Out with the old, in with the new

Weeks went by that his things remained in her car.  She tried so hard to dissect the events that had played out to destroy something before it even had a chance to live.  But instead all she was reminded of was the laughter of that little girl she'd grown so close to in a matter of months.  It was almost an innate desperation, for that little girl kept her going.  To this day, she'll never understand why she loved that little girl or why she longed to -teach- that darling child.  As days passed, a hole grew deeper and deeper.  'He wasn't ready anyway', she told herself.  He didn't trust her.  He didn't believe that she cared for him and wanted nothing more in return  than good conversation.  Complete with the most soothing instrumental background music, seemingly played just for her in that moment.  But she did.  She wanted nothing more than to -know- him.  She wanted to take everything evil out of the world he was forced to raise his daughter in and carry it on her shoulders.  He didn't want to know that.

So, the sand was washed away from her car.  Dear friends gathered to aid in the disposal of his things.  And that was that.  To everyone else, he'd been erased from her life.  But not to her.  Still, she thought of him.  That little girl wouldn't let her forget him.  Every time she looked into those eyes or touched that long, strawberry hair, she thought of him.  But the past is the past, and we move on from it, leaving 'what-ifs' behind in the tumbleweeds of the aftermath.

... And so sometimes we have those lingering thoughts.  We always will because that's who we are.  We're human.  We hate it when we don't know the outcome of things.  We're disgusted when we feel like something should have been in our control, but we realize it isn't.  It's pathetic, really.  We need to  get over ourselves.  We're not master beings, and we need to humble ourselves and begin to comprehend that.  If we don't, we'll only continue to aid the already insatiable hunger to be a self-destructive nation.

Find yourself.  You have to.  Otherwise, you can't love.  You can't love like you're supposed to.  When you love someone, you're supposed to know them.  They're supposed to be able to feel you from the inside out and know who you are.  You're supposed to do the same for the.  The existence of true love is few and far between, if it exists at all anymore.  No one seems to cherish what is right in front of them.

That tender touch of his fingertips against your nude body should be enough to sustain you.  The way he looks at you when he wakes up next to you should be enough to keep you going for the entire day without your caffeine  fix.  Why doesn't anyone care about those things anymore?  I live for those things.  I live for his heartbeat to be my lullaby as I'm taken into a land where anything is a reality, only to wake up to something I never imagined could be more beautiful.

People forget.  They forget what keeps them alive.  It isn't these earthly things that have been thrown at us for centuries upon centuries.  No.  It isn't any of those things.  It's sheer desperation for another person.  You have to love like that.  Be vulnerable-- need someone and let them need you too.

Pillow Talk

It's an addiction.  There's something different about cuddling with your significant other at the end of a long day and sharing your most intimate thoughts.  It's ground breaking.  Pillows allow you to be vulnerable.  They cause you to open up.  There's a comfort within them that allows you to let your guard down.  I wouldn't trade pillow talk for anything in the world.  Even sex.

Bringing me to my next point: sex.  Sex these days is so... abused.  It's used to mask feelings that you're afraid of.  It's when the innocence of sex turns into solid love-making that you get scared.  That's different.  That's something you  have to hold on to.  You can't mess it up.  One wrong move and it dissipates.

You know what separates sex from love-making?  Pillow talk.

It's such an indispensable foundation to every relationship.  You have to be able to separate yourself from your sinful desires to hold one another for hours on end; copulating in pure conversation versus physical contact.  That's what -true- intimacy is.  It's the ability to talk with someone without any barriers.  That's when you know that what you have is real.  It's solid.  It's something that came about (maybe by accident, but maybe not) and, I can't stress this enough, you have to cherish it.  You have to love like you never have before.  You have to be vulnerable and let another's vulnerability captivate you.

Pillow talk is organic.  It's when things start being real.  Infallible trust is created more often during pillow talk than in any other aspect of a relationship.  Pillow talk leads to relationships that can withstand anything.  You learn about one another.  You get to know someone else's soul.  That, by far, is what intimacy is.  Take it and hold it near to your heart.


And ladies:  if a guy engages in pillow talk with you that lasts for hours on end, don't let it go.  Keep it.  Do everything you can to cradle that love in your arms like an infant.  Nurture it and keep it sacred.  You'll never get it back if you don't.

Messy Bedrooms

You walk in and you look around.  All you see are clothes (some dirty, some clean) collected in haphazard piles all over the floor.  Nothing but clutter.  It looks like no one has occupied the space in months.  You hope that's the case, anyway.  How could someone live in such disarray?  One with slight OCD just can't understand the notion.

But don't judge a book by it's cover.  Some of the greatest things happen in messy rooms.  Intellectual conversation, love-making, 'peace-making'... you know.  Messy rooms are where people come together and share their ideas.  Their experiences.  People unify in messy rooms.  They unify over commonalities and differences.  They unify over herbs that are otherwise forbidden.  You meet some people you don't like and others who will change your life forever.  Some you might meet will teach you that not every relationship is solid like your own.  You'll also meet people who teach you that you should never take mobility for granted because it can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye.

Messy bedrooms solidify your life.  They teach you  that things can be beautiful and solid, even in the midst of chaos.  Hibernating in a messy bedroom for a few hours every night helps you remember that people are broken.  They're not together.  They're having babies too early, learning about marijuana and sex at age eight, or they're stuck in a 'friends-with-benefits' relationship that they don't want because they're so desperate for something more.

The last messy bedrooms I was in taught me to be more open.  They taught me to be vulnerable.  They taught me to cherish everything and to value good conversation and dedicated friendships.  The last messy bedrooms I was in changed my perspective on a lot of things.  I was taught how to love unconditionally and passionately.

Reciprocation

It's almost always evil.  You know you're in  too deep when five meaningless hours without contact seem like a lifetime.  When a day goes by and you feel like it's been an eternity since you've looked into those eyes or smelled that sweet smell.  It's like, your heart feels something different... something you don't really want, but you don't know how to get rid of.  It feels like it's bleeding from the inside out.  The worst part is feeling alone in it all.   How do you explain that to someone?  You can't.  That's how you know it isn't reciprocated.  It's when you have doubt that you need to distance yourself before it's -really- too late, because once you're in... you're in.  It's difficult to get out of.

You're in too deep when their voice is all that calms you and when all you can smell is their scent on the tip of your nose and you desperately don't want it to go away.  It's when their heartbeat seemingly beats in sync with your own that you want to believe this is real and that it isn't going anywhere, but who really knows that?  Who really knows what is a lie and what isn't?  What matters and what doesn't?  It's just something we all want.  We all want that person we can feel so connected to; so in love with.  But it's rare.  It never happens anymore.  And when it does, no one holds on to it.  No one cherishes it.  No one reciprocates.

God...

... might be pink.

In the more recent days, I've connected with an amazing group of women surrounding the Mary Kay foundation.  I've been feeling a little less than perfect for the past couple of weeks, and just when you think you have nothing left, in pops God in the most unexpected ways.  I found myself wondering how I was going to have time to volunteer and give back to the community, work, go to school, have time for myself... all while trying to keep myself above water.  Moving out is rapidly becoming number one on my agenda because I need -something- to keep me in the "I can do this myself" mindset.  It's been straining me more than it should be, but I know it's something I have to do.

So, anyway, back to Mary Kay.  I know, I know--- makeup and skin care products.  But NO.  It's more than that.  It's about faith-building and forming lasting relationships (all while making extra money and giving back to the community).  I'm super excited.  This is just what I need to refocus on God (whom I've been neglecting quite a bit).  I need to remember that whatever I do here in my temporary home will be given back to me ten-fold (here and in Heaven).  So, that's just what I'm going to do.

Here's to standing on my own two feet, remembering that I'm beautiful, and empowering other women!

Today has been a good Monday.

And I'll share this lovely song with you:

Birds and Graduation

In the back, he stands.  Crying, he searches for stability; for some sort of sanity amidst the chaos of the day.  inside, he knows that graduation means things he's not ready to face: kindergarten, a new school, new teachers who may or may not care about him-- leaving him to fend for himself in a world of emotional abuse by his drunken mother who destroys every man he becomes attached to.  Alone he'll remain.  But not with us.  Not with the teachers who've cared for him since he was a toddler.

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Just as she begins to breathe again, she feels  the familiar tug on her dress, belonging only to that little girl with the most beautiful hair and eyes that can kill you.  Slightly relieved by the little girl's touch, she begins to fiddle with the graduation cap, desperate to fit and affix it before anyone comes over  to assist.  It doesn't work.  Her heart begins to pound hard as she continues on with her business: help children with their caps and gowns, make sure the balloons are tied to the chairs, ensure the music will be played accordingly, take pictures, and, most importantly, avoid him.  That's impossible, though.  Every time she sees that little girl, she's reminded of him.  Reminded of the rapidly approaching kindergarten.  She shakes the anxiety away just before the 'Pomp and Circumstance' ends for the first go-around.  "I can do this," she says quietly as she readies herself to maneuver between parents to get good pictures.  In, out, over, behind... she manages to click away at the camera without regard to what he's doing.  Then, in the middle of emotional chaos, that sweet little girl's hat falls off.  She looks at the little girl, desperate to help her as a mother would, but she can't.  It's in that instant that she wants to seek refuge in his eyes for an answer, but she can't.  Because he won't look back.  So, she does nothing.  The little girl puts her hat back on herself and sits back down like nothing happened.  That little girl's got serious dignity and class.


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I wish I was a bird sometimes.  I watched them today.  I was at the beach.  They looked so peaceful.  I'd kill for peace like that.  I'm constantly arguing with myself; burdened with 'what if's' and 'why's'.  I second-guess my actions a lot lately, and often, it's too late.

I'm moving out in August.
I miss being vulnerable.
Everyone should converse to a soundtrack.
There's someone for everyone.
Change has to happen.
I need to wash away the sand from my car.

End of story.

Infection

Into a sea of endless conversation
Falling deeper and deeper; becoming one
Together they ache in anticipation


Though a calloused heart he caries
She's let into his hidden world
"This is it", she says, but oh! quite the contrary


Suffocation fuels the raging fire
Denied any chance; any future
Poise and dignity is the attire


A distant dream it has become
But to destiny, they shall succumb.





People.  They're not nice.  (Well, except the WalMart worker who offered to let me skip in front of someone who had a gazzillion items while I only had three-- HE was nice).  But in general, they're just not.  It doesn't pay to be genuine anymore.  You won't be successful if you allow all of your walls to be broken down in a matter of weeks because you're vulnerable.  Actually, vulnerability gets you into a land of nothing.  Nowhere.  A dead end.  It gets you on a drunken drive home at 3am trying to remember what it was that you said because, really, you don't remember, yet somehow wishing you could take it all back because if you never said it, whatever it is that's happening wouldn't be happening.  Then, it gets you to the morning after when you -really- don't remember what happened, though somehow you keep replaying it in your mind.  But, remember-- you -don't- remember.

But the truth is, I miss being vulnerable.  I miss pouring my heart out.  I miss the challenge I used to have that wasn't really a challenge because I was damn good at tearing it down.  But, things happen.  I get it.  I just wish they didn't.  Not yet.  Not over something so stupid that could have been prevented anyway.  -That's- stupid.  You don't often find things to be genuine.  But when they are, it's like everyone just wants to throw them away.  It's because they're scared, I guess.  I know I am.  But I'm more scared of not finding it again.  It's kind of like a three-day weekend for me:  I want it, I want it, I want it.  Then when it's here, I don't want it because I miss working because I can't sit around and do nothing.  But then when it's gone, I want it back. (That's a bad analogy, but it works).

My thoughts are infected.  I want new ones.  I wonder how long it will be until I'm finally rid of the infection which consumes me.  I'm willing to bet it'll be a while.

Dating

It's weird.  It just is.

What do you say?

Dress or jeans?

Flats, sandals, or heels?

Hair up or down?

Perfume? Then, which one?

... and the list goes on...

The truth of the matter is, if the person you're going on a date with is worth anything anyway, then they won't really care.  They'll -get- that you're nervous, so what you say won't always come out right.  They'll care enough about what you're wearing to compliment you, but really, if they're worth keeping around, they'll like you in whatever you're wearing.  As far as the shoe thing is concerned, don't you know it's in every woman's best interest to have a spare pair in her car, so it's your own fault if you're not prepared for that walk he suggests after dinner.  And, your hair always depends on the outfit.  Afterall, you wouldn't want your gorgeous locks to cover up  that detailed lace back on your vintage dress, would you?

Regardless of all the prep work that goes into dating, you have to remember that it's nerve-racking for the guy too.  But guys, if -she's- worth keeping, she'll like -you- regardless too.  And she'll be understanding.  And flexible.  Dating isn't perfect.  Everyone gets that.  And those who don't, well... they shouldn't be in the 'sea' anyway.

Espresso

This is a rant.  Be prepared.

It's kind of a wonder how you can be so outside of yourself, but the instant you get that wonderful coffee frappuccino (made with soy milk and two shots of espresso... and of course! whipped cream...) you're back in action!  Ohhh the wonders of good espresso and all of is caffeinated goodness.  It gives you that feeling of being invincible and vulnerable all at the same time.  Kind of reminiscent of driving a Jeep for the first time or making love after a bad argument.  Those are the good things in life:  Jeep drives, espresso, and -making love-.

You know what else is good?  Pulling song lyrics out of your ass for -two hours- while you're on said espresso high.  I'm tellin' you... all you need for some dank tunes is a maraca (or two in my case), a few cool toddlers, and, well... espresso.  Oh man, me and this Toddler Band I've got goin' on has got some serious swagger.  We've got class.  We've got style.  But best of all, we have EPIC SONGS.

So, needless to say, our songs today were about not eating each other (because  teeth are only for eating monsters) and standing on your own two feet.  Good lessons to learn.

Espresso.  Gives me the courage I need every time I consume it.

Brave on the rocks.  Brave on the rocks.  Brave on the rocks.  BRAVE-- all the time.

Afterwards

You can't erase your actions or your words.  It doesn't work that way.  Once something is put out there in the open, it's out there for good.  But in the midst of trying to take it all back, you ask yourself.. "Why did it happen?"  But you really don't have an answer.  Not one you like, anyway.  You hope that all of the good will outweigh the one bad, but as much as you try, it just doesn't work.  All it takes is one bad apple to ruin the whole bunch.

When you find something unique; something that makes you feel a little bit more whole than you did yesterday... keep it.  Hold on to it.  You don't remember what it feels like to be a little emptier until you are.

This, too, shall pass.  This, too, shall pass.

It's Midnight. And it's dark.

It's so funny to read journals from ten years ago.  You read them, spending hours at this, and something clicks inside you-- you're dramatic.  You're "omg, the world is going to end" dramatic.  You try to blame it on pubescent happenings, but really, who are you kidding?  You're dramatic.

But.. then you get to the more recent entries.  The ones you've kept deep within you.  The ones you've never shared with anyone or talked about.  Those.. aren't so dramatic.  They're raw.  They're filled with real issues that will actually make a difference in your life.  They're scary.  They're things you still haven't figured out.  This is good,  though!  This proves that you're not -really- dramatic.. you're just.. you.  You're.. well.. let's not categorize.  Why analyze people anyway?  Sometimes they don't have an ulterior motive.  Sometimes they just do what they do because it's what they want to do (.. and that's a mouthful).

I learned something.  I learned that nothing that people have any real control over is going to be right.  I mean, c'mon.  Plants grow just fine in nature all by themselves, relying solely on rain water and the lay of the land.  Give a plant to a person in a cute little pot to keep in their cute little office on their cute little desk and what happens?  It dies.  The point here is this:  if you try to take something natural and put it in a pot (thus hindering it's ability to grow anyway...) then it's going to die-- especially if you leave it in the care of flawed human beings.  It's not going to work out.  It won't grow into something beautiful and alive.  It will be hindered.  So, just.. leave it alone.  Let it be in its natural environment.  Let it rely on the rain rain water and the natural cycle of pollination.  If you do, it'll bloom year after year, growing bigger each time.

[sidenote:]

While I was looking through those old journals (and after I pulled an epic paper about math out of my ass).. I decided to rejuvenate myself and get the juices flowing again.  'Tis time to work on  getting a natural high again.

-- For one, this song gets me through everything.  For two, I wrote to it a while back A long while back.  Not my best work, but mine, nonetheless.

Untitled

Starry, Starry night

pain your pallet full of love

with all the colors from above

as I lie desperate, yearning for you

Starry, Starry night

muse me with your blues and grays

protect me from the break of day

for I cannot live my life as true

Starry, starry night

take me as your only one

save me from the wrath of dawn

as scarlet tears become my hue

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So, when all is said and done, just let it grow.  Don't pick it out of the ground to hold it hostage in a pot because you think it'd do better there (stuck in someone's claustrophobic, germ-infested office, mind you).  Let it breathe.  If you want to see it so bad, take a walk outside.  Or open the windows to the 'box' you work in day in and day out.  But don't be selfish.  Don't take it inside with you.  It needs air, sunshine, and rain water.  But you know what it needs most of all?  Patience and class, darling.  Patience and class.

 

Coffee in the Afternoon

Sometimes patience and class aren't adhered to in their entirety.  It happens, though... it's in our animalistic DNA.  But evaluate the situation.  Why did it happen?  It's easy to blame alcohol or desperation or whatever else you'd like to conjure up, but does it have to be a blame game?  Is it really so hard to own up to the fact that you might actually -feel- a little something deeper than the standard 'surface attraction'?  For most, it is.  It's difficult to bring those emotions to reality, especially after failed relationship after failed relationship, dead conversation after dead conversation, and, really... a wasted romantic life thus far.  But you just have to roll with it, you know?  That means that sometimes you have to fess up to what you're feeling.  Leave the facade at the door.

End of rant.

P.S. Norah Jones always puts me in a good mood.

"The Prettiest Thing"

The prettiest thing

I ever did see

Was lightening from the top of a cloud

Moving through the dark a million miles an hour

With somewhere to be

So why does it seem

Like a picture

Hanging up on someone else's wall

Lately I haven't been myself at all

It's heavy on my mind

I'm dreaming again

Like I've always been

And way down low

I know

The prettiest thing

I ever did see 

Was dusty as the handle on the door

Rusty as a nail stuck in the old pine floor

Looks like home to me

I'm dreaming again

Like I've always been

And way down low

I'm thinkin' of the prettiest thing 

Patience and Class

Confident, she talks him up.  Cautious, he investigates her.

Balance.  Almost immediately, connections are made.  Is this 'for truth'?  It is.

The problem is, people let things go too fast too soon.  They don't -enjoy- things like good conversation anymore.  They jump right into things without thinking twice, and that's when things get messy.  Chaotic emotions are privileged to infect a relationship before it even starts.  People don't think clearly and things get said without caution, and feelings get hurt.

Why does everyone have to 'do the dirty'? -- And yea.. that's just what it is if you're too focused on getting your fix versus learning about someone first.  It isn't necessary.  What's so wrong with just feeding the turtles?  Turtles are really cool!  But you wouldn't know that because.. oh.. wait-- that's right!  You were too busy doin' the dirty!  

Nervous, he tries to kiss her.  Analytical, she declines.

Balance.  Conversation.  No need to be 'scared, scared, scared, scared'.

Just talk.  It isn't that hard.  You'll learn a lot.  It's so important to learn about someone so things aren't rushed.  Relationships meet their demise when they're forced or uncomfortable. 'Later' isn't the time to figure someone out.  It can't wait.  Friendship should be valued more than it is.

SO.. -this-... this is  going to be different.  This will be done the right way.  This won't be rushed or forced.  Kisses will be genuine, friendly, intimate, passionate, and, above all, -real-.  It's 'for truth' and it will be treated as such.  Patience and class, darling.  Patience and class.