Haunting

I’ve been having some unusual dreams lately.

It’s really not unlike me to encounter some weird ones. I’ve chilled with a werewolf who was actually my cousin’s buddy, broken Caitlin out of a whorehouse and waltzed with Nick Jonas.

And I have to say, I’ve had some really bad dreams. I’ve fought off a cannibal banshee who used my bathtub as her fortress (the bleeding strips of entrails dripping from the curtain rod didn’t really entice me into showering the next morning, let me tell you). I have catapulted off of a cliff with a girl I hated.

I have seen my dead dog, alive, and pleaded with her not to burn alive. I’ve raced into similar fiery infernos to save my sister (who ended up a blackened, crispy husk). I’ve been pregnant and alone in a Chinese stable, for God’s sake.

But the past two nights I’ve been haunted.

The night before last, my mom was sick. I watched her seize and convulse viciously until the pain in her head killed her. I kept telling myself, as she became unrecognizable (similar to an orange rind, oddly), that she wasn’t dead, she wasn’t dead. She was fine, she would get better. A little Mexican man kept trying to tell me that, too. Then he told me my dad had cut himself. I raced to the back porch and expected to see his wrists slashed.

No. He slumped against the pool with his throat slit in two places.

For some reason I was talking to him about Doc and Grandma, though. Reassuring him that she never meant to destroy the illusion he’d held of his mother and father and fidelity. I discovered then he’d been cutting himself for years because of them.

Then last night, I dreamed for the second time in my life that I died.

The first time was two or three years ago. Jaws’ sister bit me in half. It was a sweet death, calming and walm and dark and peaceful. I didn’t feel a thing but a pleasant crushing sensation and waiting, warm blue.

Last night, I dreamed that a boy I know– a boy I know that has liked me and been a creeper so I ignore him– brought a gun to school. A small pistol. The light was bright and crayon yellow, crayola orange. Desks were smooth and gray and he simply swung the pistol around the room. Angry at us. Angry at existence. My heart hammered as a glint off the muzzle– silvery, spark– shone as he pulled the gun in a swift arc until it faced me.

All along I’d been terrified, immobile with horror, thinking that my friends were going to die. Thinking that this abhorrent tragedy had really arrived at Gowanda and landing with both murky, mucky feet.

But no. The words that came out of his mouth were, “I was going to kill them all. But I won’t. Instead I’ll kill you.” And the last thing I saw was the hate blaze in his eyes. Any hurt remaining was seared away by the anger.

The last thing I felt was the crack-crack! of my ribs and the puncture of my lung as the blast of two shots ripped through my chest.

This death wasn’t a peaceful one. Not in the least. I remained a ghost, transparent and lonely, listening to the aftermath.

I was the only one who’d been murdered. Just me.

And I heard the wrenching sorrow that flooded my mother’s heart. The abandonment of my sister’s. The confused and regretful pulse of my dad’s. I experienced the hurt that me, leaving, would wreck upon my family. I watched, helpless, as acquaintances of my family told my parents at my wake about what a talent, what a potential I had had. What they had hoped for me.

Then I think my mom wailed, and I woke up, crying. My mom never wails.

God, I wish I was an insomniac.

November blue

It’s off to Maria’s for a first-ever family dinner that’s not at Grandma’s. It should be nice; I’ve never seen her house so I’m curious.

On another note, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do when it starts snowing hardcore. I’ve barely just come to terms with the fact that it’s fall. I’m just not ready for winter. I’m simply unprepared for life to go by this quickly.

So I’ll wear my red knit hat and brace myself for snowflakes, and I’ll sing “holiday” carols and agree with bonhomie with the people who bitch about winter. But inside, I’ll be bawling, because ultimately even though it’s just November it will be December, then January, FebruaryMarchAprilMayJune before I know it and there I go: years and years of school at Gowanda flung away in favor of a big school where everyone’s further along than I am and I know No One.

I guess that’s life, but I’m not ready.

…I suppose I have to start with the change that is dinner at Maria’s and roll with the snow and the graduating and the swiftly-moving life that wings my way.

One of Those Days

Productivity will come to me sometimes in waves, gallons, buckets. It’ll just swamp me and overwhelm me and all I can do is ride it out and leave a trail of finished things in my wake.

Today I am having One of Those Days, and it’s great. I was just outside with the dogs, and did horse/cat chores; one benefit of my dad being away is that I have the roam of the land. I can do my mother a favor and do chores, which I like to do when it’s nice outside.

It’s great to do what I like in my own house. My mom is less stressed because dad isn’t here dirtying up the house, and I can be relied upon to keep our living space decent-looking. With dad here, it’s like, it’s going to get shitted up anyway, so what’s the point of picking up?

But that’s neither here nor there, because I am having a Productive Day.

I’ve got the card table set up in front of the couch and am going to put some of The Wiz on so I can hear my thoughts without singing them. I’m going to memorize some more as I finish my English assignment with the New Yorker and then chop away at my Kite Runner essay. Then it’s lines, for the rest of the day, and once Michelle and mom get home I’ll put away groceries.

I’m going to get my coffee and get started. I’ve got a lot to do– laundry and dishes on top of school and college essays, too– but I’m ready for it.

It’s just another One of Those Days.

I’m not Cleverbot

“Cleverbot: Well…ummm.

Me: your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries.

Cleverbot: My father was a hamster. “

26 Oct. 2009

Pretty much all I am

I love my new wordpress layout :)

I liked the kickdrumheart one, too, don’t get me wrong. But this? It’s black and red, which I normally cringe at together. The white gives it a lacing of class, and the fogginess of it all illustrates the lack of clarity that envelopes my life most of the time.

The coolest part is, naturally, the Avett Brothers lyrics in the banner and side images.

They’re from the song “Gimmeakiss”– which is cute to begin with– but also seems to coalesce with my current agenda. Ironic, isn’t it, that when I need to focus on important things I start wanting to flirt with boys.

I’m silly, I know. I just won’t think about that, and hope it goes away.

But my all-time favorite lyric from the Avetts right now is in the image header:

“You hear my voice right now, well that’s pretty much all I am”

… that pretty much sums up my life.

Or how I want my life to be, anyway. That’s in the plan: my plan. My plan for success, for life.

To sing.

That’s all I want right now.

Xylophone, musical, choir, writing, yearbook…

As much as I love them all, they can fade into silence. My family and friends speak to me, and I’ll sing for them as well as myself.

My road leads me toward music. I want to hear it, breathe it. Feelitsingitliveit. I want that to be my life.

My voice? It’s pretty much all I am.

Hey, guess what–

Boys are dumb.

I know I really have been entertained by them lately: I don’t know why, but being nice to them makes them more sociable. It’s cool, I can be friendly and they talk to me. Why didn’t someone tell me this years ago?

But I digress, because the whole point is that boys are dumb. I waste my time thinking about them and looking at them and making myself seem like a huge idiot, and all for what? A smile? A new inside joke? A teasing shove, a hug?

I’m dumb, too, evidently.

Boys really have no chance with me, I guess. I’m too cold. Too unresponsive. I’m either too tired to try to speak their language and subsequently do that wrong, or I’m too giddy and then when I am too tired they don’t get why I’m being so retarded.

Ugh. And quite honestly, I don’t have time for the romantic, happy shit that seems to happen whenever people get together. It seems too much like work for me to want to really develop a relationship of the cutesy couple-y nature.

And on another note, to any boys who might care, don’t flirt with me one day and then hang around with one of my good friends the next. Especially when I know you’re leading her on. I don’t like it and it makes me think you’re a dumb ass.

P.S. Boys are dumb.

Oh hot damn

My jam was on during homecoming, and after. I can barely remember it all; the evening flew by in a hazy blur of neon and glowsticks and thumping heavy bass.

The afterparty at my house was fun, albeit extremely dirty, conversation-wise, and a little tense. Everyone was so hyped up.

For all it was an unusual crew, the chemistry really caught, though. There are instances in a social situation where the atmosphere sometimes lags or starts charging with unpleasantry or awkwardness. That didn’t happen. I halfway expected it to, but I guess the friends who came were just so mentally flexible and comfortable that it didn’t have to. Bobby, Colyn, Grubbs, and Dave don’t always hang out with me; Chelsea and Tara and Sam are used to Post, Trank, and Taylor and vice versa; Jimmy, Jill, Aaron, Sarah, Cayleigh and Samuelson are all underclassmen. Harley doesn’t even go to Gowanda. Still, I was prepared to ask everyone to play nice. But aside from eating the entirety of the ninety dollars worth of food and forgetting to put the toilet seat back down, it was a blast and ran really smoothly.

For a last homecoming, I was satisfied. And it really enlightened me, that I soooo need to relax. It was fun to have the time to hang out with friends. Being busy every waking second haunts me. I can’t do it. I think of Caitlin, who was confused when I told her about everything I’ve been up to– she sits at home all the time. She’s used to peace, and doing what she wants. Okay, I know I could never just do nothing, but she honestly didn’t understand when I referred to being so busy. That shocked me.

It’s also nagging at me that Emily has so much free time. I’m not jealous or cranky about her: I’m peeved that this seems so much like a “sign.” She gave up something, and now she doesn’t miss it. She can relax or do something equally productive; that time got filled up and well-used. Seeing her cute little laptop was very like a cosmic sign (if I believed in them), just like Caitlin’s confusion.

So. When Heather ordered me last week to delete something from my schedule, I elbowed past my original doubtful thoughts and made my choice. Damn it, signs.

And see ya around, creative writing. If I have to go talk to Dr. Bob in person to get this solidified, I will. I’m fully prepared to give him the same spiel I gave Mr. Shannon: I’m too effing busy. Something’s gotta give, and I’ll be damned if it’s the musical or my college auditions and applications. So sorry, Ms. Giancola. I’m out.

I know I can write. I enjoyed the classwork, the brain poking. It kept my mind running. But this year I’m truthfully so busy that it pokes at itself all the time on its own. Story ideas can come when I get some free time. And it’s true, I’d love to write a novel. But that doesn’t change the fact that writing is my backup plan and singing will be my career.

So there you have it: in all likelihood I will have freed up forty minutes every other day to do what I need or want. Voila, yippie skippie. Hopefully it will make a difference, but if it doesn’t… band is next on my list. XD

Creative writing gives me headaches

The grass was cool and green and the air smelled like city. The sheer variety of people astounded me. An enormous black man waked up to Katie and I and shook our hands. We talked for a few minutes about how we were pleased to meet each other until he left to go shake someone else’s hand.

A ratty-looking man dripping with hemp necklaces wove through the gathering crowd as well. He passed a group of hippies spinning in circles and my attention was diverted by a massive woman wearing vivid red and orange; her four foot long brown dreadlocks swung out as she twirled.

People-watching became an entertainment for the two hours we waited, eager for the show to start.

It was my first time at Thursday in the Square. It was the Avett Brothers’ first time, too. I don’t think they expected to have such an enormous fan base– honestly, “Thursday in the Square” sounds like a farmer’s market.

There were the usual components of a concert present: spilled beer, empty cups thrown onto the ground. The faint scent of pot drifted over the audience.

After an endless wait, another band performed a long and dull set. KT and I moved up to stand with Marya, Damen and tia about eight feet back from the stage. The Avett Brothers finally, finally came onstage, though, and their music-making began. The crowd went wild.

The Avetts were crazy. Absolutely crazy. Bob and the Asian cello player whose name I don’t know were great, too. The lights glwamed pink and tangerine and the energy pumped off the stage in palpable waves. Watching Seth and Scott Avett play and sing– it was obvious they were pushing every last drop of energy into the crowd and into the music.

Some members of the crowd were blockheads, though. We were close to the stage, and of course there had to be idiots ahead of us. A couple directly before us was only hanging around for the party atmosphere. They didn’t care about the chords floating from the amps. There was a man planted directly in front of me and there was no elbow room to speak of. His girlfriend stood sipping her beverage with a self-righteous hip cocked, daring us to edge forward. They everntually left: Marya and I made friends with the little man behind us and we ever-so-politely mobbed the couple by cheering– loudly– very closely, until they ducked out.

Later two girls made their jello-esque presences known: they blobbed their way in front of Damen and Tia, “looking for their friend.” Yeah, right. That’s why they stayed there for twenty minutes. The five Gowanda fans (myself included) had been standing there waiting for hours to hear the Avetts and now these girls were taking up at least five square feet in front of us. Katie and I stood just to the right of Damen and Tia, so when Tia started dancing and jabbing at the girls with her elbows, we just watched and laughed and hoped it worked. It halfway did: one girl turned and began to yell at Tia; the older gentleman beside Damen called them “real classy” and proceeded to scold them. They waddled off shortly thereafter, but not before the pudgier girl gave Tia a quick shove. It was too crowded and too noisy to respond angrily, so we didn’t. I allowed myself a few seconds of fuming before returning my attention to the concert. The speakers quaked with the hum of Bob’s stand-up bass; sweet strains of the mellow cello tangled elegantly with riotous acoustic guitar and bluegrass-riddled banjo. Occasionally keyboard or drum set would switch in, changing the mood but steadily upping the intensity.

The intensity remained afterward as KT and I grabbed a late bite at Denny’s and enjoyed the energy the Avetts had left us with. It had been an evening of music, and wild vibrancy.

First (real) college admissions essay

I don’t have any real “obstacles” in my life. I guess you could say that’s my mother’s fault: she’s done everything in her power possible to keep my life a good one. I was raised in a financially secure home in middle class Western New York. I wasn’t spoiled, but I never wanted for anything. I was raised in love. I was somewhat sheltered, sure, but what parent doesn’t want to protect their child?

I’m a competent, confident individual that’s excited for the changes and opportunities college will bring. I have to open my fledgling wings and fly, and I want to– it’s just that I’ve hardly ever even peeked out of the nest. Of course, I have dealt with stress, and family issues, and migraines. I’ve experienced fear and grief and loss.

But those are simply “welcome to reality” obstacles, and in my opinion they just count as life experiences. Unpleasant ones, wrenching ones, yes. But not challenges.

There have been challenges at school: to maintain high grades while editing the yearbook and being band president and volunteering for National Honor Society. It’s been a challenge to help to restore a historical theatre while learning audition repertoire and acting as vice president of my class and learning the role of Dorothy in “The Wiz.”

But those, again, qualify as elements of everyday life in my mind.

So it’s not as an obstacle that I view the tragic event that changed my life the most.

Before Daniel died, I took life for granted. I nefver thought abou twhy I was alive, or what I was going to do with the time that I had.

I guess you could call the way I previously viewed life an obstacle.

Daniel Dix was a college student, distantly a cousin on my maternal grandmother’s side of the family. Dan’s mom and mine were best friends growing up. He liked to smoke Newports, make forts in his dorm, and listen to music. He was an ambitious history major and would have achieved his Bachelor’s a year early.

In April 2009 he fell off a banister at SUNY Brockport and broke his neck. He was nineteen.

Since then, I’ve struggled with the concept of “life.” One moment a bright personality readiated vibrance– the next it was snuffed out and gone forever, leaving a brother, a sister, and broken parents in its absence.

Over five hundred people came to pay their respects to Dan. He had touched so many lives in his own brief span on earth.

It was a real wake-up call for me, only three years his junior. What was I doing with my life? If it was snatched away from me, what would be left– what kind of mark had I made on the world?

Ever since Daniel’s shocking and
premature death, I’ve learned to live more. I’ve learned to take more risks and try to bring happiness to myself and to those around me. I believe that college will be a time filled with learning and new experiences. That alone will be enough to make me happy: I’m intent on pursuing a career in performace and the thought of how precious life is has only concreted my passion for music and learning.

I haven’t faced many serious “obstacles” in my short life, but dealing with my cousin’s demise forced me to realize that we only go around once, and that every minute is a gift. Dan might be sitting somewhere in the afterlife smoking it up and laughing at me, but he has had a profound impact on the way that I now view things and live.

Here’s a college essay for you: obstacle enough?

I hate writing about myself. I feel like I’m supposed to brag and ramble on about how great I am– I don’t do that well.

I mean, I could. But I don’t like to.

To be frank, the entire application process intimidate me. Sure, I’m supposed to be growing up and self-reliant. Others my age or younger have overcome much mroe than I have and managed to pull through successfully.

I’m not those other kids. I’m not Frank, either. I was raised in a financially secure home in middle class Western New York. I wasn’t spoiled, but I never wanted for anything. I was raised in love. I was somewhat sheltered, sure, but what parent doesn’t want to protect their child?

I’m a competent, confident individual that’s excited for the changes and opportunities college will bring. I’m excited, but I’m terrified of doing something wrong. This is my future I’m trying to build. I have to open my fledgling wings and fly, and I want to– it’s just that I’ve hardly ever even peeked out of the nest.

I have to get over this fear of trying. This fear of the future and change. I have to get over this fear of talking to my mom about New York and going away because fear of emotional pain and closeness– which is really what I’m scared of– is holding me back. I can’t be scared of crying in front of my mother if I’m supposed to be growing up.

We both know she doesn’t want me to go.

I know that I need to, at some point. I don’t want to, for her sake, because it feels like years have evaporated at an unfair rate. I want time back, I want to claw at it and catch it and hold it hostage.

But that’s not happening, and both my mom and I have to come to terms with it or I will be stuck in Gowanda for the rest of my life, doing nothing with it. Maybe New York is too big a step. Who knows? But until we go there, and find out, no one will know.

My dreams have always been supported by my family. Made fun of a little, sure. Poked at to check for stability, yep.

But denied? Never.

It seems like a pretty nasty time to be knocking ‘em down, considering it’s come down to the wire.

So I’m scared.

I need to get over it.

For those we will never know

FOR THOSE WE WILL NEVER KNOW

“Carnage, a
bloodbath”
“Don’t know why”
“Deadliest
mass shooting”
“Could not escape”
Headlines say

This is
For those who will
never know
The dead:
The students
The teachers.
The loved

HENRY J. LEE (HENH LY)
had an open smile and
zany personality.

LESLIE GERALDINE SHERMAN
had, since
childhood
donated half of what she had
to people
in need
she was
a gift to all who
knew her.

BRIAN BLUHM
is remember for love of God,
family, friends, the
Detroit Tigers, and
Virginia Tech.

ROSS ALAMEDDINE
‘here’s a man who was going to make his
children laugh
here is a man who deserves the title
“beloved”
here is a man who
makes you a
better person’

MICHAEL POHLE JR.
constantly ventured
to learn new things
curious about everything
around him

REEMA SAMAHA
won her high school’s talent show
by belly dancing
and embraced her Lebanese
heritage every day

LAUREN McCAIN
viewed everyone
as uniquely valuable
invested herself in
everyone
she met

CHRISTOPHER “JAMIE” BISHOP
techno guru, gifted photographer
art vibrantly captures
intensity
died at the age of thirty-five
learning about and understanding
humanity

MARY KAREN READ
had deep faith
evident
in every aspect of
her life

JOCELYNE COUTURE-NOWAK
loved nature
loved French
embraced her heritage
“effervescent”
a vivacious
swirl of
life

DANIEL PEREZ
could accomplish
anything he
put his
mind to

MINAL PANCHAL
childlike enthusiasm and
infectious
laughter

ERIN PETERSON
a blend of warmth and
magnetism
anchored
by a sound
moral compass

JUAN RAMON ORTIZ-ORTIZ
loved music
played the timbales
and was married to
Liselle

DR. KEVIN P. GRANATA
passionate- first and foremost about his
wife
Linda, and their children
Eric
Alex, and
Ellen

WALEED SHAALAN
simplest and nicest
guy, from
Egypt
left behind his wife of three years
and his
one-year-old
son

CAITLIN HAMMAREN
had a way of making
others feels as if they
were her
best friend

MATTHEW LA PORTE
a cadet with
unlimited
potential

NICOLE REGINA WHITE
wanted to know
people
as they really were
not as they
appeared

MATTHEW GUALTNEY
master of sports statistics and
trivia
wanted to protect the environmnet
and improve life

JULIA PRYDE
was always in
pursuit of a
better world, and a
better self
and was also
a certified
wild-land firefighter

MAXINE “MAX” TURNER
fiercely independent, and could
often be found in pajamas and
bunny slippers
doing chemical engineering
while watching
“Spongebob”

DR. G.V. LOGANATHAN
incredibly wise and
gentle
called by many
“best professor
I ever had”

RYAN CLARK
spent two weeks of every
summer for the
past eight years, working with
mentally impaired
children

RACHAEL HILL
her personal goal?
to glorify
God

EMILY HILSCHER
a skilled horsewoman
animal lover
would have been
a veterinarian

DR. LIVIU LIBRESCU
stalwart determination
survived the Holocaust
blocked the classroom door
so his students could escape
brave Romanian
was one of the world’s most
respected engineers

DANIEL O’NEIL
had recently returned from visiting
his host family
overseas
planned to live in Dublin,
Ireland
after graduation

JEREMY HERBSTRITT
had been helping his
sister Jennifer train
for the Boston
Marathon

AUSTIN CLOYD
brilliant mind, tall, red hair
a compassionate heart, and an
iron will
not only wanted to help others
she did

PARTHAHI “MORA” LUMBANTORUAN
calm, talented
caring
died a
hero
spend final moments
sacrificing himself to
save the life of
another

JARRETT LANE
had been full of spirit

These are the
dead:
Thirty-two
gone.
Thirty-two lives
The world will
never know.

(Works Cited)

In Memoriam. Virginia Tech Magazine. May 2007. 2 Oct. 2009. .

Virginia Tech Shooting Leaves 33 Dead. The New York Times. April 2007. 2 Oct. 2009. .

There are times when I imagine

I have an Aida song stuck in my head. I hate when that happens nowadays because it makes me long for last year at this time. And that’s completely pointless and a waste of energy.

So what if my senior year’s turning out to be different than I’d thought. It’s all work and no play and I guess it’s cool because I can play at being an adult with adult responsibilities but damn it if I don’t want to have a little fun.

I want to be able to take the car somewhere. I haven’t been able to do that yet, and I’ve had my license since the eighteenth of September.

I want to go get dinner or just chill with one of my friends, or a few. Not at school, either. I’m sick of living at school.

I guess this is what real life is going to be like, in a dimmed-down version. But if I can carry responsibility, I want to be able to carry a little light-heartedness and freedom around, too.

But enough of what I want, it’s almost time to go. I’ll scan senior pictures for forty-five and then go to musical until almost nine.

Adults rarely get what they want, do they?

The kickass Asian cello player’s not related (surprise)

The Avett Brothers’ new CD comes out tomorrow. I wish I was going to the NYC celebration concert.

I and Love and You, Avetts.

Missing, my heart

I’ve decided I miss summer.

I miss the light-hearted freedom that accompanies every inhalation.

I miss the endless, constant green. I miss the breezes that seem to blow cool air straight from the beach (and not the part with dead fish sweating on the shoreline, either).

I miss the time when the Avett Brothers could make me happy with one light stroke of a pick across nickel wire.

I miss talking to people instead of hearing talk about them. I miss sleep. I miss “Hello, Dolly” and Emily and Kevin and I freaking miss Mr. Lerew.

I miss the changes I thought were going to happen that didn’t. I miss the opportunities I’ve wasted so far because I can’t function on so little sleep and am not focused.

I miss the comfort I once had, that placated the cynicism that keeps trying to corrode my mind. I miss the soothing calm of peace. I miss early mornings filled with sunrise and the laid-back mindset that accompanies not having to do anything.

I miss these things and people so damn much my heart hurts. Just feels like it’s aching and throbbing and is just going to jump out of my chest. It’s so miserable, it wants out.

I miss summer.

Muddled thoughts in an almost-empty computer lab

Sometimes, you know (or think you know) someone to the point where, no matter what they say, you will instantly think they hate your guts.

I experience this daily, and I strongly feel that

Sorry. False start. Revving up again, here.

 

I can’t stand it. When it feels like someone who has been so close to you once, is revolted at the sight or sound of you.

I’ll admit, I’m a pretty opinionated person. I don’t hide behind false little thoughts that keep me safe and protected from scathing criticism. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about being criticized (the whole point of this post is that I freaking do). But the focus of my life is certainly not on whether or not my views are regarded with pleasant feelings.

This isn’t about me, anyway. To take a risk of being annoyingly humble, I’ll repeat: this is so not about how I feel and what I do, or even how I am received.

This is about other people. And how is it that I can piss so many people off or have them think I’m ignorant or too worldly or stupid or outspoken or even too talented? How is that my fault? What am I supposed to do about it? Should I not care? Should I retaliate to show I have a backbone? Does it even matter in the grand scheme of things?

I don’t know. And I’m not going to give anything up because my life clashes with the workings of another. Or two or three. But it hurts to see how they hurt. What if I caused it, those many months ago? Or what if it was that, I wasn’t there for them, to support them when I should have? Could I have done anything, said anything, to fix it? Can I get back the relationship, the friendship, we once had?

I’m not sure. And I’m not sure if I want it the way it was.  But as of right now, I do.

And maybe that’s why life is so fickle and fraught with confusion and doubt and pain. People change their minds.

I just hate the thought of minds being changed about me when I can’t defend myself.

The comfort coffee brings

Finally home: and I guess I didn’t realize it before, but this has to be one of the best feelings in the world. Coming into a house that’s empty of people but filled with coziness and clutter; changing into my most worn-in pair of sweatpants and a thermal; putting up my hair and my feet and blasting the music with a warm cup of black coffee before me. The steaming liquid might be bitter to the taste, but to my weary self it’s oh so sweet.

I’ve checked in with all of my immediate family members: they’re all in their respective, proper niches for this time of day. I’m all alone here, just soaking in the melodies flowing past my ears.

I’m so tired.

I passed my road test today: I officially have my driver’s license. For all of my daydreaming, playing my celebratory Avetts’ CD on the way home and driving around didn’t feel as joyful as I’d expected. The instructor I rode with was extremely competent and not altogether unpleasant. He was a middle-aged, moustached man who was polite and understanding of my overwhelming nerves. I only got ten points on my test: thirty points will fail you. The happiness has only struck at me for a few moments so far. I don’t care if it trickles in slowly or swamps me in a tsunami. I just want to stop being down.

There’s homework, and practicing, and illness. Obligations to my passions, family, friends, and school. I’m exhausted. As Mr. Bett so intriguingly phrased it, I’m running around “like a chicken with it’s head and butt cut off.”

I love to be busy, and when the pressure’s on I normally excel. Failing my road test yesterday was a bitch for me. I’m going to be completely honest: I struggled with humility and hopefulness all day on Thursday and all of that focus on my “feelings” came back to bite me in the ass: I concentrated more on what the instructor thought of me than I did on my driving. Thus, failure.

Luckily I was able to reschedule, and miraculously in Dunkirk there was an opening for today at three. Rush hour Friday traffic ended up being the last concern on my list as I parallel parked, three point turned, and manipulated Mark and Karen’s little red Camry with intensity. I was so damn nervous. The man in the car with me even asked me, as he had me pull over to begin my three point, “I know something’s got to be making you nervous– your heart nearly stopped when I had you pull out back there instead of parking [for my parallel park].”

He was observant, and honest, and kind. He wasn’t a dick. I told him quite truthfully that I had flunked yesterday, and then hurriedly protested that he please shouldn’t count that against me. He told me that he only judged driving based on what he saw, and that I could pass the test today and fail it tomorrow, and that didn’t mean I was a bad driver. He told me that I was doing fine so far, and that although it wasn’t over yet, I was doing just right.

I told him with all sincerity that he was my favorite.

I did pass today, thank God. I am waiting for the thrill to completely set in, but for now I am entirely satisfied listening to Bob Marley serenade me with reggae and sipping my now-lukewarm coffee.

My day

was shit. For a multitude of reasons I’m sure may be brought up on this blog at some point or another.

Just not now.

Today was shit. That’s all I know.

I don’t know how this ends yet

Silver ignites, the engine hums
Shivers sprout down arms
Deep breath never comes
Eyes piercing, my right
I’m down for a fight
“Let’s go, then,” say I
And his smile is wry
I shift machine into gear and we go.

My hands grip the wheel
Nerves dancing pechenkas
He begins his spiel
“Take the left, then a right”
The voice is tenory, light
I turn left and my
Voice says in reply
“Okay” a wavering strength that goes.

……..

Story of a girl (where the words ended up)

There once was a girl who loved her parents, her sister, and her pets. She had a fat yellow dog and loved her the best.

The girl had quite a few friends, some who were very close to her. She had a bland life, but a tranquil one. She thought she was happy.

Then life changed. Like water, it flowed on and she got older. Tragedies did not slide by her unnoticed now, as they had when she’d been small. Death and life twined together until she finally saw that they were one and the same.

Her perspective changed. Not only did she judge less and think more, her priorities shifted, too. People came to mean more and things to mean less. The word “relationship” became pointless and the term “love” became broader, deeper, and much more powerful.

She came to know varieties of happiness, not the same flat line of simplicity. The levels of joy were staccatoed by sharp, jagged drops of sorrow and shock and grief. She knew what it was like to be blessed, because the deep slices of loss missed her, mostly. (But she had felt the swift bloodless wound of heartbreak when the fat yellow dog died practically in her arms.)

The girl came to know what it was like to cry out because of others’ agony and grief. She saw the tears of a mother without a son slide down a face wracked unfairly with newly-drawn lines of sorrow. She saw the belongings of entire families destroyed, and thrown out onto the curb like so much trash. She saw people who felt the same drive to do something pull together and do it.

She saw faith transform and fill and lead. She saw cynicism and skepticism grab and drown. She saw hope snag and catch and blaze.

She saw just a little taste of life, and that taste was enough to change her.

There are two (and often more) sides to every story. There are hundreds of thousands of millions of beliefs in the world. There are billions of perspectives and opinions and people. And all of these people bleed and hurt and love and feel. It’s enough to blow this girl’s mind. Or fill it with knowledge, acceptance, and a drive to change things for the better.

The words

I can feel the words, hovering nervously at my fingertips. Mind humming in overdrive, heating and waiting for me to just let them out. Get out, words. I don’t want you anymore.

They’re a story. I can’t explain it, but they’re a story to be told, all of those words. All of those words pushing at me for an exit, screaming for me to release them into the world.

They’re mine, a slinking, selfish part of me whispers. They’re mine, and what if the world doesn’t like them? I can’t protect them then. They need to stay here.

You’re being a baby, my other half tells me. Scaredy-cat. Knock it off and grow some balls and write.

I’m going to have to, at some point, or so I hope. I’m trying to refuse the other alternative: ignoring them. What good will shutting them out do? I’ll just block off another part of myself that makes me who I am. No, thanks.

The words don’t want me to block them off, either. They won’t let me freeze them out. They’re itching, fizzing, reminding me that yes, they’re there, and they want out.

Skittles

Skittles are like marbles. They come in different colors and they’re round and can trip you if you slip on them. (I wouldn’t advise eating marbles, though.)

I feel like I slipped and skidded on skittles or marbles and have fallen flat on my back.

It’s been a while since I’ve thought about Daniel.

No, I didn’t know him personally. I feel like I need that as a disclaimer whenever I write about him. Or talk about him. But he’s affected me, so deeply it’s almost eerie.

We went to Eden today to watch our Gowanda boys get their asses handed to them in football.

As soon as our players were announced, they started on Eden’s.

“Number Three… Brandon Dix!”

And my mom looked at me and said something muffled that sounded a little watery. She didn’t repeat it. But she said at halftime she’d go try and find Tari.

It just– I don’t know what “it just.” It’s absolutely heartwrenching and migraine-inducing to think about losing a child, but it happens all the time. According to my mom, Tari’s not doing so great. And who would be?

I was thinking today as we drove back from Fredonia that if a car swerved and hit and killed us, we’d be dead. Michelle wouldn’t have us anymore. Dad wouldn’t get fed. Grandma would be shattered.

And our lives would be over. I wouldn’t have done anything I wanted to do yet.

It makes my poor little sunburned head feel like exploding, just thinking about this. But it’s true: life could vanish in the snap of a finger, the blast of a gun. The turn of a moment. Like how it vanished for Daniel.

Everyone’s scared of death, in some way, shape or form. I guess I’m no exception.

“Talk on Indolence”

(lyrics by The Avett Brothers)

Well I’ve been lockin’ myself up in my house for sometime now

I wish I could.

Reading and writing and reading and thinking
and searching for reasons and missing the seasons:

I feel like all I ever do is work and think and read and write.

The autumn, the spring, the summer, the snow

Yeah, they’re all passing by without passing me a thought.

The record will stop or the record will go.

And I can’t do a damn thing about it.

Latch is latched, the window’s down,
the dog coming in and the dog going out.
Up with caffeine and down with a shot.

I’ve done and am doing all I can to prepare myself for life, but all I can do at this point is drink some coffee and take a shot of vodka so I don’t worry myself to death…

Constantly worried about what I’ve got.

…even though I might just do that anyway.

Distracting my work but I can’t make it stop
and my confidence on and my confidence off.

Some days I have it, and can kick ass at everything. Socially, academically, physically… and then other days I suck at life.

And I sink to the bottom and rise to the top
and I think to myself that I do this a lot.

It’s a cycle of success I go through all the time: I’ll be doing really well and then a downward spiral takes me through a fog of humility and shitosity. Then I’ll go back up again and with any luck I’ll be at the top of this spiral until I get into the college I want.

World outside just goes it goes it goes it goes it goes it goes…

While I’m preparing and learning and trying, the world’s flying by and I’m in school.

And witness it all from the blinds of my window (three, four)

I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

I’m a, little, nervous, ’bout what you’ll think
When you, see me, in my, swimming trunks

Unless I’m too tired to care (re: right now), what people will think of me always crosses my mind. Now, everyone who knows me knows I’m confident. Opinions do matter to me, though, sometimes.

And last night! New York, I got… raging drunk

But opinions don’t matter enough for me to not live life. I’m referring to anything. Leaving lunch early, doing as I please for once in my life, a night of drinking with friends, hanging out with a boy. Singing, painting, xylophoning. Drum circles and conversations at four in the morning that don’t make any sense, but then again are perfectly sensible.

Remember, one time, I got… raging drunk with you

It’s the love and happiness we take and make from life that shapes us and gives us memories for when we’re old and decrepit. I’m not going to gyp my eighty year old self out of any recollections.

Now, I can recall a time when we made the city
Streets our playground, kissing in the fountains

I really do want to remember the times I’ve had this year…

Filled with cigarettes and bottles
Sped through Italian city streets of cobblestone

So the alcohol will probably not be an enormous factor in my life. I don’t want to forget things, and I don’t want to rush growing up. But if an opportunity’s there and I’m safe around people I trust, what the hell. You only do live once.

Because we had to

I know that personally I have to live. Live like it was my last day.

Because I loved you

It might be strange but I have a fondness for almost everyone I come across, and every “last” day that I live will hopefully be an attempt at expressing that fondness. Friendliness itself is strange these days.

Because the damned alcohol

Since the song mentions it, and I’m too tired right now to care that this is disconnected, who cares about drinking? And pot, and cigarettes? They’re personal choices. I’m not judging. I might worry for the health of my friends who smoke, but that’s it, son. Do what you want.

Because what ever at all

Because in the end I figure, God won’t care who drank (Jesus did), who smoked, or who had sex with who. He’s going to care whether or not we showed love, not just to our own inner circle of friends. If we loved our enemies, too. If we treated everyone with respect, if we tried to help.

Now I’ve grown too aware of my mortality
To let go and forget about dying

Everyone’s going to die, and I think that sucks. If we could live forever, this would be a much safer world.

Long enough to drop the hammer down
And let the indolence go wild and flying through

I think that this year is going to be a year (for me) of freer speech, of saying what I think. Of shaping my beliefs and expressing them, living them. My own indolence gone wild and flying is less of a reckless rebellion. It’s more of what Brendan calls a love riot. Love for people, love for life.

Because we had to

What else would I do with myself?

In a different place, in a different time

So, the musical this year is called “The Wiz.”

The, um, sheet that Mr. Bett handed each member of the cast last night as we walked into the chorus room began the synopses with, “The Wiz is a black version of the musical based off of L. Frank Baum’s novel, ‘The Wizard of Oz’…”

I looked at Mr. Bett, waved my paper around and asked outright, “Did you read this?”

I hate

I hate researching.

I hate Walter Freeman.

I hate Egaz Monis and James Watts and Carlyle Jacosen and that other Swiss lunatic.

I hate every single self-important pompous jackass who decided it was in the name of medical advancement to butcher parts of a human being’s brain.

I hate it that I cannot express this hatred through any adequate means that will get me a one hundred in English Class. I need to finish my presentation. I spent all goddamn day researching lobotomy and ECT (that’s electroconvulsive therapy to all of you unfamiliar with psychosurgery) and I am sick of it.

Sick of it!

I need to cobble together a presentation by Tuesday and so far all I have is a massive pile of useless information, what I’ve learned today (which is now stored in my own head and uncitable), and facts that need exposing. I have vague ideas about how to present things but can’t really get down to it and do it. Dammit all.

There are a variety of avenues I could take in my powerpoint.

For example:

“Feeling defiant today? Having mood swings? Trouble sleeping? Better sign you up for a lobotomy.”

or

“Lobotomy: The Horror”

or

“Got an ice pick handy? Well what the hell, let’s show it into your brain, through your eyeball. Then you won’t get stress headaches, or headaches, or stress. Or have to think.”

I guess I’ll have to figure it out tomorrow after school in Propp’s room, we’re leaving my grandma’s shortly. Michelle’s griping about me, being on the computer for so long. Well let me tell you, I hate the computer, too. And AOL. And Internet Explorer. I guess I’m just a crank.

Screw this, man. Lobotomy, anyone?

Some more thinking (what’s new?)

What’s really important in life?

See, I have no idea. No freakin’ clue. It seems a little pointless to just flutter from day to day, though, just living life for the sake of not being dead.

So what do you live for? Love (or what we think is love), God, sex, money, power? Revenge, our own anger? Personal pleasure?

It’s all so muddled. Why wouldn’t God want us to enjoy ourselves? Why would God send so much shit to the world if He knew we were only going to suffer? Why doesn’t He bitchslap the devil once in a while? (How do we know He doesn’t?)

This is what coagulates in my mind when I’m granted too much time to think. Sticky, mastic thoughts that gnaw through what I’ve previously grown up learning to clamp in my brain and wear away at me.

I don’t like being exhausted from thinking. But it seems that’s all I can do. Am I too cowardly to do anything other than think about the important things? Will I ever get the guts to stand up and say, “This is what I believe”? Or will I always be sitting here with a massive tumor of complicated thoughts pulsing in my head?

This asking God about everything is stressing me out, too. The huge faith I had as a little kid is still there, it’s just skeptical. It’s cynical. I’ve come so far relying on my own self to get me places, talking to God occasionally and thanking him for this or that and pleading with him when life sucks and I’m at the end of my rope (that’s when I wonder what people who don’t talk to him or another deity do when life sucks, because it’s the only coping method I can think of when I can’t fall any farther).

But I’ve felt or tried to be solely self-reliant for the majority of the past few years. This asking and questioning everything that happens to see if God approves or what he want is really starting to chafe. I don’t know if I’m doing it right, ha. I like having a connection with him again, that’s kind of cool. But the “inquiring his approval” bit makes me cranky. I’ve done okay so far. I wonder if there’s a way for me to concede my life to him and still pretend I’m making the decisions so I feel better about it. Who the hell knows, anyway.

I’m done spewing incoherent nonsense, for now. Mark and Karen are here so I’m going to go laze in the sunshine with them and my family and eat more food and hopefully shove these thoughts away.

One of my first philosophical posts

There’s a lot I could be blogging about right now. But there’s not really enough time. I have maybe… four minutes.

So I’ll put brevity first and pick something and go.

Lately I’ve been thinking. Shocking, I know. It’s not just been about my first day of school outfit or whether or not the friends I haven’t seen still like me.

I mean, I’ve thought about that stuff, but there’ve been other things on my mind as well.

Why does everyone gossip? Specifically, why take someone aside secretly and whisper a juicy comment in their ear? It’s akin to dripping poison there. Here, let me make you an addict to someone else’s problems, like me. I’ll make us better friends by talking about Sheila or Reginald, and then we’ll be close. Then you’ll know something important and so will I.

It might come back to what Brendan said, about needing to be recognized. But I think it also stems back to a desire to have someone want you. Really, that’s all people want: to be wanted. To have their company be longed for, their presence be craved.

The recognized thing strikes a chord in me, too, and when I have more time I’m sure I’ll spew out some thoughts about that, too.

But back to gossip. I’ll admit, I can chatter with the best of them. But I swear to God that if someone asks me not to say anything, I don’t breathe a word.

I’m sure when I was younger, that kind of trust and loyalty didn’t mean as much to me. But now, there’s little else that’s more relevant in a friendship. I can talk to just about anyone, but if someone has straight-up good, solid character I’m more likely to become good friends with them. I’m trying to see past the vivid or dull (respectively) personalities of people and go straight to their character. Are they trustworthy? What’s important to them? What do they love, what do they hate?

And then I have to go back and take a long, hard look at myself to see if I have a straight-up-good-solid character as well. I think I’m still working on it. Haha.

But I’m getting off-topic again, and running out of time.

I guess my point is this: gossip is starting to bother me more. I’m probably still going to listen to it, and sit next to it, and more than likely even partake in it. But I’ve said it before, and I’ll write it here: it’s human nature to want to know, and give information. But I’m so much more comfortable just saying it out loud. Speaking directly about it. “Oh yeah, Sheila and Reginald, they were cracking me up the other day…” etc. I’m not one for taking someone aside and whispering about things. If I need to say something to someone privately, it’s probably about my own silly self, and I just need to talk to them. For an ear, or about something else. Not other people.

It’s just kind-of frustrating, I guess. I don’t like gossiping when it excludes people. But I suppose it’s necessary sometimes, because of the need to feel wanted.

And still singing

It’s been a long day, even though I don’t know why, really. I beat Guitar Hero Aerosmith on Hard, so I felt accomplished.

The broken whammy bar started working after what might be considered one of the most magnificent hours of my life.

Today, I received a packet of papers in the mail. Within those papers, I was informed that I’ve been accepted into the Conference All-State Women’s Choir.

Soprano One, son.

I texted Emma.

Emma and Kiener called me. Emma told me she was calling Lerew.

I called Mrs. Ripley. Mrs. Ripley was ecstatic. Mrs. Ripley says she’s going to tell everyone she knows.

I texted Heather. By then it was eight at night and I was on the way to Franklinville for my sister’s football game (she cheerleads) and I didn’t want to hold conversation across spotty service areas in a moving vehicle. Hopefully she’ll call me back when it’s good for her, and if I don’t hear from her by tomorrow afternoon, I’m calling for sure. I’m so excited.

Nothing could put a damper on that news, except I’m tired. I’m just downright exhausted, so my enthusiasm is going to be shelved until tomorrow. I’ll siphon it back into my system then and do something really productive. Earlier today I decorated and established my JCC and creative writing binders, and got the rest of my materials ready and in my bag for school. As of tonight, there are only five more full days before my last first day of high school.

I just want to live it. I feel like I say this every time I blog, but dammit, I want to feel and exist in every single moment I’m blessed with. I want to feel alive, I want to experience everything good this world has to offer. And some of the bad, because otherwise there’s nothing to measure the great against.

If today was any indication of where hard work and practice and dedication and passion can get me, though, I don’t think I’ll have too difficult a time living each minute of my senior year. I worked my ass off for that one hundred on the audition paper. Puccini might have been proud of me, even.

So. Conference All State, here I come. And everything else. Watch out. I have a craving, a burning thirst for life. I plan to quench it.

Also known as: “I guess I guess I guess”

Here I am again; crap.

I didn’t do anything I’d planned on doing. Instead I went down to find dad in the garage, and we “jammed” while Michelle and Tara were swimming. He’s so difficult to collaborate with sometimes, without John keeping him on track. “Can we take it from the beginning?” and he keeps playing. “Can we play a song I know?” and he keeps playing.

Whatever, though. I came back upstairs after the second attempt at “Pretty Woman” and jealously played Guitar Hero Aerosmith for a while.

And here I am now, fingers skittering anxiously across the black keys, hoping for some kind of relief or peace from the thoughts and energy and nerves that keep nagging me.

Tomorrow, I’m not going to care. I guess Mitt can make all the excuses she likes about me. I need some singing, some real singing. It’s not that “Helter Skelter” and “Heartbreaker” aren’t real, but opera is so much healthier. And, oddly enough, feels more powerful at times than the blasting-belting-breaktheglass I tend to do.

So, I guess I’m done here. I’m just restless, I guess. Itchy for something to happen. I want to be busy again. Practicing on my own and writing on my own and doing projects on my own are altogether separate from doing things because of a deadline. Because I need to. Quite obviously I still need to get them done, I just don’t have a present and looming driving force right now. (My willpower hardly counts as present, or looming.)

I suppose I’ll trundle off to bed here shortly.
It’s goodnight for now.

Unless I sleepwalk myself up here in the middle of the night. And you never know about those things, either. My subconcious makes me text and talk in my sleep, maybe sleep-blogging will be next.

See you tomorrow.
…Maybe.

As my foot falls asleep,

I don’t know what I want to write about. I don’t know what I want to do right now. I don’t know what I want to do with my life.

Well crap, talking to Brendan always makes me think about the big things. God and life, love, materialism and all of those… big things. Deep thinking. Like floodwater deep (and that’s pretty deep, kids).

Oh man, does my head hurt. It’s just beginning to start to pound. My sister has a friend over, so it’s not like I can go in my room and sing to music. Or even practice and try to talk myself out of the headache. Nope, I have to be a docile little girl and not scare the shit out of Tara with melodic lines warbling through the troposphere.

I think I might grab some cappuccino (we went to Wal-Mart today) and head downstairs anyway, turn on some Avett Brothers or Anna Netrebko or maybe Bob Marley. I don’t care about what my sister’s friend thinks about me, that’s not why I’m not going to practice. I do care that my vocal techniques might make Tara’s somewhat critical and clique-y attitude whip toward my sister. They already call me the Opera Freak… therefore I won’t make Michelle pull more excuses out of the air about me. I think she already has enough of a hard time, because so many people that know me end up meeting her. She came home from Drama Camp one day and told me I was the Devil’s spawn. Ripley called her Kim. Emma called her Kim. Everyone else called her Kim’s little sister, except for like, Colleen. I think it gets a little old after a while.

So I won’t put any more stress on her. I’ll lay low and put together my bag for school (eight days!). I might cobble together a “first day” outfit. Drink some caffeinated beverage, and organize some old story snippets.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. It’ll be a cozy, hopefully relaxing end to the day. Maybe.

Blog from a green SUV

9:45 AM

You know when you wake up irritable and cranky, and aren’t fully aware why? That happened to me this morning. It took this long to remember why.

I dreamed last night I smoked my first cigarette.

The clammy inhalation of sweet, sweet smoke. The taste on my tongue. Of grey, of ash, tasting of warmth. My nerves welcomed it all as my head screamed NO.

I was only going to try one. In my dream, though, promises to myself and willpower meant nothing. Swept away by the breeze like so much smoke. I smoked the first cigarette, threw it away, then picked up another. Lit it like a pro.

My heart hurts today, thinking about it. Regardless of the fact that I’ve undoubtably inhaled the equivalent of dozens of cigarettes via secondhand, I’d vowed never to take one and smoke it myself. It was hell as a little kid, seeing both parents willingly inhale shit.

Now, my dad’s stained teeth and my mother’s loud, wracking cough are testimony to the suckage that accompanies what some fools endearingly term “ciggs.”

Well, thanks but no thanks. I’ve felt what these things can do to my own lungs. My sister was born premature and an asthmatic because of them. There’s emotional stress and health problems that tag right along with the pleasant buzz, or whatever the hell it is.

Smoking a cigg last night was just a dream. And it will stay that way, for me.

What if what-ifs get too overwhelming, too early?

I woke up this morning wanting to make lists, wanting to start school, and wanting to get things done. It then occurred to me that I will be completely counterproductive if I have all these grand plans to make things happen but no notion or direction toward how to actually accomplish them.

So today I guess I’ll be sifting through the papers downstairs. I am going to try and finish my reading cards– although I’m not sure how happy I’ll be re-submerging myself in the hazy medical green fog of lobotomies and Big-boobed Nurse. I might try making lists: what I need for school, what I have for school, what I need to do in order to be ready for school, what I should be doing so I don’t suck when I go back to school.

I’m a smidgeon excited.

Here’s the downside, the only one that I can see.

I had a dream last night that life flew by.
I woke up and discovered what the hell, that’s not a dream, really.
In my dream, I texted Caitlin in September, and the next thing I knew, it was her birthday in November. And I hadn’t talked to her in all the time in between. Dumb.
Not going to happen, either.

It reminded me of “Marley & Me.” The dream did: where at the beginning John and Jenny are twenty-ish and by the end they’re in their forties. All that time vanished in the span of two hours. Not even.

What if that happens to me? Life rocketing by so fast that all I catch of it is a blur? What if I waste it? What if I mess it up? What if I can’t fix my mistakes, or leave a friend when they need me, or end up giving up something I love without knowing it?

What if I don’t live life, and never even know the difference?

Lemon cleaner

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning.

The fresh puffs of lemony-pine wood cleaner skimming through the air, wildly guitar-laden strains of Chickenfoot and Pat Benatar flying at me, and the disinfected gleam of my room’s Pergo oak flooring all are calling to me this morning.

It’s not even nine, and I’ve been bumming around the house for an hour wanting to get down in my little cupboard below the stairs and chisel away at the mess that’s accumulated since the flood. I haven’t had the time or inclination to pick any of it up.

Now that I have more (more!) new clothes (and I’m feeling not only a female smugness because I’m going to look good this year, but a little uncomfortable trickle of guilt because I have so many new clothes), I’m getting the urge to make the place look inhabitable. I’m going to be a senior after all, seventeen years old next month, and my room looks like a regular pig sty. It should be spic and span and spiffy. Sophisticated, with a delicate trace of clutter (I really am a weird artist, when you get down to it, and personally if something’s too perfect I have to smudge it up a little.)

So after I shower in maybe five minutes, I’m traipsing down, jamming to guitar riffs, and hopefully making the place suitable for my last full year at home.

Oh God oh God.

My last full year at home.

Okay, so it’s just started to hit me that Emma and Hannah and Kiener are off to college, finally. They’re gone, they’re in their dorms, they start classes Monday.

Exactly a year from now, That Will Be Me.

So holy shit holy shit holy shit.

I just want to walk home, unaccompanied

7:50 AM
8/20/09

This is what I come to. Writing out Myspace surveys in Sharpie pen on notebook paper at not even eight in the morning. Sitting at a platform desk in HSBC bank waiting for ten-thirty to roll around.

I’m sipping lukewarm milk-coffee-chocolate mixture with an Avett Brothers’ tune skimming through my thoughts, wondering if this limbo of time and action will give me energy or weary me more.

I guess it’s no use wallowing in it.

I’ll listen to the ATM’s cheerful beeping and my mother’s aggravated typing and write out this dumb survey in an attempt to sepdn minutes. I may even use capitalization and full sentences on this one. Then again, maybe not.

Here we go.

Promise you wont lie?
I have all the time in the world to make up fanciful answers (not saying I’ll do that, but), I suppose I can tell the truth.

If you married the last person who texted you what would your last name be?
Cornelius-Steever, haha.

What would you do if the person you liked suddenly said they loved you?
I’d probably tell him to sober up.

Do you still talk to the person you were dating 4 months ago?
I was single four months ago :)

Do you know how it feels to be cheated on?
Even though apparently it wasn’t officially “cheating,” yeah, I do.

Do you hate the person you fell hardest for?
Since I haven’t “fallen” for anyone yet, I couldn’t say.

Are you nice to everyone?
I try to be, I guess.

What is the last non-alcoholic drink you had?
Coffee-milk-chocolate mixture beverage.

Who is the first person you would call if you REALLY needed help?
I would call my mother, of course.

Do you get high a lot?
No, I don’t.

Who did you last hang out with?
Brendan, Skylar, Marya, Aaron, Josh and Katiestang, downtown yesterday… even though most of the “hanging out” we did consisted of walking and cleaning.

What do you currently hear right now?
I hear the ARM, keys, Kathleen and my mother opening the Vault and putting the bank in motion.

What are/were you doing at twelve this afternoon?
I hope I’ll be working somewhere, doing something useful.

How many times have you dyed your hair?
I have never dyed my hair.

Would you prefer a thunderstorm or for it to be snowing?
I hate winter and the cold; but honestly I’m very against rain right now. Rain makes mud, and although I know I don’t have to live in it and am very, very lucky, I’m really sick of mud.

Did you have a good day yesterday?
I’ve had better days.

If you have to get a piercing, what do you get?
I kind of want my cartilage pierced in my ear.

Was the first person you talked to today male or female?
I was babbling incoherent nonsense to my female mother early this morning.

Are you in a good mood right now?
I’m not really in any kind of mood. I’m tired.
My sunburned nose hurts, though. I guess I’m not in a good mood.

Have you accidentally sent a text to the wrong person?
Well I don’t know why anyone would do it on purpose.

Are you the type of person who has a new boyfriend/ girlfriend every week?
Absolutely not. I’m the kidn of person who never had a girlfriend/boyfriend. I’d rather not have to deal with the extra stress.

What will you do later?
Hopefully I’ll be working, clearing flood bullshit up.

What are you doing right now?
Whiling away the hours.

Where was the last place you layed down other than your own bed?
The living room couch.

Would you ever get a tattoo?
I don’t know. I might.

Have you ever kissed the last person you texted?
Ha, no! He would probably freak out.

What’s the worst abuse your phone has gone through?
The flood cleanup… It’s been coated in mud/sewage, washed off in pool water, stuck in my sweaty, dirty shirt, thrown in a mud-laden bad… and so on.

Is there somebody in your life that you could not survive without?
Yes, there is.

Are you wearing jeans, shorts, sweatpants, or pajama pants?
I’m wearing sweats with Soffee shorts under them. I wore these sweatpants for pajama pants last night, too. What can I say? I’m a bum sometimes.

Did you go to sleep smiling last night?
I highly doubt it. There’s just too much going on.

Do you want to start over with anyone?
I guess I could. It would make things interesting, maybe a little easier. Simpler.

What’s the one thing that always gets you through the day?
A little bit of coffee and a lot of music always help. Drinking water makes me feel better, too, I guess.

When was the last time you gave your number to someone?
Yesterday I made sure Josh had it.

How many hours did you sleep last night?
I slept form ten-thirty to six-thirty, but not much in between. I’ll say I slept six.

What were you doing at 3am this morning?
Tossing and turning.

How did you feel when you woke up today?
Like I’d been pounded with the sledgehammer.

Where would I find you this Friday?
MY mother is telling me to take a day off. Maybe you’d find me at home :/

Does it make you uncomfortable when you receive a compliment?
Sometimes it does, especially when it’s something that’s completely out of the blue.

Do you think that smoking weed changes people?
Yes. It changes their priorities, and what they care about.

Do you believe you go ’somewhere’ after death?
I think it’s very likely, but no one can know for sure.

What are three things you did today?:
01.) Discovered my sunburn is peeling.
02.) Drank approximately 3 cups of coffee-milk-chocolate mixture beverage.
03.) Had to pee because of it. A lot.

What are your plans for this weekend?
I don’t know. Jill and Sam are having parties, Caitlin’s leaving. I mostly just want to sleep, sing, write, and relax. Without stressing or stupid shit.

Ever liked someone that had a tattoo?
Yeah, but I don’t know why. The guy’s a regular fuckhead. Pardon my French.

Have you taken a shower in the last 24 hours?
Yes indeed.

Ever licked someone’s cheek or forehead?
Of course!

Is there someone you want to see right now?
Yeah. I’d like this someone to help me relax in a very excellent way.

Do you know anyone who’s in the hospital?
Not personally, but I know of them.

Are you taller than 5 foot 7 inches?
Nope.

Are you one of those people who just don’t care?
I can be, sometimes. But there will always be people and issues I care about. Situations themselves matter less to me than people in them.

Where did you get your last bruise from?
Carrying buckets brimming with creek sludge.

What is something you disliked about your day?
So far, I hate it that I’m so tired. And I might have to walk to the Moose, alone.

Do you find piercings and tattoos attractive?
Not anymore attractive than not having them.

Are you afraid of losing the last person you talked to?
I’m afraid of what I’ll do without her someday.

Is anything bothering you?
Yes. Lots.

What was your last thought before you went to bed last night?
I wished, for once, that I wasn’t alone.

Is anyone else in the room with you?
No one else is in this little cubicle, but there are plenty of employees here in the bank.

Who was the last person you had a conversation with on the phone?
My dad.

Does anyone call you babe?
Not really.

What were you doing at 7:30 am?
I was on my way here in the car.

Do you know anyone who has been arrested?
Yes.

Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed?
Mom. She was telling me to go to bed, funnily enough.

Are you happy with the choices you’ve made?
I’m happy with most of them. The rest, well, I’ll live with them.

What was the reason for you throwing up last time?
The food wasn’t going to stay in my stomach. I wasn’t well.

If you were offered to smoke some weed right now, would you accept?
Fuck no. I have too much to do right now, to make a choice that might mess that up.

Are you planning to go see a movie anytime soon?
I hope we’ll all get to see “Hello, Dolly!” eventually.

Have you jumped in a pool with all your clothes on?
Yeah. After staining I was pretty disgusting.

Do you have to sleep with a television on?
No; I probably couldn’t, anyway.

Do you own a digital camera?
Nope. I’m asking for one for my birthday. Since I’m broke.

Do you love where you live?
Yes. I really, really do.

Last person you were on the phone with that wasn’t family, when?
I talked to Brendan yesterday morning.

Are you a mean person?
No. I can be mean, but I’m not intrinsically nasty, haha.

Can a boy and girl be friends without having feelings for each other?
Of course.

Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?
No way.

What do you hear?
Isn’t this a repeat? The sounds haven’t changed.

Have you ever broken someones heart?
No I have not. What a joke.

Has anyone broken yours?
My heart’s as sturdy and whole as it’s always been.

What does your hair look like right now?
It’s up, and clean, and blonde.

Do you like Mexican food?
It’s not my favorite.

Did you go out with anyone this past Valentine’s day?
No. KT and I were going to go to dinner at Ruby Tuesday’s… but that didn’t happen. :(

What is the last thing you did before bed last night?
I had dived into my sketchbook. Trippy tribal designs are my current motif, haha.

Do you own an iPod?
Yes. It’s sunbright yellow :)

Is there any emotion you’re trying to avoid right now?
I guess so. I’d just rather not be feeling angry and at fault with. So I don’t think about it.

Have you ever kissed someone in a vehicle?
Sure.

Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2010?
It’s very likely. It already has, anyway.

Can money buy love?
No, it can’t. It can buy happiness and amuse4ment to some degree, but possession can’t love you back. Unless you consider a god a possession. I don’t.

Will your next kiss be a mistake?
I don’t think so.

Have you ever found yourself somewhere and not remembering how you got there?
Yes. Deep sleep does that to me. I’ll wake up and want to know where  I am.

Anyone you’re giving up on?
I’m not giving up– I’m just not giving a shit anymore. “Youcan smack someone in the face with a haddock and they’ll still see a mouse if a mouse is what the want to see” (Pierce I-don’t-know-the-page).

Who is the last person you messaged on myspace?
I think it may have been Chunk.

Are you wearing any clothes that don’t belong to you?
I stole these socks from my mother, and my sister claimed these sneakers. Otherwise, no.

Honestly, what’s on your mind?
Everything, and nothing. I’m trying not to think. If I really buckled down and listed everything I’m thinking about, you’d think I was nuts. Really.

Is it hard for you to get over someone?
I guess so? I don’t really seriously like someone very often, so when I do, it’s harder to get them out of my head.

Are you wearing a ring, if so who gave it to you?
No, I’m ringless. No jewelry today.

What were you doing at 8 this morning?
I was writing the questions to this stupid survey that’s taken forever.

What woke you up this morning?
My mother, informing me that if I didn’t wake up I wasn’t going anywhere.

Are you a jealous person?
I know I can be. At the moment, though, it would be hard work to think up an example.

Are you jealous of your best friend?
Maybe I’m jealous of some of the freedoms they are allowed.

What sweatshirt did you wear last?
I don’t remember. It’s been a while since I’ve needed one.

Have you ever walked on the beach at night?
No. I wish I coiuld, it seems like it would be very peaceful. Pretty.

Is there anyone over protective over you?
Except for my mom, not really, haha. I’m the one who gets overprotective over everyone else.

Do you love anyone?
Of course.

Would you run down the street if it meant earning $150?
Duh. I don’t have any money.

Have you ever kissed someone with the first initial K?
Yes, I have.

If there was a large spider in the room, would you stay?
Sure. I’d try to save it and get it out, though.

Have you ever slapped someone across the face?
Jokingly. Not for real.

Do you lead people on?
I try not to.

Dark hair or light hair in the opposite sex?
Either/or… right now I’m in the middle, haha.

Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?
Sure.

Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with an O, J or B?
B for Bari! That was truth or dare, though :)

Do you have feelings for anyone?
Not romantic ones. (More like lustful. Haha.)

When was the last time you had a late night phone conversation?
A long, long time ago. Maybe prom.
Okay, not so long ago. But it feels that way.

Would you get back together with an ex down the road?
My only ex is one of the most arrogant, conceited, stupid sons of bitches you’ll ever meet. So, no. Thanks anyway.

Think back to May, who were you in a relationship with?
No one :)

What are some things you do when you’re mad?
Lately, I’ve been venting, but only because there hasn’t been much alone time to blast the music and belt out some songs with poor vocal health.

Are you happier now or three months ago?
I don’t know. Right now, I’m good with where I’m at, but I’m too tired to be “happy.” Three months ago, I was happy, but I don’t want to look back, really. So I don’t know.

When was the last time you smiled and actually meant it?
Yesterday, probably.

Do you trust all your friends?
Not all of them. I love ‘em all, however.
Now that I’ve finished that stupid survey that will take me twelve hours to type, I’ve decided something. I want to go home. I’m tired. I don’t feel good. Speaking of which, it’s a good thing I brought Tylonol. I’m going to take some. I just want to surl up with a blanket and pillow and sink back down into sleep.

Then again, I want to work. There’s still things I could be doing, homes that can be helped. I’m capable, I’m willing, and dammit, I’m already in Gowanda, so I hope we find something useful to do today.

I wish this table wasn’t digging into my ribs, I might be able to fall asleep otherwise.

Forgive yourself, if you think you can

8:14 AM
8/19/09

My heart’s, my heart’s like a kick drum. Ba bum-bum-bum-bum-bump. I’m exhausted, sore. As the strange army guy we worked with on Monday would say, emotionally starving. Or was it spiritually? Whatever.

I hate it when people think they know you upon meeting you. This man comes up to Brendan, Skylar, James and I at Assembly of God and introduces himself, tells us he was/is a drill sergeant at some military training base. He’s going back to Iraq next month. Now, that’s all well and good and interesting until he asks us what we’re doing after high school. So we tell him, and then he begins rambling about the army and how after an hour talking to his students/trainees/maggots/whatever he can see right through them.

Yes, great. So what do you see in me, Mr. Omniscient? Who exactly do you think you are, you cocky bastard?

Brendan asks him the same thing, albeit much more politely.

“So what do you know about me?”

He doesn’t break stride in informing Brendan that he believes Brendan to be an upstanding guy and dedicated to his community.

Well, obviously, moron. He’s only tired-looking, dirty, and at the volunteer base, sun-tanned and sweaty. However, one might take him for a demonic acid addict with a penchant for axe murdering.

Let’s just say I wasn’t so impressed with Military’s people-reading skills. He started speaking to us– four kids– about God and the military next. About how war is necessary, and if God has a strong-arm, the United States is it.

I can understand and respect the guy’s loyalty, but God is the only one who can judge who deserves to die and who doesn’t. And as Brendan very delicately pointed out, it seems like believing that is like serving two gods.

The Commander in Chief isn’t holy, sorry, buddy.

…….

Now I’m on to another thought process. Just kind of floating along, here. I had to go make the coffee and put my mom’s lunch in the fridge in the back room and now I’m wondering when Brendan will get here, so I’m a little distracted.

I’m so sore. I don’t want to have to walk from the bank to the relocated base at the Moose. I’m all bruised up and scratched. It’s a satisfied battered, but I feel like the hammer I smashed repeatedly into my hand yesterday hit everywhere else, too. And now Brendan’s here. Time to start another day.

Blog at a bank (8:03 AM)

So tired.

The idea of writing right now was so lucrative, so tempting. My willpower is practically nonexistant. So here I am.

With everything going on, I can’t pretend to feel one way when I really believe an entirely different thing.

I wish I could talk to someone about it, thought. Someone I could fully trust.
Who’d understand. I might try God, except I’m not sure I’m up for the ways He might decide to reply.

He knows it all, anyway. He knows everything, right?

My thoughts here and in my mind just aren’t connected at all. (As one might be able to tell.)

There are so many things racing through my head.

The flood. School and the changes that will occur. Drama Camp. A friend. Singing. Helping out. A boy. Walking. Feeling like shit. Worse situations than mine. Smoking drugs drinking and how I thought long and hard about it and crossed them all off as bad decisions for me right now. Controversy. Grandma. Stress, sickness. The grief rushing as thick and fast through this community as the Cattaraugus did. My current dizzy queasiness.

And so much more. Like how I want to trust everyone but I can’t.

It’s no wonder my head is spinning.

It’s almost time for me to start walking to the school for the last day of Drama Camp with Mrs. Ripley. It’s maybe the last time I’ll see Emma, Hannah, and Kiener before they go to college.
I don’t know how I feel about that, either. I just want to go to bed. And I just caught myself thinking “maybe I need a lobotomy.”

Yep, I must be nuts.