eloquent graffiti

enclosed, enticed, enraptured.

2011-02-28T00:41:00.004-06:00

inside of you are
the notes of the song I have written
the refrain that tears
my cords with
the beauty of the high.
it is upon us.

we will lay here inhaling
the scent of bottled flowers
pretending time will allow us
to pull the air into our lungs weakened
by hours intertwined
with the skin of our dewy bodies.
it will never wrinkle,
our eyelids never dim or close,
the dust become us
as we are all we ever were
or are
or will
or can be
for we are all.

and so they go -
these days pregnant with
the hope of the senior waiting for the letter
her heart confident but mind still
ever-so-rational -
panicking -
yet bound
to the knowledge that
tomorrow will care for itself
and coffee will forever taste the same on
her waiting tongue.
so the scent behind your ear
will intoxicate my cells tomorrow and
when I no longer recognize your face or
my children's.

so memorize me here
memorize me now
taste my tears and the skin along
the softest parts of my yearning body and
know that it is yours.

Joy

2011-02-16T23:03:00.002-06:00

There is really nothing more to say than that I am extremely happy. I got into Johns (fucking) Hopkins and Emory, and I have the greatest boyfriend I could ask for (minus his whole "I go to A&M thing). I feel like I have been waiting for this moment for years. I'm afraid to breathe or it may pop.

fairytale lullaby

2011-01-11T23:30:00.002-06:00

Nothing really new here, but I feel like writing. I've been spending my boring days doing not much but thinking about all the things I need to do but not doing them - mainly planning my spring break trip with my mom to visit grad schools. I'm so incredibly bummed to be missing SXSW this year. Last year was a lot of fun, but I think this semester is finally going to be the semester that I let loose and just have a damn good time.

[I edited out this paragraph because it made me sound like a problem drinker, which really isn't what I want to convey. So on to my new boo!]

He really is a darling. He's one of those people that is just so good that you don't really understand how it's possible that he hasn't been eaten up by all the bad ones out there. I know I'm biased, but I trust Rachel's sense of judgment and her long friendship with him. He's a good person, one that I'm never unsure about his true intentions or feelings, one that I know isn't just in it for himself. He's a true romantic, and it just feels oh-so-comfortable to let myself fall into it.

He makes me feel good about myself after a time when I always blamed myself for pretty much everything. I really hope I make him feel good about himself because he deserves it so much.

I think he's pretty much the only person that I feel content waiting for...physically. Not that it's just him that wants to wait - it's definitely me as well - just that we both know that it's a better idea not to get it too complicated already with sex. To those who know me well, this is probably a complete and utter shock. I've always been the one to hop on (hah!) and immediately enjoy the ride (haha!), but not this time. This time just being around him is enough, and soon enough we'll make the decision to move forward and it will be better (I hope!). Until then, no complaining from me, just simple pleasure.

Other than him, I feel like I'm holding my breath in life, just waiting for grad schools to decide whether to allow me in or not, whether to give me money or not, blahblahblah. Until then, I just have to wait, wait, and wait some more. I feel like there's not much reason to pick up a new internship, hobby, volunteer position, etc. just because what's the point when you're going to be leaving so soon? But then I think, damn, I only have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and only 12 hours at that, and a small research assistant position that will be over sooner than I think. So I'll probably end up volunteering somewhere, finally contributing a little back to society during these free days.

These days really are some of the last free ones I'll get. I'll be relatively free of incredibly demanding school. Free of money issues while my parents finish paying my school and living expenses for undergrad. Free of the drama of my past relationship. Free of a real job. Then after these days, after May, I'll be (hopefully) going into grad school - demanding school, taking out student loans - in debt for years to come, possibly (and this is a big question mark) figuring out how to continue this relationship - added relationship drama, and getting a job of some sort to pay for my very existence - going into the real world. These things are not very exciting for me at all.

But overall, besides these temporarily imagined stresses, I am incredibly, incredibly happy. Sure my apartment gets quite lonely at times (and even a little scary) and I feel quite restless during those times, but life is overall pretty amazing. It might be due in part to some awesome new music that I downloaded lately. Currently - Bombay Bicycle Club's album Flaws. Good stuff.

reallllly?

2011-01-03T22:27:00.002-06:00

So we made it happen! And it was purely awesome, purely, purely awesome. It just seems so natural, so real, and not quick at all (even though when I realize that it is in the grand scheme of things, so what?). He's a good guy, an experienced guy in the best sense, and quite the charmer. But now I'm about to start seriously gushing, which makes me feel silly, so now I shall bitch.

My last relationship was a good one overall. The most functional overall. Until near the end, when everything that I had founded it on was shattered. I can't write the exact details of what happened in case this gets out through friends and whatnot, but I can say that my trust was completely broken. My very life was treated as inconsequential and I questioned some of my strongest beliefs. It was more complicated than that - in that I don't belief that he intended to hurt me with his actions due to some issues that he still has to resolve - but in the end, it was what it was.

We still talk, so I told him the other day that I was seeing someone else - not dating yet, but talking. I figured he would find out sooner or later and better through me than through someone else (or the Internet). He responded pretty casually - "okay, cool," "yup, that's fine," etc. and then mentioned that he was going to try to hook up with a stranger at a party he was going to. I figured that was his knee-jerk reaction - she's seeing someone so he has to prove that he's still desirable or whatever - but that he was serious about it and ready to move on.

I contemplated keeping my new relationship private from him on Facebook, but with the number of friends we have in common I figured it would be useless, even demeaning to him. So I put it up without keeping it from him. I mean, I had talked to him before about the likelihood that it would evolve into a real relationship. And frankly, I don't need his permission to do anything, but I'm a nice girl and wanted to be considerate.

But then I tried talking to him today, days after it went online, and he was very standoffish. Then, after strained conversation for about fifteen minutes, he finally told me that he wasn't okay with it and that it really bothered him. He said he couldn't even talk to me until he could do it in person (or something to that effect). I was nice and said that I didn't mean to hurt him and that I wanted our post-relationship relationship to stay the same.

But what I really wanted to say was this: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE SO UPSET THAT I AM SEEING SOMEONE ELSE WHEN YOU (PRACTICALLY) WERE THE ENTIRE TIME WE WERE TOGETHER.

But I'm too nice to say that. He has some serious issues he needs to work on, and I figured that I might as well keep that to myself because there's no point arguing anymore. I can write to get it off my chest and that's really all I need right now.

The healthiest thing I've done this break is get into another relationship. My reasoning? If I didn't then I would be tempted to get back into the old one, opening myself up to dangers to my psychological and physical well-being. Now I'm not just using the new relationship for that end - if anything, that's a welcome side effect. I'm totally into him because I am into him, pure and simple.

Yay! I'm happy again.

the crossing of the fingers

2010-12-30T22:51:00.003-06:00

So much has changed since I last wrote. In regard to the whole heartbreak thing - well, I've taken care of it the same way that I have always done. By finding someone else.

I feel as if I should actually be feeling some kind of guilt for moving on so quickly. I was with him for over a year, by far a record for myself, and our lives continue to be intricately intertwined. And I loved him. Still love him in a different way, but I nonetheless continue to love him. So why am I not feeling so incredibly guilty for falling all over someone else less than a month after we called it quits?

Maybe it's because we fell apart so slowly that I've had time to kinda just let go. Maybe it's because I already had my official rebound with someone I already regret, so that's out of the way. Maybe it's because I know that he was doing something similar to me the entire time that I'm allowing myself to abandon the idea of us/him very quickly.

Or maybe it's because this guy is a really, really good guy. Granted, I don't know him very well yet, not at all, but I trust Rachel's judgment and I can usually read people pretty well. Most of the other guys I've dated, well, I've only been halfway into the relationship the entire time because I could just feel that it wasn't right. This isn't like that. Not at all. I mean, I do have my reservations - mainly what the hell are we thinking getting into this, whatever it is, so close to graduation? And long-distance?

But I've never been one to write something off just because the timing was off. I'm too much of a romantic for that. And honestly, after what I've been through this past semester, I think I can handle a shit ton of heartbreak. Life is like the surf, so give yourself away like the sea, right?

But no, seriously, I haven't been excited about someone like this in so long. It feels remarkably good. I kinda feel like he's pretty much what I've always wanted in a guy (to start out with, you know - it's not like people come pre-packaged with all the right bells and whistles or something). Tall, dark, handsome, smart, funny, motivated. I have a lot to learn about him, and he about me, and who knows - maybe something will come up that completely disgusts one of us and is a game-ender. But obviously I really hope that doesn't happen.

Sometimes I feel like everyone else that I went to school with - the one who got pregnant, or married, or whatever - are actually braver than I have ever been. They followed their hearts, and even though I'll judge them for "fucking up their lives," part of me still wonders what would have happened if I had chosen something similar. In the end, life would be a lot harder - based on money and children and whatnot - and maybe even divorce - but it seems like they did exactly what they wanted to do. And yes, college was exactly what I wanted to do (and it is definitely not a mistake), but it involves sacrifices. I really don't think that you can have everything at this age. Maybe not ever. But hey, it's worth trying, right?

I have no idea what to expect this coming semester. So much is up in the air - what universities I will be accepted and denied to, what the Peace Corps thinks, what happens with me and new guy, how the dynamics between me and Matt work out, what internship/volunteer position I settle on - and somehow I'm okay with this. My time here in Corpus is spent in suspension. I have time to reflect on everything that has happened, prepare for what might happen, and keep my fingers crossed for everything I have always wanted.

the golden commandment

2010-12-18T01:08:00.002-06:00

Therapy. I thought I needed therapy, or counseling, or whatever nice word they have for it these days, after what I've been through this past semester and year. Too much cancer and one big break up, plus realizing that life after undergrad is very real and very scary - it just made for a really tumultuous time.

But forget formal therapy. I've forgotten the very basic therapy that I used to give myself before I had someone there with me practically every minute of my life - writing. So here I am, back to where I was in the beginning, perhaps none the wiser or perhaps for the better.

Here I go.

I don't really feel anything during the day, especially during conversations about him. People will ask me how I'm doing now that it's over - hell, my mom even told me 'do not despair!' - and I feel like they live in another world where the breakup really, really hurts. I kinda shrug everything off and laugh about the awkwardness of it all or make a joke about how big my apartment is without him. But the truth is that my apartment is really, really big without him and really, really empty.

It hits me at night, right when I decide that it's time to finally get some sleep. I close my laptop, or turn the TV off, and turn off the lights. Lay down. Close my eyes. And bam! Suddenly I realize that there is no one beside me and my apartment is so very quiet. There is only the sound of my breathing.

Then I do what I call the 'Memento' move. In the movie, he's all sad about his dead (?) wife - it's been a long time since I've seen it - and there's this very touching memory of his where he stretches his arm across the bed feeling for her warmth, which of course isn't there. So I reach across the bed - as I still sleep on only my side out of habit - and there is nothing but blanket and pillow. Cold blanket and pillow. And I can't help myself and immediately tear up.

There is nothing really to do except wait for the feeling to pass. They say that you need at least half the time of the relationship to get over it, so I've got a little over half a year to recover. Even that isn't comforting, though.

We had both started to give up toward the end. I don't know if he did, but I began to hold onto things that I knew would remind me of him after it was over. I joked about his pants with the gap in the ass, trying to remember how awful they looked because I knew I wouldn't see them again afterward. I looked through old pictures to see how his hair looked before and after we shaved it, realizing how much it had grown since August and how long it had to go before it was the length of when we were in love. Maybe that will be in six months' time. But I guess I may never know.

I don't know anything anymore. Just that when we both sat down and said it should be done, all I could think was, "We were really good together, weren't we?" And yes, we were. We were amazing. He was my best friend. You just never stop loving your best friend.

I'm so scared of life now. Before, even though I knew that we were going to have to separate after college, I felt like he would always be there somehow - in grad school, in the Peace Corps, wherever. But now the painful reality has hit. He won't be there. No one will be there. Not even my friends will follow me to wherever I end up, and even though yes, I will make new ones, letting go of those you love - those you wish you could forever cling to - cuts so deeply.

I shouldn't mourn the things I haven't lost yet. I know.

I know what I have to do - think about this as a fresh start. My life is stretched far before me. I have health, financial support, friends, family. Even a cat (I had to mention her - I think I woke her up with my typing and she's probably not terribly happy). And I have amazing goals of traveling the world, making it better, living free. Even though these next few months are going to be very difficult - especially in my one-bedroom - they'll just be fleeting memories in the years to come.

Hey, remember those six months that I lived with my cat, took classes, and twiddled my thumbs waiting for grad decisions?

-Yeah, I don't remember those too well anymore.

I just really have to make sure that I don't slip into something destructive to ease my boredom and anxiety - drinking, perhaps, or smoking anything, blablabla. There are really two ways I can take this, and I have to choose the constructive one. I'll work out more, or decide to cook myself an awesome dinner each week, or write more on here, or start volunteering somewhere worthwhile. Maybe listen to music like I used to or jump back into watching good cinema. Start meditating and do yoga again. Overall: treat myself like I should be treated.

Hey, I really like that motto. New years resolution? Treat thyself like thou ought to be treated.

Life really is beautiful, and even though I might have to work a little harder in the coming months to see that, I'll enjoy it nonetheless.

all will be well.

2010-08-09T21:11:00.005-05:00

Okay, I'll skip the "omg, I haven't written in forever and I just remembered how much I love writing" crap. Here we go.

Updates.

My sister finally got married. Weird, but cool for her I guess.
My sister also got cancer. Or rather, she found the cancer she had for a long time. Thyroid. But the good news? She's already had it removed, received radioactive iodine treatment, and been shown to no longer have any cancer in her body. My mom was really freaked out about it, I cried a lot, but she was a real trooper. And now she has a bad ass scar on her neck. What a bamf.
Matt and I are still together. Yay!
I'm about to start applying to grad school. And take the GRE on Saturday. Stressing a lot.
I'm moving into my new apartment on the 20th. West Campus should be...interesting. But way more convenient than anything I've ever had before.
At the moment, I'm planning on saving all my money that I earn from the Colloquium and the FIGs to (finally) make a trip up to New York and visit Ed after I graduate. I haven't told him yet in case something comes up that I need the money for, and in case my parents decide to pull an overprotective folks on me, but I'm way excited.

Hmm. Those are the major developments.

In other news, I saw someone last night that I used to have a really silly crush on in high school (and up until about yesterday). It was weird - it was like he was trying to outdo me in everything he said, rubbing in my face all of the promiscuous sex he's been having with girls I don't care about. I tried playing the "would you" game with him that I play with pretty much everyone in Austin, and he accused me of hitting on him. Really? Really? Sure, part of me wanted him to hit on me so I could be like, "Woah, I still got it. What a loser for still wanting me." And I know that he totally did. I just didn't like the way he went about it. And I didn't like how lame he became over these years with all of those other pompous people at Rice. I wouldn't be surprised if that's the last time I see him, and I really feel no sense of loss. As soon as I got home, I got online and told Matt how much I love him and how glad I am that he isn't a jerk-off.

Speaking of Matt, we really were incredibly close to breaking it off at the end of the summer. Correction: I was close to breaking it off with him. The constant togetherness got to me, and it got to the point where any little thing he did irked me for no apparent reason. But now that we're gone, and I had a taste of the jerks I'm missing out on, I can see a better future for us than I ever have before.

At the moment, though, all I want is to be done with the GRE. Please, please let me score something decent so that I don't have to retake it. I'm worried that my list of schools is too short (Denver, Boston, and UTHSC-Houston), and I'm sad that my decision will most likely be influence mostly by financial concerns, but all will be well. All will be well.

shiva.

2009-12-10T23:58:00.001-06:00

Do Not Resuscitate.

they asked me if I knew

what it meant and said

that if something happened

– anything –

that I should know what to do.

– nothing.

though we’d been doing it all along

as if we each had been to the hospice.

just watching your hair fall out and

your body eat itself.

and we never even blinked when

the cancer consumed the rest.

we just inhaled when

you could not.

we didn’t know that

it was then you had chosen –

“go for a walk around the neighborhood”

you said.

“the air is so nice today.”

and when we returned

we did not resuscitate you.

I only woke myself because

when your body turned against you

I was falling in love with

a lovesick boy who knows neither

death nor god –

both you are familiar with.

it was your last sunny afternoon

that I finally took a break from him.

– remember?

the afternoon we all sat and

enjoyed the warm sun while you

receded into your weakened mind

your eyes blackened by removal.

and no one wanted to go inside for

we knew we’d never climb or

help you up

those scratchy concrete stairs again.

but instead the sun turned cold like your skin and

we went into your empty

stone house and talked about

Do Not Resuscitate.

a brief moment eclipsed

by reality.

like my day with the boy.

I took in everything about him that

you are not.

using my lips to borrow life from him

we carved a future with no one but

ourselves and eternal sunshine –

only for a pile of dishes to sober

us to the shadowed sun.

we will resuscitate for now while

discovering life and

preventing new ones.

pretending you are not covered

with earth and

coming for me.

so here I am.

naked.

touching my breasts.

waiting for you to appear.

waiting for no one to

awaken me.

[while listening to the antlers' hospice album.]

american dreams

2009-09-30T01:19:00.002-05:00

It's been months since I've written a poem and actually posted it, but since it's past one in the morning and I'm not tired it kinda makes sense to do this now.

So here's something I wrote on August 2, 2009. It's pretty much about adjusting back to life in the US, not knowing whether to love or hate it or to love or hate myself for those feelings. As usual with my poetry, relationships (sexual or "real") aren't necessarily literal. I guess you've gotta read it to catch my drift. Also, for some reason the indents are non-functional so forgive me if it seems a bit runny.

I wake up at dawn
these days
with too much to do and
too much time to do it
but here in the city
nothing seems right
where the roosters are
silent
and the birds are lazier
than I am

whoever thought a place like this
was a good idea?

no one touches me here
because it's all about
distance
distance from the boys
and men
I have loved and always will
their names nearly cover the alphabet
these days

I try not to chase them
any further away than
they already are
because here in this starless city
I cry most for the lovers
who are to come

the first morning afters
the taste of unbrushed teeth
and the smell of potential
oh, the potential
of being full of life for
years to come
that studded ring finger
and lips swollen from his touch
amidst the smell of oatmeal and honey
or
for just a moment
the kind that you keep on
perpetual pause
just because you can
so that when another man
wears his cologne on the 5
you remember his crow's feet
and the way his fingers memorized your body
that night

so here
in the city
no matter the futility
I will wait for his crow

[Okay, okay, I changed it up a bit. Seems that August me is definitely not September me. This is why I love words and not numbers.]

Indie star.

2009-04-08T23:26:00.004-05:00

As those of you who love me know, I write a column every other week for the Daily Texan. This week I was supposed to have a column, but let's just say there were "creative differences" between me and staff, so I just decided to let them drop it. I guess I'll write about puppies and kitties next time (or at least attack some cool people who don't deserve it).

[Don't worry, I'll write the full story after I'm not liable for shit or whatever.]

So since The Internet is amazing, I get to post it on here instead. Someone I won't name said that I'll probably get more people reading my column on my blog/Facebook than I would if it was printed. I got a good chuckle out of that.

It's not my typical typical typical kind of writing because it's uber-structured for me (and oh, how I hate structure!), and I had to add in some sociology junk to try to assuage people (and cut out some funny shit) but anyways...enjoy.

"Last month I participated in what few other hippies would dare try – Round Up 2009. For those who don’t speak Greek, Round Up is the weekend when all the frats and sororities deem it socially desirable to wear neon colors and fanny packs in an (unofficial) attempt to hook potential members on the Greek scene. The parties are virtually non-stop, with round-the-clock drunkenness in celebration of, well, being Greek.

I am not Greek material. I don’t have the money, the look, or the ability to drink copious amounts of Keystone, and the crowd I run with typically scowls at the Greek culture. I once thought that rushes were simply overwhelmed by what we sociology majors call anomie, a sense of normlessness that hits most freshman when they realize they have no friends in a school of almost 50,000. To combat this loneliness, about 11% of current UT students have pledged, and I once considered myself superior to them because I found social solidarity on my own. But when I started seeing a frat guy this semester, I realized that our relationship would depend on my willingness to try out the Greek life.

I once believed all the typical stereotypes that circulate throughout the non-Greek world. “Frat stars” spend most of their money on cheap beer and pride themselves on how much of it they can drink without puking or passing out. They have an insatiable appetite for sex with as many different sorority girls as possible, and they must pay thousands of dollars in dues to get friends and one night stands.

On the other hand, I’m known as a “goddamn independent” in the Greek world. I am penniless and hopeless, and I lack a “real” social life because I don’t always have parties to go to from Thursdays thru Saturdays. The guys in my circle are feminine, dirty, and culturally pretentious because they wear skinny jeans, grow out their beards, and went to the Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! show. To them, our underlying animosity toward the Greek scene exists only because we are simply incapable of handling it.

Because I believed in the frat stereotype and relished in my own indie branding, the very thought of Round Up terrified me. An entire weekend with a bunch of oddly dressed rich white kids in West Campus? My social failure was certain. I had a horrifying image in my head of me holding an empty Solo cup while awkwardly standing in a corner, watching endless rounds of beer pong, multiple keg stands, and rampant sloppy make-out sessions.

But I surprisingly and unabashedly enjoyed myself at Round Up, even though my Toms were clearly out of place in their sea of Sperrys. Their ceaseless enthusiasm pulled me into their festivities in what I can only describe as a scene of critical mass. The more of them, the harder they partied – the harder they partied, the more I became part of them. I, a proud member of the indie scene, united with the Greeks in an unlikely weekend of carefree celebration.

After all, what makes the Greek culture all that different from the hipster scene? We judge each other based on looks, affluence, connections, and attractiveness, so the only dissimilarity lies in how we express our social standing. The frat star may wear neon sunglasses with Texas flag shorts and drink from a beer bong to assert his dominance, while the scenester will wear the most obscure vintage band shirt and smoke hand-rolled joints to prove his indie-ness.

What unites us is the fact that we all simply try too hard to make ourselves known. The animosity between our two groups exists because we need this distinction in order to define ourselves. This practice of “othering” sadly leads us to believe that our differences overshadow our similarities, and we begin to identify ourselves by what we are not. Hanging out at the frat house the other night, the only way I could tell that the guys were frat stars and not scenesters was by the Greek letters on their shirts. They make the same jokes, watch the same shows, and have the same simple desire to have a good time as any group of scenesters do.

After my boyfriend graduates in May and my connection to the frat world has been severed, I probably won’t go out of my way to get back into the scene. I’ll just return to my side of the fence and reassert my indie nature knowing that I’ve seen the other world, and it’s not that much different."

the basics

2009-03-10T23:42:00.000-05:00

I just waited over five minutes for this page to load, so I'm going to add that to my list of things I won't miss about Dobie.

Anyway.

I've been doing a lot of Twittering lately, so if you haven't started it get on it. If you're already as cool as I am, you should totally show me some love. If you don't know what it is, the easiest way I can explain is is that it's just a site of Facebook updates. Yeah, sounds f-ing boring, but once you get started you can indulge yourself in letting people you don't know know exactly what you're doing. Think 25 Things, but on crack.

For a couple of weeks I felt like I was completely sucked into the sex educator program...I think I can probably give the MOC (methods of contraception) class from the top of my head. Besides that, I've been writing my column every other week for the Daily Texan, trying to keep up in class, and getting a boyfriend.

Mhmm, mhmm, wait, WHAT?

Yeah. 'Tis true. I had spent the past few weeks bitching about how lonely I was and how impossible it is to meet nice, decent-looking, funny, smart, and socially functional guys at UT. If you had a single conversation with me between the dates of, say, Feb. 12 and Mar. 5, I was probably uber depressed about my lack of any kind of romantic life at all.

And then I decided that no, I was fine. I didn't need a boyfriend (no one does, this is true), and single life was kind of fun after all. I could go out to parties (like I have all that many parties to be going to in the first place...but whatever, in the event that I somehow weasled my way into one) and flirt with whomever I wanted. If I had the desire to I could have a crazy, kinky, sweaty, passionate one night stand and not give my number the next morning. And I never had to worry about someone else, or analyze their thoughts and feelings, or let anything get in my way of my life plans. However non-existent they are, of course.

So I took everyone's advice and stopped looking. And so one found me.

He's not my "type," but I've never really had a solid kind. Let's see - an asshole Mexican, a douchebag redneck, a pretentious film buff, and an overly romantic poet. Okay, scratch what I said about "he's not my 'type'" because I'm full of shit. I'm like the United Nations of relationships. Or the Jolie-Pitt clan. Anywho, what matters is if I'm happy. And I am.

Meanwhile, I can't stop listening to Yo La Tengo's "Gentle Hour" and "You Can Have It All," and to Bon Iver, in general. Good stuff.

And although it would have been awesome to stay in Austin for SXSW or for mis amigos, I'm kinda looking forward to getting back home. I need a break from this dorm and from classes and the non-stop action. Actually I'd just love to have a week here without any responsibility. I'd get to do all the things that I've wanted to do in this lovely place but never had the time for. (This is also a big reason why I'm going to be a FIG mentor next year...I'll have an excuse, and an obligation, to do all these fun things.)

Okay, so it seems like the misses is about to get home and I need time to pretend to be asleep. Yeah, she probably doesn't read these things so it's all gravy. And also if you text someone and they say they're asleep, don't text them back! That just means that they have to roll their sleepy-ass bodies over and read your goddamn text to make sure you're not getting eaten by an ogre on the Drag.

I've got a lot of angst.

cuatro. or is it cuarto?

2009-03-04T14:50:00.002-06:00

No no, I think it's cuatro. It's either "four" or "room." But wait! This shall be my number...whatever.

16(?). When people mess up with their homophones (or whatever you call those words that sound almost exactly the same but aren't really) and say something completely ridiculous. I can't think of any right now, except for this one that was kinda lost in translation that my Spanish teacher told me in high school. So apparently "embarazada" in Spanish means "pregnant," but she didn't know that and she's hanging out with her friends one night and does something embarrassing. So she goes something like, "Estoy tan embarazada!" I'm so pregnant!

17. Kings of Leon.

18. Eating cookies or brownies when they're still warm and gooey and melt on your tongue in slippery, sweet succulence.

19. Saying horribly inappropriate things very loudly in public places and watching reactions. (Hence my delight when I said that I was going home to go eat my vagina and I freaked everyone out around me on 21st.)

20. Those few extremely clear moments that you have every once in a while when you realize just how ridiculous this world really is. How bloody complicated yet simple it can be, and how you're happy to be alive to be a part of some parts of it.

I promise to write a real entry some day. Maybe even today.

tres.

2009-02-25T13:11:00.002-06:00

I've been kinda down lately, so I'm going to have to try hard to come up with five more things. But they'll make me smile nonetheless.

11. Mason Jenning's and Jack Johnson's song "I Love You and Buddha Too." It's the hippiest shit ever, so I therefore love it. Highly recommend listening to it, especially if you've declared a jihad/crusade recently. (Btw, whoever thought that "Campus Crusade For Christ" is a good name for a group? Seriously guys, try to come up with something positive Christians have done in history...)

12. Another music one, but whatever. I really love the music mariachis play. Yeah, make fun of me. But usually only when women sing it and are really angry. And when you know a lot of tequila went into its production. Try Salma Hayak's rendition of "La Bruja" from Frida.

13. When you trip and no one else sees.

14. The first few minutes after yoga. I feel so good in my body and mind that I feel like a dumbass smiling everywhere I go afterwards...totally worth it.

15. When you know someone well enough to say what they are going to say before they have a chance. Not always, because that would be awful, but on those funny occassions when you feel completely synced with that person. I think some people call it getting your synergy on.

I feel a bit better now. I have yoga later, so I'm planning on feeling amazing by 6:30pm today.

dos.

2009-02-17T22:49:00.002-06:00

Today I'm adding some to relieve stress, since I have two exams tomorrow and another on Thursday.

6. When you get to the elevator and press the button and it's already there.

7. When you find money in your pocket that you'd completely forgotten about. Always happens in winter coats.

8. Doing something completely outlandish to make someone laugh who doesn't want to let you know that they want to laugh, so they kinda sit there with a stupid smirk on their face...but you can't let them know that you find it funny, so you have to hold in all that happiness inside. Ex: backing my ass up onto my roommate who really enjoys it but pretends she doesn't like it, but I can't laugh or I'll break the mood. That makes me smile.

9. Seeing a happy person in public that you don't know. I think we're often taught not to show our delight in public and sometimes people let it slip out. You see it in little smiles, and that makes me smile.

10. Seeing an artist or band that you love perform live. Always makes me smile.

Ahh...writing these things makes me feel almost as relaxed as after yoga.

things that make me smile. uno.

2009-02-16T21:30:00.002-06:00

I've decided that I'm going to start writing little things that make me smile in my blog since I have so little time to write anymore and little things are quick and easy. And they make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Let's see...I'll write five things every time.

Here we go:

1. When people try too hard in yoga class and fart on accident. What makes it even more hilarious is that you're not allowed to laugh...almost unbearable.

2. (Cliche warning) The smell right before it rains and then again right afterward. It happened today when I was leaving class and a guy from it pointed it out to me. Way cool of him.

3. Randomly seeing people around UT. Makes you feel popular/loved (unless you don't want to see them because you A) hate every cell in their body, B) made out with them in drunken stupor last weekend and realize that they're butt ugly or a douchebag or both, or C) look like crap and don't want to seem like a slob).

4. Studying for a test and realizing that you pretty much already know it. RARE occurrence.

5. When you get to a store/restaurant right at closing time and they serve you. Makes you believe in humanity.

Feel free to share any happy moments in your life...I probably share them with you.

Weekend Update

2009-02-09T00:33:00.002-06:00

Yes, I am an awful person for abandoning my blog for scholarship applications, the Daily Texan, and other more-boring endeavors, and I can't excuse myself for this gross overlook. But seeing as I took some melatonin over an hour ago in order to curb the effect of all the caffeine I've taken in today, I'm bum tired.

Here are the essentials.

Next year I'll be living at 4111 Speedway. Not the cutest apartment, but near the IF and with huge rooms. Neighboring houses so cute I suspect dolls live in them. Randomly know the guy living in the room I'll be living in next year. Weird.
I just applied (like seriously just applied, as in a few minutes ago) to do HIV/AIDS education volunteering in Ghana after my Maymester ends. I'm excited as gravy to start. [Yeah, I'm so tired I think gravy is exciting.]
I'll be writing a column every other week for the Daily Texan. I'm much more enthusiastic about it than this reads.
I've finally started doing all my sex education things. Ask me when my next Methods of Contraception class is or when I'll be doing Sex Jeopardy/Mr. Condomhead/other workshop. I'm loads of fun.
I'm too tired/lazy to take the bulleting off this, so goodnight and good luck.

Passive-Aggresive Herpes

2009-01-28T18:57:00.007-06:00

Since I haven't written anything significant on here for a while (I've been writing loads of crap for other things), here's something funny I found on passiveaggressivenotes.com that I thought was appropriate because of my obsession with sex. Enjoy the site while I write scholarship/honors/class/competition essays...

How Obama Saves Lives

2009-01-23T17:25:00.003-06:00

Here's a column written by my favorite columnist ever, Nicholas D. Kristof, who writes for the New York Times on issues critical to the developing world and about our duty to respond to their plights. In this column, he describes how the Bush administration cut off funding to international organizations that provide abortions (or just information about them). These groups not only provide information and abortion services, but also supply vital birth control devices to developing countries (think condoms, IUDs, etc.).

What was ironic about Bush's idiotic policy was that in cutting off funding and supplies from these organizations, the administration actually helped increased the amount of unwanted pregnancies. This, in turn, leads to many more women seeking unsafe "back alley" abortions, especially in rural areas, and also higher rates of death during childbirth, both for mothers and their children. And, if all went well and the mother and child survived the birth, yet another mouth has been added to that family, one that probably cannot afford to have another child and one that will further exacerbate the vicious downward spiral of suffering and poverty.

But, thanks to the brains of Obama and his administration, the US has quietly reversed its stupid policy. To all those who would like to call Obama a baby killer, try to think for once. This policy will save more lives than Bush's ever killed. And Obama has stated many times that the US should focus more on pregnancy prevention rather than trying to deal with the unwanted pregnancies afterwards. (Meaning "fuck abstinence-only education, which certainly worked for Sarah Palin's daughter.")

[Oh, and if you read the first article, you'll see that when Palin was mayor of some bum-fuck town in Alaska, she charged rape victims for rape kits. We sure dodged a goddamn cannonball in '08!]

For lack of a better title: Sick and Tired

2009-01-17T12:36:00.004-06:00

Developments.

1. Devon and Josh finally got together. Laura totally called it, and she is stoked about it. [She is also going to start planning the bachelorette party, which will be the sickest thing since disease.]

2. Clinton isn't coming back to Austin. (Woahhh, didn't see that one coming! haha) Oddly enough, I don't really care all that much. When I talked to him, I realized that he's so far away from me these days that he might as well be on another planet, which Corpus happens to be in a way. I'll analyze this more in a bit.

3. Completely ended any chance that I'd go out with S again. I realize that sounds like I flubbed up or something, but I did it on purpose. It needed to be said. Still trying to figure out how or if we can be friends without his further hurt.

4. An undevelopment - I still can't hear. I went to the Coop yesterday to get a shiny new daily planner and realized how unnerving it is to be in public by yourself and not be able to hear up to par. I guess every other time I've been in public with my hearing loss it was with other people, who acted like my crutch. Being alone and without much sound puts you in a daze you don't want to be in, where other people can't touch you and you desperately need that feeling. Also, it is quite scary to walk in the dark without proper hearing and have a vagina at the same time. I almost keyed some worker's eyes out last night.

Other than that, I've been existing. Yesterday I slept almost until noon, did some grocery shopping, went back to sleep, watched some movies, then went back to sleep. Woke up at noon today with no plans and nowhere to be. During the semester I know I'm going to wish that I could have a day with no commitments like these, but for now they just seem so empty. On another note, I would really like to go to the gym but I'm still sick and feel like crap. I'd also like to ride my bike but since I'm sick I get all snotty and tired when I do, plus I'm scared to death of riding in traffic. Bleh.

Well, my sickness can't last that long and school will start soon. In the meantime, I guess I'll do the dishes, try to pop my ears, and maybe take a shower somewhere in there. My legs are hairy.

[More pondering on Clinton and S in an upcoming blog dedicated to the men and a half in my life.]

Getting Lei'd at the Block

2009-01-13T00:56:00.003-06:00

I am in the space between.

The space between the fall and spring semester. The space between Corpus and Austin. The space between lack of focus and too much of it. The space between being here and not being.

Somehow I think people arrange their lives into nifty blocks. Block 1, my childhood. Block 2, rebellious teenager. Block 3, ignorant freshman. Block 4, ? But more specifically, we cordon little sections of these blocks into parts that we can handle. The section I was in before was the "get your work out of the way, get some play, and get some ass." It was a time of caring about school, but not too much, of loving deadlines but not the assignments. It was a time of having a good time (in moderation) so that only a few Saturdays and Sundays I woke up wanting to be dead. It was a time of fooling around with love and hormones, dancing between the pieces as they fell. It was a time of finally meeting myself.

The next block I am about to enter: I will rededicate myself to school to prevent my near academic downfall this past semester. I will look for and hopefully find and create a stable relationship with a person as happy to be lost as I am. I will get out more, see Austin, meet people. I will stay in touch and genuinely connect with those around me.

But where does that leave me for the next couple of days? Well, here in my room, using my computer monitor for ambient light while I type Carrie Bradshaw-like on my Macbook. I really regret not writing more about my life. I always feel that I write too much in my blogs (which many of you have argued), but when it's your life, that's all you will have. For what are our experiences to us if we lose them to time?

Now, this has been rather melancholy. Let's reboot.

Although I still can't hear properly out of either of my ears (as proven by my dad's iPhone application, which told me I have much worse hearing right now than my 50 year old parents), I'll try to write a little about Hawaii.

And since I told Josh I would make him a list of all the awesome things I did, here it goes:

Went snorkeling in a coral reef. Not as cool as the Great Barrier, from what my parents and sister told me (how uncool is it that I'm the only one in my family never to have gone to Australia?), but it was pretty neat-o. Really weird fish live under the sea (unda' the sea, down where it's...)
Went on a whale-watching cruise. Awesome part - saw humpback whales breathe, dive, and breach. Sucky part - got seasick with an accompanying migraine that made me puke as we were docking. Then I accidently put toilet paper in their no-toilet-paper-or-else-you-die toilet, so I had to fish it out with my bare (then barfy) fingers.
Saw Hawaii from a helicopter. Yeah, that was awesome. Although this is when my ear troubles began, it was quite worth it. I hadn't been in a helicopter before, so the experience was awwwwwesome. We saw a beached military ship that has since rusted, some wicked waterfalls, and chased deer with it. Dude, they really do have deer and we really did get to chase them with the helicopter. Righteous.
Biked down a volcano. Minus the ear pain, it was sweet. We went up to about 10,000 feet (in a van, of course) and looked out at the volcano's crater, and then went back down to 6,000 feet and rode downhill. It's crazy how much speed you pick up going downhill on a 40-pound bike - I swear we just about wore out the brakes on the bikes. And although I had much more to think about on the bike, I appreciated the scenery much, much more than in the car. It was a sense of oneness with everything around you - the wind was in your ears (or, in my case, one of my ears) and on your skin, the sun touched you just as it touched everything else, and the sound of rubber on the pavement, speeding and turning, felt oddly powerful. Good stuff.
Ziplined around the island. Yeah, I'm totally a natural at it...not to brag. But they told me there's a zipline around Austin, so I've gotta try it now. Any takers?
Sat on a beach all day, without getting a sunburn.
Drove on a road with 517 turns, 100-something bridges (about half of them one-lane), where the speed limit was 15 miles per hour and which had some breathtaking scenery. It was also breathtaking in that my mom, sister, and I were scared out of our whits that we were about to plummet to our gruesome deaths as a result of my father's driving techniques.
Oh, and got a lei put around my neck by a nice Hawaiian man. (Okay, okay, it was the concierge, but who's counting?)

So yes, my trip was very satisfying. Oddly enough, it made me think about Corpus and what my town could be. We've barely tapped into the whole surfing/kayaking/kiteboarding/paddleboarding culture and instead focus on cheap strip malls and cheesy festivals. But Corpus will never be a Hawaii...figure that.

Oh, and one of my New Years Resolutions is to start being more punctual about returning calls/texts/posts/etc. I'm quite the bitch about that. But actually, I guess you can't call it a resolution for the new year since it's already halfway into January. I also agree with Josh, that you can change any time you want, so why make it the first? Ohhhh....here's my resolution - to keep making resolutions as the year goes on!

Oh, you're a slick one.

Can I hear you now?

2009-01-10T13:53:00.003-06:00

So Hawaii was great fun, which I will detail later, but for now I will bitch and moan about my illness.

So I got sick the day before we left, just the basic cold. It kinda sucked while we were there because I was always so damn tired and just wanted to sit on the beach all day (which is why most people go to Maui in the first place, but whatevs, not me).

Our first full day on the island we went on a whalewatching boat ride, which would have been awful fun if I hadn't got awful seasick. I nearly made it to shore without throwing up, but being Laura, I puked when we were docking. Yay me!

Then we decided to go on a helicopter ride and while we didn't go terribly high, I knew something was terribly wrong with my ears. They wouldn't pop. And from then on, I couldn't hear very well.

The day before we left we went biking down a volcano, which would have been crazy fun if my eardrums hadn't gone crazy on me. Weird popping, twisting, snotting noises coming from them (in my head, at least). Pain. (Oh, this volcano was about 10,000 feet high, which accounts for why my ears didn't take a liking to it.)

So we left the next day and my ears did pretty well on the ascent. But, being parts of Laura, they decided to fuck up going into Dallas at 5 am. It was one of the most painful memories I can conjure up at the moment. I felt like my ears were going to implode and leave a gaping hole in my skull, which sounds kinda cool thinking about it after the fact, but at the moment it was torture. Damn planes and their quick descents. And the flight to Corpus wasn't all shits and giggles either...more pain, accompanied with the strangest noises coming from my eardrum.

My dad looked at my ears that morning and said that the capillaries in my eardrums had burst, which often happens to divers, or some shit like that. What had happened was that I had trapped fluid in my ear when I was sick, which isn't good for helping ears change their pressure. So the stress or something from that caused my capillaries to burst, which isn't a very comfy feeling. But I was reassured that they would get better, yadayadayada.

But then they kept getting worse. I could hear less and less the longer I waited to get better, plus I had the same kind of sore throat I had when I first got sick. One night I couldn't sleep. At all. The pain was horrendous from my left ear, so I couldn't sleep and instead watched TV all frickin night. When I talked to my mom in the morning, she goes, "Oh, you've been taking your doxycycline [an antibiotic I sometimes take for acne issues], right?" To which I replied, "I told you two days ago that I stopped taking it a while ago."

And then she says, "Ohhh...well, your ears are probably getting infected."

Yay. Fucking. Me.

I've barely left the house since I got home because I feel so damn awful. I had the worst case of fever aches last night, the worst I've had since I was about five. I can't hear much of anything, so I have to watch TV at ridiculously loud levels, and I can't really listen to music because nothing I have in Corpus can get my music to the level that I need to hear it. I'm too tired to read, plus my eyes have fever hurt in them, so my existence is miserable at the moment.

Feel bad for me.

[A more positive post should come soon. I have loads to say about Maui and my theories on childhood illness and all that good stuff, but I'm having trouble concentrating at the moment. The sickness has gone to my head...literally. Like, I wouldn't be surprised if the infection leaks into my brain and eats away whatever is still left.]

A crumb of nirvana, fed to the dogs.

2008-12-26T21:46:00.004-06:00

I've reached an important moment in my emotional development (but does it really count if I can acknowledge it as it occurs?), but this time is incredibly difficult to describe. It's more of a state of being, not like a stage of development and more like a new level of awareness. Buddhist-style.

I am absolutely in love with life. Not just my life, which is pretty damn awesome, but life. Komodo dragons, oak trees, baby foxes, wheat fields, rice paddies, mushrooms. Life. Sometimes I can feel my heart swelling with adoration of everything alive...as if I, a human being, am literally absorbing the richness of being from our Mother. The closest image I can formulate to present my state of being is this - me, lying in a field of grass (the frolicking kind), just simply being. Becoming the grass. [And no, I'm not talking about that kind of grass, you freaks.]

But that reminds me of other times in my life when I've had this feeling. None of those times were natural, if you catch my drift, and each time was followed by a period of disconnection. I had felt connected to the world around me but I wasn't part of it in the end. In fact, afterwards when I was myself again, I just felt empty, as if the joy that had puffed me up had been slowly and painfully extracted from my heart, leaving my soul with a gaping wound that nothing could fill.

Anyways, back to my whole connection to life. The more aware I am of the beauty of life, the more in love I become with being alive. And, then, the more in love I am with being alive, the more scared I am to die. I once heard lyrics to some Boy Least Likely To song where the singer says something like, "If I didn't like living so much, I wouldn't be so afraid to die." Before, I sang to this song without much thought...and now I completely understand. I am terrified of dying. Although I believe that I will return once again, I love my life, this life.

Also, the more I am in love with life, the more I find life-affirming things to reflect on. Currently, I am madly in love with La Blogotheque's Take Away Shows. La Blogotheque is a production group based in France that gets some of today's most awesome musical artists and gets them to perform in streets, in elevators, in apartments, in bathrooms, wherever their music takes them, and records it. The resulting film is usually not edited or simply edited for time, meaning that the music is raw and real. No overdubbing or retakes, just pure, simple music. Naked. Beautiful.

They've been doing this for a few years, so there's plenty to choose from. Here are my favorites, in no particular order.

Man Man. There's a lot of build up to the final video, but it's totally worthwhile to watch all of them. They get these kids from the street to help them make music and it's purely genius. It's completely the spirit of La Blogotheque - to remember the human love of music, to hear, to create, and perform it, together.
Bon Iver, parts I and II. Now, I have to admit that this was my introduction to Bon Iver (boo Laura for being behind on her music!), but I can't get enough. There's this simplicity to his music that touches my spirit. It's so sad, but it's honest. It's human. There's also a really good story behind his music (bad breakup, poor health, etc. led him to spend three months in a cabin in Wisconsin - I think - and voila - brilliant music!). Anyways, be sure to watch the one for "For Emma, Forever Ago" because it's some great acapella.
Yeasayer. By far, one of my favorite Take Away Shows ever, ever, ever. They're a great band to begin with, but their Redcave on the subway is phenomenal. Plus, listen to the lyrics at the end of it...completely how I'm feeling these days.
Sound Team. An Austin band, filmed in Austin. No more explanation needed. (Oh, they also sing in front of an immigration rally, with a ton of Mexican flags. Que bueno!)
Andrew Bird. I. Fucking. Love. Andrew. Bird.
Arcade Fire. The first ever video I saw from La Blogotheque, and I just read that Take Away Shows were created for Arcade Fire. Anyways, it's just a big fucking wow. Ripping a magazine with the beat? Talk about a musical orgasm!

Side note: Because I love Andrew Bird so much, I'm going to give you EVEN MORE videos to watch of him! Aren't you lucky?

The stop-motion animation for his song Lull. Beautiful, strange, lovely.
Andrew Bird as Dr. Stringz on some weird ass show on Noggin. My heart melts.

I think part of my previous melancholy was because I wasn't into anything. I dabbled a bit in this, a little in that, but I was never really in it. Always taking a taste but never a full bite. But now that I have time and I'm swallowing music whole...I just want to cry from the beauty of it all. I really wish I had kept at the violin when I was growing up. I know, I know, it's never too late...but when you have so many things to do, some things are just implausible. Besides, I'm happy to delve into other peoples' music to find myself. I'm within someone's instrument at any point of time. Right now I'm split between Bon Iver and Andrew Bird. Hmm...an epic struggle! But my money's on Andrew Bird winning in the end. Nevertheless, we shall see.

Anyways, before I forget, back to the whole life thing. Next semester I want to embark on a journey of epic proportions (I like the word "epic" tonight, apparently). Since I love life so much, I want to confront death head-on. I either want to volunteer at a hospice for AIDS victims or at a nursing home, just being with the people there. I don't know which I'd prefer...AIDS would be good for my resume to join the Peace Corps, but I would also really like to learn from the older generations. They have so much wisdom to give us young, impressionable ones and they deserve to have their voices heard. But I am also deathly afraid of elderly people ever since my grandma was in a nursing home for the last years of her life. Hmm. Dilemmas.

A closing image. My grandmother was a vegetable for the last few years of her life. She had horrible, horrible Alzheimer's, which caused her to lose everything - not just her memories, but also her ability to eat, speak, or walk. For years she could only scream and moan to communicate, and at times she seemed just like a child, unaware of the world around her and only present to her pain.

Visiting her was so hard and I was so young. Sometimes I could have sworn that I saw some recognition in her eyes, some vague remembrance that yes, I was her granddaughter and that she loved me dearly. But those moments were fleeting. I remember the smell of the home, not that it was a poorly managed one, but just the smell of age. I connect that smell to sadness now, and loss.

When she died...well, when she died, I didn't really feel a sense of loss. I felt relief. She wasn't dependent on people to do everything for her. She didn't need diapers or a feeding tube. She was free. But looking at her in her casket was, as they say, like seeing a shell of a person. It wasn't my grandmother in that grave, it was simply a body. But I could barely look at that body anyhow.

A year or so later I found a picture of my grandmother somewhere, the place and time escape me. But she was younger, though not "young," smiling and standing on a deck next to a lake surrounded by evergreens. And though she had wrinkles, unsightly glasses, and short, curly, thinning, gray and white hair, she was beautiful. She was happy. She was alive, and not just in the biological sense. She was alive.

That is how I remember her, now.

I know I will die someday, but I hope that I will live in the way she did that day on the dock.

[Sorry for the excessive use of italics and links...today was just an italicized link kind of day.]

Oh crap, a post script! Here is something that affirms life. The trailer for Earth, the movie they're making from the Planet Earth series, which totally blew my socks off. I almost cried when I saw the trailer for the first time (maybe because I was PMS-ing hard core), but it's just beautiful. And then they just had to choose the most perfect Sigur Ros song to go with it.

Dude, I just cried when I made sure it was the full trailer...oh, life.

Cynicism's Vulgar Resurrection

2008-12-22T23:19:00.007-06:00

[Disclaimer: I probably won't be this upset, cynical, or vulgar this time tomorrow. This was written in anger, frustration, and despair. I should probably keep this to myself, but I wouldn't want to disappoint you stalkers. And I just cut out the cruelest part of the note...it's probably better not online.]

An interesting development tonight in the S situation furthered my romantic cynicism. I had softened up a bit in my lack of relationships, forgotten how much bullshit you have to put up with. I forgot how to read through the crap to understand what's really going on. When you're with someone, you have to learn to hold their words up to the light at that perfect angle so you can see what they really mean.

I won't make the situation any stickier than what it already is. I know I shouldn't be writing about it so soon after the fact (or at least so soon after I found out), but I need to cope. To make a story as succinct as necessary, S moved on much too quickly for his words of love. And it hurt.

(This is where I said "fuck" about twenty fucking times. Oh, self-censorship!)

Okay, now for why it hurt.

Lately it seems like any relationship I am in (or near-relationship) ends with the guy saying, "Well I like you, but there's someone else that I want to see." Only once did this happen (this summer) when I wasn't upset. That was under special circumstances, but every single other time hurt me incredibly. I wish I could be the other woman but I'm always the one who gets fucked over. Why do guys feel like I'm good...but not as good as X?

To top it off, I'm sick and fucking tired of guys saying stupid shit like, "I love you," "You're amazing," "You make me so happy," "I need you." Hey gentlemen, news flash - I'm onto you. You don't fucking love me and you don't fucking need me. Whatever hormones you have flowing through your veins just makes you want to screw me, not marry me and have babies with me and get that house with the picket fence. Don't give me bullshit about how awesome I am and how amazing you feel when you're with me because you will get over it. Wait a few goddamn months and then if you feel the same way, okay, we'll talk. Until then...well, shut the hell up. I don't want to hear any of the crap you think you feel or you think you need to say.

Most of the time if I heard a girl saying stuff like this I'd tell her that the guys are probably just trying to get into her pants. But if you could have seen the looks in some of their faces...Jesus Christ, they all think that whatever we had was monumental, once-in-a-lifetime awesomeness. I tell all of them that I'm not into that romantic crap, but they all say they can't help it. They're just dying to tell me about this thing called love that they found with me. Whatever. Besides, they're much more likely to get into my pants if they don't mess around with all that crap.

So maybe I should be happy that S reminded me about all this. I had grown so soft and malleable thinking that maybe his love really was real, and even though I couldn't reciprocate...it just made me feel better about life in general. Oh Laura, such a simple mistake shouldn't have been made by a woman like you!

Now, before anyone gives my words the wrong meaning, let me get this straight - I believe in "love." Quotations because there are so many kinds of love, but the romantic type is the first one thought of when the word is mentioned. I have loved before and will always love that person for as long as I live. I think I've written about this before, about how it's very, very rare and very, very precious, blablabla.

But now for the addition to my theory. People are so ready to fall in love because we are all so painfully lonely and scared of solitude. Sometimes loneliness in people is almost tangible. I remember this girl in my biology class this year who was very lovely but very lonely. I could sense it, but that sadness strangely made her beautiful to me. But most times that loneliness sits beneath the surface, threatening to raise its ugly head with the slightest provocation - an insult, a meeting stood-up, an eventless weekend. And when we feel this innate human tendency toward loneliness, we crave romantic love.

This is dangerous. Sad people clinging to others for affirmation of their desirability...not healthy.

So these lonely people want to be loved in all the ways they could never love themselves, so they give their "love" freely. They will love whatever loves them. It's not a selfish aspect, just a human one. We like to feel needed. (I am guilty of this.)

I remember hearing a long time ago that you can never truly love someone unless you love yourself first. This makes complete sense to me now. If you're not longing to be wanted, you can love someone for who they are, not for how they make you feel. Now that I think of it, that summer that I first loved was the first time I had been in a relationship while feeling good about myself. I was young and loved the world at my feet and myself as I walked it. I was able to give of myself to him without needing anything in return. Ever since then (and before then too), I have been at odds with myself, unsure of my feelings about who I am. I dislike my body, feel inadequate in class, and hate how I treat people. (I'll get into how I'm going to fix this in another blog, but it's quite good and I'm aching to write about it...just not now.)

But once in a while, two self-loving people find one another and truly love.

And it is beautiful.

But most times, they're just two sad, lonely fucks.

[After about 20 minutes of music-searching, I finally settled on Bert Jansch's "Needle of Death" to write this to. Somehow Vivaldi, Damien Rice, Joe Purdy, and Isobel Campbell just didn't work out.]

The Great Leap Forward (minus China)

2008-12-20T21:44:00.006-06:00

I haven't really seen anyone so far this break (three days? four? five?) and have become quite the recluse. It's not that I want to break off ties from my Corpus friends...it's just that I want to be alone right now. I'm simply reflecting, reflecting on myself, my life, those around me, the world before and behind me. I sound quite narcissistic contemplating all these vague concepts surrounding only myself...but what else are we to know?

I am not who I thought I was.

In my sociology class this year, we talked about how the West emphasizes finding oneself (as opposed to doing all those other things in life, like think about it in general). We are so disconnected, our minds and our bodies, that we feel that we must rediscover both of them. And we do, we must. That is what college is for, reconnecting the two halves of the self that was torn asunder by The System (which created college as well, in that mindfucking irony). Right now, I'm attempting to restore my mind to...to what? Maybe restore isn't the best verb. I'm no English major.

I find it odd that I missed him when I wrote that last sentence. It was something I would have said with that smirk on my face that I knew made him mad (for me). He would have responded with his personal adage, "Laura, you know I'm not a good English major. I fucking hate grammar." And I would have rolled my eyes (and hated that I did so).

I had a rare conversation with my mom today, rare in that we spoke of life on the personal level. We're good at the philosophical level, the hypothetical level, but we generally fail at anything personal simply because we do not try to talk personally. But today I took a leap and landed on my feet, her hand guiding me.

I told her about the situation with S (you know who I'm talking about, but I like to pretend to be mysterious), minus the painful details about the true nature of our relationship. I told her that we were just friends but that he wanted more, and when I told him it wouldn't happen, he said he could not be my friend anymore. I was upset, telling her that it was childish of him to respond that way. Why couldn't he just give it up and let things be the way they could be?

But she reminded me that once that leap is taken, neither can go back up to where they jumped from. If one of the two wants to go back to the way things were and the other doesn't, they simply cannot sync any longer. It would be too imbalanced, too painful, too unnecessary. Not worth it for either involved. And she reminded me that I probably (definitely) hurt him and shouldn't think that just because I wasn't hurt that he too would be fine.

But maybe I am hurt. (?)

He asked me to take a leap and I couldn't. What does that say about me?

I don't know. I really just want to have a conversation with him now, ex post facto. Our last conversation...I just cut him off. I wrote before about why I was upset, but that didn't give me a reason to thrust my anger out into the open like that. He grabbed my arm before I left, tried to say something, but I pulled away from him. I pulled away from him. And then I left.

Anyways, I didn't start out writing this as (another) post-relationship blog. I really wanted to talk about something else even more depressing.

So I saw Seven Pounds today, you know, that remake of the Pursuit of Happ(y)ness, but more depressing. It was generally good, minus how contrived it was in the end (and how much that ruined the mood) and how many tears I had to stifle.

It made me think about death and life, in that order. I imagined what I would feel like if I knew I only had a month or so to live, depending on when my heart decided it was time. We all pretend to understand that we will die someday, but inside we believe ourselves to be immortal. To have that crushed, to have a time limit on your survival that you can hear if you quiet your world down and listen to the beat...unimaginable. I imagined how I would spend time with everyone I love, how I would memorize each movement, each word, each detail of every moment just to live life more abundantly. Make up for lost time, ahead of time.

And thinking of that makes me want to cry...(I am). I think of certain people - my parents, my sister, J, DD, C - and instead of thinking of dying, I think of how much I love them. I really am so full of love it hurts.

I've done a certain kind of meditation a couple of times before where I think of a certain person I care about and then think only positive thoughts toward him/her. In this meditation, you concentrate all your positive energy on that person (and if any negative energy emerges, like from a past fight let's say, then I reabsorb it into myself so as to not taint that positive flow...then I convert it to positivity). Although I haven't become very advanced at this method, in theory you are supposed to work your way to larger groups, including people you don't know, until eventually you only have good feelings for everyone and everything in the universe. A lofty goal, indeed, but it makes you feel so much better afterwards. Giving is receiving.

I think life is beautiful, and that beauty generally outweighs the ugly. (I stole that from someone who was much too wise for me at the time.) There is so much majesty to behold - a smile, a couple's love, a plastic bag dancing in the wind - that the perfection of it all...well, that perfection trumps any suffering. Yes, I sound anti-Buddhist, but that's not my angle. Life is suffering until you can see the beauty (and liberate yourself from desire, blablabla).

I found something beautiful today, something old but something lovely. Andrew Bird singing Weather Systems and Spare-Ohs through the streets of a French town...just amazing...filmed by the same lovely people (La Blogotheque) who brought us the downright epic film of Arcade Fire singing Neon Bible in the elevator. Yeah, I know, I'm still in awe of the very mainstream of "indie," but I'm branching out. Thanks last.fm!

(See how much beautiful music raised my spirits? That's the beauty of...beauty.)

Air for G String

2008-12-16T23:00:00.003-06:00

Apparently huge cinder blocks hold in the heat better than my 20-year old house. I'm back in Corpus, freezing in my room upstairs that never seemed to get quite warm enough during the winters of my childhood (oh, those horrid Texas winters!). As a kid, I always wanted to have that white Christmas and those elusive snow days, but now that I'm a semi-adult I can see why grown-ups hate cold weather. It sucks. The snow is fun until it melts, the ice is funny until someone gets hurt, and the pain in your joints during the changing weather is crappy until, well, the weather changes.

I'm happy to be in Texas right now.

So another development in my life - the ending of a mutually understood heterosexual arrangement. While he asked me not to write about it, I will in a very responsible way. I have nothing bad to say about him and neither do I want to hurt him in any way. I hope, if he reads this, he will understand that writing is my way of coping with these distasteful developments in life and that I am incapable of restraining myself from it.

And here. We. Go.

In the beginning of round two, we decided not to go out with each other but to keep some of the advantages of a formal relationship. Interpret as you will. That was phase one, which last a whole of a week or so.

Phase two lasted a week for me and until last night for him. This was when we discovered some feelings that had been lodged in our throats since round one. We had a discussion about it, during which I understood that we were going to keep things as they were. He's leaving in May, after all, and we were happy at that moment, so why bother messing it up with the expectations of a relationship? After this conversation, I dislodged the remaining feelings from my trachea and returned to phase one.

We framed our relationship to each other differently. I framed it as a mutualistic relationship where we both used each other, both benefited, and were both protected from emotional damage. He framed it as a Relationship. That's right, capital R.

I should have said something earlier when I first realized this disparity in definition. But my mouth stayed closed. I was still getting what I wanted, he was delighting in his delusion, so why bother that?

Because it's hurtful.

It's so hurtful that he can't be my friend if there is no "girl" in front of it. I took so long that by the time I blew the whistle, he was already framing himself to my contours. Now he's hurt and either can't see me at all or must be "seeing" me.

I became angry when he told me this last night. Selfishly. I was so overcome with disgust that he couldn't cordon off his emotions like I did, angry that he had ruined a perfectly good arrangement. He was kind enough to drop me off at my room in the freezing weather, but I still wanted to leave my hand print on his cheek.

And that was The End.

I don't know why I have become so disillusioned with love that I can drop my feelings more quickly than my pants. I haven't had any more heartache than most women my age. I haven't had an evil, psychotic boyfriend since my junior year of high school. But then, neither have I had someone I truly wanted to love.

No, I don't believe that you have to want to love someone in order to fall in love with him/her, because then forbidden love would be mythical. You love whomever you love, but when you want to love that person on top of that...wow. I've just been at a loss for wows lately.

Not that he's a bad guy, either. He's a great person. He's intelligent, kind, and gentle. He always listens, never complains, and tries to understand you to your innermost core. He's a steady man, flawed with too much generosity, unwavering in his ardent outpouring of affection.

But free spirits like me (he used that term) can't even feel like they're being tied down. Although we agreed to cap the relationship at May, it felt like everything had ended. I had already lived every day of us that I could. So, yes, the flaw of the agreement was me. You can't make two incongruous puzzle pieces fit together, try as you might. And yes, I accept the responsibility and apologize for remaining silent so long.

Now, I know some people (guys) might be reading this thinking, "Holy cow, Laura's fucking single! Now's the time to make the move!" But gee whiz, people, I'm obviously not looking for that right now. I'm just looking for air. I need to breathe and clear all the smoke from past relationships/arrangements/crushes that I've had since puberty. My mind needs rest, my body needs solitude.

[Call me in a month or so...]

Coke Zero

2008-12-13T13:57:00.002-06:00

I'm coming down from two weeks of hyperactivity, but this kind of hangover has no good memories to laugh about while you're puking your guts up. I only have glimpses of information learned - the implications of the NWICO, the basics of structuration theory - dry pieces to keep me fueled. I always try to water down these pieces with savory liquids, but once my body empties itself...well, I'm empty.

Nah, I'm just exhausted.

Since I was still in hyper-mode last night, I got the brilliant idea to redecorate/clean my room. Now I'm swimming in a sea of Laura refuse. Old course packets. A half-empty/full Coke Zero bottle. A tipped-over trashcan. An assortment of hair ties and bands.

I'm lying next to a damp towel and my feet are cold. I need a nap.

The Globalization of Love

2008-12-11T18:12:00.003-06:00

I'm looking through my notes on the Reuters Factor here at Starbucks and just happened to glance up a few seconds ago at this couple across the room. They're probably in their early 50s, but they show as much interest in each other as a young child who doesn't know its impolite to stare at strangers. There's only a little more than a foot between their faces and it seems that as time goes on, they only want to get closer. Are they paying attention to what they're saying, or are they so entranced with each other that they're not concerned about the words coming out of their mouths but about the taste of each others' lips?

And then they kiss, and they remember that musical taste they get when they sip their mochas together, more in love than an innocent child with his mother.

Stung

2008-12-09T12:23:00.003-06:00

In my dream last night, I saw a huge wasp-like insect in my formal dining room in Corpus. For some odd reason I reached out and touched it, and it began to fly around the room. Suddenly fear filled me and I tried to bat away/kill it, but my hands were sloppy. It landed on the palm of my right hand, which I could not move, and I tried calling to my mom for help. But my voice was shattered. She couldn't hear me.

I woke clutching my hand, alone.

[Cyber]space, the final frontier.

2008-12-07T16:15:00.002-06:00

I'm running on highs and lows. Ess told me the other day that I'm more stable than I was when he knew me before, but that just confuses me. If he's right, then I must have been riding in elevators non-stop a few months ago.

I'm on a high right now. [Note: not "I'm high right now."]

I've been going through a little hipster phase lately, as in I'm getting into the whole blogging/online scene. I started a Twitter account this morning and have no idea what all the fuss is about - I mean, a site just for Facebook statuses? Sounds kind of lame, but I'll give it a try just to be in the scene. I've also been stumbling a lot lately and have found some pretty rad sites.

My favorite two:

Aurgasm - a collaboration between some really cool people who know all the music you won't find out about for months/years to come. You get to sample music very easily on the site, plus it has a never-ending scroll feature that let's you scroll scroll scroll your way to a auditory orgasm, no matter how long it takes. My favorite find on the site so far include Robert Francis' Little Girl and RF and Lili De La Mora's Eleven Continents.
Music-Map - ever wanted to find artists similar to the ones you already know but didn't know where to look? Ever get stuck in a rut listening to the same shit and just want to branch out with some new shit on your iPod? Well, the answers to all your questions is in this little bottle - Music-Map creates a map of whatever artist you want along with all the artists who are similar. The closer the new artists are to yours, the more similar they are (and the more likely you are to enjoy it). Quite the scandal.

I have one exam, one final, and one group project left to do, but my mind is in space. Not the final frontier, but cyberspace...

Romance Languages

2008-12-03T00:44:00.002-06:00

A heartfelt thanks to everyone who responded to my last post, whether online or in person. It really helps to know that other people are either going through the same things I am or are just willing to try to understand what's going on. I find that I still can't talk to people about it in person, so it's awesome to be able to get the support I need after reaching out online. Call it the downfall of Western society, but wireless relationships can sometimes be the most influential.

Anywho.

I find that I'm not nearly as stressed out as I "should" be right now. Yeah, I have three tests and a 8-10 page paper due this week, but somehow I'm not freaking out about it. I thought I was getting sick on Monday, but after a good dose of Airborne, a few extra hours of sleep, and some positive thinking, I feel good as new. I know that if I had been stressed out, I'd be coughing up my lungs/sneezing out my trachea/barfing up my guts right now, so let's give a hoo-ha for the mind-body connection!

But seriously, I have no idea why I'm not feeling overwhelmed at the moment. But I'm not complaining.

Something's on my mind, though, but it's not troubling me. I'll try to be very vague right now, but it seems like in the past when I thought I was being elusive, I was actually painting big red arrows to what was going on. So here's my try.

I thought I could separate my body and my mind, but I failed miserably. I told someone that I could easily do so and advised him to do the same, and now I want to say everything I never thought I would feel. I talked to Dee about this today, and just thinking about it made me want to cry. Not a sad cry, but perhaps a happy one? It was almost impossible to trace, like a three-second phone call...it was there and then it wasn't. So much time has passed since the last time I was this vulnerable, so forgive me if I'm rusty in these areas. This language tastes foreign to my tongue, my native tongue bitter.

It possesses me and I want it all the more. When do I speak up?

Lola, the extremely disappointing problem.

2008-11-27T19:45:00.002-06:00

On days when most people celebrate family, what about those of us whose familial relationships are rocky? Or worse, what about those whose families are no longer? It's days like these that make it no wonder why so many people become depressed during the holidays.

I was supposed to go to Bandera today for Thanksgiving with my Mexican side of the family, but things got off to a bad start in this house. It was a stupid fight I had with my mom over serious issues. It basically boils down to this - she can't handle the idea that I am not the daughter she meant to have.

I could have been the good daughter like my sister. Go to law school, get a decent boyfriend, be at least a political moderate. But my path differs from that predictable, parental-endorsed one. I'm the "problem," as my mother nicely puts it - smoking in the backyard, running away to a boy's bed, getting my nose pierced (and a tattoo!), fighting for gay rights (why couldn't I just fight for civil rights like my sister, she asks...because gay rights are civil rights, you imbecile!), shedding light on her blind faith. Oh, blow it...I am "extremely disappointing."

Extremely disappointing.

She called me that when I told her about my tattoo. Excuse me, Mrs. C, but since when are tattoos the sign of Satan? Do I not have a 4.0? Did I not just get accepted into the Ghana Maymester? Are graduate schools not already knocking on my door? Do I not plan on joining the Peace Corps when I graduate? Should she not be proud of me?

Why will I never be good enough?

I lie to everyone who asks me if it bothers me that my parents will never approve of me or my lifestyle. I was talking to a good friend of mine the other day and he asked if it upset me when my mom called me disappointing. As I told him no, it's not that big of a deal, I could hear the pain in my own voice. It was so apparent, but he was a dear and didn't push it. But once I discovered that hurt was still clogging my arteries, I finally understood that deep sadness that constantly resides within me.

I'm typically a light-hearted gal, but those close to me probably know that an element of melancholy pervades my being. I'm not usually aware of its presence, but at moments it releases into my veins and I can feel its poison numbing me to the simple joy of being alive. I become ponderous, softly spoken but on-edge. And at certain moments, it releases itself through maybe a crack in my voice or an escaped, forgotten tear.

Not all of this sadness comes from my relationship with my parents. Some comes from the simple fact of being alive, the shock of death and the pains of love. Some of it comes from society's injustice - a woman's voice silenced or a people destroyed. And then some of it emerges from an indescribable area within my spirit. Maybe it remembers past lifetimes full of sorrow and bittersweet joy, or maybe it's simply a genome prone to melancholy.

I suppose the good advice to me would be to live for myself and discount my parents' harsh judgment, while attempting to reconcile my relationship with them. But however much I desire to live independently, free of their insurmountable expectations, I cannot. Instilled during my childhood was a fierce desire to please them, a desire impossible to delete from my profile. And since they are so set in their ways, they will never learn to accept me. Their kind of Christian doesn't accept strong women. It doesn't accept equal rights or freedom of expression. It doesn't accept difference, and therefore it doesn't accept me. They cannot accept a daughter who they believe is destined for hell.

Try as I might to stay positive to religion, I keep blaming their close-mindedness on their fierce devotion to a strict sect of Christianity. They only know half of my "sinfulness," so what will they do when they discover the rest? The worst would be for them to pull financial support and disown me...and my father's Mexican machismo combined with his religion completely makes that possible. Mexicans defend their daughters' virtue with guns and Christians treat "blemished" girls like the plague.

I'm thinking of returning to Austin tomorrow and spending the weekend in sinful embrace. For now, I'll watch Iron & Wine on a taped episode of ACL and ponder.

Teaser

2008-11-26T23:59:00.002-06:00

How interesting - this post starts one minute until Thanksgiving. So here's something I'm not thankful for - term papers. I should be researching China's evil treatment of Tibet and the media coverage surrounding it, then writing a paper about how different media theories can be applied to the situation and make equal sense, even though they are competing paradigms. It all makes sense in my head and I could probably bullshit most of it, minus the gazillion documentations I'll have to make. And in order for documentations, there must be research...and that I am lacking.

But now it's well into the Day of Thanks for 2008. I begin it by sitting here using this old PC that still works remarkably well for being a PC and trying to sit comfortably, even though my too-soft bed gives me back spasms. I'm listening to music on this computer, and all of it is relatively old. Old Damien Rice, old Death Cab (wow, how I've changed), even some old Pretty Girls Make Graves (so high school). Some of it I'm glad to recover, some of it should be left to the dark areas of this antiquated computer.

I spent today doing pretty much nothing. In all, I watched about five episodes of Star Trek: Voyager. And now that I'm reminded of that, I just realized that new (old) episodes of Voyager come on at midnight. Since I'm addicted (and since I'm too ashamed to watch it in the room with roommate and Clinton in tow), I'm off to watch it. More of my musings later.

I learned how to insert links!

2008-11-26T14:29:00.004-06:00

So I'm on this online Ghanaian forum on homosexuality and I found this hilarious thread.

Best line ever by a homophobe - "Listen! You skirt wearing Prince of Wales. You wink my way and you will have an all out war declaration on your hands. I won't even do a woman in the wrong end. There is no funny bone in this bone, Period!"

I know Ghana is much, much more conservative than the US, but in the end all bigots are the same (plus we know that all bigots want it in the same end...). And since when do women have a "wrong end"? Obviously this dude has no idea how "straight" it is for males to bang a woman up the anus.
If I had his address, I'd drop off some hardcore anal sex porn at his place during my Maymester. He's totally missing out.

As a side note, no "funny bone in his bone"? How sad...humor during sex is almost as important as a condom. Almost.

thirst

2008-11-22T23:36:00.002-06:00

I miss him and
it's 10:30pm

it all went wrong -
his knowing blue eyes
reflected teary beauty
into mine and
pointing at his sadness
I prodded my own tender
chasm and covered
my mirrors in blood

I drown in mortality
and why didn't he stop
when I said yes?
he carved his sound onto my skin with
pretty words and wordy promises
that taste devilish at nineteen
divine at twenty

I thirst for him and
it's 10:50pm

Karma Kilimanjaro

2008-11-21T18:05:00.002-06:00

My day hasn't ended yet, but I already know what the most fulfilling moment of it was. (Don't laugh) - it was feeding a sparrow outside the PCL. I had sat outside for a few minutes to take in the cool weather [and buy Broken Social Scene tickets] when this little bird started bobbing around my feet. I looked at her, she looked at me, and somehow I knew she wanted food. Okay, okay, maybe it wasn't some spiritual connection and I just read between the lines - "Oh, look, a friendly bird. Must have been trained to like people because they give her food." But no matter the reason, I understood.

So I fed her my snack, a Quaker Oatmeal-to-go. I hadn't really planned on eating it (the oatmeal I mean, not the bird, although you could say I'm planning on never eating another bird so long as it's healthy and possible) so it wasn't some huge sacrifice or anything, but I'm typically stingy when it comes to packaged food.

Anyways, I sat there, breaking up the snack into pieces small enough for her to eat. It's amazing how small their mouths are, how even when I broke it into the smallest pieces my fingers could manage, she still struggled. I worried that she might be allergic, or it would get stuck in her throat, or that I was completely fucking up her ability to live in the "wild" of Austin, but mostly I just sat there. I don't know how long I watched her or how silly I looked to other people.

Tibetans have this awesome idea. Every creature you encounter, you must view her or him as your mother in a previous lifetime. That sparrow could have nourished me as a newborn thousands of years ago or a generation ago. Feeding her was like feeding myself. It is like eye for an eye, but instead of poking the shit out of someone else's eyes you give them yours.

This will sound silly to most people, but I'm reading this amazing book called Cunt, in which the author urges women to take back the term "cunt" as a positive reflection on womanhood. She asks women to get in touch with their spiritual side that is intricately tied to their sexuality in ways such as becomming more aware of one's menstrual cycle. Seeing as I'm due for a good period soon, it's striking to me that I'm also much more spiritual in this part of my cycle. Biologists might say that I'm simply experiencing hormonal fluctuations, but I know I'm taking part in a much deeper aspect of my womanhood.

Seeing beauty in feeding birds is spiritual, which explains a lot why older people like to feed them in parks. They are much more aware of their mortality and, in turn, their spirituality. Giving back to the Mother who breathed life into their nostrils is only fitting.

On a side note, Ann Curry did not make it up Kilimanjaro, which greatly disappoints me. She was climbing the mountain as part of NBC's publicity stunt about the environment, to show how soon enough the snows of Kilimanjaro will be no more. Watching clips from the mountain - seeing the terrain, the porters, the misty fog - brought up this deep nostalgia within me. I hated being on that damn mountain almost every minute I was there, but now I understand the connection I have with it. I miss the frigidity of the mornings, the selfless smiles of the porters, the tasteless food, the connection with my body and its connection with nature.

While part of me wants to say, "BOOYA ANN CURRY! I MADE IT UP KILI AND YOU DIDN'T!!!" I really feel bad for her. Making it to the top was the most self-satisfying feeling I have ever experienced. She missed out this time, but maybe she will recognize her connection to Africa's highest and most beautiful mountain and try again. If not, maybe she can interview me for the Today Show. You never know...

[Side note: Right after I fed the bird, I got free cookies in Jester. Karma much?]

life without the callouses

2008-11-16T20:03:00.003-06:00

she almost came last night
when my fingers nudged her lips
o p e n
and the kisses she wanted
to give the world
spilled onto my skin
like melted chocolate

neither of us wanted
that timeless embrace
but we welcomed it
like an old friend with
a bottle of wine

as she sleeps
I trace her outline with my eyes
and remember life
without the callouses

I was her,
once.

[Spur of the moment, forgive the skeleton of a poem.]

100m Hurdles

2008-11-12T01:08:00.002-06:00

I miss writing like I used to. When issues aren't buzzing around my head like a female mosquito in heat (the things you learn in biology!), the words leave me. I am the classic tormented artist, secure in my passion only when my other loves leave me cold and barren. Words warm me in these times.

So here they are.

I am emerging from two months of slumber just in time for winter, a seasonally dyslexic bear. Despite all my impassioned arguments and hardheaded opinions, I was numb this semester, resorting to weekend frivolities and intensive study sessions to feel once again. This has not stopped and will not for the time being, I know this, but I want to feel.

I have already lived this week and the next week and every week until winter break. I have everything planned. I know when I will study for my finals and write my term paper for RTF. I know what day I will go home for Thanksgiving, what day I will return, and exactly what I will do on my "vacation" days. But it's not a real vacation if you have already experienced it in your mind.

Sometimes I think I need to get away from it, but what is it? Not Austin. Not UT. Not friends. Maybe myself?

It's funny. I have two sides - one that is always surrounded my friends and dear ones, another that is always alone. The friend-filled side longs to be alone while the lonely one longs to for touch. This is the best I can explain it. I want those late night phone conversations that force me to open up to another solitary individual, or those long conversations that leave you feeling both exposed and understood. I can ask people all the time how they are, how class was, and what they're doing this weekend, but I can't ask how they really feel about...anything.

What prevents me from opening the floodgates of intimacy with others? There are plenty of people in my life who want to hear me but I cannot raise my voice loud enough to be heard. I speak at a different frequency than what most people can interpret.

I invited someone back into my life this week who I know desperately wants to understand me. He is a good person with all the right intentions, but his eagerness unnerves me. I feel like it's Christmas Eve and he wants to open all the presents before midnight and wait for Santa at the chimney. I can't say if there is a Santa for him or not, if I can bring myself to bestow that hidden part to him.

I can shut myself off like I did last time, but that means that I would be forgoing any chance of relieving this pressure from within. Or could I just set up the boundary with words?

Meanwhile his feelings are in the mix. I could end up using him. I can't force myself to love him, so I won't try.

I want to leave all the memories of the people I have loved who have hurt me, but I can't. I remember how perfect and special all those moments were, so why shouldn't I try to obtain that once more?

Ugh, I'm not making sense anymore and I'm jumping subjects like hurdles. But there is no finish line.

A Plea For Rationality

2008-11-06T00:18:00.003-06:00

Plenty to write about, but what to choose? The obvious choice would be the election, but seeing as everyone is pretty much electioned out, I'll give it a rest. Besides, I haven't been able to take it all in yet. Watching the headlines is like watching a dream, a good dream that I don't want to stop. When the fuzziness is over, I'll write.

But now, on to the title of this blog - A Plea For Rationality. I stole the idea from an article that I read for one of my sex classes ("A Plea For Eros"), but this has basically nothing to do with that. Except the sex part.

So I've been listening to some of my friends lately on their relationship/lack of relationship issues. I'm personally in the latter grouping, so I'm biased. My apologies. Anywho, here is what I have decided:

Relationships at the college age should not be taken too seriously.

Now for the explanation.

I know a few people, all females, who believe that their boyfriends at the moment are "THE ONE"s. They plan on getting married right out of college (or sooner), plopping out a few kids, and getting that elusive American Dream. While this may be okay for some select couples (as in very select, as in very, very select), the general college population cannot handle the pressure or expectations that go along with such plans, and neither is the general population mature enough for the enormity of this decision. After all, by the time we graduate most people would have just finalized their decision on which major to choose, art history or English. Then, most recent graduates don't even know what they want to do in life or where they will someday end up. Dragging another person into your personal identity crisis is not fair to them or to you.

Furthermore, college kids need to give each other the freedom to choose. It's difficult enough to decide what I'm going to do over summer break by myself, let alone with someone else. Do you move to their hometown for the break? Do you try for internships in the same city? Do both of you just do nothing? Or must one person sacrifice?

In my experience, I have always seen one person sacrifice. Then, given the chances that the relationship will actually "succeed," that person has thrown away any golden opportunities they may have had. And the other person gets away unscathed. Talk about love.

Speaking of love, this is not a call to end romance. I believe in romance just as I believe in love. Fall in love with whomever your body's chemicals tell you to fall in love with. But be responsible. At this age, it is not selfish to put yourself first. Plan your lives separately - if you end up being able to reconcile those lives without major sacrifices, you win. If not, you can still win...with someone else. You can love many people throughout your life and, for all that is good and holy, do not settle for your first boyfriend/girlfriend. That's buying without browsing.

I'm not necessarily speaking of ending all kinds of relationships either. Have a significant other if you wish. But I think the best arrangement, for most college students, is the whole "special friend" kind of thing. You have the benefits and maybe even some of the emotion without the trickiness of heartache and the intrigue of a formal relationship. This won't work for everyone, so don't give me shit, but I see it as the ideal.

And, finally, no one needs a relationship. I know I may seem like a hypocrite, what with all of my bitching about wanting a boyfriend/special friend, but most of this is just idle talk. Relationships bring a lot of baggage. You worry if you made the wrong impression when you said you prefer hummus over bean dip. You feel hurt when s/he says that their past partner gave great head. You feel as if you're putting more into the relationship than the other person. This can all be avoided simply by abstaining from a formalized relationship.

Now, there are some benefits to having a significant other. You always have someone to hang out with. You get your "needs" fulfilled on a regular basis (although this is perfectly possibly for the more attractive of us to do without a relationship). You form a deep bond with someone else and feel understood. You are always wanted. Until you start fighting. Then it gets fun.

My argument against these said benefits is that any truly deep relationship can give you this, i.e. a best friend. Well, maybe not the sex part (unless your friends with benefits), but that's what God created masturbation for. Best friends are cool to have too because you don't have to shape your life around them. If your lives lead you in the same direction, yay! And if not, you will always have the memory. That is love.

On Deadlines and BAMF-ness

2008-10-25T15:18:00.003-05:00

My life has been all about procrastination lately. Here's some things on my plate (not that you should really care, because they're quite mundane):

My application for the Ghana Maymester.
My application to be a FIG mentor next semester.
My sociology paper due next week that I've barely started researching.

Now these three things may seem like nothing, but here's what each of them entail.

Ghana Maymester - Two essays with prompts so generic that it's almost impossible to write something original. Why should I go to Ghana? Because I'm Laura-fuckin'-Covarrubias and I will eradicate AIDS from this God-forsaken planet, that's why. Then I have to make sure that my letter of recommendation gets in without seeming like an impatient bitch - "How's that letter coming, dear instructor? You know, no pressure, but the future of the world hangs in the balance while you twiddle your thumbs."
FIG Shit - Very generic questions that made me want to barf - What is a FIG mentor? Why would you be a good one? Blablabla toot your own horn while we pretend to care. Then two letters of reference and a resume. Come on, it's not like I'm a registered sex offender. Besides, they're not minors anymore.
Soc paper - I chose to write about the sociology of traffic and how culture partially determines how people drive. It's pretty interesting, but try narrowing this topic down to something that will have many sources. It's not like twenty researchers are interested in the role cows play in Indian traffic. Due Thursday, so I will be polishing it until three a.m. that day. College.

To top this all off, I have no idea what I'm doing for Halloween. I'm kinda sick about hearing about it, especially since I'm not one of those insanely lucky girls with a size two waist and a C cup. None of my ideas are sexy, which is what girls are expected to be for the occassion, so now I'm just thinking about wearing a wig and a cheap dress and saying I'm a crack whore. Except I'm not skinny, so maybe I'm a pot whore?

Oh, yeah, by the way, I had my cartilage impaled with a metal stick yesterday because I felt like I needed some kind of rite of passage into official un-teenage-dom. Actually, that's what I'm planning on doing on my real birthday on Tuesday with my first tattoo. Yeah, my parents are going to kill me when they discover it someday. But whatevs, right? My body, my right, my fetus!

Anyways, now I have to take iron supplements because I bled everywhere when he removed the whatever it was that was inserted through my skin. It was pretty cool because I finally got to know what it feels like to have a nose bleed - very warm and wet - and I was officially labeled a badass motherfucker. Then I got to go to HEB with a bloody nose and blood stains down my front. Very bamf.

And Miss Devon House did it with me, so she's a bamf too, even though she eats meat and didn't have the whole iron-deficiency problem. But she's a trooper. A sexi trooper.

sobriety

2008-10-14T19:36:00.003-05:00

Life is good again.

Something changed in me this weekend. Whether it be my hormones rebalancing themselves or a spiritual alteration, I don't know. What I do know is that I feel free from myself and yet intimately intertwined with everyone else.

Driving gives you a lot of time to think alone. People forget that they need time to ponder their life and their universe by themselves - too often this is done at a coffeeshop, where you're still putting on an act, or in the presence of others, like in a dorm room or library. Complete privacy is pertinent, and while I guess you can argue that other people can see you in your car if they really want to, cars count as alone time. This is why people like driving long distances alone so much. Sure, the scenery is nice, but the resulting relaxation is all about the meditation you perform with or without knowing it.

I thought a lot about Matt, this guy I went to high school with who just died of cancer. I don't know if I ever spoke to him and if I did it was something stupid like "Hey, can I borrow a pencil?" or "What's the imperative tense?" We had Spanish together sophomore year (for clarification). He seemed like a nice enough kid, cute, athletic, and daringly flirtacious with Mrs. Salinas. I might have thought he was too cocky for my taste at one time, but now I think of it more as self-assurance, a confidence that other guys his age had not yet mastered, and probably will never.

I learned that he died on Facebook, of all places, and for some reason it hit me really hard. I knew he had cancer and had overheard from a few people that he was looking kind of bad before we graduated, but I figured that he wouldn't die. We are too young to die.

Seeing his obituary was otherworldly. I'm about to turn 20, and seeing the two and zero next to his name forced me to confront my own mortality.

I drove home from Corpus very carefully.

Thinking of this now, I feel like I'm sober for the first time in my life. Putting things into perspective, I should be more considerate of myself. After all these years of trying not to hurt anyone else's feelings, of putting others before myself and thinking of their wellbeing, shouldn't I watch my own footing? Maybe I shouldn't drink so much. Maybe I should never smoke another cigarette. Maybe I should work out more often and eat right. Maybe I should drive more carefully and check the street before I cross it. Maybe I shouldn't put myself into compromising situations.

I am alive, but not for long.

To top this all off, I have no idea what happens after death. I've kinda kicked that whole heaven and hell idea, but what does that leave me? I want to believe in reincarnation, but I need a foundation. Now, more than ever, I am drawn to the spiritual.

We are alive, but not for long.

anonymity

2008-10-11T01:36:00.002-05:00

I ran away this afternoon.

I haven't been myself lately. Or, rather, I haven't had a self lately. I've just been existing, trying to make meaning where I could find none, failing. This is unlike me...I usually have some idea where I'm headed but here I am, 200 miles away from where I should be, pretending everything is fine with swelling eyes, knowing that only hearts are meant to swell.

I didn't tell many people that I left, just my roommate and those I had plans with this weekend. I didn't tell anyone here that I was coming and I'm not going to. I don't consider this antisocial; rather, it is a proactive way of silencing the static.

I got a rather interesting text today - "Hello i need you here cause i feel empty." I don't know who it was and just looked up the area code (Dallas). I don't think I know anyone in Dallas who should be missing me right now, in that way. I responded and asked who it was...the (lame) response - "The past the present and the future." Later (he?) said my name but I was too creeped out to affirm that it was me and so (he?) apologized for having the wrong number. Now it's killing me - who could it have been? Was it me being safe when I didn't say it was me, or was that me, yet again, running from potential? The thing that kills me is that I know that someone gave me his number the other day and it started with a 991 after the area code and I remember saying "Dude, I bet a lot of people dial 911 on accident" like the retard I am. And now I can't remember. Fuck me with a spoon.

Anyways, that whole number thing is incredibly unimportant and poorly written, but I'm slightly (very) intrigued...and half wanting to text back the truth to find out who it is.