A Tribute

Episodes


As I lay awake in the comfort of my soft sheets
Clips of memory float in my mind
Chopped up--
Disoriented
Chaotic.

Wondering what kinds of decisions I am
Responsible for--if I even want to claim responsibility for my
Actions. Fumbling through the motions of the
Blurry episode of a
Mistake.
Costly and irrational.

Desiring to take back the
Stumble up the stairs--to hear the
Rushed whispers that disintegrated in the pit of my ear and
Shredded my stomach into an ironic resemblence of
Confetti.

Can forgiveness be offered as a kind token?
Perhaps, but it will never
Erase the uncertainty of that
Wild night that will ultimately
Change you
Forever.

What do you think the title should be?

Well, to say the very least, I've been extremely neglecting this blog. Not that I have many faithful readers or anything, but I still kind of feel guilty about it.

As of late my life has been interesting. I went out a few times. I can't decide if that was a good thing or not--but I did meet quite a few people! I'm sad that it's going to be summer in 9 days. Maybe we'll keep in touch? We'll see!

Right now I'm taking a small break from packing my things. I suppose I really should be working on my paper that's due on Thursday, but oh well. I think I"ll be able to finish it. If anything, I'll pull an all nighter on Wednesday and my paper will have a very weird conclusion--hopefully one that's coherent.

The end of the year is a weird time. It's kind of a relief that I have a chance to move on from Phelps--at least this room--and have a new start in my own house next fall. From what I can tell it's going to be an extremely fun year. I'll have great housemates, entertaining neighbors, and I'm going to have a million and one activities to do! Woot!

So much for keeping this blog deep. Oh well. Maybe next time I post my brain won't be fried.

Puddles

I've been working on a new piece to post on my blog for about 4 weeks now. It's taking me a ridiculously long time to write, but I just can't figure out how I want it to end. Poor Maxwell. He's the main character in my story--a stressed out man on the "L" drowning in all of his inner dealings while the world goes on around him. Maybe I can't finish this piece because his character is too similar to this time in my life; and I assure you, this time in my life is far from over. Thus, the ending is impossible to write.

Isn't that true of so many things in life though? All of us become so warped in our own mini-soaps that we are oblivious to the most important things in our borrowed time. What's even more sad, the farther and farther from reality we carry ourselves, the more we forget what is even important in the first place. And as we jump in our own puddles of sorrow, stress, and sympathy (which soon become ponds, lakes, and oceans) the rest of the world passes us on the sidewalk, avoiding the pathetic splunks of water that might get their Docs wet.

I'm way in left field. For so long I've drained my soul into things that, in the long run, just don't matter. I've missed out on so many things--from childhood to the present--that the first quarter of my life is close to being deemed worthless. And now, 30 days shy of being a junior in college, I find myself searching for anything that makes sense and that can give me a lead on my life in the future. I'm getting closer and closer to leaving this puddle behind. I want to jump in with the flow of traffic to a new destination--hopefully one more meaningful and enjoyable that the current funk I'm in.

Decline of Sanity

Well, I've finally reached my breaking point. I decided to go and talk to a counselor. This, of course, terrifies me and I haven't the slightest clue as to what I'm going to tell this woman. I suppose honesty would be best, but as she said--I don't trust, I don't feel, and I don't tell. Step one to recovery--Tell. I never realized how many things I have kept pent up for so long. It feels good to let loose and get it all out there. I'm sick of hiding. I'm restless in this life and I can't wait to break free from this tiny box that I've locked myself in. Yes, cousneling will help.

And, in addition to all of that, these circumstances--and yes, they are only circumstances--make me question God more. Why does suffering have to be a demonstration for God's eternal love? If He loves us so much, why must we have to know pain, destruction, violence, and sorrow? Is it because we are sinful? Is it because we are that horrible that we must be punished before we can reach a spiritual euphoria? I suppose I will never know, but it still makes me wonder...

I need to write more. I haven't been keeping up with my blog and that makes me sad. Perhaps if I wrote more I wouldn't feel so tense all of the time. Creative Writing class will help. I'm really enjoying that class--Trembley is amazing! I can tell I'm growing as an author. I can't wait to turn in my short story. :)

Anyway, Spring Break is coming up and that will be swell. I want to do a million things, but I know I'll have limited funds AND limited time. Summer can't come soon enough!

All I know is right now my brain is spinning and is all jarbled up (yes, I made up my own word) and I'm wondering if I'll EVER get everything finished. *deep breath*

Grown Up

Memories from my childhood drift around the inside of my head tonight--every once in a while I'll be able to hear Stevie's fourth grade giggle or Gonzo's panicked breath during the most intense hide-and-seek-tag one could ever imagine. And, on occasion, I'll look down at my tiny hands and remember how they used to look--young, smooth, and pure.

Tonight I've lived hundreds of sleepovers in my backyard. The one-man tent is poorly constructed and collapsing on my head, but it doesn't matter. Stevie, Gonzo, and Espo are there with me and the only thing we are capable of doing together is laughing. We talk about basketball, roller hockey, and Mrs. Thiakos' 6th grade math class. They tease me about joining the pom-pon squad, make incessant jokes about my golden yellow uniform, and beg to know what Lindsay and Christina say about them in the locker room. When I remain loyal to my gal pals, the game of Truth or Dare begins. Do you really like Brian Pate? Would you ever ditch class? I dare you to kiss Chris on the cheek!!! We fall asleep, drifting in and out of senseless conversation.

The dew begins to flood the grass and the stars fade away one by one until morning finally comes. As the temperature rises, so do we, and eventually our stomachs remind us that breakfast is needed. Espo, Stevie, and I carefully maneuver our bodies out of the tiny tent that served as our happy home for the evening. Gonzo, who has never been as graceful as the rest of us, comes crashing out from behind the makeshift doors, completely collapsing the frame of the tent. The majority of our days were spent freely and without consequence--basketball, swimming, tag, Master P, school dances, long walks to Coach's Corner, and encouraging hugs inbetween roller hockey periods at St. Ambrose. I miss those moments where life was as simplistic as playing BRICK or going bowling. I miss my roots.

Hundreds of sunrises have chased the stars away since that time in my life. And even ten years later I can still hear Stevie's laughter or Gonzo's sarcasm knowing that these memories make me the woman that I am today. My hands are no longer as young and pure as they once were--but as long as I can recapture my youth with them, I'll be okay with growing up.