Christmas music sucks

I have a disease.

Not a normal life-threatening kind of disease, but more of an emotional and mental disease.

I get songs stuck in my head really easily and quickly. When a song is stuck in my head, it will not leave for a long time unless I am able to take immediate action against the song. All too frequently, I won't be able to sleep because of a song stuck in my head.

I once did not sleep for an entire night because I had Soulja Boy's Kiss Me Thru the Phone in my head. It was horrible.

I love Christmas. It is one of my favorite holidays because it is all about family and joy and hope and excitement. But I hate Christmas because it is all about walking in winter wonderlands and santa clause coming to town and rudolph, who happens to be a red-nosed reindeer. Oh, and about wishing people a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in Spanish.

Christmas music is so catchy and horrible. Luckily, I have been able to avoid it for the most part this year (three cheers for avoiding malls), and my sleep has not been fraught with jingle bells rocking or frosty snowmans.

Next year I plan to ban Christmas music entirely. From the world.

It's for the best.

Phoenix

Failure.

I fail at a lot of things.

I fail in the way that is getting really old. You know what I mean. When I trip walking up a staircase or spill water on myself and everyone around me says "FAIL." Ugh. Yes, I know.

So, I fail in ways that are laughable, small. Ways that provide amusement for me and those around me.

But I fail in bigger ways, too. Important ways.

Today, I may very likely have failed an important test. A test that, if passed, would ease a lot of worry and suffering for me.

Today, I was reminded again that I am a failure when it comes to change. I was reminded also that I am a failure as a roommate and a failure as a friend. A failure as a person of faith. A failure as a student. A failure at life.

When I physically fall flat on my face, I am able to pick myself up pretty quickly, brush myself off, laugh hysterically for a minute or two, then move on.

This is something I need to learn to do better when it comes to other types of failure.

Making mistakes can be good. It certainly helps with humility. But it also helps remind me that I don't have to be perfect and trying so hard to be perfect is useless.

Hopefully I can learn from my mistakes. Hopefully I am learning to be better at change, a better friend, roommate, person of faith, and student. Hopefully I am learning to live my life in more positive ways.

As I fail again and again, though, I remember that I am not perfect. I pick myself up and dust myself off and try to move on, maybe better this time.

What are people thinking?

Today I saw a mascara commercial.

Another one.

I realized, as I was watching this mascara commercial, that there are several categories of commercials. The ones we see most, though, are car commercials, insurance commercials, hair product commercials, and mascara commercials.

I get the first three. Cars are important, insurance is important, and hair is an integral part of the images of many people.

But mascara?

I have never met a person who actually bought mascara based on anything other than price.

But still, there are commercials. All the time.

These commercials are all about increasing the volume and length and curl of your eyelashes without any of the awful clumping.

Because, of course, if you have lots of long eyelashes you'll be noticed. You'll be much sexier. So sexy, in fact, that you should focus on your eyelashes. Don't worry about anything else if you've got great mascara.

Some of these commercials even boast that their mascara makes your eyelashes look like fake eyelashes without all the fuss of actual fake eyelashes (really). What on earth?

This has gone too far.

Can we all just please agree that regular eyelashes are fine?

Why I don't need a boyfriend

Today someone stood right next to me and said "I want to be with you more than anything." I think maybe I was imagining things.

When I was about 15, I wrote a poem basically to the effect that God was my boyfriend and I wasn't looking for a human boyfriend.

It was a really awful poem.

I think I wrote it in backlash to someone I knew that was going from guy to guy because she was desperate for a boyfriend.

The premise of this poem was ridiculous and the poem itself just sucked, but I still think about it sometimes when I'm trying to convince myself that I don't need or even want a boyfriend.

And it's true. I don't need a boyfriend. I often don't even want one. The grace of my God is sufficient for me. I believe that. I believe that he comforts me when I am broken and gives me hope when I am hopeless. I believe that he is with me when I am lonely and holds me when I am crying.

But sometimes ...

Sometimes I want to have someone that will call me beautiful. Someone that more than anything else wants to spend time with me. Someone who is hilarious but thinks I'm funny too. Someone who is there for me when I need it. Someone to learn how to Salsa with. Or Tango. I'm flexible.

Here's a little secret: my last actual relationship was almost 5 years ago. I was really young. It doesn't even really count.

So maybe ... Maybe I just want to know what all the fuss is about.

Tomorrow perhaps I'll wake up happy and single again. I can wait. But sometimes it is a struggle. Sometimes I feel like a bad feminist because of how much I wish I had a boyfriend.

But here's what I know for sure:

Someone did tell me they want to be with me. And when that someone was hanging on a tree, he told me that he would never let me down, even when I was at my worst. And I believe that he was telling me the truth.

Then friends, now friends

When I was in highschool, I was close with a group of about 15 people. I was especially close with about 5 of them. We hung out a lot, laughed a lot, had numerous inside jokes, and even occasionally shared important conversations.

I thought "these are friends I will never lose."

It is less than four years since I graduated from highschool, and I have not seen one of my close highschool friends in at least two and a half years. I have spoken with only two of them in the last year, and that only on facebook. I attempted to make plans with one of them, but it just never worked out.

I sometimes read the facebook pages of those I used to be close with and wish I was still a part of their lives.

It's my fault, really. At least partly. It certainly has some to do with moving away for school when most of my friends stayed at home. But it also has to do with making my family the ultimate priority when I am at home. It has to do with being too lazy to make an intense effort to see these old friends again.

I just spent a night with some of my friends from college. This year has been difficult in that we have had much less time to spend with each other. Tonight, though, many people were there that had not been around for a long time. We all laughed together and even shared some important conversations. Despite not being together all the time, we are able to be the friends we have always been. This is incredible to me.

And I am terrified.

I am so worried that I will graduate and not see or speak with these closest friends of mine again. I regret so much not being close with my highschool friends anymore. I don't want to regret the same thing with the friends that I have now.

I'm not going to be lazy. I don't care if we're all living all over the world.

I wonder if, were I to have an opportunity to be with my highschool friends again, we would be able to be the friends we always were.

I pray with fervent prayers that I never lose my friends now.

Derailing the motivation train

Today I was under the impression that I had quite a bit to get done. Because of this, I began working on my papers, readings, and general homework items as soon as I got back from my morning class.

I worked for perhaps three hours straight, getting much of my to-do list finished. Unfortunately, I still had some left even after working diligently for so long.

I took a break for lunch, intending to get back to work right afterwards.

Well, about that.

After lunch I was unable to do any work. Now, I do not mean that I had some trouble with motivation. No, no, no. I could not do any more work. I tried. I failed. No more work for me.

I spent the afternoon doing useless things instead of getting things done.

This happens all too often.

Well, what do you do? Me, I just give up after a while. Then, I redouble my effort for the next day, which leads to another afternoon of nothingness.

It's a vicious cycle.

Ubiquity

It is almost Thanksgiving. I am so blessed to be able to spend a few days of this time with my family. I'm doubly blessed to be able to spend two days more than usual at home.

Here are some more things that I am thankful for:

• Skype, in order to see my lovely nephews who are growing way too fast
• Blankets aplenty (it is cold in my house)
• A break from homework - I've always determined to not do homework during breaks, even when I should. I therefore take no homework with me. This is really good for my sanity.
• Extended family that is not technically related to me
• People at work who are always positive despite some of the shit that happens
• Graduation in 178 days
• The 178 days until graduation
• The artistic skills of those around me
• Having enough money to even consider going to Israel (despite my worry about not having enough)
• The chance to go to my home church on Saturday
• Advil (Seriously, I sometimes wonder what I would do if things like this hadn't been invented)
• My own computer, which is mad sexy
• Christmas break in three weeks
• Israel in six weeks

Wow, there are so many more. I learned that there are actual health and psychological benefits to expressing thankfulness. I think we should all take some time to think about what we're thankful for, instead of complaining about every little thing. It's pretty great.

Some old poems

I really like writing poetry. Unfortunately I don't think I'm usually that good at it. I've written some poems that I do like. I think I like these ones, but I'm not completely sure.

There you sat

A ghost from the past

Nonchalant

Nothing to say

I stopped dead in my tracks

Shocked, invisible

Forgotten days recalled

Dead memories revived

On my knees, begging reprieve

Stop holding me close

Stop saying those words

Let me live and move on

Stop falling in love

It's all been a dream

Forever a dream

I hate your fucking dreams

I barf as quietly as I can into the porcelain

Try not to wake your sleeping angel face

Can't bear the thought of your little feet innocently plodding to your crucifixion

Bottles littered over the tile

Blood dripping across the slanted floor

Your superhero dying in the trash

Sleep, sleep, let your perfect dreams live

Never, ever wake up

Or wake only to smiles, a clean floor, and a nutritious breakfast

Sleep, sleep, and dream not of your beaten superhero

Weak in the fact of disguised kryptonite

You are perfect

Never grow

Not into a stained, broken superhero

Your foul, thick air

Washes over my brain

I live for a moment with room to breathe

I live for the time before you and me

Your pervasive stench

Wills me to suffocate

Suffocate in your lies

And your foul, thick memories

Screw you

I'm afraid of fire.

When I was young, I stared into one for hours, mesmerized

I reached out to touch it

My mother pulled me away, screaming about the pain it would cause

I didn't touch it, but I've been afraid since

When I became an adult, I avoided it as best I could

When face to face with my fear, I would close my eyes

One day I peeked.

I was a child again, staring, mesmerized.

I reached out to touch it

My mother was not there to pull me away

I touched it, and I'm not longer afraid

It pulled me in

It covered me

It killed me

I touched it again

I'm not afraid of fire.

Did I hold on too long

When we last touched?

Did I say something wrong

When we last spoke?

I don't care

You've seen who I am, I've seen you

This is not you

Your world is full of colors

You're killing them shades of grey

Your world is filled with wonder

You're seeing it in 2-d

That work of art you just painted

You call it death

So if I hold on too long

Or say something wrong

Forgive my wonder, forgive my awe

I'm moving you to see

Your life's great poetry

My heart is covered in excrement

Sometimes I feel like I'm digging through the manure pile that is my heart and shoving all the shit that resides there elsewhere.

That's what prayer is like sometimes.

Dig. Hey, God, my friends are leaving at the end of the year, and I can't take it. Slop. Here. You take it.

Dig. Hey, God, I can't figure out my semester. Slop. Why don't you?

Dig. God, money sucks and I don't want to deal with it. Slop. Can you fix that?

I'm trying to dig out all of the crap that's there in order to find something that is supposed to be beautiful. When I dig it out, I don't know where else to put it except at God's feet. It's ridiculous that he's willing to take it, but he does.

I still feel like my heart is covered in shit, but it gets better. With every shovelful I know that God is on my side.

The registrar hates me

I have spent the last week or so gearing up to start studying so I can take the Biology exemption exam. I need to test out because there is not a single intro level Bio course that will fit my schedule next semester. If I don't take it next semester, I don't graduate in May. So I'm going to test out instead.

But guess what? There might be a Bio course that fits my schedule because my favorite class for next semester was just cancelled. Huzzah. This is the third time in as many terms that I've had a class cancelled that I had been really excited for.

Seriously. The registrar does not want me to enjoy my classes. Or graduate. Or anything.

Speaking of graduating. Holy. Shit.

I'm going to graduate in 6 months, 18 days and 34 minutes. And then I get to attempt to fit into the real world. Wow.

Or maybe I'll just go to more school and delay the real world for as long as possible.

Today ... Is difficult.

This hallelujah is to say I'm angry

To say I'm hurting

To say I don't understand

This hallelujah is to say why here, why now?

To say I'm struggling with trust

To say my heart is broken

This hallelujah is to say that I hate what you're doing to me and I kind of want out, but I'm trying, and I really need you right now.

Shall we air some more complaints?

No ... No we shall not.

I feel like I've been doing quite a bit of complaining lately. It's not really intentional. I apologize.

To balance it out, I'd like to tell a couple of stories.

In three days comes the third anniversary of the death of a beautiful woman in my church. She was in her mid twenties, and she killed herself. It simply was not fair that she died. I was not that close with her, but I was very close with some people who were close with her. Besides that, I did know her. And she belonged to my church. She was my sister. On the first anniversary of her death, I had a very bad day. I wanted to yell and scream but could not find the appropriate venue to do so. Instead, I tore myself up inside, very quietly.

That night, I was hanging out with three very dear friends. I told them about what was going on and asked them to be praying for me. The four of us went on a walk and had a lovely time hanging out at a playground at about four in the morning. There was a point where I couldn't handle laughing anymore, so I separated myself from the others and climbed onto the top of the monkey bars to look at the sky and weep. My friends took notice quickly and asked to pray with me.

It still hurts, thinking about what happened. But I am so unbelievably thankful that God gave me those three friends to comfort me and pray with me that night.

And now, during another difficult time, I've been somewhat reclusive. My roommates have, apparently, noticed. I came back to the apartment to find flowers with a note voicing their support and love in my difficult time.

Lord, you have been so faithful to me in the people you have placed around me. It sucks to say goodbye, but I know that you are with me and I know that you will always put people around me to support me. I know this because you have done so. Thank you.

The painting on the wall is slightly crooked.

Damn you and your stupid stupidity.

By you I of course mean me.

Damn me and my stupid stupidity. Or at least my stupidity. I could do without it.

There was once this man that I was incredibly attracted to for a long time. Say, at least two years. More, really.

The first stupid thing was allowing myself to continue being attracted to him despite the knowledge that he did not return the compliment. While it is difficult to simply stop yourself from being attracted to someone, it is possible. I should've done everything in my power to get away from it.

The second stupid thing was writing about it. You may have noticed that I enjoy writing. I wrote about him. I lamented my attraction for him while at the same time justifying it.

The third stupid thing is the habit I have of reading things I've written long after they've been written.

Do you remember when we were young and some people would be called "boy crazy" or "girl crazy"? I was one of those girls that was called boy crazy. I was. I am.

This is a problem. I'm a boy crazy feminist.

I don't need a man, I just want one.

Now.

I am an incredibly impatient person.

I want a lot of things, and I want them right now.

I want to be financially solvent. I want a boyfriend (I hate this about me). I want a 24oz bottle of Diet Coke or a can of DrPepper (make that two cans). I want a motorcycle. I want a friend who relies on me as much as I rely on them. I want three or four cds and a few books. I want to see my nephews. I want to go to The Melting Pot. I want to never have to stand in line again.

Unfortunately, some of those things I may never get. I will have to wait for all of them for between three months and five years (or more ... with the possible exception of the pop).

Learning to wait well is difficult.

When I wait, I'm usually waiting kicking and screaming and whining. At least internally. Why am I so impatient?

I'm not sure. I've been learning about patience. I have started to slow down and take a deep breath every time I start to get upset with someone driving slowly in front of me. I sometimes chuckle, thinking, hey, maybe God is trying to teach me patience.

What about the things I really need? What about the things I long for most? Why can't I have them?

I don't know.

I'm trying to learn to rely on God. I'm trying to let go of misplaced priorities. I'm trying to learn to wait.

God is taking care of me.

He loves me.

I can wait.

Why I love being childish and others don't

I was reading the blog of an old friend wherein she described the joys of bendy straws. I realized, to my delight, that this was something we shared in common. The extreme pleasure found in using a bendy straw rather than a boring old non-bendy straw.

Other childish things I enjoy are:

-Laughing when I'm not supposed to (such as in church or a meeting)

-Hula hoops

-Dressing up in crazy outfits and trying to make people laugh

-Going into stores where I cannot possibly afford anything that is being sold

-Staring at the sky

-Playing with bubbles

-Standing on furniture

... There are so many more. This is really just a few.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares my joy in doing childlike things. In fact, I have been called immature on more than one occasion of late.

Why do you suppose that is?

I kind of think that some people are jealous. I am able to take delight in some of the smallest wonders. You should try it sometime. I'm probably having more fun than you are.

Dignity is an absurd notion.

Don't touch me! No wait, do.

I have heard that a person that is touched often is generally happier. I may be making this up, but I believe that a person is "supposed" to be touched at least 17 times per day.

What qualifies as a touch?

I think pretty much anything, except it has to be deliberate.

When I first heard this, I decided that I would just go out and bump into strangers "accidentally" while grocery shopping. Of course, if I bumped into 17 strangers while walking down the produce aisle, I may just get kicked out.

Unfortunately, the person that told this to me said that it had to be deliberate.

So, if a person taps you on the shoulder to see if they can borrow a pencil, or gives you a hug, or slaps you in the face, it counts (ok, not sure about the last one).

Here's the thing. Someone has touched me maybe once today. And it was unusual.

Perhaps this theory is completely false. I'm a generally happy person. But then again, infants that are not held will die much faster, even if they are given all of the nourishment they need (this I know is true).

I think hugging is a lost art. We don't hug our friends enough. I can imagine why, though.

"Hey, I think we should hug more."

"Wait ... are you into me? I didn't know you were even gay."

That just takes you down a whole new awkward route.

"No, I'm straight, I just think we should hug more."

"Why?"

"Well, there's this--"

"OK, you're creeping me out. I'm leaving now."

So that's a little overdramatic, but you get the picture. Talking about hugging is weird.

So what to do?

The answer is obvious.

Ambush your friends with hugs. Some will appreciate it. Others will be seriously creeped out and possibly will never talk to you again.

But really, do you want to have a non-hugger as a friend?

My versions of tired

I go through phases of being tired.

Here's how it works for me:

Initial feelings of being tired - If I didn't get much sleep the night before, or it is getting close to the end of my waking hours, I will begin to feel tired. This generally means that I will move slower, yawn a lot and perhaps start to lose focus. This is when I should go to sleep (or take a nap).

One hour later - If I neglect to go to sleep or take a nap, I will start staring off into the distance in the middle of what I am doing. I will also begin to doze off (especially while reading).

One hour later - Usually I will do something about being tired by this point, but if I cannot or do not want to, I will make some efforts to keep myself awake. This might mean drinking a lot of caffeine, eating a lot of sugar, or running around my apartment with my vuvuzela.

One hour later - After I have indulged on caffeine, I will become slightly insane. Everything is funnier. I am louder (and also funnier). Focus is impossible at this point. I cannot hold a reasonable conversation. I may start a conversation with someone, drift away, come back and say "What? I'm sorry, I was thinking about elephants. Is that the Millenium Falcon??? No, it's a toaster." Then I will laugh uncontrollably for a few moments (repeat).

One hour later - If I get this far, I am beyond hope. If you hand me an object, I will drop it. If you say anything to me, I will stare at you in confusion as though I have never heard words before.

One hour later - EMOTIONS. I am either laughing or sobbing uncontrollably. I may start to tell you a story about some minor incident that happened when I was four years old and how it ruined my entire life.

One hour later - Practically comatose, trying to stay awake while likely lying in the middle of the floor without moving. I may attempt to have some input in whatever is going on, but it will be something along the lines of "crabapples funny, your face my hungry trains."

One hour later - Either finally asleep (whether intentional or not) or dead.

Why everyone should wear shirts (always)

Last night, imagine my consternation upon walking out of my bedroom and into the living room to see my roommate's boyfriend sitting on the couch, shirtless.

Now, my roommate's boyfriend is not awful looking. Nor is he incredibly handsome or chiseled. But those things, in my mind, don't really matter when it comes to shirtlessness.

Granted, it was getting pretty warm. But, you certainly did not see me or any of my roommates taking our shirts off and walking around in our bras.

Does this come down to a modesty issue? ... Sort of.

You will say that men are much more visually geared, so a woman walking around without a shirt would be a bigger distraction.

While that may be the case, I still think men should wear their shirts as women do.

Here's my reasoning:

An incredibly chiseled and buff man without a shirt on is indeed a distraction for women. Believe me.

Any other man is simply kind of gross without a shirt on.

So, men, unless I have fallen madly in love with you, please keep your shirts on in my presence. Just as a favor to me.

You don't see me walking around in my bra when I get hot.

(Note: There is an exception with swimming. This I can understand. A lot of extra fabric can be really annoying in this case)

Why are all of my posts about men?

You again?

As I embark on my senior year in college, one thing I've noticed with increasing frequency is the amount of people around me that are in serious dating relationships, getting engaged, and getting married.

Everyone is pairing off.

Everyone.

...

Why?

As I was discussing this phenomenon this evening with some other single ladies one of them brought up the alarming possibility of waking up next to the same person for the rest of your life.

We talked about how there would have to be some days that you woke up and thought "Damn. You again?"

I don't feel qualified to make a decision like that at this point in my life. Granted, it's been a long time since I've come upon a man I'd be willing to spend more than a few hours with, much less the rest of my life. I suppose that if I ever meet someone that I can tolerate for longer than my usual upper limit I'll know it's love.

I'll ask him to marry me immediately (of course).

Why do people get married so young?

Do I owe it to my gender to get a doctorate?

I've considered this question off and on for a while now.

I have the intellect and the motivation to go to grad school, get a masters and then keep going and become a doctor of ... something.

But I don't even know what.

... And I don't really want to.

The thing is, I've thought a lot about how great it would be to become a doctor. Especially as a woman. I want to be an example for young girls who want to be ambitious career women rather than homemakers. I think a lot of young girls want to be homemakers, and that's great, but honestly, they have enough role models as it is.

What about that middle school girl who really wants to be a CEO of a company, but all of the women she knows decided that wasn't for them?

I sometimes feel like because it is in my power, I should take hold of the unique opportunity that I have to show other women that it is possible to take hold of your dreams.

But then again, those aren't my dreams.

It's something I've struggled with some, as a feminist. I'm not going to go to grad school after I graduate. Maybe eventually, if I feel like God's nudging me in that direction. If I find something I really want to explore more. But for now, I'm going to ferociously go after my dreams, and hopefully women and men both will see me and know that if I can accomplish my dreams (with God's help), they can as well (with God's help).

Also, I do not hate men. Just wanted to clarify. I like men quite a bit, actually.

Relationships Suck more than Root Canals Sometimes

Do guys talk to each other about relationships and relationship choices? ... I think a lot of women do. Not necessarily all women, but certainly almost all of the women that I know do.

For example, a few days ago, a friend of mine told me a story about how she and this guy sort of started a kind of relationship over the summer. After she moved back for school, they emailed back and forth some, but nothing was ever really set in stone. The problem was, while she really liked the attention, she wasn't entirely sure she was all that interested in him (at least not anymore). What was my advice to her? I said two very specific things: 1) be honest with him. 2) You are simply not allowed to lead him on.

This is a recurring theme. I've had this conversation with women before, and it always comes out to be honest, and do not lead him on.

Do guys have conversations like this?

I can't imagine that they do. If they did, things like this wouldn't happen:

(the following is a conversation between a man and a woman spanning over a few months which took place in various forms)

Guy: You're hot. And I think I'm attracted to you.

Girl: It's mutual. On both counts.

Guy: I really wanna be with you.

Girl: Me too, but about you.

Guy: But I can't right now. My life is really messed up. I need some time.

Girl: Holy crap. Me too.

Guy: So we'll wait some, ok?

Girl: Yeah

And the backpedaling begins

Guy: But don't wait for me. If you find your prince charming, go ahead.

Girl: I'll wait for you.

Guy: Please don't expect too much.

Girl: ....... ? ...... Ok.

A week later

Guy: I miss you

Girl: I miss you too

A week later

Guy: I wanna come see you.

Girl: Absolutely

Guy: I was going to come this weekend, but I couldn't get someone to dog sit.

Girl: ... Oh. ... That's really ... That sucks.

Guy: Yeah, it does.

Girl: I miss you

Guy: .... .... ... ... I miss you too. But we can't talk like that.

Girl: You're probably right. Too soon.

That is the moment that started everything else. Soon the girl was questioning everything. She asked him, point blank, several times what it was that he really felt and how he wanted to play this thing out. He was elusive.

Finally:

Girl: You need to give me an answer about all of this.

Guy: ... I want to keep my options open, but I can see you won't let me. ... I made a mistake when I said those things a few months ago. I don't think we'll ever be together.

Would a guy tell his friend that he's not allowed to lead a girl on?

I hope so.

Hallelujah, Amen, You are Dismissed.

Men make me nauseous.

I'm not joking. Every single time I see a man, I have an intense urge to throw up. Maybe I'm some kind of new era feminist. Feminism is so ingrained in me that it has moved to my bodily functions.

Or maybe not.

Perhaps it's true that I've been hurt a few times. To be precise, it is definitely true. When I am hurt, I go through cycles of being ok and full of forgiveness and then being horribly angry and unforgiving. The following may have been in one of my more unforgiving states of mind after being hurt by, you guessed it, a man.

When I told you that I had forgiven you, I'm not sure I was correct. It's not that I was lying, but I may have been mistaken. I'm so angry with you. I'm angry about how you treated me. I'm angry that we're not together. I'm angry about the kind of person you seem to have become. I'm angry that we're both pretending everything is ok. I'm angry that I care so much. I'm in love with what we could be together, but I fucking hate how often I am reminded of how much we fall short. All of my dreams of you are turning to dust before my eyes. The sandcastles I'm trying to build out of this dust don't cut it as a replacement. I miss you. Or more accurately, I miss who I once believed you were. I want to wake up to find that you're that beautiful person I always thought you were. I want to believe that you are. I want us to bring out the best in each other. I want that faraway picture I had to come true. But most of all, I want to sweep away my dusty sandcastles and forget you.

Stupid man. Yet lovely. See? I'm still conflicted.

I was at church a few weeks ago, ruminating about this man and several other things that occasionally go horribly wrong. As I prayed, I got this feeling that God was trying to say something to me, so I shut up for a moment and what I heard was:

I love you so fucking much.

Hm. God swears. Who knew?

There is something broken

About a hallelujah

Hallelujah says

I'll praise you anyway

Hallelujah says

You are God despite

Always despite

Despite my aches

My tortures and sins

In every rancid moment

You are God despite

Hallelujah

If God is willing to swear to get my attention, I'm willing to do all I can to praise him, even when there are men (and others) all around me trying to make me nauseous.

You and Yours

I have officially accomplished the most essential piece of becoming a bonafide blogger.

That is, of course, coming up with a background and design that is not only aesthetically pleasing but also communicates my sheer awesomeness and the fact that I certainly did not spend too much time or work too hard to make that awesomeness clear.

That was a long sentence.

Never you mind.

You may remember five or six years ago when blogs were so severely popular that anyone without one was deemed horrendous. Then, of course, facebook came along and moved that spiral of insecurities into a far more concise and user friendly venue. Now, blogs seem to be reemerging.

Of course, you are not allowed to have one if you do not have something of incredible importance to say. Either that or you need some kind of disclaimer that it may or may not be interesting and it's up mostly for your own personal enjoyment (reading between the lines, this generally means: LOVE ME OR I WILL DIE!).

I'm not sure yet which category this falls under.

Probably the LOVE ME OR I WILL DIE category, but it may be too soon to tell.