The Weary Traveler and the Girl Who Fell.

Opening the door I found the monster I had drawn pictures of in my mind, but he had quite a bigger jaw than I had imagined.

They call this a process–a journey–and say that there will be missteps and stumbles along the way, but I feel I might have to claw my way across the ground before I can even hope to have missteps. They don’t tell you that there’s a good chance you’ll fall right out of the starting gate, and the soil in your mouth tastes gritty and bitter. Bruised knees. Bloodied elbows. Breathe the scent of earth and lie there, hoping to God that someone comes back and realizes you’re not moving along. It rains. It’s cold. Trying, trying to get some strength to pick myself up off the ground, but everything hurts and it’s so cold and I want to go home. Home is with you, but you’re not here.

And as I lie there, eyes closed and mind tired, I hear cautious footsteps. A gentle hand on my back and the soft whisper of, “It’s okay.” An understanding. Someone sits on the ground next to me, knowing it hurts. Knowing it’s cold and oppressive and that getting up is not as simple as moving muscles. Someone becomes something, becomes hope, becomes light, becomes a piece of the key needed to unlock the shackles that cut and bind. The road is the same for us weary travelers, you and me, and though we may travel at different paces, at the end of the day we try to make a camp in the same place so that we may share the same fire. Dark isn’t as dark when “me” becomes “us,” and something that’s bigger than me cannot be bigger than us. “Us” is big. “Us” is strong. “Us” is the fortification against a terrifying travel through a land no one can face without holding the hands of another.

Your voice, unwavering and low, cuts through the haze of pain. Your voice, kind and patient, stirs movement in my joints and I can sit. I can lean against your shoulder and feel something other than hurt. A blanket against the cold. You’re cold, too–I know you are–so we stay close together and wait for the rain to stop. I’m still so near the beginning, so near the door with the monster, that I cannot see even the first bend in the road, but you’ve been there and tell me that it’s not too far from here. I believe you because I want to. I believe you because I trust you.

For now I will sit next to you, soaking up your presence, basking in the feeling of not being alone. You can leave anytime you want to, but for now you choose to stay next to the girl who tripped coming out of the gate. You can leave anytime you want to, and I’ll make it to the next bend. Just know that the clouds are fewer and the days are warmer when you’re whispering, “It’s okay” with the confidence of someone who’s seen the dark but chooses light. And despite myself I find a voice in the back of my mind that says, “Don’t leave,” even though I should know how to walk this alone. I should. I do.

But I don’t have to, and that’s what makes all the difference.


The Long Road.

My past is something that I’ve been running from for six years now. Typically I keep my thoughts and feelings to myself when it comes to my dad for many reasons:

1. It’s really difficult for people to find the “right” thing to say when you speak of loss, but really it’s more about the listening part than the speaking part. What I find interesting is that even though I have experience with difficult loss, I still find it hard being there for people who are going through the same thing. It shows how individualized the grief process is; when someone doesn’t handle grief the same way I do, I feel as though I’m doing more harm than good when we talk. (But when someone does handle things similarly, it’s amazing because we can understand each other on an extremely deep level.) Anyone who has lost someone knows how inadequate the phrase “I’m sorry” can feel, yet when we go to console someone else, what is the first phrase that pops into our heads? The idea is not to take the words at face value but rather brush them aside and get to the sentiment. I don’t want people to avoid me or avoid talking about what has happened to me because they don’t know what to say. It’s not the saying but the being there that really counts in the end.

2. It seems too personal even though it’s a universal human experience. There are some stories in our lives that are deeply personal, and we keep them to ourselves until others earn the right to know them. I could be friends with someone for three years and not tell them a damn thing about my father’s death, yet there could be someone I’ve known for a month that gets every single detail. It’s a feeling thing. Stories and memories are a kind of currency we exchange in order to become closer to another person. If we follow this metaphor, this story, the most defining of my life, is worth all of the chips. It’s the most emotional thing I have to give of myself, so in order to earn it someone has to be really important to me. Otherwise, I don’t feel anyone has the right to know.

3. I’m afraid. I am so damn afraid every single day of my life of having to come to terms with this. My last entry shows the optimism I cling to in order to keep orientation in my life, but the truth is, I haven’t dealt with this. I can see the positives of it, and I have to in order to start my journey through grief therapy. I’ve been running for six full years, but I’m tired of running. It’s not fair to my father’s memory, either, for me to run from my feelings about him. I need to start talking–a lot. I can’t be silent about a person who was part of my life every single day for fourteen years. I cannot ignore half of my genetic makeup just because it hurts so damn much. He’s my father. He’s always going to be my father, and he’s always going to take up an enormous part of my heart. Right now, that part of my heart isn’t healthy. It hurts. It’s dark. It deserves to be brought out into the light, and the response I received from total strangers in my last entry made me realize that I am never going to be alone in this. I know that people in my life are willing to be there for me, but to know that there is an entire online community ready to support each other through a terribly difficult time gives me so much hope. Thank you, everyone. It means so much.

So this list? Yeah, it’s going to disappear. I’m taking out the gag. This is my blog, and so often I try to tailor it to an audience. “No one wants to read this depressing shit. Lemme right about something funny or sarcastic.”

Well, yes, I can still write that stuff because I do enjoy writing it, but I have to be concerned about myself and this long healing process. If I can use this blog as a tool, great. If someone else can find comfort in my experience through the land of mourning, even better. If I can help even one person navigate this awful land, I will have done something truly beautiful. Really, that’s all I can ask for.

So, what do you say? Shall we walk the road together?

The Positives of Grief.

To say that to grieve and to have lost is a positive thing seems on the surface to be something insensitive and illogical. Even the words “loss” and “grief” conjure up images of unbelievable pain and sorrow, and, believe me, I cannot argue with such correlations. However, in every loss there is something beautiful, and even loss does not have the word “forever” stamped on it.

I know as well as anyone, if not better than most, that the road of healing after losing a loved one to the cold hands of death is a path that presents hardships no one can imagine. Each person’s journey through grief brings them to different obstacles; grief is an intensely personal experience, and no one can lump a group of people together and tell them a proper way to grieve because everyone has a different experience. On top of that, we all have our unique ways of dealing with hardships, and it can be difficult at times to even find a common denominator. Some people internalize everything, some people go into denial, some people outwardly fall apart, and some do all of these things at the same time. There’s no real way to predict or neatly describe what a person’s experience is, was, or is going to be.

There is a common thread, though, and it concerns both the mourners and the one being mourned–those whom we love will live on regardless of their presence on this little earth. I’m not talking about Heaven or the after-life, even though I believe in those things. What am I talking about, then?

Whenever you meet someone, whether it be the day you’re born or at the end of your life, you start to form a bond with them. If you’re lucky–really lucky–this bond becomes a true link between two souls, a common line of communication that we try to assign mortal words like “love” or “friendship.” The truth is, a bond with someone is more than what we’re equipped to describe, which is why grief is something so profound and troubling. When we mourn, we realize that we have lost something so beautiful it injures us at the deepest level possible. However, in loving someone, we internalize a lot of who that person is. In essence, they live in us. In any good relationship, there comes a point when you give enough to another person that they carry little bits of you with them wherever they go. The converse is true. Whenever someone tells you a personal story or shares a memorable experience with you, you unknowingly get a piece of them. We often try to think of souls in terms that we can understand and quantify, but really, is a soul something that has dimensions or can be confined in a small amount of space? One soul can dwell in many bodies by its influence and its light, and friendship, love, and family all encompass this exchange and sharing of souls.

When someone closes his eyes never to return to the mortal world, many get the idea of the one singular soul leaving the body to go wherever they believe souls go when we’re finished with life. What happens to those other parts of the soul that are living inside of that person’s closest companions? Do those pieces go, too? No. They remain here with those who cherish them most, and this is something so profoundly beautiful and hardly understood. While we can no longer physically see the person or touch them, we can look inside of ourselves and find the person exactly as we always loved them. We can even see them in things around us–a camera, a beam of light slanting across the floor, a butterfly. We are never without those we love; they live inside of us, and we keep them alive by remembering–and by grieving. To pretend that the deceased never existed is not only to do them a great disservice, but it’s also to try to kill off a part of yourself.

Many people, me included, avoid grief because of the pain. If you’ve ever lost someone, you know how immense the pain is, and it’s terrifying to think that you have to battle something so strong for such a long time. But there’s something incredible and stunning in the pain of loss: there was something to lose. Feeling such devastation is an indication that you experienced something so cherished in having that person in your life. You feel intense pain because you had intense love, and that’s something amazing, isn’t it? To have someone to lose in the first place is a gift, and even though losing a loved one is the most difficult thing to face, take comfort in the fact that the person you lost lives in you and so many others.

Almost everyone will go through the tragedy of losing a parent at some point in their lives. I have. It’s some of the deepest pain this life can cause. It’s hard to tell myself that it’s beautiful to have been loved by my father because his love was expected, just like every child hopes and expects their parents to love them. It’s hard to find that beauty in having loved, but the fact that I am the living, breathing embodiment of my father far outweighs that. My dad lives in me, and every parent lives inside of their child. It’s a biological fact as much as an emotional one. I can feel him when I look in the mirror and see his nose. I can feel him when I hold the viewfinder of a camera to my eye. I can feel him when I watch Monty Python. He is everywhere because he lives on in me. Our parents will always live in us more than anyone, so to lose a parent, while it’s unbearably painful, isn’t really to lose a parent. It’s horrible, but it’s bearable only for the fact that we can feel them all around us even after they are gone. They shape us, they guide us, and they are us in every way. We all say that we don’t want to turn into them, but after they’re gone, it’s a comfort to know that we could.

Grief is powerful, but it is born from something even more beautiful and profound: love, our comfort and our reason for living.

The Manifesto of a Girl Too Sick and Too Tired to Handle Life.

I am such a precise set of contradictions that it’s hard for me to understand myself let alone expect others to understand what goes through my head.

I try so hard to be optimistic all of the time because that’s how I choose to view life, but sometimes everything hurts so fucking much that I can’t force myself to believe that everything is okay. It’s not. It’s not okay right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m thinking that everything will be terrible forever. No. I know that there are positive things in my life and that so many people have it way worse than I do, but the more I think about that, the more I hate myself for being upset. That just makes it worse.

I am tired. I am sick and I am tired and I am overloaded and I am breaking. At any given time I have a dozen different tracks of ideas whizzing through my head, and I can’t sort them all out right now. I’m horrible at taking care of myself, yet I know well how to take care of others. I allow people to rely on me, but when I get too overwhelmed, I shut down. I can’t handle other people’s emotions let alone my own right now, yet I know that I can’t run away from people without hurting them.

On the flipside, I need people in order to cope. I know that many of my friends are the same way which is why I can’t refuse them when they need me… but I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired and I can’t be what they need me to be. I become too stressed, and then I use other people in order to vent, essentially becoming what I’m running away from. The guilt starts to eat away at me, and I hate myself. I hate myself for running away from people who need me and I hate myself for burdening other people with my bullshit.

I over-analyze literally every single thing that happens to me when it comes to my interactions with people. I don’t ever want to make loved ones’ lives more difficult, but I can’t deal with everything on my own. I need someone to help me carry the things that weigh me down, but I can’t do so without the guilt and the worry that I’m pushing them away or making them too exhausted. I can feel when I’m pushing too much, and sometimes I know to back off, but other times I’m so selfish and so needy that I just don’t stop. I need that release–that comfort of talking to someone–so I keep talking even though I know it’s getting to be too much for the other person.

I am needy and clingy and dependent and I hate all of those words because they sting with negative connotation. I don’t want to associate myself with the words, but I can’t ignore the fact that I need people. I think I can handle things on my own, but at the end of the day I want so desperately for someone to hug me for a long time and tell me that things suck but I don’t have to ever be alone. I should know the last part, but I’m filled with so much doubt all of the time. I don’t think I can trust anyone when it comes to their staying around. I can trust that they won’t tell secrets, but I can never believe that they won’t leave. (Unless they literally take my hands and say, “I swear to God I will never leave you.” That’s something I really fucking need but can’t ask for.)

I believe in the power of love and the power of standing united and in talking and hugging and crying and sitting in silence and feeling another’s presence. I believe in people more than I believe in myself, and right now, that’s okay. My love for other people is what has the greatest ability to heal me, but I need at least some of that love to come back to me. I try to love selflessly, but I can’t. I give everything I have to others with the selfish hope that I will at least get a small part of them in return. I hate that about myself, too, but I can’t love in a half-assed fashion–all or nothing, take it or leave it. (Pleasepleaseplease don’t leave it.) And I want more than I can have right now. I need to take care of myself without waiting for other people to help me. I’m incapable of asking for help without feeling like a needy burden of an immature child, so I try to get other people to offer, which is so fucking ridiculous that it pains me to write it.

I need to be direct. This is what I need, and whether or not it’s selfish or unreasonable is not something I can explore right now:

1. A really long hug filled with the either verbally or implicitly expressed notion that I am loved.
2. Someone to tell me that they are never going to leave no matter how much I cry in front of them or how much I talk to them about the same ridiculous things.
3. Someone to say, “This all sucks. I hate that this is happening to you. Is there a way I can help you?”
4. Someone to say that they love me… with so much earnestness that I have to cry.
5. Someone to hold me while I cry without asking why or judging.

Most of the time I have a hard time accepting that people like me because I have such shitty self-esteem. I just want to feel really important in someone’s life, but I can’t actually think that I am on my own because I avoid egotism as much as I possibly can. I look to other people to give me self worth a lot of the time, and that’s awful. I want to feel like I make a difference in someone’s life–that they are legitimately happy to have met me and don’t want to imagine their life without me. And goddamn, that sounds so egotistical, but I need to feel like I matter. (There are reasons for this, but I can’t go into it now.)

I should stop relying on others, but I can’t. Not now.

The Decline of the Age of Innocence.

I feel like I should add a disclaimer here at the top: despite what I say in this blog entry, I still love children more than almost anything. I merely think that our society is going to encounter more and more of a problem when it comes to the behavior of younger generations.

Sometimes I’m afraid of our future.

I have been a volunteer at a local after-school program for the past four years. I work with students in third, fourth, and fifth grade on an almost-daily basis, and throughout my time with the program, things have been changing.

During my first and the better part of my second year, things were exactly how you’d expect them to be; behavior was more or less age-appropriate, although we were not without out issues here and there. Toward the end of my second year with the program (my senior year of high school), we started to see a shift.

Kids at this age no longer have even the most basic respect. (And for the few who do, I apologize.) They don’t respect the adults in the program, and they certainly don’t respect each other. The director struggles to even read announcements; the various conversations amongst the children continue, they call out things to try to be funny, and they continue to play on their electronic devices. Something that should take five minutes turns into a twenty-minute struggle, complete with outbursts straight out of Family Guy.

Oh, yeah. They watch Family Guy. I also know for a fact that one of my third graders watches SNL on a weekly basis. Half of them have Facebooks, and I have finally stopped feeling guilty for denying the half dozen friend requests I get per week from the kids.

And let’s talk about electronic devices for a moment. I had one of my eight-year-old girls tell me today that she got an iPhone for Christmas when she already had an iPod touch. The iPhone itself would have been ridiculous, but when she already had pretty much the same device? This is ridiculous. I work with a lot of low-income families who can barely afford to clothe their kids, yet I can guarantee that each and every one of these children has either a Nintendo DS, a PSP, or a cell phone. In the case of one child, the principal of the school bought him a pair of shoes because he was without, yet I had to speak to him twice today about having a cell phone out in school.

I understand that every parent wants to give his or her child everything, but there have to be priorities. I’m thinking that you should probably buy your child shoes before you decide to buy him a new Playstation 3. These parents collect welfare from the tax payers, but instead of using it wisely, they milk the hell out of the system and buy luxury items that half of the taxpayers can’t even afford. It turns my stomach.

Instead of the children being grateful, they lament that they got the wrong cell phone or the wrong color DS. I remember a month or two ago when we brought in apple cider as a special treat for the kids. Rather than thank us, they stood and complained that we weren’t pouring the cider quickly enough. It doesn’t matter if you remind them about manners; they sigh, roll their eyes, and change for perhaps an hour before reverting back to thinking that they are entitled to everything the world has to offer.

What’s almost as bad, or possibly worse, is that they know entirely too much about sex, and because they see it and hear about it on TV, they think it’s the coolest thing in the world. I overheard a conversation about Megan Fox’s anus (those were the exact words) and had to walk over to the boys and tell them that it wasn’t a suitable topic for school. When the boys dance, they either pelvic thrust or grab their crotches a la Michael Jackson. (Actually, sometimes they aren’t even dancing then this happens.) Third graders are dating, and sometimes we even have to keep an eye on some pairs of kids who mysteriously disappear around the Big Toy. At times it feels like all we hear is sex and cursing… in an elementary school.

Innocence really is becoming a thing of the past, and that truly scares me. What’s so beautiful about children is the fact that they are innocent, in most senses of the word. I know plenty of wonderful, beautiful kids who are in primary school, and I’m almost afraid for them to enter the elementary school system because the students there have gotten so out of hand. Some don’t care about any consequence. They waltz out of detention declaring, “That was so freakin’ dumb. That kid I hit deserved it.”

My hope is that they manage to gain maturity as quickly as they have gained a vast vocabulary of sexual terms and an arsenal of video games. Otherwise? We’re screwed.

2011 in Summary.

It has become a tradition that I fill out the same survey every year on New Year’s Eve. I used to do it on Xanga, but now that I have a WordPress, why not post it here?

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

  • I sang in a concert where I had a solo. I started playing flute and saxophone, and I started taking voice lessons from a pro. I became known by a different name.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

  • I never make legitimate resolutions. I would like to be a bit healthier in this next year, and I have certain academic and Marywood-related goals, but they’re not necessarily resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

  • No, ma’am.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

  • Person? No. Pet? Yes.

5. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

  • A stable relationship with a straight man, but that’s akin to asking for a flying pig to skate on hell’s ice when it freezes over.

6. What countries did you visit?

  • In spirit, I visited them ALL. In reality, I visited none of them.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:

  • I don’t remember dates… I remember events. I will likely remember the breakups, because that’s how I am. I will forever remember the epic trip to Machu Picchu. Then there are little conversations and moments that will stay in my heart for a very long time.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

  • Getting a 511/500 average in the most difficult class in my major. Getting a 4.0 GPA. Getting a solo in Choralaires.

9. What was your biggest failure?

  • No failure, per se. Mistakes, not failure.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

  • Dislocated my ankle twice. Again. The first time in 2011 was the night before our first softball game, and the second was at the Land of Little Horses in Gettysburg. I tripped over a tree root because I was excited to pet a goat.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

  • Funny… last year it was Nikon D5000, and this year it’s Nikon D7000. Beautiful.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

  • Justyn, Bryce, Ripley, my mama, my new Marywood cohorts… and really anyone who was there for me when I needed it.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

  • There are a few people, but none more appalling and depressing than those involved with the lawsuit. It’s hard to believe that it’s been less than a year since the trial happened…

14. Where did most of your money go?

  • Camera equipment, music lessons, Walmart, gas stations, Verizon…

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

  • I got excited whenever I was going to see Adam, I got SO excited about the Machu Picchu skit, I was excited about my birthday and Christmas, I was excited/nervous about the Choralaires concerts, I ALWAYS get excited about pictures and such… IDK, I’m easily excited.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?

  • Oh, man. I don’t even know. I’d say “Turn Me On” by David Guetta/Nicki Minaj, but that’s only a recent thing. I love too many songs to be able to choose one for an entire year.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder? Overall, happier.

ii. thinner or fatter? lol, fatter.

iii. richer or poorer? Richer, but I don’t like talking about it…

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

  • Exercise, maybe. I don’t know, I usually do everything I want to do? I wish I had had more conversations with certain people, but usually that’s not something I can choose to do, y’know? Like, “Hey, we’re going to have a conversation now. I don’t care that you’re trying to vacuum.”

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

  • I wish I had second-guessed myself a lot less. I wish I had a better handle on my anxiety and mood thingers, but that’s nothing that I do, necessarily. I was going to say that I wish I had procrastinated less, but who am I kidding? I think I just wish I worried less.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

  • I always come to this question and think it’s dumb because I take the survey right after Christmas is over. Instead I discuss Christmas of that year. So, Christmas 2011… the morning was lovely, the afternoon made me cry, and then the evening was great because my mom saved Christmas. Families are fun.

21. There is no number 21.  Well, that’s lame.  Guess I’ll just have to make one up.  How do you feel about 2012?

  • I am always cautiously optimistic about a new year, because anything can happen in a given second, let alone a whole year. There are lots of goals and plans I have, so my hope is that I can do everything I want to do and achieve what it is I’d like to achieve. WOOHOO VAGUE.

22. Did you fall in love in 2011?

  • Ha. Ha. Hahahahahaha. Why don’t we consider another question?

23. How many one-night stands?

  • LMAO, none.

24. What was your favorite TV program?

  • STORAGE WARS. It became my obsession.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

  • Yes, but to be fair, I didn’t know this person last year. Other than that, I don’t hate anyone I used to know, but I have felt some people slipping away, which makes me sad. However, there’s only so much you can do to salvage a relationship before it becomes too tiring and hurtful to hold on.

26. What was the best book you read?

  • It’s always Harry Potter. Let’s just assume that from now until I die, because every year I reread Harry Potter, and so far nothing has made me happier than those books. (Literature-wise.)

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?

  • Ooh. I don’t even know. It’s one of my goals every year to learn new things about music. This year is no exception. Discovering the wonder that is playing the saxophone was pretty awesome. Also, finding out that I DO have an upper register when singing was pretty badass.

28. What did you want and get?

  • A place to belong.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?


31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

  • I went to see “Pirates of Penzance” and then went to the cast party with Justyn. I was nineteen.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

  • I wouldn’t want to change anything. I guess it would have been more satisfying if I could get my anxiety shit together, but that’s an “always” thing.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

  • Sometimes I dress like a teacher. Sometimes I dress like a student. Sometimes I dress like an awkward combination of both.

34. What kept you sane?

  • Nothing has kept me sane. What has kept me insane is writing, music, photography, my wonderful friends, and my adventures.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

  • Chris O’Dowd because of Bridesmaids.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?

  • The whole “let’s censor the Internet!” thing did not fly with me. The fact that gay marriage is still banned in so many places makes me incredibly upset.

37. Whom did you miss?

  • I miss so many people all the time.

38. Who was the best new person you met?

  • Cannot pick just one. I have met the best people this year.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011:

  • Trust the road. You’ll get to your destination eventually.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

  • “You might’ve heard I run with a dangerous crowd. We ain’t too pretty, we ain’t too proud. We might be laughin’ a bit too loud, ah, but that never hurt no one.”

Overall, this year has been a crazy whirlwind of the good, the bad, the interesting, and the ugly. I am glad to be where I am now, and I’m glad to have had the experiences I had over the last year. I would review this all month-by-month, but it’s 1:00 in the morning and I’m exhausted. Suffice it to say that I’ve been very blessed, regardless of whether times were good or bad. I’m thankful for it all.

Thoughts. Words.

I go through phases when my brain won’t shut up. I sit for hours on end thinking about my life, other people’s lives, and the human condition in general, letting ideas spread like ivy across the walls of my mind. I can’t even do something simple without getting lost in my own head, and it comes as both a blessing and a curse–I analyze things until they’re either unfathomably beautiful or terrible.

Right now I’m in one of those phases. It takes me ages to fall asleep at night because I’m too busy contemplating what my life would be like if I didn’t meet the people in my life now, or marveling at the fact that people have a simultaneous capacity for immense love and unbridled hate.

The main problem with these little bouts of introspection is that I retreat into myself at the most random of times. I could be in the middle of hanging out with someone, and I suddenly get very quiet. They wonder what they’ve done, but really it’s just that I have way too many thoughts to deal with. Not bad ones, mind you–just an analysis of anything and everything. It’s hard to put any of the thoughts into words (sometimes), so I can’t even write about them because they can be so fleeting. Sometimes it’s not a thought but the whisper of a feeling, and I spend time trying to go back and expand on whatever it was I just experienced.

In these periods of time, words are even more beautiful to me than they usually are, and more often than not I default to looking up quotes online and feeling them way more deeply than should be possible. And then I start to think about how amazing the concept of language is, and then I make a list of all of the languages I’d like to learn before I die, and then I start trying to plan out my schedule at Marywood for the next few years so I can fit Italian into my schedule…

That’s what my head is like right now. I think I like it, but it’s kind of tiring. I mean, I’m like this all the time, but right now it’s at a heightened state.

Reading this back, it doesn’t make sense, but you know what? I’m gonna post it anyway because I’m a rebel. Also because I’m tired.

I like pie.