Why mad scientists are worth more than pills

On it's way uphill lately, my life has truly reached some new thoughts along the way.

Sitting in the hallway of school the other morning, I had a bit of a realization. My friend was commenting on how well life was going for me all of a sudden. After all,

I have a good job, good grades, I can almost drive, my friends are happy, and I have the guy of my dreams.

My reply even shocked me a little.

"Yeah."

That response did not come from being ungrateful. It was not born from misery or unhappiness or ignorance.

It came, once again, from two little white pills .

Anti depressants are truly something that you cannot understand unless you have been on them.

I started Lexapro because I could no longer function in my daily life. I wanted anything, even if it meant being numb and feeling nothing forever.

Yes, these pills have helped me feel my way through a very dark tunnel. But now, everything looks hazy through the numbing window of medicine.

The day that I really realized that I didn't need medicine anymore, I was mad. I sat on the floor of my room, willing my mind to feel upset. Because horrible things were going on. But all that I could feel was a

drugged up happy. An empty happy. Part of me wanted so hard to get out and feel true emotion, But I was locked in a plastic cage of miligrams.

I never really thought there would be a time when I would want to rebel against my drugs. The thought of going off of it always seemed like a death sentence. But, now, finally, I think that I might just be ready to face these monsters myself.

As a result, I must beg all of you to be patient with me. I have a long hard journey to becoming myself again.

As hard as emotions and pain and suffering can be, nothing is worse than forced numbness.

Never underestimate the power of little white pills.

This Year's Love Had Better Last

More than anything, people strive to appear confident.

Not to be confident. To wear it's mask.

It's really not our fault. Confidence brings about all the things in this society that we secretly yearn for.

As a result, people try so hard to appear together and happy, that they gradually slide a larger and larger pile of pain and feeling under the bed until it fights against the mattress and suddenly they are an insomniac lexapro taking freak.

I think that for the most part, I seem fairly outwardly confident.

But even when relaxing with my friends, I frequently get burned by their glares and outrage at my personality.

The long legs in short skirts and high heels prancing around my school day after day slash my facade behind my knee length clothes.

Many nights, especially tonight, I have to sit back and wonder.

I am a strong crazy person. How can these superficial absurdities affect me so deeply?

Even your favorite song can drive you into madness if it is all you hear.

None of this ever seems to let up. This really is the first time in my life that I have someone with whom I can cry around.

This really is my first relationship. Lovely was bullshit. He wasn't real. I have truly never met someone who is so caring, so wonderful, so near perfect.

It is this mountain for me to stand on that sits right in front of the valley that I have dug myself into. I have a very long way to climb before I can appreciate all of it.

A lot of times, I have trouble believing that he likes me. But that is my pessimism trying to substitute for self esteem.

"With you, the more I see these issues that you have, the more I think that you are perfect"

Where did this mad scientist come from?

I am thinking hard about what words have been released into the atmosphere tonight, and he is so incredibly right.

So for the record, I am not all together. I don't know if anyone really is. But there is no sense in comparing one life to another. I have lost a lot of confidence, but that is because I have let others grab it from me like a handful of cotton candy.

once again, I am going to try to love my rollercoaster body. I am going to stray away from the people who make me feel like shit. I am going to acknowledge that the mad scientist really does like me almost as much as I like him. Because I know that he is the greatest thing that I have had pass me by in a while.

And this time around, I am not going to let it go.

Because in the end, I really do think that self esteem is being happy around others, and coming home and not being completely together, but being happy just the same.

Know your enemy

for all of those wonderful people who call my fellow liberals and I unpatriotic for not supporting this president, I found a small way that you can show President Bush your gratitude for all the things he has done to this country.


I,______________, do solemnly swear to worship and adore my leader, George W. Bush. By this swearing I promise to forfeit all future rights to dissention. I promise to support without question, all policies adopted by my leader. I further assert that any statements made by said leader are true and accurate beyond reproach. It is no longer in my best interest or, in the best interest of my fellow devotees, to question why certain actions of the government are necessary. As a devotee, I should just accept that my leader knows what's best for me.

Finally, thank you leader. Thank you for allowing me the right to sign over all my civil rights. I know that with you, and only you, I am safe from all foes who seek to do harm to the country you so graciously and benevolently allow me to live in.

God Bless You Leader! My life is for you!

Signed, ___________________

Place blood offering here:

I am George W. Bush and I approve this loyalty oath!

Battle lines are being drawn

Last night was bad in that unexpected phone call way.

A recurring nightmare kind of bad.

I was flying around my restaurant, bussing tables in high heels, when one of the other hostesses came up and said to call my father.

The same person that I hadn't seen or talked to in months.

How did he even find out where I worked?

I treaded unsteadily to the hostess stand, and picked up the phone. On the other line was a sickly sweet happy voice with a raspy woman's yells in the background.

"Hey sugar."
"Dad. What's wrong?"
"Nothing sweetie, I just wanted to say hey."
"Dad, I'm working. I need to go. Bye."

The other girls around me saw something come over my face. I could see their immediate reactions of concern. I quickly hung up and flew over the numbers to my house.

"Mom, I think Dad is drunk and he wants to visit me."

And then it all hit me.

Considering the opportunities that he once had, my father is a real deadbeat. He grew up immensely wealthy, traveled around Europe, came back home

and became an electrician.

He was such a brilliant man, too. Just like his father. But there was always one fatal flaw in my father's character. He could not take the pressure to succeed. His father expected him to do so well, he collapsed and became something that half of his character could have easily mastered. That was all fine and well when he married my mother.

But then they had me. Once again another towering mountain of responsibility. He hasn't been able to keep a stable job, a stable wife, or a stable daughter since.

I was at a friend's party on July 4th, when my newest psycho stepmom called ranting that my father was an alcoholic with a drug problem and hepatitis and he was drinking dry all every bar that he could get to.

I had not known any of that. None.

I have stayed far far away from him since. His new wife controls his every move. She hates me, because I am the one thing in his life that she has no power over.

I admit it. I jumped ship. I cut loose the rope and hoped that some good would come of it. I have so many issues with my father that I tried to smile and push them aside as they filed past.

But a closet can only hold so many skeletons.


I went back to bussing tables, and I felt that old demonic panic crawling up my veins. Through hyperventilated breaths I clocked out and hid in one of the dining rooms. And I listened to the guilt trip voicemails that Virginia had left me.

And it was the last straw. All of my life, I have never one raised my voice to my father. But I did this time.

Who knows what is going to happen with all of this. I finally opened the floodgate to the fact that I have had an imaginary father most of my life.

I wonder how far the apple really falls from the tree.

Acid Raindrops

It was the kind of evening where my hands felt themselves playing the piano on my mug, furiously clenching the hot tea in an effort to drown myself in steam and contemplation.

It was supposed to be a cold January evening, but the soft summer rain that fell as silent paradoxes to the season changed all of that.

All of it.

That kind of shower pulls all of us back. At least in the warm months I could be prepared for such an onslaught of memories.

Lovely is leaving again in a few days. But he really never came home in the first place. I know that I shall once again find myself in an affair with the man in the stereo. The soft rustling of music sheets will blot me with the interstate lines that he is putting between us.

But tonight, the summer rain makes me glad.

Because if I can jump barefoot through puddles in the middle of winter, than anything is possible.
Especially moving on from this heathen of a first love.

This irony also pulls me back to when I was young, and I would dance everytime it rained if I was at my fathers. My father, who was a deadbeat. Who was such a brilliant man except for the responsibility flaw. Who made me feel the pit in my stomach wrenching of not being able to find a job.

And the summer rain makes me so damn scared to see unemployment again. My stepfather quit his job because it was slowly killing him. And my fear of uncertainty is there. And the drumming outside is pulling me back to that night in the kitchen. When it was raining. And all we had to eat was a half eaten box of Ritz crackers.

In all of these crazy raindrops, I can feel my heart crying to be dancing. Outside in the velvet water. With The Mad Scientist. And a new memory.

We don't give the weather enough credit.

Love and some verses

I should have been ecstatic.
I finally had my mad scientist.
Someone whose kiss I could still feel the morning after

But as I tried to sleep the other night, I realized.

I could no longer have Lovely if I had William. And I got really upset.

Because even if I hated Lovely, I wouldn't want to let him go. He has been a part of me for so long. Every thought that I have had in the last 5 years has had his name woven in it somewhere. I don't know if I can even remember what it was like to be without him. And I know that it's something that I shouldn't say,

but he is my first love. And he will always be my first love. And I didn't want my first love to end just yet. And I didn't want to be the one who ended it.I still don't want to end it.

It's so immature and such a 16 year old thing to say, but in the back of my mind, I secretly hoped that we would one day be together. If he comes home from college one day, and I don't exist anymore to him, I am going to be heartbroken. If I see him in 20 years at the grocery store with kids and a handful of coupons, I am secretly going to wonder what would have happened if I had never let go.

But maybe, in wondering that, I never really will let go.

However, this is something that I need to do. I am too young to be so obsessed. I need to know what it's like to have relationships with people my age, in my life. Not 500 miles away. I need to get my heart broken in small waysa few times before it gets shattered in a big way. At least then, it will be a little tougher.

So for now, I will try to enjoy my mad scientist. And I will try to smile when I walk by his house every day.

Because in the end, it was all worth it.

What your mother doesn't know

Good girls are a dying breed.

In declaring that, I am ready to delve into what being a good girl means.

I could be considered a good girl. At first glance, I look like a sweet innocent young lady with no qualms about society, and no idea of any corruption in this world.

But as I realized thanks to a very recent episode of mine, I cannot claim the innocent title.

Which is exactly why good girls are a rare breed.

I am not an extremist. And yet there have been several potholes along my journey that I have tripped over.

There is also a major difference between good girls, and girls that just have no clue what is going on. An ignorant girl doesn't know any different. A bad girl takes risks and has no regrets, or no time for regrets. A girl like me tries to be good, but sometimes wakes up in the morning with a serious wrenching feeling of something that I know was not in my nature.

A good girl may take risks, she may not. But either way she does not feel guilty for them, because she has not done something that has transgressed someone else's trust. And she is satisfied with her decisions.

Because in the end, trust is really what matters in almost every situation.

And what do people prefer? Either exactly what they are, or what they secretly wish to be.

Good girls are so rare because noone really knows what they want. Most of us make a few major mistakes that scar our memory. So to see someone that truly knows what they want, and never strays, is truly that one rare baseball card always seems to escape your gaze at the yard sale.

Are people like this happy? Or are they normal, in the sense that their lifestyle is all that they have ever known? I suppose that to judge one person according to another may be one of the biggest mistakes of the human race.
However, we need all sorts of people in this soup of a world.

In the circus of life, good girls are the tightrope walkers.

It's a shame I only learned the trapeze

Just in time

My entire blog accidentally got deleted last night, and I have been trying to piece it all back together.

I do wholeheartedly apologize for random typos, unusual paragraph forms, titles that don't mean anything at all, the loss of all of my comments, and the fact that I had to post four months worth of writing into one day.

No big deal man

A reminder of where you have been

Dear Grace,

This year is almost over. I thought that I should write you a letter to prove that you were young at one point, so when this frame of time seems nonexistent, you can have hard evidence that you were always crazy.

It took you 16 years, but I think that you are finally figuring out who you are. Although the secret is that you probably knew all along. But you tried to mold into this world until recently. I think that you fixed that. I don't know how you did, but I am glad. I realize that I am young. I can see my young hands typing this as a stare at my chipped raspberry toenail polish bobbing in tune with Cat Stevens.

I can always feel the constant craving to seem old and mature and not quite so 16. But I really do realize that if I try too hard, I shall find myself on the other side of the fence, reminiscing about days when I drove around with Lovely in his mustang, and we were unstoppable. When I spun around my room and still had no idea that there was a world beyond highschool. It is because of this that I need to tell you my New Year's Resolution, so that you can hold it to me, and to yourself.

I want to be the Grace that Bono wrote about. I don't want to give up on humans like Kurt Vonnegut did, at least not next year.

I want to love the fact that I don't fit in. I want to dance on top of the puzzle pieces they say that I should join together.

Most of all, I want to do things because I feel like it. I don't want to eat salads because they are good for me. I want to eat them because I like them. I want to work because it is fun. I want to drive because it's just as much fun as the place that I am trying to get to. I want to take classes because I love to learn, not so that I can get into a good college.

It's definitely looking up, my friend. Love Always, Grace

Why Berets and the Busblog will always be cool

If there was one person that I would randomly like to meet and have a conversation with one day, it would have to be Tony Pierce

I think that he is the kind of person that Charles Bukowski was. You either hate him or you love him.

How he conquered this genre of the world I shall never know.

Ever since I started blogging, I have taken things like his invaluable "how to blog" as an example of how people know what they are talking about.

His political rantings make me glad to be one of the few liberals in this conservative vortex of a town. His philosophies make me smile, and his lies make you want to believe.

I admit it. I do secretly aspire to be the kind of unchecked writer that Tony Pierce is. But I can never get out more than a few posts a week.

no one can.

It is therefore my assumption that he cannot be totally human. Or he has an amazing talent. Or too much free time. Or not enough of it. It reminds me of the poem Making It. Read it. Don't read it to your mother.

Maybe it is not so much that he writes so much. Maybe it is that what he writes is really good.

Really.

He is one of those people that you don't know, and who probably gets creeped out that so many people talk like they just had a coffee with him during their lunchbreak. But sometimes you just can't help praising someone, and giggling if they link you. I

haven't read all of his stuff. I'm scared to. There is so much. And so many people and it's really insane. Especially since none of it may be true.

But for now, I will always keep my eyes open for helicopters

Two birds with one stone

Something about Christmas always makes me think more clearly. Something about Christmas always makes me find new loves.

He sat in my fifth period all of this year. My liberal yells probably scared him. He had long blond hair, the kind that makes you know he's watching you, but you can't tell what color his eyes are. Fifth period did not fit in with William. He stood out, and it drew me towards him.

The last week before break, something happened. I'm not exactly sure when, I'm not exactly sure how. But walking to 6th period on Friday with his number screaming in my pocket, I was well aware of how funny life can be.

And he called.

And we went to a movie and it was so nice. Because it was funny. And popcorn got spilled all over me. And he was embarrassed. And I laughed. And we hung out again. And again. And I woke up this morning, pressed my nose to my shoulder, and smelled his house. It is so weird having Lovely home and William here. It spun the game wheel, and moved my priorities around. It allowed me to bond with Lovely in a soul deep friend way, and make a new amazing friend and more in William. And sometimes even, he starts to look like the mad scientist that I see in myself.

Old faces and worn Birkenstocks

We were driving as fast as the Zeppelin tape could play.

We ended up in a graveyard. The Christians locked in their boxes felt us skip above them.

There is a certain kind of satisfaction that comes from sitting among the dead with a friend on a beautiful day. Because you are one of the few people there who can enjoy it. The past had nothing more to say, we found ourselves in the woods.

Running, looking, laughing. Alive. A sudden path stole our breathe away, and we floated to the ground like leaves that have had a good life. It was such a sunny day.

He took my hand. I melted into the leaves

There are not enough places and times like these in the cycle of life. We don't let them happen as much as they should.

I closed my eyes and let the woods watch me for a change.

..Grace

..Lovely

He was home.

Breathe in December

Maybe it is just the surprise in the cold air But I will always take the bus home the day we get out for winter break. And I will always walk by the trees and twirl. Because this part of the year is something that shouldn't belong to us, but it does.

It's kind of like how I don't like Christmas day, but I live for Christmas eve. The suspense. Lovely is coming home in a few days. And I am happy. Most of this joy comes from the fact that I am not consumed by the fact that Lovely is coming home. I can finally see it as one ornament on the tree. And I have a crush on a boy named William. And it has simply been so long since the possibility of a relationship. And I keep giggling.

I had Kwanzmaskkah last night. And two of my friends just didn't show up. One of them I was worried about because of personal reasons, but the other one I am fairly upset at. Not that she didn't show up. That she didn't even think to tell me. I gave Johnboy the catcher in the rye in French, and I really hope that he liked it. I hope that Kalene liked her gift.

While standing behind the lonely hostess stand today, I started wondering. Relationships are either built upon trust, or carefully teetering on the edge of some double edged sword. It confuses me how someone that I view to be deep and mature and sensible can have a don't tell don't ask relationship. And it really confuses me how I could possibly be the don't tell don't ask thing in question. I keep telling myself that this is the second that our paths are crossing, that I need to take these leaps while I can. But can I truly contradict my own sensibilities so easily? Is fate more important than conscience?

I hope that it snows this weekend. I hope that I find myself laughing and prancing through the sugar being sifted down from overhead. Snow is fun. It is beautiful and powerful and knows no boundaries. However, no amount of snow compare to those first few flakes. The ones who gave themselves up so that the others could stay with their cloud just a few minutes longer. There's nothing quite like December.

How far away is Argentina?

My best friend in the entire world is going to another country for 6 months. Argentina.

I am going to miss her too much. The funny thing is, she will probably be closer to me there than where she is now. It is not easy having half of your being on the other side of the country. Maybe it is because of recent events. Perhaps they have made me wake up. Have you ever wandered what would happen if things happened? Where would you go? Am I going to find myself in Seattle watching my soul being buried next Thursday? I am making about as much sense as a nursery rhyme.

Last night, I was sitting here, typing up science notes. And a song that I had never heard but I had lived came on. And she was online, and she is across the country. And he is up the coast. And I am stuck in this bubble of a county, where I can't get amazing opportunities like a northern college or a drum circle or an exchange program. I don't want to be left behind by what I cherish. I could send them money. My voice. Pictures, letters, wishes, hopes. But I can't give her a hug. And it is the one thing that I want. And I hate being here without her. I am not happy here without her.

No one here understands my jokes, no one gets my reasoning. She is probably the only one who understands this damn excuse for a journal. And I want to get on a plane and have her find me at her door tomorrow. But she won't be there. She will be somewhere that I can't find. And that scares me to death. Why do I find myself wrenching the life out of my monitor, screaming at it for not letting me in. Not letting me through the wires to her. It is like death, I suppose. It is something that is out of my control. It is a cycle of energy and life, although I have more trouble adjusting to that then death itself. I don't know when you will be back. I don't even know if I will ever see you again. I miss the ends of my sentences, and I miss feeling like I belong.

But I know that you feel the same way. You have part of my heart, please don't ever forget it. I pray to God that you are safe and happy in what you are about to do. And I miss you more then my own happiness. And next time that you are leaving on a jet plane, maybe I'll be with you

Understanding in a car crash

I had wanted my next post to be happy and optimistic.

Really, I did.

But in the end, blogging is not about trying to display an emotion, and shoveling over the name in the sand. It's about reactions and reasoning and she was so young.

As life is a part of the cycle, we are only part of one segment. The rest of the necklace is not made for us. Death is not part of us. It is a foreign language that scars us with shock. There is the death that we inflict. The death that is slow and coming. And the death that happens in a split second, faster than a blade can slice across a wrist. That is one of the scariest. It is the one that scares us the most.

What happens to those poor souls? Do they have time to cope? To see their life? Does their soul make it to the plane in time?

I have been chided for my feelings over death. When I was little, I used to watch the news in guilt, feeling that I could have somehow prevented the deaths that continually filled up the screen.

Everything deserves to be mourned. Whether it was someone who never did anything, or a tree, or a ladybug. It is all life. All of it is energy transferred, energy that we can no longer understand. In truth, we are not mourning the energy, so much as the loss of the form that it was in. The thoughts and look and personality of that energy. And Jaimee, I hope that it was painless and beautiful for you.

The bare truth

I am one long curvy rollercoaster standing amidst popsicle stands.

I have always had legs, even when I was young. But when I got hips to match, I started a battle with myself. It has since then escalated into a tiring battle with myself.

When I find a way to hide my curves, I win. When I stand in front of the mirror with a marker and circle all over my body with an old woman's shaky hand, it wins.

I think that I could be beautiful. One day, I think that I can be gorgeous and lovely and unique. But not now. Many people don't realize that unless you feel it, it isn't true.

"Grace, you are not fat. You're..Proportional."

Shut the fuck up.

I go to school with rods. My two best friends are both skinny. I am constantly jealous. Kalene is one of the most beautiful people that I know. And she is amazing. But sometimes I hate her for two things. Her skinniness and her hands. Long and thin and lovely, just like her. Mine are stubby and old beyond their years and unsure, just like me.

Last night I was talking to Lovely. And for some reason he is intrigued by my body. Lovely was the first person who ever told me I was beautiful, and he still is the only one that I will believe. Because he doesn't care about what you look like when it comes down to it. So to hear him call my body beautiful scared and confused me. And I didn't believe him. And his words attached themselves to my shadow the entire day.

I hope that I won't always be embarrassed to eat in front of people. And I wish that I didn't cry in the shower. And I wish that I didn't hate shopping because of what it does to my self esteem. And sometimes, when I am crazy I wish that people liked rollercoasters more for what they were

Realization on a school night

As I sat with the boiling water painting my back, I looked at my hands. We may be young. But we have been here forever.

We may skip and take drugs and wrench away from life and the world. But we are part of a cycle that is steeled against our human will. Look at your hands. What makes them up.?Skin, bones, blood. Molecules. You are made up of carbon and oxygen and hydrogen.

We are barely solid. Molecules stick together like brotherhoods, and it is the only reason we exist. But these are not new. These atoms come from what has been put into us. Our cereal. The meal your mother ate when you were yet to be born.

We are so alone, and yet we are made up of past lives. We really are each a reincarnated box of puzzle pieces. Grass, water, cows, people. We are all made of something that used to be another life. And one day, we will die. And our energy, and our very souls and lives and memories will go and become something else. And it is so fucking beautiful. Because it puts our life in perspective.

You have to be worth something, because you will one day help to create a blade of grass, a flower for a pretty girl, a child. Why do we worry so much about where we are going for college, or what kind of house we are going to get? Do we really appreciate the fact that there was such a slim chance of us being here? That one sperm and that one egg out of millions? Does it matter?

Yes. It does. Because it is a continual cycle that is enough to keep an entire universe going. When someone dies, they don't go somewhere. When she died, she didn't leave. She went out into everything.

Lost in translation

I knew that it was a bad day before I even woke up.

I knew what was going to happen, even my dreams felt it. I blurred open my eyes at 7:20. Got dressed, felt like I was going to throw up. 8'oclock I call my mom and ask why she hadn't called yet. "Grace, it's only 7 in the morning." there was the second bad sign.

I almost cried in drama because my teacher called my name. I was angry and sick and sad and confused for no real reason. Then, in 5th, I missed two questions in the history review game, and I broke down. Everyone must have thought that I was insane. I pulled my teacher aside and choked out that I needed to go home.

On the way there, I figured it out. I had forgotten to take my medicine

. People sometimes don't realize that things have such a strong grip on them until they try to wrench themselves away. I had no idea that Lexapro had any major affect on me until today.

I am addicted to a prescription drug.

That is scary. I am scared to death. This is me in over my head. Anti-depressants are fucking serious. What scares me the most is that I do not know where to go from here. I want to get off of this drug, but I don't want to end up the catastrophe that I was today.. But when I do get off of this medicine, will I be totally different from how I was? Am I a totally different person now? How much of my original self have I lost? How much damage and help can one drug carry? How on earth can so much power and fear be packed into two little white pills?

Welcome to the west

They say that poverty breeds ignorance. I think they left out that wealth chooses it.

I live in a bubble. The West End is an area of a city where the semi wealthy reside. Unless you live here, you really wouldn't believe it. Countless housewives shuffling along in low heels with their flashing Penelope's jewelry. The same 3 story brick house cloned over and over as the cul de sacs wind around the people like an intertwining noose.

Kids have gleaming silver SUV's and 100 dollar weekly allowances and doctor fathers and the top high school in the state where every sport wins everything and a major league baseball player is recruited every 2-3 years. 1/5 of my high school(2500 kids) has at least a 4.0. Sure, it seems wonderful. That is where the ignorance comes into play. "Oh my god she wore that last week." "Yeah, he's really cool, but look at the type of car that he drives" It is very messed up. Now I am not saying that everyone living here is well off and snobby and careless. A lot of them aren't very well off, however, they try as hard as their middle class wages will allow to tap into the west end mentality. I even own something from Penelope's. The parents are just as ignorant as the kids.

Yes, your child goes to the top school in the state. He drives a nice car and has a pretty girlfriend. He also snorts cocaine. Forgot about that? And it is not like they have no idea. It is chosen ignorance. I can name several people who get picked up dead drunk and stoned by their parents every weekend. And then they come home to their nice 3 story brick house. And their parents smile and hope that the neighbors haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Needless to say, Mexicans, blacks, Jews, gays, and anyone who thinks differently need not apply. I wonder if it is like this anywhere else in this poor country. I hope not.

Silent bath water

The alarm jabbed me awake.

There are no good radio stations in Richmond, and no good radio stations anywhere when all you want to do is REM into oblivion. I dragged myself out of bed, cursing my favorite season for its cold shoulder.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I reached for the faucet, and wrenched on the hot water. But then I woke up. And it was not because I was taking a shower. I heard my mom singing in her shower. And I thought, wow,I don't sing in the shower anymore.

Yes, this may not sound like anything significant. But it scared the hell out of me. Singing in the shower, skipping to get the mail, dancing around your room. Smiling. Where did all of that go?

Am I really so unhappy with the good life that I have at 16, that my favorite thing to do, blast
out my lungs among the manmade rain..Is longer on my list of priorities? But then I thought.

I don't even sing at all anymore. What am I doing? Later this afternoon, during a literary magazine meeting, we analyzed an anonymous poem that I had written. If you don't know what is bothering you, I strongly suggest that you write a poem about nothing in general. If you take a second look at it, you will figure out what is killing you. the last 2 poems I have selected were about the same thing. And I didn't even know it.

Everything I write nowadays seems to be about not knowing where I am, being unhappy with society, being unhappy about not feeling part of it in the first place. Basically I am feeling like a complete fake. But to others? To myself? To all of it it seems.

And Lovely, geez. I can ruin a good thing by myself it seems. Am I crazy to sense that something had gone awry, and that I am going to be the last to know it? The sad thing is, I know exactly what I should do to make me happy. I really do. But for some reason, I just keep going on this crazy course and pulling myself further and further into a hole. All work and no play makes you want to die.

Deliver the Kidney

And now for the top ten reasons why Keller Williams is one of the best musicians of this generation, and can put on a show that is so amazing that you just had to be there

10. He performs barefoot

9.Every time he sings a song, he sings it differently than you have ever heard it

8. He has 11 guitars, a piano, and an ironing board on stage

7. He can make pieces of plastic piping sound like a Djembe

6. He can play any instrument perfectly and amazingly

5. He doesn't need a band

4. There is no point during the show in which you stop dancing, stop listening, and stop smiling

3. He sounds exactly the same live as on CD

2. He doesn't overcharge for his shows And of course..

1. He is not just a singer, or a songwriter, or a guitar player. He is the true definition of a musician, and it's completely amazing.

Ruin my November

The absolute worst day to commit suicide has got to be veteran's day.

Think about it. The very day reserved for honor and selflessness Used to commit an act that screams a selfish color in the eyes of society. My stepmom never was very good at realizing things like that. Then again, it probably doesn't matter what day it is when you are staring down the barrel of a gun.

It screwed me up for a while. But that is normal. She was like my mom. Only super dysfunctional. After she died my dad spiraled out of my life. And the unfailing image of that wonderful crazy redheaded woman I had loved unconditionally because to tarnish as I found out more about how she was. That was five years ago. And I have accepted it. She was desperate, it is what happens. She seems more of an idea than a person to me now. The very idea that I try to bury under the excuses that she was depressed and psycho and a crazy person altogether.

But one day a year, I have to stop and remember the nights she used to dance around the house with me, her wild long red hair flashing around her anorexic limbs. She was so messed up. But she taught me such good things. I learned how to come out of my shell. And to deal with being embarrassed. She was a loud, wonderful, beautiful, horrible, crazy trainwreck waiting to happen. I am glad that I had the chance to meet her as she flew by. And I miss you Teresa.

Friends of the Lovers

Dear John and Kalene,

Now I am not very good at commitment. That is, I have never had the opportunity to commit to something, or someone for an extended amount of time.

Which is why I admire you guys so much. A year may not seem long to some people. But to someone who is 15 or 16, it's a reasonable section of time. I think we all learn a lot by being acquainted with people in a deep relationship.

-First off, we learn to share. Otherwise there is no sense in staying friends. You guys are young and in love, want to be with each other; we shouldn't give you shit for it. This took me a while to learn, but now I think I get it.

-Second off, you can see how people should interact with each other. A year and no major fights is very impressive, especially when you take into account raging teenage hormones.

-Third, you learn how people deal. For teenagers, you guys went through some very heavy emotional and mental stuff, especially around the beginning of your relationship. Things that adults would probably not understand even. Because I don't think that younger people are given enough credit. They may be hurting over something trivial, but they are still hurting. And this was nothing trivial.

So happy happy anniversary kids. I told you that I would give you a present, but I think that's because I feel like even I have gotten something out of your relationship. I have learned from an outsider's point of view. I hope that you guys never forget what you find important in each other, and I love you guys. -gracon

Liberal in the Middle

Okay, Okay. I'm updating. I'm sorry. So November..The elusive month for me.

Every year something happens in November that changes my course of life a notch or two. Suicides, Loves, Divorce, friends, everything. When I was younger, I hated November. Hated it. Because I hated change, and that was exactly what the month stood for. However, I think that as I get older, this month and I will learn to respect each other. It keeps me on my toes, and teaches me to appreciate the things that I have, and to understand that people, things, and life will always change. So what is it this year? So far it has only been my first job. But with November, you never really know. By the way..I am in love with my job. I do not know any other 16 year olds getting paid 8 dollars an hour to dress up and take people to tables and talk to them. Hostessing is great. Speaking of food, I think that I realized another reason why I am a vegetarian. I am obsessed with watching my food. Yes, I know that is bad, but being a vegetarian makes me feel better about eating.

It is not the main reason I do it at all. A large part of it is health. Bush won. Yeah. That is not at all what scares me. What scares me is that the senate and the house and the president are all controlled by republicans. And even that wouldn't be so bad if there hadn't been extreme right wing senators elected. The kind of people who think that single mothers and gays should not be allowed to teach because it is not moral. I really find it ironic sometimes that the same men who are rich and live an affluent lifestyle, and are the prime examples of scandal and capitalism, feel the need to place such extreme moral issues on the plate.

" Yes, I own stock in Haliburton, and I am making a shitload of money off of Iraqi oil fields even though we're not fighting this war for oil. However, that is not important. That is perfectly moral. But single mothers and HOMOSEXUALS teaching in our school system? I do not think so!"

Oh America, no wonder every country hates you. Well I am having a wonderful day..The kind of day that makes no sense since you have had a bad week. But you wake up and things really aren't as bad as they seem. A worthless post, but in the end, we shall let November decide.

Curvature

She just couldn't take it anymore.

So with a desperation only frost in late morning could understand

She pulled out a steak knife and

Slashed the air in front of her. The

Seam of life caught on the rusty blade and ripped apart the

Society that she was clambering to non exist in.

Sore from the imagination of this unhappy world

She tore a hole in reality

Stepped through the torn edges of humanity and

Slipped into a new kind of world,

Separate from the

Selvage of unhappiness and despair.

Sunday they found her

Shadow, resting on the couch, the

Sole remaining evidence of her existence

Stuck in Neutral

Sometimes I really wish that I didn't care that I was writing some crazy paper to get into a summer governors school program that I am apprehensive about.

that the only person who really understands me is 3000 miles away, and the only person I want to understand is pretty damn far away, too.

That I get so stressed out about college when I can't even drive yet, and I have no idea what to be when I grow up. But that is exactly the problem. The very thought of not knowing what is going to happen opens up the slightest chance of failure. And that is something that I could simply not live with.

So is it better to try to enjoy my life without worrying and in retrospect never getting to fully love what is going on around me..Or work my ass off to get somewhere that I think that I should be according to my standards? It would be so much more fun if I could easily choose. I wonder how I got so stressed about things in life. I don't know if it was born in me, or if I have picked it up over the years.

I think I am just naturally like this, and as a result I need someone who will ground me and make me think differently. Make me think in the present tense. Maybe that is why I enjoy Alex so much. and a complete 180 of subjects..Why is rivalry still so big in life? I don't specifically mean competition..Good healthy competition is wonderful..But when you start to lose friends because you beat them in a volleyball game..And then cheered for the next team they play to cheer that team up..Something has gone too far.

Even the high school rivalry in my town has reached a scary deafening roar. I hate pride so much..And if I didn't have so much of it..I would condemn it completely. This blog has truly helped me to sort some things out. It is nice to have somewhere to let out part of my insanity. When you see something written in front of you, it becomes a physical thing in your mind. Ideas that you have unconsciously been turning over have a definite shape and beauty. What an interesting ability. I highly suggest that if you do not already write, or paint,or photograph, or let part of your soul out for some exercise regularly..You start so immediately. Writing and photography are close together on the spectrum of expression. But that may just be a matter of opinion. In any case, tomorrow is the last day of my month. And what a beautiful month it is.

Dear Grace

Dear Grace,
Congratulations on making it through another year. Perhaps it has not dawned on you yet, but you will realize in time that once a year is gone, it is gone.

There was a day once, when you saw the present as something that would soon be left in the past. Last year you were sad to let go of 14, but this year, something is different. You felt numb when you wrote this. Maybe it was the medicine. But let me refresh your memory of how your 15th year in this world was.

A few days after your birthday, you went to a football game with Kalene and Sasha. And you made a new group of friends. And some old ones fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Amira and you parted and went your separate ways, and even now it is still very awkward. You hung out with your new group non stop, and I hope that you enjoyed it. Alex came home for the first time from college. You were so excited. You probably still remember walking down that street to see him strolling out of his house.

The beauty of Belle Isle probably still resides in your eye. You can probably still feel the pain of Katharine surging through you as you read her letter and cried as hard as the flowing river around you. It was the first time that you really came to terms with the fact that she was gone. I hope that you remember what Alex told you. People you love will always be people you love. No matter how far away they are, you are still under the same sun. You grew closer to Alex, and really had a wonderful time. There was the entire Kage Mike conspiracy, which even now seems trivial.

January, you started to feel down. Really down. Maybe it was the extreme amount of rain we got. Maybe that Alex was back at school. Maybe it was the insanity of Godwin. Anyways, you got really depressed, and things were really bad for a while. But you started Lexapro, and you learned how to piece together the puzzle pieces that your head always seemed to shatter into. Summer, Alex came home.

One night something happened. The rest of the summer confused you. You felt caught in something that was so wonderfully bad. And he left. And it absolutely tore you apart. And you had promised yourself that it wouldn't. So you joined 7 clubs and worked hard at volleyball and busied yourself to get away from it all. And that is where you are now. You had a hard year, but I think that you learned a lot. You can cope better, you can keep your feelings quiet, as long as no one sees your eyes. You realized that you are the happiest when you are riding somewhere with Alex. It isn't that you are with him. It is simply the beautiful stopping of time that comes with driving somewhere with a good friend.

The freedom of being away from the life that leaves holes in your soul. The beauty of going somewhere and not knowing where and learning so much in the meantime. You did not get many of those drives this year, but the ones that you had you cherished. You and Katt kept your friendship alive when she came here. When she left, you didn't cry. But that was because you had no more tears left. The night before, you had left it up to God on an unfamiliar street. You lost God this year too. I hope that you got him back by the time that you read this. Your friends threw you a surprise party. It was amazing. You truly felt loved. I hope that you remember that feeling.

Grace. 15 was a very learning year for you. You were young, as you will continue to be. But it is okay, because if you are never young, you have nothing to miss when you get old. You are beautiful, as much as you look in the mirror and are disappointed by the life that you see. This year, I hope that you realize that you are you, and that you come to accept yourself more, without compromising with others standards. I have enclosed in this letter some photos of your 15th year, and a poem you wrote. I hope that you have an amazing 16th year, and I hope that you are happy. Or that you are not sad all of the time. I love you, and God bless you. Happy Birthday. Grace Ann

A liberal Halloween

As a Liberal in my town, I have the wonderful privilege of being the minority. The scarce minority. At my school, the Republican Club hosts oyster roasts with delegates down by the river at vacation homes, while the 10 random oddballs of the Democrats club try to have meetings even though the people on the PA always seem to forget us.

But there's an even bigger difference between the people for Kerry even if they don't like him, and the people for Bush at my school. The people for Kerry actually know why they would rather have him for our president. Last week at school, I asked as many people as I could who like Bush to tell me why he would make a better president. here, let me show you the major consensus:
"Uh"
"Well, my parents like him, so uh.."
"Uh, Because Kerry is dumb."
"Uh, he did well with 911"
"Uh, because we caught the terrorists in Iraq"
"Oh my God you don't like Bush? We're going to ostracize you."

And these are just the kids. Imagine the people who are actually voting. They probably have no idea why they are picking a specific candidate. My mom had no idea what was going on until my stepdad and I showed her. Maybe it's just their old age, maybe it's their unconscious aversion to liberal scandalous thinking. Maybe they just don't want to see anything wrong with any of it. But most of the voters that really research what is going on, and want to change are the young people. And only the minority of them.

So that means that these people will grow up and the same stone of slow reform will keep gathering moss until it one day hits rock bottom. But even if I can't make a big change, I can still cause the rest of the people around me to stop and find something different from what they want for a minute. I am in good spirit tonight, because I carved VOTE NADER into my pumpkin. Now I am counting the days until I find it smashed on the conservative road of a conservative town. And the person who smashes it probably will have no idea which party is for what. Even if I can't make a big change, I can still cause the rest of the people around me to stop and find something different from what they want for a minute. Oh, ignorance. How strong you are.

A date with a keyboard

A lot of poets secretly wish they could be songwriters I know I do. And most poets I know secretly wish they could write a long amazing novel. I know I could never. Poetry, when it flows out of me, is brief. My greatest fear is writers block.

Writers are the long distance runners in this game of life. We poets live for the sprints, and songwriters tackle hurdles of melodies and rests, just as easily as stanzas Alas, even my poetic abilities are playing hide and seek with me nowadays. And it's because I have too many ideas. I have too many thoughts and words flowing around, and they are all trying to push through the door at the same time. And I look through my poems, and I see a jumbled mess where they collapsed from the competition.

I wish that I could be like Tony Pierce and have the ability to write it all out, several times a day every day. He truly has a talent that is overlooked in this society. But it shouldn't be. Because we are the inefficient efficient capital of the world.

How much faster are we going then we should be? Will humans always work their hardest to make things more efficient, and therefore never have time to do nothing and just think? Will we always work our asses off for the sake of working more? The only time I seem to get to really think anymore is when I am walking somewhere else. One evening I am going to walk.. And I don't want to end up everywhere. I

unconsciously plan so ahead sometimes that I have developed the pictures in my mind before I have even taken them. I think that I suffer from seasonal depression. I walked home today in the mist, and I felt that jagged scar deep in my self being seared with inner Ani Difranco fervor. Who knows? Maybe I am just lonely. Yes, I am..Quite. I think I need a really good book is all. When I was little, I would fall into a book, and everything would be fine. I need characters to exchange personalities with for a few minutes. Any suggestions? People must think that I am crazy the way that I write. But this is exactly how I think.

Yes, I do use weird abstract analogies in my morning ponders about what I am going to eat for breakfast. I am very apprehensive about my birthday. Maybe because I am starting to realize that birthdays are no longer the infinite joy of waking up when you are young and there is so much to look forward to. What do I have to look forward to this year? A Monday. Having to get a job. The end of a sport that I love. For someone so young I feel that I am getting old, and that I am missing something.

Lock your children up

My speakers stopped working. This could be a very bad omen.

Why do people put so much terror into child violence, when thousands are murdered by adults every year? I am not saying that kids shooting each other is not a big deal. It's a HUGE deal. But what about the adults? The people who are supposed to know better? Why do we expect kids to be better? Because they haven't seen enough in life to make them hate? Or does society just write those unlucky adult souls off as American lives that failed to work?

It's a real shame that some beings just aren't worth as much concern as others are. I guarantee you that if Eric Harris and his cohort had walked into work 5 years later after their columbine high school years were vanquished into the past, and shot 12 people. ..It would make the national news. Maybe twice. Maybe.

And this all makes me think back to a year ago, when my friends Hannah, John, Matt and I were cutting through Tuckahoe Elementary, and found a gun. A toy gun. That looked and felt and sounded like a real gun. What did we do? We laughed at our good fortune, and preceded to make a story out of photos. But in truth, was it really all play? Even though we were in high school, we still had a rousing time pretending to shoot each other. What about the 7 year old that lost the gun in the parking lot. What was he doing with it at school?

Each day, the overwhelming corruption, fear propaganda, and subtle lies that surrounds me in this society causes me to take yet another step back. To try to find the root of it. And I may just be 15 years old. I may be sheltered and immature and ignorant and this may be simply another paraphrased writing from the millions of other people in this country who just can't understand it.

But I am just 15.

That means that if I keep stumbling on things that don't seem right in life at the same rate that I am now.. Maybe, one day, I will understand it all a little better. And I will find a way to keep it all from affecting me. I just hope the speaker omen has nothing to do with it. Silence will never be the answer.

Welcome to the Jungle

Most of my friends have probably unconsciously wondered why such a politically charged person such as myself has yet to write some crazy liberal ideology.

I haven't because my political beliefs are something that I am sure of. But tonight, I think I got my eyes opened a little more. Everyone in America grows up with those silent early morning groans as we got up and faced that flag. Even so, Our viewpoint most of the time, even insane liberals like me, is that America is free and just and different from other countries. Because we are not corrupt. The American Government really isn't corrupt though.

Capitalism and a Republic just develop these tendencies under the control of power and human nature. It's a proven fact. A few weeks ago, I was in history class when I stumbled across an excerpt that another class had read. The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair, shows the scary reality of the meatpacking industry in Chicago in 1904. I read it. It was a good book, full of Political scandals, tricks, propaganda, and manipulation of the lower class. But that was all in 1904, right? Things have changed of course. We no longer pay people to vote for a political candidate, or pay them to not let certain people vote, or to register 3 times.

Tonight I saw fact that blew a few more shingles off of my sheltered existence. The basic structure of the tricks of politics are the same now as they were in 1904. Because Capitalism is still capitalism. A republic still votes people to represent. Of course people are going to manipulate such vulnerable systems. But then I thought.

If a Republic is so naturally corrupt, what about the other subjects in the book? The vulgarity of the meat industry, and it's many many illegal tactics, must still exist in some form today. Capitalism ties into a Republic perfectly. One gives power to another which is then in control of another and soon it's all one corrupt blur. I don't know if I am going to have the same fervor that I did. I don't know if I can, because even that is ignorance. I will probably still go to many anti-war marches, but I will know that they are so I can meet others like me. They are not going to stop the war. A dollar bill is a much bigger eye catcher then 1 million signs. I

got into all of this because of the equality that I truly want for all people. It's kind of like the Christians who cuss at someone on the road on the way home from church. This corruption is part of our beings. We are all corrupt. There really is no escaping. However, if everyone is corrupt, then that becomes normal. And we must then find a new standard of corruption. So it is not about Kerry. It's not about Bush, or Gore, or Moore, or the Saudi's, or the oil, or any of it. In the end, it is about the principal. Because that is the only true thing we can gaze to without being blinded by humanity.

Leg Virus

You boy ,
you are so smart. but why do you torture yourself?

Why do you torture me?

You have been so kind over the years. Our best moments were when there were no games. Don't you realize how much better this would all be if you didn't worry and shy away, only to force me into a state of eternal analyzing?

You are like a crack addict who ran out of veins years ago.

I sit here like I did a few days ago, I'm sure. And I am puzzled as to why it was such a horrible summer for me, when some of the best things in the world happened. Maybe it was the torture in between.

Don't tell anyone, but my favorite time with you was last winterbreak, when you came home. I have the photos to prove it. It was innocent and so much fun. You would smile and I would laugh. And just once, I caught a look in your eye that started this entire thing. I saw what you wanted for a split second, but the hours after half convinced me you were just an amazing friend.

And I sometimes think that is the better way. But you are so smart.

So please tell me dear

Why could it not have been both? I gave you the most trust that I have given anyone that last morning. Then you kicked me off of your doorstep, and typed that you didn't like closure. This only after you ignored me for weeks after..Yes. You mess with my head.

Please Lovely. If you ever read this in your entire life, even if I am dead and you are old and wrinkled with children and a woman you love at your side, please. please. Realize that it could have been both ways. I could have been your friend and your lover too. Otherwise you would have not escaped even 500 miles away.

But yes, I am not going to overthink it this time. You are away, and I am growing up again.

I miss you too,
Grace

Jesus the Mexican Boy

mm homecoming.

It's over. I don't want to talk about it because it's just a dance.

what I do want to talk about however, is Dave. Last night at Drews after the dance I was really tired. around 1 I layed on this couch thing and just watched people in a daze. But then the mingled voices and flashing colors running around me faded into the background, and I started to see things I would have missed if I had been stumbling around in a stupor. Dave left for Los Angeles this morning. Last night was the last time we would see him probably. Who knows. It didn't really seem real.

Dave is a big tall mexican kid who looks very menacing from far away. But once you get to know him, he soon lives in your heart. He is kind and always smiling and always has something nice to say. He doesn't talk about anyone and I don't think he would do a soul wrong even if it meant injury to himself. He is the kind of person that comes around once in a lifetime that you don't realize until he is gone. Which is precisely why he had to leave. I saw AC and Julia getting ready to go, and I saw AC go up to Dave. And I saw pure anguish in that amazing person's face, but he was trying to hide it from her so that she wouldn't be upset.

As he walked past me, I saw him sigh. That atomized droplet of desperation and acceptance of the enevitable. That was when I first realized we weren't going to have Dave for much longer. A little while later, I passed him in a room, and I fell into him. I grabbed him and gave him a hug, and I felt him start shaking. And Katt came back to me in this cargo-pants form. That same spirit of something that makes my life wonderful, that has to leave and face the unknown. Once again I was helpless to help.

Human beings were not originally meant to travel long distances. We were not born with trains, planes, and automobiles. People in the past never traveled more then a mile from where they lived. When we started to move and seperate away from our families and friends and loves, we ran into a genetic wall. We have not had enough time in our existance to learn how to cope with distance. People we love, if they are alive and healthy, should be a short walk's length away. Not 3000 miles. We are torturing ourselves by finding new oppurtunities, as great as they are. Distance is not in our nature.

I took a walk with Dave. As we stood on that darkened street where I had felt Katt's soul, I felt this beautiful person break down. I hugged him for me, for andrew, for dave, for everyone. He shook so hard, I thought he was going to shatter onto the Richmond streets. And then I knew what to say. And I told him. And we wiped our eyes, hugged our self beings, and walked inside to capture as much personality as we could for the long ride ahead. It is going to be hard for Dave. Very hard. I am at peace with distance for now. I think I respect it, and those who must walk upon it's clamoring surface. I feel stuck again. Eventually the mud on the path will dry out, and I can continue on with this life. But my shoes will be dirty this time. I hoard every dime that I can find nowadays in the prayer of seeing my other half again.

Ave Maria

This is what makes me believe.

I was born and raised a Roman Catholic. Schooled and trained and taught and breathed Roman Catholic. And there were always things about the religion that I didn't really sit well with, and that I thought were weird and useless. And then one day a year or two ago I started to look at the entire picture.

To see Catholic versus every other religion that I could find. To question the system, the popes, the cardinals, the rites, the faith. My entire life, basically. And I got so confused. I was a 14 year old trying to figure out the Catholic Church. Soon, every single time I stepped foot into a church for mass, I had a panic attack seize me like a tidal wave of holy water. And God started to slip away. And my belief started to slip away And the world felt so dark.

For the first time in my entire life, I didn't know if I believed in God. I wanted to believe in Jesus, but I just couldn't. There was so much doubt. Especially since my ideas of Jesus were taught by this denomination shackled me to rules that I didn't believe in. And agnostic Catholic? Yep. But tonight I put in the song Ave Maria. It's beautiful no matter who you are. And I got to thinking. Or remembering. I never felt happy in mass. I felt like I was in a fiction story, and all the stupid rites and set prayers were simply lines from a script. And I am pro choice and I want gay marriage because I want people to be happy. I don't care if I think it is wrong or not; that is not my decision.

In the end, I am not going to be confirmed in the Catholic church, although I am about to spend 2 years preparing for it. My heart is not in this theocracy. I am not Catholic. And this is how I know. I have gone to mass and gotten panic attacks. The only times I have felt close to God have been when it was just me and him. In church, just me and him. Without the singing and pamphlets and communion. Listening to this song. Jesus may be real, I don't know. He has never been with me like God. I am glad that I have found something without having to completely break away. I am glad that I have the strength to say that I have a problem with being Catholic, because I feel so locked in a box. The traditions that I have been taught will always be with me. They will always make me feel like I belong to something from my past, and will always comfort me. Because they are my culture. Not my belief.

Bump Set Spike

I love my volleyball team. Aside from the running, the angry coaches, the jealous bench talk, and the incessant camel toes staring you down everywhere you turn, I love volleyball. And its a real shame I am so bad at it. We played Tucker tonight. We won, but only after one of their girls had a seizure and passed out on the bench. Yeah..We felt bad about winning after that. I did so so. I feel like I get pity played, and from now on I swear I am going to work my spandex off every minute of every practice. because I love the yanking thud of a volleyball during a hit. I love scaling a net and blocking the ball up against a brick wall.

If only I could do it more often. We have a very diverse amazing team. I really feel like I have bonded with each and everyone to a degree. So this afternoon, while waiting for the bus to take us to play, I took pictures. Lots of pictures. Happy ones, angry ones, obscene ones. And one turned out beautifully. It caught the essence of a happy team whose biggest concern is a rash from kneepads. What a great sport.

Bicoastal

He lives in absolute terror of a saxophone he has kept under his bed for four years. He played it since his mouth learned to blow, then put it under the bed four years ago because he had grown bored of it and moved on to affairs with lovelier instruments; a clarinet for two months, a flute for awhile, the drums. He went back to the saxophone and couldn't face it unashamed, so he put it under the bed and learned to play sociology, the jewel of all musical instruments. This all has something to do with the difference between fingerpainting and Jackson Pollock, or Motherwell, or when a man plays stupid noise he finds attractive on a violin he can't play, as opposed to the man who can play etudes but chooses to screech. The joy, the redemptive power of the horn he felt unentitled to, as if he had to pay more to get his interest back from the saxophone. Now he fears the saxophone will end up in his mouth like a crackpipe, that twenty years from now he will look back on that one delirious hour with the reed in his mouth, his fingers tapping the brass, and regret it forever. That he will end up some sham Anthony Braxton, always in fear that people will discover him as a fraud. Or that he would spend the rest of his life like Anthony Braxton, scribbling pictures of bicycles and numbers to describe tunes that, language having been stolen from him by the music, he can't name. Yesterday he remembered his affair with the clarinet, momentarily on the D train, over the Manhattan Bridge, and was momentarily swept upward by the memory of the clarinet's wood smell. This somehow coupled with the scenery, the blue riveted-iron bridge that colored his memory like a drink mixed with mathematics and Duke Ellington. -Mike Doughty.

I think that this man might be one of my biggest influences if I ever continue writing into the
future. I share his thirst for analogies of things that don't make sense. The irony and beauty of his words steals my breath away and hits me like a brick wall. What a guy. Yeah..Last post..Brash. But maybe I needed to say it, because I won't say that all of it was true, but some of it definitely was. People are brash yes, and they do later take back their words, but their is always a slight trace of the cocaine thoughts that you just cant find and sweep up. Chad, I am so glad that you listened to yourself. I was worried for a tad, you were so quiet. Like not even upset, just quiet. Of late, when actions are silent, their consequences can evaporate into your veins, winding their way through your heart and brain before you even know it. And Ryan Perry, if you ever by any crazy half chance read this. I am sorry, I managed to piss you off within 20 minutes of finally appearing on chokey. When I stated bottom, I meant Mail Order Husbands, and the meaning of a gorilla mask. Ask Chad, I am a sincere 15 year old. Young, and stumbling over incorrect meanings. Whoops.

We play Tucker tomorrow. My friend and I put up a sign in the hallway that said BEAT THOSE TIGERS SOFT BOYS. Mmm I love being immature sometimes. I am going to Longwood this weekend. I am very excited to see Cameron and her college and yay. I think I am going to end up a doctor in the peace corps, because deep inside, even though I don't exactly follow the hippie way of life, the soul is there. But that's why the hippie revolution never got off the ground in the first place. There are probably no more then 50 true and true hippies in this entire world. Pure selflessness, not caring about money, philosophy, and helping each other doesn't exist in this world. What a shame. Hunter if I hear from one more person that they heard I was bisexual, then I will jump on the Hunter and Bill hooked up bandwagon with a vengeance. Which is precisely why I am not a true hippie. Oh well. Katt, here is a quick response to the letter that got lost in the shuffle with my cat being lost and ect. One more Mike Doughty sigh. I think you will understand.

BICOASTAL Each city is its own dream life.
In each, the other the dream.
She is awake only on airplanes.
She hurdles weeks through the calendar in each city,
longing for the other.

Mr. Jones

This is how I know. It starts with nothing. Then the opening notes begin to breathe.

Exhaling into melodies and refrains. Back to when this was the only thing you listened to. The heater kept you're room a chilly warm and the low hum of it all underlay this song. Different people were who mattered, even though they have withered and fallen like the hunched over autumn leaves. That void in your soul is picked up and hugged in the soft sound of Ben folds puzzles. Who knows if one year ago you were happy in this chilly warm room and who knows if these words struck you like they do now. Who knows if you really cared for those people, and if that time was really actually important. Everybody knows it's always better the second time around. Wars don't seem so bloody, Nights don't seem so dark, and strangers don't seem so cold when all you have left is the fact that you can't go back.

This time around, it reminds me of something I expect to come. Which is always how I end up disappointed. And that is precisely why I think it's time I about admit it. My friends are nice. But they aren't for me. I am not happy with them. They don't leave me with that rush. They make me feel like shit most of the time. Why are they my friends then? I think I got on the wagon too quickly. I didn't have anyone else to go to. I still don't. I really am alone. Or maybe I am just scared to be alone. I don't want to be the freak at lunch who gets all the chairs around her stripped away, like the unlucky branch on the Christmas tree. I shouldn't feel paranoid. I shouldn't feel annoying. I shouldn't feel controlling and needy and miserable. And it isn't their fault. I just get like this when I am around them. We have almost nothing in common. I think that I am remembering now why I wanted to go to boarding school this year. that probably won't help either way. They get off someone else can get on. The tears inside of me are stuck. They have amassed to a great salt sea that turns and tosses in me and keeps me away with the changing tides of insanity. Answer me this.

What is there left to do?

And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones. It's time

Send me your flowers, of your December

mazzy star is right.

they say every man goes blind in his heart they say everybody steals somebody's heart away.

In one month exactly, I will be sitting down to write myself a letter. To sum up 365 days in 2 pages. My new friends, my lost old ones. The tears, the lessons, the memories. It's a heavy experience, summarizing a year in your life on paper. It's a scary experience to actually read it. these letters are for another time. An older me. I am saving them. One for each year of my life, to be written the day before my birthday, so that I can fully cherish and come to terms with another year that has abandoned me.

sometimes I wish I could just stop time, and think. Wonder about all of it. About him, people I have met, those I will meet, and those I might meet if I am lucky. it's funny where the rainbow always ends up. for now, peace love and respect

Long worded evening

Writing is best done in the evening, I have come to find.

That way the whole day's race of thoughts and contemplations can reach the finish line. I spent time with an old friend today. He is not someone you would immediately think would be friendly and such a great thinker. The ear plugs and occasional Mohawk can throw you off. But I really do cherish my time with Alex M.

Maude has been in my head all day. I hope one day I can end up somewhat like her. Maybe not her lifestyle, but her philosophy on life just was so correct. I wish I didn't forget it so often.

You see Harold; I feel that much of the world's sorrow comes from people that are this, yet allow themselves to be treated as that.

I am this, but I allow myself to be treated as that. But I got such kind words from people who matter in response. And all I can say is thank you for understanding. I appreciate it more then you will ever know. tomorrow, I am going to wake up early. I am going to hike to my secret spot, and I am going to bandage up this continuing feeling of despair. I need to grow up. I never see kalene anymore. I just want one day this year just me and her. But only if she wants it. I'm fine with how things are now, I guess.

I glanced at his photo the other day, and it seemed so foreign to me, like this summer was a bad dream. But tonight, I know it wasn't. Tonight I miss the bastard. Damn his stare. I know that missed him all along, however. Because for the next two days, the only song I listened to was flowers in December by mazzy star. He gave me that song on purpose, and I cant seem to pull the record off of the player in my mind. I can't seem to rip his photo off of my memory's wall. I'm afraid if I pull to hard, I will be the one torn and ripped.

someday you're going to get hungry and eat most of the words you just said.

There is a kid I know who has eyes filled with millions of letters. Thousands of words and hundreds of sentences. Dying to get out. And each syllable jabbed a hole in his happiness. I talked to him tonight, and I am so glad that he can start to get these sentences out. He already had an amazing personality, now you just don't have to peer into his eyes to view it. I wish him the best of luck, and I will be there anytime he needs me. because I am always here. I'm here for kalene, Lauren, drew, Hannah, katt, Chad, aidan, Chapin ect. ect. I don't have friends sometimes. I have acquaintances needing advice. And I need advice too. But then I end up whining and they get annoyed with me. But they won't tell me. But I'm not dumb, I can sense it in between their gushes about that boy or this ignoring pattern or the math test. I sometimes wonder if I would be less lonely if I didn't give advice. Because I don't live life sometimes. I explain to others how to. Damn I'm selfish.

selfish and lonely. So I am taking donations to help me get to Seattle as soon as possible. why exactly am I home on a Friday night? Because I don't know how many more familiar faces I must stare into until I find myself somewhere else in the house with a book. oh god. Where did my beautiful summer drives with someone who was one long road of turns go? where did my other half go? Where do I go? So now I am afraid to stop typing because this keyboard is my only physical friend right now. I am so stupid. Here I am upset about nothing and my own incessant thoughts when people like annabel and really hurting. This society is too kind on us. It makes us unhappy. but why do people look at others and say "that person has no right to be sad, this other person has it off much worse"? Isn't pain still pain in the end? And yes there are definitely different degrees of sadness, but if you get a greater degree for a lesser amount of sadness, aren't you equal dying? On top of the guilt of being hurt over something trivial? I miss God. It's been a while since we have talked. peace love and respect. grace

Wisdom with Rashka

On Lap 3 of walking Rashka around my neighborhood in an attempt to get away from Sunday anxiety, I managed to stumble over a kind of realization. Let me try to somewhat explain.

I've always been pretty different. I just never seemed to think the way others did. I could be on the playground for hours when I was little, and I didn't need anyone with me. I played with the world. Mom says I was never bored when I was little. School was always easy for me. Maybe because I don't find studying helpful. I learn it the first time around. But that's not really important.

What's important is that I don't think the way others do when it comes to friends. Well, one person thinks like me, but 3000 miles kind of voids that argument. I care about my friends. A lot. I don't want to see them hurt. I will try to go out of my way to help. But, I don't know if I ever really do manage to help. I like talking to my friends. In fact, I like talking to my friends about 4 things at once until something else pops in my head. Most of you know that. Kalene looked at me last night and said "Grace, you are the weirdest person that I have ever met." she hasn't been the first one. Many people have told me that. They just always manage to word it differently. But this time, for some weird reason, it finally got me thinking

Why the hell must I be so different.

Why do my friends fight my personality, but still want to hang out in the evenings? Why am I so miserable being me? And that right there is where it hit me. I don't let myself be me, because my friends cut me down for it. Alex did it. Kalene does it a lot. Lauren does it sometimes. Drew just smiles. And it kills me. I feel like I'm a horrible obsessive person because I am so passionate about having this country run the way we originally wrote it out to be, for example.

But honestly, what the hell is wrong with that? I CARE. I'm sorry. But I don't think that I am going to be anymore. I am passionate. I care about people and I want to help them. I have millions of things I want to be when I grow up. I love being involved in school. I'm random. I like intelligent conversation. I will push you. I am self conscious because I feel like I am the only one walking around this earth sporting hips. I completely don't fit in, and I will probably never date anyone In high school and I will probably never get a homecoming or prom date. But in the end, that's not important. Because one day, just like with katt, I am going to run into some man who is out there just as much as me and cares and loves and is smart and random and talks. And we will be happy.

But right now, I want you to accept me for who I am. If I do something that bothers, you then I am sorry. If you straight out tell me, then I am going to feel bad about it. But that is your decision. Do not criticize me for the traits that make me Grace, because there must be some reason you are sitting here at my website and you are reading my words. I still haven't found out all about myself. I still probably have no idea who I am. But I do know that when I am sitting at a table with a coffee and I have a factory in my head shooting out words and I'm debating something and I am floating on every sentence, that I am happy. And in the end, that is what is important. You want to talk to me about this? You know my screename. I care about all of you Peace Love and Respect

Back to Square One

Sometimes, bad things happen.

Volcanoes explode, Tidal waves kill countries

Your best friend accidentally deletes your entire blog the day before you were going to print all of it out.

But come on, worse things have happened.

I think.

It's already turning out to be a not so good 2005.
I have already almost lost my job, and had my entire timeline of my life for the last few months erased.

It does scare me that I am mourning the loss of my blog like the loss of a dear friend.
but maybe that is because that was exactly what it was.

But I am going to suck it up, know that I had a blast with my writings. and we are going to all take a deep breath, sit down, and

start over.

Because that really is the only thing that we can do at this point.
And from now on, I'm making a copy of everything.