Needlepoint

Wow. Making a hobby out of heartbreak is heartbreaking.

This phase of my life feels like getting one giant, spontaneous tattoo. Painful and permanent. I didn't plan it, and I wish it would stop, and I'm not entirely sure the result will be beautiful. But I can't go back, and even if I tried to now, I'd be left unfinished. And I can't have that.

Snow Bunny

Look at my Georgia home! There's white stuff everywhere! SNOMG

I spy Dad embracing his role as Starbucks Elf as the neighbors enjoy their Starbucks pastry deliveries....

Isn't it grand to have a phone that doubles as a better-than-capable camera? Yayayay only having to save up for one gadget!

So! No work today. No school today. Movies to watch, cakes to bake, games to play. Prayers to pray. One of which has been answered: I'll be able to pay for what's left of this year's tuition by myself! That's always a good feeling. Well I guess I'm feeling it for the first time. But it feels good!

Also, I was listening to Alexi Murdoch's "Song For You" and realized I may know-slash-love songwriter boys in the future. Weehaw :) Stay cozy, snow bunnies!

Just A Happy Little Blogger Swaying in the Wind

Hahaha I don't know what ^that means. It just felt right.

Things I've been doing a lot of lately:

*Barista-ing like a champ, cause hey, every penny counts
*recognizing every possible pun
*sleeping like a baby
*scratching my legs off, thanks to who knows what
*singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs
*re-associating my favorite music
*loving being loyal to James Mercer
*realizing I don't really want to hear Colin Meloy sing ever again
*wishing Taco Bell had never used Modern English's "I Melt With You"
*using my turn signals
*relying on my iPhone to tell me where the hey I am
*reading Simon van Booy (I actually don't advise it--I just don't like leaving books half-read)
*musing on the challenge the Internet poses to valuable reading material
*wanting a weekend subscription to New York Times
*slapping myself for using my first college semester as an academic burn semester
*brushing the dirt off and planning to do better cause even though I had a lot of sh!t to wrestle with, I always will
*playing Tap Tap Revenge 4
*winning and losing and winning Words with Frenemies
*thanking Tetris for existing
*raising my eyebrows
*scrunching my nose
*whistling the Harry Potter theme song
*fantasizing about Bryant Park in the springtime
*thanking God for everything
*having the last word
*ruling boys out
*smiling at how much time I save by doing that
*making playdates with girlfriends
*eating scones and cupcakes and loaf cakes and muffins
*laughing at Skye because she's hella funny
*marveling at how my little brother is a man
*wanting a little dream car
*stressing about where to spend my sophomore year of college
*remembering that stressing is a moot hobby
*praying
*praying
*praying
*....using the present progressive tense

Mona Lisa

Interesting, isn't it, the way brokenness builds. Up and down and on top of. Prepositional decay.

I realized today the way the depth of my heartbreak reflected the depth of the love that caused it. I knew the deal; give away as much of my heart as I was willing to risk breaking. I signed the deal with a forever-sort-of-blood, and repurposing forever-sort-of-blood is painful. But I am happy that I gave freely. I struggle to reign in the no-matter-what love I'd committed. If this had happened under other circumstances, the kind I hoped for for too long, I would have loved forever. Srsly. Isn't that scary? Instead, I landed on the Candyland square that slides me back three squares--next go around I'll turn left at the fork.

I know I keep hammering the same subject. Forgive me; the same subject keeps hammering me.

Chin Up, Heads up

I was considering starting a new blog and only telling certain people where it was... starting over with a clean writing slate to start my new life slate. But I consider that quitting.

I choose instead to refuse to overlook the fact that I was remarkably happy for a long time. I was happy because I was so in love I couldn't understand it. I was happy because I loved well and was loved well. I learned what it takes to know somebody, and I learned what it means to be known. This is more of a stamp on me than all of you; I need to air out the truth before I bury it in bitterness. If I bury it, rain will wash its shield away, and I'm sick and tired of standing in the rain.

He doesn't want me. He doesn't love me. I'm not what's best for him. I thought I knew best and I didn't. There is doubtlessly someone better for me. Though I'll have to see it to believe it, there is someone better for him. (hahah, classic spin on that, eh? whatevs, it's the truth, yo.) I don't love him anymore. We are not headed in the same direction. We will not get married, we will not have children, and we will not see our children have children. I need new associations for my favorite music, and I need a new perfume. This month and a half was torturous, and I'd like some cussin sunshine, already. My happiness has been wearing a raincoat, and it's time to break out the minidress. Hoots and hollers accepted.

[Pandora's current needle in my voodoo life: "Walking With A Ghost" - Tegan and Sara. never fails.]

I need to stop questioning if my feelings are feelings or coping mechanisms. Everything's a damn coping mechanism, and everything's a damn feeling. Let's cope and feel and cope some more. I can simultaneously cope and feel, and I intend to. I will not find new space for my thoughts because my thoughts go here. He'll always know where to find them, and that's unnerving, but at this point, I feel most unnerved when I'm not unnerved.

Before you pat yourself on the back for seeing through me, remember that this transparency isn't invisible (ooooh). This is an entry here in this blog because I need it to be. Cliches are only cliches because they meant enough to be overused until the imaginary threshold of significance voted them off the Island of Profundity. Well this is my blog, and I'm sunbathing on a personalized Island of Profundity. You might not care to join me, but you're welcome regardless. You might have to kayak over from yours, but I'll be waiting with Scrabble and rum punch.

Cheers.

Really, Mumford?

I'm a fan of self-articulated thought, but I'm needing to borrow Marcus Mumford's more and more frequently. It's a bit of a battle because I know I'm not the only one listening, but I might still be the only one thinking.

When I sing White Blank Page, there's no Little Lion Man echo. There's no Hold On to What You Believe echo. There is only the echo of my hopes, the hollow ring of stones cast into a stream that could have led home but leads nowhere instead.

There is only the echo of my strength stretched thin as the chance of a moon-sighting in Midtown, as thin as the bow that plays a weeping violin. There is only the echo of my deliberate wishes falling flat on lost ears, my thorough speculation spinning and spinning like my head from week to week.

I've noticed I write less when I'm happy. Maybe moments worth savoring are too majestic, too precious to immediately boil down to type. I sit instead in the rays of smiles around me, focusing not on the translation of joy into text, but the translation of joy into hope.

I translate hope and the lack of it into text because thinking alone is even worse than sitting alone. It's even worse than dreaming alone. Don't get me started on hoping alone.

(Pandora just shot White Blank Page at me, bee tee dubs. Shot is a good verb.)

These big words--think, dream, hope, wish, love--they hit the page with no force, yes? They are overused. Empty, even?

Au contrare, doll. They are overused because they are not understood. They are overused because their spectrums of interpretation are as speckled as a Pollock painting; each burst of color is relative, but subjectivity does not detract from existence. These big words are big enough to churn minds and hold souls, and those reaches are vast enough to keep exploring.

On another note, big hope is gonna go ahead and sit in my back seat for a while. That's where my ejector seat is.

God is good God is good God is good God is good God is good. And I am better off.

Megatron = Tron in IMAX 3D

No, I haven't seen it, but you know that made you chuckle or groan or both. What I have seen is a greater visual periphery when my eyes widen at the quality of the Tron soundtrack. Srsly.

***

"Did you ever think you knew everything?
Did you ever think you had it all figured out?
Ooh, baby, baby, you know things can change
When someone loves you with no doubt"

-Sheryl Crow, "Summer Day"

***

Well I slid back down the hill, but honestly, I'm sick of climbing. I know that whatever's waiting at the top is good, so I'm choosing to chill in the shade. I'm in no rush.

It's amazing how much wisdom and awareness are connected to each other. I feel larger than life right now, and that's wholly because I know I've only been offered a crumb of the wisdom God has for me. It seems I'm accepting it in supersaturated doses right now, but I think I'll take a wee break from the search. Melodie told me God woke her up with a word specifically for me--that God sees me as righteous and faithful and knows what I need to do even though I don't. I'd like to be still and know for a little while... I've been running and hoping to know for so long. It's starting to make my heart skip beats again.

Ron said on Sunday that when David says in Psalms, "Bless the Lord, O my soul," he is not only praising God, but commanding his soul to do so because it isn't easy, but it's necessary. That's exactly how I feel.

***

You know how people say music changes their lives? And how about 87.2% of the time, you know it's a cliche? I won't go so far as to say that music has changed my life all on its own, but I'm starting to grow convinced of God's hand in what's playing on Pandora and the radio when I choose to listen to them. I swear, there are messages for me in there. Which is cool with me, because I pray for them :)

P.S. Tayler Moosa, if you're reading this, I'm completely game for one of those shake-your-head-at-me lunches. You got my numba.

***

I'm planning two tattoos. We may even stretch so far as to call them tattwos. BAHA

5 Day countdown to Holy Baby Immanuel Jesus Manger Day! weehaw