don’t deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces, trying to close the gaps of the past.”

-Into the Wild.

P.S. 5) My aunt and uncle's cat was hit by a car today and died. RIP Buzz

6) It smells like weed. THIS IS THE SUBSTANCE FREE DORM I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS!!!

Lucky

So I actually finished Lucky by Alice Sebold almost 5 days ago but I'm just getting around to writing about it because it kind of took me out of emotional commission for a little bit. It was like a huge emotional overhaul and I just had to sit and stew on it for a while before I could move on. Although I guess that's the whole point of this journal thing is to deal with that...Ok so maybe I was just procrastinating and I don't like talking about my emotions (kind of like Alice...which I'm going to get to.)

So the actual catalyst for this post is the fact that I just found out this girl I went to Spain with this summer is now a freshman at Syracuse University where this book takes place/where Alice Sebold was raped when she was a freshman. And I know it's kind of ridiculous to worry about but I'm a worrier. It's just one of those really weird coincidences that's freaking me out a little bit. I mean of all the schools in the country for a girl from SD to go to, and of all the days I find out. It's just bizarre.

So I don't really know how to go about this. I have a bunch of places in the book marked so I'm just going to go through them and write about them as I come across them because of course this book was hard to read. It's about a girl around my age being brutally raped and she discusses everything in vivid detail and I'm one of those readers that is there with her. I am laying on that cold cement with broken glass digging into my back, I'm sitting in that courtroom with her being heartlessly cross-examined by a man who shouldn't ever be let inside a courtroom.

Firstly I want to state that I loved this book for all its difficultness. It's a hard subject matter and I have so much respect for Alice Sebold to not only write about it but about her own rape. It's a beautiful book in a weird kind of twisted way. My favorite part actually is how she doesn't mince anything. She lays it all out on the table from the very start. You open up the cover and *BAM* she hits you with it and you know exactly what you're getting yourself into. She doesn't hold back at all. And when she talks about her rape with her father she tells him to call It what It is, rape, and not that thing that happened or anything other than that. She lets it all hang out.

I find it kind of...funny (for lack of a better word) that she doesn't convey her emotions in her writing though. But I also understand and she mentions a couple of times how she was doing her best not to feel anything at the time: right before her preliminary trial (or whatever it is, I don't understand court proceedings) her rape crisis center counselor is trying to get her to talk and she says "She wanted me to feel. I didn't see how feeling was going to do me any good. Onondaga Country Courthouse was not a place to open up. It was a place to hold fast to what I knew to be the truth. I had to work at keeping every fact alive and available" and again after her trial she talks about why her parents weren't present, "I was nineteen and ornery. I was afraid of their comfort, that to feel anything was to feel weak." Two things from these. One, she's very analytical about everything. She focuses solely on the facts (also apparent throughout the rest of the book) instead of how she feels about any of it. When she sees her rapist again she doesn't think about how she's feeling but she focuses on his description so she can repeat it and have a picture drawn up. She lets her need to have him behind bars drive her and focuses her energy on that and collecting all the facts she needs to do that. And two, I'm reminded of myself in her refusal to show her feelings and weaknesses. While I've never been through anything nearly as traumatic I still hide my emotional weakness to everyone so they assume I'm doing fine. It's stupid really because sometimes what you need is someone to talk to and be there for you but they won't be there unless they know you need it but I never let them know because that's showing weakness and I hate that. I think Alice sees it as a man's world and in order to survive in a man's world you can't show your weakness and give away all your emotions because nobody will take you serious and that's basically how I feel. I thought about how I would react and think it'd be close to Alice's reaction. She felt compelled in the aftermath to show everyone she hadn't changed and she was the same person even though that wasn't true. We don't want to be labeled as Damaged Goods. And of course this whole need to carry on and pretend things are all right when your world seams to be crumbling around you reminds me of a song:

You gotta swim
And swim when it hurts
The whole world is watching
You haven't come this far
To fall off the earth
The currents will pull you
Away from your love
Just keep your head above

I found a tidal wave
Begging to tear down the dawn
Memories like bullets
They fired at me from a gun
A crack in the armor
I swim to brighter days
Despite the absence of sun
Choking on salt water
I'm not giving in
I swim

Swim by Jack's Mannequin

One of my favorite quotes from the book: "No one can pull anyone back from anywhere. You save yourself or you remain unsaved." This quote really struck me, how people can help you and give you the tools to save yourself but ultimately the only person that can really save you is you. It's up to you to get the help you need and then it's up to you to fight and take that help so that it's beneficial. Nobody can save you without your own consent. It's both empowering and a little scary.

Another of my favorite quotes: "I didn't have much patience with it anymore. Violence only begat violence. Couldn't they see it left all the real work to the women? The comforting and the near impossible task of acceptance." And I think that's a good place to leave it. Take from it what you will.

Esther

On August 25 of this year the world lost Esther Grace Earl. I never knew Esther personally, but I'd heard of her through the wonders of the internet and nerdfighteria. I never met her but I know she was amazing. In 2006 she was diagnosed with metastasized papillary thyroid cancer. She was 12 years old at the time. She fought the cancer for 4 long, hard years but it eventually got the best of her. You can read more about her here. I learned about her sometime earlier this year seeing her in vlogbrothers videos and on fiveawesomegirls. She fascinated me. Sixteen years old, so beautiful and such a fighter, refusing to give up. I didn't know her, but when I learned of her death I cried as if I had lost a close friend. I went to her YouTube channel and spent a day going through her videos. This one especially hit me hard. She's just so open with her feelings, something I've never been able to do. And not just open with her close friends and family but with everyone and anyone willing to listen. She's an inspiration in life and death. All you need to do is search "for Esther" on YouTube and you'll find yourself in a maze of videos dedicated to this 16 year old girl. Many of the videos are by friends and acquaintances but many still are from people who, like myself, never even spoke to her. It's amazing how one little girl can touch the lives of so many people like that. And I wish so badly that I had gotten the chance to know her.

So now I've been listening to this song over and over, because I live my life through music. I think it is absolute gorgeous. It's one of those songs you feel more than hear. Here are some of the best lyrics:

A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I’ll sell them for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I’m a goner
And maybe then you’ll hear the words I been singin’
Funny when your dead how people start listenin’

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep ‘em in your pocket
Save them for a time when your really gonna need them, oh

The sharp knife of a short life, well
I’ve had, just enough time

-"If I Die Young" by The Band Perry

Another Impasse

So this Friday I ended up Skyping with an old friend of mine, we'll call him A. We've been friends for going on five years now and he's one of my best guy friends. He started telling me about his housemate, who we'll call R (who also happens to be [or I guess was...] one of my old and really good guy friends) and how he's been drinking a lot lately. Apparently R has been getting super wasted and has taken to stripping down and then sprinting around outside. Now first of all I'm not going to condemn drinking. I've done it myself, but I believe in moderation: simple social drinking only. I don't think it's fun or funny to get so drunk you start making a total idiot out of yourself and forget what happened in the morning. I don't understand why you would even want to do that. It might make your problems disappear for a while but in the morning it's all going to come back and with a splitting headache. What's the point? Just man up and deal with your problems.

Anyway, I digress. So A had to leave shortly after telling me this so I ended up texting R lightly chastising his and I receive a response back of "who is this?" Confused I said something along the lines of "What do you mean? You've had my number for years..." and I get "I don't ever remember having this number" back. Now I knew something was wrong so I stopped texting after double checking that it was indeed R I was texting. Then I set off to find him on the old facebook to check in with him there. And as before, with the previously mentioned Impasse, he was nowhere to be found on facebook. I immediately told a mutual friend about this and she confirmed that he hadn't deleted his facebook and how strange it was. She mentioned a couple trivial incidences from early summer that he had come to her about concerning me giving him a hard time about dating her and one time where I apparently ignored him because I was foggy with jetlag. So I texted him back about it saying I wasn't aware he was so upset about any of it. I didn't say so to him but he should have come and talked to ME about this problem and talked it out. For Christ's sake I've broken his heart before and he got over that so we could stay friends but apparently THIS time he can't even fucking talk to me. I ended up getting a really bitchy response back from him saying "i don't give a shit about you. or your fucking jet lag. Get a life." Direct quote. Seriously. What the hell? This isn't even the kid I know. This is not my friend. So I replied saying that. And that if he's going to be that way I guess it's best we not be friends. I haven't heard back since. Am I upset? Yes. But unlike last time I'm not going to obsess about it. He made is decision and I'll respect that. Like I said to him, if he's going to act this way then it's best we not be friends. I'm definitely going to miss him, or who he used to be, but that's growing up. People change, sometimes for the better and sometimes...not. So be it. Live and let live.

Wes Crawford and Some Very Special Drummers in Concert

I just got back from this amazing concert. Wes Crawford, the drum instructor here, brought 3 of his students to perform today. Two of these students, Stu and Jeremy, were born with Williams Syndrome and the third, Kentrell, “faced many prenatal challenges and was born prematurely weighing only 1 lb. 13 oz.” and has just begun learning to read (first Italian while studying Opera and now he’s started reading English.) I’ve done several research papers on music and its affects on the brain especially in autistic children and I’ve considered going into some form of music therapy so when I heard about this concert I was pretty excited to go. I knew it would be unlike any I had gone to before. And in fact I was right.

These young men are definitely special. When I sat down they were warming up and fiddling around on the piano sitting in Merrick but as soon as they saw me they ran up very excitedly and introduced themselves, asking me my name, and telling me how excited they were to be performing. Stu started telling me about his extensive gong collection and Kentrell told me how excited he was to be performing and how he hoped they could come back next year before Wes came over and ushered them out into the lobby probably to give them some last words of encouragement (which they clearly did not need: the were pumped.)

Each student played two pieces. One was a scripted and rehearsed “play-along” with a pre-recorded track of the melody and bass parts and the second was a partially outlined improvised interpretation of other pieces (Pictures at an Exhibition, Seventy-Six Trombones, The Star Spangled Banner.) I wasn’t as much interested in the pieces they were playing (although played skillfully.) I was more focused on watching them playing and feeling the music. Stu and Kentrall were very energetic. In the middle of one of Stu’s pieces he called out “YE-HAW!” and after each of their performances there were so excited and loved playing so much that after their applause they sat back down and started playing again so gleefully Wes had a hard time making them stop so we could move onto the next performer. And when listening to the other performers these two were bouncing around in the seats, keeping time with every fiber of their beings. Jeremy was more intensely focused. He didn’t bob around with the music as much but his facial expressions conveyed how deeply he was feeling it. My favorites were their own improvised interpretations when they were able to completely let loose. Playing with the tracks they had to stay within these guidelines, stay within the lines, but with their interpretations they were able to just let everything fly free and fully express themselves. And yet I was still able to hear the original piece mixed in with their being which was just incredible.

I loved watching them because as a performer and lover of music I know the feeling of having the music INSIDE of you, of feeling like if you were to be cut in that moment instead of blood pouring out music would pour out, of not knowing where you stop and music starts. It’s so intense and you could physically see this as three young men performed. I tend to be a very still performer. I don’t convey much. My parents always tell me how statuesque I look even when my insides are screaming out their own music. But these guys didn’t hold anything back. Jeremy was part of an MTV show called “How’s Your News” where a bus of handicapped people went around the country interviewing celebrities. As Wes said, they were able to ask these celebrities that everyone else WANTS to ask but feels too modest and held back from saying. Most people filter out those questions but Jeremy and the others weren’t afraid to ask these questions and didn’t bother filtering them out. I felt like that’s what they were doing with their performances as well.

Women's Ways of Knowing

This book was actually somewhat interesting. I was rather dreading having to read it but it wasn’t so bad. I didn’t finish though. Anyway I marked a couple spots that I felt rather personal about and whatnot so here is what I found and felt.

-Subjective Knowledge: The Quest for Self: I think I’ve been in this stage for a long time. Or rather I oscillate in and out of it. Sometimes I have a strong hold grasp on who I am and what I want out of life but then seemingly within minutes something happens, somebody throws a wrench in the machinery and what I’ve been holding onto turns into smoke; there’s nothing left in my hands and I have no idea who I am and what I want anymore. Take for instance the other day. I had just about decided that I wanted to transfer to UNL for their larger music program and then maybe going to UW for grad school. I was feeling pretty confident about this. I had things figured out and was feeling good about being able to spend time with my aunt and uncle in Lincoln. Then I went to my orchestra audition and she talked to me about just going to a bigger summer camp to get that experience and see what competition is out there as opposed to the little one I went to this summer (and absolutely loved.) Suddenly I had more options: I could go to a larger camp in the summer for THAT experience and stay at my small liberal arts school (which I do love most days) for THIS experience. Or I could go to my little camp and transfer to a big school or, or, or… And suddenly I feel like I’m back to the beginning and thinking if I transfer I won’t even go to UNL. It’s so much to deal with when I still have everything to deal with here at school.

This stage also made me think of the book/movie Eat, Pray, Love, which I absolutely loved. I’ve talked to a lot of people who hated it and I guess it’s because they aren’t in this stage. They don’t get the need to drop everything, leave everyone behind, make your own way in the world and just live for yourself. They thought it was a terrible plot because this woman was so selfish and only thinking about herself. But really she was only trying to find who she was. She woke up one day and realized she didn’t know who she was anymore and needed to find out. I would love to be able to do that and I guess I sort of have. I left everything and everyone I know and love back home and moved 1500 miles away to go to school. I realized I needed to do it for my own sanity, to make my own way without comfort as a crutch. I’ve never been a very selfish person and I decided I needed to give myself this one thing. Of course here I am now and while I’ve figured some things out others aren’t as clear as I’d like them to be, ya know? Maybe not. I don’t think I’m making sense anymore. Whatever.

-Self-Extraction: Something I have trouble with. I get emotionally wrapped up in things most of the time, especially when it come to books. When reading I am right there standing next to the main character seeing what they see, hearing what they hear, feeling what they feel. I get so sucked in that it becomes hard to distinguish where this character stops and I begin and it’s hard for me to come up from air while reading. I get very disoriented and confused with the read world I suddenly find myself in. But I feel with things I don’t get so emotionally involved in I don’t care about them. It isn’t important to me. Like Daphne said, writing papers about things I don’t care about turns them into crap, mindless writing from whatever side shows me the most reasons to be sided with to make it easier to write for that side.

I have a hard time trusting my so-called gut. I over think absolutely everything and question whenever my gut tries to tell me something.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense. I’m sick and in a bit of a haze but I figured I had to write before I forgot to write and what I was going to write about (which I did anyway.)

The Blind Leading the Blind

Today in class we did this exercise where half the room closed their eyes and the other half led them around and then we switched. Those being led never found who had done the leading. It was very interesting.

Leading was a little stressful to be honest. Suddenly there was this whole other helpless person I’m responsible for and we were only able to hold their hand and their elbow. You’d think that isn’t enough to lead a blind girl around a room filled with 15 or so other couples doing the same thing but somehow it turned out ok.

Being led was a whole different level of weird. I was really tense to begin with and flinched at every sound afraid of being run into or running into someone. But after just a short period of time my partner gained my trust and I was able to relax and just be led around without worrying or even having to think about it. It’s crazy how such simple nuances in pressure can be instantly rightly be interpreted. It was like suddenly we were connected and became one body instead of two. At least that’s what I felt being led around, trusting some girl whose face I didn’t and never will know simply because I had to for survival. Maybe for survival is a little dramatic but you get the point.

I was a little afraid at the beginning of class when we were told there would be a theatrical portion to this class. I am in no way a theatrical person, I have a fear of public speaking, I can’t act, I don’t socialize well with people I don’t know, I’m awkward. But today I reminded myself that we’re all in the same boat, and I think I’m actually going to like this class.

In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O’Brien

I just finished In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O’Brien a couple hours ago. It was a big of a whirlwind read through because I had to borrow the book and so I got it Friday and had to have it finished by tomorrow. So I wasn’t able to do as much processing as I would have liked but that’s ok.

The most prominent quote (in my fine opinion): “Out own children, our fathers, our wives and husbands: Do we truly know them? How much is camouflage? How much is guessed at? How many lies get told, and when, and about what? How often do we say, or think, God, I neverknew her? How often do we lie awake speculating—seeking some hidden truth? Oh, yes, it gnaws at me. I have my own secrets, my own trapdoors. I know something about deceit. Far too much. How it corrodes and corrupts. In her gentle way, I suppose Ruth Rasmussen was trying to tell me something both hard and simple. We find truth inside, or not at all.”

It’s true isn’t it. We lie to each other and to ourselves or we simply hide the truth; cover it up with a blanket, stick it in a closet somewhere, ignore the elephant in the room and hope it goes away. Sometimes it works and we get away with it. Sometimes it work forever and sometimes someone comes along and whips away that blanket, like an old Band-Aid trying to hide a nasty wound, and we have to face up to the monsters and skeletons pushed in to the closet for so long. Nearly forgotten. Sometimes we’re able to overcome all of that, recover, earn back trust and continue living as before. But sometimes, as what appeared to happen to John Wade, we lose ourselves and those we love despite how hard we cling to them in desperation.

So why do we do this to ourselves? Because we’re afraid of what these truths might mean? That it’ll show us to be monsters? “Can we believe that he was not a monster but a man? That he was innocent of everything except his life? Could the truth be so simple? So terrible?” That the world won’t see us as perfect anymore? But nobody is perfect. We should stop living in such fear. We are a nation paralyzed by fear.

"And all that she intends
And all she keeps inside, isn't on the label
She says she's ashamed
And can she take me for awhile?
And can I be a friend, we'll forget the past
But maybe I'm not able
And I break at the bend

We're here and now, but will we ever be again
'Cause I have found
All that shimmers in this world is sure to fade
Away again

She dreams a champagne dream
Strawberry surprise, pink linen and white paper
Lavender and cream
Fields of butterflies, reality escapes her
She says that love is for fools who fall behind
And I'm somewhere in between
I never really know
A killer from a savior
'Til I break at the bend"

-Fuel "Shimmer"

Friendship Out of an Impasse

It’s kind of funny really. We started off hating each other solely for the purpose that I was dating her ex-boyfriend and she was my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. I had heard stories about her from Boy and decided I didn’t like her purely basing my decision off of that and she saw me walking hand in hand with a boy she still had feelings for and decided she didn’t like me. Typical bitchy teenage girl crap.

Of course Boy got bored with me within a month and ended up heartlessly dumping me right before dating a mutual friend (between myself, him, and his other ex-girlfriend.) So obviously he was well worth hating some random girl over. Any type of relationship (purely friendly or otherwise) with him had been terminated and I had made myself this enemy for no reason whatsoever. So The Other Ex (TOX for short) and I bonded a little over our brutal dumpings.

About half a year later after both TOX and I had attempted patching together a friendship with Boy but to little use. He ended up dating another mutual friend (even though she new I didn't approve thus ending THAT friendship as well) and left us stone cold. We happened to be all at a party for marching band (Boy was drum major and putting on this shindig) and TOX and I both decided we couldn't stand to watch the two of them play tonsil hockey any longer or we were going to kill someone/ourselves so we exited the building to get some fresh air. We happened upon an adorable little bridge with a tree elegantly draping over it and with the full moon above it was more romantic than either of us could have come up with at that point. She mentioned how beautiful it was and how she would love to get married somewhere like it so I got down on one knee and jokingly asked for her hand in marriage. Our other friend who had followed us out agreed to "marry" us right there and so we've been wife and...wife ever since.

Niether of us talk to Boy anymore, but our friendship is going on 4 years now even with my moving 1500 miles away. It's funny really.

Coming to an Impasse

-I'm taking a Relational Psychology class and one of the things we have to do is keep a journal with designated topics to write about. This is the first one and I thought instead of keeping an old school journal I'd just add it here.

It was about two year ago. Summer before my senior year and I had just returned from Europe. Something from the trip triggered a desire in me to reconnect with him. Something about the trip, something I saw, someone I met... I have no idea what but I needed to talk to him again. So when I arrived home I pulled out my computer and got on Facebook. I searched for him and was unable to find his page anywhere so I figured he had deleted it and instead I wrote him an email basically saying "Hi, I miss talking to you. How are you? What's up?" But I heard nothing back.

After a few day I mentioned it to a mutual friend. Strange: he was still showing up on her fb newsfeed. So she wrote on his wall for me asking what was going on and before you know it he had blocked her too (for this is what I assumed had happened to me.) I ended up using every means of communication possible but to no avail. I never called though. I guess I figured he'd screen me or I wouldn't be able to think of what to say or I'd get too emotional and be unable to speak. Whatever the reason, I couldn't muster up the courage to do it.

After a few more helpless and fruitless attempts at contact I got a message from some girl telling me to leave him along. After a little digging around I discovered that he and this girl were engaged. It had been at least a year since I cared about him romantically but it broke all the same. I spiralled into depression. Cried myself to sleep for weeks. How could he? He didn't even have the balls to initially tell me he was even seeing someone let alone how seriously it was. It hurt like hell and I couldn't even talk to him about him. He was always the guy I could go to for help; about guys, my parents, friends, whatever. But now he was...gone...just like that without any warning. It made me sick to my stomach.

A close friend finally mentioned my depressed and I spilled it all to her. How we used to be close (more than friends close) but it was hard because he lived so far away and we never even discussed having a long distance relationship. She helped me get over it that night luckily because half a year later I found out they had a baby (6 months after their marriage...) But by this time I had grown, matured, was able to handle the situation better. I sent him one last email (still curious about why the sudden impasse) congratulating him and hoping his was happy (only a little bit sarcastic) and after a few months I finally got a reply. A lame one, but nonetheless a reply. I stung a little but for the most part I was able to laugh the whole thing off. Being older and whatnot I was able to see our previous relationship for the ridiculousness that it was.

Of course a few months later my grandmother died which meant we had to go to the town where he lived (also where my grandma lived for most of her life) for her funeral. It's a pretty small place so I was convinced I was going to see him while there. My nerves were already shot to hell for the funeral and it was all I could do to keep myself together the entire weekend. We almost made it without running into him but the last day there, July 4th, we had to go to the annual Fourth of July parade in my grandma's even smaller hometown. He was on a float, playing cymbals for the marching band. I felt sick but then I thought about how stupid he looked up there slouched in his chair, clanging those cymbals. I was able to stick him in my past, where he belongs, and learn from the whole experience. I wish him well.

I chose this...incident...mostly because it's the first impasse I thought of. Also because it's the first real and most prominent impasse I've come across. It taught me a lot about relationships (especially the long distance kind) and helped me grow up. Similar, although not as dramatic, events have happened since and I've learned to just let it go better than I did so many years ago. I've also learned to protect myself.

Wisdom from Lulu

I have this friend who moved here 4-5 years ago from China. Her English is good, but still a little broken with a fairly heavy accent. I love her to death and I don't get to see her very often anymore because she ended up moving a year ago. But we email all the time and she shares her wisdom with me and helps me through all my problems with the greatest support and broadest mind. She helps me grow. She's amazing. Anyway, I just wanted to put some of her wisdom here. Update it from time to time.

"but...I want to leave the prettiest things unsaid.

no complications.

we are here right now, and that's all it matters.

whatever happens happens.

It can never be the same again..I like it. of who I am right now.

maybe it's just a start.

we'll see."

"it's ok..just let it flow..you don't have to find out anything..it has its own plan"

"everything is a bit confused..but that's how it is to everything in life

...as long as you are happy. all it matters."

Realization

I'm not sure I know how to have fun anymore.

I'm not OK

I'm breaking. I'm hurting. I'm confused and I can't make any sense of my life. I'm depressed, possibly the real deal. The "I need drugs to make this better because there is something chemically WRONG WITH ME" depressed. It hurts. I have no motivation. I can barely get out of bed. I only pull myself together and spend time with friends so they don't think there's something wrong with me because I'm too damn stubborn to admit to them, to myself, that there's SOMETHING WRONG! I don't want to be That Girl: the one with The Problem, the Depressed Girl, the Bipolar Girl. Because these days most people think that just means you want attention. But isn't it obvious that I don't want the attention?! If I wanted the attention I'd be spilling all this to my roommate or my best friend back home or one of my friends here. Instead I'm sitting at my desk wiping tears from my eyes, holding back sobs so my neighbors won't hear, telling this to...nobody. Just getting out without it being in a public way. Oh...wait...this is the internet. But I'm pretty confident that this blog is so far buried that nobody will ever find and my silent pleas for help will continue to go unheard. God, I'm so fucked up. Despite falling apart almost on a daily basis I continue to trick myself into thinking I'm strong enough, still have it together enough that I don't need help, that I can get through is my own way. But I don't know if I can anymore, it's been going on too long and I don't know how to ask for help. I'm afraid to ask for help. I can't ask for help.


except...


HELP!!!!

Bursting

I'm currently listening to Hilary Duff, because it's Valentine's weekend and (once again) I'm single as single can get (whose idea was it to go to a school that's only 30% male while a large gay population and any straight single guys smoke...seriously, whose idea?!?!) and 1500 miles away from my family and best friends and Hilary Duff makes me feel like an angst filled 13 year old again. Plus, there's the fact that she's just one of my musical guilty pleasure (along with Demi Lavato-I'm basically still 13 at heart I think). But, anyways, that is not the point of this.

Sometimes (especially lately) I get this feeling deep inside me like I'm going to explode or something; like there's just too much inside of me. I'm bursting at the seams and there's nothing I can do about it. I just want to take a knife and slice myself open, sternum to bellybutton, and let everything out, let it all fall out. Or maybe I could just stick my finger down my throat and throw up everything: all the emotions I can't show, all the pressure, all the sadness and worry. I just want everything I can't normally get out exposed, so everyone can see what's going on inside me and just to get it OUT. I just want to get it out there somehow because I don't talk about it. I can't talk about it. But instead I'm just standing there and I can hardly move because I'm busting and it's all I can do not to start tearing my flesh so everything can escape and I can be free. I can move again. And maybe with everything out in the open people will understand, they'll know. They can just look at everything laying on the concrete at my feet and I won't have to explain and stumble around looking for the right words to say, because goodness knows I'll never be able to get everything, or anything out, on my own.

Whatever.

My Imaginary Boyfriend Says Hi

I have this problem (other than the fact that I'm narrating this whole sordid mess as if I'm in an episode of My So-Called Life, since all I've done all weekend is watch old episodes on hulu). I ready...a lot, and I grew up watching Disney movies. This doesn't seem like a problem, but it is, trust me. It's given me a couple things I don't need. One, it's given me high expectations when it comes to love: chivalry, the girl and guy end up together, love comes easy, etc... And two, I have a very very active imagination.

I was doing fine with all this until He came along. He is my new neighbor and He went home this past weekend so we still haven't gotten to know each other so very well as I know all my other neighbors. And this has caused a problem. This has cause me to start making things up (again). I always do. I see a boy, he sparks my interest, I know him a little (or even not at all), and my imagination makes up the rest. I always make them perfect and every situation is perfect and we get to know each other and we end up falling in love and it's...well...perfect. But then I actually start to get to know them and first it's awkward because I've imagine so many intimate encounters that I think we're already incredibly close when we're not. And then I get to actually know him and he isn't nearly as perfect as I pretended and I realize I don't actually like him, I like what I pretended was him and he hurts me without even realizing what he's done.

In this case, with Neighbor, it's the first one (so far). In my head we've already gone through the awkward bathroom run-ins and late night hall chats and eating dinner together and going for late night walks and falling asleep together and him consoling me while I'm home sick. But none of that has happened. I know very little about him, but it feels like I know more (facebook stalking helps...or rather doesn't help...). So when I talk to him I think I'm talking to an old friend and I act that way, but in reality I know pretty much nothing and he just thinks I'm a lunatic. But I can't just turn off my imagination, I'm stuck with it and my lunacy. help me?

Home Sick to My Stomach

First, I'm home sick something terrible. I enjoy it here, I really do, but sometimes I just want to cuddle with my mom. Yes, I'm 19, but I have no problem in admitting that. And, well, right now I just want to be with my mom and I want to be able to unload everything I'm about to say here to her, but I can't do either of those things. We don't quite have that relationship yet. We're still working our way out of the bitchy tween/early teens and mad busy teens year. I want my mom.

Second, I lost just about my entire life in a snow storm. Went for a romp and now my driver's license, cash, debit card, keys, college ID/key to get in my dorm building/meal ticket are all gone plus two gift cards. All of it is laying somewhere out there on campus in the middle of blizzard and I have no hope of getting any of it back until the snow melts and who knows when that will be. No time soon. I've never wanted snow gone so fast in my life. MY ENTIRE LIFE IS GONE!!! All I have left are my phone and my computer and neither of them will feed me or get me into my dorm. I'm screwed. I'm sooooo screwed. And after searching everywhere I went outside in the freezing cold I'm just now warming back up over 2 hours later. My cheeks were swollen they were so cold.

And on top of that, I'm trying to decide if I want to be a music major or not. I really want to. Music is one of the only things I've ever been passionate about in my life. But I don't know if I have the balls to do it, the dedication and I don't want to spend my life living in a cardboard box. My heart says "DO IT!!!!" and my head is saying "really, now let's be logical about this. How are you going to make a living off of THAT?" I'm good, I don't admit it often, I don't brag about it, but I am. I'm just unfocused (especially recently). I need help and I don't know where to go for it. I might as well be in middle school for all I'm feeling and it sucks. I didn't like middle school, I didn't like high school either. I'd rather be here, in the present, but emotionally I'm 14 again but with ADD this time. HELP ME PLEASE!!!

Fragments

Close your eyes and let the music fill you. Let it fill the empty spaces that used to love, used to feel pain, used to hurt. Let the music take over until there's no division, no boundaries between music and self. The only thing left is music.

She stares up at the twilit sky as the stars gaze down at her. The velvety blue surrounds and her and she suddenly realizes: I'll be just fine without you.

Death and Emotions

I guy I graduated with recently died. He was headed back to school last week. He hit black ice and then he hit a semi. It sucks. It always sucks, and unfortunately this isn't the first time I've dealt with something like this. After 8th grade a boy a year younger than me but who I sort of knew from band and lunch was hit by a car and died. Sophomore year a freshman flute player who I knew slightly from marching band crashed her car and died. Last year a girl I used to play soccer with rolled her car into a creak and died. There have been a few others, but I had no contact with them. I didn't know them. And, really, I barely knew the ones I've mentioned, but that doesn't matter. I knew them enough. We were a part of the same band, or the same soccer team and it sucks. Plain and simple, it sucks. But this time is different if ever so slightly. He was an extremely awkward kid. I didn't talk to him much and when I usually did it was because I was frustrated with him. He didn't have very good social skills and was, frankly, a bit difficult to get along with. He played trumpet, maybe not well, but I have to admit that he was passionate about it. He tried hard at being as good as he could be. He ran for band officer one year despite having a very slim chance of winning. I feel awful that he's gone. Nobody, no matter how socially awkward or annoying, deserves to die at 19. The part that makes it worse than the others though is the fact that one of my closest and best friends drove by the accident only 2 hours after it happened (she said his jeep was barely recognizable as a jeep). I was already worried about her trip across the state because the girl she was driving with seemed afraid just to be behind the wheel. Luckily she texted me telling me she arrived safely back to school a couple hours before I learned about the death. When I realized how easily that could have been her friend's car lying crumpled past the point of recognition on the side of the road, I just about lost it. I don't believe in God, but maybe there's someone out there, making sure she was ok that day. And maybe it was all just random. He just happened to get at that specific spot at the worst time possible. It happens. If not him, someone else. If not there, somewhere else. It doesn't really matter I guess. I feel bad for saying it, but I'm so relieved it was my friend. I'm relieved she was two hours behind him. And, I hope for his sake that he didn't suffer. I hope it was quick. His funeral's Tuesday. I can't decide if I'm going or not. I don't like funerals (who really does). At 19 I've been to far too many. I'm sorry, Alex. Sorry that people gave you a hard time in high school. Sorry you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. And I'm sorry, so sorry, for being thankful that it was my Katie. I honestly hope there's somewhere better for you. That you're there now.

The thing is, as a friend of mine kindly pointed out a few weeks ago, I don't talk about my emotions. I don't share them. I do my best to avoid the subject, to hide my intense feelings. That's partly the reason for this blog. Nobody should have to keep these things bottled up. It'll drive you mad. But I can't find a way to talk about it. I'm afraid I guess. Afraid that people will get fed up with being overemotional (I'm the only person who knows just how incredibly emotional I get). Afraid they'll think I'm weak because of the tears. Afraid that they'll take advantage of it somehow. Just afraid I guess. I know I get annoyed when people display their every emotion freely. When they share everything, even if you've only known them an hour. It makes me feel like they just want attention. I'm sure in many cases it isn't true, but maybe I've just had too many bad experiences with it. Maybe I'm just a really horrible person on the inside after all. Maybe I am a cynic.

I'ved been called heartless, cold hearted, soulless, etc... more times than I care to count. Lots of time it's just in jest. I know they don't mean it really. I have friend who thinks it's pretty funny. She tells me a lot that I have a cold heart because I've turned down just about every guy that's ever asked me out, pretty much crushing them. But the truth is I'm the opposite. I think I feel everything too strongly. I'm ridiculously empathetic. I can't watch surgeries on TV shows because it makes me hurt. I once started watching P.S. I Love You about halfway through and no more than 30 minutes into it silent tears started streaming down my face. I get emotionally attached to fictional characters. After reading My Sisters Keeper I sobbed as my own family member had died. So, because I feel my emotions are slightly out of control, I've learned how to hide them; how to suppress them until they're under control or I can be alone to let the full weight of them have their effect. I rarely show anger. That's a really bad one to let out. I show happy, but I keep it under control. I'm not one to scream or cry of happiness in public. But, mostly, it's the sad that I keep locked up. Nobody wants sad. Nobody wants to deal with someone crying. Guys don't even know how to deal with tears. So, I've learned hold that inside till I can find a remote place, and even then they're silent tears. I choke back the sobs. If people hear, they wonder what's going on and ask questions or just think there's something wrong with you; you're depressed and you need help. Maybe that's not really the way it is, but that's the way it feels. Probably because when I was younger I cried for probably a week straight one time. Partially because I just finished elementary school and I was facing a new school with completely different people in the fall. I was sad and terrified and I cried, a lot. I didn't want to admit to my mom why I was crying. I had reached the age where I thought adults didn't understand anything. She said if I didn't stop crying or if I didn't tell her why I was crying she would take me to a therapist. Those were the magic words. At 11 a therapist was only someone truly crazy and depressed people went to. I was neither crazy nor depressed. Just scared and afraid of losing my friends and not finding any others. I think I finally mumbled a "I miss my friends" and she let it go. But from that day on i was more careful about crying. Keep it quiet or mom will threaten therapy. Some part of me still believes that I guess. Even if I have a reason for crying (and sometimes I just don't, I'm sad for no reason) I'm afraid that someone will take it as a sign that I'm super depressed and I need therapy. And, somewhere in me, I still feel like therapy is only for truly crazy people or people that are seriously depressed (like try to kill yourself depressed). I should know better. I mean, once I hit puberty and hormones started going haywire my mom told me that sometimes all you need is a good a cry. She told me about a friend she knew who would take her kids to their grandparents' once a month and go home and play sad music and just sit and cry and cry and cry for no reason, just because. But I must have somewhat the mentality of a boy. If I cry for no reason I'm weak. I shouldn't get upset so easily.

About those turned down boys, I did it for them, for our friendships. I had no feelings for any of them. They were all really good friends. I didn't want to kid myself that they would be anything other than just friends. It killed me having to turn them down. I knew it hurt them like hell. But, somewhere down the line, had I gone out with them, I'm convinced things would have turned ugly. I didn't really like them. We would have fought. We would have ended up breaking up. Our friendship would have been ruined. And, I valued those friendships more than to let that happen. I'm happy, though, to say that in a couple cases I was right. We're friends, really good friends. I miss them when they go away, but like I'd miss a friend. Maybe guys and girls can't be friends without one of the other starting to fall for the other, but I believe it can be worked out. In the end friendship can overrule it all. I love those boys like I would a brother.

A Late Night With Him

Couple nights ago. Internet was down.

Exhausted. But really, what’s new? Can’t sleep despite it. Thinking of some guy I don’t even know that I saw at the Y today. It looked like he was looking at me. Why he would be…I don’t know. Sweating like a pig, in baggy sweats, bright red face. Cute. But I thought he was watching me. That’s why I noticed him. I thought I knew him. He looked familiar. (good looking really) but it turns out I have no idea who he is, Was? He doesn’t exist in my life anymore (except in my head), so was it is. Maybe he was just looking behind me. But it makes me wonder: what if one of those guys whose eye I’ve caught was actually someone…as in someone for me, someone important, “The One.” But it was only an eye catch and nobody had the balls to ask for a number. A lost chance, a lost love. What if there is only one person that’s just right for you, a soul mate. And what if he just walked past you and you had no idea it was him because you weren’t willing to walk up to a stranger in a mall and strike up a conversation. And that was your one shot. Or is fate in control here? Will fate give you a second chance? Will fate, in the end, bring the two of you together and make sure you get your happily ever after or are you completely screwed because there is no such thing as fate and now you won’t ever see him again? Whatever. I’m too young for this.

Just Trying to Deal-A New Year's Resolution

So here's the deal:

This is something like third or fourth blog.

The last one was created for BEDA.

This one has been created simply as a coping mechanism.

You see, I have insomnia on top of a load of other issues. I think at a million miles a minute about a million different things and sometimes it feels like my head is just going to burst if I keep it all inside. It may end up containing a few college anecdotes, pointless stories, whispered confessions, complaints, general musings, whatever I need to get out.

It's not meant to be shared with anyone in particular or specifically or even at all. If someone happens to stumble upon this they're welcome to. It's the internet after all. I won't be placing a name with any of it and other names will be changed. Call me what you like, it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Basically, I hope that in getting things out, in any form at all, will save me from being completely pushed into insanity.