Dear God.

I thought she said cancer. I heard her. I think she might have been joking, but I thought I heard her say that they were checking her for cancer. I hope to God that I heard her wrong, that she was just getting checked and that she has no reason to believe that she might have a illness that could claim her life so young. I hope she was joking or maybe they were doing something else and she felt like they were checking her for cancer. God, I hope that was it. I'm worried. I hope she is okay. I need her to be okay.

I'd give her friendship up cold turkey if it would save her life.Other people need her far more than I do and I would give her up if it meant her and I were on the same planet for some 50 more years. Sometimes I believe that no one is capable of love like that woman. No one. I know I may be over reacting, but I'm allowed a bit of an over-reaction being that I value her so. I just won't say that I'm having this intense a reaction to something she won't even let bother her too much. Strongest.Person. Ever.

I hope I can feel like an idiot for writing this if I find out what is really happening.I hope I can look at her and see her bright happy eyes with out the look of anxiety. Please.

Poetry.

I wrote another poem today. It has come to my attention that in doing so I am constantly absorbing the concept of love and spewing it all over the page, even if that is not actually my intention.Privately in my pessimism I have decided that I know nothing of the sort and that I am like an fictional novelist. Dare I say that I despite my being perplexed by the concept of love, I actually know nothing about it. I see it in other people, observe it, absorb it and to a point envy it. I do need to grow up. I'm like a child. Poetry is supposed to be a reflection of beauty. I feel like I am disgracing the pen writing about this subject I really know very little about. My capacity to love is infinite, however I need to capture some lyrical realism. I need to stop believing in humanity to the point of ignorance.   


I am a child.

Sing songs.

"Don't forget me I beg. Sometimes it lasts love. Sometimes it hurts instead. Never mind I'll find someone like you." - Adele

This song came on in Starbucks and I think it's a good sign. = )

When it's late I become overwhelmed by this need to appreciate people. Mondays are the worst and yet absolutely the best. Today is Tuesday. I think that it has pretty great potential.. I'm unsure why, but that doesn't bother me.

Loss

It kills me to know you are the closest thing I have ever had to loss. It still hurts when I think about all the things that I have that others do not. I hate that loosing you was the closest thing to heartbreak I've ever felt. All these people right here walking because of real loss and real pain. Cancer. Terrible loss. Crazy strength. Fight back and find a cure.

You. Weakness. I can't even look at you. I hate you, the type of hate that manifests its' self into violent terror. In my dreams I'm the terrorist. I am he person I never wanted to be. I'm the bad guy. I'm you and you are me. I'm the killer. I create the loss and you are helpless. You always manage to put up a fight, but I always win. I always beat you within an inch of your life and laugh. I always laugh before you should die, but you never do. You  always live and I'm just happy to see you suffer. Suffer. Loss. It's over. It's been over. Take your good directions and go away. Fuck you and everything you've made me see. Fuck everything  you've made me dream. My dreams are mine and I wouldn't give you one to save your mother fucking life. Would I? I wouldn't save you. In my dreams I wouldn't save you. I would though. Me. In this world were I am who I want to be, I would save you. In reality I am far more the life saver than I am the killer. I am far more a survivor who goes back into the disaster to save you in spite of who you are. I'm not the killer and I'm not the victim. Hear me mother fucker. I'm not a  victim, I would still save you .

End of story.

I  care far too much about what some people think. I care far too much about what she thinks. End of story. I care far too much about her.I should stop. I need to stop. End of story.

When I'm on the beach building a sad castle...I love my life thisss muchhhhhhh.
When I'm writing things down. When I'm reading this book. It's all so different. It's all so the same.

Once again I'm torn between the need to feel brilliant and the need to feel young. I am so content just being myself and not choosing between the two. I worry that the more intelligent I feel the less I will feel free and appreciate the small things. I've been thinking about the concept and I've decided that this might not be true and just maybe the opposite could be what is correlational  . Maybe.

There is this song by the Foo Fighters called 100 years. If you listen to music you might know it. The lyrics speak to me. I have found lately that it's okay to feel stuck between fifteen and twenty-five. That is were I am at; trying to just accept my resistant growth Believing in all that I am not just what will be. It's tougher than I thought.

Real Tallk.

It isn't really my faith that I'm questioning.I believe with all of my heart that there is a God out there and I believe in a bigger purpose for all of humanity. I mean over all I think that my spiritual health is nearly where it should be.

God and I have a relatively stable relationship.I talk to God all the time. I think what bothers me the most about the church is that I feel like it is trying to give me specific instructions about how to get to heaven. Over all being raised Catholic was a great experience. I think that the faith has played a large role in who I am. I just feel like I don't need a specific set of instructions on how to express my love to God and other people. My relationship with God is my own and I believe that he will provide for me my own path to whatever the greater good looks like.

Here is to finding my own way to God and still being thankful for the church. Here is to always remembering that love is the way to whatever good you may be looking for, God or not.

Dreamer.

Oh, what a constant battle I have with myself these days. I 've been going over these blogs that I've written to myself. Going over how much my perspective has changed over the past year. I think I'm looking for something again. I can't decide if it is something spiritual like Jesus or something piratical like a reinforcement so that my behavior doesn't seem like a total waste of my time.

I understand that it is weird that I'm constantly complaining about his something that I am not sure I ever had. I just wish I could justify all of the effort I've been putting forth with something. Any kind of reinforcement, a job or a hug from someone who really means it. My darling RA came into my room today just to tell me I was great. I loved this of course. I was just left wondering why she would say something like that. What have I done that is so wonderful?

This is my biggest weakness.I need to become better at making myself believe that I am awesome often enough that I believe in who I am and not just my dreams. Sometimes I feel like dreams aren't any good unless you can make them true. I try not remember that too often though. I am a big dreamer and sometimes the process is far too slow for my liking.

I'm difficult.

Look at this photograph. Do you see anything that is a bit ironic? Is it just coincidence that the two rows of players are almost completely divided by race?  Maybe it is just a height thing. I feel like it might not be though. I'm really unsure and just thought I would share my couriosity.

Days.

I think that this blog's meaning becomes ambigous if I am not more clear about what I'm trying to do. I wanted this blog to be a reflection of my everyday. I wanted it to be a comperhensive list of things that I do on a daily basis that make my life experince unique. I think I am going to start writing about more daily happenings and somewhat less about how I feel. Though I do believe that behavior and emotion are highly corilated, so in that sense my feelings will still all be there.

Most of today was spent in class. I'm going to write a term paper on conformity for PY335. I think the concept of group think and the science behind  conformity are closley related.
I had lunch with my SLFP mentor. Ann Sherman was absolutly meant to be my mentor.

I've been praying a bunch today about what to do for the summer. I feel like nothing is going to compare to what I could have been doing. Reluctantly I consider the alternatives as opportunities to better myself for next summer.

I've been thinking today about how much power one individual can have over another.I think that the concept of control is intimidating. I find also that I am amazed by how easily the right words or actions can turn someone's day around. I think I'm going to try and refrain from using facebook to tell people how amazing they are. It's a bit more awkward when said out loud, but I think people grasp things more when told in person.

Young.

I need some more love. I think I'm a love addict. It makes me feel immature. Does that make sense? Not in the I need attention all the time kind of way. I am not drawn to the concept of love because it means someone's attention. I just need to love more. I need to make someone smile. I need to feel like people are not looking through me. I assume that my not looking through people will result in people not looking through me. This is not so. I suppose I should just stop freaking out about nothing. Like I've said previously: My soul is thirteen.

Love. Forever. That is all I know.

I'm listening to this song a bunch lately. It is amazing.

For Colored Girls

I watched the newest installment of the Tyler Perry movie collection yesterday. It was quite complicated. It stared Janet Jackson and other big name black stars like Whoopi Goldberg. I love both of these lovely ladies, but both of their characters were extremely tough and closed off. The whole movie was about struggle (which is my new word) and finding peace after the storm. The whole movie was over run by beautiful poems and articulate fits of emotion during tragic events. It confused me a bit. The poetry was beautiful. The tragedy was terrible. The women were strong, smart, and beautiful even when they were being victimized. I was so perplexed by their pride in their color and astounded by the power they could find in one another. I understand that that was the point of the film. Black Female suicide has been on the rise for years and that is the demographic Tyler Perry was trying to reach by making this work into a movie. It was just so empowering to see the strength that was depicted at the end of the movie. 

I sometimes wonder why I couldn't have been woman of color. I think I get that from my family. I've grown up around three or four older cousins who want to be a part of black urban culture. Not only do they want to be, but  they are. I get jealous of them sometimes. I feel like they don't believe I value diversity. I feel like they judge me because I attend a university full of mostly middle class whites. They have never really said anything to me about college. I think they don't want to talk about it because they feel like  I might try to make them feel subordinate to me. I wouldn't do that though. I love all of them for who they are and what they do. I hope they see that. I can't exactly come out and ask them if they think I don't know anything about urban black culture. I can't just go up to them and tell them how much I value their life experiences. I need them to know that I love and value them.

We are Family.

Lush.

I recently read a book titled Lush by Natasha Friend at the suggestion of my Resident Adviser. The book is written for a younger demographic of readers, but the message that the author portrays to the reader is one that applies to any age group and many situations.

The fictional story unfolds through the eyes of thirteen-year-old Sam who's father is a raging alcoholic. Sam's character is proof that an addiction or disorder of any kind can greatly effect the way an individual views every part of the world. Sam's life seems to be a constant struggle. Friend makes Sam someone that readers can empathize with, even if they haven't been directly effected by alcoholism.Sam is the type of extraordinary student that dwells in every middle school across the nation.She is insecure in most trivial parts of ordinary life, yet she is remarkably brave in every terrible situation that she finds herself in. Readers that can relate to that insecurity and situational bravery are bound to gain something from the depiction of Samatha's experience.

As her father's condition worsens Sam grows tired of having no one she can confide in. Brilliantly, she comes up with a strategy that enables her to communicate with a complete stranger that visits her public library. The person from the library responds and consequently becomes her confidant. Sam shares everything with this person, even the things she won't tell her closest friends. Sam's library pen pal goes by the pen name A.J.K.

The story progresses through Sam's struggle to maintain a relationships with all of the people in her life.It was impossible not to empathize with the way Sam was trying to keep herself from changing too much and yet grow into someone else who is ready to deal mature freindships, new romantic interests, and an addict father.  The author does a spectacular job describing and highlighting the minor characters and how the interactions between these characters cause the turmoil in Sam's life. It is easy to see how constantly dealing with the consequences of other people's choices has worn down on Sam. I can recall  a time when I had to deal with consequences as a result of another person's decision.Everyone has on of these experiences. Friend does a such great job consistently asking the reader empathize with Sam, it's almost too easy.

I know the story is written well because it was easy for me to identify with thirteen-year-old Sam."I'm twenty years old," I kept telling myself as I read on. "I'm twenty, she is thirteen and I am relating to all of her insecurities. Mature." At first I felt like I hadn't matured at all sense the 8th grade. I was jealous. I was seemed to be a monstrosity at thirteen. Sam is almost popular and voted "best boobs" on one of those rating lists that hopefully only exist in fictional boy's locker rooms. Jealous. I was not, at thirteen, ever voted "best" anything, forget "best insert physical feature here." If it wasn't for this poor girl's struggle with her alcoholic father, weirdly ignorant mother and diverse friendships I would have closed the book feeling subordinate to a fictional character. Despite our differences I was still able to realte Sam to myself and I think that says alot about the fashion the book was written in.

After tragedy strikes Sam feels alone. The library becomes her sanctuary. This is understandable. As the story went on I felt myself identifying with Sam's pen pal A.J.K. A.J.K is a listener and a friend to Sam when she really needs someone.It soon becomes vital for Sam  to have a friend who knows what has happened to her.It becomes apparent that A.J.K. is dealing with growing pains too. A.J.K. is more of the helper in their friendshi, but both characters are bonded by their need for acceptance while dealing with identity in two different capacities. 

By the end of the book I was attached to both characters and both situations. Again I realized that as human beings it is in our nature to identify with whatever it is our struggles are.It is part of the human experience to get to know ourselves as we try  maintain relationships. It sounds cheesy but, life gets ugly and  beauty is born in all of those terrible things. Beauty is when I use my struggle with who I am to help someone else. Beauty is every awkwardly meaningful conversation. Beauty is friendship.For me beauty is in acceptance of everything I was at thirteen, everything  I am and everything I will be. Every  plight is different and I'm not sure that anyone else has interpreted acceptance as the message behind the meaning of Lush, but it's worth the read to find out what any individual interpretation of the book might be like.

To all you "adults" out there  who feel you too are thirteen years old when you think about accepting all you have and have not overcome, I think you're beautiful and I accept you.