The past, the present, The Future.

I've come to realize how far down this road I've been traveling, and how things are suddenly branching out and creating new paths and new opportunities. It's really exciting for someone like me to realize that life is getting to the point of adventure, thrill, and intrigue.

I'm going to be twenty years old.

I remember when I was twelve and I looked at a twenty year old with complete and utter wonderment. I thought that that person had all of the answers. They lived on their own in some swanky uptown apartment, and did cool shit... like road some bike with a basket around, splatter painted the walls of their bedrooms, and took black-and-white pictures of old people holding hands in the park.

Now, I'm on the brink of being twenty... and I realize that I'm sort of living the way I envisioned a twenty-year-old to live. (At least, within my means.) I don't have all the answers, and I never will, but somehow I think I'm going to be okay without knowing everything. The path is shaded, but it's there.

It's funny how the worst thing that could have possibly ever happened only catapulted into growing up... it was a reality check I needed.

That 'worst thing' was the death of my grandmother last year, on November 10th.
For all intensive purposes, she was my mother.
While I've always somewhat had a strained relationship with my biological mother (her eldest daughter), she encouraged me to try to understand her, and in the same instanced shaped me into the woman I am today.
I admired her so much for her strength and for her quiet mind.

It's going to be a year since she died, and I'm still trying to collect myself.
I thought I couldn't go on without her, but her death intensified my desire to want to do something extraordinary with this existence- the only one I've got.

I've been toying with the idea of not finishing school... right now, however, I'm thinking I will. I've come this far, I want that degree in my hand. But the credentials of it are really sort of ridiculous. I don't learn sitting in a classroom, I need to be out in the world and experiencing. I feel like that's my calling.

Sometimes I feel like I don't need a degree to dictate that I have intelligence, or to say I'm certified to help this person or that person.

In fact, I don't believe in it at all.

I feel as if most people say they're in school, or going through it, just to prove to the people around them that they can make something of themselves when really... really, making something of yourself should be about the people you touch, and the works you do, and the stories you have to tell afterward.

The longer I'm in college the more I realize it's a debauched myriad lie of higher learning... where "Beer Pong" is the national sport, and "How Many Lays" the slogan.

I don't want that, and never have.

However, some good things have come out of this whole new world...

I've moved out, and learned to live under a roof with completely different personalities than what I was accustomed.

I have a job where I make enough money to support myself.

Still in school (whether I like it or not), and toiling.

And... and my direction is becoming clearer and clearer.

See, in the beginning I thought I wanted to perhaps be a linguist. I love studying languages, and going overseas sort of sealed my love of foreign places. But then I realized if I wanted to actually make a living, I'd have to have at least five languages under my belt. A whole lot of classes, and a whole lot of brainpower that I wasn't willing to commit to. (Trust me, if i don't want to learn something... I'm not going to learn it.)

But I love to write, so I sort of decided Journalism would be my target.

I didn't like the idea of following other people around and badgering them about their personal lives, so I did a little research... and that's when I discovered what I want to do.

I want to write for a humanitarian journal.
And for those of you who don't quite know what that is... think along the lines of National Geographic... but focusing on the people of third-world countries and their cultures.

It's not set in stone, nothing ever is.

But I know that I want to help people.
I feel my best when I'm out in the world, getting my hands dirty, and exploring the meaning of life.

I want to try other things as well...

photojournalism
fashion photography
painting
novel and poetry composition
entrepreneurship


But whatever I do end up doing in the end, I'll do it well.

I want to be known by those who loved me as someone who went out there and did what she had to do, followed her beliefs, and lived fully and openly.
That's all.
Nothing more or less.

Misinterpretations, Methodical, Men...

I've come to realize over the course of my very brief dating career, that I haven't dated all that much, or all that well...


Ever since 6th grade...that fateful ill-fated puppy love with a boy who truly liked me, and to whom I squashed mercilessly by failing to understand his feelings... I've had possibly the ultimate shitty luck where this tangled web of business is concerned.


For example, my first "serious" boyfriend was a stint with a biker, he was eighteen, and I sixteen. I marveled in true and utter wonderment of him until he dumped me faster than a hot tamale on the 4th of July for a big-breasted short shirt in a Mustang GT.


I hadn't yet gotten to second-base, and already I was krill to the dating scene as we know it.


My second serious boyfriend was a year and a half younger than I but oh, who am i kidding? Age is but a number- right? No need to be ageist when you have this smashing fellow who's on your level, meets your needs, and appears to have himself on the level, correct?


Wrong.


So wrong.


Mr. Level left this old bag of horse feed after a little over a year of tumultuous canoodling, promises of college live-in situations, and eventual marriage on a little island in the south pacific by a Haitian spirit healer...and why? Oh, there was some hot young thing with synthetic weave and eyeliner thicker than tar.


So here I've been since.


Only two serious situations down under my belt, and I couldn't be more confused or disoriented by the very IDEA of being with someone for an extended period of time.


Sometimes I like to wonder what's the point of it all... I mean, is that all there is in life? Women, being told from the earliest age that we're princesses that need to be treated as such by men who don't exist? That marriage is the ultimate form of euphoria, and if you don't find someone to marry eventually then you're a lesbian, a feminist, or just plain weird?


Don't get me wrong! I've had my fair share of guys pining for my hand...(not all at once- but you get my picture)...


A.) There was "S." from orientation, who gladly bought me anything I wished and whined and dined me until I wanted to gag for lack of independence (or breathing room, for that matter).
B.) There was "D." from a fraternity, who, though witty and amusingly charming, failed to clarify what it was that was happening between us, and therefore lost my regard.
C.) There was "C." from a mutual acquaintance, who took me to a rock concert and proceeded to be extremely awkward about his lack of financial and emotional stability.
D.) There was "P.", whom I met while in a college course, who I convinced to go on a date with me only to discover that, after locking lips, he was only meant to be a very best friend/brother sort.
E.) There was "R.", a foreigner who swept me off my feet with a sneak-kiss and intellectual conversation before I realized he was stringing me along (in true Scandinavian fashion).


Sigh.


It is a history that I look over and could truly laugh at.


Perhaps I'm picky.
Perhaps I think too much.
Perhaps it's my own special combination of neurotic and insane.
I've been told all of this before.


But I'm a modern, assertive, independent woman... you know, I've convinced myself I don't need a man.
Sure, it'd be nice if he takes you out, brings you home, canoodles and wants to spoon after. That's a winning combo! It'd be even better if it wouldn't be weird after, and he'd look at you and smile and just tell you it's official. There's no room for inhibitions here, people, we're young! There's time!
But if we're young, why are we so damn afraid of commitment?
You know, I'm might be scared, but I'm not stupid... I know a good thing when I have it.

Or I thought I did.

I thought I had two good things, before they walked.
And I'm sure one of those poor guys I was involved with after the fact thought they had a good one too...
before I walked.

A Story Not Often Told...

She Fucking Dissed Me?!:
The Tale of a Man's Not-So-Rare Walk of Shame

The code said three days, so of course he waited three days before sending that casual text with all the nonchalant effective wording:

"Hey... i had fun the other day."

Of course, he noted, his performance had been outstanding. He'd made her squeal at all the right points. He'd playfully lingered over her until she couldn't take it anymore, and he'd even given her the reassurance that she was good as well. He brought on the compliments. He lathered it on like layers in a cake. He could not tell a lie, she was fantastic. So the reply comes, and oh, what's this?

"Yeah. It was good."

What?! No smiley? No capricious flirtatious little giggle? No HEHE?! He contemplated not returning the text. He wondered what it meant...
We find our man in a sticky situation, and it is now he realizes what precisely has happened, and prays it isn't so.
Yes, he'd followed her home from the bar on her request, yes he'd ventured into her one-bedroom apartment and allowed her to make him a cup of tea. Yes, he'd successfully seduced her in her bedroom, and was obliged to collect his boxers in the morning and leave.
But she had an early class and he was only being nice!

"So yeah, I was wondering if you want to catch a movie tonight?"

Our man is hoping to be casual, because he doesn't want to appear too desperate. He notices there's a late reply and wonders if he asked her the right thing. After all, is it against protocol of these so-called "one nights" to ask the woman out on a proper date? Movie ticket, popcorn, the works?

"Busy tonight. But thanks, that's sweet."

Busy? My ass. It is now that he realizes his less-than-threatening advances have been in vain.
Our man diagnoses the issue at hand. He's fallen into the pit of truly liking this one-niter, instead of keeping her up on the shelf with the rest of dim-witted idiots he's collected in his college career. He couldn't help if her opinions on Marxism were more than sufficient, or if he caught himself thinking of her as a little prettier than average even after she removed all her makeup, or even if she was just good at what she did with her body, clothes on or off.

Enter the "Bro".
Now the "Bro" is our man's best friend. A heterosexual romance has evolved between them, and he calls upon this stoned, opinionated, pseudo-intellectual to help him evaluate the situation at hand.

The "Bro" begins his defending tyrant by pointing out that the girl in question has an ass the size of a small galaxy.
Our man begrudgingly agrees, though he thinks otherwise, and in fact truly admires her derriere against his better judgment.

After a beer and idle smalltalk about video games, the "Bro" suggests they check her Facebook page.
For a few moments, all seems well.
She updated her status, and she's currently taking a shower, ten minutes ago.

Then, with sudden revelation, the "Bro" announces
"DUDE, DUDE, DUDE, CHECK OUT THIS SHIT!"

Our man rushes to the computer.
Under her relationship status:

"It's Complicated with...."

The ex boyfriend?! The dude she was bitching about three nights ago at the bar?! The guy with the fucking irrelevant tribal tattoo and absence of a respectable job and was still living with his parents?!

"She fucking dissed me!"

With horror, our man realizes that he was used.
He was "that guy".

Embittered, he calls up the other "Bros"...
A night of makeup debauchery ensues, his opinion of women growing evermore blasé.

Sometimes...

... I look in the mirror and find myself afraid of what i'm becoming

... I still think that the things you did to me were MY fault

... I take out a picture of me and him, and i have to put it away because i start shaking from thoughts of the past

... I change in my cubicle at work when i know no one else is in the office

... I'll stand in-between two mirrors and wish i were that thin

... you really make me laugh, without the sarcasm

... she irritates me so much i wish she were dead

... the appearance of blood facinates me

... I pick my nose when i'm driving, hoping no one sees me

... my colossal ass makes me feel really good about myself

... i'll scream Fuck, in public, just to

... i wish i could let God back in

... i lie in my diary

... i actually enjoy the idea of getting married and making babies in the conventional way

... my very best friend, who has never done anything to me, gets on my nerves

... i want to climb trees, then i realize i'm twenty years old and that's socially unacceptable

... i wonder if i'm supposed to enjoy oral sex

This, I'll say...

The touch of skin on skin gave me a race of heart, yes;

Someone told me you loved me

And I felt a twinge of vanity-

I am no one.

I am nothing but a flake of sand on saturated soil.

You are wonderment;

Underneath;

Form and face and hands and heart and mind-

Elation.

Did I Really Just Say That? (song I wrote)

Now I do recall while we were laying on the floor
the effects of all the night-time skirmishes
that have our clothes in awkward places
and skin shaking sweat down to the core

You leaned over me to grab your pants
and then you looked into my eyes
For a moment I swear to god you were kidding
but I guess you maned up and took the chance


The three most overrated words in the English vocabulary
came dribbling out your mouth
I didn't know if I should laugh or take in the moment
like I ought
but you just gazed outright directly
As that damn "I love you" came again...
"Do you, Do you, Do you?"
I could only shadow a passive smile
"Thank you, thank you, thank you."


So I guess it makes me completely unsentimental
to see overly past the pitiless shit
into the untruthful cavities of your heart
How could you call our soulless fucking anything conventional?


Oh come on, let's do the right thin; make an honest woman out of me
let's not beat around the goddamn bush
let's play the parts of trailer affairs
Or run with tattoo-clad, cycle-riding symmetry


The three most overrated words in the English vocabulary
came dribbling out your mouth
I didn't know if I should laugh or take in the moment
like I ought
but you just gazed outright directly
As that damn "I love you" came again...
"Do you, Do you, Do you?"
I could only shadow a passive smile
"Thank you, thank you, thank you."


I really can't shake your hand enough,
this has been a grateful partnership,
I've enjoyed all your half-ass promises
and your attempts at being true

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Untoward Significance

So as I lay here, attempting to wake myself from this laziness that has come to swallow me up in the form of comfortable pillows and a feather comforter... I realize I haven't been taking as many pictures as I'd like these days.
I'm a photographer by tendency, not professional by any means, but I do the best I can.
I like giving myself room to breathe, per say.
So I stumbled across a little file of a bunch of pictures I'd taken months and months ago... and I started thinking about which pictures mean things to me.
Then I found this one.




Taken, oh, maybe seven months ago.
And it's one of my favorites.
Why, you ask?
Well, believe it or not, I have a terrible experience (not personal, but second-hand) where prescription drugs are concerned. To be able to relay that into a photograph almost made me cry when I took another look.
And that's what I've always wanted to do... bring emotions out with the things I do.
For better or worse.