Here comes the sun. It feels like years since it's been here.

I knew my time perception was way off sync! Last I posted, I was under the impression that the ed board dinner and staff luncheon were a long way away. The day after was the dinner and the day after that was the luncheon! At that point, I still could not comprehend how free I was. Even with all the chaos with the newspaper, I feel terrible that it is gone. A part of my is running off to bigger and better things just waiting for me next fall, but a part of me wonders where time went. Time moves so quickly, and when it doesn't, everyone breaks their backs trying to get it to move faster and right out of their lives. Maybe this is why I sometimes miss the guru. The guru slows and even dulls time, so that moments last forever. Too bad the guru compromises a lot of things in order to allow for that to happen. No matter; now the semester is finally, truly, coming to a close and it is too late for any of us to do anything about it. It looks like the new semester will be quite promising, with anxious journalists pounding on our newsroom door to get their word out there and spread their passion across the page just as we do. Now is the time where I may rest my wings and figure out in which way I wish to bend the world.

Today my heart is still fluttering with anticipation and unspoken words, but perhaps before Christmas, I will be so calm as to actually move forward with my persuits. After all, all the butteflies he has given me could most likely enable me to fly, even if my proverbial wings are bent back in a resting position. Oh, lovely Christmas...filled with the joy I seek throughout the year and gain only for but a month or so, with no recolection of how to get it back after the holidays are over. I enjoyed a brisk trip to the mall all by myself after ed board today. Me being an intense social butterfly when I can made lovely conversation with the mall employees and even seemed to form a connection with one. And speaking of connections, there is one still so intense like a fire that I cannot seem to pull together. My nervous demeanor mixed with the all-too-lovely ambience of the winter and holiday time somehow clashes each and every time I lay my eyes on him, speak to him and get closer to him. Maybe this winter, Christmas time will bless me with enough courage to at least get a few words in so my heart won't be so wild with curiosity and worry. I always seem to be longing for a winter romance now. Something seems to be telling me that before the Christmas bells toll and before the winter air rolls away, I will have the chance to have what I want. On a silent evening in the chill in the midst of all the festive colors and songs, maybe there will be hope for me under the lights and stars of a long winter's day.

I keep waiting, anticipating you.

And so it ended. Just like that on windy and cold Wednesday night, although I didn't realize it much. I knew of it; I was plenty aware, but all I wanted was nothing more than to come home and wash it all off. Then the next day, a lovely Thursday morning, after pleseantly being able to leave class early and sit in a lonely newsroom, save for Filip and Tony to eventually follow, I knew it was really over. The last issue of the semester was officially behind us. The usual "The End is Near" notice with the remaining days all planned out as if we were going to be shipped off was taped on to every available wall in the newsroom. The hell and stress that was the smallest staff we ever weathered was done. Completely done.

The days coming were a bit of a load of stress, dampering my good mood, but suddenly, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break came. I masterfully defeated my tests--of which I had three of (yes, one for each of the classes I take on Tuesdays and Thursdays) and I was home. I barely remember the week at all after the paper was done. It appears I have centered and kept track of my whole life based solely on the paper. Somehow, like a sundial, despite confusion that may come of it, I knew exactly how to read it the entire time and therefore was able to take hold of it as well as the rest of my life. And yet, sometimes it feels empty, as if the paper was the only clock I had to remind me of my week, what day it was, what time it was and the future to come. Still, I do have a sense of direction that has its focus on the final events this particular Union staff will face: the ed board dinner and the staff luncheon. This is the official good-bye of the semester. Strange how it always comes about a week before the true end of the semester, but nonetheless, once it's over, we will all begin shutting down until the dawn of a new staff and a new semester.

As for everything else, it feels like it hurts even though I know it doesn't. My heart cries, the stress burns and sometimes I long for a little comfort, preferably the human-type who can relieve my loneliness. Perhaps sometime before the semester ends I will feel this sort of fulfillment--in fact, I know I will. With every milestone this newspaper goes through, the feeling always resurges. Forever will I know why journalism is worth it to me. I understand that my time perception is terribly off because of the lack any more upcomming issues and nothing but finals to dull and desensitize me, but I do hope that I will still be able to skillfully play my hand and lay my cards down so carefully that I may be indulged at my whim. Perhaps I will gain more confidence in one adrenaline-induced moment. Alas, more confidence--how strange for a journalist to say! But honestly, it seems along the lines of the norm for the end of the semester to feel that sort of energy rushing at you as if you never had it before. After all, the anxiousness of it all is ensuring I will not be able to hold myself down much longer. It's time to jump.

And I'm hungry like the wolf (pt. 2)

The alarm buzzed at 6 a.m. and I was definitely not ready for breakfast. It took another hour, right when breakfast was being served across the street at the Titan Student Union way out in the middle of Cal State Fullerton. I slowly lifted out of my bed at the Marriott, with Suzy still lying on hers. I began to consider bypassing breaksfast entirely and just showing up for the presentation of which I had to attend to participate in my first competition of the day: news writing at 8:45 a.m.

I sat in some nervous stupor as we entered the Pavillion at about 8:30 a.m. I sipped my on my coffee and shifted around, searching for some fellow Union staff. I refused some sustinance and took part in some light-hearted pre-competition humor until the Pavillion doors opened and the Union made its way to the front. Throghout the speeches and the like, my fellow competitiors and I eagerly scribbled down every last word that was said in order to take it back to the competition rooms in the hopes to slay the competition. Journalism is a lot like that, you know. Once again I found myself in a chilly competition room and the countdown began. My story ended with three pages. My next competition was immediatly after: news judgment/page layout. I was certain this would not turn out well. After all, the only reason I was entering it was because my adviser wanted me to--right? Despite the fact that I had been reassured since the morning before that I would do well in this particular competition, there was not a bone in me ready to believe it just yet.

My EIC brought me a broadsheet layout dummy page. I began sketching and selecting stories in the hopes that my schooling was serving me well. My EIC finished first with only 10 minutes to go. When I was done, I had no idea what I was stepping into. Suzy had left somewhere on foot, leaving me waiting in anticipation over if we were going to make it back to the hotel in time to check out without them charging us for another night. It smelled oddly like some, as if all the stress-filled college students charged out the Titan Student Union doors to have a cigarette. I paced. Apparently, everyone could see me through the clear glass doors of the Pavillion area of the Titan Student Union. I got a text: "Stop pacing," it said. I stifled my laughter and continued to wonder where the smell was coming from.

"Are you lost, little girl?"
Shit! Now I was in for it!

Nevermind, it was only Ivan. But what we he doing there? A fire broke out on the hillside--two of them, as a matter of fact. He was up there taking pictures. It was still not visible from behind the larger building of Cal State Fullerton by the time Suzy called and told me to start heading back over to the hotel. Our room was on the fifth floor. We pulled aside the curtain to see what was out there as if we expected to see War of the World come to life before our eyes, right outside our window. What we did see was a wave of smoke created by two separate fires intercepting each other. One could barely see the flicker of yellow and orange in the midst of the terrible black abyss that was the smoke and ash rising from the hills. In little time, the rain of ash and smoke billowed over Cal State Fullerton and the Marriott. As soon as we stepped out to prepare to go back to the TSU, we felt a burn in our faces. It had only been a half hour since we had last been outside. This was a JACC we would not soon forget! When we arrived at the TSU, it did not appear strange, even as we made it into the Pavillion. After a bit, however, we noticed the atmosphere had a red glow about everything in its wake. We made it to one last lecture before it was time to getting ready with the smell of the fire creeping in from every crack and crevice despite all efforts to calm its effects. We didn't know it yet, but the sky was turning a fiery color and altered the state of the daytime light.

We walked back in the derious sunlight and began to prepare for the awards, determined to be the fanciest school there. We admired our awkward sun and burning red sky just a bit before entering the hotel again, with the daunting scratch and burn of the smoke wrapping around us. The sun sat high like a mighty, angered God ready to commense deforesation by means of incessent fire in order to rock us out of our competitive demeanor. We monopolized the bathrooms near the pool for our vanity until Suzy and I were ready to load everything back into Filip's car. We stopped by Starbucks, myself looking like an absolute loon to most considering the elegance of my dress. It was cool in there, but it did the trick at keeping the smell of smoke out. I did my part in America's unviersal jumping on the gun and got myself a Christmas drink, a venti at that, of which I took my sweet time consuming. There was a slideshow full of images crazy students took of the fire. Then the moment of truth. The Union came away with 20 awards by the end of the night. As for me--I took third place in broadsheet layout. Imagine that!

For the most part, there was a calm air about everyone. It was incredible that such a small staff prevailed so greatly. A staff of only five writers and only eight of the nine editorial board spots filled took on the competition and came away with an award in almost every catagory. We hopped on the 91, me encouraging Filip to race Miyu down the freeway. And there, long conversation ensued about practically everything. It was calming to sit back and watch the road go by, leaving the fires behind us, and calmly expressing what seemed like everything I could ever say. Finally, in what seemed like one heartbreaking moment, Filip and I arrived at my house. It was a moment in which I wished time could go backward and I could relive the entire weekend. Jouralism opened new doors to me that weekend and showed me how much higher than the clouds it was. It was meant to be--the people there were all my exact clones when it comes to personality. The ideas, the innovations, the conceptual prowess was all meant for me. Journalism was all mine that weekend. And with its comforts, as well as the comforts of my staff, I knew I was meant for it all. For the love of journalism.

And I'm hungry like the wolf (pt. 1)

Friday morning I was all ready for JACC with enough time to spare. With too much clothes in my suitcase and not enough money for the hotel in my wallet, I was off with a couple of friends. Soon enough, the payment for the hotel was done and over with and we were soon on the third floor of University Hall at Cal State Fullerton, looking over the buildings that even towered it. It was nice to see everyone together. Not to mention, that by lunch, we had already been such networking freaks that the student-worker at the Roundtable Pizza they have on campus gave us a free personal pizza. Not to mention, the girls who were there looked awesome.

It seems my whole day of workshops and walking back and forth from CSU Fullerton to the Marriott across the street lead up to my copy editing competition at 9 p.m. That is, after the welcome reception, in which we all met as a complete group for the last time away from the (sometimes) prison that is the newsroom. After the sports boys left for their competition--sports writers wrote about the Fullerton women's basketball game and the sports photographers took pictures--it was only two long hours to go until my competition. The room was cold and quiet, with nothing but the frantic rustling of people turning pages in their Stylebook. It was done. I was pretty confident, so after a satisfying dinner, I waited until midnight when my roommate came in from her critical review competition. There was still much stress in the air for the day to come, but now that I had been in competition mode, exposed to what the surroundings would be like--there was nothing to do but wake up ready to fight. For the love of journalism.

I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say

Everything went sour last night, or so it seems. I was on edge because of all the holes left on my page and 9 p.m. inevitably coming. I hissed once at the agitating business of what seemed like looking over my shoulder began. I would sooner have expected to be spanked or put in a time out before the night was done than to have any compliance with all of it--but I did. Because I care about the feelings of others far too much. I cannot help but see everyone as a distorted reflection of me. We may all be off in a myriad of ways, but everyone still feels and thinks, as do I. So I said nothing despite the eminent headache, which did pounce on me that night, although I did not act on it. Early on, I had massive amounts of coffee and everyone had the usual laugh--and yes, I am telling this story backward, I will flash forward soon. So there was that and a shakey jolt in my hands in an attempt to dull the onslaught I knew we were all in for. I took precautions for that, simple ones that I won't bother to mention. And maybe I shouldn't have smoked that cigarette earlier that day. At least someone cared to notice.

In any case, production night finally ended with a disgusting feeling of failure in my stomach. It was then in my humbling state that I took a moment to remember the morning. I have a good bunch of people on my side, even in the middle of my pained thoughts in which I seriously considered leaving next semester: A thought that continued well into this morning. There may not have been any phyiscal contact as I have been wishing from anyone since years ago, but that morning was quite calm, even in my frenzy to locate my writers and the articles they were writing. In my advanced pace and racing mind, I was hushed. I know it, because as I think about it, I could have very well destroyed anything that could be clenched in my hands, but I didn't. The morning was actually one of the last times I smiled the whole day. I understand that in my moments where I am completely uncollected, no female on this planet likes me, but I did not need approval from one group of people. I had my own, in a strange non-destructive way. I believe it's called self-esteem. I think butterflies have it. That is why they fly so freely and elegantly.

The night, that is, the one after the newspaper production, was one the likes of which I have not seen in a while. I believe it was freezing cold, but I did not notice. I was too content in my own endeavors and so immaculately impressed by other things that not even Mother Nature could speak to me. I just yammered on and on, most likely incoherently, much like I do in the confines of the newsroom, but this was different. I suppose every night is different for me, but I'm talking about a different kind of--well, different. This kind of different was the things I thought I understood years ago. It is the kind that made me realize the things I thought I wanted were only pieces of the puzzle and that I really wanted something entirely different, and that something had a good way of disguising itself as other things. This is the kind of different in which I noticed the stars and every little twinkle and glow, instead of just the sky. After the paper was out last night, I felt more like a human and less like a creature. It was one of those colder nights that still feel warm regardless. I think I finally know what I am doing.

Tomorrow is JACC. I will be writing, as I assume I will be feeling, seeing and thinking more than usual. Last night and yesterday morning are things that come by so quickly, but will transcend the days to come. I owe a lot of it to particular people. They will recieve much from me in all forms henceforth. I am following the course.

Go ask Alice when she's 10 feet tall

Yesterday, as Pearl and I called it, was a useless Monday. Went in to the newsroom on our day off to work on the paper and only about three other people did so in return. A writer walked out on my story and all I had was a blank page. Our adviser was right--we are burnt out. Later I sat with the guru for the first time in ages. I think I may have thrown off a few people by it, but I was too immersed in everything. Pearl and I shared a meal, too, and talked about things we never get the chance to in the company of others. I went home and pulled out my Twilight Zone box set and sat in its strange wonders and almost intergalactic theme song. I heard Rod Serling, clear and close in my ear. I lied back afterward, after noticing how long everything took and sank into some Pink Floyd while I still had the chance. After my moment, my very long moment, I was no longer watching all the world with silence and patience. Not that I burst into speech. Actually, I was quite numb in the tongue, with this feeling of film all over and heavy grip on my jaw. My tongue seemed dead as it tickled tiny feelings of numbness throughout. My own silence does everyone some good.

Today was one pain after another. No one is anything at all like the guru. I felt like I belonged too much perhaps as everyone seemed to slowly be throwing in the towel on this evening. I wish I could have driven in the peace just like yesterday, where I was not concerned about the slowing traffic or how long everything was taking. And even though I noticed everything takes such a long time, I long for the times where I don't even notice it. Perhaps this weekend, in the midst of competition and the like, time will pass slowly by itself, but gracefully over me. If only tonight could be a bit number, a bit quieter, without the thought of who is doing what and how I'm ever going to finish and what I plan on doing about anything. Time is always too fast when you don't want it to be, even when the hours drag the way they do. Until tomorrow, I suppose. Until the next time I can relinquish the time I have for something more soothing will I remember what I have said here.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

It gets dark earlier in these parts. California hit darkness at about 5 p.m. yesterday, so my usual drive to the mall on the weekends was unusually empty as my headlights creeped around in the night. It was a more peaceful drive with the softness of Led Zeppelin on the airwaves as I started my car. Once it was over, I scraped the night with some Dragonforce, although this time I kept the volume low.

It was a nice walk around the mall for about a half hour while I waited for Nikki to get off work. I searched for dresses I could wear to JACC, fidning one at Windsor that I went back and snagged today. Everything else was so overly glamorous, but they did attract my eye perhaps because of the angelic Christmas music in the background. By about 7 p.m., Nikki was out and we walked over to Wahoo's in the dark. It was quiet in there, with the surfer-esque atmosphere relaxing the mood. At that point, it was all conversation about men and women and all the like. We would pause for certain songs and talk about ourselves and how we always imagine our own music video for songs of which reflected on our lives. We dream of musicals of sorts, I suppose.

Coffee Bean--that was a warming comfort of me long-craved cafe mocha to my lips. It was more men, more women as the air chilled outside and the winds began tussling as though we were from the midwest, not Southern California. Nikki had quite the time talking about her boyfriend, who treats her well. I thought about my prospect--thought about him, talked about him, made Nikki smile at the thought. And of course, us being the ultimate compilation and dynamic duo, we laughed at all the same things, no matter how ridiculous. While we may not have recieved complaints, I could almost hear the annoyance of the other customers at our offensive language and sexual innuendos. But still, we almost kept it silent. It was just those kinds of nights.

Barnes and Noble was full of hilarious books and I pined to buy every single book in the whole store as usual. Some day I will own a whole collection--a library! And I will read them all at my own pace. I will have time. All things willing, it won't become a Twilight Zone moment in which my house burns down or I become a bitter senile old bat and cannot grasp my love of books any longer. On another note, I never realized how much bad news could be made hilarious through baby animals.

Nikki and I created more walking music videos with the power of the opera songs playing among us. And even when things could have turned in another direction, he stole my thoughts. I could almost hate him. I could dare to say I could kill him for this--but then what fun would life be? In all my previous confusion and coming out seeing clearly even in the darkest of nights of which I had long forgotten could come so early, this was my moment. These are my nights to hold again.

I know who I want to take me home.

Tellin' mother nature about you and me

Sometimes there are things only certain people know how to do and they do it at exactly the right time. But really, it's extremely rare. In fact, I care to say animals know how to do things like that better than us humans do. On some days when I'm especially worn, tired or dreamy-eyed, my dearest Ginger will look up at me as I am bent over saying hello to her, and touch her nose to mine and give me a single dog kiss wherever she sees fit. And some days when I come to the backyard to cry or mope around in the outside air, I will get a nibble at my fingertips. And some days where I am lazy or lonely, she will share her toys with me and raise a paw to me. Somehow, all of this means more to me than anything any human could ever do.

She is my little genius, who knows how to pick apples from high up by pushing off on a wall and sees no challenge in any "mentally stimulating" doggy toy. She's my little sweetheart who loves me and misses me every day of her life. She's my little blanket and shoulder to cry on who sits patiently as I wrap my arms around her and let a few hot tears touch her fur. She's my inspiration who gets me writing my greatest work. My love for her got me to write the piece that allowed me to be the columnist for my college's newspaper. She's my little darling who still gives me puppy eyes even when she is a 7-year-old German Shepherd. She's my sleepyhead who sleeps curled in strange positions, but still manages to get up and greet me with her half-open eyes when I go outside after a long day. She's my noble protector who still bellows her deep and commanding bark, strong and proud, and who will still protect the house with all her power because of her human-like sense of family and pride. She's my gorgeous little thing, still elegant, poised and stunningly beautiful despite her years. She is my life and love for everything she could give me and more. She is worth more than most humans could ever hope to be their entire lives.

Imagine all the people, sharing all the world

And suddenly...there was a wave of silence and peace. Obama won the election and all the world seemed quiet with hope.

I went to my polling place early, intent on voting before school. The first part of production night for the JACC issue was on that Tuesday and no one had the faintest of when any of us would be home. I skirted through the puddles from the early morning rain and went through the chain link gates of the San Pedro Science Center--and trust me, it's not as epic as it sounds. There was a line reaching far, far out the door, but I was determined to wait, even if it meant being terribly late to class. Good thing there were two tables, and my table was empty, so I bypassed the line. The first page asked me to choose to president. I inked a dot. Hard. For Barack Obama.

I was still late to class. I didn't care. I was making a difference. I could already feel it. The newsroom carried its usual demeanor, with an air of laughter and companionship. Every few moments, we pulled up CNN.com or Yahoo! to check on electoral votes. When Kentucky became the first to announce, McCain was ahead and of course some people had to try to start a ruckus by making it seem as though McCain had Obama by the throat. By the end of production night, Obama had 226 electoral votes and McCain had 89. We left for home certain the race was over.

The first thing I saw when going to my computer was The First Black President! blaring from my screen. It was then I knew we did it, and it wasn't just an ambition anymore. It was happening. The house never seemed so quiet as I watched the news stations going in circles about the election. There were a few tears from me. I know now that change is possible. It was always a hope, but in the humility amid the peace that come from the hushed pride and joy of America and all the world, I saw it with my own eyes and felt it in my heart.


Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

And I will stand in the rain on the corner

I think finally realized how light I am when it comes to these things. This whole world could be flooding and I would be above the water. I love the rain, but even as it poured on Saturday, I thought only of him and each little patter and pound was another thought of him or a bit of my imagination running wild all over the whole thing.I was happy to not be driving; it gave me time to think because for some reason, my head is clearer when cloudy, gray skies are present. It felt like my heart was sending my blood in a loop, in and out of my heart like it was fluttering in the breeze along with the scarce leaf which tumbled down from the sky or sloshed in a puddle, damp and slightly a mess.

I had money in my pocket and a warm hand to my lips, musing. What was better, however, was the knowing. I may have normally been happy knowing I had money, knowing it was the weekend or knowing the weather was a change of pace, but that wasn't it at all. All my excitement coursed inside of me because I knew he would be near there. I have driven by the place so many times my whole life, and yet it never even mattered until I knew he was there. Now any outing in the area will never be the same. Every time I drive by, my heart will settle, yet overflow. It has become just a little more special. Christmas time is coming, too, and I will probably be driving passed more often through the white and gray sky, with a chilly frost--as far as Southern California goes. Then with every rattle of the shivering palm trees and every sparkling red holiday decoration and every frigid and strong gust of wind, one of my thoughts will reach to the sky. And they will all be of him. Even in the pouring rain, it will never feel so right as to think of him.

Marching on 'til victory, we fight!

Oh, life. What a battlefield it is. Thus far, I have noticed that everything going on at the moment is, in essence, a brawl. Everything we could ever want is everything worth fighting for. Truth is, humans being the way we are, crave a good throwdown. Whether we are pacifists or aggressors--or not--we are bloodthirsty. Sounds contradictory, but it's not. Of course, this realization I found, comes in literal terms first and once geared for war, we start to see an epic and savage battle before us at all stages. I can hear hearts pounding. Let me commence with the adrenaline rush.

It started with the ANRA finals. It was a big pull to Bakersfield early last Saturday, with an eerie absence of cars all along the 110 freeway (and by the way, might I emphasize that California is entirely awesome because in class, to describe most phenomenon or drive a point home, we get references to major freeways because that's what most of us can relate to). I stayed up due to my stubbor desire to watch the sunrise whenever I'm up that early to make my way to a drag race. The dragster, now marked with the number "1" to show just how astoundingly my dad conquered the Nostalgia Eliminator I class from 2002-2007, had a horrible 2008 season. With the altercations to the engine being made, we encountered an influx of gremlins which devastated its performance and brought it nothing but bad luck for all races previous, putting my dad out of the running for champion this year. After the Hot Rod Reunion looked promising, my dad, uncle and grandfather took helm and really became enthused after it seemed all remaining problems were an easy fix. For time trials this race, an experiment was conducted, with the question being: What exactly needs to be done and how much nitro do we need once corrections are made?

The engine was properly fixed and at the thrid time trial, with a 7.57 under our belt, we ran 47 percent nitro all weekend. Despite it going over the index, a racer knows how much time is needed to slow that monster down to run right on the dot, which is what my dad did. Twice. In a row. 7.60 first round and 7.60 second round. The last few rounds were no far cry either with 7.62 third round and a 7.61 final round. Seeing my dad reclaim is glory in but one race made my heart rabid with excitement and let me know he would live up to his wonderful nickname "The Terror" once again. The spark of life is burning again. The fire still burns!

Similarly, human affection and relations take quite the struggle as well. Anthony, my ex, not exactly being suitable and hardly ever the affectionate-type--with me anyway--is no longer my idea of a boyfriend, and thus forces me to say I have not been the subject for physical attention (or emotional at that!) for about three years now. I had my eye on someone, as easily noted by many of my peers, but therein lied a problem most resembling mood swings, without the violence. Even still, the blows to my heart undoubtedly left a bruise or two. I know it was unintentional, but after intensely laboring under this person's looming shadow of a woman still longed for (that is, I was there and probably wanted--but there was another woman from his past that he probably wanted more than me). Eventually, I dropped to my knees--and stupidly, I still dragged them for quite some time. Little did I know, a day would come where the final blow would knock me out, and when I awoke, I'd be on a boat elsewhere. To put it simply, an anniversary, a beautiful memory or "your" song is amazing beyond words, but not when you're no longer with the person and the person who cares for you now is sitting on the other end of it, listening to your hapless woes.

I was amiss about my duties until I stepped in the newsroom and saw my blank pages open on my desktop. "...right now, you need to focus. Sit, calm down and do your pages. It will be ok." It was then I realized that if friends/co-workers had to lay their hand on my shoulder and referee these little heartbreaks when they weren't even directly involved, that it was getting too chaotic to continue on with them. I do wish I could have waited longer because the anonymous man in question is still intelligent, kind and quite a friend--but my beating heart could no longer take it and the underhanded "rejection" (which probably wasn't really rejection, but that is what it always felt like) was sending me into the ground. Maybe someday that path could lead somewhere, but at the moment, I was in a dark patch of woods; I needed a new road to go down. I felt down on my luck, and suddenly, I am still picking up my feet and following someone new. I finally feel that light and ethereal feeling I felt when I first started liking the anonymous man--and to my surprise, it really does feel great. I suppose I had just forgotten how it's really supposed to feel. Even in my casual, normal worries of losing this one, I have this vigorousness like that of a wolf, ready to sprint and spring on any possible enemies lurking in my territory, and I'm willing to sever any shortcomings before they bloom. If I were to look within my heart in a literal sense, I think I would be amazed at how it is still so vibrant and how its temerity is serving it a wonderful justice. I suppose I have learned how to tend to my heart, soul and spirit properly. Maybe with the pain I recieved, I was giving it reasons to be as it was. The fire still burns!

My current quest is that of my college newspaper. Upon us is JACC, Journalism Association of Community Colleges, a state competition in which we put out the greatest newspaper possible, making sure that no matter how heavily we bleed all over this paper, it comes up clean and perfect for the judges. Lovely? Why, yes, it is.

The issue comes out next Thursday and already I am embedded in stress and turmoil. Monday is my first deadline for pages--as I am news editor now, and boy was tears and hair-pulling not what I signed up for. Despite a miniscule staff, we have pulled out six issues so far. I should be proud, and believe you me, I am, but last issue was the greatest disaster than perhaps the San Francisco fire. Not to downplay a tragedy, but I say so to show just how terrible and sickly our publication looked last week. Lucky us that wasn't the JACC issue, because if it was, we would be in a world of hell at the competition. Things like that don't make for award-winning papers. It was a collaborative failure on everyone's behalf. I don't have much to say about this issue, which is a horrible thing! I should have lots to talk about--as in, which stories turned out well and which were terrible. But I only have one story in. And yet, I am passionately putting my hands in a plateau of great danger without a care in the world. Give me competition, and I am a wild animal in a race for some raw meat to tear through. I may have been in submission after the issue previous, but I will seek and destroy if I must to be able to commandingly put my foot down on the skulls of others in animalistic euphoria over victory along with my fellow editors. It seems like we are doomed if you were to see it at face-value, but I have never known the Union staff to turn over and die. The fire still burns!

Am I sorry your sky went black?

I led a death caravan today. Sounds out-of-the-ordinary, but if you were a spectator, it wouldn't be. I think that's how the world works sometimes. It's good at disgusing itself and as much as I'd like to blame humankind for being oblivious, I think some things are meant to be masqueraded. It's definitely not a good thing, but it's just how it happens.





Back to my story, I woke up to a gray sky, and lo and behold, it's still gray. It felt like something out of a horror movie that takes place in some misty woods with the "heroes" left to find a mansion looking very out of place or some rustic sort of groud that ultimately harbors what used to be their safety, but now has become nightmare. It was a goth metal music video and a delicious slasher brought to life. I noticed just after the light on Lomita as I was trekking down Western. I didn't notice completely, but I did confirm I was leading something by the time I passed Narbonne High. They being the enemy school back in my high school days, I found it ironic I discovered my cabaret just after passing their quarters. The misty sky was still streaching the bruises it sustained over night, with clouds colliding so softly as if falling apart over each other rather than partaking in combat. So there it was in the rearview: a giant metal snake, perhaps a metal dragon, curving along the road behind me--it slithered in a rhythmic way, with each section of its body curving at just the right time. It was silver looking like it had a tongue ready to flicker to get a taste of me. I was a few feet ahead with the asphalt a decent restricting gap behind me and it front of it. It wasn't entirely silver, it just had a silver head (which was something in a Honda or BMW) with a bit of red, black, and I believe blue connected by a single spinal column. Surprisingly, it was completely even--just the same size fragments of its body with no distortion except in color. It stayed perfectly behind me and eerily, no one stepped in my way for miles. Up until Torrance Boulevard, it twisted and slithered, getting longer with each attracted piece clinging and following. Some little parts crawled away like disoriented black beetles. Was I being attacked? Where was this giant confounding snake headed?

Perhaps the strange occurences in life of a significance in some way, but it's meant as a secret, like an ancient language or transcriptions to the dead sea scrolls. There had to be a reason I chose the scenic route. There had to be a reason no one ever passed me. There had to be a reason for the way it moved besides proper physics. There had to be a reason for all the silence. And what of the dull and morbid cabaret that allowed me to lead it so far? I turned onto Artesia, and one car kept swining back and forth in front of my little drones as if it were willing to slay me if given the chance. I stopped and its breaks stuttered, flashing on, fluttering, flashing off, fluttering then flashing on again. It was a nervous little thing that finally stopped a bit too far away from me and lost its nerve completely. One more turn onto Crenshaw with the dimness of the morning staying relentlessly painted to the sky. It could've been raining ashes and snowing all at once, but the sky was completely still. When I arrived at EC, I stepped out and actually looked up like the cliche victim of the perils of a dark sky. I could feel the air swell thick in my lungs and on my skin. Perhaps I could've held it in my hands and brought it close, but instead I trembled. I, the leader of the most deathly looking display I'd ever seen besides the obvious scenes of death and the like, trembled at the silence. Of all things, I felt a slight fear and submission toward the silence of the gray and empty parking lot. After all, all around me was a sea of cars all potential pieces of a caravan the next morning or right after class. Who were all these people, anyway? And what of those in the caravan? Why did they come together in such a way? I know it wasn't on purpose, but the sheer obscurity of it must've had a reason--or been a reason--of some sort.

The only company I had in the midst of the lot was the low and foreboading buzzing of the electric wires along the telephone poles, strung in black like the knitters at the beginning of Heart of Darkness (Joseph Conrad), who sat there knitting mindlessly, leaving a heap of black fabric to grow larger and without shape. There was this strange power as the silence was cut with the buzzing like I was about to be plucked by some force coming from above--as if I were about to be brutally slain and practically massacred until I was nothing but an accomplished red target on the asphalt. I always feared that parking lot. It's not that it was unsafe, but the scale of it and the fact that there is so many strangers...a woman can never be too sure, especially when what has been sure has not always been pleasant (and I'm speaking specifically, although I do not wish to be specific about this). Being as worn as I, I don't think I could necessarily fight off whatever any stranger threw at me. And don't mean just any stranger, but a stranger--the shadow type of stranger who comes so quickly, he is faceless and without breath and only human desire and form to be recognized, only to dissipate in the confusion. Once I was out and close to class, the silence changed and therein lied the end of it. For some reason, I doubt anything this strange will happen again in the same manner, and if it should, it shall be far away.

Wednesday never ended

I know it's Sunday. It's been exactly one week since Redondo, only with a few altercations. But despite the day, this is about Wednesday. I was tempted to write on Wednesday, then again on its tail end of which I wasn't sure what day it was. Then again on what I came to know as Friday, and again yesterday...but now I have bearings and conclusive thoughts. So this is not about all that was missed when I was dormant. This is about some possibly psycho neurotic trip without the aid of foreign substance. It's about a time where there was no real differentiation. This is about Wednesday.


There was something in this Wednesday that made everyone feel a little bit better about everything. Truth be told, it ended on a rough note, but nevertheless it was enjoyable. Enjoyable isn't always the word we'd like to use when describing Wednesday, especially on the newspaper staff. Interesting, maybe, but not enjoyable. That was the first bit of forshadowing that I was in for something. It was nice to see everyone look more animated and in full-color as opposed to ready to drop. Maybe it was John making pencils penetrate the ceiling or maybe it was just that we were all on a roll with our humor that day, but we were happy. Yes, happy. The simplest of all defining terms of euphoria, but it was just that. It was almost as if we were young again. Everything was funny, everyone had something random to say or do, time went by almost too fast and we were all pleased just to have the company. In the end, the paper looked pretty good and we were off at 9:30 p.m., the earliest I've ever seen and it wasn't so bad. Of course, we were all tired. That's always a given, even if there's an element of fun. After turning myself around dropping off Cristian and Robert at Cristian's car, I had fun curving around Prairie Avenue to get myself on the right path home. I considered taking a drive through the PV hills before making my way back, but I decided against it after realizing how late I'd get home and my slight uncertainty of where the exact route I wanted to take was. In addition, I wanted to get home as early as possible (as far as Wednesday nights go) so to ensure my last night with tia Ney was a great one. And what of my sour note on production night? It was nothing so great that it could've created a significant imbalance in me, but it was quite the irritation (and sometimes still is, but not so much now). I got talked down that ledge by two good people. While it is in my guilt to say they became unwittingly involved (and I was unwitting myself as I got the news that someone believed them to be proprieters of whatever misery they claim to have experienced). I ended my night earlier than I wished as I was preparing to get up at 4 a.m. the next morning.

The night came and showed no mercy on me until 2 a.m. leaving me only two hours to compose myself and get ready for tia Ney's take-off.

It was in those two hours where something interconnected. I woke up at 4 a.m. and realized it was still Wednesday. Crazy? No, it was exactly right. Everything from earlier was so clear as if there was no pause between them. I don't necessarily believe there was. We left when it was still dark, but for some reason it's always brighter at LAX. There were still some clouds of indigo blue as we got there and unloaded the suitcases and began descending upon what appeared to be the right section of the Tom Bradley Terminal. For those of you not from L.A., first thing, I feel sorry for you, and secondly, the Tom Bradley Terminal is exclusively for international flights and is perhaps one of the better terminals at LAX with its giant schedule board with extravagant names on them rooting from both the coutries and the airlines. After looking around the initial level for the Mexicana ticketing counter only to find gray and lonely terminals, we were about to step outside and hope for the best when we ran into a single woman vacuuming the mats in front of the doorway.

"Esta alla abajo. Puedes usar las escaleras."
What does that mean, you ask? "It's downstairs. You can use the stairs."
So that's exactly what we did. We dragged the suitcases all the way downstairs and all the way to the very end of the terminal. After that it was mostly quiet and I felt my eyes begin to drag a bit. At about 5 a.m., we decided to see if the McDonald's above Tom Bradley's initial floor was open as we didn't check in the midst of our search. Of course, like I said, everything was open. It was dim and we even mentioned the minimal lights to one another, but I liked it. I stared out the window and watched the planes land in the distance as they belted through the indigo sky made all the more epic by the enormous windows that touch from top to bottom, with each panel perhaps the size of a standard window, on either end of the top floor. Until about 6:15, we talked about the newspaper and exchanged last minute information until I finally had to let her go. We walked her down to her gate and in a matter of seconds, it was as if she was already back in Mexico.


We stepped back outside and the sky was almost as blue as it usually was. But it was that beautiful blue that's a bit on the periwinkle side. It was the kind of blue that comes just before the sun breaks away. It's the kind of blue that's under the complete control of the sky--no sun, no other element except the sky and its own accord. There's something in a sunrise that makes someone see and feel so much, and there's even more to a sunrise at LAX. It may seem as if the modernization may be a damper, but the only real damper is knowing someone, or perhaps yourself, is leaving. While I'm not particularly upset when I take off for somewhere else, I do think of everyone else who is leaving behind someone for a good while. I'm one for travel, but the airport isn't always designed for that. The airport is just that--an airport. It has planes to take people to other destinations, but nowhere in its description does it say it has to be amusing. So it was that Wednesday continuation (that I couldn't necessarily call Thursday because it just didn't feel like the past had fully ended) that made me feel for everyone leaving their own ground into some place full of life, but not their own. But taking a moment to stop in front of the terminal gates and look up into the sky, there's a calm demeanor to it, even more so than when looking out the window in one's own house. It's inexplicable, but somehow in a place catering to voyages to new and familiar places give its own unique sunrise as if the sun it presents is one completely different from that of which we see every day.

I passed El Camino on the way back. I didn't pass it directly because we were on the freeway, but I knew in a few hours I was to go back the way I just came, only this time, I wouldn't get to go by LAX. Tia Ney wasn't coming back. It was an okay day when I got there a few hours later. I couldn't fall asleep in English because we were prepping for debates and by the time Verge's class rolled around, I was suddenly wide awake. I was getting hungry around 9 a.m. because I ate at 5, but after forgetting about it, I suddenly wasn't hungry. Even when faced with food directly, I was suddenly "too full" to eat it. I did manage to meet Deborah Chesher, a rock n roll photographer in the 70's and she was outstanding. I came home expecting to tumble down, but I just couldn't do it until 6 p.m. I even got hungry before I got tired again and I felt like perhaps I was in some sort of realistic Twilight Zone. Perhaps I was caught in two realms and suddenly Wednesday was finally becoming Thursday. I haven't the least of what I was feeling, but now I know for sure the day would be so much more interesting with just a few more hours added on. I napped until 8 p.m. and found I couldn't get to sleep by the time night rolled around, so I stayed up for a shorter time than I imagined. Tia Ney was home safe by then and I was star gazing as usual.








The night was mine.

The kids are alright

I find I always compare everything to wings or the ocean. Today I got to Redondo and I had nothing to say. Everything, in a way, was just like how I explain everything else. We pulled up, and of course the beach had a weak pulse today seeing as it's Sunday and nothing is ever open beachside on Sunday. Despite that, there seemed to be a few drops of life (actually, a vigorous amount of life) swarming the confusing walkways. After realizing it was Sunday by about the fifth store with the door smack shut in our faces, we decided to see what we could find. Trust me, there's a lot out there--food, clothing or not.

But dammit, I can barely remember where we first stopped. I'm thinking it was that one peaceful store with all the relics, incense, sea shells and books. I think that's right. There's just so much to remember. Anyway, we moved on from there, and I'll tell you--that place was surreal to a pleasurable extent. So we hit place after place, each time deciding $100+ was too much for pretty much anything. I didn't quite get to any real thinking until we crossed the street for about the 10th time. There was a man. An unkempt haphazard kind of man, scratching and pulling on his clothes. He sat like a lily. Yes, a lily. And I know everyone thinks the crown jewel, the craning flower out here is the beach. Perhaps that is true. What is more serene than the ocean? Or the night? Or both at once? But taking time to examine its people is never a beautiful thing. After hearing the tired dragging of the tongue with every "oh my God" and "I'm trying on this, but it's like..." or "and like he said" and "and like she said" and "ugh" and "yeaahhh..." one tends to feel as though their spine is out of place. The ocean practically glimmers with life, yet the wayside beach mongers and rich snob trash are nothing but a shade of gray and a damper on the salt and waves. Back to this man, he didn't say anything. Nothing at all. Maybe it's because no one cared to look at him. Maybe it was because he didn't need to say a thing. Maybe it's because he couldn't say a thing. Yet even still, I will always wonder, no matter how simple it seems, how he's stuck so vividly to my thoughts.

Two blocks down, there was another man. He was the talker. He talked a lot. In fact, he talked so much that he even talked when no one was around. Ironically he sat in front of an army-like jeep making it look like he'd gotten off the ride to hell that was Vietnam (he was certainly too weathered to be coming from Iraq. Then again, war weathers a man, and for all I know, he could've been but 30 years old). Anyway, I wanted to catch what he was saying. Dammit, it could've been brilliant, but I couldn't understand. That brings me to my novel idea--perhaps when I explain, I understand because it's my own state of mind. But perhaps what I'm explaining is really all wrong, only we don't even know it. After all, it seems every time something is explained, something new comes or is seen that makes us rexamine everything.

I did find a nice place called Harmony Works and bought myself a new CD that's proved quite nice on me. Angelique Kidjo--what a woman I've grown so fond of. And of course there's my purple tank top I'm kind of proud of. Yet the tangible seems to mean so much less than the intangible.

Today I realized how the simplest of things can fix the grandest of problems. Part of the reason I rushed out was to avoid the scrapping sound of my fingernails against my skull should an unwanted visitor come. I would say whom, but I choose not to. I like being in this state of not even remembering the dreary nature that sometimes is of life and dreams. Time is the enemy, the battle, the blood, the triumph and the beauty. Today I learned how beautiful life is, but not in the way you'd imagine it to mean.

"Put on all your beads and your beautiful jewels,"

says the groom to his new bride.
But, his first love tells her,

"your smile today could turn into tears tomorrow."

Beauty is not everything, you know

(Angelique Kidjo; "Sedjedo")

My heart always speaks before I know what it'll say

Let me make it radically clear...I hate Anthony. All posts prior to this that happen to have his name in it, besides the ones I've cursed him in, disregard. I make myself sick just looking at them. To think I could've ever thought such things. And at this point, his little "confusion" is just irritating. Make me believe what you want me to believe, but that's all I'll ever do. For once in YOUR fuckin life, I'll believe you, but it'll be take it or leave it because I certainly won't act on it. And why not if I believe you so much? It's just that I can never be too sure or too careful with you. ¡Bastardo!

Anyway, moving on to something worth speaking on. Did anyone out there know they took the gray wolves off the endangered species list? Curse those fucks! Do they not have any idea what they're doing? Obviously not considering yhat since I last read about it, people in Idaho and Montana have killed 35 wolves in 28 days. Goddamn, that's more than one wolf a day! What is wrong with people? Are we that violent, bloodthirsty and cruel? Who in their right mind can look at an animal and lose their heart? Tell me how that innocent animal is supposed to defend itself against a gun, and I might give you credit. For now, consider the freedom fighter in me fully awakened.
This is going to be the Canadian seal harvest all over again. I'll write a letter to someone every damn day if I have to. This needs to stop, especially since wolf season (that makes me sick to even hear) is this fall. How ironic, the time of my birthday is the time where brutes massacre my favorite animal. No, it's not happening. The population was supposed to be up between 2,000-5,000 before they even considered taking them off--so why? How would they benefit if an unstable species is wiped off the face of the earth? I thought they got money if they kept an animal on the list.

I've come to the conclusion that most people live in a fairy tale. It must be true because how else could they come up with these extravagantly thoughtless ideas? They hate doctors because "they don't know what they're doing." I suppose years of schooling gets you nowehere around here. They brutally massacre wolves because they see them as a threat. Gee, I thought all our houses were made of bricks, but then again, you never know when they'll attack your poor dauther (her name is Little Red, by the way. Jesus, this must be a joke). They say journalists lie. Oh sure, we live in fantasyland right there with you, nowhere in our schooling are we ever taught the value of truth and libel is just a little prank we made up. Trust us, we don't care. They think immigrants are going to take "all the good jobs." What, with all those aspiring janitors in the world, they're bound to destroy someone's dream sooner or later! Not that they can't go for higher jobs, oh, no, no! We're not saying that. They could rightly get an education! And so could their children! Drat, we're finished! Not that we could get our own goddamn education.


Yeah, eat that one up, kiddies. Before you become a wasteful average Joe/Jane, consdier the fact that maybe if you'd know any better, things would seem a little better for you. I have a strong belief that people with assinine beliefs did something to screw themselves over, therefore they feel the need to screw others over. Not that they necessarily know what screwed them over, but notice what kind of people usually believe these fairy-tale-gone-wrong ideals. So to wrap it up...Anthony is a fuck, put the wolves back on the endangered list, come out of fantasy land, blame yourself if you're a fuck up and for fuck's sake use a napkin....





















Please forgive me;
I was raised by wolves.

Sit with the guru

High, high where eagles fly.

Things have changed. Things have changed in ways that are beyond me, ways I can't even see and wouldn't want to see. Not that I've become a waste, but I do feel a waste in the sense that my condition has only brought on an onslaught of extra feelings, guilts, secrets and stories. Then there are other ways in which I have changed for the best. For one, I've chosen to hate Anthony with all my heart and soul. I've chosen to move on to someone else, someone I didn't even know could exist. Now it's only a ridiculous mess in my path when I think of how I could've praised, defended and loved Anthony. After all..."The more I think of you, the more and more I realized I never loved you." You would never even begin to know how much that hurt...and how much I don't even care anymore. What a jump that was. But at least it's for the better. If only I knew what I was saying.

It's not in the figurative. I know what I mean, what I want, WHO I want, what I dream and how I feel. Sitting with the guru always takes me off into some sort of paradise where the clouds may or may not be and where the air is only as fulfilling as the last. I have a feelings I'm writing the most beautiful poetic words I've ever interwoven. If only I could be so sure.

Last night I took a trip up to El Segundo to marvel at the Old Town Music Hall. Never before have I been trapped in a dream, then lo and behold it's almost as if I don't exist. How bizarre would it be if I didn't? Would I, in fact, "feed my head" if I went into some alternative space in which no creation besides my own existed. By doing something bizarre, would I open new doors? And how many would I have to open for myself before I began opening them for others?

Casablanca never felt better on my soil. The tragedy was never something I really considered when I was caught up in the romance of it. True, it breaks my heart every time she leaves him. Maybe it's that she's too much like me. Everything for me ends with a good-bye. Everyone lets go in the end. But is it not a good thing that I still have the will to grab on? It spins me around wondering how I have no fear of splitting my hand on these rocks. I worked up the word "hate," I took off into my fantasy in some spectacular otherwordly theater I'll never be able to explain to future generations.

How free my thoughts are. I have a twitch in one hand, a few in my knees, "White Rabbit" playing in the background and a few nauseating memories to fuel this attempt at a retelling and sinking hole of my imagination. I dare say, I hate this. I hate the whole freedom concept when it comes down to this. I'm trapped in my own head. So the basics are, I've learned how to turn love into hate, how to turn depression into skill and how to tread water as lightly as I possibly can. The only waste of time is myself and the things I've let myself do. Consider it done. There's only this...how can I learn from myself?

Feed your head.

How can we let the sky tumble down?

You better keep a good eye out.



Time for another breakdown and I'm not even going to bring up the one I had on Thursday (3/27/08). Just know there was a lot of bizarre and deft movements ultimately resulting in what felt like destroying a paper doll. I never realized how fragile I was. I always sort of had the fear that my body could very well betray me despite the fact that its served me well aside from the fact that I was small. How strange that when it gave in, I was the only one who had a hand in it. I betrayed myself.



Onward sweep.



Friday (3/28/08): Haha, yes. Yes. That was one Friday that will go down in the books for anyone who witnessed it. As for me, I'm not sure if you can say I witnessed it. Granted, I remember it almost vividly except for a few mild-mannered things that probably no one else in the waking day would remember anyway. I don't care to go into it. All I know is that something in this night sparked something I never expected. I'm suddenly appreciated and regarded as a thing of beauty. I suppose, however, that I have many forms. People happen to fall in love with my open (and open-ended) side that comes at the most awkward of times. It's the form I assume is most like a goddess--it's one that is open to the people, instead of just doing things passionately by almost sleight of hand. In this state, I speak and laugh and break through somehow. But it's a form I keep quiet because of all the atrocities in the waking life. The only thing about it that I can't quell is my sensitivty and compassion for other humans. Even still, no matter what I was that night, I just can't understand it. As much as I want to, I don't see what caused this uprise in desire for me.

Saturday (3/29/08): Happy birthday to Cristian. I woke up at Berenice's house, a little bit ailing from being the goddess the night before (and sleeping on the floor). It was, surprisingly, one of the more quieter mornings of my life. It felt as if what I had was real. All that remained was an empty room and four friends reminicing, laughing, hurting and sharing. It wasn't at all like a movie, and yet it was because while everything seemed real--the feat seemed impossible. It was then I got to know earthly Nancy. The night before, she slipped passed me as the night grew old. We ended up at Norm's on Hawthorne Boulevard, possibly the worst street in existance with each business location at a more random spot than the next. Hawthorne is like a desert. It may seem fitting since supposedly California is a desert, but this is Southern California. This is the end all be all. At least give Hawthorne some dignity. Despite its quiet near-beauty, it's a rat's nest for traffic. But no matter, it still got us where we needed to be. After that, that was the end of my weekend with the few of them. On to Jannette's party later that day.
That started with Lazy Dog Cafe, which translates to great restaurant with the most anal customers ever, which is beyond me since that place is louder than reason. But of course when we clapped for Jannette's birthday consolation dessert, despite the fact that we couldn't even hear ourselves sing, some arrogant bastards probably in their 20's (not much older than us, yet they must've felt themselves of royalty. Or as though their putird excretions do not smell) felt it appropriate to "tell us off" with a rude snot-nosed "exucse me." Well, they certainly were excused. Let's move on. There was another real moment at Jannette's house where all of us, now made 13 by Jannette's unexplained house guests, were talking and trying to fit on two couches and a coffee table. Sooner than we knew it, which is common for us, we were midnight bowling. Even as the hours took a toll on us, it went by so fast all I really remember was bowling poorly as usual and dancing to classic rock. What a time it was.

Flash forward.

Perhaps the entire week that came after was notable, but all that really came of it was more musings from the bottom of my mind. Although I did have a nice time with my family on my dad's birthday and although my best cousin and I saw each other for the first time in months yesterday, I feel the need to hush. If I wanted to say anything more, it would be on politics, but considering my worry for my ever-weakening aunt, I will say nothing more than what needs to be until tomorrow.
That being, if one takes the time to do things opposite their nature, or buried within their nature, it will seem as though the world is not around them at all. And if one stares into the sky, especially at night, it will seem as though they don't exist and yet they're exactly where they need to be. And if one takes the time to read or look into their own surrounding life, they will see what exactly needs to be said and what needs to be done. And if one takes it a step further, they can come to terms with their humanity and recognize what is beyond their power and how much faith and effort they need to possibly make a move on it. And if one knows where they stand, they can stave off the unexpected failure and see exactly how they move through life. And if one sees how the world around them moves through them, they can accept the terms they've come to and appreciate what their hands can do and even what they cannot. We're all human and we need to see it. Not everything can come of our hands, but knowing can sometimes be enough. With knowledge there is respect and a sense of freedom. And by keeping faith and moving toward anything, no matter how unattainable, we can at least have something worth craving all to ourselves. Unfortunate as it is, we're all not getting anywhere near it at all. We're futile beings.




Look alive.

He asked me to lie

And I told him the truth.

I was ready to post all this cool stuff and all my crazy ideas when everything came to a crashing halt. I met Kirsten today via telephone.
All I can say is...psh, I told you he was dating her. Even through that, as freakish as it sounds even to me, I bet somewhere in that big vacant space of his, something for me waits. One of my best guy friends said to me, it's either that he never loved me or he's too scared to love me, creating the almost indestructable idea in his head that he no longer loves me. Apparently, that's what fear does to a man. I wouldn't know because I'm not a man. And I don't think any guy who feels that way deserves to call himself a man either.

He asked me not to compare him to my other ex.
I did anyway because, fuck, he's acting just like him. Everyone thinks my ex prior to Anthony was all about going out with my best friends, which did happen twice, but they forget everything that came between and henceforth. There's was a lot of name calling and verbal abuse. There were other women even before my two best friends. They didn't last, but one of them hurt me in particular even though it was some insane love for a 14-year-old trapped in Ohio (also where Kirsten is from, ironically). Patterns repeat and as much as I'm ready for them, I somehow can't deal with it as planned. I'm aware of the differences, but all I tend to do is gather from past negativity and act upon that instead of working with what's going right.
And you know, she says she doesn't want problems with me. I guess I can believe it. There's no trust, just belief. But dammit if it doesn't hurt to hear her putting him in check the way I used to. Not that I put him in check 24/7 like a control freak, but it used to be my job...if that makes sense. She says she doesn't want problems. Honey, you're not as sweet as 'honey' would imply.
No. You're vinegar in my mouth.
Get out.

"It's okay. We're just dating. I'm not falling for her like that and she's not going to fall for me any time soon."
You said it yourself before...you're kind of a liar. This is the last lie you will ever tell if ever I find out it's a lie. At least be a friend. I don't expect him to lick my boots but I expect decency, you know.

"You're a scary lady. You became intimidating"
That's just what Andy said you were thinking. You know, Andy is exactly right. It shocks me how he knew before Anthony even said anything. According to him...when you feel you can't live up to someone, you shy away and feel like you're not in love, when reality the feeling is a lack of confidence and the thought that who you love deserves someone better than you.

I asked him if he was scared of me and he said no. I asked him if he was scared of love and he said: wouldn't you be if you were new at this?
I guess we really are on different platitudes. I've always known what I wanted in love and I always knew that it probably wouldn't perfectly fit the description I expected, but I've always known who was a right choice for me. If only people could learn to trust love and their partner...well, things would probably be easier. There are certain things I've yet to understand about myself, but as for things normal people don't understand, I seem to understand them better than most. It gets frustrating. It gets painful.

A complete 360 of emotion is never possible. I at times have felt that it was attainable because I was supposedly feeling it, but when I took the time to examine why it was happening, I realized it never happened at all. I was just numb and unfocused. When people are confused about who they are and what they're thinking, they never see the only person that can give them answers is themselves. So we sit around hoping the answers will just appear even when the big book of answers and definitions is becoming rust in our hands. The only thing that confuses me is him. When you have no other method of finding ease than to gather answers from another who is answering questions about themselves, hold on to faith. Any sort of faith at all. Trust me, the person you're waiting for will never talk.
It's a long day coming.
He's still silent.








You're gonna carry that weight.

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

Everything can be free.

Tonight was quite possibly a turning point in my life.
I was at school from 11:30 a.m.-9 p.m. working on the paper and working with the staff. At this point I'm not even sure if I'm writing coherent sentences because my mind is close to shutting off for the night. I'll get to the point before I start conjuring up fantasies in my sleep-deprived delusion.

I did what I did last Friday. I ran by looking my best and getting ready to take on the day full force. Everything started out normal, just like anything else. It's strange, though, because as it got later, everything seemed to come together just like the paper itself. This 12 page hell of an assignment could've very well been the death of us, I think. While my life was busy trying to make it the death of me, I found I didn't have the time for it. That definitely meant I didn't have the time to stop for it. It's strange how just meaning to do a little work can branch out into friendships and a greater purpose in life. It somehow restored me even under all the stress and strain. Now I have other things to look forward to and live for. It's one of those things that can't be taken from me, therefore, it has become the only thing I really need.

I remember there being a moment where my depression was sinking into my skin until I finally got the courage to ask for a smoke. Not that I'm saying smoking solves my problems or that I'm a smoker at all. In fact, it's almost the contrary. As I stood outside with John and Crisitian talking about everything we've seen and noticed in our travels and adventures, I felt like I could very well go off somewhere solely on the wind that was blowing between us. Maybe not physically, but my emotions did become very stable and lucid as they explored their better sides. So my emotions came down with a puff and a good talking to. It's almost unbelievable and seemingly anti-climactic, but it has become the start of something beautiful. I'm not sure how or exactly what, but it's there.

Later on, I went out on a limb and actually talked to people about my life. Yes, I feel that secure! I never talk about my life worth a shit, especially with people I barely know. But hell, it feels like I've known them all forever. So as all that was happening undercover in my head, I went out for a big adventure with a few great people. Cleo, Suzy, Miles and I went out in search of a play program since one of our photographers didn't get the name of anyone in their picture. We got to the Campus Theatre and it closed five minutes before we arrived. So what did we do? Like the journalists we are, we improvised! Upon discovering the Marsee Auditorium was also closed, we improvised again! Miles discovered a back way and Cleo discovered an unlocked door.
Of course we went in, you twits!
So we carefully shut the door and began digging into the boxes stacked under the stairs, looked behind curtains, ran to the other side while no one was walking passed the big glass door and whispered ever so slightly to figure out our little dilema. We searched all over downstairs. Nothing.
So Cleo, Suzy and I ditched Miles, who seemingly disappeared, to go upstairs to look for a program. We were on Cloud 9 at this point and I was even talking about a collaboration piece with all the Spring 2008 staff discussing their strange stories and adventures when trying to produce and write for the paper...when STOP! A woman in an office upstairs sees us. Using our persuasive journalistic power (Ha, I love being a ham sometimes, especially today) I guess we appealed to her because she just laughed it off. Ironically, as we were talking to her, we heard Miles downstairs saying: "Umm...guys...we have to leave. Like...now." He got busted by a security gaurd. No, he wasn't in trouble since we were all in it together. The whole thing was really lucky as the woman happened to have a key to a room filled with programs. Not to seem as though any of us are superior to anyone else...but honestly, what other profession can produce such wild and hilarious stories and experiences? Journalists have it made. In fact, the feeling of actually being daring enough to do what we did and get our story done made us want to leave everything last-minute all the time. Of course, we'd never do that. We do have a natural disdain for deadlines and time restriction. We're journalits, dammit!

Sooner than I knew it, it was 7 p.m. and my mom was wondering about me and the pages were going into tedium because of all the minor corrections that had to be compltely perfected. But it was nice. Everything was being pulled tighter as last-minute pressure grew...but we laughed it off. We just laughed. We helped each other by laughing and we laughed as we helped each other. And apparently my commentary for this edition was great. It basically said "hey, world! Grow a pair!" Well...according to John, anyway. I've come to realize that when you're working in something you love to do, you can't even feel yourself emotionally growing because it's just so natural. When you really see it is when you make those slight pauses to interact with what's around you. What seems to have impacted me most is the people...the people I interview, the people I hear about and the people I so lovingly work with. Especially the latter. They have become one of the few things I need even when I thought I had nothing.

The last event of the evening was a break Suzy, John and I took. Although we seemed to be making fun of people and making jokes about everything, we were really living. Living is when you just say "Let's go out and just do whatever it is we want to do." I'm not saying drink yourself to death, terrorize a neighborhood or run a counterfeit scam or anything, I'm talking the kind of sweet pleasure you get from just relaxing. You know, our generation really does work too hard and some work so hard that they don't get those tiny moments to see how much they've grown. What did we talk about? Of all things, it was family. We said things I don't think any of us would have dared to in a "normal" conversation. It's the power of interest and trust. Sometimes being in a room working ourselves down until we practically have rug burn can cause distaste. It happens all the time. Actually, it happens more often than not. But as much as I try to explain it, we're just not like that. We're different, but we work the same.

So a few of us talked about the Kama Sutra and reading it in public. Some of us tried to come up with a witty headline. Some of us went on a side trip for the sake of the story. Some of us did killer impressions. Some of us play fought--even if it did get a little rough. Some of us opened up.
Were us bastards even working at all?
Surprisingly we were. This is what life is for us.
Somewhere buried deep in our piles of work and deadlines and other messes is our center.
Everything has its grating technicalities, but not everything has its beauty.
We've got it all.
Everything.

As for my love, I gained so much meaning from working on the paper that I actually didn't think of him much. I think I can learn to live like this. I think I can learn how to live at all, too. I can do it right. Just because I miss him doesn't mean I have to miss in every sense. Journalists are a strong breed. There's a lot running against us. There's a lot of power we can't have. But as the sun sets on us, we have what we need.
I love Anthony with everything I've got, but if he can be insecure enough to make himself believe he's not in love, it's too risky even for the newspaper staff. Distraction? No. It could partly be it. But just because we work so hard we forget we're hungry or tired doesn't mean it's just a faulty antidote to what ails us.
Life is made through what we hold and create.
We create with passion.
I'm deeply sorry to my love if one day he should see that I have crossed into another part of me devoid of him, but he's not all gone. He's not a total loss. That's right, he's not. But dammit if I'm human and dammit if I have to find something for this heart to have for itself.
He may think I'm crazy and he may think he can change everyone's mind, but it certainly isn't my fault he doesn't know how to handle himself. I can show him just as well as I showed myself.








I'm gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough.