i love the view from up here.

“We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” - Dr. Seuss

I find that quote especially applicable to life right now. February is finally over, and I have high hopes for March.

It's just that first I must re-assimilate back into life. Agnes of God is finally over, and I'm only now realizing how much of myself I put into it. I'm proud of my performance, but in the aftermath I find myself a bit exhausted and a little distant from my friends. It's weird how life goes on in my absence; it's given me so many surprises. I was vain and just assumed that everyone would wait for me until I came back, but I'm realizing now that's not the case and that I, obviously, am not the center of everyone's world. Not that I really believed that, but it's been an odd week. I miss everyone, and I hope the adjustment won't be too painful.

Writing is coming easier.

it's a brand new year.

To start of 2011, I am exhausted. In a good way. I ventured back to Atlanta for New Year's Eve despite my original plans changing significantly (i.e. being taken to being single). Shared some quality time in McDonald's with Ashleigh, then I went to ring in the new year at Eric's house party with some new and old friends. Highlights included watching the documentary American Pimp and the mini-bonfire on the back porch, and of course a champagne toast. I ended up crashing on my big sister Brit's living room futon a little after midnight, but one of her housemates, Blaik, ended up having a couple of mutual friends over in their basement, and I was continually woken up by friends saying hi and asking me how I'm doing in the aftermath.

And the truth is, in the aftermath, I feel great. I know my policy with this blog is to be intentionally vague about the state of things in my life. But the thing is, break-ups happen to everyone. Good things sometimes come to an end for inexplicable reasons.

Maybe it's just my persistent optimism playing tricks on my emotions, but I actually feel happy. That's how the new year should always begin, I think. Sure, there are leftover frustrations; it comes with the transition process into friendship. But time will iron those things out, I'm certain.

For now though, I have an entire week to get through before I can go home to Oglethorpe and settle back into a new, busy schedule with all of my lovely friends around me. I'll make it through somehow...

summer days drifting away

If you were expecting frequent updates from me this summer, I'm afraid I must apologize once again. It seems I always promise more but never deliver. For those empty promises, I am sorry.

Hehe, I feel like the president...empty promises.

But let's not get political, shall we?

I suppose I could give reasons, justify why I have been so oft neglectful. But I suppose the most relevant one would be that I've just been so happy these past few months. Once I returned to the Oglethorpe campus, everything just happened. I had the opportunity to see so many school friends, make a lot of new friends working for summerstock theatre, and got caught up in a whirlwind romance that has just left me so content. And at the risk of sounding like that pensive, sad writer I claimed I was not a few posts ago, there hasn't been so much to write about.

This kind of happiness is something I don't really like to use my pen for. I suppose that for me, it becomes redundant after a while (although, I believe you could argue that all emotions become redundant if you constantly write about them) and what I write out of happiness isn't as personally compelling.

Does that sound weird? I hope it doesn't.

The summer is ending. I have less than one week until Joscelyn and Zach drive through Birmingham on their epic cross-country road trip from Los Angeles, which signals to me to pack up my car and hit I-20 once more for the beginning of the school year. I'm 19. I'm going to be a sophomore in college. And for some reason, those two facts seem totally disparate - 19 seems so young. Being a sophomore in college makes me feel old. I suppose my goal this year is to reconcile those two things.

But so many things are beginning. And I like having an idea of what the future holds for me. I am excited for classes to start. I'm ready for all of my friends to congregate in the same place once more. I'm excited to perform on stage. I'm excited for all the new people I'm going to meet and the new friends I'm going to bring into my life.

And I'm excited to cultivate that one special relationship that has given me such joy these past few months. That's probably the thing I look forward to the most.

is pensive a state of mind? or is it more of a mood?

There was a lot of rain today. And I believe it is a commonly accepted thought that rain is generally a cleansing thing. But there was so much of it that it was difficult to think of it as anything more than oppressive. But now I’m sitting here in the living room feeling a lot better.

If we were going according to the five stages of grief, I suppose I have finally reached acceptance. Things end, and though in life nothing is certain, I’ve learned that I cannot put too much hope in that fact. Eventually, I must part ways with my girlish wishful thinking and my naive desire for all things to be perfect. Not that any of it is bad, I just can’t presume to be able to effectively face the realities of life with such an outlook. It seems I must strike a balance, for I find being bitter and cynical doesn’t quite suit me either - I’m perceived to be much too small and dainty to be jaded and brooding. But I think it would be healthier for me to be a realistic optimist; you know, hope for the best and not break down when things don’t work out the way I want them to.

Hmm…it sounds eerily similar to something I’ve said earlier in this blog. I’m sure it has something to do with my New Year’s Resolutions.

I should review those more often or I’ll just end up looking silly.

As if I haven’t done that already.

But as I was saying: acceptance. And rain. I don’t really know what they have to do with each other, but one seems to have brought me to the other. I think I can finally tell myself I’m okay. I think I finally mean it. And I think I finally no longer have to rely on someone else to reinforce it.

And that, I know, is improvement.

may 19, 2010

Forgive the lack of creativity with a title. I’ve been in recovery mode for the past week and a half.

It’s a natural process, time taken at the start of the summer to just…recover. From everything. I guess I never noticed it before, this obligatory period of recuperation – perhaps this is because this time a lot of things seem to have piled up in my mind that I subconsciously stowed away for this very moment to sift through. A lot of things have happened since I last thought to update.

But I’m going to have to leave you in the dark about the exact nature of these things. Essentially, they are in the past and don’t particularly matter anymore. I shouldn’t waste my energy explaining the details and then getting myself worked up again. I’m exhausted enough.

But the good thing about recovering is that I’ve written a lot more. Not only have I been neglectful to the blog, but my poor journal has had to suffer through almost three months of empty pages. That is my fault. I got caught up in other things and lost focus on improving my writing and getting my ideas on paper.

And I come back here wondering what my intent was in the first place, starting a blog. I believe it was to share my college experiences. I realize I did very little of that. I tried, but there is something very stilted, very awkward, about reliving events for others in the form of written word. I feel strange sharing details of my personal life in this medium…I feel exposed. I feel like I should have been writing letters from camp, explaining all the things I’m doing and the people I’m meeting and how much fun I’m having and so on and so forth. It feels somewhat forced and disingenuine.That’s not what it should be to me. And I realize that I would do better if I wrote more about my reactions to people and events and the things I see and read. I think that would be more suited to my style.

And so I start with a random bit of prose from my journal today that sums up how this week and a half has been for me:

She covered herself with night and drifted through the house on soundless feet. She went through all the rooms and in the dark her presence echoed against the floor and the walls and the ceilings as if they were all blank and empty. She danced naked in front of the windows and no one stopped to watch her because they were all asleep and thinking of nothing. She talked to someone who wasn’t there in the sitting room where all sorts of formal conversations took place, saying things she never said aloud before. She pulled the sheets from her bed and stalked the shadows in makeshift garb, a pretty young thing whose veneer of strong calm had cracked and who was afraid to she she could be anything less than composed. She hid away her memories in a box and burned them in the bathtub and washed the ashes down the drain. She collapsed on the stairs and sobbed for an uncountable number of minutes and the house in shades of blue wept with her. And when the sun came up she stood in the kitchen with a smile on her face.

Recovery can be difficult sometimes. But I think part of it may be because I feel so out of place back at home. I’m not surrounded all the time with the people I’ve come to consider my second family, who all know me and can help me in recovering in a way my friends from back home and my family cannot. But having to go it alone makes me stronger, I hope. It makes me realize that I don’t always have to rely on other people to get me through tough times. And in a way, hitting the publish button at the end of this and sending myself out into the internet world is helpful.

And when I go back to Atlanta and bury myself in class and books and what remains of my second family, the recovery process will end.

Hehe, I just turned up the volume on my computer and R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” was playing. How appropriate, no?

Expect more frequent updates, those whose tone will hopefully be of a happier nature. I hate for you all to think I’m some sad, overly pensive writer. Because while at times I am, that’s not the person I generally strive to be.

please don’t drown me in holy water

It’s Friday. The week – and the month of February – is coming to an end. I must apologize for the lack of updates. Admittedly, this has been the most stressful of my months here at Oglethorpe, but I think I’ve managed to survive.

Least important of these is the break-up and subsequent make-up of my relationship with my boyfriend. I don’t want to go into it really, but I will just say that it takes a little time apart to realize what you really feel for someone. I hate talking about things like this – it makes me feel so awkward and sentimental.

So moving on.

I’m sick. I blame this on exhaustion and a compromised immune system. After House of Blue Leaves ended I took up work on Complete Works of William Shakespeare [Abridged] and have barely had any sleep. I’m definitely overworking myself and I need a break. Thankfully, Complete Works is finishing up this weekend and I can rest.

But I guess the most traumatic thing to happen this month was the death of my close friend Clinton. Dealing with that was incredibly difficult, especially being so far away from home. But I was at least able to go to the funeral, which was a very beautiful tribute to him. From it I took away a resolve to be more faithful and loyal to those that I care about. Hopefully I can stick to it, for him.

I think the best thing about all of it was how I truly experienced the community of Oglethorpe. Of course my friends helped me through it, but even people I didn’t really know that well would come up to me and offer their support. And the wonderful thing is, they truly meant it. That’s what I love about my school. The people here are truly thoughtful and genuine. And you never have to be alone.

…

But I look forward to March. I look forward to my weekend. I was a hermit this week, working studiously on papers and French work, and (ashamedly) abandoned my friends to spend time with the boyfriend. This weekend will make up for it. Already, it has involved a trip to Waffle House and finger painting (which predictably devolved into face painting). Tonight: the Complete Works cast party. Saturday night: Chi Phi’s belated Mardi Gras party.

Geez - looking at that, I sound like a regular party animal. Maybe I am. But I’m having responsible fun. You can’t blame me for that.

you know, they call them killer whales.

I hate avoiding things. I’m the kind of person who likes to tackle issues head-on. Yet here I find myself running away and deflecting questions. Keeping silent. Holding it in. It feels strange. I’m not sure it’s healthy. There are only so many places I can vent my frustrations to before they all come to a head, right? And then, it’s worse. That’s what they tell you.

Oh them. Them and their wisdom. I should listen to them more often.

Don’t you just hate when the good mood is ruined? That happened tonight. Another instance of people trying to pry where they are not welcome. When will they learn that when they delve too deep it only serves to shut them out more?

Enough of that. This was not meant for rants.

It’s just…I find myself afraid to face things now where I wasn’t before. Maybe that’s because my life was never messy before. It is now. That’s a strange thing for me. I’m not sure how to deal with it.

But besides all that, my most overwhelming feeling is that of boredom. Going to college in a big city makes me realize how little there is to do back here in a modestly large one.

My mood today:

I found this today as I was just perusing the internet in my boredom. I thought it  was funny, I guess. Reminded me of my failed attempt to read Naked Lunch when I was in 10th grade, I just got really confused trying to slog through it and my English teacher saw it one day on my desk and told me I was too young to read it. She was right.

She was also most likely on drugs.

Maybe I should try again, then follow up with some more beatnik literature. You know, go through a beatnik period. I tried to organize something like that this summer as I compiled a list of books I wanted to read. There got to be so many I had to separate them into categories: Southern writers, absurdist literature, etc. It seems to make more sense, to read each category and move on to the next one. But I add books to the list faster than I can read them, so I don’t know how well that would work out.

Wait. Yes I do. Not very well at all.

But Christmas is in four days, which is something to look forward to.