Simon says: read.

I'm really not sure why it works this way, but I swear I only feel inspired to blog when I have other things I should be doing. I posted three times the other night when I had a bunch of things to be studying for. And now that I have nothing to study for, I have absolutely no topic on my mind to blog about. It's been a couple of days since my last post and I almost feel guilty for not posting. But I swear that every time I sit down to write something, it just seems like complete trash. And to top it off, my artistic flow was definitely quelled by some unnecessary (and very public) criticism. I embarrass easily (as you'd know if you read my previous posts) and the feeling often puts a damper on my ability to create.

So I'm going to do my best to share with you what I've tried unsuccessfully to blog a few times now.

On Friday I spent some time with my family from Missouri. I was so proud of myself. I actually played with children and enjoyed myself. At first it was a little difficult figuring out which of the kids wanted to be "it" and which didn't. Some of them would get upset if they didn't get a chance to be "it" and some of them got upset if they had to be "it". The solution to this: pick a different game. 

Me playing "duck, duck, goose" with the kids.

We ended up playing Simon says, which was a lot of fun. But soon after we started, we were called inside by the grown ups because it was getting dark.

I swear that some children can speak and converse with people as if they were adults. Seven year old Brayton, the boy who I had just named "goose" in the photo above, talked to me about college with as much incite and interest as I would expect from someone close to my own age. He asked me about living at college and if I liked it and if I came home very often. I think one of the reasons I enjoyed talking to Brayton so much is because children are such good listeners. When an adult asks me how school is going, it feels like a courtesy question. Almost like routine. But Brayton seemed genuinely interested in the answers I was giving. It was so refreshing talking to someone who doesn't already know the answer to the question they are asking. I don't fault adults who ask these questions, but it was just so much less awkward talking to Brayton because he seemed so enthralled with everything I was telling him.

I joke around a lot saying that I don't like children but I have to say that I honestly felt a connection to kids while I was playing in the yard with them. Brayton asked me right before he and the others left our house if I could visit them in Missouri soon and I was being completely honest when I said that I hoped I could.

I should be studying...

Just so you guys know, this post was written over the course of around five hours... so it skips around a lot. Bear with me.

I got maple syrup in my hair today. I also had a microbiology exam at 8:30 in the morning that I had no idea about. I cried after my Brain and Behavior class because the subject was way too close to home. I actually just got back from that class. So I apologize if the beginning of this post has been a little "down in the dumps". I promise you it will not be a repeat of "The journey that ends at the beginning" I'm not quite that far gone. Just a little mopey.


So I just got back from watching the tennis match with Julie! It was nice to just sit back for a bit and pretend that I wasn't super stressed/upset. I climbed a tree. It made me feel better :) If you ever feel sad, climb a tree. It's a guaranteed pick-me-up.  So while I was up in the tree, I shouted at Julie "Take a picture! I'm a spider-monkey!" and this is the result:

Spider Monkey (kinda)

I would probably not say that this is an accurate portrayal of a spider monkey. I actually don't even know what a spider monkey is... 

I just googled spider monkey, and I was wrong. This does kind of look like me.

Spider Monkey (for serious)

So after I so boldly climbed the tree (which was awesome, I should have taken a picture of just the tree, it was kind of Lion Kingesque, you know, the one that Rafiki hangs out in and is like "Simba" when he paints the picture and then is like "HE'S ALIVE!"... yeah, that's kind of what this tree looked like. I'll probably go back tomorrow and take a picture of it so don't you guys worry. You'll be able to see where the Lion King was filmed.)

Anyway, after I climbed the tree and was safely back on the ground, Julie and I started talking about our tail bones. She said she broke her's in the fifth grade. I hurt mine sometime ago.... while I was climbing a tree! I think that that was actually the last time I climbed a tree...How very brave of me to get back into the saddle! It was a pretty traumatic event. I was acting like a champ, climbing this tree with my friends near this pond that we used to go to around the corner from my house. Suddenly, the branch that I was swinging on snapped and I plummeted to the ground.

I'm pretty sure that I was probably 4 feet from the ground. My ass hurt so bad I was sure I broke it. I was lying there, howling in pain while my friend laughed. I don't think she understood just how much pain I was in at first. But after a while she helped me up and walked me back to my house. 

I had completely forgotten about this event when I climbed the tree today. I'm extremely relieved that the experience hadn't left me traumatized and afraid of trees because then I wouldn't be nearly as cheerful as I am right now. Because climbing trees and pretending to be a spider monkey is awesome. 

After I told Julie about my tail bone incident she told me about hers. Hers is funnier, but only because of the side story she told after it. And because she's Julie. 

She was telling me that the injury was the result of a bad softball incident. I can't be sure of the details because I was not paying attention at first (sorry Julie!) But when I started listening again, she was talking about getting onto some base (not sure which one) and being pushed off it by a mammoth of a girl on the other team. The mammoth girl caused Julie to fall to the ground and break her tail bone. 

 Julie then continued on with her second story. She told me that, the next year, her father coached the softball team and she was surprised and dismayed to learn that Mammoth Girl would now be playing on her team. But don't worry, our heroine got her chance at retaliation. 

During one game, the referee made all of the players take their jewelery off and place it in one container on the bench. Our malicious protagonist then saw her opportunity. 

Listening to Julie describe the next part of the story was priceless. I wish you all could have been there. Her face turned guilty but also sweet and innocent as she said: "Well.... I'd always wanted a clatter ring, and that girl had one... It was so perfect because I was the only one on the bench. So I knocked all of the jewelery off the bench and onto the ground. And was like 'OH NO!' As I was picking it all up, I picked the clatter ring up and just pretended to put it back on the bench. Then I told my dad that I was going to get gum in the car and put the ring under my hat on the back seat and went back to join the game. At the end when everyone noticed that the ring was gone I even helped search for it on the ground after I explained that I had knocked the jewelery over." 

It was at this point that I looked at Julie, with an expression that I can only assume was incredulity, horror, and pride mixed into one. When she saw my face she panicked and said "She broke my tail bone so I took her ring!!" As if that makes everything justifiable... which in my book it does. 

Here's a random transition that I have no idea how to do smoothly........... so I'll put this here.

So I'm listening to my "insomnia" soundtrack. The one with my feel good songs that I mentioned in my very first post. I told my mom that I would burn her a CD with these songs on it. She was telling me today how much she loves when I make her listen to one of those AMAZING melody songs. What I'm talking about might make more sense if you read the insomnia post. I wrote the poem and took that picture by the way.... Here's the poem in case you can't read it: 

Standing still

Under frost clad trees.

The only sound around

Is the creaking

Of branches, tilting

In the soft and

Bitter wind.

They reach, longing

For a warmer breeze.

Shades of dull blue

Dominate this grove;

White blankets of snow,

Grey trunks and boughs,

Silver-blue sky.

The silent, humble beauty 

Of winter.

My life would be so different if...

I knew how to talk to boys.

caffeine actually affected me.

the internet wasn't so fun.

lettuce didn't taste like shit.

beds weren't so comfortable.

I wasn't afraid of my car exploding.

I had one of these:

(If you get the reference, you win)

time went by the way I wanted it to go.

they made extra-firm grip cozies.

wallhuggingatparties was an Olympic sport.

I didn't feel like I was going to vomit every time a dead animal carcass is ripped open in front of me. (I'd probably be Pre-Vet in that case)

I thought about things before I said them (making a joke about how you don't care about other people's feelings can often be misunderstood...even when you try to explain it... and deny it... and take it back entirely...)

I didn't ignore big things and STRESS OUT over little things. (Ignoring the fact that my car is going to explode but STRESSING OUT over the fact that I undercooked the cookies for a dorm program)

Odwalla drinks didn't have crack in them and/or weren't so expensive...either one.

people my age would stop falling in love with Justin Beiber *cough* you're a pedophile..... Just sayin'.

Becker College served hot breakfast after 9:00am.


Comment with some of your own!! And don't make me look like a loser with no comments after posting this. You are required to comment now.

Update: You guys SUCK.

You're probably wondering where the phrase "waking lyndon" comes from

It originally came from "wake up Lyndon" I tweaked it a little for some variety. But I use the phrase pretty often. As user names, screen names, whatever. The term comes from one of my favorite movies; "Dear Wendy". Lyndon, is the name that Huey (a handicapped teenager) calls his gun. Because the theme of the movie is "pacifists with guns" of course.

Here's the trailer.

The phrase "wake up Lyndon." is said towards the end of the movie, by Huey and it introduces one of the most emotional scenes in the movie. That, and the fact that the phrase is somehow aesthetically pleasing to me, makes me want to use it very often. It is also pretty unique which means I don't have to go fumbling around looking for a user name that is not taken already :)

We Won't Need Legs To Stand.

I found this post in my unpublished posts section. I don't ever remember putting it there or what I intended to do with it... It was blank except for the title "We won't need legs to stand" which is a Sufjan Stevens song. I probably had high hopes for this becoming an otherworldly and deeply artistic post but must have come up short when it came to actually writing it.

So instead I'll share this with you:

I swear I don't do it on purpose. At least it just tipped over and only spilled a little.


But now I'm actually going to get serious. Kind of.

I was thinking today about the fact that I am really just one giant oxymoron. I doubt that oxymoron is the right word to use here but it's the only word that almost kind of describes the way I am.

In some respects, I'm incredibly ambitious. To the point where I try so many things, that I'm not able to perfect any of my skills, but just hover at being mediocre at a bunch of stuff. I'm a mediocre guitar player, artist, singer/songwriter, actor, writer, poet, dog trainer, student, photographer... you get the picture (ha). I feel like I have the capability to be amazing at all of these things, if I were to just pick one (or settle for a few) and actually work at becoming amazing at it.

Now here's where the oxymoron part comes in. Despite the fact that I want to be good at all of these things, and that I try so many different things, I am probably the laziest person you'll ever meet. I skip class, I don't study, I'd rather do nothing than do something productive. I envy people who can focus their energy so much. If I had that focus I could definitely apply myself and become sufficient enough at one of the things I mentioned. So I would feel confident enough to actually show people. At this point I settle for telling people that I play guitar, but I often will refuse to prove it because I feel like I'm not good enough to submit to another person's judgment.

This habit is only reinforced when I complete a drawing and I'm so proud of it and all 4 hours it took me that I actually show someone.

Me: "Look what I drew!"

Random Person: "That's really good. I draw dogs too. Look at this."

And they respond by showing me a way better drawing that makes mine look like a bad cartoon drawing. It's even better when they whip up a masterpiece in five minutes as I'm standing there clutching my bad cartoon drawing that took me four hours.

Or, after my friend tells me I'm an amazing singer, I start telling people that I can sing. And then some random person tells me I have to sing for her. And I do it, because she says I have to, and plus my friend told me I'm amazing so it must be true... So then I sing for this person and she says "Yeah you are good." But follows up with not so nonchalantly singing something herself that makes me feel like William Hung.

And even though these people have the best of intentions and tell me that my William Hung impersonations and cartoons are fantastic, I still feel like they are judging me. Even though they are not.

It's like, they'll say this: "Wow that's a really fantastic drawing, you're so talented!!!" And I hear this: "........ I could do better. And I'll show you. Because you suck." Which isn't the case at all.

P.S. The dog drawing person and the nonchalant singing person are two different people. Because they both have enough sense to actually focus on one artistic talent instead of trying to tackle all of them and coming up short as a bad cartoon drawing William Hung impersonator.

I had written three paragraphs about boys here, but it was so awkward that even I couldn't handle it. Maybe I'll talk about how all my ex-boyfriends were way more talented than me another time... or not.

I've talked about my coffee dropping, I should probably mention my inability to fit into human society too.

Ever since I hit that awkward post-pubescent age, I have felt indescribably uncomfortable in social situations. I'd readily call myself a "wallflower" and normally, being a wallflower doesn't bother me. I'm content to befriend most walls at parties and stick to the outskirts of the room, nonchalantly making a cynical comment here and there to whomever is close by. Most of these comments are terribly misunderstood and seem to only solidify the notion that most of the party-goers think I'm a little off my rocker. But that doesn't really bother me either. The people who know me and like me, respect my sarcastic sense of humor and usually can relate to it. If you don't get the joke I just made about not wanting to see that girl's "cheeks", then obviously we can't be friends.

If wallhuggingatparties was an Olympic sport I'd dominate. I'm ridiculously good at it, but I've maintained my armature status. Which means I'd take the gold medal in the Olympics, no sweat.

The only problem with relying on wallhuggingatparties, is that there are no walls when you are outside, at a cook out party. Usually there's a tent, a grill, a bunch of randomly placed chairs (usually in the center of the action), and that awkward old lady that keeps tracking you down to talk about the days when she was your age. You're not even sure you know this lady, but she seems to remember you from when you were "This small!" This little old lady can find you much easier when you're at a party that's outside, with no corners to mysteriously disappear around.

Of course I got stuck talking to such an old lady at a party this weekend. I have no problem with old ladies. I kind of adore them actually. My own grandmother is like the funniest person I've ever met. She actually scolded me for not having a boyfriend and basically assigned me the task of bringing a boyfriend to the next social gathering. But I have a particularly hard time talking to people I don't know for any length of time. And I have a strange but strong aversion to small talk. I fucking hate small talk. For serious. Being forced to small talk (because I'm too polite to refuse) is like being poked in the eye with one of those silly mechanical lead pencils we all love to hate. The lead stays in there FOREVER.

So at this party I was worried that my tattoo on my back was going to get sunburned so I approached my aunt (who was hosting the party) and asked if I could borrow some sun screen. She said yes and went to grab me some from inside the house, leaving me with this old woman who was supposed to be my uncle's mother (my uncle is related to me by marriage).

The conversation started off innocently. She told me I was beautiful and I modestly blushed. She mentioned how she remembered me from when I was a little girl. She asked me where I was going to school and what I was majoring in. Questions that I can answer with no problem. I'm able to state the answers with minimal awkwardness. But once the words "Becker college in Worcester, Animal Science, and something to do with Residence Life" came out of my mouth, I just stood there, nodding and smiling, and feeling awkward.

That's when she started telling me about her entire life thus far. I stood there the entire time, politely listening and trying not to let the grimace surface on my face, not knowing how to politely end the conversation. Finally I used the excuse that I had to go give my aunt her sunscreen back. Because yes, my aunt had returned with the sunscreen and then left again. And yes, I awkwardly applied the sunscreen to my back with one hand while the woman continued to talk to me. It didn't occur to me that I should have used this moment as an opportunity to excuse myself so I could use a mirror to apply the sunscreen. I'm kind of thick headed.


I was so lucky when the cat showed up. The neighbor's cat sauntered over and flopped down at my feet. She was the funniest cat ever. She kept growling at me while she was affectionately rubbing her face on me and cuddling up to me. The best part however, was that I was able to distance myself from the rest of the guests and occupy myself with playing with the little cat. Who I named "friendcat."

When it was finally time to go, my mom and I got into the car and she scolded me for separating myself from the party.

Mom: "That was so awkward of you."

Me: "I felt even more awkward sitting there, not talking!"

Mom: "Well at least you weren't separated from the group then. You could have just sat there quietly with everyone else and interjected something once in a while." (She's so silly to think that anything I would have been able to interject would have been appreciated by anyone)

My mom has always been the extrovert to my introvert. She's such an outgoing "life of the party" type of person. So she just doesn't get my dire need to stay out of the spotlight. Fuck staying out of the spotlight. I have a dire need to not be around too many people at a time in general.

Sometimes I just don't feel like I can relate to other people. Isn't that why I chose Animal Science as my major? I'm just more comfortable when I'm talking to a wall or a cat at a party. And that's when I can get myself to go in the first place. I like to think that, on occasion, I'm smart enough to not put myself in these positions in the first place...

My theory on why I drop way more coffees than anyone else

There are probably only three things that every person should know when they meet me. One: I'm overly cynical, so don't take me seriously. Two: My metaphorical "exoskeleton" is made of jello. The things you say will hurt me. And three: I drop iced coffees like they are delicious ice cold grenades (meaning a lot).

Upon getting to know me, you will absolutely make fun of me for this at least once. Probably more. And I'm okay with that. Despite the fact that I am am incredibly oversensitive, I can take a joke. I grew up with three brothers that made me the item of their cruelty for fifteen years. The thing that bothers me about this is the fact that I just wasted an amazing iced coffee.

But the point is, I have to stand up for myself. It's gotten to the point where I cannot talk about, drink, or even think about drinking an iced coffee without someone warning me not to drop it. In order to defend my honor as a New Englander (who's obsessed with coffee) I have crunched some numbers and figured out that I am not actually any clumsier with my coffee than the average Joe (no pun intended).

When you consider that the number of iced coffees that I drink is exponentially higher than the average person's, the number of coffees dropped doesn't seem so high in comparison. The percentages are THE SAME.

So maybe this is all false and a way to justify my clumsiness...

mistake?

She sits.
She stares.
She doubts.
She doubts her doubts.
Red rings circle sage green eyes.
Her hand lies deep in one pocket
Tracing the sleek lines of that
Evil black box.
It lies still.
Still as the dead beat of her heart.
That shriveled up organ that sits in her chest.
It betrays her any chance it gets.

She stands.
If only for a little while.
She paces.
She calms.
She doubts again.
How can something dead and shriveled
Ache so badly?

The journey that ends at the beginning.

I have an obsession with the morbidly beautiful things in life. The way a wilting flower seems to curl in on itself, creating a sculpture of the very essence of hopelessness. The first trickle of blood from a fresh wound, its vibrant color staining the skin. The fact that my soul seems to crave a dose of pain with each pleasure I seek. I can’t help but love the things that hurt. Winter is here and every beautiful tree projects an image of death. They appear to be dead and decaying on the outside but are actually alive and waiting for spring. I am the opposite. I appear to be alive, living my life on the outside but inside I’m an empty cave, rotting away from the inside out.

I think that I have made a habit out of choosing the paths in life that I know are wrong. Choosing to travel the path that I know will hurt along the way until I am looped back to where I started. Each time I end up at the beginning, I choose this same path. It is disguised as something different each time, with different heartache along the way. But I always choose it. The journey that ends at the beginning.