Politically INcorrect and Controversial

Those of you who know me may or may not have noticed that I never talk politics. At all. You may or may not know that I also do not intentionally read news, listen to news, or watch news. Ever. I pick up a few things from unavoidable hear-say now and then, and even catch brief glimpses or hear a few phrases of news stories, but I only rarely finish reading/listening or search out stories (unless they be any sort of animal story, in which case I will open the full story or stop to listen/watch the whole thing). But why is this the case? Well, you could always poke fun at me and say that I'm just a woman, and my silly head cannot handle the politics or form its own opinions on various matters. Or, you could say that I'd rather not think for myself and that I just simply follow the majority or the people with the greatest influence over me. But then again, it could be that I really am a hippie-wanna-be at heart and intend to someday seclude myself in a little cabin off in the woods somewhere. None of those are entirely correct, although little bits of each factor into the reality in some way.

I never took the time to really figure out what my thinking and reasoning was, or why I've always felt such an instinctual aversion to anything politics related.  Politics are stupid. I didn't want to bother with it all. In the end, how I felt or thought really doesn't matter at all, and no matter what stance I take, I will never have any influence on the big stupid-heads in charge of everything. So why bother being opinionated, informed, and perpetually upset? I don't like to be a disturber of the peace, I don't like being against people or to have others against me, I don't like to call attention to myself as an opposing side, and I especially hate to argue or debate. I hate conflict and contention, greatly preferring peace, unity, and acceptance. I vaguely recognized all this in myself before without ever really stopping to think about it or follow through to the next levels. At least, not until a couple weeks ago.

The Majestic had been appearing in various lists of suggestions on netflix for quite a while, and looking like an interesting movie, I finally watched it about two weeks ago. For those of you who haven't seen it, the film is set shortly after WWII in California, as a big push occurs to expose those of the communist party within the media, most especially in the film business. I'm going to spoil part of the end for you, but I have to in order to get my point across. Peter, the main character, had been pinned and blacklisted as a communist, even though it turns out that all he ever did was attend a few meetings in college that he didn't even know were communist affiliated, just to impress a girl he was seeing at the time. After suffering from amnesia, due to a head injury received from an automobile accident the night after he was blacklisted, Peter settles down in a small town where they (and after a time, he) are sure that he is one of their lost sons of the war. The press and other officials are sure that he is running from the law and that they've finally struck on an important communist leader of some sort, and they run wild with all their ridiculous conjectures.

When Peter is finally found out, months after the injury, all the media and officials involved are sure that Peter was hiding out with his follow communists in that town and they come rushing in, guns blazing (as it were), to drag him off for his big court case. Of course everyone involved quickly realize their huge mistake, and to hide their embarrassment, they prepare a statement for Peter to read at his trial, realizing the error of his ways and confessing the names of other communists, so that they can discharge him as quietly as possible and without any trouble. <<-- That is a point that really bugged me. The government made a huge mistake that really affected a man's life, yet all they were focusing on was how to cover it up and save face. After faltering for a while and almost going through with it, Peter faces up to the court, citing his rights in the constitution, according to the first amendment, and talking about the state of the government and the world that all those man had died for. Of course, the court was infuriated at his insolence as he "skate[d] on the very thin edge of contempt", but Peter was absolutely right in everything he said and the entire crowd gathered there knew it, and applauded him as he walked right out of that courtroom. Peter was sure he had just signed his own death wish, but the government, always protecting its own neck, decided to just let him go, and say that he had given them other names. See, they had made him a hero to the people, they couldn't afford to continue on and make him a martyr, too.

I would have left that movie experience annoyed at the stupid government people in the movie and how selfish they were, yet ultimately happy with the ending and so not given it too much thought afterward, had I not seen and heard stuff about the Trayvon Martin shooting a couple days later. I have not done a lot of research on the topic, and I do not want to, the little I know already frustrates me a great deal with our stupid, selfish government. The one article I read disturbed me very much, but the worst part was when I was looking for something down in the family room while my mom was watching the news and I heard a small update on the Trayvon Martin shooting issue, and the newscaster said something about in further research they found (or suspected) that Trayvon had some kind of history with marijuana dealing or usage. All I could think about after that was how again, the selfish, stupid government was trying to save face and cover up a mistake instead of facing it. All those big important people in their fancy suits are paid millions of dollars to say fancy things, get the people to trust and believe in them, and then never truly do more than just talk. All those politicians spend forever making big speeches about all their grand plans, all their visions for America and the ways we can grow, but very little of that ever comes to fruition. That is why I really hate getting involved in politics.

I know that should I take the time to actually read articles, listen to speeches, and follow the news, I would be informed on the actual state of things in our completely screwed up country and would live under a heavy cloud of frustration, disappointment, and disillusionment with our "wonderful" nation. Every little piece of news I've glimpsed or heard a bit of strikes a nasty chord in me and I shrink away before it can too strongly affect me. The fact is, everything is twisted around and completely screwed up in this country! Politicians get paid millions of dollars to talk and make a big selfish mess of everything (and there's something about their not having to pay taxes that I got a frustrating glimpse of at one point, and am not going to go find out all the details of). Athletes get paid millions of dollars to entertain us and be complete jerks. Pop stars are paid millions of dollars to entertain us and put trash in the ears of the next generations. And then you read bits of things about how those in the military don't actually receive 50% of their pay, even though they put their lives on the line for our screwed up, selfish country. Or about how Irena Sendler lost the Nobel Peace prize to Al Gore's slide show on Global Warming. And then you take a good look at the wretched state this country's education system is in, the massive attitude problems of everyone under the age of 60 or so, the deplorable state of marriage, the rampant sexuality, complete lack of morality, and..... if I were more informed, I could continue listing for a very long time.

The truth is, I know that inside, I rebel against everything that is happening in our world right now. Each bit of news I glimpse or hear disturbs me and hurts me, and I retreat deeper into my little shell, wishing that it really were possible for me to escape back in time to a place like Mayberry from the Andy Griffith Show, or at least to some little cabin back in the woods somewhere where I can grow my own crops, raise my own animals, and never go anywhere at all so I can just avoid all this mess. But as such wishing is futile, I am stuck with my only defense of trying my hardest to remain as uninformed as possible and so spare myself the pain of being helpless in the face of a miserable reality. I suppose you could say that one reason I love stories about animal rescues is because the care and thoughtfulness I see exhibited in those stories somehow helps cover up the completely opposite reality where humans are concerned.

For those who may be wondering, this is not the post I have been meaning to write since my last one, nor is this an April Fool's post. This is a completely serious post that (you may have noticed), has left me in a very gloomy, cynical mood. Which I suppose I will have to fix by looking at cute lolcats and watching some innocent Disney movie or something.

Stories from the life of a stranger

It's been quite a while since I've written anything. I haven't felt that I really had much of anything interesting to say, and now I find myself conflicted with the desire to share two different incidences from my day. I suppose I'll just have to make two entries, as they don't really flow together as one topic. But anyway, down to business. I would like to share a story with you. Perhaps it is not put forward as eloquently as many others could do, but it is a story from true life and I want to share it. There is no moral of the story, no lesson to learn, and no real point in sharing it beyond the fact that it put a smile on my face and completely made my day.

Though it is only in the last couple weeks of March, the temperature has gotten up to 80 the last couple days and you could not ask for more glorious weather. I unfortunately had to work yesterday and was unable to enjoy the day other than to open my window for the latter part of the day. Today, however, was my day off. I had been putting off getting my oil changed for the last thousand miles and finally made an appointment to bring my car in late this morning. The door to the sitting room was open, allowing me to soak in the warm breeze and the ambiance of a beautiful day as I read my book. As I was on my way back home I kept thinking about what a shame it would be to just end up in my room the rest of the day. Even if I had my windows open to let in the day, it would still feel like a waste. I had almost determined to simply take my book into the tree in the front yard with me when I realized that I would shortly be passing the levee, and made the impulsive decision to stop there and take a walk.

I have only been on the levee a few times in the past couple years, but as I walked I remembered all the times from my childhood when we'd all go to the levee together. It was very rare that we would ever make it all the way to the end, as the youngest kids would get to tired to go more than a certain distance, or there was the occasional mishap resulting in a skinned knee or other such injury. Back in those days, we had so much energy to burn and mom and dad decided to let us run along the portions of the walk that actually had the fencing on the sides. We had to stop at the end of those sections and wait for the parents (and probably the youngest sibling) to catch up and walk with us until we got to the next section with fencing. These memories, combined with the warmth of the sun, the light breeze, birdsong, and just the general feeling of beauty everywhere put a perpetual smile on my face.

As I neared the end of the walk, an elderly man passed me slowly on his bike, commenting on how lovely the day was. When I reached the end I saw the same man sitting on a bench looking out on the view with a pair of binoculars. I stood at the fence looking across the dam for a bit, and then as I turned to make my way to a picnic table next to the bench, the old man invited me to come sit with him for a bit. If the day had been less lovely, if I had not already decided to sit down for a bit, had I not been in as open and happy of a mood, or had I even had any other commitments for the day, I would have most likely felt a bit of inner panic and awkwardness at social contact, and from a stranger at that, and would have made some sort of excuse and left. But, as I was in such good spirits and the day was really too glorious to enjoy alone, I smiled and accepted the invitation with only the slightest feeling of awkwardness inside. (I will most likely always retain some degree of inner, and sometimes outer awkwardness for the rest of my days. There is no escaping it.)

I am so glad I decided to sit there for a while, for I spent the next hour chatting with a very interesting 77 year-old character named George. He's not one of those old men girls would refer to as a cute or adorable old man, nor was he spry, impertinent, cheeky, feeble, or somewhat confused. He was a very real, genuine person who belonged to an older, simpler time. He had so many stories to tell me about his life, his friends, his older relatives, and little-known facts and tidbits from history. His grandmother was one of the passengers on the Titanic, and he told me bits of things she had told him from that time as well as his own theories about the sinking of the ship (which his grandmother insisted was the fault of the Germans). I don't feel that it is quite right to share all the things he talked with me about on here, as his stories are not mine and I don't have the right publicly post what he had to say. But all the same, I want to give an idea of the intriguing nature of many of the things he talked about.

This man collects binoculars from tag sales and flea markets, primarily war time binoculars. The pair he had with him today was a recently acquired small model of German make, from the second world war. He told me many stories of other pairs he had found, facts and stories in history having to do with binoculars, and of a pair of long, brass binoculars he once bought for $30 that turned out to be originally from a Russian ship that had been sunk by the Japanese fleet when they crushed the puny Russian fleet. The Japanese converted the Russian binoculars to the Japanese style by adding lines in the viewer that would assist them in shooting down other mortals. George found out the history of the binoculars when he took them to an antique shop where he was offered $600 for them. When he visited the same shop a week or two later, he saw those same binoculars he had sold sitting in the window with a $2000 price tag on them. (George also collects glasses and watches from tag sales and flea markets, but I won't go into any of those stories.)

I also got to hear stories about various friends and people he had known, things he had seen and done, and other random things of life. I found out that he believes in UFOs. "They're out there, you know. Always have been." Supposedly a friend of his had seen a UFO a few years back while doing some early morning fishing in a cove in that area. For, as you know, "they like quiet, secluded places." George told me about wildlife in the area, birdcalls, a white coyote he saw once, and how he once mistakenly pet a bear cub, assuming it was the dog from a nearby house that would visit him from time to time at one of his resting spots. I mostly listened and occasionally made encouraging responses or asked questions, doing little talking about myself, but that's the kind of conversation I like best, I think. I love listening to other people, especially when they have such interesting stories and lives. That one hour spent in conversation with 77 year-old George made my day, and I'm hoping that I brightened his day a bit by being such a willing and agreeable listener. I'm afraid not many people have the time or take the time for that kind of thing. As we prepared to part ways, George told me that he wished he were about 30 years younger. I laughed a bit at that, but refrained from telling him that as he would still have been old enough to be my father at that point, he would really have to be more like 50 years younger to hope for anything. (Though I am obligated by my boyfriend to say that even in that case, I am still spoken for :P)

I have no real point to make with this post, other than that people should really get out there and enjoy the weather, appreciate God's creation, and take time to talk with others and listen to the stories of old people. I fear that most people view the elderly as an inconvenience, as having outlived their time, incompetent, feeble, and useless. But I believe that most of them have so much more knowledge and life experience than any of the rest of us have, and they are more than worth talking with.

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.