Good Intentions

But goodness alone is never enough. A hard cold wisdom is required, too, for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom invariably accomplishes evil.

- Robert Heinlein

I used to excuse people's mistakes a lot by saying, "Well, they have/had good intentions." A friend once pointed out that most people have good intentions. Fewer people than we think go out, thinking, "Wow, I really want to make life harder for this person." I think it's important to be mindful of these things when it comes to forgiveness, but forgiveness does not mean lack of punishment.

Chris Brown is getting popular again. This worries me because he was caught perpetrating domestic violence, yet girls are still swooning over him. Sure, maybe he went to therapy (that's what every celebrity does when they get in trouble). I'll even give him the benefit of the doubt, believing maybe he changed and will work to help end violence against women. Someone made the point that a lot of celebrities are probably doing the same thing (domestic violence), but not getting caught. I'm sure that's true, which is why I think as a culture we need to make it clear that we will not stand for any form of violence. Chris Brown's career should be over, unless he wants to go public about preventing domestic violence and start singing songs that portray women in a better light. What does it say to other celebrities, actually people in general, if Chris Brown can make a come-back after such unacceptable behavior?

In my Psychology of Women class, I get depressing statistics about a variety of inequities between men and women. I've always been a feminist (since I learned what one was in like fourth or fifth grade), but my class is making me crack down much harder on how women are portrayed in the media. It's tricky because I like a lot of hip-hop. I listen to mostly talented artists who don't degrade women, and I try not to like or listen to the ones that do, but sometimes they're just catchy and good to dance to. I'm working to find some sort of balance between standing up for fair treatment of women without being a social outcast, which turns people off to the point of not listening.

A lot of harm has done by people with good intentions. I will never forget the panel I went to on religious tolerance. Everyone of all faiths was agreeing on the importance of tolerance. The guy speaking for Buddhism said, "Tolerance is, of course, something to strive for if the beliefs are not harming anyone else. I will not, nor do I think I should, tolerate beliefs that infringe on another person's rights." There are times when good intentions are not enough. Verbally keeping the peace is not always the best choice. I'm a firm believer in choosing my battles. My therapist said I'm good at choosing my battles. I don't waste my breath on people who won't listen. There are many times someone says something that might offend me, but I hold my tongue. There are other times where I cannot and will not hold my tongue if someone says something plainly hateful. I don't know how to handle hate. It terrifies me, and I would even go as far to say as I hate hate. It threatens my world-view, because I like to believe people are generally good unless they are sick in some way.

For example, in psychology class we learned Jeffrey Dahmer's parents were butchers. He was around dead animals and blood a lot. His father used to torture animals and his mother chased him around with knives. Now, that in NO way should excuse his horrific acts. In fact, thinking about it all disgusts me. But I'm all about seeing people as human, even hateful people, even though I don't like seeing their humanity. It reminds me that we are not that different, and I could be like them. It makes forgiveness more realistic to see our enemies' humanity. That being said, I do not tolerate hateful people in my life, and sometimes feel hatred toward hateful people. I can't always practice what I preach, so I would prefer to keep hateful people out of my life altogether. It's one thing to wish I never see the person again and another to wish harm on them. I often joke about fighting mean people, but in reality I just don't want to see them. I don't really delete people off facebook. I'm just too lazy to go through my billion friends. Plus, if I ever write a book, I will try to get all of my friends to read it. I've only deleted a couple people that I found to be harmful for my world-view. People that I just didn't believe to be good people. I try not to judge, but there are some behaviors and words that I cannot tolerate and do not want to be surrounded by. I prefer to keep the arrogant, ignorant, hateful, and straight up selfish people out of my life. I don't want to be tainted by their darkness.

Pursuit of Happiness

"Americans are saddled with the idea that we can and should be happy. It's as if we've misread the Declaration of Independence and think it guarantees us the right not to pursue happiness but to achieve it (Susanna Kaysen pg 41 in Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression).

I woke up at 4am today. I used the extra time to read, tried to fall back asleep again, but gave up at 6. I've been up since. I slept all day yesterday from being sick, so maybe I just didn't need anymore sleep. I still feel tired, though. I'm not really a morning person, but mornings are beautiful, so I can appreciate them once in a while like today. Walking to the library in the snow, the sun rose and the moon stayed in the blue sky.

I'm wearing the Ganesh (Hindu god responsible for creativity amongst many other things) t-shirt I bought at Venice Beach, hoping it might spark creativity. My fiction writing is almost non-existent, and I'm just not as far along in my chapter as I'd like to be for my ind. study. I can't help but remembering my bosses reassurance that the writing process never goes how we think it should, and that I need to just keep trying and be patient. It will surprise me eventually. It always does.

The quote above is from an essay by the woman who wrote Girl, Interrupted. Her essay is titled, "One Cheer for Melancholy." I like a lot of what she has to say. I think in order to enjoy life and feel content, we must understand it's about the journey, not the destination, and that human limitations will always wreak havoc on us as individuals.

In Kaysen's essay she talks about how the high rates of depression relate with people having more time to ruminate on how unhappy they are. I don't know that I'm doing her argument justice, but without trying to summarize the entire thing, I will say that I didn't agree with all of it. I agree that sadness or grief is not depression and that our culture doesn't like to be confronted with sadness and grief, so they try to make it something medical to "cure" it. The harsh reality is that no one makes it out alive. Life is filled with emotional, physical, and spiritual pain. It's okay to be sad. I would say it's even okay to have a day or even a week or two where one is depressed. All of the most joyful people I know have experienced some sort of depression, so it is clearly a natural part of the human condition. I fear that too many people compare their natural grief and sadness to clinical depression already, and I worry Kaysen's essay might affirm those beliefs. It's hard enough not to feel like the illness is your fault without people making outside assumptions about what your problem is.

Catharsis

1. February

Four straight weeks of some drug-like theme park ride that plunges from euphoria to detox before I can even let out a scream or figure out the theme of whatever park I’m living in. It seems telling that it’s my birthday month. In fact, when I told my therapist my birthday was on Leap Year, she laughed. Apparently, it’s so symbolic of my life and personality that it would be considered a cliché if someone chose to write about me as a fictional character in a class and included that detail. Take that however you choose.

I share my birthday month with many other intense individuals: Langston Hughes, James Joyce, Charles Dickens, Abraham Lincoln, Darren Aronofsky, Cesar Ramero, Chris Farley, Kurt Cobain, Mary Carpenter, Herman Hesse, Johnny Cash, and John Steinbeck—to name a few.

Age is something that reminds us of our mortality. We use our birthdays to celebrate life, yet I know so many people who look at their birthday as something depressing, as a sign that they are getting closer to death. I have friends and family covering a wide variety of ages. I’ve noticed after a certain age, we all seem to hear that voice reminding us we have spent another year of our life, which causes anxiety. Did we pay too much? Not enough? Did we cherish our purchase? I’ve tried to rise above this from my experience working with the elderly, but I’m ashamed to say I know that voice already. I fight it by living to the best of my ability, loving as deeply and as genuinely as I know how, and allowing myself to feel the purest forms of joy and grief still trying to keep depression and death from consuming me.

Then of course there’s Valentine’s Day, a holiday that makes me regress psychologically more than Christmas ever will. For the days surrounding the Hallmark holiday, I return to the mindset of my fourteen/fifteen-year-old giddy girlfriend days where dozens of roses were typical, kisses still made me nearly run into doors or drop my keys, new necklaces and bracelets sparkled against my skin, and I said whatever my boyfriend wanted to hear to live out a fairytale. There’s something about this holiday that makes me believe in magic despite my bitterness toward the materialism and the fact that I always end the week by ruminating on what a failure I am at maintaining intimate relationships.

2. Skin

I got my first sunburn of the year this past week in Los Angeles. It wasn’t the painful kind that makes me feel trapped in my skin both metaphorically and literally. It was the pleasant kind where I appreciated the warmth radiating off of my skin. I fell asleep outside on a bench lying on my side, causing me to burn on just one side of my body. My face looked like the gray scale you’d find in an art class, except transitioning from bright red, instead of black, to white.

After a day at Venice Beach with Perla, she pointed out the white peace sign tan line on my face from my dangling peace sign hoop earrings. We’d spent the day people watching and shopping along the beach. My time with Perla proved to be incredible. I guess I shouldn’t have expected otherwise, but six years can be a long time to go without seeing someone…a lot can change. A lot DID change. It was comforting to be reminded that no matter what changes, real friendship doesn’t fade. It’s a shame the way life keeps us from staying close with everyone we love.

The sunburn on my left arm has developed some sort of rash. It could be the sunscreen I kept putting on it after it burned. I used to have allergic reactions to sunscreen as a child. Either way, I study the little red bumps and am intrigued by the way they go back and forth between being tiny and barely noticeable to sometimes inflamed, red, and itchy. The change in the color of my skin also has me examining my scars. I have scars from a variety of situations and utensils. They all healed in different ways, shapes and colors.

My biggest scar, the one on my neck from having a giant Hygroma cyst removed as a child, sunburned this week, causing the wide centipede looking pure white scar tissue to turn pink. It’s a strange sensation having my scar burnt because my nerves are still so weird around my entire shoulder from that surgery. In fact, the nerves are still so damaged that when they gave me a shot in my armpit to numb my arm for wrist surgery (I was hoping to avoid anesthesia because it makes me so nauseous), my arm wouldn’t go numb. They were amazed that after two giant shots, I could still feel them pinching my wrist.

Speaking of my wrist surgery, that scar is incredible. It’s so tiny for the hours of work that went into putting a screw in my disintegrating bone. The scar stops right at the edge of my tattoo, which makes me smile because the surgeon said he hated tattoos and couldn’t promise he wouldn’t have to cut into it. The fact that it stops right where my tattoo begins shows what caution and precision he used to protect my tattoo, knowing that it meant so much to me.

I can’t talk about skin without mentioning my tattoo of course. I love the font I chose to have such meaningful words written in. The blue “wisdom” I stare at underneath both the green vine that represents growth and my surgery scar calms me. The purple “courage,” and the part of the vine near it, is faded. It didn’t heal right because that part of the wrist is incredibly sensitive. It was constantly itchy, dry, and just didn’t seem to heal no matter how much Vitamin E I put on it. There’s a gap in the ink bracelet because they can’t tattoo over scars. Apparently trying to tattoo over scars is like drawing with permanent marker on wet paper; the ink spiders out of control. Luckily, the scar that bisects my tattoo is not deep. The last time I had the tattoo artist look at it, she said it is finally healed enough for her to go over it. I hope to get the faded parts and the blank in the bracelet all fixed soon. I think it will be monumental and symbolic of a full recovery, or as full of a recovery as one can ever attain after such trauma. I mean the scars both emotional and literal will never go away completely even though they fade a bit more each year.

Skin is both thick and thin, depending on perspective. I’d argue my skin is too thin, metaphorically speaking. Having once tried to access veins that seem to erupt at the surface, it’s still surprising how many layers of skin protect the flesh and bone. Skin serves such important purposes, can change and heal so significantly, in addition to just being aesthetically pleasing and essential to being human. Despite skin’s importance, the color of one’s skin does not change any of the real protective functions it serves.

Why does skin color have such power and importance in our culture? Skin color determines how we are treated and judged by strangers, who we are more likely to connect with, and how we identify ourselves. One thing that sticks with me from having discussions with some of my friends of color is the pressure that is placed on minorities of any sort to represent their entire minority group. An example that sticks with me is the fact that if my African American friends are laughing loud in public, strangers use that to confirm or disconfirm their stereotypes about the entire race. If my Caucasian friends and I laugh loud in public, people blame it on either our age (which brings up another aspect of discrimination) or more likely just the fact that we are loud and obnoxious people. They’d never think that because of our behavior, all Caucasians are loud.

3. La Ciudad de Los Angeles

I had a great time in L.A. I’ve been rocking out to every song I own about Cali and The City of Angels just to reflect on how our environments impact our creative and everyday lives. Evan mentioned how his diet has even changed since they moved west. I experience similar obvious changes in my creativity when I travel, which is probably why I make traveling such a priority in my life. It’s not that I have any more money than most of my friends… in fact, it’s probably the opposite because I have much more debt than the majority of them. It’s just that the highlights of my life and times I’ve felt most alive seem to happen when I’m traveling, and I know I only live once. I try to take advantage of the fact that I am at a point in my life where I get breaks with little responsibility and that I’m not responsible for anyone else right now.

It doesn’t have to be any extreme traveling like my trip to Spain (although those trips are magical), but just leaving my comfort zone is helpful for me to expand my mind and jump back into a creative interpretation of the world. This is important, because I am generally healthier when I’m creatively nourished. I’d rather be stingy about how much I spend at the bar or how often I go out to eat instead of eliminating travel from my life. Next year will be tough since I will be living with no source of income with the nuns. Traveling won’t really be an option, which will be difficult considering most of my close friends don’t or won’t live by me anymore.

I am grateful for the sunshine I experienced all week. It really lifts my mood. I’m even more thankful for my time with April, Evan, and Silvio. They are wise, articulate (Silvio, too--haha okay not yet, but someday he will be:), and overall healthy people, which I need more of in my life. I got used to having insightful, caring people to bounce my ideas off of and affirm me when I felt doubt in regards to my abilities or past decisions. It was also nice to meet some of their friends and observe what their lives are like there.

It’s strange when friends move away, because it often leaves me with no idea what their lives are like anymore. For example, I can’t imagine Kristin’s life in Chile, or even in Phoenix now. I’d really like to visit her and her mom before she leaves the country again, but who knows where that money would come from. She said she might come here to MI before she leaves, so hopefully I, at least, get to see her.

I guess, similarly, many of my friends and family do not know what my life is like here at school. Many of them have never seen my apartment, the campus I’ve wandered for five years now, my job, or met any of my close friends in the area.

4. Writing Right

I got a great idea for starting my chapter about the South Dakota trips while at a prayer/meditation service with April at her college. I feel like a slacker because this is my third time meeting with my ind. study prof where I have just not made the progress I should have. I got a nice start of about 2 pages, but it’s nowhere near the five plus pages I should have had. This week kind of got the best of me. I didn’t get home from my trip until midnight Sunday night. Monday, I had to work, go to class (where I couldn’t stop from dozing off every two seconds), and then cram for an exam I had Tuesday. Tuesdays are my day where I’m on the go from 9:15 AM to 9:15 PM, so I did not get the five pages done when I finished work. Then, I had a giant paper due today. I’m currently running on three hours of sleep. I will most certainly be napping when my school week concludes at three.

I’m not feeling confident as a writer lately, which is not good for pushing on through exhaustion and writer’s block either. My fiction class is messing with everything I know. I have such a love/hate relationship with fiction. I’ve been getting comments about how I need to tighten up my language, which is a very elementary mistake to be making considering I’ve technically specialized in poetry for my undergrad degree (non-fiction is not a real option). Poetry is all about tightening language to be as concise as possible. My non-fiction prof seems to respect my long sentences. I’ve been paying close attention to sentence structures in all of the memoirs I’m reading for that class. The idea that my writing structure is flawed is shaking my very idea of my voice as a writer. Writing is so subjective. I am just trying to appreciate comments from such a variety of professors and students, taking what helps and leaving what doesn’t. Considering I’m still trying to gain confidence in my stylistic choices, I am not yet in a place where I feel I can disagree with a professor. Not saying that I don’t appreciate these comments. I love my fiction prof, and I’m really enjoying getting his perspective on my writing. It’s just challenging some of my beliefs.

5. Goodbye to Romance

I’m cautious when I date people—slow to trust, let my guard down, and share my vulnerability. This has caused problems in the past. I was mindful with this last relationship to show my enthusiasm, put myself out there to be burnt, and dove in full force. The fact that things crashed and burned so quickly isn’t resting so well on the ego. There has to be some sort of balance, right?

Being raised Catholic mixed with attending Church and Catechism regularly all through my childhood taught me that sex was something to be both put on a pedestal and treasured, yet dangerous and morally wrong to engage in before marriage.

However, being raised in a family with very modern and open views on sex in addition to being surrounded by both the media and people in my life encouraging casual sex, I’ve had trouble learning how to approach relationships.

I had an epiphany over break after reflecting on a fact we learned in my psychology of women class. We talked about how both men and women are capable of feeling love just as intensely for one another, unlike some of the stereotypes that suggest women tend to care more for men than men do for them.

The difference is that women tend to feel that intensity more quickly and directly in relationship to sex. It was great to hear my professor talk about her belief in women’s sexual choice, but talk about the importance, from a health perspective, of not rushing into sex. I appreciated this factual approach that did not involve morality at all. It was nice to hear a perspective focused strictly on keeping myself emotionally healthy and experiencing deeper and more fulfilling relationships instead of suggesting I am flawed for choosing either side of the argument.

I read an article for my freshman English composition course here at school called, “The New Sexual Deviant” from Bitch magazine. The author talked about how women are just as oppressed sexually than ever. Instead of the old oppression that suggested a woman was a “whore” if she chose to have sex before marriage, the new repression proposes the idea that women are “prudish” or “repressed” if they choose not to. The author was advocating for balance and choice. She said she was just as uncomfortable with waiting to have sex until marriage, as she was the idea of sleeping with too many people to count. Yet, she made it clear that her opinion and sexual morals were not the point of the essay.

Some people require going from one extreme to the other in order to find the proper balance. For example, not to compare commas to sex (although I once heard a quote that poets are obsessed with death, sex, and commas), but there was a time in my literary career when I did not use any commas. I then went to the extreme of placing commas everywhere before I learned how to properly punctuate my sentences. I observe this a lot with the students I help in the writing center. Too many commas make a mess. Not enough commas can be just plain confusing. One is not better than the other, but when commas are used properly they allow the writer and reader both to exchange much more complex ideas, enhancing the quality of work.

6. March

My February drug detox time is over. I’m back from Spring Break and emotionally, physically (okay maybe not physically due to my lack of sleep this week), spiritually, and creatively recharged. I’m still evaluating the highs and lows of Febraury—completely perplexed and disheartened by my naivety in regards to the latest relationship. I’m not even sure I learned anything from it. I suppose I discovered that I can get burned a lot faster than I thought possible and that traveling, sunshine, and supportive friends are a pretty damned good remedy to the burn.

It’s sunny here today. If I’d gotten more than 3 hours of sleep, I’d get my skateboard out instead of napping. I’ll make up for it hopefully by enjoying my usual Thursday night pizza with Tambo and some $2 microbrews for St. Patrick’s day at our usual Thursday night hangout. I’m wearing the green shirt Jordan got me for Christmas two years ago. Tonight, I’ll sport some of the green beads Laura gave me from Mardi Gras in Louisiana. I’m not crazy about St. Patrick’s day like a lot of college students, but it is far better than St. Valentine’s Day from the previous month. There were students that set their alarms to get up and start drinking this morning. That can’t be healthy. I mean, we’re talking students who can’t wake up for class on an ordinary day, but they can wake up to drink? There were bars opening at like 7 this morning. I don’t feel good about the several sirens I’ve heard speeding through town throughout the day either. Despite the fear of alcohol abuse, I will admit that it’s nice to have a reason to wear green and be unified with strangers on campus. It’s also nice to have an extra reason to look forward to a couple of my favorite beers tonight.

Monday was Adam’s birthday. He is the last birthday that happens in just slightly over a month for my siblings and me. Ashlee is February 9^th. I’m twenty days later, and then, Adam is exactly two weeks after mine. It’s fun to share a birthday month with Ashlee and a Zodiac sign with Adam. Maybe that explains why I am kind of the middle ground between the two. Or maybe it’s just that I’m the middle child between the two in age. Adam’s in London right now. That’s my dream location to visit one day. There’s so much literary and music history there. Not to mention, I heard it’s just beautiful and British accents make any man ten times more attractive :)

March is such a fun month because it starts out so rough (which I got to miss mostly because I spent the first chunk in Los Angeles, soaking up sunshine and not thinking about school), but often ends beautiful. If it doesn’t end beautiful, it at least has provided some sort of hint that beautiful weather is on the horizon. I’m off to take a much-needed nap and feel relieved that I finally put these swirling thoughts into sentences.

First Born Unicorn

The title of this blog is from "Californication" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. It seemed appropriate due to my recent trip and love for unicorns. There's a ton of music about California, and I have been reflecting on the lyrics lately. I'm back from a wonderful week with a lot of schoolwork, jet-lag, and thoughts swirling in my mind. I'm working on a long, thought-out blog entry that I'd hoped to post today on my break. However, it is still unfinished and I have a busy week, so I'm not sure when I will post it. It's thoughts I can't get off my mind, though, so I hope to finish it ASAP. I posted pics on facebook just now. I can't wait to post my thoughts on everything. Stay tuned. Thanks for your patience, and I appreciate everyone asking me for an update on my trip. It's nice to know people read this and actually care what I think and how my week went. I shall come through soon, friends :)

Birthday Blues

I suppose I don't really have the birthday blues. It's more like the typical Sunday blues that just seem intensified. It doesn't help that I am at the library, avoiding a paper arguing that the religious lines in Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem "In Memoriam A.H.H." are examples of repression. I chose this poem because it's one of the few poems that spoke to me in that class. The poem took him 17 years to write. His best friend, who he had an incredibly close, although apparently non-sexual relationship with, died when Tennyson was 22. In class I thought about how I would feel if I lost any of my close friends at this age. At this age, my closest friendships have all been tested and survived a great deal. To lose one of them, and then attempt to write a poem about it would be near impossible. Apparently, Tennyson felt the same, but pushed on for 17 years until he came up with something he approved of.

In addition to the paper, I am overwhelmed with the idea of my birthday. I don't have a real birthday, so it kind of takes up the whole week, which keeps me from feeling like it's really my birthday at all. It doesn't help Laura couldn't make it home for the dinner we are having tonight that is a birthday celebration and an Oscars party. I mean, she'll be here for tomorrow and Tuesday, but Leslie already made it clear she can't celebrate those days because of work. Not to mention, my Tuesdays are ungodly long. I was away for her birthday too. It just makes me wonder will we ever get to celebrate both our birthdays together again? I mean, I guess that's how growing up works--we move away from people we love and have to settle with meeting new people and only seeing the people we love from our past once in a while. Everyone gets wrapped up in their own circles (new families/spouses/partners) and those people get priority over old relationships. I'm slowly dealing with it. I've already seen this sort of change with April and Evan since they've had a baby. When they are home, their families want to spend as much time as they can with the baby and them, so it just happens naturally that I don't see them much anymore. It's not anyone's fault or something I take personal, because I know that's just the nature of aging. One positive thing is that I'm incredibly excited to spend an entire week with them starting one week from tomorrow. I, of course, miss them and wish we could spend more time together, but now the time I do have with them, is something I treasure greatly.

It's the same thing with Dawn and Kristin living in different states (countries sometimes). Those girls are some of my closest friends, and I miss them terribly. Yet, our friendship has evolved over the years from seeing each other every day to an occasional e-mail or phone call on birthdays or holidays. Despite feeling grief every time I say goodbye to them, I have adjusted to them not being a part of my immediate contacts.

Not all change is bad. For example, Alicia's fiance, James, hung around with us when we visited Alicia this weekend, and they both gave me a birthday gift from the two of them. I realized that now that they are getting married, James will be always be a part of our circle of friends. At first that feels a little threatening, but I like James, and I think we all have fun together. Plus, it's nice to see Alicia so happy with him. Drew is getting married, too. I like her fiance, Patrick, a lot, so it has been a sort of similar transition at viewing them both as close friends to me instead of just thinking about him as Drew's boyfriend.

Despite having the birthday/Sunday blues about aging, changed relationships/locations, (not to mention my "boyfriend" who doesn't know it's my birthday and I haven't seen since Valentines Day due to him being sick), I've had a lot of positive things this weekend.

Thursday night, Leslie, Tammy, and I all went out bar-hopping. At our favorite brewery, they let us drink free all night. Then, Tammy and Leslie bought any additional drinks for me at the other bars. It was a fun night and Tammy's little sister, Elizabeth, graciously drove us home. Then, Leslie let me come along to her cousin's place. Her cousin fed us great food, made us margaritas, and taught us a couple of fun new games. We also got to meet up with Alicia and James who then bought us lunch. Leslie bought me a fancy bagel this morning at this nice bagel shop Alicia and James took us too. Also, my friend Albert was supposed to come down, but due to the whether, we rescheduled for after Spring Break. He surprised me by remembering my birthday, sending birthday wishes and even saying he has a gift. So in reality, everyone spoiled me for my birthday this weekend--not to mention, the real celebration is tonight. We will do a dinner party with cake and all. Plus, I'm looking forward to watching the Oscars. I like Anne Hathaway and James Franco, and I'm, of course, rooting for Natalie Portman to win best actress :)

I shouldn't complain of the birthday blues when my "real" birthday is somewhere between tomorrow and Tuesday. My boyfriend could surprise me (unlikely) and who knows what Laura and I will do for it. I feel slightly guilty for feeling blue when so many loving people have been going out of their way to make my birthday special, so please don't feel this is complaining or unappreciative. I guess, I'm just trying to logically talk myself out of the blues by remembering all of the special things that did happen this weekend and might still occur. Plus, L.A. in one week. I can't wait for some sunshine, the city of angels, and great friends.

Well, my Cran Energy is now finished, and I feel the caffeine kicking in. I suppose it's time I tackle that paper.

Awakening

The last few weeks have been educational in many ways. I booked tickets to LA to visit April and Evan because it was either that or no tickets to go on Spring Break at all. That resulted in drama because I could not afford to go see Laura. I don't want to blame anyone for that drama, because I know Laura and everyone else knows how much I'm dying to see her. It's just that I needed to go on Spring Break, and with the way things worked out, I needed to go to LA. Even though, I am sad to hear I won't see Laura, I am excited to spend a week with April and Evan. They are some of the most, educated and logical people I know. I think a week with them will not only be fun for us all, but a good time for me to sort things out. I need a break from the chaos of image, school, and relationships. I really don't have much to say on that, but my relationship history is not anything to be proud of, and it doesn't seem to be getting better.

In my psychology of women class, I learn so much. I don't even know where to start telling you all about it. I just know that I was already a feminist who believed in equality, but when I come out of this class every morning, I feel angry and politically charged. I feel like I could save the world sometimes after walking out of class. I know that's idealistic, but it's still nice to be reminded what kind of fight I am in and be able to look forward to the progress I am apart of. I already knew things weren't equal, but I'm being reminded of what kind of strides we need to take to reach that goal.

I have so much more to say, but little that is coming to mind now. Probably more to say this weekend. Thanks for reading what little reflection I have.

Famous Blue Raincoat

I'm sitting in lisa's music room, listening to her and Nick play live music. I love the power of smooth live music. It has a power to take me to different parts of my mind. Earlier tonight, they played Leonard Cohen's "Famous Blue Raincoat." I forget what a beautiful songwriter he is. A lot of people don't even know he is the orignal "Hallelujah" writer, because Jeff Buckley's cover took off so much. I admit I like Buckley's version better, but the fact that Cohen wrote the lyrics and his sounds more Church-like is worthy of upmost respect. What a creative soul.

Right now, they are playing a Gillian Welch song "Revelator." They picked up the pace a bit, and I like it. I'm supposed to be wrapping up my second chapter of my memoir, but I keep staring at the screen. I'm not sure how to wrap up something so complicated. Instead, I asked lisa for her internet code, which I knew was a bad idea because I already went on facebook, email, and now I'm blogging. Although, blogging is better than staring at the screen. I'm at least translating thoughts into sentences. I suppose that's something.

Today, I went back to my high school to watch Ashlee walk on Winterfest Court. I'd been to the gym/auditorium area for other events Ashlee has been in, but today was the first time I went back into the actual school section. It was such a weird flashback. It had been five years since I walked those hallways. James is now a teacher amongst teachers who taught me. It was weird to see how small the high schoolers are. I mean, high school seems so big, so adult-like. I'd never go back to it. I saw former teachers, coaches, and counselors. They were all stoked to hear about my book project. It was weird telling them it was about struggling with mental health and spirituality, because I realized they don't know anything about my mental health or spiritual journeys. It's strange for me to think I've now been in college longer than I was in High School. College has gone so much faster--been so much less oppressive. I will be 23 this month. That's my favorite number (back from my soccer playing days). I hope that means I have a good year in store. Maybe I'll finish my book.

It's nice to be at home. I went out to lunch today with Mom and we had good conversation, which we don't get to do often. Dad and I shared some chai tea after dinner, and I'm also enjoying catching up with lisa and Nick. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to even see the famous Adam D. I can't wait. I haven't seen him in far, far too long. He's the kind of friend where when we're together, we're the best of friends, but when we are apart, we lose all contact. I have no idea what's been going on in his life since September, and he knows next to nothing about mine. He's heard about the nun thing through the grapevine, but I am looking forward to talking to him about it tomorrow. I'm looking forward to a big hug from him too.

Tomorrow, I'm going with Ashlee to get her tattoo. I'm going to ask about how and when can I get mine touched up. The purple is faded on the bottom side. It doesn't bother me much, because I don't really ever see that side of my wrist. Just for when people ask about it, though, it will be nice to have it bright all the way around. Then, in the evening is the ceremony where they crown the Winterfest king and queen. I don't know if Ashlee will win, but I hope she's not too concerned about it. Popularity in high school does not amount to anything in real life. In fact, I'd say most of my friends now were not popular in high school. I think most of my friends were too ahead of their time and cool for high school. I wish I would have been one of those kids, but I survived it all eventually.

Enjoy some beautiful lyrics!

Famous Blue Raincoat by Leonard Cohen

It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening.

I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake --

She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

-- Sincerely, L. Cohen

Dreams

Tuesday was the longest, worst day that I have had in a long time. I had a snow day on Wednesday that allowed me to recover by sleeping most of the afternoon away and catching up on writing for my independent study. Wednesday proved to be a wonderful day compared to Tuesday. Tuesday was just a wreck because I stayed up until 2:30 doing papers that were due Tuesday, and then I had to wake up at 7:30 to drive Leslie to work, so I could take her car to my appointment that afternoon. The roads were horrible, and it was not only a day where I was on-the-go from 7:30 am until 9pm, but it was a day where I was in high-stress, borderline panic-inducing states all day long. My hands already shake from one of my medications, but when I add sleeplessness, caffeine, and little time to eat on top of it, my hands were shaking so bad that I could barely hit the right numbers on the microwave. It was just a mentally draining day. Ever since Tuesday, I have been sleeping a lot. The kind of sleep that I just keep falling in and out of all day long. This has been especially scary, because I am having scary, complex, and incredibly realistic dreams. It has even got to the point where I can't remember what's from real life and what's from my dreams. Most of the confusion is just little things...for example, yesterday I could have sworn that I took out our bathroom trash. I was over-heated from my electric blanket, so I thought I took out my trash and stood outside by the trash can for a minute to cool off. I then remembered, telling my roommate I did this. Later in the day, I went into our bathroom and the trash was still overflowing. I asked my roommate if I had talked to her about it, and she looked at me as if I was crazy. Little things like that are less serious, but when it starts to leave me wondering on much bigger situations, it gets scary.

The dreams are all so far-fetched and extreme. I can't seem to find any common threads in situations, characters, or scenery. The only thing that seems to connect them all is paranoia, grief, anxiety/panic, and shame. Last night, I was afraid to go to sleep. Plus, I had slept on and off all day, so I wasn't tired. My allergies were bothering me, and I was wide awake still at 3:30, so I took a Benodryl. Luckily, I didn't have any dreams that were too intense last night. I'm thinking maybe they were just a result of the extreme stress on Tuesday. I'm hoping they were just stress-dreams, but scary nonetheless.

My acid reflux cough is back again. I gotta figure out a way to keep this under control. It's expensive to keep buying the over-the-counter stuff. I wish it was still a prescription so my insurance covered it. When I cough, I can taste a metallic type flavor, which I'm guessing is just the stomach acid, but I'm not sure. I probably should be eating better, but it's hard with all of the stress in my life and the joy I find in eating everything that is bad for it.

My other theory on the dreams is that I'm just watching too many weird movies, and getting sucked into all of the books I'm reading along with the mixing of the fiction and non-fiction I'm writing. I'm in a very strange place. I hope this week goes much smoother.

Language

I have a story due Tuesday for my fiction class. I told my independent study prof that I would write five pages before next Thursday, and I have half a book to read that was supposed to be done this past Thursday. I then have to start reading a new book. That's not even including or thinking about Victorian Lit--not to complain, just making it known that I will spend my weekend reading and writing.

I'm am now officially in a relationship. I'm actually feeling optimistic about it, but I guess only time will tell how it goes. Being in a relationship is good for me. It forces me to step outside of my comfort zone and compromise. Being independent is rather addicting. Relationships take practice. I'm glad to be in one.

Working on my memoir is proving to be great for my self-awareness. I've heard many writers talk about how people assume that writing about tough times is cathartic, but argue that it is hell. They talk about how painful it is to be forced to relive bad memories and spend time reflecting about them. I can understand that aspect, but as of now, I am writing about my childhood and family dynamics. It's proving to be very helpful in my understanding of where I fit in in my family and why I behave in the ways that I do. I feel lucky to be able to look at my history from the lens of a writer. It helps me make sense of my world. It's like my favorite quote from Ayn Rand, "Words are a lens to focus one's mind." What a gift language can be!

Good Morning, Gray Skies

I didn't sleep much at all last night. My eyes burn this morning as a result. I woke up earlier than I wanted to, and I didn't get half of the reading done that I should have. Needless to say, the gray skies are not my favorite thing to wake up to.

I went back to work this week. It has really complicated my schedule, but I am happy to be helping people with writing again and making some money. I'm determined to go see Laura for Spring Break, but with the way airfare to New Orleans is right now, it's not looking promising. I'm going to keep looking, though. The thought of not seeing her all semester long saddens me.

Work on the book is going okay. No huge progress, but enough new pages to turn in for my ind. study today.

I'm already looking forward to a nap when I finish classes at 3 today. What a way to start the day--already dreaming of a nap.

Untitled

I just spaced out for five minutes, trying to think of a title or point to this entry. There's not one, really. Just another way I can write without pressure or making any real progress on my book project. My independent study is incredible. I have some great ideas I should be working on for the chapter in progress. Yet, it almost feels like too much pressure for a Saturday. I keep rereading what I already wrote, and feel like nothing I think of is good enough to be written down. Last weekend, I had this same problem. I ran into my boss on Monday at the MLK Jr walk. She asked me how my ind. study was going, and I said the writing was not going as well as I'd hoped. Her response: "It never does. It always surprises you, though. That's just the nature of the writing process. Be patient with yourself." Simple, but fantastic advice. After, relaxing a bit, I cranked out nearly 6 pages before my meeting on Thursday. My ind. study prof is supportive, helpful, and just a great person to bounce ideas off of. I left my meeting with him on Thursday totally charged up to write. Unfortunately, I chose to take a nap instead, because I stayed up way too late Wednesday night with the new gentleman friend in my life. I've been hanging out with him almost every night. Tonight, I need to read, write, and read even more.

We saw "Black Swan" last night, and I loved it! I've loved Natalie Portman as an actress since I was a Star Wars nerd as a kid. She's one of the few stars who made a flawless transition both on and off the screen from child to adult actress. Sophomore year in college, when James' roommates were big into the "Gay/Straight Alliance" program up here at Central, they had a favorite game they liked to play while drinking, called "Who would you go gay/straight for?" If you were straight, you answered a celebrity of the same sex that you would love to go on a date with. If you were gay, you'd answer a celebrity of the opposite sex that you would want to go on a date with. It gets to be quite fun and funny when you have a variety of sexes and sexual orientations playing, because what happens is generally a lot of mass agreements or arguments, showing the complexity of sexuality. My answer was always Natalie Portman. She's Harvard educated, funny in interviews, capable of playing incredibly intense-serious roles, well-read, into art, and an advocate of human rights. Basically, who wouldn't want to be her or be with her? It's funny, because when we would play the game all of the guys and girls (gay or straight) would be like, "Oh yeah! That's a good one."

I've heard a lot of complaints about her recent choice to play in a romantic comedy alongside Ashton Kutcher. Everyone is like, "How can she be a Harvard educated woman, and then decide to play in such a shallow film?" I was on the same page at first, but the more I learn about the film, and with some of the interviews I've seen with her rationalizing her decision to play the role, I think it is awesome. She is showing her diverse capabilities as an actress and allowing herself to have fun and not take herself so seriously. Not to mention, the film plays with the idea of gender roles in relationships. I kind of forgot about how much I liked her for the past few years, because she hasn't done a lot of big projects. Plus, contrary to what this blog entry may look like, I'm not a creepy obsessive fan, so I had no idea what she was up to. Let's just say her performance in Black Swan and the interviews I heard with her about the film, reminded me how much I respect her. Hollywood is a tough industry to win over as a strong, independent woman. I admire the few women who pull it off. I think Tina Fey kicks ass in this department, too!

The movie was done by the same director who did "Requiem for a Dream." Black Swan had the same sort of thought-provoking, intense feeling. Although, I will say Requiem for a Dream was a little too intense for me. One of the characters reminded me a lot of the heroin addict I met in New Orleans years ago, and I was just too disturbed and depressed to get a glance into that lifestyle. Black Swan was still very intense, but it's the kind of intensity I enjoy, and I hope to buy it when it comes to DVD. I was really impressed by Mila Kunis (The girl from "That Seventies Show" and the voice of Meg on "Family Guy"). She proved to be much more complex than I had assumed. Of course, do we ever really know celebrities? I guess I shouldn't assume anything about any celebrities, but it's just the nature of being a celebrity, I think. You have to be aware that the roles you choose will be a part of the way you are judged. I don't agree with it, but it's just how our culture seems to work. I am certainly guilty of feeling like I know a celebrity (hence my tremendous respect for Natalie Portman, Tina Fey, and Ellen :) In reality, I know I don't know shit about them, but it's fun to pretend. This leads me to reflect more on the nature of celebrities in general. I'm taking a "Psychology of Women" class that is just making me an already more devout feminist than I already was. Maybe as the class continues, I will do a blog entry reflecting on celebrities and women... Wow, I need to stop rambling and try to write for real. Peace.

Dolphins, Unicorns, and Llamas

Those are my three favorite animals. I've been made fun of for including unicorns as an animal, but that's just the only way I know to categorize them. I suppose I could list them under majestical creature, but tomato/tomato--haha that doesn't work so well in writing.

I titled this blog with my three favorite animals because life is going well in many ways. My fiction class is going better than expected. Maybe I'm not so bad at creating characters, and my dialogue heavy writing style has been helpful in fiction. Turns out people have a really hard time creating dialogue. I get stuck sometimes if I create a character I don't know well enough, but I will say I'm pretty observant of other people's speech patterns for the most part. I contribute this skill to my love of one on one conversations. That is how you get to know a person the best, and there is so much to learn about him or her by what they are saying as well as the way they say it.

Non-fiction is also going well. I was stuck this weekend, so I thought about writing for three days in a row and only wrote one paragraph. I somehow surprised myself with five pages today. I went to send it to my professor, thinking I only had four pages, and when I copied and pasted the section into its own document, it took up nearly five pages. I'm going to try to add to that tonight before meeting with him tomorrow.

Social life is going well. I miss Leslie, Laura, and Emily a great deal. My schedule is so mellow without them. The good thing, I met someone new and went to dinner with him Monday night. We are hanging out again this evening. He is a graduate student studying Public Administration, so he has like a bunch of economics and business type classes. Definitely not the kind of guy I saw myself going for, but so far things are going great. Can I make that statement after only one date?

I don't like to blog much about my dating life, but I will say I am optimistic about my relationship with this guy whatever that may entail. I haven't felt this excited to hang out with anybody I've considered dating in a long time. I don't even remember the last time. My therapist called me out on the fact that I was trying to deny my excitement to appear in control. I tried to be realistic and not get too excited since it's so early, but she was like, "the poor guy won't know how to read you. It's good to show you're excited." I'm allowing myself for the first time to just enjoy being excited to hang out with someone and try not to worry about what the future may hold.

Tomorrow is already Thursday. My, how fast the weeks go when I don't have to work. The days are much more mellow. Work starts in full swing Monday. My Tuesdays are going to be a challenge. It's nice to get it out of the way earlier in the week, though. I will miss being able to chat with Laura on and off again all day. Speaking of Laura, the one nice thing about starting work again is that I will be making money. I need to save up to go see Laura for Spring Break. The nice weather down there and hanging out with her is great for my mental health. I need that to divide my semester in half.

I participated in the MLK Jr walk on Monday. It was absolutely incredible. I will blog about that when my friend sends me the pictures. I'd like to be able to post pictures with the description because it was such a powerful experience that helped me have some faith in humanity. I'm going to stop procrastinating and get to my creative writing. Blogging's kind of a nice warm up :)

MLK Jr Day

Happy Martin Luther King Jr day! It is nice to have the day off classes to celebrate one person who initiated big change peacefully. So often we forget about peaceful revolutions. I've heard people criticize King for his personal life, saying he doesn't deserve a day. My response is: sure, a lot more peaceful people deserve days to be honored, but let's not let that keep us from celebrating the one peaceful revolutionist who does have a day.

Also, today is meant to celebrate all that he accomplished. It does not mean that he was a saint or even the best human being to walk the planet, but let's not let his faults overshadow his revolutionary changes on a day meant to celebrate peace and justice winning over apathy and hate. I think people who bring his faults up on this day are afraid of someone making such radical changes through peace like he did. It's easier to write off his accomplishments, because it makes us feel better about ourselves. It allows us to feel comfortable in our apathy and lack of motivation to make change. MLK Jr was a man who did not stop when others told him it was impossible. He not only had tremendous amounts of faith in humanity, but he had passion and courage that most people can't even dream to have.

Sometimes I feel pessimistic about the lack of change I see around me. I have so many passionate, idealistic friends. We fight so hard, and I often wonder what difference do we really make? I still hear racist, sexist, and homophobic comments on a pretty regular basis. Yet, on a day like today, I am reminded that one person can make a difference. It's like that JFK quote that is actually hanging on a poster right next to me as I type this (thanks Leslie) "One person can make a difference and every person should try." I miss the younger me who was so involved in social justice issues. I must say I've gotten a lot more selfish as I age, and I think that's because I am still trying to take care of my own mental health before I can help others. I hope that I will one day be able to make change through my writing. Maybe I can use these mental health struggles as a way to connect to people who feel disconnected.

I woke up today and did laundry. It's a pretty simple way to start the day, but it left me feeling optimistic for what I might accomplish today. I didn't put two and two together that it is MLK jr day and I'm feeling optimistic. I don't think that's a coincidence. Today is a day where optimism wins, peace conquers violence, love conquers hate, and justice shines on. Today I will reflect on how I have, can, and will make a difference. I hope you might do the same, friend.

Ginger Peach Tea Bag Soaks Paper Cup

I'm at my favorite coffee shop. It's just a couple blocks from my apartment, and I tend to write best here. Today, I'm here with Tammy, and I have accomplished nothing in the couple of hours we have been here. I have a mug from here that I can refill with tea for $1 each visit. Unfortunately, over Christmas it got separated. The bottom part of the mug is at my parents' house and the top is at Leslie's house (it's a long story). Therefore, today I paid full price for my tea and had to get one of those wasteful paper cups with a plastic lid. Now, all that remains is the soggy tea bag, slowly soaking into the paper cup. It's so much more exciting when I can watch the steam swirl above it. Now, it just sort of feels dead...so much for inspiration.

Last night I wasn't feeling well, so I went to bed at 10. I slept all day too. I think it was just a headache mixed with my acid reflux, which has been causing a terrible cough, heartburn, and stomach issues. I have started taking medicine again for it, but I think I might have to start altering my diet, which would be tragic, because all of my favorite things are bad for acid reflux: chocolate, tea, pizza, pop, and beer. How would I survive?

It's weird not living with Leslie. I think this weekend will be typical of what my average weekends will look like: I go out Thursday night, and then do nothing the rest of the weekend. I must say it's a little lonely, but will be good for my reading and writing. I have a lot of both to do this semester. My independent study is going to really push me. To be honest, it will be pretty flexible, and I think if it got to be too much, I could tell my professor. Yet, never again will I get to have this one-on-one sort of structure with deadlines to force me to write my book. I not only want to live up to the expectations, but I want to exceed them.

My professor gave me a line to start this week's draft with after my conversation with him about where to go next with my book. I shall begin with something along the lines of, "When I was a child, I believed I was supposed to be a saint." I will then use this to explore both my mental health problems that may have been influenced by such beliefs and my spiritual journey. I hope to use humor in this book despite it's serious nature. I went to a panel at AWP with one of my favorite writers (Marya Hornbacher) called "Sick Humor." They emphasized the importance of using humor while writing about illness, so it doesn't look like you're seeking pity or anything of the sort. I also want to do some humorous writing for my fiction class. That's the kind of writing I excelled at in High School. I don't know when I got so serious. I think once I got brave enough to write about serious issues, I looked at writing humor as something more shallow--which is definitely not true. I just needed to experience both sides to further develop my humorous writing. My first fictional story is already pretty serious with the exception of a couple smart-ass remarks. I guess, we will see where this semester takes me as a writer and a person. I can't believe it's my last one.

Aging Friendships

I am having a hard time with the evolution of friendships. All of my friends are growing up, moving on with their lives. I have friends all over the country (world even, in some cases). Everyone is at the stage in their life where they are establishing roots in different places with different people. I'm not very good at moving on. In reality, I have made several new friends over the years, but I've let very few friends go. I don't forget people easily. I've always felt like I love people more than they love me. I guess, I assume I'm overly dependent on people. This is probably not true. It's just a part of my distorted, overly sensitive thinking.

It just seems that everything has changed so fast and all at once. Friends moving across the country, developing serious relationships that consume their lives. Even my friends around MI are getting careers, coupling off. Friends are having kids that are their new priority. They all have much less time to sit around and talk about meaningful things. They have less time to return phone calls, respond to e-mails, or even facebook a hello from time to time. I know my friends still love me and I love them. It's just heartbreaking to think that at one time I thought I couldn't live without these people, and now, I am barely a part of their life. That scares me. I think about the close friends I need in my life right now and fear what is in our future. It's emotionally draining to put so much effort into friendships, and it seems the older I get, the more effort it takes to receive half of the benefits.

Sister Pat is 74-years-old. She told me she loves being that age, because everyone in her life is without a doubt a real friend. She doesn't have to worry about friendships fading, because if they have lasted this long, then they're bound to last forever. However, then of course, one has to worry about death of close friends. Life seems so cruel in the sense that everyone you feel that is essential to life will die if you don't die first. That's a little disheartening. The memoir I just finished was about two women with an intense friendship similar to my friendship with Laura. The one friend died, and I nearly broke down in the library. I can't imagine the pain of living without the people I need in my life. I've experienced some death in my life, and grieved for loved ones. I understand that the pain never goes away, but it somehow heals a bit. That person is always a part of your life, though, and I guess that's pretty powerful to think we impact each other so much. Yet, the idea of having to live without the physical presence of people who give me reasons for living is almost too much for me to even think about.

Maybe it's too much for most people to think about, which is why there is so much death anxiety around us. Most people on the surface-level don't believe they think about death that often or that they are that afraid of it. I took a class on death and dying though, and we discussed how death anxiety impacts our daily actions. It's incredible the way our subconscious has so much power and our drive to live as human beings is so strong.

Are friendships better with age? I have to believe they are, because they are stronger and more reliable. Yet, there is so much struggle and sacrifice to maintain smaller bits of a friendship with time. It seems like the older I get, the better I have to become at saying goodbye. I miss people the most when I am with them and reminded how much I benefit from their presence in my life. Then they are ripped away from me again. Do we become more callused to goodbyes as we age? I can't imagine each goodbye continuing to hurt so badly. I feel like I'm better at shaking it off than I used to be, but it still breaks my heart every time. I guess, all I can do is be thankful to have so many wonderful people in my life, and still accept the loneliness and sadness that comes along with joy of loving someone.

First Day of Classes

Classes start today. I don't have class until 3:30. My schedule has the potential to be incredibly stressful and maddening, or it might be good for me as both a person and writer. I'm hoping it's the second option, of course.

I had a wonderful time down South. I forgot how great Laura and I get along and how much better the sunshine can make me feel. I am feeling down again now that I am back in MI, but I was at least reminded I can be healthy.

I'm reading a wonderful memoir by Gail Caldwell called Let's Take the Long Way Home. Laura gave it to me for Christmas. It is a memoir about two women with a very intense, life-changing friendship. It has been helpful, because I have told her many times we don't have a lot of models for our friendship. Outsiders all form their own opinions, but it doesn't seem to accurately define our relationship. The book is beautifully written, but I connect a little too much with the writer. She's one of those permanently single writers that casually dates, but never gets attached to anyone. I fear that will be my future. It doesn't help that I talked to my ex-boyfriend and he sounds really happy with a new girlfriend. I really am happy for him. She sounds wonderful, and I am glad that he is moving on with his life. However, I couldn't help but think, "There's another great guy I let go. Will I ever find someone or will I be alone forever?" I think that I will probably be alone forever. For some reason that makes people uncomfortable in our society.

My therapist continuously reminds me that writers do not live ordinary lives, and that I need to accept that I am different than most and just live my life instead of worrying what it looks like to outsiders. It's hard because I was raised to believe what other people believe is more important and more valid than what I do. Image is very big in my family. I wasn't a toddler in a tiara for no reason, as my therapist teases. I learned very young how to get what I want by acting in ways that people liked. I take a sick sort of pride in the way I can win most people over. I am slowly unlearning this sick pushover behavior and learning to be myself. People can take it or leave it. It's much easier said than done.

Reflection on Family

Arguing via blog can be petty. No one really wants to read people attack each other while hiding behind computers. I think a well-handled open-dialogue is always a good answer. Both the benefit and the problem with blogging: it's your blog. You can say what you want. I made the choice to read my brother's blog about his time spent at home. I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. I respect his right to express his feelings on his experience, but I disagree with a lot of what he had to say, as well as the way it was said.

The point of a reflection is to seek truth. Loving creative non-fiction the way that I do, I think reflections are essential to a healthy lifestyle. I love reading other reflections and writing my own. Reflections are supposed to help us question ourselves--our motives, our behaviors, our feelings, how we impact the people and world around us, and in return, how we are impacted by them.

That being said, I was slightly offended by my brother's reflection on our family dynamics. He is entitled to write reflections on his blog. If I felt that his blog entry contained more depth, maturity, and wisdom, I would not be offended by how he perceives things. I would respect his honesty, even if it made me look bad and hurt my feelings a little. I, of all people, understand the importance of truth in writing. In fact, I fear how my family and friends will respond to my own reflections in my eventual memoir. The difference between the plan for my book and my brother's reflection is that mine will not be written out of anger. I know he wrote what he believed to be true, but that's not enough. He was blinded by anger and approached things from a very simplistic perspective.

He criticized our family's boring, surface-level conversations. Most families that I know, or friends of mine who talk about their family dynamics, have simplistic dialogue. Family is not the same as friends. You do not choose these people. The truth is, a family consists of a lot of people of all ages with too many different interests to mention. It is often a challenge to connect with family in a deeper way for this reason. If this is the case, why do we return to our families so regularly? It's about staying grounded. Being reminded where you come from. My sister and I probably would not have hung around each other in High School. We approached high school very differently ( her way being much healthier). Yet, seeing her reminds me of certain traits we share. My cousin and I grew up as best friends. We eventually drifted apart. She has a kid, works for a living, and I went the college route. We have little to talk about anymore, but I still love seeing her and her son. It helps me reflect on some of the experiences I shared with her that helped make me who I am. Family is also a bit of a reality check. A friend of mine once told me that despite having a professional job, her family treated her like a child. She wanted to say, "Hey, do you know that people actually take me seriously?!"

All jokes aside, it is hard for family members to adjust to changes. My family still wants to see me as the always smiling over-achieving adolescent that I was. I want to see my parents as all-knowing, my sister as little and my brother as wiser. That's not reality. Being a member of a family is about accepting truth--throwing aside delusions of how things should be, and embracing for a moment what they are.

My brother says our family has shared delusions of what makes a family, but what kind of delusion is he under? Does he expect our parents to be college professors and his sisters to be strictly intellectuals? The truth is, families like that are not even as good as they sound. Just like they say psychologists can be some of the worst parents. I still am working to readjust the way I view my childhood and my family members. It's tricky not to get stuck in my childhood ways and look to my parents for advice, even though in a lot of situations they can't give me a right or wrong answer. I still seek validation from them. That is unhealthy, and I am working to grow up and take responsibility for my own thoughts. Should I blame them for making me insecure and needing their assurance for everything? Sometimes I felt put down or embarrassed of mistakes, so I learned quickly how to give them responsibility and control of my life. I think that sort of pain and resentment can be approached with dignity. I understand that we are not the kind of family where we can talk about errors of the past. It is incredibly hard for me to stay healthy in an environment where anxiety rules the house and anger is uncontrolled at times.

My brother is right; we are all self-absorbed, but that's the nature of being human. We evolved to take care of ourselves. This returns to his argument from years ago that volunteers are greedy because they make themselves feel better by using people who need help. That IS why people volunteer, but guess what? Everyone wins: the volunteers and the people receiving the services. I have been helped by volunteers on many occasions and I have helped others as a volunteer on just as many. I think self-absorption is normal. It is only the wise who seek to listen better, care more about other people, be less self-absorbed.

Sure, depression is a type of self-absorption, but it is a sickness as well. I was disappointed in the way that my brother said I "have been crippled in more ways than [I] know," called our entire family self-absorbed, and referred to me as a patient that he "failed." I have never and will never be a patient to him. I will always be his sister who saw him grow up, experienced a similar childhood, and watched him struggle and rebound many times. I do not look for him to save me. I don't really ask anything of him except for him to listen and maybe sometimes validate things from our childhood. I have a therapist. I don't need his biased psycho-analyzation of me.

Spending limited time with him over the holidays and reading his blog has reminded me that he does not listen objectively. He asserts many things about me, like he knows me better than I know myself because I am so repressed. For years, he has told me that he believes my depression is because I am a repressed lesbian. I am not against this idea. In fact, I have spent the last couple of years trying to be really open to such an idea. The truth: I connect best with women, but the idea of being sexual with one is not appealing to me in this moment. I am not closed off to the idea that maybe one day I will meet a woman I fall in love with. I don't ever want this to be an "I told you so" sort of thing. I am just saying, as of now, I like guys. I have a problem being emotionally connected with them, which is why I have a lot of flings instead of relationships. The truth is he knows next to nothing about my dating experiences. Whatever, maybe one day, I will decide to date a woman. Until then, I'm going to continue dating guys and trying to make sex and relationship stability coexist.

Lastly, I want to address the fact that he claimed he had the worst experiences growing up (out of my siblings) and handled them best. Maybe he is right, but both are subjective. He had a rough time, but at least he had the fact that he was male and anger was an acceptable form of rebelling for him. He was able to use his anger to hurt those hurting him and protect himself in ways that I did not. Plus, we all experience things differently. Who is he to pretend to understand or compare his hardships with anyone else? Being a child is to be vulnerable. Everyone experiences being wronged as a child and not having the skills to understand that they are not being treated properly. Growing up has a sort of jadedness and pain to it. As of now, I am not going to publicly address how I feel about events in my childhood. I will say that it was not perfect and that it sometimes reacts with my chemical imbalance to cause even more severe depression. However, I am not downright blaming my parents and I believe they did and always will love me. I am thankful for that.

Postcard from the Deep South

I'm in Southern Louisiana. The weather is gross today, but I'll take wearing a hooded sweatshirt any day instead of having to wear a winter jacket. I can tolerate the rain. It is supposed to clear up tomorrow and Friday, so we are planning to do fun outdoor activities then. Today, I think we are going to return to New Orleans to shop and take pics. Then, we will leave when it gets dark (the city is not the safest place at night) and drive back to hangout at a coworker's place.

I am feeling much better. I think it's a combination of being away from home, the sunny weather, and the excitement of a road trip. Regardless, I called and set up an appointment with my psychiatrist for when I return. I'm proud of my progress.

New Year

I've been away for a while. It got to the point where I decided I would wait until the New Year to start blogging again. So here it is: January 1, 2011... A lot has changed since last year. A lot has changed since I last wrote--yet, in some weird way, I feel like I had the least amount of change this year compared to others. I had a pretty ordinary year, which is actually excellent. No major breakdowns or anything of that sort. Stayed pretty healthy--having ups and downs, of course. Overall, it was probably the most stable year I've had.

Last night, we were supposed to have people over to our apartment. Plans fell through, and it ended up being just Tammy, Laura, and me. We had a lot of fun. We played Scrabble Slam, toasted with one beer at midnight, ate lots of cheese dip, and watched a crazy movie. It was pretty quiet (minus my neighbors in the apartment above me blasting music and shouting). It was a very peaceful way to bring in the New Year. I wonder where I will be next year at this time.

For those of you who don't know, I am going to move into an assisted living home for nuns in the fall. They will house and feed me in exchange for me planning some activities for the sisters and filling in for an occasional dishwasher. I'm going to use this time to (hopefully) complete a solid first draft of a manuscript for my memoir. I have about 27 pages already completed. I am responsible for producing 50 more this semester in my ind. study class for the book project. If I can write every day like it's my job, I think completing a rough manuscript is a realistic goal. I had intended on staying with the sisters for the length of a school year (September-April or May). I do not know that I will be able to last that long without driving myself crazy. Every day is the same: breakfast, daily mass, lunch, dinner. Everything else is free time. It will be very important to establish a strict writing schedule, because it will be tempting to "tool around" as my friend Emily says. Not to mention, I can sleep all day. Sleeping is much easier than writing, and let's face it: I'm by nature looking for what's easiest. I will have to push pass the laziness and remind myself that writing will be my job. I will need to do it everyday. Although, I might allow myself to take Saturday and/or Sunday off each week.

My memoir will be about my struggle with both depression and spirituality. I have quite a few unique experiences that I think have given me different take on things. Maybe it's self-centered to think people want to read about my life or thoughts, but I know I like reading other people's memoirs. I think we can learn about ourselves through other people's struggles.

I think I need another medicine adjustment. I have been struggling to get by again lately. I think it's a combination of the fact that the doctor and I agreed to stop taking one of my medications, the stress of exams and then the holidays, and just a whole being burnt out phase. I'm feeling a little better since returning to school and with the optimism of a new year. I leave bright and early tomorrow morning (like 5am) to drive to Kentucky with Laura. She has a friend in Kentucky we will spend the day with, spend the night at his place, and then prepare for 11 more hours of driving to reach our final destination in Louisiana. I will fly home in a week. I hope everything goes okay. I will be thrown right back into school when I return, so I hope I get the medication thing sorted out. I don't want to feel defeated before I even begin my classes. This is my last semester, and I want to make the most of it.

It is gray and very windy here. It is snowing, and the flakes are flying horizontally in the wind. I am sad that this next semester two of my roommates will be gone, my friend Emily is moving home to Minnesota, and Laura will still be gone. That's the majority of my friends. Tammy will still be here, but she has to work a lot, so I will not get to see her as often as I would like. It will force me to really concentrate on my book, I think.

I want to say that my New Year's resolution is to blog more. I've already had several people request I keep a blog next year while with the nuns. I know how the semester gets, though, and how apathetic I can be when it comes to feeling like the world needs to know anything about me. I don't want to make a resolution I won't really work at. So I guess, if I blog more, cool. If not, nothing's new. You'll still get occasional updates :)

Sundays

It's another gloomy Sunday. I walked the twenty-minute walk to and from the gym this morning, listening to rainy day music instead of the usual workout music--the wind cutting through my sweatshirt and tiny raindrops painting the sidewalk.

I had a nice weekend. I ran a writing workshop Friday morning. Went out for Tammy's birthday Friday night. Spent the day at the coffee shop with some new friends from my religion class, and spent last night with a book under a blanket. Today, I did some (although very little) homework at the coffee shop chatting it up with different acquaintances and friends. I even chatted a bit with my religion prof, which was nice. I like getting to talk to professors one-on-one. They all seem to live such interesting lives.

School has been really hard for me lately. I skipped three classes last week, because I felt like I was getting sick and the week just seemed to daunting to get through. My doctor said not to be alarmed, because I don't skip classes often, and it's getting to be that time in the semester where it takes extra discipline to attend class. I've always been such a serious student, but lately, I'm having trouble caring. My therapist says she's amazed that I am even able to continue to going to school after all of the years I spent performing for everyone else. Now, I'm done jumping through hoops for people, and that is essentially all school is--jumping through hoops.

This time of year is normally very difficult for me. The decrease in sunshine, the cold that comes sweeping in, the increased in academic pressure, and the memories of past falls spent crazy...they're all hard to cope with. I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job this fall, though. I'm working out, eating okay, still sleeping too much, but what can you do? At least I am sleeping. I would much rather sleep too much than not enough. I felt like I might be in a creative mindset tonight, so I tried to work on my book, but I just stared at the screen. I'm kind of stuck. Having a professor help me along will be nice. I figured blogging was somewhat of a compromise, so here I am, updating you all :)