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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

I can see for miles and miles

I think I know what they meant by having magic in their eyes.
Well, it was partly drugs (but that doesn't come into play here) and partly mysticism--the kind you get when you feel the world is in your hands. It's when you know you can obtain anything you could want in an immediate sense. Maybe not all your dreams in one, but mostly anything you could want for the time being.

I reek of incense from going to The Psychic Eye. I hung out with an old friend from elementary school for the first time in ages. I tried to pretend I wasn't thinking of other people, but my love and the third man kept randomly passing through my thoughts. I worry about Anthony...and as for the third man, sometimes I still find myself wishing, even if it's not something I really want exactly.

I reconnected with myself today. Just being in that store made me think of all the possibilites that come from the world around us. I'm basically in a trance right now. I just keep seeing the things that were there and thinking on things greater than me. There's so much beauty, depth and meaning out there...and to think, we'll never live long enough to see and understand it all. It's bizarre.

I'm tempted to buy some tarot cards and rearrange everything I have to reflect on these ideas. I'm not going wacko religious junkie on anybody...I still want to be me, Catholicism (yes, I'm Catholic. Shut the fuck up.) and all. Speaking of which, tomorrow is Easter and I won't see my best friend in the universe because...well, I don't know why. My cousin means the world to me, and I got a slight chance to see her today--but her parents denied us of it. Ha, how depressing. You know, I've noticed, everything seems wrong with the world. I guess it's up to ourselves to keep our worlds straight. To be honest, at this point my life isn't so bad, I just think I'm completely scrambled.

You know, probably nothing I've said here makes any sense.
But in some way it means a lot to me.
I can't even fathom what goes on in my own head.
And somehow, I don't think that's important.

As long as I can see beyond my own input, maybe...well, I'm not entirely sure.

I'm too physically drained to be sure. All I know is where my heart is and where my creativity is taking me. Maybe I can close my eyes and see further. It's a contradiction to top all contradictions, but sometimes the unconscious is a better indicator than the waking world and conscious thought.
And maybe when I sleep, I can visit him for a moment. Bastardo.
Bastardo, bastardo, bastardo....

My eyelids are heavy.

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

Running.
Everyone is running.
We're all scattered.

It didn't quite hit home when my ex, of which I realized I haven't yet put his name down (it's Anthony, by the way), left for Ohio on Thursday. His mom has become one of the nomads precariously slipping off the edge and wandering about for work to stay alive. Who knows how long they're going to be gone. They said it was just a few weeks, but webs can be spun in all but a day or two. They could end up stuck.
It's not that I didn't care and I just watched him leave without a feeling in my veins. I cried. I really did.
Even when I found out they were coming back "soon," I cried. Bastardo....
I guess I was just feeling numb.

And maybe, just maybe, I took the liberty of doing everything I have done today just to cope with it. I got up right when the alarm went off, put on my new shoes, new blouse, new pants, my favorite necklace and some of my best earrings. I looked so good (I assume) that the first thing I heard as I tried to get in the car was honking and hollering from a man that looked like someone from ZZ-Top speeding down my street. I went to class listening to London After Midnight and feeling really awesome. So awesome, in fact, that chills went down my spine. I stayed in the newsroom longer than I had to just because I felt like staying in there and looking upon the staff. I left with some more London After Midnight echoing. I got home, helped my friend retaliate against her overbearing step-father and made the guy's daughter cry because she was a huge bitch to Aalyssa. I felt even better and tried calling up Andy, but I couldn't get a hold of him. So I dropped Frances a line and we took off to the mall, ate and shopped. I even got a call from my best friend from elementary school earlier.
And now, I just might go to a party with Suzy, Crisitan and Matt at 11. And while I'm at it, I just may sit with the guru. He's a good man. A great man. Believe me, he and I can see many tomorrows together.

All the while, I keep thinking of Anthony. As Vanessa and I discussed earlier when she called, it seems so wrong of us to think of our exes. But we do, and we're just funny people for it. And now that I look at all I've done today...I've just been running. Maybe I hoped that freedom wasn't too far off.

On a different note, let me speak on the Obama issue.
First thing, just because he's friends with a racist shitbag doesn't mean he's a racist shitbag. Okay? Got it? Good.
Oh, why not, you say? Because I can be friends with someone who's adamantly hates black people, for instance. As long as he doesn't talk about it around me, I can force myself to overlook it...and also because there could be a possibility that I didn't know the person was racist until later in our friendship. In turn, after the person and I had gone through a lot, I wouldn't be able to just dump them. There's too much friendship there. And just because he used his grandmother as an example doesn't mean he's so tightly knit to that guy that it's almost a family level. Seriously, that's the most ridiculous fuckin unwarranted assumption I've ever heard. Get a grip. Goddamn.

On the flip side, everyone bitching about Fox News and how everyone is acting like they hate Obama, you know what? They hate Hillary and McCain, too. Every last one of them. Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration, but my point is that there are always going to be people who hate whoever or whatever it is you like. There are going to be people who take it too far and there are going to be people who say/do supremely idiotic things. That doesn't mean, however, that you should go around acting like you've hammered your brains out with an actual fuckin hammer. You people need to get a grip, too. You say: "Oh, they edited out the most important part of his speech out, those fuckers!" but in turn, you go around quoting people and making videos editing out important parts of their commentary. Sounds like a double standard and it smells like shit. Don't do it. You're making us Democrats look like whiners, which is exactly how the stereotype goes. Stereotypes = bad.

Really, both sides need to stop dicking around. It's stupid.

Te amo, bastardo

It was one of those days where no matter how much noise there was, it seemed as though everything was quiet.

As if I wasn't stressed enough with deadlines and writing news stories, my ex had to be his usual self. I got a call about 30 minutes before my 1:30 class started. It was my godson, Dylan. He's eight years old. He was crying his little eyes out--something a godmother doesn't want to hear. So what happened? My ex forgot to pick him up from tutoring. While my godson is on spring break, he still goes to these advanced placement kind of tutoring things that keep him mentally stimulated since he's smarter than the other kids in his class. It let out at 11:30 since it's spring break so they're giving the kids a chance to relax. Me being at school interviewing my ass off and getting ready to run over to do one last interview before just barely making it to class, I had to call Aalyssa, his mom, which shouldn't have been my fuckin job in the first place. Good thing Aalyssa was just getting out of the doctor's office when I called. I asked Dylan to call back in five minutes, and him being a good boy, he did and he was calm. I stayed on the phone with him until Aalyssa went to get him and thankfully she lives close to the school where he recieves the advanced placement thing.

I figure that was the end of it. Why wouldn't it be, right?
Oh no, as soon as I'm done interviewing and trying to chill out in the newsroom, talk about parties to come, and be worry free now that the interviewing was over I get a phone call. I answered to Dylan's voice, so I figured it would be just fine. Turns out, it was godmother to the rescue. I had to yell at the foolish twit that fell asleep when he was supposed to get his godson. Yes, he fell asleep.
But you know why that was "good justification"? Because he was going to wake up in a few minutes!
When does that ever fuckin happen? Everyone tries to say that, but you know fuckin what? That's a sorry excuse! How can you fall asleep and expect to wake up in a few minutes? You're not Penn nor are you Teller, so don't try it!

But it gets better.
Somehow it was my fault. But that can't be. I was working. But somehow it was still my fault because "I'm always working." And you know...yes, I am! I write for a freakin newspaper! When I've got deadlines, the days become shit with stress and an overload of work. So finally I ended up telling him to suck it even though he supposedly does a lot of things for us (well, damn! He must be a magician because I don't see a thing!) and he hung up on me as if I commited a crime against nature because I called him out on his damn faults. I know no one likes to hear it, but when you do something as irresponsible as that, brace yourself because you need to hear it if you do that.

After that I took it easy with Cristian by going to Jack In the Box with him and having a big discussion about interests and life stories and whatnot. I realized that I finally have new friends that are much better than those I've lost. It was pretty chill and it turns out Cristian likes a lot of the same music I do and he knows Led Zepagain (as do I). It's eerie how much in common I have with the newspaper staff. I'm guessing it's because we're all journalists. I mean, with any field, it takes certain characteristics in order to truly love and partake in the field. That's probably what happened to all of us. What's even creepier is how much I have in common with Pearl...we even have the same coffee brewer and the same breed of dog. Trust me, the similarities run very deep.

I haven't talked to my ex since about 3:30 p.m. Last time I called Aalyssa, she didn't know if he was there or not. That, in some ways, relives me. In another sense, it leaves me pacing throughout my little stressed out head. Yesterday I recieved a letter from him saying the boldest and bravest thing that has ever come out of his mouth: "You deserve someone better, not someone who's a scared little boy." While he was trying to get me to turn to others and make myself happy, it only made me come toward him all over again. No matter his idiocy, he always manages to say something truthful and heartfelt. He even says it at the appopriate times, but the degree of depth to his words has the opposite effect on me, as it would to anyone else. What makes things like this so different from everything else is that when someone can admit to you their flaws and try to push you into thinking how terrible they are, they show so much courage and care, that there's no way anyone can resist. I'm sure so many people feel foolish for being melted by someone's honesty, but really--there's nothing that can fight it. If someone cares that much, how can you not care back, especially if you loved them?

Yet I somehow can't take my own advice. I'm embarrassed because I'm so used to immediately rejecting those that have hurt me so strongly. But that's another thing, there's so many magnitudes of hurt, and really, he's never given me that much pain before. Never was any pain I've felt so intense that I had the urge to completely destroy him and cut him down. I wonder if it's because of my feelings...but I don't dare go there.

It's closing time for me.
My mind can't take any more of this sort of thinking.
It's time to put everything back in order...if only I knew how.

I think I love that idiot.
How could I dare?
How could I not?
Can I spare an answer?
Or at least a breath?
An idea?
A thought?

Sorry, we're closed.

And I see them in the streets!

I think someone's fixin to die, and I'm not talking Country Joe and the Fish.

I'm not even talking the Iraq War, though I very well should be instead of worrying about this crap. Anyway, before I coninue I'd like to wish everyone a happy St. Patty's day, though I don't think it matters. Somehow, though, its a point in this story.

We all know it's St. Patty's day and I'm sure most of you can't read this straight, and you know what--I should be one of you people! But this isn't about me. Oh, no. It's about two men and I already know what you're thinking. And you know what else? It's actually about three men, but I forgot about the other one out of focusing too hard. Today while everyone is having fun and throwing up, a good friend of mine, Jack, has been waiting around in La Mirada without any form of sustinance because someone was dick enough to take him there and just leave without notice. Now, Jack's a fun-loving Irish guy (with another half of Mexican, bless his heart! Oh, did I mention he's Southern?), but if you can imagine a very pissed off guy of his lineage out there in the middle of nowhere with his own car gone, you'll get where this is going. And I hear some of you bastards laughing already, but dammit, imagine if this happened to any of you on a day like today!

I know you all want to know who took his car--it was none other than my one-of-a-kind ex-boyfriend. A few days ago he told me he loved me...again. And just yesterday I was starting to think maybe I should turn back in his direction. After the third guy, who is nameless at this point (not because I'm stupid enough to not have gotten his name, but for other reasons), and my short crush for him fizzled. Which goes to show, fate is a bitch. It takes you in one direction, turns you around, then does it one more time. Then where are you supposed to be? Nowhere really. Just keep walking straight. You'll get somewhere eventually, right?

In short, Jack's still in La Mirada getting a ride back from some med department staff whom none of us know, his girl (and my best friend), Aalyssa, is probably ready to choke my ex (whose actually one of her best friends, too. Well...not now, maybe) to death. And as for me, I'm just hoping Jack didn't have to sit out there being pissed, hungry, and angry for too long. And I just hope he and I can share a drink and a tale or two before the night is out.

And that's how two random, meaningless stories meet.
Oh, damn. I forgot about the third guy again....
(Funny since just last week he mysteriously appeared in all my thoughts. Hahaha.)