Fuzz Therapy

When I was at school, I missed my cats dreadfully. The first time I visited the cat-owning home of a Greencastle resident, it was one of the most uplifting and relaxing days in that first year of school. I treasured the times I could visit various friends in the community with cats and would sometimes scramble for a reason to see them (and by that I really mean the cats...). My girls and I started to refer to it as fuzz therapy. When I was feeling stressed, overwhelmed, and rather alone, this part of me ached for a warm, fuzzy little body to snuggle close to and feel the thrumming of a happy purr and relax to its therapeutic sound. People maintain that dogs can sense your mood and all that. I'm not much of a dog person so I don't have anything to say on that, but I believe that cats can also sense your moods. I have had many experiences where I'm just feeling really bummed, sad, and depressed, and those are the times my cats are especially attentive and come curl up right against me, purring sweetly. I suppose you could argue that I have a very good connection with the cats I come into contact with, and especially my own cats, but I don't think it's just that.

A short while back my boyfriend commented on the openness and unself-consciousness I display when I'm communing with cats, which got me thinking about the subject and ultimately led to this post. (I suppose much of what I'll be commenting on here can be applied to dogs as well, but I'll stick to cats in this post as I am a cat person and do not interact in nearly as intimate a manner with dogs.) In observing myself, my family members, and various friends and how they respond to cats, I've noticed that most of the time there is a marked vulnerability and openness in the way people interact with cats, and especially kittens. The baby voice automatically comes out, the nonsensical words and sounds, the cooing, the silly smiles, and of course, squatting on the floor and generally making a small spectacle of oneself. Why is that?

In thinking about it, I believe it is because cats (and other animals) are so much more simplistic than we are. For the most part, they do not understand what we are saying beyond possibly a few short phrases, and it is the tone of voice and the physical manner of the person addressing them that matters. People instinctively know to soften their tone and adopt a calming attitude with cats. That intimacy introduces an element of vulnerability in the person. When people commune with each other, there is always a certain amount of reserve and a degree of masking present, a slightly guarded manner involving hiding behind words, laughter, and gestures. With a cat, such measures are unnecessary. A cat won't judge you by the words you use, by the things you've done, or by the way you view yourself. Instead, a cat exudes a warm affection and the desire for unreserved love and attention back from you. A cat can be completely accepting of who and what you are, wanting only the comfort of being with you.

Because words don't matter and the individual instinctively knows that the cat won't understand much of what they say, they automatically adopt a much more open manner of voice than they would use with most of the people they communicate with. People can tend to cover and hide a certain amount of the emotions they feel as they talk with someone else, and prefer to convey things in just words, rather than be vulnerable enough to really show what their feeling in their tone and manner. As a cat cannot understand those words we hide behind, all pretenses drop away and the person exposes themselves in a very vulnerable and intimate way with the cat. The feeling and the tone of voice is all that matters and all that is unnecessary and masking is unconsciously dropped as a person interacts with the cat. In addition to all this, a person is often much readier to be absolutely ridiculous and uninhibited when they are playing with a cat than they are with other people, crawling all over the floor, waggling their heads, wiggling fingers and toes, flipping their hair, and doing all kinds of  absurd things. In fact, the way a person tends to act with and treat a cat is very similar to the way a person is with a baby. (food for thought.)

I will readily admit that I love to see how others interact with cats, and I especially love to see when guys will respond just as openly and sweetly to cats as girls do. To me, seeing a man go all soft and silly and loving with a cat is one of the most endearing sights I've ever seen. To give no care to how unmanly they must look and sound; talking silly talk and nonsense sounds, goofing around and playing, and especially cuddling with a cat, is possibly one of the sweetest sights in the world. The level of openness and tenderness a man can demonstrate with a cat is a good indication of the level of tenderness and openness he can show to his woman and eventually any children he may have. Likewise I suspect that though a guy may feel a bit of jealousy at the sight of how affectionate a girl may be with a cat, he is probably also thinking of how sweet she looks and imagining the sight of her with a baby in place of the cat.

If music wasn't such a huge part of my life and if I hadn't already decided that my passion lies in music therapy, I would totally pursue something in "fuzz therapy." I know people already do stuff with dogs. Or at least I've heard of stuff with dogs, but I don't know many details. Perhaps dogs can be more reliably trained than cats, but I would love to experiment with bringing cats to people, or vice versa. For those who are already cat lovers, there can be nothing as wonderful and touching as the chance to snuggle with a soft, purring cat and to feel that unspoken closeness with it. For those who are unsure of themselves with cats, I think it would be very interesting to see if they could learn how to be vulnerable and learn how to approach a cat. Not that I'd really want to be involved with criminal therapy or anything, but I actually think something like this would help. At least to some extent. But anyway, I'm basically rambling at this point. So in conclusion-- I adore cats, I cannot imagine a life without them; I love seeing a man go all soft and silly with a cat; and I think cats bring out a deep vulnerability in people who allow themselves to respond to the cat.

new look!

Ok, so I've been saying that I wanted to update my look at some point, but I never actually did. See, I had found some random template online, since I didn't like any of the basic options that were all that blogger offered when I first set this up. Anyway, the template was older and complicated, and I could never make any changes to it, and then I couldn't even see blogger's own templates anymore to change to one of them! Anyway, now I can. I don't know if they updated something or what, but now I can finally change stuff. I don't know if I'll stick with this, but I'll most likely keep something to do with  nature. I kinda liked having something more abstract, as it leaves room for anything and everything, but I really prefer nature. I love the sky, the incredible blues, the textures of the clouds, I love mountains, I love the space of fields, the green of grass, random colorful accents of flowers, and I love trees. Most of my unhindered thinking/musing/creativity happens when I'm relaxed outside, in or under a tree. So it is fitting to have an outdoor setting like I love so much in real life to be the setting for my blog. Anyway. Just a brief, rambling post of explanation as to the change in look.

I PROMISE I'll come up with something more interesting to write about soon.....

I miss school

My brother and various other people may think I'm crazy for it, but I truly do miss school. Yes, I mostly miss DePauw, my friends there, the professors, the community, and just the campus, but I also just miss being in school. I am so tired of being home, and I haven't even spent the entire summer here, either. I spent a week in PA for Creation Fest, spent another half a week in PA a couple months later, and am planning a visit to PA and OH in three weeks time. But still, I've been home for far too long. I really miss the freedom I have on campus. The freedom to wander whenever I get the urge, to change locations as often as I want, and socialize with whoever I want or just avoid people whenever I want. When I'm home, I'm stuck at home. I just have the one house. I live on a tiny, secluded little street, and I don't know any of my neighbors. I have spent my entire life in this house, but the only neighbors I once knew moved away years ago. The rest are mainly old retired folk. If I ever want to go anywhere else, I have to make a big ordeal of it with lots of planning, and I have to ask to use one of my parents' cars. And even then, I'd be alone. At school, I could easily walk from my duplex to the music building, or the park, the library, one of my trees, a friend's place, etc. Even if I started out alone, I could always have the guarantee of meeting some people along the way or at one of my destinations. But the biggest thing is that whenever I tired of being in one place, I could just get up and go wherever I wanted to. I so miss my night-time wandering of the campus. I miss my little study parties in the music building, I miss my late-night taco bell runs with my "little brother", I miss my girly nights at the duplex, I miss my fireside knitters, and I miss my classes.

It sounds weird, but in a way, I do actually miss homework. Yeah, it was a pain, but I always felt fulfilled when it was done, and especially when I knew it was done well. I really do enjoy learning things, and especially when it involves a passion of mine. Pretty much anything music related will get me going, and the nerdier the better. As my time at DePauw progressed, Psychology began to have a similar effect on me, and I will occasionally have minor geek-outs about psychology as well as music.  I really miss feeling like I was going somewhere with my life, or at least preparing to.... Now I'm just kindof stuck, have a rather useless degree, and nothing to do. Yes, I am planning on continuing my education, and finally doing what I know I want to do with my life, and hopefully I can start that venture in the spring. But for now, I'm stuck missing everything. And missing everyone.

Though I am more introverted, and am generally uncomfortable with people, I really, truly miss all the people at DePauw. I had a lot of friends (to some degree or another) at DePauw, and I am really missing that now. All my friends from home are either still in school somewhere, graduated with a job somewhere, or married.... and I feel very much alone. I'm stuck at home with nowhere to go, and no one to talk with or go places with anyway. I don't even really have a way of meeting and hanging out with people. I'm trying to work on that, though. I've never been the kind to just go up to people, introduce myself, and engage them in conversation. It's rather inconvenient.... But all the same, I am so tired of sitting at home, or going to work all by myself. Until this point I've been working the closing shift at the Big Y bakery, which is a solo shift except on weekends, but I am now being trained to do morning work, which is with other people. But I still don't have friends or even just random people to hang out with. I'm stuck with going to work and being at home. I cannot wait to start school again.

My plan of action:
Get into grad school, and stay there as much as possible (aka, summer sessions and the like)
Learn all the things I've been wanting to
Finally start a career in the field I long to work in
Get a home of my own
And somewhere in there I will get married

I'm a book destroyer...

Soooo, confession and judgement time. I love books. I am a voracious reader (I've read 20 books since June). An ideal day for me would consist of a comfortable perch somewhere, such as a little nook, a couch, my bed, a tree, etc., a blanket to snuggle with, some munchable chocolate, a good book, and no one to disturb me alllll day. I love to lose myself in the world of a book, and I hate leaving it for any reason. I always feel like I've left half of myself in the story, and until I get back to the book I'm stuck hanging in agonizing limbo. I am desperate to return to my book as fast as possible, and quite often stay up reading until the wee hours of the morning. And yes, I have reverted to my childhood habit of reading by the light of a flashlight so that my father, who gets up around 3 or a little later, doesn't notice that I am still up by the light under my door. (Shh! No tattling!)

I especially love reading series of books, rather than just an individual, stand-alone book. Of course there are many excellent books that are not part of any series, but I dearly love finding a good series and knowing that my world doesn't crumble around me at the end of a book, but that it continues on in the next book. Excitement thrills through me as I run to the bookshelf to grab the next book, or snatch it off the waiting pile of library books by my bed, or tear open the package from Amazon that finally appeared. When I finally reach the end of the series, or at least read the most recent book and am left waiting for the author to complete the next book, I feel so lost and confused. Like someone who has just spent the past month in a cave underground who suddenly finds themselves outside, blinking confusedly in the sunlight. Although it really is more like I somehow found a magic portal to another time in another life, in another place, where I spent years losing myself in the marvels and incredible experiences to be had there until I forgot all about my other life. Then one day, everything just ended and I found myself on the other side of a closed door, back in my ordinary room, in my ordinary house, in my ordinary life, feeling completely bereft of the wonder and freedom of that other place. Eventually, after a brief period of mourning, I console myself by finding another book to escape to.

Now beyond all this imaginative otherworldiness of books that I love so much, I really love the physical books themselves. There's something about holding a book in your hands that I just really love. It's similar to how I love physical letters. Of course, I love getting electronic messages, texts, voicemails, and the like, but I love being able to hold and treasure the physical object, lovingly written just for me. It's like a little piece of that other person, sent to me to cherish forever. In a like manner, a physical book is something I can cling to, a tangible portal to another world, a marvelous gift of a magical experience just for me. And let's face it, the covers of books can sometimes almost be the best part! But for all that, the truth is that I'm a book breaker-- a book destroyer. It is a fact that my books are well-loved. I actually prefer paperback books, not only because they are cheaper, but because I can break them. Really it's mostly for practicality and to ensure more comfort and less work on my part. If the book is broken regularly you don't have to hold it open anymore, it stays open on its own. And in the end, the book actually looks worn and traveled, and to me it looks well-loved and used. When I see and hold a book that has been broken many times, I see it as a book that has been loved and fully enjoyed, that has been devoured and experienced, that has been truly owned and used.

So should you ever borrow a book of mine, do not be surprised to find that it is worn and broken, for it has most assuredly been loved. Judge me as a book destroyer if you will, but for my part it is just a sign of my love for that book.

Nightly Images

In the still of the night
With the moon shining bright
Idle thoughts fill my head
As I stray from my bed
Hear the wind sing to me
Soft and sweet as can be
Soothing my restless mind
With its melody kind
Bringing gently to view
Only pictures of you
And inside them I seem
Lost in this sleepless dream
Let me dream freely on
Happy I'd be til dawn

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This is a very old poem I found while cleaning and moving rooms this week. I found an old journal spanning from my senior year in high school to halfway through my freshman year in college. On the last page of the book I found this poem. I had forgotten all about it. I don't know when I wrote it, but it's not terrible.... so I decided to put it here for memory's sake.

Cocooned

A vulnerable heart

A delicate body

Needing protection

Retreating

Building up walls

Layer by layer

Gradually growing

Slowly

Unnoticed by others

Hiding what’s inside

Trapped but safe

Waiting

Feeling confused

Ashamed and afraid

Finding no peace

Broken

Something must happen

Something must change

Something must grow

Somehow

Do you see?

Can you help?

Will you stay?

Caring

Beauty from pain

Learning to trust

Daring to hope

Healing

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This work isn't entirely about me. It is somewhat inspired by experiences I've had, and experiences friends have had, but it was also just an idea that came to me and I ran away with it, using experience and observation in the process.

Silent thoughts, hidden tears

Sometimes I almost forget that you're not perfect,
That you couldn't possibly see through me and know everything I think and feel.
Sometimes, I forget that you're just a boy.
Without even thinking about it, I expect you to understand me,
To feel exactly where I am.
I forget that you can't always do that.
You know me so well and can connect with me no matter where I am,
But there are some times you completely miss it.
It shouldn't be so shocking to me,
I have no right to expect you to always know and understand.
Those moments when you miss it, few though they are,
They affect me far more powerfully than I'd expect,
And far more powerfully than I can bring myself to admit.
I can't let you know about that.
As you disappear in completely the wrong direction, oblivious and unaware,
The tears start to gather in my abandonment.
Then suddenly, those tears fell.
An unexpected overflow of emotion.
You don't know about those tears. You missed them and the reason for them.
You missed it, and now I don't want you to know.
I'm too proud to admit my stupid sensitivity to you.
It's my own fault. You didn't really do anything wrong
I had been denying reality;
I had come to expect so much more from you than I had any right to do.
Then I fell and landed back on reality;
A fall that was reflected in that stupid fall of tears.
We know that I'm not perfect, and neither are you,
So of course we can't be perfect together.
Why is that so hard to remember sometimes?
I get so caught up in all that's so wonderful and right that I forget it's not all easy.
There will always be things that need work,
But I wouldn't want it any other way.
You are so worth the time and effort.
What we have together is more than worth it all.
And I love you.
I just want you to know that.

Nonfiction Lives

I love to read. I love finding a book (preferably from a series) that I can just got lost in and become a part of that world as I read. I get to see so many places, meet so many people, and experience so many things that I could never do in real life. Magical realms and old fashioned love stories are my favorite book worlds to escape to. But regardless of what kind of book I read, one of the things I enjoy most about books is the fact that they have a plot line.

Books are written with a beginning and an end, and it's all about the journey between those points. That journey and that end are already planned out, and everything in the book leads to that conclusion. I feel safer knowing that there is a plan, that everything has a purpose, the author has it under control, and everything is going to work out somehow. Unlike real life, I can see the whole journey in the book, I can follow the plan, and I get to know the ending. I love escaping to that alternate reality. But as much as I love books, and as much as I wish some aspects of those books could make their way over to real life, there are some things that I wish could just stay in the book world.

Characters who always take the wrong approach to things, who seem incapable of understanding, and who refuse to make any changes should stay in the book world where someone can deal with them there. Because, you know, such a character will be dealt with in some way, like being made to see reason, being subdued, having sense beat into them, being banished, just something. What I don't like is when such a character is in the real world, and there doesn't seem to be any way of successfully dealing with them. What do you do with someone who ranks above you, doesn't understand that they take the wrong approach to dealing with things, cause tension instead of relieving it, cannot relate to people, who does not understand how other people will and are responding, whose first reaction is to subdue and dominate to prove that they're in control, regardless of the fact that they can never get the results they want, and who explodes and retaliates to any attempt made to reason with them?

I hate the tension that comes out and the subtle feeling of hostility in the air. The sense of hopelessness that things can never be fixed. And I hate knowing that the one person who should be the one to deal with this character, has allowed themselves to be dominated, talked down, and belittled to the point that should they make a full effort now, they would have no effect. I am torn between the desire to take over and make things work, and the desire to run away to a time, place, and situation where I can escape all that and prove that things don't have to be that way. Prove that I won't be that way. To experience a life where I know things will never get that way, and will even be the exact opposite. Mutual trust, love, and understanding. A wonderful foundation to an amazing thing. That's my reality. That's the world I am living in, and proving that it doesn't just exist in books.

The tinglies.

Little glittery rainbows

Shimmering and coursing down through me

(Because everyone knows that glittery rainbows flow down)

Sometimes they’re just little bursts in my stomach

Some other times they go streaming through my heart

Or they start in my throat and spread all through my chest and stomach

Those tinglies might go racing off my shoulders and down my arms

Shooting out of my finger tips in sparks of light

Now and then they even quiver through my legs, threatening to topple me over

(I suppose I can’t complain, as they’d be making me fall for you)

I know I said that glittery rainbows only flow down

But sometimes those tinglies swirl over, around, and all through my heart

Making me giddy with hope and happiness

As the sparkling fairy dust causes my heart to soar

Like those little, brightly colored plastic ponies

With sparkling wings and shiny, shimmering mane and tail

So childish, innocent, and completely free of care

And now images and memories of Lisa Frank come to mind

Full of pink and purple and rainbows

Puppies, Panda Bears, and Unicorns

All the bright little things that girls love

I’m not sure how I got here, but somehow it fits

It’s you and the things you do that bring me to this place

You fill me with sparkles of laughter and love

You turn the sky to ridiculous shades of rainbow fun

And all my girly, childish hopes and dreams

You are bringing those to life

The only way you could make this better

Is to finally get me my own unicorn

And maybe some ridiculously cute stickers

And tubes of glitter paint

And some absurdly pink stationary

And then I can write you sweet love notes

Signed with hugs and kisses

And those little ring stamps

You know, the pink and purple ones

With the smiley face heart

Or the little cats and dogs

Just remember what I said before

You make me so silly for you

So it’s your own fault

   _____________________________________________________________
This is the poem I've been talking about in my past few posts, debating whether or not I should go ahead and share it.This was written a couple months ago in a moment of sheer silliness and happiness. (In case you can't tell from reading it... :P)

I need a mode...

Wow. It's been almost a month since I've written here. I have to say that I'm not sure what to write about anymore. I haven't discovered any one particular mode of writing that I would call mine. I'm probably the most comfortable just writing what I'm thinking, like diary or journal format, but most of that remains private in my hand-written journal. I do like to tell stories in metaphors sometimes, though they only work up to a certain point before the metaphor no longer fits the actual situation. I have also gotten more into (extremely) free-form poetry lately, though I have not shared very much of it. So far, most of it is either really silly or very intimate and personal. I'm just not sure what to write about and how on here. I want to be able to share stories and moments, but I don't usually think to watch for such moments so that I can capture them in words. I thought about sharing my experience in the chair of torture (at the dentist's office), but I never did. I really hate dentists. Well, the people themselves are usually ok, and many of them are actually really nice..... but man I hate dentists. I absolutely dread appointments with the dentist. But anyway, I don't know what kinds of moments to share and how. Little things catch my interest and cause me to smile, but I don't know how to describe those things and engage another's interest in them. That's something I'd like to work on.
(and maybe I'll share a really ridiculous poem thing I wrote shortly before my last post.... if you want...)
As I am basically rambling at this point, I'm going to end this post, and hopefully come back sometime soon with something real to write.

I have fallen

So it finally happened. It's come to this. My poetry has gone to the dark side. And by that, I mean super cheese. Like, ridiculously so. I can't seem to stop. Things pop into my head, and they have to be written. I have several completed, but unpublished poems. I have many beginnings, middles, or snippets just waiting to be finished. And now I'm left with the question.... should I post any of them? Should I really share the cheese? Should I really subject you all to that? Is it even proper for me to post them publicly, or should I be saving them for only the eyes of their inspiration? Mehhhh.

Peace, Smiles, and Butterflies

I've never written anything quite like this before

But you inspire me to try

You didn't tell me to, but you don't have to

You know something? You make me do silly things

I am so silly for you

You. My wonderful boy

How could I not fall madly in like with you

When your voice embraces me with warmth and love

Every word filling me with joy

With peace, smiles, and butterflies

When your nearness intoxicates me

Your hugs envelop me with warmth, and pull me into the essence of you

Each kiss to my forehead or cheek is like one more cupid arrow finding its mark

How could I not write silly nonsense

When thoughts of you interrupt all else

And scramble any cognitive function with images of us together

Longing

A desperate ache to be with you

I am yours

A whirlwind journey over four years.

A lot can happen in just four years. I've been thinking about the past four years a lot today in particular. In some ways they feel like so much more than just four years, but in other ways, I cannot believe that it's been four years. The time has passed all too quickly. And man has there been a lot packed into those four years. Today was actually a special day for me. On the surface it was just like any other day- work at the post office, some studying, paper writing, orchestra rehearsal, class, group project meeting, more homework (and soon to be closed off by a talk with my boy), but this day held much more significance for me. Four years ago today, I undertook what I hoped (and still hope) was the final step in dealing with a problem I've had to deal with since I was 9 (well, officially then, though I actually had it years before then). Namely-- Four years ago today I went under the knife for my second major brain surgery (first one was when I was 9). Yeah, not all of you knew about that, did you? So I'll just go ahead and say it-- I have epilepsy, caused by a brain tumor, Oligodendroglioma to be specific. I tend to avoid the subject for the most part. When I was much younger, I didn't really care too much and didn't really think about it. I really closed off on the subject when I was about 15 or so. That was when the seizures returned. As I approached the time for surgery number two, I tried to force myself to deal with everything by pretending it wasn't a big deal and making myself talk about it. After I went to college that fall, however, I hid away that part of me from most everyone. It wasn't until a couple years ago that I really explored just why I felt the need to hide this part of me and discovered a lot of trauma and hard memories buried away in my past that I didn't want to confront. Though I still feel rather uncomfortable on the subject, I have now been able to address the issues and fears from my past, and accept them. I cannot adequately express how grateful I am to the people who have been instrumental in this process in at least some small way, with a couple particular people helping in major ways.

Perhaps someday I'll come back to this subject, but I just wanted to start with it as it's what got me thinking about time and the past four years in the first place. (I also want to finish this post before it becomes midnight and is no longer technically "today".) So after that surgery, there was a long recovery process. I still had some high school work to finish up, and then I gave a senior recital during the summer. In the fall, I was off to college. Actually, if you look back at four years ago today, that was such a pivot point for me and my life. The surgery brought me from a place of struggling with my epilepsy to the point of being past it, hopefully for good. At that point in time, I was also reaching the end of the life I had always known, at home, a "homeschooler". In the fall, I would go off to college, way out in Indiana, and start a new chapter in my life. College has brought so many changes into my life and has been such a whirlwind four years. I feel like I've been here for so long. Almost like I've always been here, and of course I'll always be here. But at the same time, it feels so short, and I am NOT ready for it to be over.

In these four years, I have made many wonderful friendships, have experienced the ups and downs of relationships, discovered a deep love for music theory (what can I say? I'm a nerd!), have developed close ties with many of my professors and with the community, have truly received a "well-rounded education", have finally discovered my passion and have a direction for my future, have been blessed to participate in four weddings (bridal party for two of them and music for the other two), and have learned so much about myself. You know what I've realized? Some people may say you change a lot during these years, and maybe some people do, but I don't think that's really the case for me. Of course I'm not exactly the same as I was four years ago, but it's not so much that I've changed but that I've grown. I am very much the same me, but I now know who I am more than I used to, have learned to open up and accept who I am and what I've been through, and have developed from there. I am not a different me now, I am just a fuller me, a more realized me, a real me.

The past four years have seen times of pain, of struggle, of tears, of despair, and of deep hurt; but they have also seen times of joy, of smiles, of silliness, of laughter, and of hope. And right now, I think I can safely say that I am at the best place I can ever remember being. I know what I want for my life. I may not know exactly how to get there, but I have a dream to follow. I have dealt with the demons in my past, and am in the process of leaving those shadows far behind. I am a much fuller version of me, and am so much more comfortable with myself than I have been since I was a young, oblivious child. And right now, I am in a relationship with a wonderful man, and it is so much better than anything I could have ever dreamed possible. I cannot keep from smiling and constantly have a song in my heart. Though I know I still have things to work through, and I know there will be rough times ahead, right now I am happier than I've ever been. I can now look at my future with great hope.

(And as it is almost midnight, I must post this. The flow is not as great as I would like it to be, and I kinda rushed through a lot of things without much explanation, but I really just wanted to write it all out and get it posted. :P)

Au Naturale: You are Beautiful, Just the Way You Are

There is such an emphasis on beauty in today's culture. Everything in movies, TV shows, ads, commercials, magazines, etc. is obsessed with beauty. The problem I have with that (or one of the problems, I should say), is that the focus is not on natural beauty, but rather, on all the things you have to have in order to achieve an artificial beauty. I'll admit. When I was younger, approaching age 16, I couldn't wait to be allowed to wear makeup. I wore my mascara, cover-up, and sometimes a bit of blush faithfully, every day. After a few years, I got tired of making that much effort and slacked off to wearing just mascara. Part of me always felt uncomfortable wearing makeup, and I always tried to wear as little as possible so that it wasn't apparent that I was wearing any. Of course, if I didn't want anyone to be able to tell that I was wearing makeup, why bother in the first place? That got me thinking about the whole makeup issue, but part of me still felt like I needed it. (You see, I am blonde and have very fair eyelashes, and though I had been complimented on the length of them, I always felt I needed mascara to make them visible.) The beginning of sophomore year I started having an allergic reaction to my mascara. I figured maybe it was because I was using waterproof mascara, and switched to another brand. No good, the skin around my eyes kept bothering me and getting worse and worse. So I stopped wearing makeup. Completely. Suddenly, I didn't have to spend the time every morning to put on my mascara, time every night to take it off, and I didn't have to worry about smudging it at any point in the day. I felt a little awkward for a while, going around without makeup. Then I started to realize that I really shouldn't. I don't want to be viewed as pretty just because I'm wearing makeup. As if it's the makeup that's pretty. I want to be pretty as just me, nothing added, nothing changed. I want to feel comfortable being natural.

Since when did it become necessary for women to use makeup? (Some of you may disagree with the following, but it is what I believe, and I won't refrain from speaking my beliefs for the possibility of someone disagreeing with me.) God did not create woman and then say 'Oops, I forgot something. You're not quite enough yet. Sorry, you're gonna have to create some products to cover up who you are and make yourself more attractive.' No. Not at all. God created man and woman, smiled, and said it was good. When did we decide it wasn't good? When did we decide it wasn't enough? (I'm sure at this point someone could bring up the issue of sin and how man and woman began to cover themselves and wear clothes. I'm not saying that clothes are also unnecessary... and I don't want to get into any kind of debate involving clothes and makeup. I'm just writing about my opinion.)

I am comfortable without makeup now. In fact, I feel very uncomfortable on the rare occasion that I wear makeup for something like a big performance, a formal, or a wedding. My wish is that all women could be comfortable with themselves au naturale. I wish that everyone would see and appreciate the natural beauty in themselves and others. I don't know who will read this, but I want you to know that you are enough, just the way you are. That you are beautiful, just the way you are. If you don't feel comfortable around others au naturale, how comfortable do you really feel with makeup, knowing that you have to use all these products and change how you look just to appear more attractive to others. What does that do to you inside? Do you think-- 'I'm not enough without the makeup. If people saw me without it, they wouldn't like me as much. I wouldn't be beautiful without it. I have to have the right cosmetics in order to be perceived as beautiful, and without them, I'm not.' Don't become just another product. Be you! Let people see you for who you are. Don't hide. It may be hard to get used to at first, but I guarantee you, people will look at you and think-- 'They are comfortable with who they are. They are confident in who they are. I like that.' If you are comfortable with yourself, that will come across to the people you interact with, and they will be more comfortable with you. I would love to see you, and to know that you are comfortable with who you are. And I would love for you to see others for who they are and encourage them to be comfortable with who they are. Because-- you are beautiful. Whoever you are.

Default Mode

So sometimes I really struggle with talking about things. Especially my fears and things that bother me. It's like if I can only cover them up, push them away, and bury them deep down, hidden away somewhere, then no one will need to know and I can pretend they don't exist. That was my default for a long time. When things frustrated me, bothered me, or hurt me, or when fears rose up to haunt me, I buried all those things away. Now and then I'd pull them out in secret to look at them before hiding them again. I didn't show those things to anyone else. I've never wanted others to know about the things I fear, that I struggle with, and that upset me. But. If I keep it all to myself and never let another see them, I won't be able to work past most of the issues. They will just simmer under the surface, never diminishing, and possibly festering and growing until they explode. I know that some of the things that I fear and that bother me cannot be worked out and dealt with by myself alone. They do not concern only me, and so they will take another person to work through them. I thought I had gotten to the point and place that I could be open about such things and talk about them. I have recently come to realize that I had only just barely dipped under the surface, and there is so much more buried so much deeper down. Just one look at all of it, one reminder that it's there, one event to trigger the myriad of thoughts, memories, and emotions, and I close up and retreat. Then I find myself buried away with them, locked up in a box, trying desperately to find a way out without revealing where I am and what is with me. Or trying desperately to find a way of showing someone what is there without opening the box and having everything explode out. I was so hoping I wouldn't have to deal with some of this stuff again. That situations now would reduce the significance of the issues I'd buried away, and make them irrelevant. That I would come to discover that my fears were unfounded, and could let them go. But the fact is, though fears can definitely be unfounded, they still exist and they still haunt. Though some issues may turn out to be irrelevant, they still happened and they still had/have an effect.

So in short, one little trigger has sent me back to my default. I don't want to be here, but I'm trapped here nonetheless. And this time, I don't want to sneak out the usual way and bury things deeper and further away. This time, I want to pull everything out with me and deal with it all. But I just don't know if I can do that.

Inspired Writing

I've been considering what to write, and if I should post a short poem that came to me last week, when I realized something about my writing. For the most part, I only write when I'm inspired by something. I don't just write poems and stories about random events, situations, or things-- I write about events, situations, and things in my own life. I cannot come up with a creative idea to write about unless it is inspired by things in my own life and experience. That's why I write the poems that I do, and that's why it can be so hard for me to actually share those poems. The poems that I attempted to write that were not truly from me always sounded forced and I was very unsatisfied with them. So now, most of the poems I have written, whether shared or unshared, come from a deep part of me that is experiencing something of what I wrote. The poems I write are about the hurt and the pain, the struggles and the journey, the hopes and dreams, and they are all mine.

I was trying to determine why I feel so reluctant to actually post what I've written, when I finally realized it's because I cannot pass something off as a cute idea I had, or as a response to something someone could be experiencing. No, the poems I write are about my own experiences, and every one of them means something to me. Every poem I write contains a little piece of me, and I can never decide if I really want to hold on to that piece or to share it with every one. So now it comes out. Rachel uses her writing, and especially her poetry, to express the thoughts and emotions going on inside of her. So when you read her writing, know that you are reading about her.

Anyway, that's what was on my mind. Later on I may post the poem I wrote last week. It's short. Possibly the shortest poem I've written. I feel like I should make it longer, but at the same time, it's complete as it is.

When Goodnight is not Goodbye

I've been working on this for a couple weeks now. I still don't feel that it's *quite* right, but whenever I go back to it, I can't figure out what it is..... much less fix it. Anyway, I just wanted to post it now.

This is mostly inspired by the present, but set a little ways in the future.


Every time we say goodnight
The distance closes on us again
I am all alone once more
Just my silent thoughts and I
I wish that you could stay right here
And you would never have to leave

When we talk, we're together
I can feel you so close to me
As long as we keep talking
We can stay this way
Please don't say goodnight
I want you here with me

I love to feel our thoughts connect
To feel your strength as I sink into you
Your voice is like a warm embrace
Wrapping arms of love around me
I just want to lose myself in it
To surrender completely to its touch

I long for the day when we can stay
When goodnight doesn't mean goodbye
And we can just look at each other and say
I love you and I'll be here when you awaken
When that day comes, I can rest in your arms
And feel your heart beat as we drift into sleep

I know that we must part for now
But through the silence of distance
My thoughts will dwell on you
As my heart aches to be with yours
So goodnight my dearest
My most wonderful you

Free to feel the poem.

I've been working on some poems, as well as looking back over older ones, and I'm noticing a trend. I try to maintain structure and control in my poetry. I'm never quite sure how to, but I try all the same. In my oldest works, I did my best to maintain a rhyming scheme and a rhythmic scheme. Or at least I'd attempt to have the same number of beats per line, while using a rhyming scheme. I was trying to be creative and express myself, but I was also confined by structure and rules. I needed to control where the poem was going and how. And so, much of my earlier works feel somewhat forced and artificial. There came a time when I couldn't open myself up enough to write any poetry, and so I didn't. For almost two years. Now I'm back to it, and though I'm freer, I'm still constrained by the need for some kind of structure and control. I realized that as I responded to my thoughts and wrote them down that I had abandoned the whole rhyming bit. I kindof miss that and the charm I think it can lend a poem, but I'm no longer restricted by the need for it. At the same time, I find that I'm still limited by the need to stick with a particular theme, and to still maintain some structure. In a sense, I suppose you could say that I still think my poetry, rather than feel it. I would like to get to the point where I can just feel the poem and be the poem. And then someday, if I can do that and still rhyme or structure it in some way, that would be amazing. But that would no longer be a restriction for me, but rather, an enhancer. First, though, I need to learn to be free to feel the poem.

Brief review of my old blogs

So, I have just revisited most of my old blogs. Wow was that a trip. Now, in an attempt to reassure myself that I really can write properly, lucidly, and seriously (among other things), I have determined it to be necessary to write a new post here. It was actually somewhat shocking and embarrassing to see what I was like and how I wrote just a few years ago. I started my first blog shortly before my 16th birthday, and blogged on some site or another pretty steadily almost until freshman year at college, took a break from spring of senior year in HS until second semester Freshman year in college, then got back into it. So yeah.... I was pretty young when I started my first blog. and I was going through various... issues.... Of course, there was the whole "trying to discover who I am and find my place" bit going on, and the "trying to break out of the mold of a 'homeschooler'" bit, and the typical teenage rebellion at times, as well as other contributing factors (one of which, probably the most major one, I may ellaborate on in here at another time). But anyway..... looking back over those blogs brought some embarrassment, an appreciation for where I am now, and made me relive a lot of memories I had completely forgotten about. I don't have much of anything I really want to write about right now, but I just need to prove to myself that I can write clearly, somewhat maturely, and to some kind of point.

It's kindof strange. I know college has changed me a lot, but I didn't appreciate just how much until I looked back on those blogs. I feel almost like a completely different girl from the one who used to write in those blogs. I can see traces of my younger self in who I am now, but I can also see that I have developed quite a bit and matured a great deal. (Of course.... I still have a ways to go, haha, but then again, you gotta keep a bit of the child within you at all times.)

Actually, I do have something just about ready to post. Another bit of poetry. It's not *quite* right yet. I don't know if I'll actually be able to get it "right", but in any case, I'm not quite ready to post it yet. Once again, it's not exactly a really positive piece of poetry, but it's not darker and even depressing like my older poetry. And it definitely has a cheese factor going for it... haha. But anyway, that post will make its way up here eventually, and then you can judge for yourself. For now, I really need to study for my Computational Neuro exam on Thursday......uggghhhh.

From the safety of a tree

There is this tree on campus, right in between one of the academic buildings and one of the fraternities, that I have been wanting to get into for a while now. It is a pretty big tree, which is part of the problem. The limbs are all quite large and pretty far apart, but they'd also be perfect for sitting on. I decided that today was the day to get into the tree. (I have tried once before, but I wasn't totally committed at the time.) This time, I was determined to get in it, no matter what. I was not going to "try", I was going to "do" it! So, changing into bum jeans and sweatshirt (for it is just about 50 degrees out there), I made my way to the tree. The lowest branch is about level with my head and about as big around as my torso. I attempted to wrap my arms around it, then my legs, so that from the position of hanging underneath it, I could potentially rotate around until I was on top of it. Ha, that didn't work. It was too big and there were no handholds I could use to pull myself around. After several failed attempts, I went around to the other side of the tree. Another large branch, about half a foot higher up than the other one, split into two segments about a foot out from the trunk of the tree. Those two sections were about as big around as my legs, or slightly smaller. Using both of them, I was able to finally pull myself up. There were some scary moments, but I had finally made it into the tree. Once on that branch, I realized that I was stuck. All the other branches were so big and far apart that I couldn't really get to them. One giant limb split out of the tree at about the same level as my branch, a little over a foot around to the right of my branch. My branch felt really exposed, and was not really a very safe perch. The other limb looked like the perfect, safe, and strong place to be. But I couldn't get to it. I had finally worked up the courage and determination to get into the tree. Through several attempts and near disasters, I had made it to the first level. But when it came time to progress further and get to the next level- one of safety and security, I couldn't do it. I couldn't work up the faith to make the dangerous leap to that place. I tried to shift my position little bit by little bit so I could try different approaches, but still couldn't do it. There was no branch above me that I could use as a handhold to pull myself to standing, and no smaller branches to the side I could use. Everything was so big and removed from me, and I was stuck, exposed, just sitting on that one limb. After sitting in disappointment for a while, I slid off my branch and walked away sadly.

My mind was called by the memory of an overlooked little tree, hiding in a corner of the rarely used courtyard outside of the music building, buried between the two Comm wings. I quickly made my way over there and decided to renew my acquaintance with the little thing, and become friends. The little evergreen was still young, but it was strong and wiry. There were plenty of handholds, and the branches were the perfect size to wrap my hand around and enabled me to pull myself up with confidence. It was a little tricky weaving my way through all the branches of the young tree, and the size of the branches diminished rapidly as I ascended, as well as becoming denser. But it was wonderful. Here was a challange I was ready for. I stopped just above the one-story roof of the music building beside me. Sitting on one branch, left leg tucked slightly behind me braced on one branch, and right leg braced on a branch directly below. My left arm hooked around the trunk of the tree and over a branch right in front of me, while my right arm draped across a branch that extended from the trunk out accross me, almost like a seat belt, only chest height. My left side was braced against the tree trunk, and the side of my face was pressed into the tree. In that position, I felt so safe, secure, and hidden away. As the tree was an evergreen, the branches were not bare, and provided a cover in the gathering darkness as I enjoyed the tree's company in solitude. It began to mist out in the world around me, but I was safe and sheltered within the covering of the tree. I began to relax and release some of the tension I had been holding onto. As I felt the tension slipping away, I  began to see what was lying under the tension. And in that place, so removed from the reality of everyday life and hidden from the eyes of those who wouldn't see me anyway, I could explore where I was and dig into those things lying underneath all the tension. As such issues cannot be easily or quickly solved and cast away, I eventually had to end my reflections and leave the tree. I have only begun to wrestle with the issues I have uncovered, but at least they are no longer buried deep down and festering in the darkness.

Old LOTR adventures with two fellow fanatics.

I was doing some cleaning in the basement over the summer when I came across a box of memories. Among other things in the box, I found a couple pieces of paper, folded together. On those pieces of paper were the drafts to an old adventure series I kept up with two dear friends. These adventures, were continuations of the Lord of the Rings. These two friends are the ones responsible for making me finally watch and read the LOTR series, and I ended up falling in love with it as much as they. As a group, we decided that we needed more, and what was already written was not enough. Therefore, we assigned each other characters, and started our own continuation of the series. We were very proud of our method.See, we employed the High Tech computer of Middle Earth as a means of recording and sharing our adventures. For example, one of my characters sits down at the computer to write out a letter to another character, and then something comes up to distract that character or some trouble comes up, and they have to leave the computer. That is the point when the computer takes over and starts recording everything that takes place. Eventually, the computer sends the message to whoever its intended recipient is. The computer always managed to come along on the adventures, whether the character was running off to battle, escaping someone, rescuing someone, exploring, etc. (But of course, we'd actually send those emails to everyone, so we could all keep up with the adventure.) From that point, someone else would pick up the adventure and continue it. What would be fun were the times when one person's characters were visiting another person's characters, and then the person in charge of the characters being visited got to include all the characters there in their next section of the adventure, not just their own characters. We had a lot of fun with all this. Of course, we were much younger, and looking back on it, haha, a lot of it was pretty silly and almost embarrassing. I do not remember what adventure was going on that required this ransom note, but here are the two drafts of it that I found. I'm thinking the (tbd) at the end meant that I had not yet decided who was sending the note..... I'm assuming that I eventually did, before I typed the final version and sent it. Following the ransom notes is a draft of a section in some adventure. It really is quite silly, but it is kindof fun to look back at what we wrote.

My Lord Imrahil,

If you value the life of your daughter, you will follow my every order with the utmost precision. You will leave all your troops behind, unarmed, and with orders to do all my bidding. You will come, with only one servant for the lady, to the place my messengers will show you. There, if you relinquish your throne and right to call yourself prince to me, your life and your daughter's will be spared. If you wish the life of my lord, the King Eomer, to be spared as well, just hope his men will comply with my terms. I look forward to our meeting.

Oh, and one more thing. You will not alert any of your friends or allies of your plight. That is, of course, if you value the life of your daughter.
Sincerely,
(tbd)

My Lord Imrahil,
If you value the life of your daughter you will follow my every order with the utmost precision. I have you surrounded by my troops, and if you show any resistance, they will destroy you and send runners to me, and I will have my men use L for target practice. Now, if you wish your life to be spared, and the life of your daughter, you will hang white sheets, rags, cloths, or what-have-you, out of all your windows, and surrender all your weapons to my men. Then you will go with the men who brought this message to the place they will show you. If you so desire, you may bring one servant, for milady. When you arrive at the designated meeting place, you will relinquish your throne and right to call yourself prince to me, and I will hand over your daughter to you. Oh, and one more thing. You are not to alert any of your friends or allies to your plight. Unless you wish to make your daughter's death slow and tortuous.
Sincerely,

--------------------------------------------------

(next morning, the sun has barely risen.) My rest is disturbed by a slight rustling at the mouth of the cave. Eomer is sitting up and peering outside. Then he gets up, strings his bow, and silently leaves. Nothing happens. About an hour and a half later, Eomer comes back with two rabbits and some plants. He builds a small fire outside and starts - ugh! Oh how terrible! Oh! *gag* He's cutting the skin off those poor creatures! See how deftly his knife moves, he must be experienced! Oh, oh! *shudder* I can't watch this, thank goodness Lothiriel is still asleep! I shall just watch her in her peaceful sleep . . . Just as the smell of rabbit stew, ugh, starts wafting through the air, Lothiriel stirs, then sits up, yawning.
L- What is that smell! It smells delightful!
E- It is breakfast. Would you care to join me?
L- Yes, I believe I would. I don't remember when I ate last.
(They sit down and E dishes out some stew for them both)
L- How is it that you are so prepared?
E- I had to be prepared during the war of the ring. You never knew when you would be on the move.
L- Oh, you were in the army?
(Eomer looks sideways at her)
E-Yeah, I was in the army. Now, eat before it gets cold.
(pause)
L- This is good, may I ask what's in it?
E- Will- of course. There are rabbits, and there's-
L- *gasp*
 Rabbits? You mean, dead rabbits?
E- I would hardly call them live. Why?
L- You, you killed rabbits? Sweet, furry, innocent, little bunny rabbits? And you're eating them! How, how-
E- I'm sorry if I offend you, but what would you have me do, let us starve? We have no idea how long we will be here, so it's either eat wildlife or starve. I apologize for putting it so bluntly, but there are no other options. You should finish your stew so we can get moving, not that we know where to go.
L- I, I've lost my appetite. I think I'll look around for some berries.
E- I think there were some over there. Don't go out of sight of the cave, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. We don't need to get separated now.
(Shortly afterward, E began cleaning up the breakfast mess and packed up their things. Just as he was saddling his horse, L came back with tell-tale stains on her hands and face.
E- (laughing) I see you found your breakfast, there's a little stream behind that hill you can wash in.
L- Thank you.
(After L washed and E packed up everything, E offers for L to ride his horse while he walks. She declines, saying she needs exercise.)
E- So, which way should we go? Obviously we won't continue in the direction we were travelling last night.
L- It doesn't really matter that much now I guess. We are hopelessly lost.
E- Nothing is hopeless, my lady, there is always hope.
(The start to move very slowly to the East. If they would only stop to pay attention to me, they would see that I have a built-in compass. I know where we are at all times, but no, computers don't know anything.

From Darkness Into Life and Love

A trust that has been shattered is no easy fix

It’s not enough to wrap it up tight in a box

Lid firmly down, lock securely latched

Hoping no one will ever notice or care

One day someone will come along

They’ll want to see inside and know you

Then comes the panic, the rush of fear

I can’t let them see, the mess is too great

Can what was broken be made whole

Do I dare let them touch the pieces

The terrible longing to try, to release

The desperate hope that all is not lost

The desire to be whole and open consumes

But defenses are not easily lifted and let go

Will the bruised spirit have the faith to fly

The need to try outweighs the fear

Hope fights despair, and battles the terror

Uncertainty is the vice, the eager trap

But freedom must be obtained

The warmth of the smile softens the bonds

Delight awakens the flickering spirit

Awakens and gives it wings to soar

Will I have the courage to lift off

Or will fear and uncertainty prevail

One thing I now know to be true

I feel so alive when I’m with you

This desire to let you in is alarming

Never have I felt it so strongly

Now is the time to take the leap

A new adventure is waiting for me

The release of poetry

Yep-- seems that I am incapable of writing a truly positive piece of poetry.
Working on something new right now.
I'll put it up at some point in the near future.
I had forgotten how much I open up when writing poetry.
Perhaps it is because poetry is often symbolic, and sometimes cryptic.
I don't have to say exactly what I think, but simply the feelings.
All the things I keep inside can be aired out through the imagery of poetry.
And sometimes the deepest things can be conveyed with the most simple image.

As the unwritten words are calling to me, I must leave.
The completed piece will appear soon, so check back over the next couple days if you're interested.

Scars

(This is a reposting of a piece of poetry I wrote a couple years ago and had originally put up on my old blog. Lately I've been thinking a lot about how things from the past affect things in the present, and just wanted to share a little.)

this is the way of scars
the wound may be small
it may be big
it may be deep
it may be long
but always the pain

some heal quickly
some refuse to heal
some grow infected
some bleed long
some take a life
all leave a scar

the wound may heal
but the scar will remain
the pain may be gone
but the memory of it stays
never the same
forever scarred

you can hide them
but they will never leave
joke about them
yet still they hurt
pretend they're not there
but there they remain