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|Thursday, January 1st, 2009|
give up soda, and lower significantly corporate food products
shop at sundance, kiva etc. consiously try to support local businesses
cook once a week outside campbell club
get into urban farm
ride bike EVERYWHERE!
remember to follow the path of an open heart
do not be afraid of feelings and expressing them
write, do art
make significant progress in learning the piano
skills i want to learn/develop: salsa
do not be afraid to play in the creative realm
do not lose things, be more organized, keep pictures and music
decorate my room
get a 3.0
create moments and events, be an organizer.
judge people with heart instead of head.
|Monday, January 14th, 2008|
I keep hearing things
That I’d rather just not know.
So now I’m trying to drown them in excessively hot baths.
Steam them out of my ears with the fury
Of a whistling kettle.
(but he sometimes smelled like herbal tea leaves)
Now I’m trying to burn them off my skin-
Like a drunk might do
To an unwanted tattoo-
(but his skin sometimes tasted like pine needles
and when he sweat,
like melting icicles)
I’m just not cut out to watch things melt.
My astrological sign says I’m full of water,
But water changes form too much for me to feel safe.
I’d prefer something more solid, made of stone
Or metal that had been mined out of the deep pressures
Of earth’s core.
(but he never tasted cold like metal, always warm
like lemon pound cake just out of the oven, I took
from his sugary neck)
I’m the one that left anyways.
It’s funny how you can leave a place,
While secretly leaving your whole invisible heart there.
As in love as I’d ever been, I left.
I mean I never considered staying,
I have exploring to do.
Though I still can’t tell if he even minded
Beyond the occasional smile of remembrance,
Or the wincing memory flashes that make your eyes squint,
And your fists flex,
Once and awhile,
I am like that.
I am a flickering image, a thought between
Other, more permanent thoughts.
I am not a branding iron,
(but his thumbprint is branded on the thin inside skin
of my wrist)
I am not a scar or tree with extensive roots
Or a piece of heavy mohagany furniture
Placed at the top of the stairs.
I am not a turtle that you buy because you want a friend
For the next 87 years.
I am made of water
and I flow mostly towards freedom.
(but that is sometimes another word for lonliness)
|Saturday, January 5th, 2008|
Sometimes we are heaps, dull and
Still like a pond sits quiet
Under heavy skies, so still.
Trying not to breathe, fearful of
The moving change.
Then little dirt hand grips rock,
Arm bends, wrist flicks quick like
Scattering birds, rock dives
For the surface of glass, ripples spill
Out to meet the grass.
Springs rocket trampoline jumps,
Momentum spurs cartwheel
Chains down nostalgic grass hills,
Pushes us towards the days where we will
Let each other go.
Equal and opposite reaction.
I’m flung in a gunpowder
Blaze. Purpose gives oxygen
To kinetic luminosity
And lotus flames.
Now she shows me places
Where the boulders caved into her bones,
She shows me where it hurts.
We remember when she would swing,
And I would push.
Passed like a childhood whisper, this
Sharing of energy,
My force converted to her
Freedom, swinging then letting go
Of clanking chains.
So we follow our heartroad,
Out to watch a sunset
Hush over the ocean.
We simmer constant like last coals of fire
And we two know,
There is no such thing as
Stillness. No such thing as ending.
Our energy is not ours,
We borrowed it from trees, from wind
From each other,
From our own past lives, from all
Of eternity. And we
Will give it away.
A pond will be ocean and sky
And you and me,
|Monday, December 31st, 2007|
new years resolutions:
well, this year i will be in ecuador, and will not be back until next new years eve, so my resolutions are based on a life i know nothing about yet. but nevermind all the fear and bring on the unwritten, the unknown, the unfathomable expanse!! (thats what new years is always about right?)
- become fluent in spanish
- test my cultural barriers, make relationships with ecuadorians, even if it feels uncomfortable
- learn about the "old world" ways of these people. especially when im in the rain forest. old world healing, practices, ways of organizing, etc
- buckle down, study when im at university, try not to party too much
- learn about/participate in the youth political scene if i can
- become a salsa master
- KEEP IN TOUCH WITH THE PEOPLE THAT MATTER
- be a constant figure in alisons life even though i am far
- be as open as possible. no apologies. no fear.
- follow through on all my serious intentions
- keep writing, poeticizing, blogging
- explore my music more
- practice my harmonica
- give my heart away more easily
- deal with my sexual issues. have good sex. be more sexually open
- take pictures
- reject my slothful ways!!
- wean myself off of corporate, mass produced food products
- spend as little money as possible. use free sharing services, craigslist, couchsurfer, SINTAEs
- TRY to buy all used products (except food and undies:P) not sure how easy this will be in ecuador
- take my vitamins
- eat three meals per day
- take less medicine
- concious thought/less daydreaming fantasy
- see alicia somewhere in south america
- adventure!love!absurdity!nonsense! the usual.
oh deary me, i always make way too many resolutions, which is a nice way to set yourself up for failure. but cheers!! to all of them. may this year push me and prod me and wring me out until i am weak and dry. may i rise up, may we all rise up, may the revolution rise up and a toast! to the shrouded newness of my breathless adventure, to movement and growth but remembrance as well, to staying alive, to love and the hope that it touches everyone that feels its lack, to our potential as individuals but more importantly our potential as a society...
to this night not as a simple holiday, but as a stopping point so that no one just keeps on living without ever reflecting. a chance to take 2007 out back and shoot it with a shotgun if needed, or else pour a glass of champagne between its lips as they glitter for a few more short hours. a chance to start over and change. and to tomorrow! when so many crash diets and excercise plans will be started, and less cigarettes will be bought than the day before, and more people will play with their kids, and less will cheat on their wives, and there will be more people trying for that purity of heart and spirit. even if it just lasts for one day.
CHEERS TO YOU!!
|Friday, December 21st, 2007|
i am often at a loss for where to begin. a letter, a conversation, a doodle, a poem, a love affair, a meeting... i have trouble starting books, or my homework, or anything really. sometimes i wait until my stomach is munching on its own acid before i decide to feed myself. i operate best when immersed in something, when i have lost track of the way in and the way out. this is when i am no longer looking at it objectively, but instead have become a part of it, have molded to its form like water in a glass jar. once engrossed in a book, i have no problem leaving myself on a bookshelf and jumping lightly into the lives of characters. too often, i wander into poems, pen scrawling pretty words on paper, only to find that the words are orienting me instead of the other way around. i can swim through the thoughts that someone brings to a conversation, picking and questioning and responding, without ever initiating my own ideas. in this way i am fragile. i do and create many things, but they are often aimless and without intention. i sometimes live like a cointoss, like a meandering walk without a destination, like a blindfolded dancer unaware that she's dancing near the edge of a cliff. i sometimes love to live this way.
but today i sat in the overcrowded food court of a mall and took small bites of styrofoam posing as fried rice, picking around the vegetables, and looking at my mom across the table, who has this way of looking at my face that reduces the echoing conversations of manic shoppers to a barely audible hum. she is worried about my future and my lack of any practicality and all the usual things, but these are not what gets me. it's that look. penetrating and so willing to trust, her eyebrows raise and then furrow and her gaze stays steady and hot on my skin, making all the commotion around us blur. all the people and the tapping of their plastic forks and the clomps of their shoes on tile are slowed down into rhythmic beats that match my calm heartbeat and make this moment seem like something i should pay attention to. and she is waiting for me to say something that will alleviate her worry. So I promise her that whatever choices I make, from here on out, I will make with purpose and clear thought. With intention. I make it clear that I am not talking about an effort to become more sensible or more successful in the classical definition. I am simply saying that I am going to pursue things and places that will help me grow, point my compass needles in thriving directions, teach me the ways and show me the magic that I’m so desperately craving right now. And I really mean this one, unlike most of the paper airplanes of bullshit I usually throw her way. I’m engaging. I’m trying to be the force that’s happening to my life, instead letting fuzzy days roll through and sitting passively by while things just happen to me, and to the world around me. I am saying what I really mean, and for her that is just enough, so it is an out of character moment for both of us.
(The whole time I was telling her this, I was secretly promising myself that I would follow through on all my intentions. My intentions being the growth of truth, love, revolution, creativity, and the newness of adventure, this was too daunting a promise to speak out loud.)
Don’t worry now, I could never forget what it means to wander aimlessly through a green field, to jump onto a bike and ride break neck up a hill just to be closer to a sunset, to play with the slam dancing waves that spread themselves over sand with the breath of the sea… This is what I’ve been doing all day. It’s my nature, it’s who I am.
My personal revolutionary prophet who drops in once in awhile to play the part of my friend, is always telling me, “shape the society that’s shaping you”. I always took this to mean that if I could draw on the things that genuinely made me feel like myself, those things that have been etched in hot golden ink on the inner fleshy folds of my heart, that I could express myself to people in a way that would mean something to them. I took it to mean that if I could see the things that made me a unique spectacle; my wit, my rhyme, the warm way that my palm feels when it touches the back of someone’s neck in comfort, the rockin explosion of taste that literally erupts from my new experiments with baked goods.. then I would have access to all the tools that I needed to command myself and show myself. This became a kind of power source, a rejuvenating well of silver strength potion that I would drink when I felt weak, like a flicker of a person with nothing to contribute to my social situation, nothing worth saying, nothing worth thinking. I still take this advice to mean all of these things, but it’s beginning to resonate more expansively for me.
New windows of sun washed potential are being opened on the part of my brain that dreams. I see my society. I see all the ways that it inherently works to mold my life into being its productive minion. I see the capacity of school and work to lull me into a quiet sleep and keep me tired enough to let all my inclinations of beautiful psychosis pass me by. I see the ways in which my fellows and I are sedated, with drugs we take or let doctors prescribe to us. Have we forgotten how to use each other and our own sacred minds for healing? I see the ways that even my family is an institution of expectations, when I watch them titter around my cousin, who is showing off her soft 22-year old hand newly laden with a diamond the size of the Christmas ham. I picture that bare hand digging through dark, wet dirt or reaching out to help a homeless man off the sidewalk. Somehow it doesn’t seem as able with the weight of the diamond. Ah well, I’ve always been overly affected by this kind of symbolism anyways. But I am seeing my society for all the ways that it is oppressive to me (I’m not even gonna start on the ways that is oppressive to my fellow earth-dwellers, for that is an entirely more heavy subject), but the point is, that I am also seeing all the ways in which I am letting this be so. See what I seem to so often forget, is that I am actually a large and virulent part of this society of which I am so critical, and however strong of a force it is using to make me complacent, a tiny part of that force belongs to me, and I can use it for resistance. I can use it to rattle and simmer and smoke inside my society. I can use it to educate, I can use it to dream, I can use it for activism and civil disobediance. I can use it for love. I can use it to shape the society that’s shaping me. I want to use my power source for more colossal measures; for a revolution, even if it’s only in my own heart.
But I just feel so pointless sometimes. Small and distracted and unable to latch onto my purpose; I feel contained. Like some madman put a radioactive chicken wire cage on my brain, and as much as I struggle, pulsate against it, I can’t get my thoughts out. And the one’s that do get out, just fizzle and dissipate into swirling smoke. The whole process makes me tired.
So I think of the times I feel most alive. I feel my mind spin and my hands shake when I’m writing poetry after too much coffee, pencil scratching manic doodles between blue lines. I feel the tree of thinking grow on hour three of a long conversation over spoons resting in empty ceramic mugs. (problem solved. Coffee is clearly the secret ingredient to life). I feel the thickness of the air building around electric eye contact between two faces, bare kneecaps touching, unflinching eye contact that singes the cloth corners of pillows.
And I remember that night, cold and wet and half drunk, when me and Ruby climbed the hill to the train tracks and threw rocks at the metal spikes. We whooped when we hit one and it made a satisfying clanking sound, and we walked until we found the back of a halted train. She convinced me to climb a ladder to the top of a train car, and we stood up there, I was trying not to scream and my sneakers were falling in and out of the metal dips as we walked along the top of the car and it was raining and we were daring each other to stay, to not get down even though that whistle could blow at any second and the train could start rolling down the tracks. I was laughing shots of adrenaline, and wondering if I was brave enough to jump off a moving train, wondering if I would break bones, if I would land on my feet, if I knew how to do that rolling catch that they do in action movies, and every time I went for the ladder, Ruby pointed her finger at me and kept me up on top of that damn train, yelling and singing, and I knew right then we would be great friends.
Of course the train never started moving and I didn’t have to pull any action stunts, but after we climbed down, we sat in one of the open cars (much lower to the ground) and let our feet dangle over the tracks. We talked about staying on the train, and taking it to anywhere. I think we would’ve done it too, except that we were already cold and wet, and it was almost midnight in October and neither of us even had jackets, just Oregon sweatshirts with thumbholes. But moments like that are portals, wormholes into a higher form of living, and as we walked back to our dorm room, past the glaring fast food places and the busy street, I think I was wishing we were brave enough to stay on the train.
Now I’m not writing these things to get them back, or to figure out a way to recreate them. I’m simply remembering the life that was inside them. I’m writing to get my thoughts out of my head and give them a train track on which to roll. I’m writing to get direction, an outlet. I’m writing to get free.
|Tuesday, January 11th, 2005|
2 months and 5 days until...
not the movie silly, the real deal. Elle, Stephanie, Kenzie, and myself will soon be taking off in Kenzie's green Honda civic to the balmy air (and deathly mudslides) of Southern California BABY! I know what you're thinking... Brintney Spears, losing my virginity to an ex convict, car breaking down, falling down the stairs and miscarrying my unborn child... NO! There will be none of that. Only 11 drama free, sunny, smoky, INDEPENDENT days of sweet, are you ready for this?... freedom. ahhh. The best part about it is that we know enough people to stay with that we dont have to sleep in hotels, so thats only about $300 each. SAWEET SON!
I can picture myself driving down a midnight highway, Joni Mitchell crooning softly, Steph and Kenzie passed out in the back, Elle flicking ash out the window open a crack, joking quietly to keep me awake... these girls make me feel alive inside the walls of my house. It's all gonna explode on the road. (I'm doing my final project in mythology on Dr. Seuss and rhymes are just poppin out of me).
PUES, BUENOS NOCHES AMIGOS...
Grace, if you're reading, dont stop writing on this thing... that'll just be another 5 minutes of my day thats comepletely deviod of meaning
|Saturday, November 6th, 2004|
I have never hurt so bad for anyone in my life. Never cried, never thrown up, never wanted to crack into someone's pain more than I do for her. Beaten and raped by two guys she met at a party, in a town where people trust eachother, where if you do coke together friendship is a given. So why not go back to their place? It's where they have the good stuff. Armed with trust and a cell phone, WHY THE HELL NOT? Raped methodically, in what was obviously a plan or a routine by both of them. One right after the other. Imagine trying to fight off someone thats coked up and invincible. Imagine having to give up because nothing you do or scream or pound is even noticable. Imagine sitting on a curb, bleeding, bruised, holding in so much pain that you can't even stand. Alone.
And then imagine telling people. Looking into the eyes of all the people you care about as they realize that you're battered merchandise. Knowing that they are all picturing it in their minds. That they spend every second that you can't see them crying on your behalf.
And now imagine living with yourself, with your body. Having your own being, your own femininity be a reminder of that night. Imagine looking at your bruises.
I can't stop imagining it.
It's been less than two weeks and she still has the rest of her life to dwell on this. She won't report, won't accept the fact that she was mind fucked and let people take care of her. These men will do this again. I can't help thinking now, more than ever, that we are all the same. That her pain is mine and yours and my best friend's and my little sister's... that this is real now. Not just a story or a statistic. This could happen to any woman that passes me on the street. How many has it already happened to? When will I be the woman walking down the street holding that secret? Cause I feel like I already am. We're all connected - woman to woman to woman... So BE MORE CAREFUL. These two men are still living completely untouched in Boulder. You could know them. So could I, she won't tell me who they are. PLEASE, protect yourself. There's more where they came from.
|Tuesday, October 26th, 2004|
- Try everything once, if you enjoy, keep going
- Dont plan everything out, go with the flow
- Show compassion to everyone, even if they don't deserve it
- Don't be afraid to show affection
- People need to earn trust
- Keep all important secrets
- Don't let mistakes beat you
- Keep old friends
- War is ALWAYS wrong, no matter the circumstance
- anti violence, pro peace:)
- pro choice, anti death penalty, liberal
- always be informed before you speak
- dont let strong opinions take over, be open to change and the opinions of others
- Dont bother with ignorant people or superficiality, it will always be around you, you can't change it
- All emotions are real and significant simply because you have them
- Question all things you don't understand, even vocabulary
- Question all organized religion
- experiment with drugs, know your limits
- party your ass off, but don't let it consume you
- get enough sleep
- embrace nudity
- keep music in your life always, in some form or another
- take advice with a grain of salt
- be childish, playful
- life is funny
- use whatever creativity you have, even if you keep it to yourself
- casual sex is a NO NO
- when you're having sex have lots of it!
- eat wherever, whenever, whatever you desire
- be really good to your friends
- strive for independence
- realize family is the strongest bond you have and respect it
- go to therapy no matter who you are
- respect your elders, and they will respect you
- move around alot, see the world
- play in water
- believe in the supernatural
- see things, do things, read things, talk to people - do whatever it takes to expand your knowledge
- chicks over dicks :)
- sadness and bleak bleary eyed depression is ok
- remember your potential, and that because potential exists, things can always get better
- complete optimism is completely unrealistic
- dancing, while being totally awkward, is worth it
- take stock of self, people in your life, and memories
|Sunday, August 1st, 2004|
Due to my immense jet lag I woke up this morning at 4:30 am and couldn't fall back asleep. I was completely unpacked and dressed by 6. And now my family is still snoozing and I am trying to keep myself busy in the complete silence of my house.
I just tried to download 'Leavin on a Jet Plane' by John Denver, but I got distracted when, much to my amusement, I found that the fabulous Dr. Demento has created a spoof of the song 'Thank God I'm a Country Boy,' entitled, "Thank God I'm a Pubic Hair'. It eases my mind to know that sick, hilarious fucks like Dr. Demento still exist out there. Needless to say, I downloaded it and lemme tell ya... its worth a listen.
And that was the excitement of my morning.
WAKE UP WORLD!
god im bored.
|Saturday, July 31st, 2004|
Well, home from Spain. *sigh* After the long goodbyes and even longer airplane rides, after the initial excitement to see my family, after the chipotle I've been fantasizing over for a month, I am now left with the greatest feeling of longing I have experienced in some time. On the bright side, my trip was amazing. Good friends, good dancing, good men, good sangria... I could talk about it forever but I simply don't know where to start. I wish I had chronicled my trip in this thing while it was happening because now its just one big multicolored blur. Bottom line is that I miss it horribly. My love of traveling is turning out to be a bit of a curse. Every time I fall in love with a new place and new people, I have to learn to leave them much sooner than I am ready for.
And now, after the crazy, romantic, peaceful experience that was my summer, I am back to reality. A reality that had me depressed before I left and one that is full of responsibilities and people I just am not ready to handle. Am I using these trips to run away? Why does my quality of life seem to skyrocket when I leave this place? I saw Vanessa today, a friend that has had experiences similar to mine, and she agrees that there is something so exciting and enlightening about coming to know a new country and learning to blend in there. Bahhh... fancy adjectives are just not doing this justice. The jet lag has fried my brain. At least I came back with stories and pictures and friends up the fucking wazoo. But the cobblestone streets, the manchego cheese, the fruit market on Sundays, the adorable bartender at Tino's, Gustavo and Raul, the way it feels to walk down a familiar street greeting people in perfect spanish... I guess those things belong only to me. Thats ok for now.
So tomorrow I will turn on my cell phone and come back to my life... But this time I'm going to do it with grace (HI GRACE!) and I'm going to learn to be happy with what I've got here. I am going to be responsible and get my shit together so that I can sail off to college without a hitch and live happily ever after. Ha. No seriously, no more of this cynical shit. I am determined to have a genuinely good senior year. Can I draw on how it felt to live in Spain and Mexico for contentment? Does that work?
Im off to bed. Its 6 am my time.
|Saturday, June 26th, 2004|
My last entry makes even myself sick. Poor little rich girl with a car and a trip to Spain in front of her... I was just in one of those moods and needed to vent.
And to people who leave bashing comments anonymously, grow some balls! It’s not a stretch to guess who you are considering very few people even know this exists and only one has a history of anonymously harassing people via the internet...
Aaaanyways, I did something crazy last night. Wow. I won’t say what it was for fear that my sister reads this, but I will leave you with one telltale letter...
Everyone clear? Gooood.
|Tuesday, June 22nd, 2004|
I hate money. I hate earning it, keeping track of it, managing it, thinking about it... I even hate the way it looks with its blatant salute to America and christianity, both of which are wrapped firmly in its clutches. I hate that money is soaked in disease because it has been in so many people's hands. I'm only 16 and working a part time job to pay for gas and clothes and my daily chipotle, but already I'm feeling the stress that money brings to life. Not only have I spent a ridiculous amount of money on completely unecessary shit this summer, but now I owe my parents over 200 dollars for new glasses and a camera for my photography class. My huge hoss of a car takes 40 FUCKING DOLLARS to fill up and I'm going to have to start paying my insurance cause I got in a bit of a wreck a few weeks ago... Down the road I will have to pay my parents at least 1000 dollars for this Spain trip (I'm actually getting a damn good deal considering it costs 4 grand) and I'm supposed to take $400 for spending money. I have $63.23 in my account right now. I will have to dip into my very thin savings account and then work my ass off next year so that I can eat in college.
Another story of money stress: I have a very good friend named Kenzie. She has an irresponsible mother. Now usually her mother's laid back personality and very un-motherly lifestyle works greatly to our advantage, but it just so happens that she owes my family $780 for a trip I was supposed to go on this summer. To make a long story short, I ended up not being able to go (spain), informed her 6 months ago, she promised to find someone else and return the money. Now here we are, 6 months later, she is ignoring my mother's calls and letters and emails. She avoids the topic whenever I happen to see her and mention it. My parents are pissed, my dad is threatening to sue, and wants to, in his own words, "give her a piece of my mind". Poor little Kenzie and I are innocent bystanders in this mess, on the brink of a huge fight between our families that will undoubtedly affect our friendship.
I hate money, but without it I would be going nowhere. It's a driving force. We're all slaves to it.
On a happier note, the sun finally came out today after weeks of grey, rainy, mush. What was that? My mom told me that in 1995 it rained straight all through June and didn't clear up till the 4th of July.
|Friday, June 11th, 2004|
I haven't updated lately because something in me has shifted. I haven't written a word for myself, for this thing, for anyone since summer began. Something in me has become less expressive and less willing to delve into myself or anyone else. I've been shying away from conversations and interactions that aren't face value and light hearted. What is this? Maybe it's the Zoloft. My therapist says its not a happy pill, but for some reason it makes me feel even, like I've flatlined and am at a loss for true emotion. I stopped taking it for about a week and I cried for the first time in weeks. I started remembering my dreams and had some pretty damn amazing ones. I dreamed I could read and control people's minds and was wandering around hearing the truth about everyone. I stood near holy family Jamie and heard all about what it feels like to have cancer. There was another girl who kept bumping into me that could do exactly what I could except she existed in a different reality. Every time she brushed up against me I got electrocuted. Then I was by this lake controlling the water, making it rise up and say things to me. I was swirling the colorful clouds and making the earth roll. Elle was next to me and she couldn't see any of it. All she could say was "Why are you moving your arm like that?"
Dreams aside, I felt more alive off of it. My therapist says I need it to keep myself in check, but what if I don't want that? I don't know what to do. Maybe its just my lifestyle. I never feel like myself when I keep partying constantly, being fucked up so much and just letting myself go with people I don't give a shit about. There's a small handful of people in this world that I have loving, genuine relationships with and the rest don't seem to even register on my radar. They are unstimulating, two dimensional, and are only good for fleeting laughs and a memory of a good time. I want to shake them awake, make them see that there is so much more than this tiny, smoke-filled house full of wild nights and hungover mornings. Maybe they all know it and just don't feel the need to let it out. Maybe they see me as some stupid piece of cardboard as well. After all, I'm no better than them.
I want out!! If Spain wasn't coming I might run away. Find one of those traveling hippie communes and give a big FUCK YOU to life as I know it. Peace.
|Saturday, June 5th, 2004|
Summer is kicking my ass. Work, party, drink, work, smoke, eat, play in the sun, drink, boredom, party, drink... I'm off to take a much needed nap.
24 day until Spain! Maybe 25... I don't know how many days there are in june. I get stupider in the summer.
An interesting entry full of the adventurous turn my life has taken is on the way. g'night. At 3 in the afternoon. I'm a fool.
I can't decide whether I love the summer life or deeply hate it.
|Thursday, May 27th, 2004|
Litlle Maricela, one of my dearly missed Mexico sisters, turned eight last week. I wish I could have been there for her ‘santo’, gorging on flan and giggling in the hammock until its time for cafe con leche with the fam. Of all the thousands of things I miss about Mexico, Mari was the single most amazing little girl I met there, and I miss her most of all. I often fantasize about what it would be like for her to visit me. I wonder what she would think of doorbells, refrigerators, carpet, stoplights, ceiling fans... the list goes on. Part of me would love to let her take a bubble bath in the jacuzzi tub or go see a movie in a theatre. I would toss her into my parents’ king size bed and bury her in covers, then order a huge, greasy pizza and let her devour it. I could just imagine her bright-eyed curiosity as I drove her around the streets of my American life. Part of me wants to bring her here and lavish her in all the comforts and luxuries we are exposed to every day. Shopping, fancy restaurants, spas, a three story house. It’s a fantasy, yes, but at the same time a very sick and twisted one. The other part of me knows that Maricela is perhaps one of the happiest children on this planet and I wouldn’t ruin that for the world. What if she came here and her humble life just wasn’t good enough anymore? I’m sure she would be seduced by the fast-paced, crowded, exciting enviroment that America has to offer... then what would she think of San Ildefonso? Of the river? Of her family that goes to bed early so they can wake up at the crack of dawn to make tortillas? Being exposed to this life would quite possibly rock her world in the worst kind of way. Cause when you know something “better” is out there, can you really be content where you are? Ironically, this is how I feel about the life she is lucky to lead. Simple, humble, untouched, pure... so unaffected by the outside world. They live for faming, dancing, and eachother. Happiness is sitting outside on woven chairs, talking and laughing while the women sew their serviettas and mosquitoes eat you alive. And its not like this lifestyle has made them naiive or dissapointed - they are real people, and they live their life so much better than we do. They don’t try too hard to make themselves a certain way, they arn’t in training for the rest of their life. They’re simply living in the moment next to people they love. That’s what this experience was for me. Learning to express emotion in it’s rawest, purest form... which is what makes us human and connects us all. What makes living worthwile. Not the material luxuries of this world; they only complicate things. So screw bringing little Mari to America. I will be content with the image of her running through the hills barefoot, playing the acuzena game and beating me every time. It physically hurts to write about this. I’m homesick for them.
|Sunday, May 23rd, 2004|
One more fucking week of school! 5 more days, 120 hours... I'm stopping there. Do the math yourself bitch! Tonight was 'study night', but unfortunatly my ADD is in full swing. Last night (another attempted 'study night') I even turned off my phone and buried it in my pajama drawer in hopes of working... failed hopes. I wrote a livejournal, I watched the Mad TV marathon with my sister, I used expensive long distance minutes to call Tedd (who was drunk in a giggling oblivion and brought up the awkward topic of how I shut him down last summer. Needless to say we had a rather entertaining conversation and a spirited debate over whether Top Ramen causes cancer or is simply a delicious snack). Nothing of importance was accomplished. Actually, I take that back... I don't actually find school that important. I only think that its important because of college and my future and ohmygod I might have to live in a one-story house! My children will eat dirt and we will all have to bathe in a river. I will be forced to work in a Nike sweatshop where CEO's will beat me and eat my appendages all for 5 cents an hour...
I don't know where that came from. The point was that I'd rather listen to Tedd drawl in his Chicaahgo accent than study for a chem final any day.
Time to study...FO REAL!!
Ok, I do really care about college because its my ticket out of here and I DON'T care if ramen causes cancer because it is the only thing I know how to make...its speedy and magically delicious. Can you think of anything better than processed noodles in artificially flavored water?
|Saturday, May 22nd, 2004|
I have never been one of those girls that whines 3 times a day about how desperately she "just wants someone to love her", but lately I've been very jealous of those in committed relationships. Maybe it's the onset of summer, or just sexual frusteration, but where I used to ridicule the lack of independence that comes along with relationships, I'm starting to admire the trust and comfort that I see in the people in them. It seems like a good boyfriend would substantiate this silly life that I call my own, where partying is religion and everyone gets sucked into meaningless drama while simultaneuosly making sure they don't open up or be real towards anyone. Obviously, I'm getting sick of my lifestyle. And I feel guilty in saying that because there is not that much to complain about. I have some quality relationships with good people, and they do disappoint sometimes but what friendship doesn't? I just feel like something is missing in my life and every time I have another meaningless, dirty hookup with another guy it gets worse. I don't enjoy doing this...it's like a habit or something. But ahh, that feeling of hooking up with somebody you care about is just so sexy and funny and silly and passionate and emotional and lazy... I miss that. Now it's just a game, a stupid in-the-moment conquest. Its just a story to tell the next morning. But when there's no one around that I'm interested in, what else am I supposed to do? Which brings me to another point of frusteration...it sucks not to even have an inkling of desire:) for anyone around me. It's like being dead in an area of my life. Every guy I meet that sparks my interest either turns out to be a dumbfuck, goes to rehab, (coughkevincough) doesn't want me, or there's simply no connection. Are my standards too high?? NO goddamnit! All I want is a genuinely down to earth guy that makes me laugh and isn't a fucking dramawhore. Among the boys I know I guess that is a bit of a high standard... Oh well, shit happens on its own time. Maybe Spain will fill this void... and by that I mean maybe I will meet that sexy spanish boy and we will have a torrid affair behind street vendor carts, walk hand in hand down cobblestone streets, and have sex in the POOL that is on the ROOF of the building that I am staying in. So when you think of me this summer, just imagine me skinny dipping under Spanish stars...
|Wednesday, May 19th, 2004|
I’m going back to Fairview!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! woohoooooooo!!! I am officially number 2 on the waiting list. (which pretty much guarantees acceptance) What has come over my parents? Seriously, was it therapy? Are they finally seeing some maturity in me? Why am I even questioning this? Who cares?!?! THIS, my friends, is a beautiful thing. Actually, as I come back to earth a bit, it’s kind of strange that I’m this excited. I didn’t love Fairview while I was there... I mean school is school... and school sucks - eloquent, I know. I guess there’s an atmosphere there, a feeling that lets me take my guard down. My house has always been this suffocating, conservative place that allows for no free thinking...I’m not complaining because I respect my parents’ strong ideals and the patience they have in listening to me, but at Fairview I had a community where I could find all kinds of people with all kinds of views ready to discuss, debate, roll on the floor pulling eachothers hair out... What I’m trying to say is people are open to eachother’s opinions and I find that fabulous. At least at Fairview I’m not some conspiracy nut coming up with “crazy apocolyptic theories.” (a direct quote from the little wanebo) We’re young, we’re the future of this godamn world and we have to question things, be extreme in our thoughts and our investigation of what we decide is important... because someday we’re gonna have to deal with all of it. Thats right, someday all the bitching we all do will have to become a reality. Otherwise, what’s the point?
Wow, talk about off topic.
The point of all of this? I am happy to be going back to Fairview. If for no other reason than to be able to eat a Chipotle burrito in the middle of the school day. *smile*
Today I spent the afternoon on the courthouse grass with Kenzie, Steve-O, and some strange girl named Tina who was convinced that we were friends in elementary school and used to dance together at Motion Underground (whatever Tina). We had ice cream and ciggarettes while we baked in the sun and I tried to ignore Tina’s stalkerish comments about our past together... I. Dont. Know. You. Tina.
Just a half hour remains until the season finale of the Bachelor! Will he pick Tara? Or Jessica B? It all lies in the balance... yes, I know I am just feeding a completely ridiculous consumer driven cult phenomenon by obsessing over this show that cheapens the value of true love and marraige... but its one of the only things that my family does together. Think of it as a true bonding experience. Meant to enhace the idea of a family... oh, sweet irony.
My money’s on Jessica B.
|Saturday, May 8th, 2004|
‘HALLA! I dont DO stairs’ (in memory of Rachkinshade) memory? why memory? why did I type that? she’s not dead... depending on your definition of alive. i had a dream she killed herself and I found her. I worry about her every day, everything that reminds me of her sends me into a cascade of memories and worry. I can’t write about this now, it would not be wise. I can’t sleep and I think Im still drunk.
Ohmeohmy I need to go to bed so i can put my best face forward for the drunkn frat boys at...you guessed it, kinetics. Geez, ya know kinetics has never really been that fun... fun, but not worth shaving your legs for. I should really do that in the morning... there’s probably about a 50-50 chance. 60-40? 80-20. definatly 80-20. ok fine, im not shaving but if you see me at kinetics, dont call it to attention because I will hold you down and write ‘DOUCHE’ in huge black letters on your forehead with the sharpie I always carry in my purse. sharpies dont wash off that easy so boo yah.
Stephanie is failing me as a fellow insomniac (something i cannot claim to be...i just have my moments) but i dont really think its possible to smoke as much weed as she does and still be an insomniac. poser? maybe, but she leaves nightly 3 am messages where she pretty much just rambles until my machine cuts her off. looks like im the only insomniac poser around this neck o’ the woods. its like insomnia is this whole other world where people’s pupils dialate to the flourescent light of computer screens as they read artivcle after article about the mystery of jonbenet ramsey...poor little jon. after all my research, i hope she comes to me tonight in my dreams and tells me who killed her. I hope she’s dressed in one of her little pageant numbers, possibly complete with song and dance?
The morning birds are a’ chirping (reminding me of mexico when the roosters started yelping at about this time and there was no point in trying to sleep) anyways, its time to let Andrea Gibsons sweet poetry soothe me to sleep. someday i will write about andrea.
OK, im stopping!! gnight.
|Wednesday, May 5th, 2004|
Today is a beautiful day. Why? I AM NOT AT SCHOOL!!!! While it truly does kill me to be missing an opportunity to be...coloring...with the rest of Holy Family, let me tell you what I’ve done today. Nothing!! mwahahahaha! I just woke up, caught the tail end of Saved by the Bell (Screech was dressed like a giant pink heart) and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Perfecto, no?
It makes me sad to think that I will take advatage of any chance to stay home from school these days. I mean, in theory Holy Family is not that bad of a place, but to me it feels like a constant migraine. I hate going to a school full of people I don’t respect, that don’t respect me, a place based on an organization that I want no part of, where the entire school is divided into 'tables', where gossip runs rampant like it’s all people care about (ok, I get sucked into that too) and choir makes me want to stick a fork in my eyeballs. Bottom line, Holy Family was a punishment, something my parents have assured me that I got myself into and I don’t deserve anything better. When every single day is one more day of punishment, how could I not have a negative attitude? Not to mention the lack of good friends to get me through the day.
I’m such a fucking whiner when it comes to this topic... but at least I don’t have to worry about it today! All I have to worry about is getting dressed and then I’m off to pick up my little Elle for lunch in the sun. Summer is on the horizon.